#the dial warehouse

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[dabisqueen]

Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7K

⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare

⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr

"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."

They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.

You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin. 

Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.

They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed. 

You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.

You sigh. 

Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.

You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.

After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"

"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"

"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.

He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.

Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.

What the hell just happened? 

***

The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.

As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls. 

You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look. 

You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows. 

There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.

You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards. 

Alright, here goes nothing.

***

The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.

The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.

Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.

"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.

A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.

"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.

The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours. 

Shit. 

He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants. 

Speaking of bulge. 

It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically. 

Stop it!

You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.

But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams. 

Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.

As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression. 

“Not her again.” You hear him groan.

The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”

"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."

The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”

Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"

“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.

“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.

“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.

You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set. 

“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”

“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.

You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated. 

“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.

"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”

Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”

“Dabi, she's the most requested—” 

“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”

You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second. 

“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”

He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”

“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”

Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.

"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you. 

You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.

"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.

"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes. 

The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"

"Yep. Her." His grin widens.

"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"

"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"

"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"

Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.

Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.

The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"

Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually. 

Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."

"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.

"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.

"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."

He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."

He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"

It is your voice.

"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."

"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.

Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"

"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."

"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."

"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."

"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.

"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"

Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”

"That’s none of your business."

"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."

“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."

“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"

"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.

“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.

"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."

"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.

Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.” 

“You what?" His words leave you stunned.

Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”

His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach. 

“In front of all these people?!" 

“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.

You swallow hard.

"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting. 

You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college. 

This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.

"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.

“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”

Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.

"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take." 

"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”

“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”

“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.

“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.

“Not really.” He winks.

"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”

“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.

"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"

“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.

"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”

He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.

“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both. 

Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.

“Sound?”

“Set.”

“Camera?”

“Set.”

“Roll sound.”

“Sound rolling.”

“Roll camera.” 

“Camera Speed.” 

“Marker.”

A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever." 

Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence. 

You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.

“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.

“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally. 

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.

It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—

—but in anticipation. 

“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.

You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.

You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.

You groan—how could a man taste so good?

It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back. 

As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"

The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.

The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.

Holy shit.

He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.

The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.

The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”

You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear. 

“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”

Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.

“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”

He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.

“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”

While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.

"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."

A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place. 

"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"

You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.

“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.” 

His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.

“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes. 

The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands. 

"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."

You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—

—but this just feels so much more intense.

“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass, 

raising your hips to have more access to you. 

“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you. 

You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you. 

“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you. 

“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.

A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung. 

He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.

As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released. 

“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.

With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.

You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes. 

Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.  

Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—

—no.

He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.

It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that. 

Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth. 

“Dabi, please—” you choke out.

Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.

You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced. 

You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed. 

“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction. 

“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”

Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.  

"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit. 

“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.

“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”

“I'm not sure,” you whisper.

“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated. 

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.

“Get ready,” he whispers.

A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.

“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.” 

The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you. 

"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.

There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you. 

“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face. 

“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...

"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that. 

Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently. 

“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”

Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel. 

He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.

“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him. 

“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”

“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.

He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss. 

It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.

Dabi snaps. 

With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.

Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears. 

But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice. 

"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.

Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up. 

“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”

You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still. 

“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”

"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises. 

And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once. 

You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock. 

“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”

You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.

“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.

No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below. 

Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.

You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”

‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.

You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions. 

“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.

Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.

You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado. 

“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.

Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.

A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.

Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage. 

Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. 

“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’ 

You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”

“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.

“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.

“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.

When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace. 

“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”

“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”

“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”

[jjsloverre]

my safe space -c.s

pairing: dealer!chris x sweetheart!reader

summary: chris takes a dangerous job and didn’t want sweetheart!reader to come so she wouldn’t get hurt, but her stubbornness causes the whole night to take a turn.

warnings: cursing, angst, mentions of fighting, mentions of blood, mentions of drugs

a/n: this idea has been in my mind this whole day and i just HAD to write it idk🌸 part two here

________________________________________

it was one of those nights, chris received a frantic phone call from one of his friends.

“bro we need you here! shits getting heavy and this dude wants your weed!”

chris was upset but didn’t want to wake his sleeping girlfriend, he grabbed his gun and his keys trying to walk out of the door but you caught him before he could go.

“chris? why do you have your gun? it’s 2:17, lay back down”

“wish i could sweetheart.. don’t wait up for me, i got something to handle.”

“okay… let me come then and i am not taking no for an answer. with that, she got something to wear, preferably some sweatpants and chris’ “fresh love” hoodie.

he sighed at her, but understood that she wasn’t gonna drop it. “can you get that weed off the table baby?” he asked.

she complied, grabbing his bag of weed and his rellos, and handed it to him. “damn i wanna roll up… fuck it they don’t gotta know i smoked it!”

“are you alright to drive chris?”

“yea i am, don’t worry”

chris rolls up a blunt and smokes it as they drive, you knew one thing about drug dealers because your own boyfriend is a drug dealer.

chris used to say this one thing you’ll always remember: “one thing you don’t do is mess with their money or weed.”

and chris was doing just that. messing with their weed and possibly their money.

“feelin ok baby? ima keep you safe ok? i’ll even stay in the car while i take this deal, i’m just sellin a few things and then we can go yeah?”

“yeah..”

once they finally reach the abandoned warehouse, chris informs his friends that he’d do the deal from his car since you were in the car. you wish he’d hadn’t done that.

“do you want something to eat princess? hold on i got your favorite snacks back here.”

he opens your favorite chips for you, while he sells the rest of the weed.

“why’d you smoke their stuff? i thought you said that’s dangerous..”

“i know baby i’ll be alright, they won’t know.. now how about i take your mind off of that for a lil bit..” he leans in, and gives you soft kisses all over your face.

just as you were giving him kisses back, a tall buff man was banging on the passenger window and startled the both of us.

“the fuck man? my girls in the car!”

the man swung the door open, nearly pulling you out the car. chris pulls his gun out, a clear warning to leave his girlfriend alone.

“you played with my weed sturniolo.”

“fuck…” your handsome boyfriend muttered. he gives you a quick kiss and exits the vehicle.

“c-chris.. no what are you doing? where are you going?” you frantically yelled.

“just give me ten minutes ok? don’t call the police or nothing just.. eat something and listen to music, i love you.”

“i-i love you too but don’t go please!”

“i’ll be fast as i can ok? ten minutes pretty girl”

once he leaves, he talks to the man, before you knew it, the man was beating chris senseless to the point he just got up and left.

you screamed, rushing out the car to see your boyfriend loosing tons of blood. you tried to stop his bleeding as much as you could, begging him to stay with you.

“chris… baby stay with me okay? please… i got you, just.. stay with me and i’ll get you to a hospital!”

he shook his head. “fuck baby i love you..” then, the whole world shook around you. chris finally revealed where the blood was really coming from. the gunshot wound on his chest, gushing blood.

“no chris.. please.. i need you.”

“i’ll try, best i can do mama, i love you”

with that, you grabbed your phone and dialed 911 as fast as you could.

“p-please help! my boyfriend… he’s been shot!”

you give the dispatcher your address, chris looks up at you one more time. “you’re my safe spot, my girl forever.”

with that he went unconscious, he was breathing but barely. what felt like an eternity, the ambulance finally shows up and takes your boyfriend into their care, you follow them to the hospital, praying your boyfriend will be okay.

________________________________________

-should i do a part two?

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @forgottxen

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 2/?

This story is constantly on my mind these days. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut, slow burn

Wordcount: 2555

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

After running after Red and failing to catch up, you make some improvised bandages out of some dead guy’s shirt, which you do apologize to him for, it was a nice shirt, not that he can answer you. Maybe there was a med-kit somewhere, but you do not want to start wandering aimlessly around a big warehouse. The cuts on your arms, leg, and face are shallow, but the ones on your stomach and chest will need stitches. 

You steal more clothes from some more dead guys, your pants being the only kind of salvageable garment, but it looks better to have pants that don't have a hole in them with three bleeding cuts underneath. You bundle up your ruined clothes, and take them out with you, not a great idea to leave more of yourself behind. There is of course some of your blood on the floor, but you are sure it’s all mixed up with everyone else's, so that won’t matter.

Though all the cars tires are slashed, you are lucky that your ‘boss’ and his rival had a certain ‘style’ they followed, so all of the cars are the same, or similar enough that they use the same wheels. So after a lot of swearing and sweating and bleeding, you can drive one car out, all spare tires. It’s not the best thing, since the movement of switching out the tires pulls at your wounds, but the only other option would have been to walk to a main road and then hitchhike, which would have been a disaster. The fabric making up your bandages has to be switched out after you are done, and you try to pretend it doesn’t worry you about how much blood you’ve lost, and how you are feeling a little woozy as you sit yourself down into the driver's seat.

Also on top of it all you have a headache building, filled with anger, frustration, panic, sadness, and confusion. You are sure the anger is yours, not too sure about everything else though, as your soulmate’s feelings have been mixing in with yours. Sometimes they seem separate, other times they mix so thoroughly that it’s just a mess. You rub your forehead, willing it all away. 

It doesn’t work, at all, not that you really thought it would, but a guy can dream.

For now though, you have other things to concentrate on. Such as calling your vet friend Evelyn so you can come to her clinic, and she can stitch you up so you won’t bleed out before seeing your soulmate Red again. 

This whole soulmate thing is something you’ve never wanted, but you want to at least talk to him, and agree that the bond is strictly going to be platonic, or rather the closest thing to actual non-existence. Something that you both can learn to ignore and mentally suppress, leaving each other alone until whoever shuffles off this mortal coil firsts severs the connection. 

You swear to yourself, hitting the steering wheel a few times, before picking up your phone and dialing Evelyn.

—-------

Ditching your ride is easy enough, you park it a few blocks away from your Evelyn's clinic, and leave the doors unlocked. It will be gone by morning. 

Your feet don't feel the steadiest, but if anyone were to look at you, you would just look like another drunk stumbling home from the bar. Seeing the lit sign with the little smiling dog that marks the right place, you slink into the alleyway next to the building. Your fist on the metal door on the side of the building is heavy. Lucky for you, you don’t have to wait long until Evelyn opens it. She’s frowning, but waves you in none the less, waiting to comment until she locks the door behind you.

“Thought you said at my birthday party you were going to slow down with these kinds of visits.”

“Yeah, but you know, unexpected things happen.” You follow her down the hallway, a familiar route as she leads you into a room where they normally operate on pets, and certainly not humans (other than you).

“At least you are alive. How’s the other guy?” She pats the metal table, before starting to find equipment, some meant for animals, other stuff stashed away from earlier visits. 

“I killed him.” You say as you move to sit at the table. You conveniently leave out the part where he got back up and the whole mess that followed, but at least what you say is true.

“What am I working with?” Evelyn has her back turned to you as she asks, but turns around to look at you, observing your clothes that are this time in one piece.

“Chest and stomach, one cut to each, about 8-10 inches, deep.” She winces as you pull your shirt off, revealing the blood-soaked makeshift bandages. “Some others, but they just need a clean-up and something to cover them later.” The bandages come off, you bite your lip not to hiss in pain, not that it really matters as Evelyn has heard and seen a lot.

“Nasty. Lay back.” You drop your shirt and the bloody rags that can hardly be called bandages on the end of the table, knowing she will complain about having to clean the floor if you dropped them there. 

“Ay ay, mam’.” You swing your legs up on the table and lay down, Evelyn just rolls her eyes at you.

“Don’t call me that, I’m not my mother.”

“Ay ay, sir, then?” You joke, but clench your jaw as she pokes at the edge of your chest wound.

“Good thing the money is good and my wife loves your brownies, or else I might kick you out for that.”

“Tell your wife I’m flattered, but I am very gay.” And have a soulmate, but you leave out that part.

“And so are we.” She grabs a leash from a drawer, holding it in front of your mouth. “Bite down, chipping a tooth will not charm anyone.” You take it, teeth closing around the fabric as Evelyn starts on the wound on your stomach.

You are going to fucking kill Red again.

Soulmate bond be damned.

—----

After Evelyn patches you up, she orders you home to rest, which to be fair, you do. 

For a day.

While looking up a little more about soulmates on your phone.

It’s not like you know nothing, but not wanting one had led you to tune out when people were talking about it, so you know little outside the basics of touch triggering it. It hadn’t seemed useful at the time, because why in the fuck would you need to know about something that was never going to happen to you? Now that you are in it though, you skim through articles about it, because even though you need to know at least a little more, you don’t need to know too many details.

Though some are useful to know. Like the fact that if soulmates are kept away from each other for too long, it will give negative side effects, both physical and mental. The mental you had kinda guessed, but the physical was new.

Headaches, irritable mood, nausea, and aching joints. 

Not fun.

Jesus fucking christ. 

At least your brief reading makes it seem like it doesn’t take that much to keep it in check, just some touches here and there, and time spent together. You grimace, it could have been worse you suppose, but if you have to shake Red’s hand a few times a year, and stay in a room with him for a few hours to keep your life somewhat normal otherwise, you suppose you can manage.

As much as you don’t want to.

Even as much as all you want is to forget it ever happened and leave the man alone.

If you hadn’t touched him back, he wouldn’t have even known, but you suspect if you hadn’t touched him, he would have killed you then.

Like you had him.

But in your defense, you hadn’t known, and he got back up.

So maybe you are just a little messed up, and not a lot.

After reading some more, you find out that lucky for you, soulmates can use their bond, when it’s established, to pull themselves towards their soulmate. Though the article mentioned it’s something most people only do after their bond has been strengthened and developed over time. 

You ignore that last part.

At least the article helps you visualize in your head how your feelings look like in your head. Yours are a river of color, his feelings are a tributary river that flows into yours, with another river of your feelings flowing out towards the ether, or rather, him.

