#he should have swallowed a tracker

[weebatron9000]

I wonder who was like “check his TEETH” when they got Gi-hun.

In-ho:We should check his mouth.

Solider:Sir?.

In-ho:Not-Not for any weird reason I just-y’know with teeth? And-

Solider:…

-later, with the other boss guy I don’t care about-

Square mask:So…thinking about a career in dentistry?

In-ho:THERE WAS A BUG.

[limarkova]

Experimental Obsession

Pt 10

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Barbara watched through the security cameras as (Name) walked around the mall with Jason. Her mind would flash back randomly to when the girl was barely a year old. Back to when she could walk and dance. Dick would hold her in his lap while Barbara practiced. Each move was done to rounds of giggles and claps from the chubby little toddler.

Than it changed. Barbara couldn't dance anymore and Jason was suddenly gone. (Name) kept asking questions that no one could answer. Suddenly it became all to easy for Barbara to drown herself in work. "Where are the culprits? What's the status on the blood analysis? Are the suspects still in the building? Why did they commit this crime?" All easier to answer than "Where is Jay? What happen to your legs? Are you okay? Why is everyone so sad?"

Now watching (Name), Barbara felt frustrated at how hard the questions had become to answer. How in a family of paranoid individuals all obsessed with control did one member disappear for two years? Not just any member but the most vulnerable one. Barbara rubbed at her eyebrows before looking back at the cameras. Jason had left her with Roy, who had put a number in her new phone.

A phone. Barbara swallowed, fingers itching at the keys. They had used Bruce's card to purchase the phone. Putting it on Jason's plan, Barbara could find the number and remotely hack in. "It would just be one little tracker. Just in case."

She took a deep breath but paused. Everyone always got mad at Bruce when he invaded their privacy by doing these things. Could she really do that to (Name)? Barbara looked back at the camera footage to see Roy lead the girl into a store. "Do it Barbara."

Barbara spun around to see Bruce behind her. His arms were crossed watching the footage just like she was. Barbara placed a hand to her chest taking deep breaths, "You scared me." She looked back to the computer clicking on to the next video feed, "Are you sure we should do that? Don't growing teens need their privacy?"

"What if her kidnappers come back for her?" Bruce countered, "We've gotten lucky so far that nothing has happened."

"The evidence Jason found suggests they might not return for her." Barbara shrugged. Even she could admit she wasn't very convincing. The argument was too weak. Bruce leveled her with a serious look. Barbara sighed, "It's only for emergencies."

"Of course." Bruce nodded watching as Roy handed (Name) a box of hair. He blinked looking to Barbara, "What are they doing?"

"Shopping, apparently. With your credit card." Barbara sighed, "on the opposite side of town from where Jason told Dick."

"Get ready to go. We'll meet them down there." Bruce turned to leave the Belfry. Barbara looked back to the computer. (Name) was moving through the store with Roy walking close behind. Kori came into the frame holding a collar for the new cat. The two girls laughed petting the kitten while Roy went and paid for the hair dye.

She looked so normal and happy. Barbara found herself smiling as she watched the screen. She could still see that bright toddler who was amazed at her dancing again. However, the incident at the breakfast table flashed briefly. The fear in her eyes mixing with betrayal.

"Just one little bug on her phone to alert me...... us if something is wrong."

Ra's was in leagues headquarters, planning the training course that his new student would use. (Name) has natural talent that needed to be refined. His daughter had been right on that. However, getting the girl to join the league, especially with who her father was, would be a challenge. Thinking back to his encounter he paused.

She had been so much more like her in person than just through the camera. If felt like he was looking at her age for the first time in over 500 years. The best part of all, was that she had look at him like she knew him. She was clearly confused by that knowing but had known all the same.

"Father, I have made the necessary preparations." Ra's nodded at Talia's words. They had prepared a room for the girl, fully ready to bring her to join the league. Though her paused in that line of thinking. Assuming everything they had learned so far was true, the girl would not react well to another 'kidnapping'. It was also just bring the bats in fully enraged.

"Those won't be necessary for a while."

"What about our plans?" Talia looked at Ra's with disbelief. Her mind was running through a hundred different scenarios. Her cold calculating gaze give credit.

Ra's looked back to the training plan, "Would it not be better to have her come to the league willingly? She would be less likely to run and would return to us if the Wayne's steal her away."

"Slow and steady to win the race." It clicked in her head with a wicked smirk. Ra's mirrored her expression merely tilting his head to Talia. His daughter nodded to him, "I'll adjust my plans. Focus on making her trust us."

"You also have to turn her against the Waynes." Ra's made a nod in her training plans. "Make it so she can't trust them."

"Oh, that will be easy." Talia nodded, turning to leave the room. "We'll have our new heir to the league soon."

You and the Outlaws entered Jason's apartment. Laughter filling the air as everyone walked in. Churro was in the pet carrier, napping. Every time you looked at the carrier you smiled wider. Was getting a cat a smart decision in your plan for revenge? No, but you could leave the little guy there. The kitten had been abandoned just like you, with no willing to save them.

Two abandoned creatures finding one another. It made you smile once more as you eyed the carrier. You were pulled out of your reverie by Jason groaning, "What are you guys doing here?"

Looking from the cat carrier you joined Jason in groaning. The entire family stan you and Jason were crowd in the living room. Bruce sat in Jason old recliner, legs crossed, looking like the perfect image of a billionaire. Dick was sitting on Jason's couch with Damian and Tim next to him. He had an arm over the back of the couch, yet his chill posture was betrayed by his sharp judging eyes.

Tim was focused on his phone, reading something but he looked up to nod at you. Damian was intensely focused on you. His gaze was sharp and assessing as he began studying you. Cass, Steph, and Duke were sitting on the floor around the coffee table. There was half finished round of go fish. Duke gave you a bright smile but there was something off about it. Cass was looking at the carrier with piqued interest. Steph was looking at you like it was the first she had every truly seen you. It was her gaze that was the most unsettling.

Barbara was sitting in her wheelchair with her laptop in her lap. The charging cord for said laptop was plugged into the outlet not too far away. She was typing furiously, eyebrows scrunched up as she focused on something. Her expression was a mix of anger, disbelief, and confusion.

"Glad to see you too." Bruce answered half sarcastically. "How was red lobster?"

Jason shrugged, "Nothing looked appetizing. We ended up meeting the Outlaws at Burrito Bucket."

"Really?" Dick said a bit too causally, "and you didn't tell us this because?"

You rolled your eyes at the family's questions. Turning back to the cat carrier you opened the door and gently lifted Churro out into your arms. Everyone paused at the sight of the animal. Damian stood from the couch and began to walk towards the cat. He kneeled down next to you looking at the cat with wide eyes, "Whose cat is this?"

"Mine." You began to gently scratch under Churro's chin. Damian reached out and began to stroke Churro's head. The kitten mewled as they slowly woke up.

Bruce gave Jason a flat look, "I said no more animals."

"To Damian. You never said anything to (Name)." Jason smirked slightly. He gave Bruce a defiant look as you press a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing.

Your biological father gave Jason a weird look before looking at the Outlaws, "Can you guys give us a minute? This is a family matter."

The Outlaw looked between each other before awkwardly shuffling out. Barbara finally looked up from her laptop. Her face morphed into one of pity as she caught sight of you. She looked down at the laptop before glancing around the room, "I decode the hard drive Jason found in the facility."

"What facility?" The air in the room began to feel heavy. Your stomach began to bubble making you feel sick, worsen by the tighten in your throat.

Duke stepped forward, gently taking your hand. Jason sat down behind you. It made you feel trapped in place. Duke took a deep breath, but Jason beat him to it, "We found where you were held for the last two years and recovered a hard drive alongside some paperwork."

The world dropped out from under you.

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[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — chapter 03 : Threat

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

words. 3.90k

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. this series is movvingggg i hope yall are enjoying fr

chapters. Chapter 02 - Chapter 04

You’d never liked clinics. Too clean. Too slow. Too much time to think.

But this one was the exception.

Small, off-grid, no digital records. The wallpaper in the waiting room was peeling. There was a loose tile by the check-in desk no one ever fixed. The kind of place people overlooked — which made it perfect for people who couldn’t afford to be seen.

Dr. Shoko Ieiri ran it out of habit more than ambition. Her badge always read “General Practitioner,” but you knew better. She’d stitched bullet wounds in back rooms, performed blood draws with coded names, and once removed a tracker chip from your thigh using nothing but vodka, a scalpel, and two paper clips.

She also happened to be your best friend.

And this morning, she was half-listening as you sat on the paper-lined exam table, hands folded, heartbeat a little too loud in your ears.

“I’m not here for treatment,” you said.

Shoko raised a brow, glancing over the clipboard. “You never are.”

“I just needed to talk.”

Her pen stopped moving. She looked up, more curious now than concerned.

“In a clinic?” she said. “You know there are cafes for that. Ones with coffee. And no weird old cough syrup smell.”

You smirked, but it didn’t stick.

“I brought Yuuji with me. He’s in the waiting room. Talking to the fish tank.”

Shoko glanced toward the door.

“...He knows they’re not real, right?”

You shrugged. “It’s Yuuji.”

She snorted, turned back to you, leaned a hip against the counter.

“Alright. Spill. What’s going on?”

You hesitated.

Then — quietly, in a voice that didn’t quite sound like yours:

“I have a husband now.”

Shoko blinked.

You pushed through before she could say anything. “It’s part of the mission. Deep cover. The agency told me to pick someone, build a base, blend in.”

“And you… picked a man?”

“I thought he was normal.”

A pause.

Shoko tilted her head. “But he’s not.”

You swallowed. “He’s an assassin.”

Shoko didn’t react immediately. Just stared at you for a moment. Then she sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and muttered something that sounded like, “of course he is.”

You looked down at your hands. "He's volatile. Paranoid. Strong enough to break me in half. And now we're playing house like this isn't one of the most dangerous configurations in agency history.”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t scoff. She just reached for the clipboard again and said:

“You’re not here because he’s dangerous. You’re here because you don’t know if you can handle being close to someone who gets it.”

Your chest tightened.

Shoko didn’t press.

She never did.

After a moment, you slid off the table and adjusted your jacket. The conversation — raw and fragile — folded neatly between the seconds.

“I should go,” you murmured.

Shoko watched you quietly as you opened the door.

“Be careful,” she said softly. “You’re not used to being watched in your own home. That kind of pressure breaks even the best.”

You nodded once, then stepped out.

The waiting room was mostly empty.

A flickering overhead light. The humming of the fake fish tank. And Yuuji — legs swinging from a plastic chair, face bright, hands clasped behind his head like he’d been there for hours.

He looked up the second you stepped out.

“You done?”

“Yeah,” you said, adjusting your collar. “Thanks for waiting.”

He blinked at you once.

Then leaned forward with a curious grin.

“…Are you pregnant?”

You froze mid-step.

“What?!”

“Well,” he said, pointing at the sign above the receptionist desk, “this is a clinic. That’s usually what women come here for.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. “I’m not—no, I’m—god, no.”

He grinned.

You swore he looked way too pleased with himself.

But he didn’t press. He stood up, stretched, and followed you out the door like nothing ever happened.

The alley reeked of rain, engine oil, and something older. Forgotten.

Sukuna pulled his coat tighter as he leaned against the brick wall, cigarette flickering between his fingers. His boot tapped idly against a broken crate. Water dripped from the metal fire escape above like the rhythm of a ticking clock.

He wasn’t in a good mood.

He rarely was — but tonight felt worse. Like the air itself knew something was coming.

Then: footsteps.

Uraume emerged from the fog like a ghost in a trench coat — quiet, clean, pressed in all the ways Sukuna wasn’t. Their umbrella stayed closed. They never used one. They always said rain helped with surveillance.

Sukuna didn’t greet them. Just glared.

“You’re late.”

Uraume stepped beside him, pulled a black folder from inside their coat, and handed it over without a word.

He took it, flipped it open.

Inside: a name.

Mahoraga Jiro.

A face followed — mid-40s, clean-cut, expensive suit, scar across the bridge of his nose. Eyes like he hadn’t blinked since 2002.

Sukuna stared at it.

“That’s not a mission,” he muttered. “That’s suicide in a tailored suit.”

“He’s real,” Uraume said. “And very much in power.”

Sukuna flipped to the next page. His mouth tightened.

Mahoraga wasn’t just a businessman.

He was the businessman. Shipping. Real estate. Military contracts. Politicians on his payroll. He ran front companies in Tokyo, Osaka, Sapporo, and Seoul. Laundered money through museums. Held silent stakes in half the corporations making Japan’s defense tech.

His private security detail was larger than some embassies.

And worse — he never showed his hands.

He never needed to. Everyone knew who he was. What he did. But no one could prove it. Every hit against him failed. Every investigator turned up missing. The man moved like fog. Untraceable. Unpunishable.

Sukuna turned another page — and stopped.

A photo. Grainy surveillance.

Mahoraga shaking hands with a Zen’in.

“...You’re joking,” Sukuna said under his breath.

“He’s in deep,” Uraume said. “Contracted. Protected. But it’s still early.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. “Early for what?”

Uraume’s tone darkened.

“There’s a deal on the table. Military-grade AI infrastructure — a new surveillance pipeline. If Mahoraga completes it with the Zen’ins, they’ll control half the country’s underground networks and most of the digital ones too.”

“Sounds like a great reason to put a bullet in his skull,” Sukuna muttered, flicking ash off his cigarette.

Uraume didn’t flinch.

“We can’t. Not with Zen’in oversight. Not while he’s this public. It has to look... quiet.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Quiet doesn’t mean me. You got other ghosts for this shit.”

“This isn’t a ghost mission,” Uraume said. “It’s a role. A house. A life. You get close to the network through education front channels — and by placing your kid in the right school.”

Sukuna turned his head slowly. “You’re saying I have to enroll that kid?”

“Yuuji,” Uraume confirmed. “Jujutsu High is hosting elite-level digital curriculum and social outreach. Think-tank club. Next-gen power plays. Mahoraga funds half their board.”

Sukuna looked ready to snap the folder in half.

“You’re sending me in through the front fucking door.”

“You’ll be a father. A good one. A smiling one. Blend in with the others. School meetings, parent socials, talent shows — whatever the fuck they do. You get close. Get inside.”

“And then?”

“You find Mahoraga’s pressure points. Where he’s weakest. Who his successors are. His security details. The way he eats, thinks, moves.”

Sukuna snorted. “So babysit a billionaire ‘til I can gut him in a parking garage?”

“No,” Uraume said calmly. “Babysit your cover long enough that no one suspects you. Then kill him so precisely… it looks like nature finally did its job.”

Sukuna dropped the folder to his side. The cigarette was burning low.

“And the wife?”

“She stays,” Uraume replied. “No changes. You break the marriage, the agency flags you. We’re not the only ones watching her.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked up fast.

