#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.

[bjlipss]

— bug, part ii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe

part i <- part ii -> part iii

day 2.

he figures it’s a one-time thing.

a glitch in the matrix. some weird campus cryptid latched onto him for ten minutes and then slithered back into whatever art building crawlspace you crawled out of.

he doesn’t even think about you again. not really.

not until the next afternoon.

he’s cutting across the east courtyard this time. earbuds in. hoodie up. gym bag slung over his shoulder like a threat. the sun’s too bright, his hangover’s kicking in, and someone spilled smoothie on the locker room bench this morning—so now his favorite hoodie smells like artificial strawberries and spite.

he’s halfway to the library steps, scowl already locked and loaded, when he hears it.

that same soft, off-key hum. buggy and breathy, like it’s being piped through a tin can.

he stops mid-step, completely still.

his playlist fades under the sound, like the world’s being tuned to your specific radio frequency.

no way. no fucking way.

slowly—too slowly, like a man turning to face a monster in a horror movie—he cranes his neck.

and there you are.

sitting under the big oak tree like it’s a throne made just for you.

same enormous sweatshirt swallowing your frame. same huge glasses slipping down your nose. bandaid still on your neck, but now there’s a little cartoon worm doodled on it in purple pen. legs swinging rhythmically like a little kid at the doctor’s office. there’s a juice box next to you—grape, he thinks—and you’re peeling a banana in slow motion. reverent.

you’re also staring directly at him.

unblinking.

he blinks once. then again.

you tilt your head.

he scowls.

“…are you fucking stalking me?”

“no,” you chirp, like this is a completely reasonable situation. “you’re just really easy to find.”

you tap your temple. “i have a sukuna sense.”

his jaw flexes. he’s genuinely not sure if you’re kidding or if you’ve genuinely installed some sort of psychic sukuna-tracker in your skull.

“stop saying weird shit.”

you pat the space next to you on the bench. casual. like this is a sitcom and you’re inviting your reluctant co-star to deliver his lines.

he doesn’t move. just glares.

you pat it again.

smile wider this time. not creepy—just patient. like you’re confident he’ll get tired eventually and choose to be around you.

“you’re not my friend,” he mutters.

“yet,” you say cheerfully, and punctuate it with a loud slurp from your juice box.

he stares at you like you’re an invasive species.

then snorts, half in disbelief, and stomps off without another word.

he doesn’t look back, not even once.

but the weird thing is—he’s not as annoyed as he should be.

day 3.

he’s at his locker. post-lift. sore, sweaty, halfway dead. earbuds in, head down. all he wants is a protein bar and a goddamn nap.

he spins the dial, opens the door—

—and three red skittles roll out and clatter onto the floor.

he freezes.

so do the guys around him.

one of them snorts. another mutters, “yo, what the hell?”

but sukuna doesn’t move. just stares at the skittles like they’re a warning. or a bomb.

he crouches, picks one up between his thumb and forefinger. there’s a tiny smiley face drawn on it in ink. the lines are a little shaky. probably drawn in a rush.

he grits his teeth. he doesn’t even like candy.

he glances down the hallway instinctively. doesn’t see you. doesn’t hear you. but something in the air feels off. staticky.

he tosses the skittle into his bag and slams the locker shut a little harder than necessary.

the next two he keeps in his palm.

he doesn’t know why.

day 4.

today he changes his route entirely. cuts around the humanities building. skirts the edge of the quad like it’s lava. ditches his usual corner table at the library and slinks into the back of the dining hall, behind a dusty fake ficus that smells like cheap plastic and desperation.

finally. finally.

no bug. no hum. no weird banana rituals or unsolicited commentary.

he grabs a tray, sits down, and pulls out his phone. opens it to scroll aimlessly. silence surrounds him.

for thirty blissful seconds.

then—

“hi.”

he flinches. audibly. jerks his head up so fast he nearly knocks over his drink.

you’re standing in front of him.

holding a tupperware container. it has a sticker on the lid that says “this is NOT poison” with a smiley face next to it.

“…how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

you blink innocently. “i told you. sukuna sense.”

he glares. “you are not funny.”

you shrug. “not trying to be.”

you pop the lid open and hold it out. inside: a peanut butter sandwich. no crusts. cut into the shape of a bat. it’s kind of ugly, if he’s honest, but also strangely… deliberate.