Closing your eyes, you concentrate on your bond to him, the river of feelings going towards him, and those being sent to you. The weak, but pretty constant stream of feelings coming from the other man now in your mind. 

It’s hard to concentrate on, any time you open your eyes it slips into something intangible again, something that is just there, not something that leads you anywhere. So, like a fool, every so often you close your eyes while you still walk, letting your feelings guide your feet. You are certain you look stupid, walking with eyes closed and arms in front of you to make sure you don’t walk into anyone or anything.

It’s not like you keep your eyes closed for long, but it still makes you feel vulnerable.

The pull eventually leads you to an apartment building in a pretty average looking part of the city. You stand on the other side of the street for a while, to gauge how easy it will be to get in.

You can tell Red is inside the building, not moving, so you assume he’s in his apartment. You focus on his emotions, nothing sparks out, just a baseline with some spikes of happiness mixed in.

In the end, you conclude the easiest thing to do is to just wait until someone careless leaves the building, and slip in before the door can close behind them.

You lean on a wall near the front door, pretending to be engrossed in your phone as you wait.

It only takes 10 minutes for you to get your opportunity, slipping in silently and unnoticed. You take the stairs, here and there taking two steps at once, following the pull as well as you can with your eyes still open, until you find yourself in front of an apartment door where you can feel Red behind it. 

Your soulmate.

You wonder what his name actually is.

You force yourself to knock, instead of just trying to open the door, just breaking in.

There’s shuffling of feet, and to your surprise, a black woman with a white afro and sunglasses opens the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” 

“Where’s Red?”

“Who?”

“Red suit, guns and katanas, black around the eyes, a mask that is surprisingly animated?” You feel yourself getting irritated by the silence that description is met with. You wonder how much of it your soulmate is picking up. His emotions are shifting, flowing into what feels like nervousness.

You hear what sounds an awful lot like a squeak and, finally, his voice again.

“Al, close the fucking door.” 

“What the fuck have you done now?”

“Al, please!” You try to look past Al, seconds later the door is thrown shut in your face, the noise of the lock turning quickly following.

Okay, so fuck being polite. 

One deep breath, and then you’re raising one leg up, and kicking the fucking door in. There’s a yelp from someone as the door swings open fast and bounces off the wall behind it. You get into the apartment in a few quick strides, ignoring Al that is cursing at you, something about getting ‘the damn bat’.

“Okay, that was unfairly hot.” You spot him a second after the words leave his mouth. 

At least you’re fairly sure it’s him. He’s not wearing a red suit, instead he’s dressed in grey sweatpants, fuzzy pink slippers, and a red hoodie, but you recognize the bumpy skin that covers his face and hands. Which you can barely see because he is hiding behind another man where they stand in front of a dining room table. Red’s hands are on the shoulders of the man clad in flannel with rolled up sleeves and jeans that is scowling at you; his stance tense with his arms at his side.

You ignore Flannel in favor of looking at your soulmate, meeting his eyes over the shoulder of the other man.

“You are a fucking asshole Red.”

“Well done assessment there, Stab.”

“Stab?”

“Well you did almost stab me through the head before giving me your name, which, count yourself lucky cause I usually don’t put out if I don’t know what name to scream.”

“Wade, what-” Flannel starts, but you cut him off.

 “Oh, so that’s your name.” You offer up your own name. “Which you would have learned if you hadn’t run away like a fucking pussy.” Wade gasps.

“Excuse you, pussies are fucking strong as shit, they can-”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Flannel barks out, shifting both of your attentions to him. “What the fuck is this?” He shakes Wade’s hands off his shoulders, taking a few steps so he’s more in the middle of the two of you. Which is not much space really, the apartment is not big, but at least it gets a little bit less full as Al leaves out the broken door, purse under her arm and muttering something you can’t hear or care to.

“Wade and I need to fucking talk. About how he is a fucking coward for fucking running.”

“I am not, just made a tactical retreat from an enemy!” Wade protests.

“We are a little past that, soulmate.” You drip venom in the last word, Flannel goes stock still as Wade draws in a sharp breath. Panic is sent through your link, which for some reason makes you angry.

“Just fucking come here.” You start to stride over towards Wade, who is frozen now. 

You don’t get past Flannel though, as he grabs you, spinning you quickly as he pins you against the dining room wall with a hand on your shoulder, metal glinting from between his knuckles as it extends and pushes against your throat, not breaking skin, but threatening to do so. 

On instinct you grab at his bare forearm, trying to pull the knives or whatever the fuck those are away from your throat, but now it’s your turn to freeze, as for the second time in as many days, you feel the sizzle in your mind of a new link forming.

What.

In.

The.

FUCK.

You look up at Flannel, startled and with your mouth hanging open. He’s frowning, tilts his head and then, slowly, his hand shifts from your shoulder to touch your neck, the closest piece of bare skin.

His eyes dilate, then he licks his lips, and you know he just felt the same thing as you did.

“What the fuck.” All three of you say in unison.

(Part 3)

[wandascosmic]

she's cheer captain (5)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part five of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3595

tags: best friends to lovers, slowburn, reader is in love with wanda, wanda's as oblivious as ever but loves reader so much, in a friends way, pining, a whole basketball game, reader is a pro basketball player actually, except i don't know anything about basketball so this is the best i could do, minor injury, minor mention of blood, vision sucks

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

“No, I know the warranty’s expired but isn’t it supposed to last longer than two years if it isn’t defective?” you overhear Wanda say on the phone. “Ok, 3 years then.” 

Furrowing your brows, you make your way over to her desk to ask what’s wrong, seeing Wanda anxiously biting the nail of her thumb. 

“Hey, Maximoff, what’s up?” you ask softly, Wanda’s head jerking up at the sound of your voice, her eyes softening once she sees you. 

“Hey,” she mumbles dejectedly. “Um, the toaster oven I got at my engagement shower broke,” she laughs awkwardly. “And I know it’s silly, but..” 

The toaster oven you got at your engagement shower 3 years ago. For a wedding that still has yet to be set. “No, I understand,” you offer her a reassuring smile. 

Wanda smiles back gratefully.  

Drumming your fingers on the desk, you ask, “Are you ready for the basketball game against the warehouse staff today?” 

Wanda groans, leaning back against her chair. “It’s not gonna end well.” 

You laugh. “Wow, Maximoff. For Tony’s designated cheerleader for today, you’re quite negative,” you tease.  

Wanda laughs as well. “That was Sam’s idea so he could suck up to Tony.” She shakes her head. “And besides, I declined because I can’t cheer against Vis.” 

Your smile falls for a split second. 

“Yeah, I guess not.” 

***

“Attention, everyone,” Tony announces coming out of his office. 

You swivel in your chair to face him, leaning your head on your hand. 

“Corporate just called me to let me know that we need staff to come in on Saturday,” he says, making the office staff groan collectively. 

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” he mutters. “Anyways, they let me know that the basketball game later today against the warehouse staff can be used to decide who comes in and who will stay home, and I agreed.  So those of you playing, you better win, because I refuse to come in on a Saturday,” Tony says menacingly before going back into his office.  

“Wait, Tony, we still need a cheerleader!” Sam yells as he runs after him, but Tony ignores him, shutting the door in his face. “Wanda, I still think it should be you.” He says, turning to the receptionist. 

“No, Sam,” she declines once more, dialing a number on the desk phone and putting it up to her ear. “I can’t cheer against my fiance.” 

“I’ll do it,” you say, making Sam and Wanda look at you curiously. 

Sam turns around and narrows his eyes at you. 

“You know, wear a little flouncy skirt and what-not,” you say seriously. 

Wanda snickers quietly at your joke. 

“Yeah, right, Y/N,” Sam grumbles. 

“Oh, yeah,” you rub your chin with your pointer finger and thumb. “I forgot I’ll be busy playing on the team, and you’re benched for nearly setting the building on fire last year after losing in foosball.” 

***

You were actually looking forward to playing on the team. It’s been a while since you had played basketball, but you had been on your high school team for all four years and it was something that had kind of become your thing. Plus, you may or may not have the motivation of impressing a certain green-eyed brunette.  

“Are you coming down?” you ask Wanda as you tie up your running shoes in the chair across from her. 

“Yeah, I’m just forwarding the phones,” Wanda answers, pressing a few buttons absentmindedly. 

“You gonna wish me luck?” you ask. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna need it,” Wanda returns, her mouth opening in fake shock as you laugh at her.  

“No way, is that trash-talk from Wanda?” you tease. 

“I’m just saying, Vision is very competitive,” she tells you with a shrug. “And, he wants to take the waverunners to the lake this Saturday, so..” Wanda tilts her head in a teasing manner. 

“Wow,” you say wistfully with a shake of your head. “Well, I’m going to the outlet mall on Saturday,” you respond as if you were rather conflicted. “So if you wanna save big on brand names and Vision has to work,” you pause to give her a teasing smile making her let out a laugh. “Which he will, because I’m also competitive.” Wanda raises her eyebrow slightly at the challenge. “You should feel free to come along,” you invite.    

Wanda ponders for a moment, tapping her chin in deep thought. “Um, I think I’m gonna be up at the lake,” she answers with a smirk.

You narrow your eyes at her with a smile. “I think I’ll see you at the mall, Maximoff.” 

Wanda laughs. 

***

Sam had somehow convinced Tony to let him play on the team despite his history of quick-tempered overreactions, you didn’t know how he did it, but you suspect it might have to do with the half-eaten chocolates you saw in Tony’s office through the window which weren’t there in the morning. 

Now, your team consists of you, Sam, Tony, Nat, and Peter, who joined last week as the new intern. 

“Alright,” Tony walks onto the middle of the floor of the warehouse. “Those of you on the team with me, you better win because I refuse to come in on a Saturday,” he announces, which you suppose is his version of a pep talk. 

“Wow, Tony, very motivational,” Nat replies sarcastically with her arms crossed. 

“You know, if we win, maybe Tony will buy us some drinks,” you tell Wanda, stretching out your legs slightly. 

Wanda pats your back in false comfort, “Well, that’s a nice thought, but once again, it’s gonna be a tough competition…” 

“Oh, you’ll see, Maximoff,” you retort. “I’ll be at the outlet mall on Saturday, getting loads of great deals, then celebrating with a round of shots.” 

Wanda laughs, and you smile at her. 

But your smile quickly falls as you see Vision come out of the warehouse bathroom in his athletic wear, on his way to greet his fiance. 

Wanda notices your line of sight and turns to face him, greeting him with a hand on his chest and a quick peck on the lips. 

“Hi,” she says in a breathy voice, looking up at him with a loving grin on her face. 

“Hey,” he whispers back, and Wanda wraps her arms around his neck as the two engage in a much deeper kiss. 

You quickly avert your gaze and decide to do a couple more stretches.  

“Alright, everyone, listen up,” Tony declares as both the office and warehouse staff huddle up in a circle, Vision unfortunately ending up standing next to you. “This is gonna be a friendly game, but whoever loses this game will have to come in to work this Saturday, got it?” 

Everyone nods in understanding. 

“Alright, great, let’s start,” he says, jogging backward into place as everyone starts to disperse around the court.  

“Have a good game,” you tell Vision as the two of you take a couple of steps back to spread out, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

“Yeah, you too,” he says, shaking your outstretched hand and then running off to meet his teammates. “Should be fun,” you catch him mutter under his breath. 

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. 

“Alright, office team, huddle up,” Tony announces, snapping you out of your thoughts and forcing you to form a circle with the rest of your teammates. “Peter, you’ll take Steve, Nat, you’ll take Clint, Sam, you take Vision, Y/N, you’re on T’Challa, and I’m on Jean, got it?” 

You all nod. 

“Alright, good luck. Spread out, everyone!” Tony says as he walks towards the middle of the court to grab the ball. “Wanda, you’ve got your foot in both camps here, why don’t you do the jump ball, okay?” 

Wanda nods and walks towards Tony to grab the basketball. 

“Don’t listen to him, Wanda, trust me. Tip it my way or you’re sleeping in the car,” Vision jokes with a laugh as he squats down. 

You clench your jaw as you see Wanda’s frown. 

The ball goes up in the air and Tony quickly gets his fingers on it to tip it towards your side of the court. 

“Sam!” he yells as the ball ends up right beside Sam. 

Sam tries to dribble the ball but unfortunately, you all quickly notice that his skills are subpar at best. Sam loses control of the ball after the third dribble, allowing Vision to steal it from him. 

“Oh, come on!” Tony yells, running after Vision as well as the rest of you. 

You quickly sprint after Vision who is on his way to score, and right as he’s about to send the ball into the hoop, he passes it to Steve, who makes the shot. 

“Damn it,” you mutter. 

T’Challa tries to pass to Vision but you quickly interfere, stealing the ball before Vision can get it and sprint towards the hoop, dribbling the ball at your side. Before you can make the shot Clint guards you, so you pass it to Sam and run around Clint. 

“Shoot it, Sam!” Tony shouts. 

Sam throws the ball to try and score but misses again, accidentally throwing it over the hoop entirely. 

“Sorry, Tony!” Sam apologizes. 

“It’s fine, Sam,” Tony replies, but you can tell that he’s already starting to get frustrated. “Let’s go into zone, everyone!” he instructs. 

You jog in position, squatting down in an athletic stance to try and grab the ball being passed around between the warehouse staff.

“Defense!” Sam chants with a clap. “Defense!” 

You guard T’Challa with your arms up, and he quickly tosses the ball over your head to pass to Vision who’s right beside the hoop and about to score. You sprint to try and stop the ball, but Vision scores another point before you can reach him by doing a layup. 

Tony groans. “Who’s got Vision? Come on, step it up!” he yells. 