But Uraume was already stepping away, turning toward the deeper end of the alley.

“I’ll be in touch,” they said. “Sooner than you’ll like.”

Then, just before the fog swallowed them completely:

“Zen’in blood is moving to find you.”

Sukuna stood there for a long time.

The alley darkened. The drizzle picked up. His cigarette hissed as it met the rain.

He didn’t light another.

Just stared at the folder — Mahoraga’s face still staring up from the paper — and muttered under his breath:

“Fuck.”

The rain had followed him home.

It clung to his shoulders, wet hair plastered to his neck, and he hated the way it made the back of his collar stick to his skin. His boots hit the pavement heavier than usual — partly from the mission, partly from the weight of the folder still tucked in his coat, Mahoraga’s smug fucking face pressing against his ribs.

Usually, nights like this ended the same. He’d walk into a silent house. No lights on. No sound. Maybe make himself something greasy and forgettable, or drink until sleep came sharp and sudden.

He’d learned to live inside that silence.

But tonight — Tonight smelled like soy sauce and ginger.

And… something sweeter.

The second he opened the door, warmth wrapped around him. The hallway light was on. There were faint footsteps from the kitchen, a soft clatter of ceramic. And then—

“WELCOME HOME, PAPA!”

He flinched. Actually flinched.

Yuuji had launched himself down the hallway in socks, arms wide like a human missile. His voice echoed through the whole apartment like he was announcing the arrival of a king.

Sukuna froze in the entryway, fingers still curled around the doorknob.

Yuuji looked up at him expectantly, smile too big, too bright, like it could blind a man if he looked at it too long.

Sukuna blinked.

He didn’t say anything. Just grunted.

Dropped his bag with a dull thud. Pulled off his boots, slower than usual, like his limbs weren’t entirely under his control. It wasn’t that he was tired — no. He’d been through worse. He’d killed men before breakfast. But this?

This was… unfamiliar.

The floor was warm beneath his socks. The hallway was clean. There were little shoes by the door next to his own — pink and worn, the kind a kid kicks off without thinking.

He walked forward like the world was shifting around him.

Like this wasn’t his apartment anymore.

Yuuji scampered ahead toward the kitchen, his voice trailing behind him.

“Mama said dinner’s almost ready! She made your portion extra spicy ‘cause I told her you looked mean!”

Sukuna’s eye twitched. “Tch. Brat.”

But he kept walking.

And then—

He saw you.

Back to him. Standing by the stove, ladling soup into bowls.

You were wearing an apron — something pale, soft, pastel. Pink maybe, with tiny strawberries stitched along the hem. Your sleeves were rolled up. There was a little smear of sauce on your cheek. Your hair was pulled back messily, the kind of way people do when they’re home.

And it hit him then.

Just a few nights ago, this same woman had him pinned to the goddamn floor, knife pressed to his throat, eyes burning with fury.

Now you were stirring miso.

Like none of it happened.

Like this was normal.

You turned when you heard him enter. Just slightly. Enough for him to see the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes lifted slow.

Your voice was quiet. Not soft, not cold — just even.

“Welcome home.”

Sukuna stared at you.

For a moment, he forgot about the folder. Forgot about Mahoraga. Forgot about the job. The blood. The danger. The Zen’ins moving closer with every hour.

This wasn’t real. He knew that.

But the smell in the air. The light in the kitchen. The way Yuuji hummed in the background like he belonged to this place — like Sukuna did too — it dug under his ribs.

He scowled.

“Don’t say that like you mean it.”

You didn’t flinch. Just turned back to the pot and said, casual as ever, “I don’t.”

He snorted.

But didn’t move.

Didn’t leave.

Instead, he sat at the table. Loudly. Grumpily. Elbows wide and shoulders tense.

Yuuji bounced into the seat next to him, talking a mile a minute.

And for the first time in… maybe ever — Sukuna let the sound fill the space.

He didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t push.

Just listened, and tried to ignore the way something in his chest felt dangerously close to settling.

The office was dark, save for the pale blue glow of three monitors and the soft hum of a ventilation fan.

Uraume sat at the sleek black desk, legs crossed neatly, back perfectly straight, eyes focused like a surgeon prepping for incision. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched beside them — long forgotten. Their pale fingers moved in silence across the keyboard, pulling up documents, frame by frame.

Y/n. The name was simple. The face, familiar now. Too familiar.

The woman Sukuna had chosen.

A wife. A mother. A fabricated dream of domesticity.

On paper, she was a ghost in reverse — too perfect. Spotless record. Registered as a language consultant, flexible hours, remote background, no prior infractions, family dead, schooling abroad. The kind of bio an intern might dream up to avoid further questions.

Uraume clicked again. More records. Nothing stuck.

That was the problem.

There should’ve been something. A parking ticket. A complaint. An old contact. An inconsistency in passport stamps. But there was nothing to hold onto. Her life, as far as the system was concerned, was airtight. Seamless.

Artificial.

Uraume’s brows twitched, just slightly.

“She’s good,” they muttered.

They pulled up the third monitor. Surveillance logs. Sukuna’s pattern for the week: out by 5PM, back by 2AM. Yuuji enrolled in a local preparatory academy. The woman’s GPS still pinged within the city, always regular, always close to home.

Too regular.

Too close.

They leaned back and crossed their arms, tapping one lacquered nail against the desk.

“…You’re hiding something,” Uraume said under their breath. “I just haven’t found it yet.”

A sharp beep from the side monitor dragged their eyes away.

Incoming.

Uraume turned their head just as the side door opened — quiet, smooth — and the man entered.

He was taller than them. Gray suit, black gloves, a blue lapel pin glinting under the pale overhead light. His gait was even, assured. He took no pleasure in theatrics. No interest in unnecessary words.

This man was no handler.

He was the one who told the handlers what to handle.

Uraume stood. Bowed. Not deeply, but respectfully.

“Sir.”

The man glanced at the screens as he approached, hands behind his back.

“Progress on the Mahoraga situation?”

Uraume nodded once. “He’s accelerated his partnerships. Arms, data, political immunity. If he finishes the digital infrastructure trade with Zen’in, we lose more than tracking. We lose control.”

“Then stop it.”

“We’re working on it,” Uraume said calmly, “but Sukuna is our lynchpin. He’s already inside. His new position grants us a vantage.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “And the boy?”

“Enrolled. We’ll soon have access to the school's internal network. It’ll bring Mahoraga’s face into clearer view.”

“And the wife?”

Uraume hesitated. Just slightly.

“She’s clean.”

The man looked at them.

“Too clean.”

Uraume clicked their tongue and stepped back toward the desk. Pulled a few files from the cabinet beneath. Laid them out across the steel surface like tarot cards.

“We’ve had top analysts sweep her. Nothing. If she’s a plant, she’s buried deeper than anyone we’ve ever seen. But her behavior aligns with an active cover: routine shifts, protected contacts, and a deliberate emotional split between domestic space and social interaction.”

The man took a slow breath.

“So you think she’s a spy.”

“I think,” Uraume said carefully, “she’s a sleeper who hasn’t woken up yet.”

The man’s brow lifted. That was rare.

“But I don’t have enough proof. And I won’t act on guesses, especially when Sukuna doesn’t know.”

Silence. Tense. Contained.

Uraume didn’t fidget. They never did.

Then the man turned slightly, gaze shifting back to the screen where Mahoraga’s name blinked on the network tracker.

“We need more,” he said. “Faster. Sukuna won’t catch everything. And Mahoraga’s no longer subtle.”

Uraume stepped forward.

“Then let me give him someone.”

The man looked over.

“Who?”

Uraume’s tone didn’t waver.

“Toji Fushiguro.”

There was a pause. Long. Like the building itself inhaled.

The man didn’t answer right away. He just stared at Uraume, eyes like flint.

“Fushiguro’s off record.”

“Yes.”

“He’s disappeared.”

“That’s why we want him.”

Uraume walked back to the desk, pulled another slim file — much thinner. Half the documents were redacted. One page was burnt at the edge.

“He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t get attached. He won’t care about the family front, and if Mahoraga has an underground fortress of hell, he’ll get in.”

The man said nothing.

Uraume leaned in, voice low now.

“Mahoraga isn’t afraid of politics. He’s afraid of silence. He’s afraid of men who don’t knock. Fushiguro’s already got two of his lieutenants rotting in cold storage.”

The air in the room felt tighter.

The man finally spoke.

“And Sukuna?”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we didn’t tell him,” the man muttered. Then, after a beat: “Find Fushiguro. Send him in quiet.”

Uraume nodded once. Then again, slower.

“…And what if he says no?”

The man didn’t blink.

“Then remind him what we’ve buried for him.”

Uraume’s mouth curved. Not a smile. Something colder.

“Yes, sir.”

And just like that, the door closed behind him. The silence returned. The fan hummed on.

Uraume leaned forward again and tapped the trackpad, pulling up a blinking dot labeled “Mahoraga Holdings Group.” Their eyes narrowed.

“If we’re going to kill a king,” they whispered, “we better make sure the floor beneath him’s already cracking.”

They closed Y/n’s file. Opened another one. Marked:

TOJI FUSHIGURO – UNSTABLE ASSET.

And clicked track.

The dishes clinked quietly in the sink.

You stood at the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, water running warm over your hands as you scrubbed the last of the miso paste from the bowls. A half-dried dish towel hung lazily over your shoulder. You moved efficiently — out of habit, not enjoyment — the same way you handled explosives, with muscle memory and a slight frown.

Behind you, Sukuna leaned against the doorframe of the small kitchen, cigarette between two fingers, bare forearm resting against the wood. The smoke curled slowly around his head as he exhaled, watching the living room where Yuuji lay passed out on the couch, sprawled like a drunk cat, one sock half-off, the TV remote still in his tiny hand.

Peace.

Well — the illusion of it.

The air was still thick with soy and steam, and the soft buzz of a late-night show flickered faintly from the living room. It was the kind of night that should’ve been quiet.

But Sukuna was never good at letting things be quiet.

“You hear about that school?”

Your back stiffened slightly, but you didn’t stop drying the bowl in your hand.

“What school?”

He tapped ash into the empty teacup next to him.

“The fancy one. Jujutsu High. Private. Rich as fuck. They’re expanding enrollment.”

Your eyes flicked over your shoulder.

“…What about it?”

He took another drag and let it hang before speaking again, a little more clipped.

“It’s where the target’s moving. Mahoraga. Got deep pockets tied to the board. The whole goddamn school’s about to become a breeding ground for next-gen surveillance and network control.”

You froze for half a beat, fingers tightening slightly around the dish.

“…Mahoraga?”

“Yeah.”

You put the bowl down.

“I’ve heard that name.”

Sukuna shrugged. “Everyone has.”

“No,” you said, turning slowly, arms folded now. “He was flagged by my agency. Years ago. As untouchable. Too many walls. Too many men. We were told to stay the fuck away.”

“Well,” Sukuna said, smirking without humor, “looks like I’m doing the opposite.”

You stared at him.

Then down at the couch — Yuuji, snoring softly, one leg curled over a pillow.

“You’re dragging a child into this?”

Sukuna’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t drag him—”

“You’re enrolling him into a target zone.”

“I was told to.”

“You’re an assassin, not a fuckin’ school administrator.”

He growled low in his throat, cigarette twitching at the edge of his lip. “I’m whatever the hell they tell me to be these days.”

There was a beat of silence.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed tight now.

“I don’t act without instructions,” you said. “You know how this works. I follow a chain of command. Missions, reports, confirmation. Paper trail. No paper, no mission.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “Christ, you sound like a government drone.”

“And you sound like a goddamn wildcard,” you snapped.

He stepped forward slightly, voice low, teeth showing. “I am a wildcard. That’s why they sent me.”

Your brows lifted.

“Not comforting.”

Sukuna didn’t respond for a moment. Just dragged the cigarette until it burned halfway to the filter.

You turned back toward the sink and grabbed the towel again, letting the silence stew.

Then, casually:

“So what do I get?”

Sukuna blinked. “What?”

You glanced over your shoulder.

“I do this. I get involved. I risk my cover, my agency, my life. What do I get?”

He stared for a long second, then shrugged with one shoulder, expression unreadable.

“Credentials?”

You snorted. “That’s what you’re offering? What is this, a fuckin’ promotion pitch?”

“You want more?”

“I want instructions,” you said coldly. “I want a mission briefing. I want a reason.”

Sukuna stepped closer now, flicking ash into the sink behind you, voice still low but heavier.

“Then propose it to them.”

You turned.

Eyes sharp. Brows furrowed.

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

“They’ll trace the request back to us. They'll know something’s up.”

Sukuna leaned in, voice quieter now — not softer, just… heavier. Controlled.

“They won’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“They won’t because they’re watching you for the wrong reasons,” he muttered. “They think you’re here to maintain a long-game cover. Stay clean. Look pretty. Play house. You file a request, you say it’s about expanding reach, surveillance opportunity, building intel on the new school pipeline. You don’t mention me. You don’t mention Mahoraga.”

Your jaw clenched.

“And if they cross-check it?”

“They won’t.”

“And if they do?”

He moved close enough now you could smell the smoke on his shirt.

“They’ll find a paper trail you write yourself. They’ll see what you want them to see.”

“…And you?”

Sukuna grinned slowly, but there was nothing kind in it.

“I’m already on the inside. With or without their approval.”

You exhaled through your nose. Looked at the knife block.

Then looked at the kid on the couch.

He twitched in his sleep, murmuring something about curry and fists and fighting a big dog. Completely oblivious to the growing noose around the both of you.

You turned back to the dishes. Ran the water. Let it hiss through your thoughts.

“I hate this,” you said finally.

Sukuna leaned on the counter beside you, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the sink.

“You think I’m enjoying it?” he muttered.

You stared forward, “…You’re not exactly bad at playing house.”

His lips twitched, “And you’re not exactly bad at being a wife.”

You elbowed him. He didn’t move.

But for a second — just one — the kitchen didn’t feel like a lie. Not entirely.