“it’s a snackrifice,” you say. “in exchange for your continued tolerance.”

he opens his mouth. ready to tell you to take it and leave. to stop harassing him. to go find a new person to haunt.

but the crusts are cut off and it smells kinda good.

he snatches it from your hands like a feral raccoon and mutters, “you’re so fucking weird.”

you beam and plop down across from him. he doesn’t kick you out. he eats the sandwich in silence.

day 5.

he gets to class early. because he has to. he’s not going to sit in the back like some loser just because you’ve wormed your way into his territory.

but when he walks in—you’re already in his seat.

you’re humming. chewing on a pen labeled penjamin in sparkly marker.

there’s a tiny paper crane perched next to your notes. it has googly eyes stuck on it and what looks like a cape made from a gum wrapper.

he stops in the aisle. glares at you. hard.

you look up. blink once.

and then calmly pat the seat beside you.

he stares. you pat again.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, and drops his bag onto the floor with a thud.

sits beside you.

you don’t say anything. just grin like a cat who’s claimed a sunbeam. your knee bumps his under the table.

he tells himself not to react.

he fails.

day 6.

you don’t show up.

he notices immediately. not consciously—but something feels off. like the sound in the world is too clear. too unbothered.

he walks across the courtyard. eyes skim the oak tree. it’s empty. the bench is cold.

he tells himself that’s good. peaceful.

but then he lingers by the vending machines. glances around the quad. checks his locker twice.

finally, right before his next class, he opens the locker again.

and finds it.

a sticky note, crooked and half-folded, clinging to the inside wall. your handwriting is messy and weirdly round:

can’t bug you today. sick. dying probably. rip me. save me a seat. ps: don’t eat skittles from strangers. except me. i’m trustworthy.

underneath is a tiny doodle of a skull with glasses. and… a cape?

he stares at it for a long moment.

then slowly, carefully, peels it off and folds it into his hoodie pocket.

his hand stays there longer than it needs to. just in case.

—

after that, he doesn’t try to shake you anymore.

he eats lunch on the quad, and you’re there.

he waits for practice in the locker room hallway, and you’re there, too.

you show up like bad weather. like background noise.

but weirdly… you’re quiet.

you don’t talk unless you want to. you don’t interrupt or cling. you don’t demand anything from him.

you just exist beside him.

chewing on pens. humming under your breath. sometimes reading a book upside down, like that’s normal. you wear socks with frogs on them and have a bandaid on your hand even when you’re not bleeding.

you remind him of static electricity. of flickering lights. of a broken clock that’s still somehow right twice a day.

you make his eye twitch.

and yet—

every time he glares at you, and you smile back like he’s just being so funny, something in his chest stirs. something small and stupid. something flickering like a lighter on its last spark.

he tells himself he hates it.

he hates you.

but he doesn’t tell you to leave anymore.

and that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

[limarkova]

Experimental Obsession

Pt 10

Prev

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.

Prev

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[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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[mintyys-blog]

LOVE AT FIRST SHOT— winter soldier! bucky barnes

WARNINGS: torture

—> part one

HYDRA found out.

He should have known it was only a matter of time.

His handlers weren’t stupid.

He had been careful—erasing his tracks, disabling his tracker when he was with you, slipping away unnoticed like a shadow.

But HYDRA saw everything.

The way he hesitated on missions. The way his reports were incomplete. The way his eyes weren’t empty anymore.

The Winter Soldier was compromised.

And HYDRA didn’t tolerate weaknesses.

They dragged him into the chair.

Straps around his wrists. His ankles. His throat.

“Where did you go?”

Nothing.

“Who was it?”

Silence.

“We know you were with someone, Soldier.”

He clenched his jaw.

“Give us a name.”

His metal fist flexed against the restraints.

He didn’t even flinch when the first shock hit.

It went on for hours.

Electrical pulses seared through his veins, white-hot and merciless.

They wanted him to break. They wanted him to say your name.

But he didn’t.

Even as his muscles seized. Even as his vision blurred. Even as his head lolled forward, the scent of burnt flesh thick in the air.

Because you were his.

And HYDRA didn’t get to have you.

They changed their approach. They sent him on a mission.

A new target. A simple job.

And at the end of it, they asked him a question.

“Did you hesitate?”

The words crawled under his skin like insects.

Because for the first time in decades—he didn’t know the answer. Not because he failed the mission. Not because he had let the target go.

But because when he pulled the trigger— He had been thinking about you.

Meanwhile, you were waiting. Days passed. Then a week. Then two. But still—no sign of him.

You should have been worried.

Any normal person would have taken it as a rejection. Would have assumed he had moved on.

But you weren’t normal. And Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier—was yours.

“He’ll come back.”

You traced your fingers over the bruises he left behind, a slow smirk curling your lips. “He always does.”

But this time—You were wrong.

This time, HYDRA had other plans.

HYDRA had plans for you.

They found your name. Your apartment. The security footage of you letting their most valuable asset slip between your sheets, marking him with sin, filling his head with thoughts of you instead of his orders.

You had corrupted their weapon. And for that, you had to be erased.

The night they came for you, you were waiting. Something had been off for days.

The Winter Soldier had never gone this long without coming back to you, without leaving behind even the smallest hint of his presence.

So when you spotted the black vans pulling up outside your apartment, you didn’t run.

You didn’t scream.

You smiled. “Took you long enough.”

They weren’t expecting you to fight back.

Most people screamed when HYDRA agents stormed their home in the middle of the night. Most people cried, begged, panicked.

But you?

You laughed.

And then you grabbed the knife from your kitchen counter and lunged.