You move to grab the ball Vision scored and start to dribble it as you sprint towards the other side of the court. Once you reach the hoop, you’re about to shoot the ball when suddenly Vision stands in front of you to stop you from shooting the ball, with the rest of his teammates surrounding him. You inch a bit closer to him, as if you’re about to run past him on his right side, the ball dribbling at your side, and right as he starts to lean over a little bit to mirror your position, you fake him out, throwing the ball behind your back and catching it on the other side of your body, successfully passing him on his left and scoring another point. 

“Whoo!” Wanda cheers, joining in on the applause you receive for your play. 

The game passes by a bit more, and soon the ball ends up in Sam’s hands once again who’s on the opposite side of the court from the hoop. Sam goes off of his first instinct, and tries to shoot it from all the way across the court, surprising no one when it doesn’t make it into the hoop. 

“Oh, come on!” Sam yells in frustration. 

Nat steals the ball from Clint who had picked it up after Sam’s shot and scores once more, and Steve makes a 2-pointer after taking the ball from Peter, who was trying his best to be as friendly as possible since he was still the new guy. 

You furrow your brows in confusion as you hear an argument come from the corner of the warehouse, turning to see Sam trying to full-on wrestle the ball out of Jean’s hands.

“Back off!” Jean yells at him, but Sam ignores her as he gets the ball out of her grip. 

He sprints, dribbling the ball to his side as he runs towards the hoop, but unfortunately, Vision steals the ball from him before he can make it, making another shot for the warehouse team instead.  

Tony shakes his head. “All right, time out,” he says, making a T with his hands. “Office team, come on in.” 

You all walk towards Tony who stands beside the bench, panting heavily and starting to sweat quite a bit. 

“Ok, we’re down right now, guys, what do we do?” 

“Run away and start a beet farm,” Sam suggests with a shrug. 

“What? No,” Tony answers with a shake of his head. 

“Switch Y/N and Sam,” Nat responds. “She’s the strongest on our team, and it looks like Vision is theirs.” 

Wanda’s eyes widen as she overhears Nat’s suggestion from the bench. 

“Yes, smart. Ok, Y/N, you take Vision. Sam, you’ll take T’Challa, got it?” He points to the two of you and you both nod in response. 

Wanda shifts uncomfortably in her seat. 

“All right, everyone take it up a notch, come on!” Tony says with a clap, silently instructing you all to disperse across the court once more. 

The ball goes back into play, Nat taking hold of it immediately, who quickly passes it to you, and you start to dribble your way toward the hoop. You’re about to score, but Steve blocks you with his arms out, along with Vision who stands at your side to prevent you from scoring as well. 

You dribble the ball slightly, inching a bit closer to Steve before faking him out and turning to throw the ball over Vision’s head, scoring another point. 

“Yes, let’s go!” Tony yells with a fist pump. 

You jog back to the other side, giving Wanda a teasing nod as you pass her on the bench, and she watches your running form with a soft smile. 

Peter grabs the ball from Clint, starting to dribble toward the hoop, but Sam steals it from him, making his first shot of the game.  

“Same team Mr. Sam!” Peter yells, but Sam ignores him as he continues to cheer for himself.

The ball soon goes back into play, and you sprint as fast as you can after it. Steve gets ahold of it first, but gets blocked by Peter before he can go any further. You see Steve about to pass it to Vision and you quickly block him to try and catch the ball yourself. Vision growls, shoving you out of the way so you stand behind him so he can grab it instead. 

The ball gets thrown into the air, the two of you shoving each other out of the way to try and take ahold of it. As you’re about to steal it successfully, your palms are right about to contact both sides of the ball, suddenly, something hits you right in the mouth. Hard. 

You run off slightly with your hand on your mouth to check if you’re bleeding, and Wanda’s eyes widen with worry as she sits up slightly to see if you’re ok. 

“Whoa! Whoa! Vision! Foul! Dude, you just clocked her right in the mouth with your elbow,” Tony says with shock. “Y/N, are you alright?” 

Wanda tries to peer around the corner to check on you, her worry increasing by the second.  

Once you walk back onto the court and nod that you’re ok, she exhales in relief, relaxing slightly. 

The game soon restarts and the ball makes its way into your hands once more. You dribble the ball to the hoop, and right as you’re about to score, Vision stands in front of you, blocking you from making your shot. Dribbling the ball slightly, you fake him out on his right and quickly go around his left, scoring another point. Soon after, Vision is about to score when you steal the ball from him, and run towards your own hoop, scoring a 3-pointer for your team. 

Wanda smiles as she watches you play. 

Tony passes the ball to you and Vision quickly guards you by standing on your backside as the hoop is behind you. You fake him out once more and swivel around to score. However, as you do your move, he trips and falls over, making him skid a couple inches on the ground.  

“What the hell, Y/N?” he says as he stands back up, brushing his shorts slightly. 

“Hey, dude. That wasn’t her fault,” Tony says, pointing towards his untied shoelace. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he retorts, bumping your shoulder forcefully as he walks past you. 

Wanda frowns as she watches the interaction. 

Bruce lets you all know that the game is about to end in 2 minutes, and somehow Sam scores his second shot of the game after stealing the ball from Tony, making Tony roll his eyes despite being grateful for the additional point. 

The game passes quickly, and suddenly, you all hear the blare of an airhorn being fired by Bruce to indicate that the game is over. 

You stop running and try to catch your breath by putting your hands on your knees, feeling exhausted from all the exercise. 

“And the winners are,” Bruce points to Jennifer to indicate for her to do a drum roll. “The office team by 10 points!” he announces. 

You all cheer and high-five one another, and you receive a couple of compliments on your play making you smile. 

Tony turns to the warehouse staff. “All right, great,” he claps. “Guess you guys are working Saturday.” 

The warehouse workers groan, starting to walk out the door to go and change, but unfortunately, Vision has a different idea. “No, no, no, I’m not coming in on Saturday,” he says, stepping closer to Tony. 

“Hey, come on, man, they won fairly.” Steve pats him on the back. 

“No, no way, this isn’t happening, Rogers,” Vision replies, shoving Steve’s hand off of him aggressively and invading Tony’s personal space even more. 

“Dude,” Tony gets his attention. “We won. You heard me at the beginning, whoever loses will come in on Saturday. That was the deal, alright?” 

“I don’t care,” Vision snaps back. “We’re coming in on Monday, right?” 

You sigh, noticing Vision’s fists clenched and the sign that he’s about to get physical. Slightly worried for Tony’s safety and because you were already tired, you decide it’s probably best to end the argument. “Hey, Tony,” you say softly. “It’s fine, we’ll come in on Saturday,” you comply. 

Tony shakes his head. “No, Y/N, that won’t fly. We won fairly and this guy is just coming in here–” 

“Tony, it’s fine,” you interrupt. “It probably wouldn’t have been good for morale anyways,” you reason.

“You know you basically won that game for us, right?” Tony says, utterly confused by your actions. “And now you’re completely discrediting your hard work–” 

“Tony, don’t worry about it.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re insane, Y/N.” 

You shrug in response. 

“Well?” Vision demands. 

Tony looks over at you and you nod. 

“Fine,” Tony relents. “We’ll come in on Saturday.” 

Vision smiles smugly, and as leaves the two of you to head towards the bathroom, you hear his snark remark of, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You and Tony both watch him until he closes the bathroom door behind him, and you sigh as you go to pack up your stuff. 

“I hate you,” Tony says behind you. 

You nod, zipping up your bag and patting him on the shoulder. 

“Well, you can yell at me on Saturday,” you respond, going to head upstairs to shower and change. 

***

You were back in your work clothes now, staring into the most beautiful green eyes to ever exist as the recipient of them iced your lip for you. 

“Wanda, this is completely unnecessary,” you tell her, sitting up slightly in the large chair across from her desk. “I’m fine.” 

“I know, but it looked like it hurt, and this will prevent it from swelling,” she replies, sitting down on the arm of the chair. Wanda’s brows furrow in focus as she treats your barely qualified injury, while you watch the cute expression on her face, completely entranced. Somehow, every day you just fell more and more in love with her. And right now, you didn’t even care that you had to come in on Saturday. Just one moment with the most beautiful girl the world has ever known would make you do it again in a heartbeat. 

“There, that should be good,” Wanda says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You laugh slightly. “You mean my non-existent injury healed already?”

Wanda slaps your arm. “I was worried, you idiot. And a thank you would be nice,” she returns as she walks back to her desk. 

“Thank you, Wanda,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a smile, watching her.  

She smiles gratefully as she sits back down in her chair. 

You and Wanda start a small conversation between the two of you for the next few minutes, but unfortunately, your moment with the receptionist is cut short, as the devil himself walks in. 

“Hey, baby,” Vision greets, looking over at you as he walks towards Wanda, limping slightly due to his fall you assume. 

“Hey,” Wanda greets back as she starts to put her stuff away, Vision noticing you and giving you a grin. 

“Look at Larry Bird, over here,” he says, nodding his head over at you. “Larry Legend.” 

“Yeah, she’s, uh, she’s pretty good, huh?” Wanda agrees as she comes around her desk with her arms crossed, staring at you for a moment before grabbing Vision’s arm. 

The two start to walk out together, and you wave goodbye to both of them as a silly smile makes its way onto your face.

part 6

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 34

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Postpartum depression; allusions to child abuse; perceived child abuse - read with care

A/N: I am so sorry it has taken me this long! The move has really done a number on my mental health and I've been struggling to write anything substantial. I've taken some serious liberties with Georgia weather. If you noticed, no you didn't. Lol I don't hate Rick. His mindset isn't the greatest at this point. We know that. Just making sure everyone is aware that I love our deputy. Post partum depression is a real thing and it sucks. This chapter has some really angsty, dark tones, and should be read with care, especially toward the end (beginning at “Oh,hey.” She greeted, patting the ground next to her). I did lots of research and sadly, what transpires is a real thing that people do for reasons that aren't necessary. Please try to give Carol and reader some grace given the circumstances. But if you're sensitive to anything dealing with making a child uncomfortable, you might want to skip this. It gets a little heavy. I would be happy to give you a summary of what is happening if you would rather skip the last few paragraphs (see above where to stop reading). Just message me.

I love you all! Thank you for your patience with me.

You weren’t sure when it happened, when the switch flipped or the dial turned. All you knew is that every single time your daughter cried, you wanted to break down and sob with her. When you held her to your breast, you couldn’t look at her. You left her with Lori or Carol more and more, the looks they gave you annoyingly understanding. When you would hand her off to Daryl and walk away, you couldn’t bear to see that expression of befuddled dismalness. 

“Postpartum depression.” Carol finally said one bitterly cold morning. She was changing Birdie with swift movements, eager to shield her from the drafty atmosphere of the warehouse. 

You had your back to her—your face in your hands—while you silently cried, two small bottles of breast milk sitting at your feet, still attached to the manual pumps. Sniffling, you glanced over your shoulder just as she placed the shifting blanketed bundle against her shoulder. “I hate my baby, Carol.” You whimpered. “That’s more than depression.”

The silver-haired lady shook her head. “Honey, I promise you don’t hate her.” 

“I don’t want anything to do with her.” You bit back with more vexation than you had intended. “I can’t stand it when she cries. I just want Daryl to keep her away from me.” When she tilted her lips with that gentle smile, it took all you had not to chuck one of the bottles at her. What was wrong with you? Could she be right? Were you depressed?

“I went through this, sweetheart. It will pass.” When she offered you little Birdie, you reeled. “You can’t keep avoiding her.” She was right and you hated it. With a huffing breath, you accepted your daughter, distributing her small weight across your arm for her head to rest in the crook of your elbow. “I have an idea.”

You heaved a sigh, not really interested in whatever it was that Carol was going to suggest. You had to stop taking your frustrations out on the woman. And Lori. And Daryl. And especially little Birdie. She was perfect and you knew in your heart of hearts that you could never truly harbor anything other than unrelenting love for her. Yes. Carol was right. You were definitely depressed. 

“What?” You finally queried. 

“What’re you two doin’ in here?” You heard Daryl’s boots crossing the concrete floor until they stopped just behind you. His lips pressed gently against the crown of your head. “Hey.” You said nothing. So much for not taking things out on your fiancé. 

“Daryl, right on time.” Carol beamed. 

“For what?” The confusion was evident in his tone.

“Y/N pumped some milk for the baby. It won’t keep unless we get more snow and can store it in the drifts.” She informed. “Why don’t you feed the baby?”

“Feed ‘er? Like with a bottle?”

“Unless you’re miraculously lactating, yes. With a bottle.” There was a hint of jocularity in her tone. You could almost feel his glare without turning. 

“I mean—yeah, okay.” Annoyance momentarily forgotten, you focused on the uncertainty in your partner’s voice. You didn’t miss the tremble. Neither did Carol. 

“You’re gonna be fine, Daryl.” She said encouragingly. 

“Ain’t me m’worried ‘bout.” The archer mumbled as he circled around you. He was hesitant in reaching for Birdie, but took her into his arms immediately when you sat up straighter and shifted her. The movement must have upset your daughter, her little limbs flailing as Daryl positioned her in the bend of his arm. “Ain’t no need for all that fussin’, lil Bird. You’re gonna get fed.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “By somebody. May not be me after I screw this up.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re better with her than you give yourself credit for.” It came out flat and harsh, your default setting as of late. Still, one look at the expression that decorated Daryl’s features, you found yourself ashamed. “You’re a great father.” You added, softer and with sincerity. 

Daryl held your gaze and, for a moment,—for the first time in a long time—it was uncomfortable. When he nodded and turned to Carol, you were able to exhale, though your stomach remained in knots. 

“Gimme the thing, I guess.” He held out a hand and looked down at his daughter, her little face reddening. Her mouth opened with the slightest squeak. She was two seconds from shrieking. “Keep your diaper on, lil’ girl. It’s comin’.” Daryl gingerly bounced his arm, Birdie’s features smoothing out for a moment, just long enough for Carol to hand over the bottle. 