— Chapter 02 — Chapter 04 —

Taglist. @poopooindamouf @perqbeth @everyonebeatmetoanusername @fushiguroooozzz @ethereal-moonlit @mariteez @floquis @evii1e @keiameeee @miffyliebe @drowsysausagedog @marajafarli @cowwaslost

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[ihrthoney]

you know what the time is, ak!jason thoughts

me when i don’t write fics so i make hcs

i feel like jason will sometimes lose himself, his sanity will be spread thin with planning to take down batman (he planned for like a year then the moments in the game happen in one night)

even though he tweaked your devices and had your full trust, he couldn’t trust you. not completely.

he had a tracker in your jewelry, when he was gone for days to train he could always pull up where you were. 99% of the time you were at the safe house, you respected him enough to stay home and wait for him. granted he got you whatever you wanted to keep busy. whatever you wanted.

you were so compliant that it started to make him doubt. what if you were just taking advantage of him? what if none of this was real? what if batman sent you and you’re working undercover?

thoughts filled his head, drowning him. he couldn’t think straight, it became hard to look you in the eyes, to let you come close to him.

whenever you asked to go out, he let you but always followed. it tugs at him at not trusting you because he wants to so badly, but he can’t get the doubts out of his mind.

he hates feeling obsessive. he hates the look on your face when he denies your request to go out for the day. your face fell before instantly softening and becoming understanding.

of course he wanted you to go out, but his mind was telling him you’d betray him. that you would try to leave him, he was abandoned too many times he can’t.. he can’t have you leave too.

one night, you woke up and found him watching you sleep. he was in bed next to you, sitting up against the headboard. given his build he looked intimidating in the dark room, but he was your jaybee.

without another word, you sat up against the headboard and locked your pinky with his.

nothing is said for a long time, the distant honks of cars and yelling is carried through the wind that filters through the room,

“i don’t ever want you to leave.”

“i’m not going anywhere, jay.”

“what if i ask you to never leave the safe house.”

“not even with you?”

your soft voice frustrates him, you should be mad, irritated, he’s not being rational!

“you could be living a normal life-“

“stop that, jason.”

“it’s true. you’re like a bird trapped in a cage, you should be out there! not here with me.”

“but i want to be here with you. this is my choice. you aren’t making me do anything, you know that right?”

he doesn’t want to look at you. a part of him wants the rage to consume him, to swallow him whole. jason wants you to run only so he could convince you to come back.

he needs you so badly, he wants you more than anything but his own mind can’t let him.

your free hand moves to slowly turn his head towards you, he lets you break himself out of his thoughts,

“i love you, jace. more than your mind could ever comprehend. anything you need me to do to make you feel safe, i’ll do it.”

“but it jeopardizes your comfortability.”

“who said that? i’m perfectly comfortable here.”

“in this cage?”

“in our safe house. we have traps, cameras, and weapons in case anything happens. i have a device i can click just once and you’ll be here in 5 minutes tops”

“3 minutes.”

his correction makes you laugh, “you bought me a whole fucking pc and made some of your workers play games with me. i can promise you, i don’t feel trapped baby.”

“this isn’t normal though, you should be allowed to go out whenever you want to.”

“and i can, you just have to be with me. it’s not like i want to go anywhere without you anyway.”

“we can’t go to the beach, or pools, or hotels, or-“

“we can if it’s another state.”

“but we can’t leave gotham.”

“then let’s build a pool.”

“you always have something to say, don’t you?”

“i’m always here to keep you in check, i always have been.”

“yeah, a pain in my ass you are.”

he wants you so bad omg. he’s still working through his trauma and he hates to burden you, but just the feeling of your hand in his is enough to pull him out of that dark place.

[its-time-to-write]

don’t be fooled, I’m not actually alive

make me breathe easy

It’s a simple enough call, if you’re being honest. 

And you are- being honest, that is. 

Honesty is why you’re ringing Jamie up right now with your cycle tracker pulled up on your computer screen. It’s a bit nerve-wracking, sure, but that’s just because he’s the first and only person you’re going to tell. 

Well, maybe not the only person. You’re going to have to tell Noah because there’s no way you’re doing this next part alone, and she always knows what to do when you don’t. 

But Jamie deserves to know first. So you press the call button and wait for him to pick up. 

You’re in your bedroom right now. Jamie’s probably in his and he should be asleep but instead he’s awake and waiting for you.

He picks up at the first ring.

“What’s wrong?” he asks right away, and the knot in your chest begins to loosen.

“Nothing,” you reply automatically. “I mean- not nothing. It’s not wrong, I just- how are you?”

You hear him laugh through the phone. “I’m good, babe. You’re not though, so what’s up?”

You look at the cycle tracker again. Two and a half months- no. Closer to three. 

You take a breath. “Remember Christmas?”

Jamie swallows another laugh. Of course he does. 

“Right. Stupid question,” you say. “I think- you’re the only person I’m telling, but- I might be pregnant.”

The words vomit from your mouth and you immediately want to take them back. You want to take them back even more when your phone lights up with Jamie’s request to FaceTime.

You press accept before you have a chance to chicken out and Jamie’s face fills your screen.

“You okay?” he asks first thing, and the knot in your chest unravels most of the way.

A year ago he would have been angry straight away. Probably would’ve yelled and told you it couldn’t be his, it was someone else’s, he can’t have a kid right now, he’s in the prime of his career.

But that was a year ago, and this is today.

And today, he just needs you to know it’s okay.

“You want me to come over?” he asks and you smile despite yourself. You want me to come over? he asks, as if it’s a quick drive instead of a flight to another continent.

You shake your head, unable to speak.

Jamie scratches the side of his face. This wasn’t the plan at all. Not really. It’s speeding things up by about a decade, that’s for sure, and hell he has no idea what to say but that’s never stopped him before so he opens his mouth and just starts talking.

“Right, yeah, fuck, okay. Right. I’m assuming you’ve got a plan all worked out, yeah?”

You nod and he grins a bit. Of course you do. You’ve got a plan for everything and he just likes to watch and follow along.

“Right,” he says for probably the billionth time. “Right. Let me guess: Slow down work to just be online and pass off all the twats to fuckin’ Samantha. Keep the ones you like for as long as fucking possible, then take holiday for at least a year. Knowing you, you’ll want to go back at some point so you’ll’ve been looking for help for a while. I can be there as early as…” he blows out a breath, “fucking… June? Finish post-season then make the switch to a club near you, there’s two, yeah? Mum and Simon won’t make the move I don’t think, but they’ll want to be here for a while so I can get them a house. She’ll be great, swear down, won’t fucking hover unless you want her to. And babe, don’t fucking tell Keeley. I know you love her to bits but she’s shit at keeping things private, like.”

You wish he weren’t so far away because you desperately want to kiss him.

“Jamie, you can’t move here,” you say. 

“The fuck I can,” he replies.

“You don’t want kids,” you remind him. “I’m telling you because it’s like, common fucking courtesy. And you’d be a big fish in a small pond here. You can’t- they can’t accommodate you. Your career would just kind of- well, you know.”

Jamie squints and looks away. You’re right, to a point. His whole life is in England, in Europe. 

“You can’t stop me,” he says finally and you roll your eyes.

“I can. And I will. I’ve stopped you from other things before.”

“Name one,” he challenges.

“House,” you say ticking it off on your fingers. “Car, extended vacation in Spain, Bottega Veneta, multiple concert tickets, fucking wire transfers, shall I go on?”

“No,” he says, and you’re both smiling. Strange. You’d thought this conversation would have been a lot colder. A lot angrier.

“I’ll visit soon,” he promises.

You wrinkle your nose. “Let’s get this confirmed first, okay? Don’t book any flights just yet.”

“I’ll visit anyway.”

You chuckle. He says it all the time, but never does. He can’t, really. Neither of you have the time for it- not till the summer. It isn’t unusual either. Half of his team are in long-term long-distance relationships. It’s just how it goes, apparently. 

But it’s nice to pretend, at least. And you’re grateful everyone thinks Jamie’s dating someone else, a model from Germany who he’s always spotted with, and who you may (or may not) have known for years and is always willing to make a public scene to allow you your privacy.

So the conversation devolves from there, into arguments about visits and who’s going to win the Prem and the Champion’s League. He stays on the phone until Isaac’s automated nightly threat comes through, and Jamie panics about the fact that he’s awake long past his prescribed bed time. You make a crack at that, he laughs, and you whisper, “I love you.” Jamie could pretend he didn’t hear it but he doesn’t, he holds the phone two millimeters from his face and whispers it back before you hang up on him.

And everything’s okay.

You don’t end up telling Noah. So she’s none the wiser to the four tests discarded in your bathroom trash, each negative. You vaguely chalk the missed periods up to stress which is far more than a likely explanation. And Jamie’s relieved but when you call to tell him there’s a faint flicker of disappointment lacing his words.

Still.

It’s not the right time, but you wonder if maybe someday there will be a right time. 

Maybe.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 46

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

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

46. rude awakening

When finally you wake, you sense you are in a confined space in total darkness. Your whole body hurts, and your mouth is dry as a cotton ball. You feel as though you are swaying, and it takes you a while to figure out that it’s not just in your head. You are in something that is on the move. 

It’s hard to tell what, and so you concentrate on righting yourself. The surface you lay on is surprisingly soft. A bed? You try to push up, and a searing pain jets from your left hand up your arm. Is it broken? 

Fuck. 

Gingerly, you feel your appendage, probing the skin and bones. All seems well, until you get to your fingers. There is a big pad of bandaging on your hand, and it’s hard to make sense of what you’re feeling. Whimpering in panic, you frantically count your fingers. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Your ring finger is gone–and your diamond with it. 

Somehow in the darkness, the room spins, and you let out a scream. 

No one comes, and with nothing better to do, you cry alone in the dark.

John. 

You pray that he’s alright. You know that so long as there’s breath left in his body, he will hunt for you. It’s only a matter of time…if you can survive long enough for him to find you.

That’s when you remember the necklace you’d been wearing under your shirt when you went out for your ride. The gold lavalier he’d gifted you for Christmas. With clumsy fingers you grope for the chain, and breathe a sigh of relief when you find it still hanging there. You feel for the little pearl dangling at the base of the narcissus pendant. 

John had given you a choice. He’d told you that day that there was a micro-tracker inside the faux pearl, and that if you were wearing the necklace, he would know where you were. But you don’t know how long it’s been, or if your captors will allow you to keep this bauble. 

With shaking fingers you bend the soft gold jump ring to remove the little pearl from the larger pendant, and swallow it down. 

Come find me, John. 

With a strangely detached resignation, you just know he’s going to kill them all.

 ***

You’re not sure how much time goes past, before they come for you. Two big, Italian-accented men with rough features and very fine suits open a door and flip on a light, nearly blinding you after so long in the pitch black. You don’t fight them, when they tell you to come with them. 

There is no point. 

All you have to do is bide your time. 

You follow them down a narrow hallway, and you realize that you are on a boat. An expensive one. You feel the steady sway of waves beneath your feet, a weird feeling that might go to your head if you don’t get some fresh air soon. 

You are finally able to get a look at your hand. You resemble a mummy, but the wrapping is very neatly done. A professional job even, perhaps, though it aches like a motherfucker. You wonder if you can talk someone into a pain pill. 

Probably wishful thinking, considering. 

Your hand looks strange, without that finger, but maybe because you are so used to looking at John’s, it does not bother you quite as much as it should. 

Or maybe, you’re in shock, and still feeling weird from your crash and whatever it was they injected in you.  

Or maybe…you’re just so dead certain of the retribution coming their way that you find this injury laughable, in comparison. 

How could anyone be so stupid? 

The answer to that question is answered for you as the nattily-dressed thugs lead you up a steep set of stairs, into a luxurious dining area enclosed by windows all around. 

Dante d’Antonio sits at the head of the high-polished walnut table, GQ-cover ready in a pressed white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, looking smug and sure of himself as a Roman emperor upon his throne. 

This fucking kid. 

“Buonasera, y/n.” 

“Signor.” 

One of the toughs pulls out a chair for you, but spoils the illusion of manners when he forcibly pushes you down into it. After your training with Mariko, you think of three ways in which you could have used that close contact to hurt him–but you don’t. 

You can tell through the darkened windows that you are out to sea, god knows where with no lights in the distance. You have to bide your time. 

You notice one of the bodyguards standing behind Dante sports a nice bandage across his nose. The look he pays you is less than kind, and you guess he must have been the one who took your helmet to the face. 

There is quite a feast set out upon the table. Gilded crystal, china, and silver, the whole nine yards. Though your stomach aches with hunger, you don’t dare touch any of the sundries. Dante just stares at you, waiting, you suppose, for tears or begging or a tirade of questions. But you keep your cool, waiting. You’ve learned from John that silence can be way more unsettling than idle threats.

He tries to mask his annoyance, but it’s written all over his fine features when he sits up in his chair, leaning towards you. “That was quite a little chase you gave my boys. How are you feeling?” He looks pointedly at your hand, obviously craving a reaction. 

You shrug, looking down at your missing digit. “A little lighter on the left side,” you muse, winning a sneer. 

“Forgive us. Usually we are not so barbaric, but we had to let your fiancé know that we’re serious. He’s a little thick headed, when it comes to these things.” 

He makes it all sound so reasonable. 

“I see.” You lift an eyebrow. “Serious about what, exactly?” 

Dante, however, goes off on his own little tangent. “You know, my mother never told me the identity of my true father? I think she wanted me to believe I came about like a little god, sprung from her skull like Athena, or maybe like the immacolata concezione. Ah, but my mother was no virgin. That I know.” 

You think it’s a little odd to be sitting here at the table speculating with this man about his dead mother’s sex life, but maybe it’s just your ingrained puritanical American ethos that you can never quite seem to totally shake.  

“I…imagine it was hard, not having a father around,” you offer.

He waves that off as though it was a stupid thing to say. 

“I lacked for nothing. I loved my uncle Santino very much. Something else I owe your John for.” 

You start to lose some of your cool as you try to reason with his circular logic. It gives you whiplash. 

“Your uncle literally caused your mother’s death. Isn’t that what you’re so mad about?”

He makes a so-so motion with his beautifully manicured hand, smirking at you. “You know, when I was a boy, the adults around me spoke of John Wick like he was a god of Death. My mother couldn’t keep the fondness from her voice, when his name was upon her lips. I think a part of me hoped that he was my real father in those days. So foolish.”  

You blink at this–for the life of you, you cannot tell where the fuck this kid is going with all this. It dawns on you that maybe he’s not just infuriatingly entitled and poisoned by hubris, but also maybe, a little mad. 

That does not bode well for you at all.  

“If he knew…I’m sure he would have tried to do right by you.” You think about how badly young Jardani wanted to be a father with his ballerina. Would the older, more calloused John Wick have felt the same?

Dante laughs like you’ve said something exceptionally stupid. “My mother was practically a queen. She would not have borne the seed of a dirty zingaro peasant like John Wick.” 

You sit back in your chair, shocked by the blistering remark, though maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. All thoughts of keeping your cool fly out the window as you fire back, “I hope that someday, someone’s going to wash out your filthy fucking mouth.” 

The bandaged bodyguard makes a threatening move to cross the room to you, but Dante holds up a hand, smirking. You suppose he won, finally getting a rise out of you. 

It didn’t make him any less of a piece of shit. 

Gritting your teeth, you look around. The boat is moving fast over the waves, but you can’t really see anything. You’ve got to hand it to this young man. He’s succeeded in talking you in circles. 

“So…what is it you want, exactly?” 

“I want John Wick dead, of course,” he sneers. “You are the bait. Is this not obvious to you?” 

You look at him across the table for a long beat. 