The first agent dropped instantly, a fresh wound blooming in his throat.

The second wasn’t so lucky—your knee slammed into his gut, knocking the gun from his grip before you slashed his wrist, making him shriek.

For a moment, you thought you could actually win.

But there were too many.

The moment you turned, something sharp jabbed into your neck.

Your vision swam.

Your legs buckled.

The last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you whole— Was a metal fist wrapped around your wrist.

He was watching when you woke up.

Your head was pounding. Your wrists were bound. The cold, sterile scent of metal and chemicals burned your nose.

And then, as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting—

You saw him.

The Winter Soldier.

Standing across the room, silent.

Dressed in full tactical gear, his face unreadable, his metal arm gleaming under the harsh fluorescents.

But his eyes—his eyes gave him away.

“Soldat.”

The voice came from behind you. A handler. Someone in charge.

“Eliminate the target.”

Your heart stopped.

You turned back to him, your lips parting—because you knew.

You knew what this was. This was a test.

This was HYDRA pulling the leash, forcing him to prove his loyalty.

And they had set you in front of him like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Do it.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Just stared at you.

And you smiled. “You won’t.” A flicker. A hesitation. No one else saw it.

But you did. Because you knew him. Because he was yours.

“Soldat, obey the order.” His hands clenched.

His chest rose and fell, his jaw tight, his body coiled like a predator in a trap.

And then— “You belong to me, don’t you, soldier?” you whispered, voice soft, teasing. His breath hitched.

A second. Then two.

Then—Chaos.

He killed them all.

The moment the first handler reached for a weapon, the Winter Soldier snapped. Gunfire rang through the air. Bodies hit the ground. Blood painted the walls.

By the time it was over, you were staring at the aftermath with something close to admiration. Then, slowly—you grinned.

“I knew it.”

His metal fist flexed. His breath was uneven.

For a moment, he just stood there, his body rigid, his mind clearly waging a war between conditioning and this.

You tilted your head. “What now, my soldier?”

A pause. Then—his voice, low and dark and final.

“We run.”

You ran.

Through underground tunnels. Empty alleys. Hidden backroads.

He knew exactly where to go, which cameras to avoid, how to disappear like a ghost.

And you followed.

Your hands were still sticky with blood. Your heart was still pounding from the high.

You had watched him kill for you.

And God—you had never been more in love.

The safe house was small. Remote.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, far from HYDRA’s reach.

The moment he locked the door behind you, you let out a breathless laugh, chest heaving.

“That was fun.”

He turned to you, blue eyes sharp.

“Fun?”

You grinned. “You should’ve seen yourself, soldier. All that strength—” You stepped closer, voice dropping. “All that rage.”

His jaw clenched.

“They were going to kill you,” he muttered.

Your smile widened. “But they didn’t.”

Because he stopped them.

Because he chose you.

And now—he was free.

But freedom came with a cost.

HYDRA wouldn’t stop hunting him.

He had disobeyed, broken protocol, slaughtered their men.

And worst of all—he had kept you alive.

They would never forgive that.

Which meant there was no going back.

“They’ll come for us.” His voice was quiet, but there was something dangerous underneath.

You shrugged. “Let them.”

His metal fingers twitched.

“You don’t understand.” His voice was tighter now, almost like he was warning you. “They’ll never stop.”

You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Then neither will we.”

Something in his expression shifted.

And just like that—it clicked.

You weren’t afraid. You had never been afraid.

Not when he tried to kill you. Not when he broke into your apartment. Not when HYDRA dragged you from your home, put a gun to your head, and ordered him to pull the trigger.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You were obsessed with him.

And worse?

“You like this.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You smiled.

“Of course, I do. And my answer will remain the same.”

Because you were just like him.

Twisted. Dark. Broken in ways that no normal person could ever understand.

You had spent your whole life attracting danger. Chasing it. Craving it.

And now?

You had finally caught it.

You ran a finger over the bruises on your wrist—marks from where HYDRA had tied you down.

“You know what’s funny?” you murmured, stepping closer, pressing a hand to his chest.

He didn’t move.

“If you had just done what you were told—” You tilted your head, looking up at him. “If you had killed me that night—”

You traced your fingers up, brushing them along the edge of his jaw. “You wouldn’t be here right now. We wouldn’t be here.”

His breathing was heavy.

“You would still belong to them.”

Silence.

Then—A cold, rough hand curled around your wrist.

You gasped as he pinned you to the wall, metal fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” he growled.

You shivered.

“No?” you whispered, turning your head slightly, letting your lips brush against his jaw.

He stiffened. You smirked. “Then why are you still here?” His grip tightened. Your pulse thrummed.

And then—his lips crashed against yours.

Rough. Desperate. Like he was trying to consume you.

Like he had finally accepted the truth. He wasn’t HYDRA’s anymore. He wasn’t even his own.

Because now—He belonged to you.

[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.

[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.

[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.”

[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.

[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.

[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.

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