You found yourself leaning forward, biting your lip as if ready to spring into applause when he accomplished the ��impossible” task. When you caught his gaze, both of you looking up at the same time, you sat back and cleared your throat. When had things become so awkward between the two of you? It was almost unbearable. 

“Tilt her up just a little.” Carol instructed. “Touch the nipple to her lip, she’ll—there you go.”

You heard the soft snort of Daryl’s laugh and let your eyes travel from Birdie—now happily suckling away at the bottle—to your fiance. His eyes were soft but excited, sparkling in a way you’d never before seen. His lips were tilted upward, only the slightest fraction. Smiling suited him. You wished he’d do it more often. 

“Told ya that ya wasn’t gonna starve. Slow down. Ain’t no one gonna take it away.” He babbled, scrunching his nose with that smile still adorned. Was he even aware that he was lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of you? You didn’t think so. At that moment, no one else existed to him; just a father and his little bird. 

You only felt the smile on your own face when you looked over to find Carol watching not Daryl and Birdie but you. With a soft, knowing expression, she mouthed see? And see, you did. You nodded, tears stinging behind your eyes. The room was silent aside from Birdie’s gulps and breaths and squeaks, and for moment, you thought:

Everything’s gonna be just fine.

If only you knew just how wrong you were.

“We can’t have her crying like this!” Rick was swiping a hand roughly over his tired face, looking haggard. Things between him and Lori were not improving. They seemed to only be worsening. Even Daryl had called out the deputy’s behavior once or twice in the last two weeks. The archer was currently glaring daggers while he rubbed a fingerless-gloved hand over Birdie’s back through the sling that held her to your chest. 

The loss of the warehouse had been tough on everyone, but you and your baby were affected the most. Your mood swings were only growing worse, though less and less toward the little one in your arms and more toward the adults that were only trying to help you. In turn, Birdie remained in a constant state of inconsolable. Hershel had thrown around words like colic and had Daryl dosing out gas drops to the little one but nothing seemed to soothe her.

The cars had run out of gas, as well as Daryl’s bike. The archer had pushed the motorcycle along for a time before he declared that he couldn’t protect Birdie if he was too busy hauling a damn bike. He had hidden it under some brush, easy to be tracked back to later. It was Merle’s bike and you knew what it meant to him. However, Birdie meant more. Much, much more and he would crawl into hell and back for the little girl strapped to your front.

“She’s a baby, man. How else she s’posed to let us know she’s needin’ something?” Daryl snapped, his voice intentionally higher to be heard over your daughter’s cries. 

“Daryl, you know this isn’t safe! She’s gonna bring every walker for miles down on us!” Rick threw out an arm, gesturing broadly. “Or—or the living! You saw what they would do!”

“Ain’t much we can do! She ain’t hungry! She ain’t needin’ changed! She’s just pissed off an’ I ain’t far away from bein’ right there with ‘er!”

“Boys.” Lori admonished, squeezing your shoulder. When had you started to tremble? “All this negative energy isn’t helping.”

“She’s right.” Hershel agreed, adjusting his gloves. “Babies are incredibly intuitive.”

“We just need to find fuel—cars.” Rick sniffed, hands on his hips. “We’re sitting ducks like this.” His eyes met Daryl’s in a heated challenge.

After an intense staredown, it was surprisingly Daryl who backed down first but not without a menacing growl. Turning to place his body between you and Rick, he brushed his bare fingertips over Birdie’s hooded head and then across your jaw. “Y’want me to take ‘er for a bit?”

You shook your head even as the temptation beckoned you to acquiesce. “I don’t think jostling her would help right now.” A single tear trailed down your cheek. As much as it pained you to admit, Rick was right, but how could you coax your baby to stop her noises of discomfort when you had no idea what was ailing her? Daryl used his thumb to swipe away the moisture, his expression equal parts distress and sadness. He clearly felt as helpless as you did.

“S’take a break.” He said suddenly, ushering you to a nearby log. Lori was immediately lowering herself beside you with a great deal of difficulty given her round belly. You could sympathize with her struggle, having been there not so long ago yourself. Her hand came to rest on the back of your head with loving strokes meant to soothe your nerves.

“I think that’s a great idea.” She agreed, offering you a gentle smile when you searched out her gaze. After a moment, you nodded and began to remove Birdie from her sling. Carol appeared with an extra blanket to cover you and shield the baby from the cold as you tried to nurse her. Daryl was hovering, shifting from foot to foot with his fingers digging into the strap of his crossbow. As much as you loved the man, his nervous energy wasn’t helping things in the slightest. 

“Why don’t you go hunting?” You suggested, reveling in the relief when Birdie quickly latched and her wailing ceased. Her little hiccups around enthusiastic gulps remained heartbreaking. The past few days had seen you begin to settle though the fraying of your nerves lingered. At least you were now aware of how much you loved your daughter and that you wouldn’t change a single moment that brought her barreling into your life. 

Daryl quickly shook his head in refusal, his already white-knuckled grip on that strap growing impossibly tighter. “Can’t leave ya here like this.”

You bit back the urge to yell at him, make the demand that he go. He meant well. “Please?” He wrestled with indecision, his expression damn near crumbling before he skillfully schooled it with a sigh.

“Fine.” He huffed at the same time that he took a single step toward you. He seemed to think better of it and turned on a heel while stripping his weapon from his back. “Be back in a hour an’ we can move on.” You knew as well as he did that there was little to no game to satisfy the group’s hunger. He was only trying to placate you. The two of you needed time alone, needed to talk and work through the tension between you. 

With an inward sigh, you watched him disappear into the trees and shushed Birdie when she released your nipple and began to squirm and fuss. 

“So,” Lori began, “am I looking at the future Mrs. Dixon?” Her question caught you off guard, your eyes shooting wide even as you stared straight ahead. Only when she tapped the back of her hand against your arm did you acknowledge her and her request to take Birdie. Passing the baby off, you adjust your clothing and draped the extra blanket over your daughter.

“How did you—”

“He asked my advice.” Lori carefully arranged Birdie against the front of her shoulder, alternating between patting and rubbing the little one’s back. Tiny grunts and squeaks sounded from beneath the blanket, an audible passing of gas following close behind. The experienced mother turned toward where Hershel had sat to rest as well. “Maybe a touch of colic?” There was that word again. 

The older man hummed. “Could be. I’ll fetch the drops.” You felt bad watching him struggle to his feet from the forest floor, but couldn’t be persuaded to do so yourself. You were just too damn tired.

“What is colic?” You asked, your brow drawing inward. It was obviously not a danger to your baby, given Hershel’s lack of serious concern, but if something was hurting her, it was hurting you. The very thought of her pain had tears springing to your eyes.

“It just means that she’s uncomfortable. It might be the lack of protein in your diet. It could be gas. There’s no real explanation. She’s just—not feeling well. It’s nothing to worry about except she won’t be easily soothed for a while.” Her lips thinned into a sad smile. “It’s nothing and a lot all at once.”

“I’ll take her.” Carol offered whilst petting your hair as Lori had just a few moments prior. Extricating Birdie from Lori’s arms, she bounced the infant tenderly against her chest. “Y/N, will you come find me once you’ve finished up here?” Sporting a questioning look, you still nodded and watched her walk away after returning the gesture.

“He asked your advice?” You stared toward the empty space of Carol’s retreat for a moment longer before turning your attention to Lori. This time, her smile was genuine if not cheeky. 

“He did.”

“Hey—Hey, uh, can I ask ya somethin’?” 

She hadn’t really noticed Daryl approaching but that wasn’t surprising. He was a hunter and stealth was something in which he excelled. Lori paused in her stirring and tapped the spoon on the side of the kettle. The beans had yet to even begin to heat over the small fire inside the house, so she had a few minutes to spare.

“Of course.”

Daryl had changed so much over the course of the months he had been with the group, and she had you to thank for such a large part of that. And now, she had little Birdie to thank as well. The man was going to make an excellent father, despite his lack of confidence.Though she knew so little, she was aware he wrestled with unnamed demons, but you were there to help see him through it. He would be just fine. All three of you would.

“I, uh—well—” The archer rubbed at the back of his neck, something she noticed he did when he was uncomfortable. “Ain’t good at any’a this shit, so m’just gonna say it.” Lori raised her eyebrows when he paused to chew intently on the side of his thumb. “Wanna ask Y/N to, y’know—to marry me.” Her first instinct was to cheer, to celebrate his commitment, but thoughts of Rick—of Shane—trampled any immediate joy and ushered in skepticism. “You’re sure?”

Daryl scoffed. “Course m’sure! Lookit what she went through—what she just did for me. Why wouldn’t I wanna make ‘er my wife?” The confusion—the utter exasperation—on his face gave her pause but she continued.

“But do you love her?” She asked. Daryl wiped a hand down his face, ending with running the length of his index finger across his bottom lip. “It’s not a hard question, Daryl. Do you love her?” She didn’t realize—or maybe she did—how difficult it was for the man to admit something that deep to anyone but you. She wasn’t aware that he had said it before, had said it in the van, in the presence of the Greene’s and Carol, but whether or not they had heard was not something he had bothered to care about during that pivotal moment. 

Finally, Daryl sighed, his voice quiet. “I love ‘er. Yeah.”

Lori felt something in her chest release, a strong sense of relief and—if she were being honest—jealousy overwhelming her senses, making it impossible to speak for a moment. Gathering her bearings, she nodded and turned back to the pot, picking up the spoon to begin stirring. “Then you just ask her.” She sniffed, tilting her head just so in order to hide her tears from him. She was happy for you, compellingly so, but there was no denying the sadness that weighed on her own heart. Still, this wasn’t about her. This was about you—her friend. “Don’t rehearse lines or try to make it perfect. You just ask her. On the spot and from the heart.”

She heard the quiet hum from the side. It was the most straightforward form of acceptance toward her answer that she was bound to get from him. As his bootfalls receded into whispers on far away hardwood, she smiled.

Try or not, he was going to make it something that would mean the world to you.

You wiped away a tear and sniffled, consumed with a fresh wave of guilt for how you had been treating him as of late. He was handling your mood swings with grace, never lashing out, even if you did see him bite his tongue on more than one occasion. He had every right. Hormones or not, he deserved better than what you had been giving him.

“Thanks.” You whispered.

“So?”

You sniffled a second time, wiping at both of your eyes. “So what?”

Lori chuckled, her hands on either side of her belly. “Did you say yes?” 

You smiled and shook your head, recalling the moment to the forefront of your mind—hearing his tone, summoning the myriad of emotions you had experienced. It really was a Daryl Dixon proposal and it couldn’t have been more perfect. “I said yes.” You gave an indignant oomf as you were pulled against Lori, her arms squeezing as tightly as they could manage. “Wait, wait, wait.” You laughed, patting her back in an effort to coerce her into releasing her hold. When she let go, you sat back, expression light. “We’re keeping it quiet for now, making it official later.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “A lot can happen in a short amount of time. He could change his mind.” Especially with these fucking mood changes. 

“You’re right.” She agreed. You shot her a look, almost as if you had been expecting her to disagree with you. “ A lot can change. We don’t know what’s going to happen even in the next few minutes.” She paused. “Who we might lose.” Leaning forward, she cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Think about it.” You studied her for a moment, the sadness and apprehension radiating from your friend and forming a veil over you that was almost smothering. You nodded. “Good. Now go see what Carol wants. I think I need a nap.” She gave you an encouraging smile and didn’t move as you stood, looking over your shoulder at her before you disappeared to find the other woman and your daughter.

It wasn’t hard to do. Not at all. You just followed the loud exclamations of a disgruntled infant. As you approached, you could tell your daughter had just been given a fresh diaper and was in the process of being swaddled. The cold, flat ground beneath her couldn’t have been helping things. The weather was warming but at a slow rate Regardless, you had no idea what was coming next: what Carol would share with you and the disaster that would follow.

“Oh, hey.” She greeted, patting the ground next to her. The lack of her usual gentle tone and welcoming smile were your first clues that something was amiss. She sighed heavily, not meeting your eyes once you were cross-legged at her side. Her hand was splayed over the top of the blanket, gently rubbing circles over Birdie’s belly. “There’s something I want to tell you—advice, if I can even call it that.” She said solemnly. You weren’t sure where her thoughts were at that moment but it was somewhere dark, somewhere in a place she had deserted since the deaths of Ed and Sophia.

“What is it?” You needlessly adjusted the knit hat on Birdie’s head; pulled the hood of the tiny jumpsuit more snug around her little round face.

“Babies cry, Y/N. It’s how they tell us when they need something. It’s the only way they can tell us.” Why was she schooling you on something you had already learned? And in such a monotonous fashion? “I don’t want Rick to be right but there are dangers and few options if a herd follows the noise.” She sighed heavily, her shoulders held slumped under an invisible weight. “I don’t like it but it’s fact.”

“I know that, Carol.” 

“It’s just—” When you looked away from the baby, your gaze was immediately drawn to the lone tear straying from her closed eyes. “When Sophia was born, she was—she was such a quiet baby.” Her words came so softly, so full of melancholic nostalgia that you felt your own heart clench. Then, when her eyes opened, they were hard, her expression stern and twisted. “He gave me a break. Ed.” She didn’t even need to say his name. You knew. “A couple of weeks before the—old habits came back. The bruises, the screaming.” She was trembling, her hand leaving Birdie to curl into a fist on top of her knee.

“Carol, we don’t have to—”

“Sophia felt it.” She nodded, staring off to nowhere in particular. “That energy—she began to cry, she was so unsettled. Ed didn’t like it. Shut her up or I will, he would say.” She bent forward, her face crumbling as her hand slid up to twist into the front of her jacket. “I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t know how else to keep her safe.”

You waited her out, terrified of what she was about to tell you. When you said nothing, she inhaled deeply and released her hold on the coat, stroking the back of a knuckle over Birdie’s cheek.