“What do you think you gain exactly, by taking such a risk?” 

The young man sighs, massaging his temples. “Dio mio. He soiled the honor of my family! Killing my mother was a grave insult. I cannot suffer him to live.” 

“Aren’t you…aware of what happened, when the High Table tried to kill him?” 

Again, he makes that dismissive gesture, and then he grins at you like a wolf. “Ah, but they did not have you. What will John Wick give, to see his lady love go free?”

Maybe you are a little thick. When the logic catches up with you, your blood turns to ice in your veins. 

The answer, you fear, is a lot.

Shrugging, you hold up your mutilated hand. “Don’t know. I’m kind of damaged goods now.”

Dante just smirks at you. “There are worse things we could have cut off.” 

Ugh. 

“Yeah. Thanks?” 

This actually wins you a laugh. “You know…the man who kills John Wick will be a legend amongst our kind? What better way for the new capo dei capi to prove his power? No one will dare challenge me.”

“What about…the bosses in charge now?” You think about the two older gentlemen who you’d met at the negotiations table at the Continental. One of whom, whose finger you broke. 

“Oh. I have plans for them. John Wick is going to kill them for me.” 

You blink, wondering how he managed to frame the capi for your disappearance. You have a feeling your missing finger comes into play somehow. 

Someone’s been reading too much Mario Puzo. 

You’re smart enough not to say that aloud too. 

This reminds you of the end of the Godfather, when Michael Corleoni kills everyone who ever insulted his family in one fell swoop to prove to everyone that he’s not fucking around. It was a great twist in the book. In real life, however…you think he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

If this brat intends to rise to the highest office of the Camorra…it will take more than killing a retired if legendary assassin to cement his powerbase. 

Your control regained, you say nothing in response, and he gets bored, waving you away. “Take her back,” he gripes. Again, the bodyguard with the nose gear moves towards you, but again Dante waves him off again. “Not you, Luca. You might get carried away, and I need her in good health.” He grins at you. “In case we need to cut something else off to make our point.”

The man in question glares down at you, and kudos where kudos is due: he succeeds in scaring the snot out of you. Gooseflesh raises down your arms; uneasiness hardens like a ball of ice in your belly. 

“He’s a little cross, after what you did to his nose. But that’s what he gets for underestimating John Wick’s woman, eh?”

You press your lips, smart enough not to bait either of them any more. 

“You can thank Luca for your finger. Doesn’t he do nice work?” You glare up at Luca, but keep silent, and Dante sniggers. “So, behave yourself, or I’ll let Luca have his way. Andare.” 

One of the bodyguards who brought you takes your shoulder, leading you back down below. You’re a little disappointed you don’t get to eat any of that beautiful food. 

You guess he notices the glint of gold around your neck–quick as a cutpurse, he snatches the fine chain and breaks it, paying you a nasty smile before pushing you back into your tiny little cabin and locking it behind you.

As sorry as you are to lose the cherished necklace, you are so glad you swallowed your tracker. You hope that doesn’t cause you a problem later…but it just might save your life. 

Cold, hungry, and you suppose a little seasick, you settle back into your little closet of a berth. You sit on your bed with your fucked up hand and think to yourself that when John descends on Dante and his cronies with all the fury of the apocalypse…you won’t feel sorry for them at all.

—

all chapters

*zingaro - gypsy, offensive usage *capo dei capi - boss of bosses, the head honcho, the biggest cheese

[impala-dreamer]

Rivers & Roads Away

A Tracker Story

Russell Shaw x Reader

2,345 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Romance and Leaving

For @jacklesversebingo 2024 “By the way, I’m not wearing any underwear”

If you haven't seen the show, this is still good. Just imagine a sexy drifter... lol

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

At first, he was joking. It was just something people said when things were becoming too intense, when chemicals were mixing and alcohol was flowing. When nerves were high and passion more so. But, after a few hours, she knew he was right: he would, in fact, be the death of her. Or at the very least, he’d haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

She knew absolutely nothing about him beyond his name and the striking beauty of his green eyes. She didn’t know where he was from or where he was going; didn’t ask about his family, what he did for money, or whether there was a Mrs. Shaw. She assumed there wasn’t, as he didn’t seem the type to be bothered with anything so traditional as wedding vows or staying in one place for too long.

Knowing so little about the man in her bed wasn't unusual for her. She’d had plenty of casual affairs that were little more than drunken tangos and awkward goodbyes. But this was different. This wasn’t just a roll in the hay and a number jotted down on a bar napkin. He was different. She felt different with him.

Four days ago, she’d caught his eye while pushing through an unusually dense Thursday night bar crowd. Sweating from the heat, mascara smudged, and hair a mess, she fought her way to the counter and waved at the bartender, who ignored her.

“He’s an idiot,” Russell commented behind his beer. The long neck amber bottle was perched on the edge of his plump bottom lip and he spoke with a road-weary voice.

Y/N turned to see him take a sip and stared a moment too long as he tipped his head back for a deep swallow. His hair was long, skirting the collar of his worn canvas jacket, his throat was covered in a slowly graying dark beard, and his lashes were as long as she’d ever seen. It was hard to pry her eyes away but she managed to contain herself.

“Excuse me?”

He set the beer down and hunched over a bit as he settled back into place. He didn’t look over at her but said again, “He’s an idiot.”

Intrigued, Y/N moved a bit closer. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Green eyes turned to her and she swore they were flecked with gold.

“Only an idiot would ignore a gorgeous woman like you.”

Trying to hide her blushing smile was harder than usual as his eyes traipsed down her body. She bit down into her bottom lip and tried to play it cool.

“Well now I know you’re not from around here,” she said, forcing herself to turn away from his gaze and attempt to flag down the bartender once more.

“Why’s that?”

She laughed and looked back at him over her shoulder. “No townie has made me blush in forever.”

Russell nodded and let out a short laugh. “Shame,” he teased, lifting the bottle to his lips. “They’re missin’ out on quite a sight.”

Ignored again by the barkeep, Y/N gave up and turned to the gorgeous stranger. She rested her elbow on the sticky bartop and leaned against the old wood, her hip popped and curves on display should he desire a peek. Of course, he did, and she felt every flicker of his eyes as they savored her offering.

“You wanna keep hitting on me or you gonna buy me a drink already?” she asked, puckering her painted lips just enough to give him dangerous ideas.

Russel licked his lip and grinned. “Can’t I do both?”

The wet sheen on his mouth was captivating.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “I still don’t have a drink…”

He held her gaze for a moment, digging deep into her eyes and holding her hostage. When his mouth tweaked in a sly half-smile, she knew she was taking him home.

Russell stood up and snapped twice toward the bartender who, amazingly, came running.

“Another beer for me,” he said, “and…”

Y/N ignored the bartender and kept her focus on Russell. “Whiskey, Neat.”

He smiled and nodded in approval. “Woman after my own heart.”

She shrugged. “I’m not fooling around.”

He sucked in a quick breath as if she’d knocked him off balance. “And a whiskey for the lady.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course…”

They drank a toast to strangers and Y/N downed her whiskey in a seasoned swallow.

Impressed, Russell leaned close. “Wow. You really aren’t fooling around are you?”

Y/N met him halfway, close enough to smell the beer on his breath and the Old Spice on his throat. “Never.”

He pursed his lips and tiny dimples popped above his mouth, nearly melting her right there.

“Oh, and by the way,” she whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Russell smirked. “That’s funny. Neither am I.”

The weekend flew by too quickly.

Not an inch of her small apartment was left unbaptized by their lovemaking. They had all but destroyed her bedroom, christened the sofa, and used up all the hot water more than once. Much to her dismay, Y/N also found out that despite her pornographic fantasies, the kitchen counter was no place to fuck.

That bruise would stick around longer than he would.

Sunday night found Y/N catching her breath by the single bedroom window, looking out on the rainy street with a contented smile. She hadn’t felt so good in forever. Russell felt strangely safe for being a stranger, and she’d loved every second in his arms. She sighed softly and traced a raindrop with her finger, following its path down the glass to the paint-chipped sill.

“You ever race them?”

She smiled wider. “Race them?”

Fresh from a shower, Russell perched on the edge of the messy bed and dragged his boots from beneath.

“My brother and I used to do that as kids,” he said with a little laugh. “He picked one drop, I picked another, and… well, I always won.”

Y/N turned away from the rain and leaned against the window frame, watching as he tugged on his left boot. “I’m sure you did.”

Damp hair fell into his eyes as he bent to lace his shoe and Y/N felt a strong desire to tug it through her fingers again. While the fantasy was perfect, reality was hitting her hard.

“You going somewhere?” she asked, pushing off of the wall to close some of the space between them.

Without looking up, Russell laced the other boot with a practiced blur of long fingers. “Got some shit to take care of.”

She knew it wasn’t going to last forever, that their tryst was just that: a passing moment in time. And yet, it stung a little bit to hear that he was leaving so soon.

Trying to sound unphased and flirtatious, she sucked her teeth and moved in closer. “You coming back?”

Russell took a deep breath and let it out in a full-body sigh. His broad shoulders fell and his chest sank. Sitting up, he rubbed his palms down over his jeans and gave her a half smile. “Will you hate me if I say I don’t know?”

Y/N swallowed hard and took a final step. Their legs touched and she pushed her knee between his. The motion was far from unwanted and Russell’s hands were drawn to her, slowly sliding up her naked thigh.

“Yes,” she replied, staring down at him with a hunger he’d grown to love. “Forever.”

As his hand moved to her waist, she spread her legs and sank down, straddling his left thigh. The thick muscle tensed beneath her and she rocked her hips gently. Russell’s eyes glazed over as he stared at her, feeling her pussy nearly dripping through his jeans.

It was going to be hard to leave, but the road was calling him. The clock was ticking.

She kissed him gently. A soft, open-mouthed kiss that shut his eyes and drew his hands higher, tugged his arms around her. She was so warm, so fucking soft and delicious he was losing himself again.

He hadn’t meant to stay all weekend, but she was too tempting. It was too comfortable to be with her, wasting away the days in bed and toying with each other’s pleasure. She was incredible.

“Will you think of me every night for the rest of your life?” she whispered, pushing a delicate hand through his long hair. She pulled just enough to raise his chin and send a tingle down his spine.

He sucked in a quick breath and nodded. “Yes,” he confessed, echoing her truthfully. “Forever.”

Her kiss deepened and he gave in. A few more hours wouldn’t hurt.

Y/N gasped when he jerked his knee upwards, pushing his thigh against her pussy. She bit down on his plump bottom lip, tugging at it as she pulled back.

“Don’t go yet,” she breathed, rolling her body against him. Her breasts smashed into his chest and her softness drove him wild.

Russell’s strong arms curled around her; his right hand braced the back of her head. He licked into her mouth and savored the sweet moan she let loose.

“Not yet,” he agreed, leaving the rivers and roads to await his return.

She smiled against his lips and shifted in his lap, tossing her leg over his other leg to ride him properly. He hissed at the pressure she was encouraging as his cock grew against the hard zipper. She rubbed her panty-covered sex against the bulge and his fingers tightened in her hair; his blunt nails dug into her hip.

“Want you one more time,” he growled, firm hands roaming her body for the final time, mapping her curves in his mind.

“Just once more,” she teased as she leaned back and shoved at his chest, knocking him over.

He sank into the blankets and she attacked, climbing over him and kissing her way across his freckled face. She sucked on his ear and he palmed her tits. She bit down gently on his throat and he pushed a hand between her legs. He tapped her pulsing clit with his middle finger and she sat up, damn near ready to explode. In a fluid motion, she pulled her shirt away and he stared up in awe. She ran her hands down her chest, plucked at her nipples, chewed her lip as she held his gaze.

It was enough to shatter him.

Russell shot up suddenly and held her tight as he flipped over, pinning her to the bed. She laughed at the rush of fear and arousal shooting through her system. Before she could settle, he was there, forcing his hot tongue between her lips, distracting her while he tugged his jeans open and kicked them down. They hung from his ankles, stuck around his tall boots.

Y/N tugged at his hair again, pulled hard enough to earn a deep-throated moan that vibrated into her. Aching, she spread her legs around him and looked up into his emerald eyes, wanting the moment to last forever and needing him to move all the same. She let out a breath that he stole with a kiss, closed her eyes as his long lashes brushed against her cheek, smiled as his hair swept over her forehead. He was beautiful, his touch was divine, and he was leaving too soon.

They both held their breath as he tore aside her thin panties, soaking in the delicious anticipation. He nudged the tip of his cock against her wet lips and every drop of blood in his body surged down to fill him up. The ache was instant and incredible. He rocked his hips gently and pushed inside only an inch, watching the minute changes that played across her face. She was gorgeous, his damned-near perfect match, and he didn’t want to leave.

“Stop teasing me,” she whispered, craning her neck to chase his lips.

Grinning, he let her have a quick taste before pushing in fully. Her jaw dropped in a silent, pleasured moan and he licked at her tongue, pulling her back for a moment as he settled into her warmth.

“You’re amazing,” he said, shifting to lock his arms aside her head on the bed. “So fucking good.”

Her pussy tightened around him, swallowing him just as tightly and as perfectly as her mouth had just hours before. His eyes closed and he set a pace, slowly driving their pleasure higher. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make her whimper one more time.

He loved the sound she made just before the filthy noises broke free, before she cursed and clawed at his shoulders. It was a clipped, hard whine in the back of her throat, a frustrated grunt that meant she was holding everything back, afraid to be anything but ladylike and modest.

It drove him wild when she let go.

Y/N clung to his big arms, adoring the flex of his biceps and the look of concentration on his handsome face. The lines by his eyes deepened; his lips pursed beneath his beard. She held back, waiting for the deep snap of his hips that told her he was lost in the feeling, in her.

She loved the glazed look in his eyes when he finally sank into it.

It was amazing how they’d only known each other for a short while and yet they knew every inch, every dip and freckle, every sensitive spot.

It was so easy between them and yet the goodbye was so hard.

She held onto him a little too long.

He kissed her a little too hard.

She made him promise to call if he ever made his way back to town.

He swore she was the best weekend of his life.

The road was calling and Russell answered, watching in the rearview until her image was a faded shape he’d never forget.

Taillights disappeared and Y/N knew she’d never see him again except in her dreams.

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[fancyfeathers]

Au where Damian cuts robin (nightengale) darling only for him to find out that (unknown to her) she is a demigod daughter of nyx (is she still Harvey's idk), who is furious cause that's her kid how dare you! (The myths say she's a real protective mother) Luckily for him nyx lost alot of power since the fall of her pantheon, enough for him to make it out alive.

Now does he give up like a sane rational person or does his resolve strengthen.

(Also does he tell his family his ass got beat by a long thought to be dead goddess)

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

Ya so while I can’t answer this ask as originally intended because of my rules, I can put a spin on this because I never did say who was her mother.