“Y/N, I am going to show you something. I only ask that you please try not to think less of me.” Your mouth was moving but no sound emerging, your wide eyes watching her lean over your daughter, shushing the discontented cries. “I would never hurt your daughter, just as I would have never hurt my own.” Before you could speak, she was pinching Birdie’s little nose with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. The crying ceased but the flailing did not, her little limbs jerking.

“Carol!” You threw yourself forward and snatched her wrists, pulling them away from your daughter, throwing the other woman off balance and onto her hip. Carol caught herself, her palm shoving toward you in a desperate gesture for you to calm down. “What the fu—”

“Look!” She pleaded, her head jerking toward the now silent baby.

Birdie was still, her tiny blue eyes open and searching, stunned. She wasn’t crying, not at that moment. Your jaw was agape, your mind warring between anger and bewilderment; between betrayal and understanding.

“You only do it for a moment, not long enough to cause any harm.” Carol sat up, tears flowing down her cheeks, unchecked. “I couldn’t let Sophia cry. I did what I had to do.” She shook her head adamantly, her eyes closed tightly as if she were trying to jar the unpleasant memories loose and out of her mind. “I don’t regret it. I don’t. She was safe from him.”

“I don’t—Carol, I can’t do that.” You were crying openly now, picturing yourself denying your daughter precious breath. Even just one attempt would break you, split you open from the inside out.

“I’m not telling you that you have to, but Y/N,” she paused, gathering herself back up onto her knees at your side. She intentionally kept space between the two of you. “Rick—he’s trying to keep us safe. You saw what those monsters were going to do to her. You’ve seen what walkers can and will do. Just until we find a car. Until—”

Your face was in your hands now, Birdie’s crying having picked back up. “What if I—”

“Only a moment, Y/N. She will catch her breath. Eventually, it—it trains her.” Carol hesitantly touched your shoulder, and you broke, bowing over your little one with open sobs. Your body trembled from the force of your crying, any sound muffled by the blanket pressing into your face. “I’m so sorry. I just want her to be safe. I want her to have a chance.”

The two of you stayed that way for an uncertain amount of time, long enough for your sobs to drain away into hiccups and whimpers. Sitting up, you roughly wiped at your face, red and puffy eyes frozen on your screaming baby. How could you do what she was suggesting? How? What would Daryl think? “I need to talk to Daryl.”

Carol nodded, but her expression screamed uncertainty. “Maybe you should show him.” She suggested. “He can see that it’s not hurting her.”

“The man wouldn’t even wipe her ass because he was afraid of hurting her, Carol.”

“You’re right. Maybe this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have—I’m so sorry.”

She felt ashamed. You could see it all over her; her face, the way she began to curl in on herself. She was ashamed of something she was forced to do to keep her baby girl safe. And then she had lost Sophia. It was clear that Carol wasn’t proud of the way she had to ensure her child’s safety. It wasn’t a hack you go around bragging about at neighborhood get-togethers. It was survival.

“Show me what to do.”

Expression grim, Carol moved closer and instructed. The actions were so simple. It was the very idea itself that was so impossibly difficult. Pinching Birdie’s little nose, the baby gasped wetly through her mouth just as your hand was coming down to cover it. Your heart was seizing, vibrating painfully in your chest. Just as your fingertips touched her cheek—

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

Daryl.

[eclipsedrgn]

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑨 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕

jason's girlfriend isn't the most normal girl, but jason doesn't know that.

jason todd x fem!reader

Jason Todd trudged up the stairs to his apartment, exhaustion weighing down every step. His body ached from the most recent mission—a particularly grueling one with Gotham’s more insane criminals. All he wanted right now was to collapse into bed, wrap his arms around you, and forget about the world for a few hours. For three years, you'd been his solace, the steady normalcy in his chaotic life. While the rest of the world knew him as the Red Hood—a vigilante who skirted the line between hero and anti-hero—you only knew him as Jason, the guy who loved shitty action movies and long conversations over coffee.

Hell, Jason loved that you had nothing to do with his other life. You were just a regular junior middle school teacher, living your life with your students and lesson plans. He loved your innocence to the madness that surrounded Gotham, the way you’d roll your eyes at news reports about the Joker or some other whack job as if it were just another Tuesday.

But tonight… something was wrong.

The moment he stepped into the hallway leading to his apartment, his stomach twisted. The door was cracked open. Jason’s pulse spiked as he instinctively reached for the gun tucked in the back of his jeans, cursing under his breath.

No. No, no, no.

He rushed forward, shoving the door open and stepping into the chaos that greeted him. His once neat apartment was trashed—furniture overturned, picture frames shattered on the floor, and the unmistakable signs of a struggle smeared across the room. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps as his eyes darted from the destroyed living room to the kitchen, then to the hallway that led to the bedroom.

“Babe?!” Jason’s voice cracked with panic. “(Y/N)!”

No response. The apartment was eerily quiet, and with every passing second, dread wrapped its icy fingers around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter. Jason sprinted through the rooms, kicking open doors, ripping open closets—anything to find you. But there was nothing.

You were gone.

“Fuck!” Jason shouted, his voice raw as he slammed his fist into the nearest wall, cracking the drywall. His hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone, immediately dialing the Batcave. His mind was racing, screaming at him with every worst-case scenario imaginable. You were a civilian. You had no part in this life. Who the fuck would take you?

The line clicked, and Barbara’s voice came through, steady as ever. “Jason?”

“It’s (Y/N),” Jason growled, pacing through the wreckage of the apartment. “She’s gone. Someone—” He sucked in a breath, his throat tightening. “Someone fucking took her.”

The other end of the line went silent for a second, the weight of his words sinking in. “Hold on, I’m on it. I’ll run a trace through the city surveillance cameras.”

Jason’s heart was hammering in his chest, sweat beading on his forehead as he waited for Barbara to work her magic. Every second felt like an eternity. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. You were his goddamn light, the one thing keeping him tethered to any sense of normalcy. If something happened to you…

“Got something,” Barbara’s voice broke through the haze of panic. “I traced some suspicious movement to an abandoned warehouse on the east side. Jason… it’s the Joker.”

Jason’s blood turned to ice. The Joker. The one son of a bitch who could turn his rage into something uncontrollable. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he grabbed his Red Hood helmet from the nearby table, his grip tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

"Jason, I'll call in for back up-"

“I’m heading there now,” Jason muttered, not waiting for a response before hanging up the phone. He didn’t give a shit about protocol or backup right now. All that mattered was getting you back. He strapped on his gear, eyes flashing with barely contained fury. If the Joker had laid one fucking hand on you…

The Red Hood was out for blood tonight.

At the warehouse, the Joker was having the time of his life. His cackles echoed through the dilapidated space, the sound piercing through the otherwise dead silence. He paced around you, your wrists tied to a metal chair, your face expressionless despite the absolute madness surrounding you.

You looked… bored.

“Ahhhh, I must say,” the Joker drawled, waving his arms theatrically, “I didn’t expect this from Red Hood’s girlfriend. I thought you’d be more of a screamer!” He leaned in close, his painted face only inches from yours, eyes glinting with glee. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Afraid? No? Don’t worry, I’m sure ol’ Jaybird will be along soon to pick up the pieces.”

You gave him a deadpan look, not even flinching at the proximity. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be scary, you talk a lot.”

The Joker’s smile faltered for a split second before he threw his head back and laughed, the sound grating on your nerves. “Oh, ho ho! I like this one! You’ve got guts, sweetheart.” He stood up straight, pacing around you with exaggerated steps. “But let’s see how tough you are when your boyfriend walks into my little trap and finds his precious little girlfriend all broken and—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cut him off, rolling your eyes. “We get it. You want to lure Jason here so you can try to fuck with him. Very original.”

What the Joker didn’t know—and what Jason didn’t know—was that you were far from defenseless. Hell, you weren’t even normal. You were Ben Tennyson’s twin sister, for fuck’s sake. You had seen your fair share of chaos, even if you hadn’t used the Omnitrix much since settling down in Gotham. It had been nice living a normal life, blending in as just another person for a change. You didn’t want to be a hero. Not anymore. But now?

Now, you were starting to reconsider. You watched as the Joker continued to monologue about his grand plans, your eyes flicking down to the Omnitrix still hidden beneath your sleeve. You could break free of these bindings any second, but you wanted to see how things played out first. After all, you didn’t know how Jason would react to seeing you transform.

And, well… it might be fun to surprise him.

The warehouse door crashed open, and there he was—the Red Hood, guns blazing, eyes burning with fury beneath his helmet. The Joker’s laughter reached a fever pitch as Jason stormed inside, his focus immediately snapping to you.

But Jason stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you, tied to the chair but seemingly unharmed. His helmet tilted ever so slightly, confusion evident even through the mask.

“Jaybird!” the Joker taunted, spreading his arms wide. “Look at you! All fired up! Oh, this is going to be so much fun—”

“Shut the fuck up, clown,” Jason growled, his voice venomous. His gun was trained directly on the Joker’s head, but the Joker’s words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to you.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked, his voice strained as he took a cautious step toward you.

You smirked. “I’m fine. But… you might want to stand back.”

Jason frowned beneath the helmet. “What?”

Before he could react, you slammed your palm onto the Omnitrix, the familiar green glow filling the dimly lit warehouse. Jason’s eyes widened in shock as your form shifted, your body morphing into one of your alien transformations. This time, you chose something flashy—a pink-hued version of the same form Ben used, almost as if you were showing off.

Feedback.

Jason’s gun lowered, his body frozen in disbelief. “What the…?”

You stood tall, your alien form towering over both Jason and the Joker. “Surprise, babe,” you said with a cheeky grin, your voice slightly distorted by the transformation.

The Joker’s laughter died in his throat as he stared up at you, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in power dynamics. “What the fuck—”

You didn’t give him time to finish. With a quick flick of your wrist, you sent the Joker flying with electricity into a pile of crates, knocking him unconscious in one swift motion. The entire thing was over in seconds.

When the dust settled, you turned to Jason, who still hadn’t moved. His helmeted gaze remained locked on you, processing the situation.

“Well,” you said, reverting to your human form, brushing your hair back as if nothing had happened. “That was fun.”

Jason blinked. “You… you’re…”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, walking over to untie the ropes that had been holding you. “Guess the secret’s out. I’ve got an Omnitrix, like Ben.”

Jason stared at you, his mouth slightly open, the shock still painted across his face. “You’re a fucking alien?”

You laughed, finally untying yourself. “Sometimes. Not all the time.” You looked up at him, giving him a soft smile. “You okay?”

Jason let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Baby... you could’ve told me, you know.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Jason huffed, finally letting his guard down as he pulled you into his chest, burying his face in your hair. “You scared the shit out of me, baby... fuck” he mumbled.

“I know,” you whispered, holding him tighter. “I’m sorry.”

Jason hadn’t let go of you since the moment you’d wrapped your arms around him. His body was still tense, his grip on you tight as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. The Joker was knocked out cold, but even that didn’t seem to ease the strain in Jason’s posture. It wasn’t until the both of you stepped outside, leaving the warehouse and the wreckage of the night behind, that he finally spoke.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Jason whispered, his voice thick with guilt as he buried his face in your hair again. His hands rested on your back, fingers trembling slightly. “I never should’ve let this happen. You got kidnapped because of me… because of Red Hood.”

You could hear the raw pain in his voice, and your heart ached for him. He was carrying the weight of this on his shoulders, blaming himself for what had happened, even though you knew it wasn’t his fault. The Joker would have found any way to get to him, and it just so happened that tonight, you were his target. But Jason couldn’t see it that way. He saw this as a failure—a failure to protect you, the person he cared about most.

You tilted your head up slightly, placing a soft kiss on his jawline. “Jason, it’s not your fault,” you murmured against his skin. “You didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“But—” he started, his breath hitching.

You cut him off by peppering kisses along his jaw, then his cheek, then up toward his temple, each kiss soft and reassuring. “It’s not your fault, baby” you repeated between kisses, your tone firmer this time. “I don’t blame you. Not for a second.”

Jason let out a shaky breath, his grip loosening slightly as his arms slipped around your waist, pulling you even closer. “You should blame me,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. “Red Hood put a target on your back. I put a target on your back.”

You cupped his face gently, forcing him to look at you, your gaze locking onto his. “I love you, Jason Todd. And I love you whether you’re Red Hood, or just Jason. You didn’t put a target on me. The Joker did. And trust me, if he tries something like this again…” You gave him a mischievous smile. “I’ll make sure to kick his ass before you even get there.”

Jason snorted despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Damn right I am,” you teased, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Now let’s get out of here before someone wakes up.” You glanced back at the warehouse where the Joker lay unconscious, your lip curling in disgust. “I really don’t want to hear him laughing again.”

Jason chuckled softly, pulling you toward the motorcycle parked nearby. “Yeah, I think we’ve heard enough for one night.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The ride to the Batcave was quiet, the wind whipping past you as you clung to Jason, your body pressed against his as the city blurred around you. You could feel the tension slowly easing from his frame the closer you got to the safety of the cave, though you knew it wasn’t gone entirely. Jason was good at hiding his emotions, but tonight had rattled him more than he was willing to admit.

When the Batcave finally came into view, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. As much as you’d brushed off the danger earlier, it was nice to know that you were heading somewhere safe—somewhere with people who had your back.

The moment you stepped off the bike, you were practically tackled by Barbara. She wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you tightly as if she couldn’t believe you were standing in front of her.

“Oh my God, (Y/N),” she breathed, pulling back just enough to look you over. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You gave her a reassuring smile, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Babs. Really. Just a few scratches.”

Barbara didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyway, her grip on your arms still firm. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Jason stepped up beside you, his hand resting on your back as he gave Barbara a small nod. “She’s tough. Joker didn’t stand a chance.”