Say let’s make her mother a vigilante who based her persona off of Nyx. Having kept it a secret in her marriage to Harvey and the two having ending their marriage due to him becoming Two Face, not because she hated him. Then she trusted Bruce to look after her daughters while she continued to work as a vigilante, following a lead to another country.

Her oldest daughter, Jason’s darling knows what their mom is doing but for now Damian’s darling does not know, she was a good mom and she doesn’t want her job to ruin her youngest daughter’s perspective of her. So Damian’s darling thinks she is on a really long business trip because the company her works for needed someone to deal with trade with another company in a different country, that was all a lie, there was no company, just criminals and the vigilante targeting them.

Damian’s darling calls her mom every night after patrol at the same time, so when Bruce calls her nearly an hour later she knows something is wrong. Then when Bruce tells her what happened, a member of the League of Assassins targeted her daughter and carved something into her back, oh she is livid.

She decides to make a quick pit stop in her mission, deciding to pay a visit to a small rich town in Egypt where it appears to be somewhat of a travel destination but it hides a base for the League of Assassins. She goes under the guise of a tourist, walking the streets of the town to scope things out, and then she sees a young man who perfectly matches the description she was given. She accidentally bumps into Damian before continuing on, but she has been a vigilante longer than he’s been alive, she knows how to place a tracker without the best assassin noticing.

So then later that night she goes out in her gear, and when she finds him Damian almost looks innocent, perfectly calm and sitting in a garden, reading during the warm desert night. Even if he could swallow his pride and call for help none will come when she is throwing him to the ground, she already knocked out every single guard.

She will pin him to the ground, strangling him while screaming at him about what he has done, so it’s only fair… an eye for an eye.

While she has no idea he is Bruce’s son, she knows he hates the Batman, so she carves that symbol into his back before knocking him out cold.

Damian doesn’t even have to tell his own mother what will happen, she will drag his body to wherever Talia is and throw his bleeding and bruised body at her feet. Now I imagine Talia and her do not get along already, probably having bumped heads before, but even Talia has to acknowledge the truth when she is told…

“An eye for an eye… your son hurt my daughter so I did it in turn. He should not have done something of he couldn’t take it himself.”

Damian is enraged when he wakes up and hears Talia let her get away but he is quickly reminded he has other problems to deal with like having to tell his grandfather of his failure.

[beforewedriftawayy]

Dhaka took a part of you you’ll never get back. Home doesn’t feel the same—especially not with Bucky back in your orbit, and Thor closer than ever. Healing was never going to be easy. Not when loyalty, love, and pain pull you in opposite directions.

~ Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes ~ "I wasn't myself when I lost her, but I am now-and it might be too late."

~ Chris Hemsworth as Thor Odinson ~ "I swore to protect her. I never knew I'd have to protect myself from losing her."

~ You as Jadeyn Rainn (OC) ~ "It wasn't the mission that broke me. It was what I came home to."

18+ (MDNI)

~warfare~ (part 1)

3:32am. Dhaka, Bangladesh. You felt his eyes on you, lingering. Watching your every breath. Lifting your head to meet his gaze took everything. Your body was wrecked, hollowed out by seven relentless months in Dhaka’s warzone. Torn down piece by piece. He was slumped in the chair, right shoulder dislocated, hanging lifelessly against his ribs. His left hand supported his head, eyes low and glassy in the glow of the streetlight slicing in through the cracked window blinds. That beam of silver light danced across the dried blood that painted one side of his face. It flaked where it had dried, broken in places where his skin had cracked from heat, from impact. You both looked like corpses. Ghosts of who you used to be. You’d been waiting six hours.

Six hours since Thor sent the signal. Since SHIELD confirmed your coordinates after two hundred and twelve days deep undercover with no trackers, no contact, no fallback plan. The extraction was finally happening. You should have been relieved. But instead, there was a silence between you that felt louder than any firefight.

Now, it was time to go home.

You made it out alive. Both of you. But at what cost?

He was still looking at you. And you saw it—just beneath the bruising and blood—hesitation. Like some part of him didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want this to end. As if, somehow, this war had become safer than whatever waited for you on the other side of it. Routine had a way of feeling like comfort when pain was the constant.

You were looking back at him.

And you felt it too.

That feeling of home? He is home.

He grunted as he pushed himself up from the chair, staggering slightly as he crossed the small, dusty room. His boots dragged just enough to echo against the cracked concrete floor. Then, he dropped beside you with a solid thud, his back hitting the wall with the weight of all you'd both endured.

Shoulder to shoulder.

You felt his warmth. Not just physical—but something deeper. Anchoring. Familiar. He tilted his head toward you, eyes heavy but focused, as you turned to meet them. You could see the emotion there. Not just exhaustion—something else. Unspoken. He looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense anymore.

Your gaze flicked down to his lips, then back up.

“You gonna be okay when we get back?” His voice was gravel—dry and worn, like it hurt just to speak. You knew what he meant... Bucky. “Ye—yeah.” You weren’t even convincing yourself.

And he knew. He knew you were lying. Knew you were scared. Knew part of you wanted to keep fighting—not for the mission, but because the numbness had become easier than going home. He could read you like a book. And you knew, somehow, that he would never stop reading.

The job was done. There was no reason to stay. Not here. Not after what you’d both done. But he’d stay anyway. If you asked. No questions. Just the two of you, somewhere new. You’d be safer with him. Safer than with Bucky. You didn’t need to explain it.

“You know if you—” he paused, swallowing the weight in his throat. “—if you didn’t want to go back… we don’t have to. I’d stay. Wherever you go.” There was no performance in his words. No grand gesture. Just honesty, stripped down and scarred like the rest of him.

You looked at him.

And for a moment, you thought about it. You really thought about it.

You and him. Leaving it all behind. No more running. No more blood. Just quiet. Just peace.

But the team... they were family. Your family. His too. You couldn’t walk away from them. Not like this. You’d both lost too much to lose that too.

Still—he saw it. Saw it in your face. That second was enough. Enough to know you thought about it. Thought about him. “I know,” you whispered, a soft smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

He nodded once, turning his gaze forward. Then slowly, he dropped his arm across yours on the floor, bloodied fingers gently finding yours. You wrapped around him without hesitation, holding tight. A shared sigh. Muscles unwinding. Your head eased onto his shoulder. His head dipped to rest on yours. His thumb traced light, aimless circles across your skin.

You smiled, cheek brushing his shirt.

And he felt it. He knew. And in that fragile moment, he wished the world would just stop. Just a few hours. A few more days like this. He didn’t ever want to move again.

But the ground vibrated beneath you. The windows flickered. Light broke through the cracked blinds of the eight-by-eight back office in the skeleton of an abandoned garage.

You knew that sound. The low hum of a Quinjet.

Both of you jolted alert. Heads forward. Hands still locked.

“You ready?” You didn’t want to ask it. But you had to. You pushed off the ground, steadying yourself, reaching out with your free hand to him. You adjusted your grip in his hand—this time, a firm hold around his thumb, ready to pull him up.

He stumbled, right arm limp at his side, eyes fluttering with the effort. You let go, looped his good arm around your shoulders, and locked your own arm tightly around his waist. Step by shaky step, you limped together toward the door, the quinjet’s light pulsing in time with your heart.

You stopped at the threshold. Steadying him. Holding him up. The jet hovered in the narrow street, light spilling like a sunrise. Engines flared, wind kicking up dirt and ash through the broken garage door. You kept your balance, holding him up, your heart thudding against your ribs.

You looked up at him.

Through the grime and blood, a clean line had cut across his cheek—a single tear glistening.

You squeezed him tighter.

He bent his head and pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Let’s go home,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

Home?

You already were. You were with him.

—--------------------------------------------------------------- 6:37pm. Avengers Compound. New York. The Quinjet rumbled softly beneath your feet as the familiar skyline of New York came into view. The tension that had settled in your chest ever since boarding hadn’t eased, not even with Thor’s presence beside you. You had both survived Dhaka, but surviving home was something else entirely.

It all happened fast. Off the quinjet. Straight to med-bay. No time for words. No time for reunions.

You looked worse than you felt. Seven months of dirt and blood, bruises and silence, had become your second skin. The two of you were more scar tissue than flesh. But you were alive. Somehow.

Happy and Fury didn’t say a word. One look and they stepped aside. Let the med team usher you in like walking ghosts.

Vitals. Bloodwork. Stitches. None of it hurt. You didn’t feel a thing.

Numb.

You sat on the edge of the exam bed, still in your torn gear. The nurse worked quietly, gently wiping down your arms, trying to get through the layers of dried blood. You barely noticed. Your eyes stared past her, unfocused.

You’d been avoiding it.

Bucky.

His name had been echoing in your head the entire ride back. You didn’t even know if he was here. You didn’t want to know.

You weren’t ready for that yet. Not the confrontation. Not the apology. Not the grief.

It had been seven months since everything fell apart. Since what he did. Since you took the next mission and Dhaka swallowed you whole. You didn’t know what was left between you—if anything. You only knew that the thought of seeing him again made your chest ache in ways the battlefield never could.

You just prayed Thor didn’t see him first.

“You always did make a dramatic entrance.”

The voice caught you off guard—warm, familiar. You looked up slowly.

Tony.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a half-smile on his face—but his eyes were softer than you remembered. Older. Worn down by waiting.

You blinked, trying to stay composed. Failing.

He crossed the room in three long steps and pulled you in without warning, arms wrapping around you with that particular kind of Stark affection—tight, clumsy, real. You let yourself fall into it. Breathe it in. The clean scent of aftershave and oil and the faint burn of whiskey. A sense of home.

“You scared the hell out of us,” he muttered, his voice muffled in your shoulder. “Glad you’re back, Rainn.”

“Glad to be back,” you whispered.

He pulled away slowly, keeping a hand on your shoulder as he sat beside you on the edge of the bed. You noticed how carefully he looked you over—searching for something in your face.

“He's still here, y’know.” “Bucky.”

You looked away.

“He kept his distance. Got the help he needed. He’s himself again.”

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. Tony didn’t push. He never did when it mattered.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise. You know I wouldn’t let him back here if I wasn’t sure.”

You swallowed hard. Eyes stinging. Not ready for that conversation yet. Not ready to face him. Not ready for all the facts just yet. “Where’s Thor?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Med bay next door. He’s being stubborn about the sling. Go figure.” Tony smirked.

Then the door clicked open.

Thor stepped in, taller than ever despite the fresh bandage across his shoulder. His blond hair was still damp and stained red, but his eyes went straight to yours.

“You’re alright?” he asked.

“I’m alright.”

You met him halfway. Not a hug. Just a brush of shoulders as he passed, the quiet exchange of energy you both understood. He gave Tony a respectful nod before settling into the chair near your bed, exhaling like he could finally let go.

Tony looked between the two of you.

“You both did good. Real good.” He paused. His voice shifted—just a little. “I know what that kind of mission does to people. You carried it.”

He had no idea. No idea.

He stood, nodding once, stepping back toward the door.

“Take a minute. Or ten. Everyone’s waiting. But they’ll wait a little longer.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a small nod of gratitude.

Tony glanced over his shoulder as he left.

“We’ll talk more later. You and me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

And then he was gone.

You turned toward Thor.

He lingered by your side on the bed. The hum of the medbay seemed to fade into the background as the two of you sat quietly, a fragile silence stretching between you. You caught him staring—not at you, but through you—as if his mind was wrestling with something far heavier than the wounds on his body.

“We’ll be okay” you said softly, breaking the stillness. He blinked, the storm in his blue eyes momentarily clouded by doubt. His strong jaw tensed, and for a heartbeat, he seemed unsure how to answer.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. But when your eyes met, you saw something else too.

He reached over without a word and took your hand again, like he had in that broken garage in Dhaka. You leaned your head back, eyes on the ceiling.

And for the first time since you left…you exhaled.

You were home. Next Part Wattpad

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Rolling in the Deep

Prequel to Make You Feel My Love 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, blood, miscarriage. Warnings may not be exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

Summary: You try to get out.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Note: Please leave any thoughts or comments or reblogs or anything you like!

You take the suitcase out of the closet. Already packed, waiting, ready to go at just the right time. That moment has come. Bucky’s gone. A mission out of the country.

It’s not just the bag. You have a plan. You’ll leave your phone there. When you get downtown, you’ll find a public bathroom to do a sweep of your clothing for any other trackers. You have cross-country tickets. You don’t need a passport for those, it will be harder for him to find you.

You’ll disembark at a midway point and do something about your hair. A change that obscures your trail. From there, you’ll take a bus and buy a train ticket at the first major city. You just need to lose yourself in the shuffle of life outside your tiny world.

You check the pouch strapped around your stomach. Cash. Enough to get you far away. You’ll figure it out from there. You lift the bag and near the door. You hold your breath. The house is ominously silent. The only witness to your flight.

You look out into the hall. You take a breath and carry the compact luggage cautiously along, steps softened by the long runner rug. Your hand goes to your stomach. It’ll be okay. You’re almost there. You just need to get outside.

As you near the top of the staircase, a shadow appears in the doorway closest to you. You take a step back, stunned by the unexpected figure. No. No. It can’t be. You know you can’t lie, he can hear your heartbeat.

“Steve,” you gasp and drop the bag.

You stand in a deadlock, you caught and him knowing. You swallow and repeat his name again. He tuts and puts his hand on the door frame.

“Why?” He utters. You should ask the same. Bucky’s little lap dog, his left hand, another enabler.

“You know why…” you say crisply.

He rolls his eyes and steps into the hall. You flinch as he grabs your arm. You wriggle and try to rip yourself away. You know it’s futile but your pride makes you fight.

“You’re going to let him hurt me. Again,” you sneer as he marches you backward.

He doesn’t respond as he nearly bowls you over. He gives a small shove so you stumble back into the bedroom. You catch your balance and stare at him. You knew before you tried it wouldn’t work. You don’t even know why you put so much effort in.

“You ask for it,” Steve grabs the door and snaps it shut.

You rush forward and hit the wood. You holler through it as you bring your fist against it, over and over, “Steve. You’re not like him. You can let me go. You can save me. Aren’t you supposed to save people… Captain?”

His footfalls pause not far from the other side. A sigh puffs loudly and he clears his throat. He continues on, the stairs groaning beneath his descent. You back up and cradle your stomach, the bump hidden by the loose fabric. I’m sorry, you look down at your shirt, I wanted better for you.

💔

Dread. That emotion has coloured much of your relationship with Bucky. 

At first, that dread that this man with the dreamy blue eyes and chiseled jaw wouldn’t like you.

Dread again when you sat on the cusp of your wedding day, stressing about everything that could go wrong.

And when it all went wrong and it was the fear of his temper, of his fist. Of how you might unwittingly bring out the worst of him. That part of himself you didn’t see until the last day of your honeymoon.

Now you wallow in it. You sit against the door, waiting. This is it. You know this doesn’t end well for you. You knew that when you packed the suitcase.

The dread twists in your chest, threatening to choke you as you hear movement below. The front door and the exchange of low voices. Silence, and then the unmistakable, discernible trad of his step. You know it anywhere, you’ve learned to listen for it, to recognise it.

You will not face this on your knees. You stand and face the door. You try to shake out your fear but that you cannot escape as much as you could not get away from this man. You take a deep breath as his slow progress creaks down the hallway, his weight shifting down the floorboards.

You stare at the handle as it turns, the lock sliding back. No one would ever know it but if they did, they would indeed think it rather odd that the lock is on the outside. They might even guess why.

You’re speechless and Bucky looks much the same. You see the anger pulsing in his forehead as his glare scalds you. As it all boils under the surface ready to bubble over. He is just deciding how he’ll let it come out. His lip twitches and his hand balls to a fist. Words or force, it doesn’t matter.

“Why can’t you just let me go?” You whisper.

His blue eyes flare and he takes a step forward. You retreat on your heels and he stops short. He sways as a shadow of hurt washes over his features.

“Why don’t you love me?” He grits.

You shake your head and cross your arms, “that’s the problems, Bucky, I do love you.”

He sighs, a deep exhale akin to a growl. His gaze falls and wanders over to the dresser. You wince as he stomps towards it and rips open the top drawer. It’s empty. He slams it and you cower as he faces you again.

“It’s true,” he sneers, “you were going to leave.”

You hang your head. Does he not see that you have no other option? That he has left you with no other choice. It is your life or no life at all. Whether you stayed or not, it would end like that.

“You–” he snarls and you cry out as he seizes the back of your neck.

He moves fast, faster than you can. You untangle your arms and reach back to claw at his forearm. He marches you down the hall as your feet bounce off the floor clumsily. You whine as his fingers curl into the tendons of your neck.

“Bucky, please, you’re hurting me–”

“You hurt me!” He hollers as he urges you to the top of the stairs.

“I… I never wanted to–”

“That’s all you’ve ever done,” he barks into your hair, sending hot breaths across your scalp. “You want to leave me? After all I did for you? After I loved you?”

“Bucky, I was scared–”

“Of what? I’ve protected you!”

“You!” Your squeeze his wrist as his metal fingers threaten to crush down to your spine, “I am terrified of you–”

“So you want to leave? You don’t want to talk?” He hisses as he pushes his head next to yours.

You look down the stairs as he hovers you on the top step. Your toes hang over the edge. You keep one hand on his forearm, the other clinging to the post beside you.

“I tried–”

“You want to go,” he snaps, swallowing loudly, “then… go.”

The last words are a gravelly whisper. He shoves you, throwing you off the step as you fall without obstacle. Your arms flail as he lets you go, as you try to catch yourself on anything. There is only air and then the harsh devastating crack of the first stair.

Your knees hit first and you shield your head against your uncontrollable plummet. Your chest hits next and you go ass over head, twisting around to bounce on your side, rolling and bumping over each step. Your foot flies out, hitting the banister as you hit the bottom and catches between the columns, the wood wrench your leg in the socket.

You stop, one leg bent unnaturally up as your foot stays hooked in the railing. Your breaths rattle as you lay strewn and broken. Agony coils around every part of you, burning most hotly at the base of your spine.

Bucky descends, a step at a time, each echoing ominously over you as you gulp and gasp for air. He looms over you and clicks his tongue as he bends to look you in the face.

“You fell, baby,” he shakes his head, “it’s a goddamn tragedy.”

You feel a churning in your pelvis, a hot pain in your stomach that makes you want to puke. You groan, vision speckling as you struggle just to lift a single finger. You close your eyes and shudder.

“Bucky…” you rest your hand over your stomach, “...the baby.”

[littlemourningstarr]

Not the Worst Night

Tim gets stuck with some sort of toxin derived from Ivy's old work, but at least Jason is there to whisk him away.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Tim Drake x Jason Todd

Tags: Frottage, established relationship, genderfluid Tim, drugging, the JayTim is consensual

Tim felt his blood broiling, inside his body, his very veins, as he pulled the needle from his arm, chucking it down onto the ground. The tip was stained with his blood, the vial still containg a trace of a liquid in a dark rose color- pinker than blood, a romantic's ideal color. He shuddered, wanted to crush it under his boot heel, but knew he couldn't. He'd need to take it back to the cave, have it analyzed, with his blood.

His stomach flipped, and for a moment nausea overtook him. He swallowed as spit pooled in his mouth, inhaling slowly through his nose. He needed to call this in- needed to get the traffickers he'd stopped and left restrained into GCPD custody- not that it would probably do much good. But he had to try.

And he needed Bruce to know they'd gotten their hands on something that most definitely once belonged to Ivy. She'd be royally pissed, that was for sure. Hells, maybe he should just call her-

"You responsible for the mess of bodies back there?" Tim spun quickly, body tense- but it was just Jason, his voice mechanical from his helmet. He was still straddling his bike- how the fuck hadn't Tim heard it?

He realized he could barely hear anything except his pulse straining in his head, pounding in his ears. His nausea had shifted to a tightness in his muscles, his belly cramping almost painfully, and he could feel heat and blood rushing down to his groin. Oh, no.

He must have looked pale- or flushed, Tim really didn't know- because Jason climbed off his bike, pulled his helmet off his head. His curls were tussled, wild, gorgeous, begging for Tim to tangle his fingers in them, to pull and yank until Jason was gasping, writhing-

Oh bloody fucking hells.

"You alright?"

Tim scrubbed his hands up over his face, trying to suck in a breath. He swore he was about to begin trembling, the desire inside him blooming like spring, heady like a fucking animal rut. "No," he admitted, and the moment he let his hands fall from his face Jason was there, reaching up to cup his face, tilting it, trying to examine it in the streetlamp light.

"Babygirl, talk to me," he whispered, and Tim melted, did tremble. This was still… new, with Jason. He hadn't quite gotten used to hearing the endearment, from him- the adoration, in his voice. He had never expected this. He hadn't expected there to be room in Jason's heart or life for the childhood crush Tim had been harboring for far too many years.

Tim swallowed thickly. "Traffickers had a case of drugs," he admitted, "tracker on the one that got away with it. His location should ping to the system- but they stuck me with something." He glanced down, and Jason reluctantly let go of him, crouched down and picked up the needle, examining it. "It feels like Ivy's work used to."

"Ivy- oh." Jason glanced up, and Tim turned his head away, clenched his hands into fists. He could keep himself together. It was what he did. Anyone else could fall apart, but not Tim Drake.

Jason straightened up, took the time to carefully tuck the needle away in a compartment on his belt, before he was holding out a hand.

"Give me your comm."

Tim reached for his ear, pulling the small bud out. Jason popped it into his own ear, pressed it. "Hello, hello who's up listening tonight?"

"What- Jason?" Tim could just hear Barbara's voice, she was speaking so loudly- shocked. "This is Tim's line!"

"Yup. I'm kidnapping him for a bit- very, very important work. Could you have someone follow up a tracker he set live on the system?" Tim couldn't hear Barbara respond now- she must have contained herself. He swayed a little- considered maybe he'd just pass out instead of falling into the fucking needful pile of a human he knew the drug wanted him to. At least he'd get an hour of sleep, then.

The team should just consider that a win.

"Yeah, and send someone to clean up a trafficking mess." Jason rattled off an address, before he was simply popping the comm out of his ear, offering it back to Tim. "Keep it off." Tim took it and simply stuffed the earpiece into a pocket of his belt, as Jason headed back for his bike. He grabbed his helmet, hopped on, and pulled it securely over his head, before revving the bike to life. "Now, c'mere," he said, voice mechanical again, oddly… alluring…

Tim hurried over to the bike, hopped on behind Jason and locked his arms around his solid waist. The bike took off into the streets, dancing between late night travelers on the road.

Tim pressed his cheek to Jason's back, between his shoulder blades, inhaled the sharp scent of gunpowder and leather. His cock was straining in his suit uncomfortably, as his hands splayed on Jason's belly. One slipped to his belt, gripped it tightly- and over the sound of the bike, Tim heard Jason yell, "Just a couple minutes babygirl, then I'll take care of you."

Tim believed him.

He managed to keep himself in check, when Jason stopped the bike and climbed off, offering an arm to steady Tim. The younger took it, dug his gloved fingernails into his jacket, as sweat pooled at the base of his spine uncomfortably. His heart was racing, his cheeks flushed, hot, as his cock was leaking now, begging for attention. Gods if Jason just looked at him right, he might come.

Maybe that would just fix this whole mess.

Jason got him up to his safe house- a well lived in one- but the moment the window was shut, he was ripping his helmet off, dropping it to the floor with a clatter so loud Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. Jason reached for him, pulled him close, ripping the mask from Tim's face and tossing it to the ground as well.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered, voice heavy, pulling from his chest. Tim bared his teeth, felt feral, could barely focus on anything except the heat radiating off Jason's body. He surged up, pressed his mouth in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss to Jason's as he grasped at the man's leather jacket. Jason grunted, as Tim's teeth nearly knocked his in the younger's excitement.

Tim was more coordinated than this. He was more controlled than this. But he couldn't bring himself to remind himself of that. All he wanted was to crawl inside Jason's skin and meat and bones.

Jason leaned back against the closed window, hands going for Tim's hips and jerking him close. He slipped a thigh between Tim's, and Tim rutted against it, whining into the kiss as his cock pressed inside his suit, getting the faintest ghost of friction. "Fuck," he breathed, as Jason's hands pushed his hips back, only to yank them forward, guiding him to grind against him.

"Yeah?" Jason asked, color blooming on his own tanned cheeks. "We can do that if you want."

Tim could have laughed. Instead he kissed Jason again, got his lower lip between his teeth and pinched. Jason mewled, the most un-Jason-like sound- so surprising that the first time he'd made it, one night with Tim, Tim had stopped dead in what he was doing.

Now it only drove him forward as he continued to ride Jason's thigh. His lover's hands left his hips, reached up for his hair and tangled the inky, lengthy locks around his fingers. "Harder," Jason mumbled into the kiss, and Tim pressed harder to the meat of his thigh, dug his teeth into his lip until he tasted blood.

Jason didn't seem to mind. He pulled at Tim's hair, jerked him from his mouth and forced his head back. He leaned in, nuzzled his neck, kissed at his jawline- couldn't get to much else with his damn suit in place. Tim cursed it as he shuddered, his balls tight and aching, his body wanting release.

A full body shudder wracked him, as Jason breathed out "yes, c'mon babygirl," and Tim came so suddenly it knocked the wind from him. He tugged at Jason's jacket, sagged against his thigh, let his predecessor support his weight as he panted, his cock pulsing cum into his underwear, his suit forcing it tight to his skin.

Jason released his hair a moment later, and before Tim could even catch his breath he was hoisting him up, tossing him over his shoulder, a hand cupping Tim's supple ass. Tim gave a surprised squeak, held onto the back of Jason's jacket and grimaced as his cum was already cooling, against his skin.

"Let's get you stripped and comfortable before you dive back into delirium." Jason was heading directly for his bedroom, and Tim couldn't argue. He'd very much like to be stripped of this fucking suit and his now sticky underwear- to be laid out and worshiped on Jason's bed.

The man was very good at worshiping, Tim had learned.

And even if this had twisted a thorn deep into the gut of his night, Tim figured there were plenty of worse outcomes. A night with Jason, he would readily admit, was always welcome.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 47/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Forty-Seven: Want

Bruce stood at the table, waiting for his hosts to sit. Talia’s father whispered something to her, and Talia nodded, smiling at Bruce as she replied in kind. Talia gestured with an open palm toward the food. “You should eat. I’m sure you were in for a fright earlier,” Talia whispered, “My father’s name is Ra’s. I don’t think I told you that before.” 

“What’s going to happen to me?” Bruce asked before taking a bite. 

Talia looked at her father. “No harm will come to you. You have my word… In fact, I want to explain something to you and once I explain, I would like to hear your decision,” Ra’s replied, “But first… We should enjoy our meal.” 

Bruce nodded. “Thank you for your hospitality… But, I have another question that simply cannot wait,” Bruce stated, “Were you the ones who insisted I be hunted for days on end? What did I do?” 

Talia opened her mouth to speak, but she quickly bowed her head and continued to eat. “I did. You were not supposed to be here, but I was impressed with how long you endured and avoided capture. These are some of my best fighters and trackers—. Bruce, what is your goal?” Ra’s asked. 

“To protect my parents at all costs,” Bruce answered, without hesitation. Talia looked up and smiled. 

**

Harvey lay on the floor behind his desk at work, and Gilda buttoned her blouse. “Gilda, I can’t believe we did that,” Harvey whispered as he wriggled back into his trousers. Gilda grinned and pulled her brush out of her purse. 

“Can I be honest?” Gilda asked as she fanned herself. Harvey nodded. “I had a lot of fun.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart condition,” Harvey whispered as he buttoned his shirt. He sat up and started tucking his shirt in his pants, leaning forward to let Gilda brush his hair back into place. His phone rang, and he reached up, quickly answering. “Hello?” 

“Harvey, are you in your office?” the current DA asked. 

“Yes. I was having lunch with my fiancée. Do you need some paperwork?” Harvey asked as he playfully brushed Gilda’s lip with his thumb. 

“Actually, no. My wife got something for you and Gilda to celebrate your engagement, and I was wondering if I could bring it to you before I forget,” he answered. Harvey looked at Gilda as she took his thumb into her mouth, and he swallowed hard. 

“Yeah. Sure. That’s so kind of you both. We’ll be here,” Harvey answered. Gilda pulled his hand away as she squinted at him. Harvey stood up with her, and they quickly gave each other the once-over before Harvey zipped up and buckled his belt. The DA hung up, and Harvey checked the phone before looking Gilda in the eye. “Redding’s wife got us a gift… Do you have my cologne in your—?” Gilda spritzed him before spritzing herself with her perfume. “Thank you.” 

“How do I look?” Gilda asked. Harvey spun her around. 

“So far out of my league it physically hurts,” Harvey complimented. Gilda grinned. 

Gilda opened the door for Redding and shook his hand. “Hello, Mr. Redding,” Gilda sweetly smiled. 

“Hi, Gilda. My wife wanted me to give this to you two kids,” Mr. Redding replied as he gave Gilda a large box. “You can open it, so we know whether or not to get you something else.”

Harvey took the box from her and kissed her cheek before placing it on his desk for Gilda to open. She gently tore off the gift wrap and opened the box to reveal a set of Arcopal harlequin teacups. Gilda covered her mouth and gasped. “How did you—? I’ve wanted this set since I was a little girl. My mother sold the set my grandmother had—.” Gilda looked at Harvey, and he looked at Mr. Redding. 