Barbara’s eyes flicked between the two of you, her expression softening slightly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Before you could say anything else, Alfred appeared, ever the calm and collected presence amidst the chaos. His sharp gaze took in your disheveled appearance, the cuts and bruises scattered across your skin, and he immediately ushered you toward the medical bay with that no-nonsense look in his eyes.

“Miss (Y/N), if you would kindly sit down, I’ll make sure those wounds are properly cleaned and treated,” Alfred said, his tone gentle but firm.

You followed without protest, exhaustion creeping in now that the adrenaline from the night had worn off. You settled onto the medical table, letting Alfred work his magic as he carefully cleaned the cuts and scrapes littering your arms. Jason stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, watching quietly as Alfred tended to you.

Once Alfred had finished, you glanced over at Jason, who was still looking at you with a mixture of concern and something else—something unreadable. You knew what he was thinking. You could practically feel the questions swirling in his mind, the confusion about what he’d seen tonight.

“You probably have a lot of questions,” you said softly, meeting his gaze.

Jason’s eyes flicked to yours, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You took a deep breath, glancing down at the Omnitrix still attached to your wrist. “So… you remember Ben?”

Jason nodded slowly, his expression guarded.

“Well… I guess I should’ve told you this sooner, but I’m actually Ben’s twin sister,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “And I’ve got an Omnitrix too. It’s just like his, but I don’t use it as much anymore. I… I wanted a normal life. So I kept it hidden.”

Jason’s eyes widened slightly, but he stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“The Omnitrix is this device that allows us to transform into different alien species,” you explained. “Ben’s been using his for years to fight off intergalactic threats, and I used to help him. But after a while, I got tired of all the fighting. I wanted something different. So I came to Gotham, started teaching… and I guess I just never thought I’d have to use it again.”

Jason’s jaw clenched as he processed your words. “You didn’t think to tell me this… in the three years we’ve been together?”

You winced slightly, knowing you deserved that. “I know. I should’ve told you. But… I liked that you saw me as just me, you know? I didn’t want the Omnitrix to be a part of our relationship. I wanted us to be… normal.”

Jason’s gaze softened slightly, though the frustration still lingered. “We’re not normal, (Y/N). Not in this city. Not in my life.”

“I know that now,” you said quietly, your eyes meeting his. “And I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest with you.”

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You could’ve been hurt tonight. Or worse. I should’ve known about this so I could protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Jason,” you said gently. “But I get it. I know you want to. And I’m sorry I kept this from you.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching yours before he finally spoke again. “So… what does this mean? You’re going to keep using it?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know. Maybe. Depends on the situation. I mean, you have to admit, it was kind of fun surprising you tonight.”

Jason huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… next time, give me a little heads-up, okay?”

You grinned, leaning forward to kiss him softly. “Deal.”

Jason kissed you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. For now, the questions could wait. Right now, all that mattered was that you were safe, and you were together.

And no matter what the future held, you knew you’d face it side by side.

[arcadia-smith]

MOB!Bucky x MOB!Female reader.

The tension between her and Bucky had reached a breaking point, the air crackling with the weight of the unsaid. After their last meeting, there was no question that he viewed her as a threat—his smoldering gaze told her everything she needed to know.

It had been a week since that first confrontation. Her efforts to fortify her operations were starting to pay off, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Bucky had made his first move—quiet, calculated, like the predator he was.

It came in the form of a raid on one of her smaller, more vulnerable warehouses. The place had been a logistical hub for arms trafficking, and though it wasn’t the most critical part of her business, losing it sent a message. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Bucky was sending a message. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t afraid to strike, even in places she thought were out of reach.

The next morning, she stood in front of the wreckage, anger simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the loss of product or money; it was the principle of it. This wasn’t just about business anymore. He wanted control, and he wouldn’t stop until he had it.

She reached for her phone, dialing the one person she trusted to make things right. “Get a team together. We’re going to hit him where it hurts.”

Bucky's Move

Bucky sat at his desk, swirling a glass of whiskey, eyes narrowed as he stared at the map of her territories. He’d been watching her—her every move, her every decision. The raid had been his first strike, and he couldn’t help but feel a certain satisfaction. He didn’t take pleasure in destruction, but he took pride in sending a clear message.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sharp knock on his office door. Without waiting for a response, it opened, and his right-hand man, Sam Wilson, stepped inside.

“That warehouse you hit last night? It’s only the beginning, isn’t it?” Sam asked, taking a seat across from him.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, instead leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about the warehouse. It’s about power. She needs to understand that we don’t play by the same rules.”

Sam studied him for a moment. "You’re sure this is the right move? She’s not like the others. She’ll retaliate.”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “She’s good, but not good enough.”

Her Counterstrike

Bucky’s mistake was underestimating her. When she sent word that she was coming for him, she didn’t just send a message. She made it personal.

She'd spent years cultivating a reputation for never being predictable. Every move she made had a countermeasure, a backup plan, and an out when things got complicated. So, when Bucky thought he had her cornered, he didn’t know she had already set up her own trap.

That night, a convoy of his men were scheduled to transport a large sum of money through a warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was a routine operation, one Bucky had probably thought was beneath her notice.

But she'd been tracking his operations carefully. Her crew was ready. The convoy was ambushed—swift, clean, and devastating.

Bucky’s prized money never made it to its destination. She made sure of it. His loss was monumental, not just in terms of the cash, but in the sheer humiliation.

By the time Bucky’s men realized what happened, the money was long gone, and the message was clear: You’re not the only one who can make tactical moves.

Bucky’s Response

It didn’t take long for Bucky to learn that the convoy had been hit. The news spread through his network like wildfire. His fury was palpable, his eyes blazing with a dangerous edge.

He knew this wasn’t just a retaliation—it was a declaration of war.

With a low growl, Bucky leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Get me everything you can on her operations. I want every move, every person, every secret. I want her found and taken down.”

Sam watched him carefully. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Buck. She’s not someone you can just intimidate into submission.”

Bucky stood, grabbing his coat. “No, she’s not. But I can make her bleed. And I will.”

As the moves and counter moves unfolded, the game between her and Bucky took on a life of its own. Neither of them were willing to back down, and the stakes continued to climb. What started as a business clash had become a high-stakes battle for control—a battle neither of them would be willing to lose.

The lines between enemy and potential ally had blurred, but neither of them would show weakness.

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Finale

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Finale

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

Spencer runs point in clearing out the warehouse. His gun is drawn and he's laser-focused on making sure nobody escapes from inside. The team had split up to cover the entrances, each moving swiftly. And once Spencer hears through his earpiece that everyone is into position, he makes his move.

"FBI hands in the air." He demands as he enters the warehouse. His voice reverberates off the metal walls as he swivels his head to locate Valentine.

But the warehouse is dark and empty. There's nobody here. Spencer holsters his gun and looks around the property to see if maybe Valentine is trying to hide somewhere. The rest of the team searches as well but an uneasy feeling settles within Spencer.

"It's clear." JJ states as the team convenes in the middle of the warehouse. Adrenaline still pumps through Spencer's veins as he tries to work out what this means for the case.

But no matter how logically he tries to think all his mind focuses on is you. Spencer knows that Valentine's absence here means that you're still in danger. He finds his phone tucked in his pocket and dials your number. But it goes to voicemail.

He tries not to panic, he really tries. So he calls again, hoping that maybe you were preoccupied with something else, maybe you had taken a walk or something. But it goes to voicemail again. Spencer calls for a third time, but this time he doesn't let it go to voicemail.

"Something's wrong." He tries to keep his strained voice level, but he can hear the tension in his words as they leave his mouth.

"What are you thinking?" Hotch asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Someone try to reach Garcia. I think we've been set up." Spencer says as he turns to run back to the SUVs.

As he runs his fingers fumble to call Penelope. Her phone rings and rings and rings. But nobody picks up. With shaking hands Spencer gets into the SUV and is about to turn the key to start it when someone opens the door.

"Get out kid, I'll drive." Derek says, motioning for Spencer to step out.

"We don't have time." Spencer practically shouts. Derek reaches over to still Spencer's hand clutching the keys.

"We don't. And you're in no right mind to drive. Get over there and let me get us back to the office." Derek's voice carries a sense of authority with it. And so Spencer hands over the keys before clumsily climbing over the middle console to the passenger seat.

While Derek speeds off back towards the office with sirens blaring, Spencer keeps trying to reach you or Penelope. His leg is bouncing up and down rapidly and he wishes that the car could drive at the speed of the jet. He just needs to know you're okay. He needs to know you're safe.

Finally, after the thousandth time, Penelope finally picks up.

"Your wish is my comm-"

"Penelope there's no time. I need you to go to the bullpen and see if she's okay. I can't reach her and Valentine wasn't at the warehouse." Spencer cuts Penelope off with rushed words.

"What? What do you mean he wasn't there his car clearly showed that he was." The panic in her voice is palpable and Spencer hears movement on the other line.

"I need you to go check on her now please." Spencer struggles to keep his cool. He hears Penelope's office door open and close and he faintly hears her heels clicking on the floor.

"The lights are all off." Penelope says.

"What do you mean the lights are off?" Spencer's mind feels like it could start smoking at any second with the amount of scenarios playing themselves out at the same time.

"I can't open the doors. The doors are stuck. I can't, I can't get in." The panic in Penelope's voice escalates and Spencer hears her pushing on the door.

"Do you see her?" Derek glances at Spencer momentarily before focusing back on the road. Spencer can tell that Derek's accelerated more as the car seems to scream down the road.

"No, I don't- wait. Oh my God. Spencer. You guys need to get back here now." Penelope's voice turns gravely serious before the line cuts off completely.

"Penelope? Garcia? Hello?" Spencer practically shouts. But all he's met with is silence. His hands grip his phone so tightly he thinks it might shatter under the pressure. A wave of nausea washes over him but he wills himself to not get sick. You need him, he doesn't have time to spiral.

"What did Garcia say?" Derek finally asks, no longer able to take not knowing. Spencer takes a shaky breath before looking over to Derek.

"The doors are locked. The lights are off. Garcia said we needed to get back immediately." Is all he can say without getting sick all over the car.

Spencer's mind starts playing cruel tricks on him. He sees you as the face of countless other victims. Some had been shot, others stabbed, a few dismembered, but they're all victims of stalking cases the team has worked in the past. He can't bear the thought of anyone harming a hair on your perfect head.

"We'll get there." Derek says with determination. Spencer can only hope he's right. 

———

Valentine's voice echoes through the empty bullpen as you spin around in the dark office, trying to see where he is. Your heart thumps heavily in your chest and your knees feel weak.

"Oh don't look so frightened dear." His voice booms out of the intercom. You're acutely aware that he's actively surveilling you but there's nothing you can even do about it.

The cameras in the corners of the room track your every move. Every inch you move, they move. Your brain is going haywire, wrestling between logical profiler thinking and terrified victim mentality. Thousands of thoughts race through your mind at once to try and form a plan, but no matter how many thoughts cross your mind, it all just sounds like a jumbled mess. You're freezing.

It feels as if your feet have been cemented to the ground. It's almost like your vocal cords have been cut as well, seeing as how you can't find it within you to form a sentence.

"I'm almost there. Don't worry." Valentine's voice cuts through the silence again.

You're too scared to move. He's going to be here soon. Deep down you know it's a threat. Valentines has you right where he wants you; like a caged animal. There's no way for you to get out or warn others. All you have with you is your service weapon. As you reach for your gun it's like your heart stops; you must've forgotten it in your bag you packed earlier, the one you left in the empty office Hotch is letting you use.

You're all alone in here and Valentine is on his way.

Time moves slowly but too quickly all at once. As if everything were suddenly in slow motion, you watch as Valentine unlocks the doors with his phone and steps into the bullpen with you. Instantly, all the cameras turn off.

Your breaths are shaky, your heart pounds and your chest hurts from fear. Adrenaline tingles the tips of your fingers.

But though you're afraid, there's a tiny voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you've dealt with people like this before. You've worked several similar cases. Deep down, you know how to navigate this situation. But when you're the victim, it's like your training has vanished and you're reduced to nothing but a scared little girl. You don't want to be a scared girl, you want to be strong and brave and smart.

Valentine smiles sickly at you, his white teeth shine like fangs in the dim light. The glint of something shiny in his pocket distracts you from this face. It seems he's brought a knife with him.

You try your hardest to level out your breathing and to think with a clear mind, with a profiler's mind. After all, you've been trained and conditioned for high stress scenarios. You can only hope you don't crumble when it matters.

"Well, aren't you happy to see me?" Valentine asks, taking several steps towards you. Instinctively you want to reach your hands out to maximize the distance between the two of you, but you keep your hands to your sides.

"I am." Your voice falters only slightly, hopefully he doesn't notice. Valentine looks you up and down, licking his lips as he does so.

"You know, you are so much more beautiful up close like this." He takes another step closer.

"Thank you." You accept his compliment, swallowing the sickness threatening to rise.

Valentine steps right in front of you, his tall figure looms over you. He stares down at you and you feel like a gazelle in the middle of an open field, and Valentine is a starved lion. His hand reaches out and touches your face. You flinch.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" He sounds offended by your reaction to his touch. Thinking quickly, you answer.

"No, never. It's just- your hands are cold. That's all." You try to play it off convincingly. He looks down at his hands and rubs them together to warm them up. His fingers trace over your cheekbone once more.

"I've waited so long for this, for you." He whispers as he looks over your face. You can only hope you're masking your fear well enough.

"If only you hadn't let him touch you like that." Valentine's voice turns from sweet to sinister in the blink of an eye. Your eyes meet his and you see malice and hatred within them. He looms over you and takes his fingers away from your face, like your skin suddenly burned him.

"What do you mean?" You decide to play dumb, maybe there's a chance you can talk your way out of this. Valentine snarls and takes a step back.

"You know what I'm talking about. Spencer. Fucking. Reid." He enunciates his words in an exaggerated manner. Your mouth is dry and your brain can't keep up and decide how you should play your cards.