“Thank you. This is a beautiful gift, Mr. Redding,” Harvey whispered as he kissed Gilda’s forehead. 

**

Talia walked beside Bruce down the seemingly endless corridors. “Bruce, how are you feeling?” Talia asked. 

“Have you ever slept so well that you wake up and—? Talia, can I ask you something? How can I repay you?” Bruce questioned. 

Talia laughed and shook her head. “My father and I are very different people. We have similar dreams for this planet that we live on. I don’t think you’re a threat to our dream. Besides, I’ve seen you before you came to this island. Several times actually,” Talia confessed. Bruce’s eyes widened, and he stopped in the corridor. “When someone starts to train with the best fighters in the world, we make it a point to look into their history. You’ve worked with some of the deadliest people alive, yet you’ve never taken a single life. You’ve honed your skills for twelve years and have never truly used those skills to harm another human being. Why is that?” 

Bruce looked into her eyes, and he could see decades of hurt. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Bruce answered. I just want my family to be safe… How long have you been watching me?” 

“Quite a while… So, I know about your sister. Who she is… Who her birth parents are…” 

“You know about David and Shiva?” Bruce asked. Talia nodded as she took his hand and gestured to her left. “My sister isn’t a threat to anyone. She’s just a child—.”

“I know,” Talia replied. Bruce grew silent, and she glanced at him. “Please tell me about your mother.” It was the sweetest question. Bruce lit up at the question. 

“Mom’s great. It’s like we can look at each other, and she knows exactly how I’m feeling. No one understands me like she does… which means no one can upset me like her. She drives me nuts, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My mom’s a saint on her best days, but she can be a spitfire when you tick her off. I’ve seen her reduce people to tears with a handful of words and a look,” Bruce laughed, “I used to be so scared of making her mad because I thought she’d tear me to shreds… But she’s always been the softest place to land whenever I fell.” 

“And your father?” Talia asked. 

“Well, that’s a bit complicated. I see two men as my father. My birth father and Alfred. Alfred’s known my father for so long… My birth father, Thomas, is the goal. I want to be as gentle as he is. His heart is too big for his own good. He loves children and ballet… Oh, he’s obsessed with ballet. You should see how he lights up. 

“Alfred seems much more stern than he actually is. Alfred’s a big softie, but he’s always been my rock when things got bad. He keeps us all going. That’s how I know my family’s okay. As long as Alfred’s there, everything’s okay,” Bruce replied. 

Talia smiled at him. “Stability, warmth, and understanding,” she whispered. 

“What?” Bruce asked. 

“That is what matters most to you. That is what drives you,” Talia answered without explaining the meaning behind it. 

**

Thomas took the thermometer out of Dick’s mouth. “One-oh-two. How’s your stomach?” Thomas asked as Dick kicked off his blankets. 

Dick tossed and turned. “It’s too hot,” Dick mumbled. 

Thomas doused a towel in lukewarm water and wrung it out before dabbing Dick’s forehead. “How did you get so sick, kiddo?” Thomas questioned as Dick’s phone started to ring. “You can answer it.”

Dick picked up the phone, but he started feeling woozy. “Hello,” Dick rasped without looking at the caller ID. “Oh man… You’re kiddin’... I gotta go.” Dick rolled out of bed and covered his mouth as he went to the bathroom and threw up in the doorway. “Oh no—.”

“Dick, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” Thomas replied. Dick pressed his forehead against the doorpost. Thomas got up on his cane and rubbed Dick’s back. “Who was that?” 

“Sylvie from gymnastics camp,” Dick mumbled. 

“I sense a little bit of animosity there, Dick,” Thomas whispered. 

Dick took a short breath. “I snuck her in a few nights ago. We weren’t doing anything… Just kissing, and her friends came to get her—. She gave me the flu and even worse, she got it by playing spin the bottle and kissing a bunch of other—.” Dick took a moment to stave off another wave of nausea. 

“Okay—.”

“You’re mad,” Dick mumbled without opening his eyes. 

“I’m not mad. I’m going to ask you a question, and I just want you to be honest with me. There aren’t any consequences for it. Are you and Sylvie—?”

“I’m fourteen years old. I just barely got through health class. Trust me, that’s not even on my mind right now,” Dick interrupted. 

 “Good. That’s good to hear. No more sneaking girls in, though. I need to know who is in the house at all times… And I’m pretty sure her parents would’ve assumed you did a lot more than kiss if they knew she was here,” Thomas replied, “I need to get vinegar from Alfred. I’ll be right back… Get back in bed.”

**

Martha sat in near-silence as she played with Cassandra’s hair. “How are you feeling?” Martha asked. 

“Sad,” Cassandra answered. 

“Are you sad because Daddy almost got hurt? Or are you sad because you didn’t want to hurt your—? Are you sad because you didn’t want to hurt David?” Martha asked. Cassandra didn’t answer. 

“Love makes us want to be good, but… I don’t feel good,” Cassandra explained. 

Martha got out of her chair to crouch in front of Cassandra and hold her hands. “I think you are a good person. I think you don’t like to hurt people… And I will never be angry at you for something that happened before I knew you. This is your home now. We love you. We want you here. Because you are good,” Martha emphasized as she let go of Cassandra’s hands and opened her arms. “Mommy loves you so much.”

“I love you,” Cassandra whispered as she hugged Martha. “But I did bad things. I killed.”

“That is what you were taught to do… You are not a bad person. You made a mistake because you didn’t know any better. People make mistakes all the time. You will learn and grow, and we will be here to help you make good decisions. I promise,” Martha whispered. 

“You are not scared,” Cassandra whispered in shock.

Martha chuckled. “Why would I be scared of my sweet little girl?” Martha questioned with all the genuine warmth and honesty that Cassandra needed to feel okay again.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Maybe dc×dp Jazz×Jason magical ceremony bullshit for soulmate friday?

"Hear-ye-hear-ye!" A glowing green man dressed in what looked like the stereotype for any comedic relief in midevial films called out as he floated above the city of Gotham, his voice projected around the world. "Her Royal Highness, Queen Regent of the Infinite Realm Throne has decided to cast the Ritual of Bindings, to draw her soulmate near in order to give DNA to help the Deaged King who has been injured and needs to be Reborn! Queen Regent Jasmine Nightengale will cast the spell in Three Scores! All those touched by Death may be called!"

Predictiably people freaked, running around screaming. Or talking about it, which was what the Justice League did right after, speaking at the table.

"Look, it's legit," John Constantine said to the others. "I've met Danny, the King, before he became deaged, and he's a good sort so is his sister. If she's calling upon the ritual... well, I honestly think she has no other choice."

"So she's going to force whoever-" Bruce said but John glared at him.

"No she ain't. Rather she'll give them a choice. It would be safer for her spouse to be her soulmate but she could find any random man to sleep with to get the DNA." he told Bruce who nodded grumpily. It appeared all they could do was wait.

After three hours, Bruce got an alert. Jason's tracker went offline. He didn't think of the Queen then, rather became worried about other things.

He should have thought of the Queen.

-0-

Jason found himself in a throne room, and reacted appropriately. He pulled out his gun and pointed it at a guy in armour. "Where the fuck am I?" he demanded.

"You are in the throne room of the Infinite Realms." a feminine voice said from behind. He turned to see a redhead behind him, dressed in a black dress. "I am Queen Regent Jasmine, and you are my soulmate."

"...Oh shit," Jason said, remembering the proclamation. He looked at the woman who looked back nervously. "This is for... the King?"

"My brother Danny is the High King. He was injured by an enemy of his, Plasimus. Vlad, our enemy, was obsessed with our mother. He wanted her but she hated him. Eventually he discovered Danny was transgender, as well as learning that Danny is like himself, what the citizens of the Infinite Realms call a halfa. Half human, half ecto being as they are called." Jasmine said in a tone that became choked as she spoke. "He attempted to claim Danny. I don't know how, he became confusing with calling my brother a son or a consort. I don't know which he meant and I don't want to know." Jasmine swallowed. "He attacked and our parents passed in the attack while Danny became injured. He needs to be Reborn, and I can provide half the DNA. I need another half."

"So... you want this a one off?" Jason asked. "Why not go out and pick up a random?"

"I don't want a one-off. I want a partnership. I want to raise my... my child with a partner. I also want him safe, and calling upon my soulmate will help." Jasmine said. Jason stared at her, wondering what to do.

He had never thought of marriage, or kids. Frankly with his life he didn't think it a reasonable thought. But here was a Queen asking him. His soulmate even.

(The part of him who loved the classics, who snuck smut novels and who had opinions on romance flicks was cooing inside of him, begging for this chance.)

Jason always did like kids...

"Alright so... what do we do?" he asked Jasmine who smiled beautifully. He wanted to put that smile on her more.

[inhurtandincomfort]

Clawing at Own Throat for Eldwin?

-🕯

Thank you anon!! Sorry this took awhile and is so short, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. I hope you enjoy!

For @badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Clawing At Own Throat Fandom: OC

CW: Self harm, self loathing, some depersonalisation

It was innocuous, at first.

The little bird on the side of his neck. Pretty, wretched thing. He got compliments on it sometimes. Inquiries about its meaning. He brushed them off easily enough; It was in honour of a friend. I just thought it was nice. It signifies peace and freedom.

They were always satisfied with those answers. They would never imagine what it really meant.

Freedom. Ha, what a joke.

He often didn't realise he was doing it. He only noticed when Clyde began to snap at him to stop that without even looking up from his paperwork. Or when Jowan would gently scold him as they went through their standard questions. It wasn't even itchy with its partner nearby. But it was there. Arrogant. Mocking. He stared at it in the mirror, his neck craned at an angle, his lips curled with disdain for his own reflection. Sickly skin. Heavy shadows under lifeless eyes. Small, circular scars dotted his neck. Next to a bird flying free when she ought to be in a cage.

He thought, not for the first time, that he looked rather like a corpse. Was he really alive at this point? He'd killed and been killed, resurrected more times than he could count. Could he really call himself a person anymore? How many times could one defy the laws of this world until they're no longer human? He should have been buried long ago.

No. He should have burned in the flames that have claimed so many lives. Claimed his own over and over.

He threw the blanket back over the mirror. He turned away from it, unable to bear the sight. His fingers scratched idly into the poor little dove.

***

The dove was angry.

She seared into his skin, taken by fury for her link was gone too far and oh, she made sure he knew. She punished him as though it was his fault, like he hadn't tried to get the crystal to stay behind. He should have tried harder. Should have kept his mouth shut. He should have begged and pleaded and degraded himself a little more for his mercy.

It wouldn't have made a difference.

His nails dug cruelly into his neck, to the ink embedded deep. It itched. She burned. She wanted to be free. They would never be free. Not as long as they were together, their fates intertwined. Would it leave a mark, he wondered? He hoped so. Maybe if it scarred Clyde would think twice before taking the stupid tracker with him. He didn't even need it with him. It was far more practical to leave it with Nels who might actually make use of it. But it wasn't about practicality. It was about punishment. And who was he, if not deserving?

He tore into ruined flesh, desecrating his body as naturally as he breathed. Vile, wretched thing.

***

He slammed the bathroom door behind him louder than he intended. His airways tightened, his collar was squeezing his throat as though it wanted to crush the life from him. He needed it off, he needed it gone, he dug his fingers into the metal in an attempt to pry it from his skin. He clawed at it like he was some feral animal tearing into its prey. His eyes stung and his vision blurred. He scratched and scraped and mauled his own neck already raw from weeks of abuse. He ripped into old scars, cigarette burns and needle points, tearing himself apart as the little dove taunted. They would never be free, she knew. He would never be free.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't get it off and it hurt, it burned, raging fire crawled up his flesh consuming everything in his path, agonising, relentless, rearing to swallow him whole-

His wrists were grabbed in a bruising grip. Someone was yelling. Yelling at him? He was hauled to his feet, his arms nearly wrenched from their sockets and since when was he on the floor? He didn't remember kneeling. Strong hands clamped on his shoulders shaking him slightly. They hovered in front of him, their lips moved but he couldn't register their words, it was like being underwater. His arms were pulled behind his back, a firm hold marching him from the room but not before he caught a glimpse at the mirror, its cover fallen. He was looking at a corpse. Clammy skin, sunken eyes, claw marks and a little dove bathing in blood.

@floral-comet-whump @cepheusgalaxy @violets-whumperflies @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whump-till-ya-jump

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Whumpee (Nico) Drugged for His Own Good part 10

Warnings: infected wounds, fever

An anon requested a continuation of this storyline, so here it is!

He had to squish it all tightly to fit, but he managed to zip the backpack up when he was done -- ready to leave and make his daring escape.

He did one last assessment of his supplies, going over a mental checklist of what he might need for life on the city streets.

Phone. Amelia's phone. He should take that with him too. He could use it to call a taxi or something to get out of city limits and disappear to where his friends couldn't follow.

He crept back over to the couch, grabbing and slipping the phone into a side pocket before finally slinging the backpack on, wincing as it jarred his back injuries. He was finally ready to escape.

He glanced around at Amelia's warm home one last time, wistful but confident in his decision to leave this all behind and run away.

Like the coward you are, a nasty part of his mind sneered. Always running away to avoid facing your problems like a man. Since when do you back down from a threat?

Nico grimaced and shook his head to clear his thoughts, quietly opening the front door and slipping off into the night, the darkness swallowing him up as he disappeared to wander into the city alone.

He'd find a way to survive this -- he always did. It wouldn't be the first time circumstances had forced him to. There had been an odd time or two during battles with his team that he got separated or the enemy forced the team to split up, and it wasn't safe to reunite until the threat had passed. Nico had once had to stay low and survive for two whole days on his own before the rest of his team were able to get close enough to his location to rescue him. So at least he was entering vaguely familiar territory.

The bitter feeling of betrayal stung him again as his thoughts lingered on his team, how they had all gone behind his back when he gave them very clear orders that he didn't want to go through with the surgery to remove shrapnel from his gut.

Once again, because you were a coward, the harsh part of him remarked. Everything you do now is revolving around fear and paranoia. Your friends were trying to help you stay alive, and this is how you repay them?

Nico growled at himself to shut up as he stealthily snuck out of Amelia's house, heading for the bright lights leading to the heart of the city. It would be easy to get lost in the night life, and no one would recognize him -- his former friends would have a hard time finding him amidst the something-million people living in the city. He was determined to be the needle in the world's biggest haystack.

He remembered to turn off all trackers on Amelia's phone as he found a dark alleyway to sleep the night in like the homeless frequently did. He could worry about what his next plan would be in the morning. For now, he would rest, and heal.

He picked a dry spot next to a blue dumpster with some cardboard he could sleep on to stay off the ground, and sat down with a hiss of pain, setting the backpack down and lifting his shirt to check on the largest of his injuries – the deep gash in his side.

He peeled away the edge of the gauze Amelia had placed over it, and sucked in an anxious breath to see that the wound was weeping yellow fluid. Infected. Not good. That was where his fever had come from.

And it made sense, considering how his skin was red and inflamed, throbbing with heat around the torn edges of his flesh. That was a whole other problem in itself.

“I'll deal with it later,” Nico whispered to himself, and awkwardly laid down to sleep, using his backpack as a makeshift pillow.

It didn't take long after that for exhaustion to steal his conscience away.

Masterlist

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

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@f1sh-bone @whumped4whumplover @theasexualwriterrat @whatwhump

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken Ch12: Followed

Corvus was still sent after the princes in this AU, but tracking two human children and one young elf is very different than tailing five well-trained, fully grown elven assassins. Andromeda finds him before he finds her.

“Anyone else hear that?” Callisto asked idly as they tried to clean up some of the scrapes on their glaive the next morning.  The princes were still asleep, and Rayla had just emerged when they spoke, eyes narrowed and ears pricked and alert.

They’d all heard the rustling in the bushes.  Runaan didn’t bother looking up from his bags yet. “We’re being followed.  Andromeda, Ram, deal with it.  Don’t kill them.  Better to be followed by an enemy we know than to keep hunting down new ones.  But find out how many, exactly, and who sent them.  Keep the maiming and the noise to a minimum, as a little gesture of goodwill.”

“If you want the maiming and noise to a minimum I’m not the one you want to send,” Ram said dryly.

Runaan shot him an irritable look.

“I’ve got it, Runaan,” Andromeda said, smothering a laugh. “I’ll come back if I need help.  Rayla can join me if I need it.” She said, meeting Rayla’s eyes, and sharing a smile with the younger girl.  It felt good to be back on good terms with her again.

Runaan glanced between them and nodded. “Very well.  Be careful.”

“I will.” Andromeda promised, and slipped off into the trees towards the crack of a branch they had heard.  She spotted the branch first, but the shadow in the tree above her didn’t escape her notice.  She smirked to herself, keeping her head angled where her braids would hide it, and glanced around as if confused.  

The rustle in the bushes gave her an excuse to duck out of sight, towards the noise.  She startled the fawn that had been approaching, and took a moment while hidden to crouch and offer her hand soothingly. “You’re all right, little one.” She whispered, and her hand twinged when she held it out.  She smiled sadly at the creature when it licked the slow bruising creeping up her wrist. “Thank you for the thought.  You should scurry now, this might be about to get messy.” She warned, before slipping further into the underbrush.

She made it into the trees, circling loosely around the clearing the tracker had been drawing her towards.  By the time she reached the tree behind where he had been, he was lowering himself down into the clearing, and she’d ascertained he was alone, or at least no one else was close enough to interfere on his behalf.  She smirked as she waited until he hit the ground to leap over to where he’d just been standing, and then when he froze, she dropped down behind him, unfolding her sickles and twirling the curved blade around his throat before he could turn to face her.

He froze, and she watched his shoulders tense, his hands turning his weapon over.  She smiled, keeping her body at a distance, holding the sickle with her good hand as far away from herself as possible. “Drop your weapon,” She said softly, clearly.

He hesitated. “Why should I?”

“The sickle around your neck is quicker than any chain behind you.” She pointed out. “If I wanted to kill you outright, I’d have done it, wouldn’t I?  Drop it.”

Apparently seeing the logic, he carefully let the weapon drop to the ground.  She took a step back, letting her sickle brush his throat. “Now, step away from it.  Wouldn’t want anyone tripping, would we?” She purred.

She heard him take a frustrated breath, but he backed up as she indicated.

“Good boy,” She murmured when she had him where she wanted him, in the middle of the clearing out of reach of his weapon or any trees.  She felt him swallow against her sickle, watched his breath speed up, and smirked broadly. “You like that?  I’m fond of it, myself.  Now keep being a good boy for me and we both get to walk away, how does that sound?”

He swallowed audibly again, holding his hands up where she could see them.  She appreciated the effort though she hadn’t ordered it. “Sounds too good to be true.” 

“I appreciate your honesty,” She replied cheerfully. “So here’s how this is going to go.  I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to keep answering me honestly.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” He demanded stubbornly.

“Well, the sickle around your throat tends to be fairly convincing,” She said mildly. “But if it isn’t, I’ll answer a few of your questions in exchange.  But I caught you first, love, so I get to ask mine first.  Sound fair?”

He sighed hard enough it moved his shoulders, and he turned his head a little bit to answer. “Do I have a choice?”

“You could choose death,” Andromeda told him honestly. “But we’d really rather not use that option, if you don’t force the issue.”

He narrowed his eyes - they were pretty, she noted as she peered over his shoulder and he tilted his head back at her, brown and dark in a way that was uncommon among her people.  Elyrin would like him. “Why not?”

“I get to ask first, remember?” She prodded, though she couldn’t help grinning at his suspicions. “It was clever of you to try and draw one of us out alone.  Weren’t expecting six of us when you caught up, were you?”

“Six?” He echoed, and raised at least the eyebrow she could see, and she noted the scar through it with amusement. “I counted five.”

She laughed softly. “We didn’t bring an extra tent for the children.  You scouted the camp last night after we went to sleep then?  There’s six of us, we’ve just been letting your princes sleep in the tents.”

“You’re sick.” He spat at her with sudden vitriol, and Andromeda blinked at his profile.

“I’ve been called a monster for many reasons,” She said mildly, tilting her head so he could see her face a little better as she arched her own brows at him. “But I’ve never been called sick for letting children sleep in a shelter.  I have to admit, that’s a new one.”

It was always sort of cute when humans bared their flat teeth with anger. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Do you think we’re having them sleep with us?” She asked in disbelief, and laughed a little at the alarm in his eyes. “That’s a very brave accusation from a man with a blade at his throat.  No, darling, they get the tent of the first watch, and we trade through the rest.  Even your stories usually confine us to eating people, and not like that.”

“It’s your season, isn’t it?” He pointed out, and her eyes widened with surprise that he knew that.  All elves had breeding seasons, where they had higher fertility and sex drives, but few humans knew that those seasons varied amongst elves and when they were.

“Oh, you are clever,” She said, blinking. “But no.” It was a bit of a lie, breeding season was only weeks away, and she had been hoping to get home in time for it.  She was missing challenge season for this mission. “And even if it was, they’re children.  That doesn’t do any of us any good.”

He grunted distrustfully. “Why should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?  What do I have to lose from telling you the truth?” She pointed out. “Now wasn’t I asking questions first?” He fell silent, but she saw the doubt furrow his brows as his eyes wandered to the trees.  She would have to be careful with how she asked him questions. “Now, I already know you haven’t got any backup.  I cased the woods before I engaged you.” He stiffened. “That’s interesting.  You weren’t expecting this many of us.  What was your plan, darling?”

Andromeda kept dropping the names in, amused at how he seemed to flush deeper every time.  Seemed even his hatred didn’t make him immune to her charms, and she preened a little internally at it. “Thought I could pick you off until I could get to the princes.” He admitted after a conflicted sigh and his shoulders dropped a little.

“Very interesting.  I imagine the general doesn’t know there’s six of us, either, or she’d have sent you backup.” Andromeda dropped in her guess about who had sent him, watching his face for his reaction.

As it turned out, she needn’t have been watching so closely, as he nearly flinched, eyes flashing wide, when she said it. “How did you know the general even sent me?” He demanded.

Oh, this poor young man.  Andromeda almost patted his shoulder to console him. “Because I just said it,” She said gently. “And you just confirmed it for me.”

She saw the shame overwhelm his expression and pitied him for a moment as he closed his eyes and grimaced, turning his face away from her. 

“You’re a bit terrible with interrogations then, aren’t you, darling?  Not a soldier, then, just a tracker.” She observed. “You weren’t going to attack us, or you should have done that when most of us were asleep last night.”

“I’m here to free the princes from you,” He growled.

Andromeda smiled. “The princes aren’t prisoners, darling.  They travel with us willingly.”

“That’s a lie.  The king is dead, why would his sons be traveling willingly with assassins?” The tracker demanded.

“Funny how that happened the night we left with the children, long after we left, isn’t it?” She pointed out. “We didn’t plan on taking them, and we didn’t kill the king.  I won’t pretend we weren’t planning on it, but we never got to him.  Everything’s gone to shit, but with what we know now, we want those boys alive as much as you do.” She leaned in close to his ear, satisfied by now that he would be still, and added, close and soft, “You can take that back to the general.”

He shuddered at her breath on his ear. “That doesn’t make any sense.  What do you know?  Why would you want them safe?”

“I’m sure if you keep following us a little longer you’ll find out.” She said mildly, grinning when he twitched, looking at her again from his periphery. “That’s an answer you’ll have to earn, though, darling.”

He frowned over his shoulder, pouting, and she almost laughed at the adorable face. “You haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“I wasn’t done with mine yet.” She defended, still all too amused, and charmed by his sharp attitude.  He reminded her of Elyrin a bit. “So you’re here alone, sent by the general to free her nephews.  You don’t have backup.  Your only goal is to keep the boys safe.” She could ask him when he was next expected to check in, but with the goal to keep him alive and following them, she supposed it didn’t truly matter. “Do you know of anyone else sent after us?” She asked instead, as that was the more important question.

He shook his head with an air of resignation. “I don’t know.”

“Good boy.” She purred, and his back straightened on reflex, and she couldn’t help smirking about it.  Oh, he was cute, for a human.  Her husband would be rolling his eyes at her for bothering to qualify it and encouraging her to tease him more. “Now, I suppose I have a few minutes to answer your questions.”

“Are you going to answer them or are you going to keep dodging the point?” He asked grumpily. 

She laughed in spite of herself. “I have been a bit dodgy, haven’t I?  All right, if you ask again, I’ll clarify one answer for you.  Just one.”

He paused for a long moment, considering which question to ask.  The one he chose sent a chill down her spine, and her smile dropped. “If you didn’t kill the king, who did?”

“I . . . don’t know.  We don’t know.  I swear on our lives on that.” She said seriously. “And as a little bonus, I’ll be truthful - that’s part of why we’re keeping the princes.  We didn’t kill the king - which means someone else must be after them too, for reasons unknown.”

He frowned. “So we may have a common goal.”

“Perhaps.  But we don’t trust you any more than you trust us.  And the princes are with us now.” She pointed out.

“Fair enough.” He admitted over his shoulder, meeting her eyes as he tilted his head back, grudging respect in his careful shrug. “Where are you taking them?”

She didn’t know if that was something Runaan would approve of her sharing.  He had told her to get information from the tracker, and said to offer a little goodwill, but that might be a little too much. “You’ll have to follow us to find out that one, darling, sorry.”

“Why leave me alive?” 

“Call it a gesture of goodwill.  You want the boys alive, and so do we.  We’d rather keep you alive and on our tail than take our chances with someone else who may have less compassion.” Andromeda answered honestly. “But we won’t be making it easy for you.”

He scoffed lightly. “I didn’t expect you to start.”

“Good.” She smirked at his back. “One more question, and then we can part ways.  What’s your name, darling?”

He eyed her distrustfully, but apparently couldn’t find any harm in telling her. “It’s Corvus.”

“Mine’s Andromeda.” She winked at him. “Now face forward and be still.  Count to ten.  I’m going to leave, and when you get to ten, you can go fetch your weapon back and go hide away again until we get moving.  One small word of personal advice, though, Corvus?”

He shuddered at hearing his name and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t try engaging with the others.  One has a mean streak, two are territorial, and the other two can’t be touched without making those ones angry.” She dared to pat his armored shoulder this time. “Stay alive back here, darling - but stay out of our way.  Next time you may not be so lucky.”

Corvus set his strong jaw but nodded carefully around her sickle.  He faced forward when directed to do so, and began counting aloud as she removed her weapon from his throat.  She fled into the trees before he could finish the countdown, successfully vanishing.  For the sake of information gathering, she paused in a tree where she could hide and observe; he actually kept his count slow and steady, and only moved when he was finished with it.  He looked back over his shoulder to where she’d disappeared, looking distinctly off-balanced, but he shook himself and went to fetch his weapon before retreating further from the elves’ campsite.

Good.  Sharp, intelligent, but somewhat inexperienced, and honorable.  This was good.  Andromeda slipped back to camp and trotted back in distinctly pleased with herself.

“Well?” Runaan prompted when she arrived, and looked around to see the princes still asleep.

“Just one,” She reported. “A tracker, not a soldier, sent by the general to free her nephews.  No backup, his orders are just to recover them, not to engage with us.  He’s honorable enough to stick to a deal even when he didn’t know I was still there to enforce it.  Doesn’t know of anyone else coming to follow us alongside him.”

Ram narrowed his eyes at her. “You seem awfully pleased with yourself.”

“Never you mind that.” She said loftily.

“You were flirting, weren’t you?” Callisto called her out with an amused look.

Skor snapped his fingers to get her attention and signed his own commentary with narrowed eyes and a lazy smirk. “Heat hitting you early, sparkles?”

Andromeda tossed her head to rattle the chains on her horns, theatrically, suppressing her own laughter. “It got me answers, didn’t it?  Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman when your target is a young man who likes that sort of thing.”

Rayla also wrinkled her nose at this, and Runaan scoffed behind a hand as if covering up a laugh.

Just when they were all about to let it go, Andromeda stretched and added, grinning mischievously, “And he is pretty.”

Runaan actually barked a short laugh at that one and she grinned over at him. “You might actually appreciate this one, too, Runaan,” She dared to rib him a bit. “Tall dark and handsome is your style, isn’t it?”

“Is he tall to me or is he tall to you, Andromeda?” He asked mildly, though he was chuckling as he stood up to his full height, crossing his arms as she was reminded that even the tips of her horns only reached to his chest. 

She shrugged. “That is a point.  Tall to me, at least.”

“You’re all awful.” Ram informed them flatly. “Except Rayla, she’s a pure innocent child who doesn’t deserve to be subjected to your nonsense.”

“Innocent?” Rayla squawked, and pointed at Runaan. “Do you know what he gets up to at home?!”

That more than Andromeda’s teasing brought a pink flush to Runaan’s cheeks and he cleared his throat loudly. “That’s quite enough.  We should wake the princes and move on, now that our tracker has been addressed.  Left alive, I trust, Andromeda?”

“Alive and asking himself some hard questions, I would guess,” She grinned back, checking her still pristine nails. 

“Good.” Runaan shook his head, though she caught the smile on his lips. “Pack your tents, we should get moving.”

Rayla went to wake the princes in her place this time, the younger girl giving her a flat look and shooing her when Andromeda went to do it.  She couldn’t help laughing at the censure, and just managed to get it under control before the little ones were awoken and paying attention.  As she put her tent away, she grinned to herself, thinking that Elyrin would enjoy hearing about this little adventure when they made it back to the Silvergrove. 

It would be a welcome distraction from the adjustment of losing her aching hand.