"I, I don't-"

"Save it. I'm not stupid." He cuts you off and begins pacing back and forth in front of you. Valentine pushes his hand through his hair and you see his face turn red.

"I saw. I saw it all. You let him put his hands all over you. You let him put his lips on your skin. You even let him into your bedroom. How could you? How could you do that to me after I went out of my way for you?" He practically yells at you. The vein in his neck pops and you see his hand drift to his back pocket.

You put your hands out towards him, palms facing him and try to de-escalate the situation. There have been several cases where you've had to talk down unsubs in this exact frame of mind.

"I only let him do it because I was imagining it was you and not him." It's a long shot but you hope he buys it. You also wonder how long you can stall before someone finally comes back.

Valentine stops pacing for just a fraction of a second. He stares at you intensely. His jaw clenches.

"You understand why I have a hard time believing that, right?" His voice has returned to being unsettlingly calm.

"I know. But it's the truth." You say, letting your hands fall back down to your side.

You and Valentine stare at each other, a tense silence filling the room. It looks like he's trying to rationalize your words. And after what feels like a small eternity, he speaks up again.

"If that were true, you would've let me stay that day I came to your apartment. Instead, you dismissed me and let him stay." Valentine's hand reaches for something in his back pocket.

He rushes at you and swings, a silver blade in his hand. You barely dodge it before he's swinging at you again. Valentine is a trained FBI agent, you both went through the same hand to hand combat training. He's fast, he's strong. And you struggle to dodge his attacks.

In an attempt to put as much space between you as possible, you back away and tip chairs and files into the floor to hopefully trip him. But eventually he lunges forward and the blade cuts your abdomen.

The pain temporarily freezes you, allowing Valentine to grab you and shove you to the floor. He stands over top of you and smiles widely down at you. You feel the warm blood start soaking through your shirt but you can't look away to see how bad it is.

Valentine drops to his knees and straddles your torso, he drags the blade across your cheekbone and down your throat. He presses ever so slightly and creates small cuts on your cheek. The blood streams down your face and onto the floor in thin streams.

"Please." You resort to begging. At this point you know he's got nothing to lose and therefore he likely has no boundaries or care in the world.

"Shhh. It's my turn, and I earned this." He says and drops the blade. His hands wrap around your throat and he presses down hard in the center, cutting off your air supply.

You thrash and kick and hit to try and get him off of you. But he's simply too strong. He's twice your size and deranged. You dig your nails into his skin and claw at his hands. But all he does is smile. And you feel your lungs burning and you're starting to panic.

You try to get air into your lungs and your body shakes from lack of oxygen. Your efforts to free yourself are only making you run out of air quicker. Valentine presses his thumbs into the column of your throat.

"We could've been great. You and I. We could've been so happy together. But you had to go and give yourself to him. No, he doesn't deserve you. He couldn't make you feel good like I could. How could you do this?" Valentine spits down at you as your limbs become too heavy to move.

The edge of your vision starts to become staticky and dotted. But you can see tears streaming down Valentine's face and you feel them drip onto your face. But you're too tired to wipe them away. Your eyelids feel like they weigh 20 pounds each.

It's just so much easier to close them.

———

"Garcia did you get the door locks back online?" Hotch authoritatively asks as the team rushes into the building. Penelope tries her best to keep up with Hotch, tears stream down her face.

"Sir I tried. I tried but I didn't have enough time." Her words are broken up by sobs.

Spencer doesn't have time for this. He shoves past everyone else and reaches the glass doors. His eyes scan the dark office and he sees you laying still on the floor. Motionless. Valentine is hunched overtop of you, his hands wrapped around your throat.

Without thinking, Spencer reaches for his gun and shoots through the door. The glass shatters and falls to the floor in a billion pieces. But he doesn't care. All he can see is red as he steps over the glass and into the bullpen.

Spencer reaches Valentine in record time and he wastes no time to kick Valentine off of you. He lands a solid kick to the side of Valentine's face and when Valentine loses his balance and falls from overtop of you, Spencer pushes him on to his back.

When Valentine rolls over onto his back Spencer grabs his shirt in one hand and punches Valentine's face with the other. He hits him again. And again. And again. Everything that Valentine has done to you replays in his head each time his fist connects with Valentine's face.

"Spencer, stop. Stop you can't do this here." He hears someone say as he's forcefully pulled away from Valentine's beaten body.

Spencer pays no attention to who pulled him off of Valentine because he sees you still laying still on the floor next to him. Your eyes are closed and he sees bruising begin to form on your throat.

"No, no come on. Come on baby. Come on." Spencer says as he kneels by your side. His bloody knuckles sting but his chest hurts worse, seized with anxiety and fear because you're not waking up. And those bruises are becoming way too dark way too quickly.

Spencer feels for your pulse on your neck, below your jaw. There's a pulse. But it's faint. Too faint.

"We need a medic. We need a medic right now." Spencer rushes his words as he tilts your head back to allow for maximum airflow into your lungs.

He faintly hears commotion behind him but all he can see is you. And he can hear are your shallow breaths.

Pure, genuine fear paralyzes Spencer.

———

"Derek, stay with him. Don't let him get to Valentine just yet. We're going to do pull some overtime today and get everything sorted. I'll keep you updated. Let me know how she's doing and how Spencer's doing." Hotch speaks authoritatively before hanging up the phone.

He sets the phone on the table and looks at the rest of his team, who have assembled at the round table. He sees their faces full of fear and guilt. And he knows that the team will collectively have to go through the process of acceptance, but not now. Not when there's work to do.

He sees your face in his mind and it launches him into action.

"Penelope. I'm going to need every bit of his equipment seized and searched. I'm talking in his office and at his residence. Document everything." He looks pointedly at Penelope, who eagerly nods her head.

"On it, sir." She affirms and he moves on to his next task.

"JJ, Emily, I need you to document every other piece of physical evidence from her residence and his. Construct a timeline of events. Try to pinpoint what caused this." The women look to each other before nodding. Hotch then looks to Rossi, who's been staring at the table the entire time.

"And Dave, you'll work with me to strategize questioning." Rossi looks up from the table and gives one concise nod.

Content with everyone's willingness to do overtime for your case, he dismisses them. Hotch waits for everyone to leave before addressing Rossi again.

"What are you thinking?" He asks, and Rossi scrunches his eyebrows together before meeting Hotch's gaze. There's a sadness residing in his eyes.

"I just can't believe it took us so long to take it seriously. I mean really, we see these cases all the time but when it comes to one of our own? We completely dropped the ball. And now she's in the hospital. We're supposed to be the most capable team, but we can't even protect our own." He articulates slowly so the point isn't lost on Hotch.

"We never could've known it would escalate this quickly." Hotch says, taking a seat across from Dave, who shakes his head.

"But we could have. The signs were all there. The flowers, the altering of footage. There were indicators present." Hotch is lost for words as the reality of the situation truly sinks in.

Hotch sighs and looks down at his hands that are folded on the table.

"You're right. We should've seen this before it even happened. But it did, and now we have to make sure Valentine never sees the light of day again." Hotch says, hoping that by seeking justice is makes up for a lack of action.

"Yeah we'll lock him away. But do you think she's going to come back? I mean after all this, how could she trust us again?" Rossi asks, exasperation replacing the sadness.

"I don't know." Hotch answers truthfully. He knows that when you recover and are released from the hospital that there's some chance you'll retire from the team. And he couldn't blame you.

"And the kid. You saw how much she means to him. I've never seen him act like that before. During any of it. You saw that picture too, and you saw how he shot through that door, you know exactly what I mean." Rossi says and stands from the table. Hotch rises as well, and he nods.

"I know Dave." Is all he can come up with. Rossi claps a hand on Hotch's shoulder.

"Just have to take this one day at a time." Rossi says before leaving the room, leaving Hotch alone.

Rossi's words repeat in Hotch's mind. What if you decide to not come back? Do you blame the team for what happened? Will Spencer blame the team? Will he leave too? Will you be okay? Will they be able to ensure Valentine's life sentence?

Question after question swirls in his mind until it becomes overwhelming. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists in frustration. He can't help but to blame himself for the team's lack of action. After all, he knew weird things were happening and there was more he could've done sooner that might've prevented this from ever happening.

And he knows the truth, the truth is that Spencer is the only one who took you seriously from the very beginning. And it's because of that bond the two of you share that Hotch knows deep down, that if you leave then Spencer will leave too. Maybe not right away, but soon after.

Hotch can see clear as day that you two love each other deeply. And he knows that Spencer is not prepared to lose you. Not to Valentine and certainly not to this job.

But he has no control over your decision. And he shouldn't stress about things that are out of his control. So instead, he walks out of the room and begins to stress about things he can control, like the compilation of evidence against Valentine.

And so he joins the team and gets to work.

———

Your mind is alive before you can even muster the strength to open your eyes. You hear squeaking shoes on tiled floors, the beep of a monitor somewhere near your head. Whispered voices come and go. But you can't seem to focus on one thing at a time, the sounds blur together.

And you don't know how long you're suspended in this state of mind. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and your throat burns. But you can't move to get a drink, you can't even open your eyes no matter how hard you try.

So you succumb to sleep once again.

And then you awake once more, much like the last time. But now you hear voices and they're closer. They sound like they're near the beeping machine behind you. The tone and cadence sound familiar but you can't make out their words.

You feel trapped within your own body and you begin to panic because you can't open your eyes. You're here and you're awake but you can't open your eyes and you can't move.

You hear the beeping sound behind you grow louder and the voices you heard are now gone, replaced with squeaking shoes against tile. And before you know it you feel people's hands on your arms and on your forehead. It feels like they're trying to soothe you, and it's working.

The beeping behind you calms and voices are heard once more. And this time, you try your hardest to listen in. You really want to know who's here and what they're saying. 

"Hotch wants updates on her. I'm going to give him a call. Will you be okay here for a while?" A deep voice says. 

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine." Another voice says, and this one you recognize. You'd recognize his voice anywhere, that's Spencer. You feel his hand on yours and you desperately try to open your eyes, but you can't, you're still stuck.

"I think you can hear me. At least I hope you can." Spencer talks again, his hand gently squeezing yours. You hear him sigh before continuing, 

"I want you to know that we got him. We got him and he's never going to hurt you again. I'm so, so sorry that I wasn't there to protect you. I should've been there. I should've seen the signs that we were being set up but instead I was blinded. I was so focused on catching him that I didn't slow down and think rationally about it. I am so sorry." He raises your hand and places a delicate kiss to the back of it. And you feel something wet drip onto your skin too. 

His words make your heart ache and you want to open your eyes and let him know that none of this is his fault. He shouldn't blame himself one bit. You hear him sniffle and it ignites a fire of determination within you. With all your might, you try to at least wiggle your fingers. You just need to show him that you hear him. 

And so with all of your might and strength you can muster, you feel the tips of your fingers twitch. And then you do it again. You hear Spencer take a sharp inhale and you know that you're message reached him. He knows. 

"Do that again if you can hear me." He whispers. And so you try your best to do it again. 

It must've worked because the next thing you feel is Spencer's lips on your forehead. The feeling of his hand holding yours and his lips on your skin sends a warm sensation through your body. And you hear the monitor beep louder again. 

But then the moment is interrupted as someone enters the room, apparent from the sound of their shoes. 

"Pretty boy I think she likes you too, look at that heart rate." The voice is undeniably Derek's. His voice is clearer now and you know that nobody else calls Spencer "Pretty Boy". 

"What did the doctors say?" Spencer asks him. 

"They said it shouldn't be too much longer. Her vitals have stabilized." Derek answers. 

The room falls back into a silence, the only sound to be heard is the monitor behind you. Spencer's hand stays on yours and you feel yourself being lulled back into sleep by the rhythmic monitor.

———

Spencer looks down at your sleeping face and wishes there was something he could do to nurse you back to health in an instant. He thinks it's his fault you're laying in this bed in the first place. Out of everyone on the team, he should've been able to see that Valentine was setting everyone up. That was his hail Mary; to get everyone out of the office on a goose chase so that he could get to you. 

And Spencer knows that if the team had arrived even one minute later that there may not have been a chance to save you. It's a miracle you're alive, even more of a miracle that your hyoid bone didn't break or that nothing internally was severely damaged. The deep bruises were superficial the doctors had said. 

Spencer isn't sure how long he's been standing by your bedside with your small hand enveloped in his. And truthfully, he doesn't care. He would stand there for an eternity if it meant you would be okay. 

"Hotch just texted. They're planning to question him tomorrow, time constraints of the arrest and all." Derek says, showing Spencer the screen. 

With a sigh, Spencer knows that questioning Valentine tomorrow is cutting it close. The team will be strapped for time trying to piece everything together without him there. But he can't fathom the thought of leaving you, not now. 

"They'll be able to pull it off." Spencer says, less than confident that everything will be concisely and plainly compiled. 

"Spencer, we both know that you know exactly what happened, beat for beat. They need you back there. She's okay. I'll stay here with her. You go help the team secure the arrest." Derek says, walking over and putting a hand on Spencer's shoulder. 

Spencer looks back at your peaceful face littered in dark blue bruises and it makes his stomach turn. While he would rather pull his own teeth than leave you here, he knows that he can leave no room for error when it comes to Valentine. And he knows that besides you, he's the only one who knows the depth of everything that happened. His eyes drift from you to Derek and he sighs.

"I'll go help them. But if anything changes here, let me know right away." Spencer lets go of your hand and forces himself to walk away. 

"I will." Derek answers as Spencer exits the room and heads back to the office. Each step he takes he feels like high-force winds are pushing against him, making it difficult to keep going forward. 

When he arrives at the office, everyone regards him quietly. There's a tension between him and the team, one that likely won't go addressed until this is all over with. But Spencer knows it's about that picture, about him shooting the door, about him crying as the EMTs took your body away in an ambulance. 

But he can't afford to dwell on that, not now. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows and finds Hotch, ready to get to work and do it quickly. There's no room for error here.

———

You hear the beeping monitor again and feel the blankets had been pulled up higher on your body. You don't even remember going back to sleep. But you do remember that Spencer is here. But you don't feel his hand on yours anymore, his warmth is gone. 

Panicking slightly, you wonder where he is and what happened. Is he okay? The monitor picks up frequency and you feel someone touch your arm. But it's not Spencer, no the skin is too rough, the fingers too big.

"Hey, hey it's me. I'm here and you're okay." Derek says to you. 

And you're thankful he's here but you need to know where Spencer is, you need to know he's not in trouble. What if Valentine got to him? What if Valentine has his hands wrapped around Spencer's throat, draining the life from him slowly? The thought of Valentine hurting Spencer like he hurt you sends a rush of adrenaline so severe through you, that you think for a split second you had been struck by lightning. 

Suddenly, the room isn't dark anymore. No, it's blindingly bright. The white light burns. But eventually, it calms into something more manageable. And then you see Derek standing right next to you, his mouth open, his eyes full of worry and then joy. 

"I knew you could do it. I knew you could." He says and smiles. 

You go to say something but your throat burns and is too dry so instead you end up choking and coughing. 

"Here, here you go." Derek holds a cup of water to your lips. Your shaky hands land atop of his and you help him tip the cup so you can get a drink. Every swallow feels like you're consuming liquid sandpaper. 

"Spencer." You whisper, trying to ignore the sharp, stinging pain. 

"He's okay. He left a few hours ago to help the others." Derek says, pulling a chair over to your bedside. You make eye contact with him.

"Valentine?" You ask, needing to know if he's still in custody. 

"We got him. Spencer's filling in the others about what happened. He's never going to see the light of day again for what he did to you." Derek says and you can hear the clear conviction in his voice. 

There's a tiny part of you that becomes angry at his words. If they had believed you sooner, this wouldn't have happened. But instead they chose to believe you were fabricating evidence to make yourself look better. And for what? To gain clout over a case that happened months ago? To make yourself look better overall? To prove you're just as good as the rest?

You opt to say nothing back. Because one, your throat feels like it's made of molten lava, and two, because you really can't find anything positive to say to him. You almost died because they didn't believe you were in any real danger, not until it was too late. 

Staring down at the water cup in your hands, you wonder if you can go back to the team after this. Would you be able to trust them and rely on them in the field? Would they take you more seriously? Would they treat you the same? Or would their guilt cause them to treat you differently? 

There's too many questions racing through your head and you feel a headache coming on. You wish Spencer was the one who stayed with you, but you know that he's the best equipped in briefing the team. But then again, so are you. 

"When can I leave?" You ask Derek. 

"I'll go find someone and ask." He offers a tight smile and leaves the room. 

If you can get out of here then you can find your way back to Spencer. You would be able to help the team, maybe for the last time. 

———

"Are you sure that you're well enough for this?" Hotch asks you with crossed arms. You give him a nod, knowing that you're more than capable of doing this. 

Hotch simply nods and looks down at the folder in his hand. You stare through the one-way glass at the man who tried to kill you. He's sitting there, chained to the table, looking like a pathetic coward. All of his confidence he had when he was strangling you had been washed away, revealing his true self; an insecure excuse of a man. 

You hear someone else walk in behind you and turn to see Spencer. His hair is disheveled and the stubble on his jaw is prominent, evidence of his lack of sleep. You meet him halfway and he welcomes you into his arms. He holds you like he may never again, his arms wrapped around you securely. 

Hotch is obviously ignoring what you two are doing and is immersing himself in the file folder that you helped them complete yesterday. 

The hospital staff had been reluctant to let you go, but you were determined to get out of there. You pushed through the pain and told them that because your injuries are superficial, that there's no reason to stay any longer. And sure, they tried to persuade you to get more imaging done, but you denied. All you cared about was getting back to Spencer. 

"Are you ready for this?" You ask him, your voice weak and scratchy. Spencer's jaw tightens and he nods, looking through the glass. 

"More than ready." His tone is flat and you know that he's trying to get himself into the right mindset. 

Hotch didn't want to let Spencer participate in the questioning, but Spencer was unrelenting. Spencer told Hotch that Valentine has a personal prejudice against him and that they could use his anger against him. And Spencer was banking on the fact that Valentine hates him to secure an airtight confession. And eventually, Hotch agreed once he saw that Spencer could control his own anger. 

"Spencer." Hotch says, causing the two of you to step away from one another. 

"I'm ready." Spencer answers, face void of emotion. Hotch nods and you watch as they step into the interrogation room together. You take a seat on the other side of the glass and feel your heart beat heavily, anxious for what's about to happen.

Hotch and Spencer take their seats opposite of Valentine and you see Valentine's eyes lock onto Spencer immediately with malice. You lean forward in your seat. 

"You've been read your charges and your rights, do you understand them?" Hotch begins the questioning. Valentine nods, 

"I do." And you know that's the all clear needed to dig into the interrogation. 

Hotch lays out the altered documents on the table, taking his time to spread them out. Valentine looks over each paper, his eyes scanning over the words. He says nothing. 

"These are documents you altered under the credentials of another agent." Hotch states, not breaking eye contact. He doesn't frame it as a question, because if it's presented as a known statement, it gives further incentive for someone to want to defend themselves and provide alternate facts. 

"How do you know she wasn't the one to make those changes herself?" Valentine asks and a small smirk breaks out across your face. He just admitted that he knew the credentials used belonged to a woman and that there were in fact changes made. 

"We know because I personally review each and every one of her case reports. Hers are not nearly as detailed as these, and there are phrasings included that are not conducive to our report writing policy." Hotch fires back flawlessly. You see Valentine clench his hands on the table; he's getting flustered. 

"And in addition to these documents, you were able to spoof credentials to make entry into our office and retag evidence and alter the footage." Hotch says, his tone indicative of being impressed. This is to build Valentine's confidence back up and stroke his ego. When people are overly confident in their abilities, they tend to slip up more by trying to prove themselves. 

"You can't prove that." Valentine resists. Hotch takes a moment before responding. 

"You chose to wait until the cameras were being replaced to send the flowers. You wanted to remain anonymous. You wanted her to work as hard for you as you were working for her. So you used your knowledge and expertise to your advantage." Hotch says, trying to further inflate Valentine's self confidence. 

"She just needed to see the lengths I would go for her." Valentine slips up again. 

"And you didn't stop there to show her that did you? You orchestrated a false cellphone ping at an abandoned location so the rest of the team would go there and leave her in the office. You knew we wouldn't bring her along, so you created an opportunity for yourself." Hotch doubles down again, knowing that Valentine can't help but to brag about his perceived accomplishments. 

"It wasn't that hard. I knew with him around I wouldn't have another chance. So I did what I had to do." Valentine glares at Spencer as he speaks. 

And you know this signals for Spencer to take over the questioning. They've got under his skin, they've got him flustered, and they've got him overly confident. Valentine has so much conflicting thoughts in his head right now that he likely can't think straight or have the foresight to see what's happening. 

"And you hated seeing her with me so much that you entered her home and placed a camera." Spencer states. Valentine crosses his arms. Spencer licks his lips and leans forward, continuing his approach. 

"But before that you entered her home while she wasn't there and took her sweater. That was a shame, that was my favorite one she wore." Spencer then leaned back and sighed, acting as if he could only think of you in that sweater in that moment. 

Valentine's fists clench on the tabletop once more, the vein in his neck starts bulging. He's close to cracking and losing it all. And it's all being done in record time. No matter how smart Valentine thinks he is, the BAU is smarter. 

"You don't deserve to have her like that." Valentine growls through gnashing teeth. Spencer tilts his head to the side. 

"Have her like what?" Spencer provokes him further. Valentine takes a measured breath. 

"You were in her room, I saw you. You were in her house and you had your hands on her. I just needed a small part of her." Valentine now starts to sound unhinged. His voice rises in volume, and Spencer keeps pressing on. He stands from his seat and leans forward on the table. 

"I was there because she wanted me there. In fact she begged for me. It was nice of you to send her those flowers, it just made it more easy for me to take credit for it all." Spencer makes eye contact with Valentine, and refuses to get back into his seat, instead opting to stay leaned forward. Valentine's face is red, his veins popping, his jaw tight and his teeth clenched. 

"Those were for her to see how much she means to me. You couldn't let me have that, you couldn't even let me speak to her that night at the bar. You put those curtains up so I couldn't see her anymore. No you took her all for yourself. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't sit around and do nothing while you got every part of her to yourself. I tried to forgive her, I really did. But she wasn't grateful for what I was doing for her. I was trying to give her the credit she's due and the love she deserves. I did it all for her! And you just swooped in and took it all for your fucking self!" Valentine screams in one breath. His chest is heaving and his face is as red as a tomato.

And after a minute of silence, Spencer stands back to his full height. 

"Thank you." He says and walks out of the room without another word. But Hotch stays. 

Once Spencer walks out Valentine loses his composure again. But Hotch is there for more, they're going to take everything they can get from him. 

"And what were your plans for the photos in your basement?" Hotch's voice starkly contrasts Valentine's delirium. 

"Those were for myself. I needed to see her any time I wanted. But I had to cut him out of the picture." He answers, glaring at Hotch. 

"And so you loved her that much that you were willing to kill her?" Hotch's voice is soft. This causes Valentine to look down at the table where he stares at his hands. 

"I didn't want to. But I couldn't live knowing he was with her. If she were to die I would've killed myself right after, so that we could be together in another life." Valentine answers and it sends a chill through your body. 

"And how did you plan to kill her and yourself?" Hotch's head tilts to the side.

"I brought the knives. I wasn't going to cut her skin with those blades, I would never. But once she was gone I was going to stab myself in the neck." He answers casually, as if Hotch had asked him about the weather. 

"I see." Hotch closes the folder and stares at Valentine. You had one request of Hotch, and you know he's about to fulfill it. 

"Well, you succeeded in one step of that plan." Hotch prefaces, piquing Valentine's interest once again. 

"What do you mean?" Valentine asks, eyes wide. 

"I mean you were successful in strangling her. She passed away hours after she was transported to the hospital." Hotch tells him. 

Valentine lets out a loud sob and hits the table with his fists over and over again. 

"No! No I couldn't have! No!" He screams until his face begins to turn purple. Hotch then stands from his seat and adjusts his tie, unphased by the drama of Valentine.

"Thank you for your time." He says without emotion and walks out of the room to join you and Spencer.

Valentine carries on with his screaming and crying, the three of you watch him from the other side. But you can only look for so long before it starts disturbing you. 

You stand from your seat and leave, content with how things ended. Valentine will live the rest of his days thinking you're dead. And that's exactly how you wanted it to be. 

———

Rain drops pelt your window and thunder rolls above in the sky. Your apartment is empty and the sounds echo off the walls. It had taken you about two weeks to get everything packed up and moved out. It would've taken longer, but you had some wonderful help. 

Spencer enters the empty apartment, his hair wet from the rain outside. He sighs as he stands beside you, taking in the emptiness. It's odd to see your apartment like this, but you know it's necessary if you want to move on with your life. You couldn't stay here any more, all you could think about was Valentine. And if you're dead to him, you want him to be dead to you as well. 

Valentine had been sentenced to two consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole. Hotch had some connections to the judge and was able to secure the maximum sentence. And for that you're grateful. 

"You ready?" Spencer asks you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

You take one last look around the empty apartment and remember the good times shared here. The happiness you felt when you first moved in, the giddiness of Spencer staying over, and how you two made this like your own haven for a short while. Some of those memories stay untainted, but the most recent ones leave a sour taste in your mouth. And you don't want your memories with Spencer to be distorted any more. 

"I'm ready." You answer and the two of you leave. You hear the door click shut behind you and you keep moving forward, refusing to look back. 

The two of you arrive at Spencer's apartment about ten minutes later. Or, you should say you arrived at the apartment you now share with Spencer ten minutes later. He opens the door for you and you smile, feeling over the moon. 

Your furniture now complements his, your photos hang on the wall next to his, and your clothes now occupy the space beside his. The two of you had made this your sanctuary, your own personal utopia where you two blend perfectly with one another. 

Every night you're able to fall asleep in his arms and wake to his perfect face every morning. You still love the way his eyes squint when he first wakes up and how he insists that you make pancakes every Saturday morning. 

There's no pressure or threat looming over the two of you any more and you're able to grow closer and closer naturally and without stress. Truthfully, you had never loved anyone like you love Spencer. The love you have for him is rooted deep within your soul and blooms higher and higher each and every day. 

The two of you sit on the couch together, Spencer's leaned up against the arm and you've fitted yourself between his legs, leaning your head back on his chest. His arms wrap around you and you sigh, feeling nothing but pure peace and contentment.

After Valentine was sentenced and everything started going back to normal, you and Spencer had discussed what the future held. You had told him the truth, that you didn't want a future without him in it, you didn't want to live in a world without him in your life. And thankfully, he felt the same way. 

You took an extended leave of absence from the team, just until you figure out if you want to go back or not. Spencer supports your decision either way. But you can't seem to make up your mind. Hotch had given you all the time you need, and you're taking full advantage of it. Spencer had taken a month off as well, the two of you using this time to focus on nothing but each other. 

You tilt your head back and look up at him through your lashes and he smiles down at you. 

"Hi there pretty girl." His smile widens, revealing his perfect teeth. Adoration fills your heart. 

"I love you." You tell him, and he leans down and kisses your forehead gently. 

"And I love you more, much more than you could ever know, with all my heart." He answers and hugs you tightly to his body. 

You melt into his touch and take in his intoxicating smell. You'll never get over the way he holds you, the way his hands map out every curve of your body, how his kisses you like his life depends on it. How he looks at you as if you had personally painted the night sky.

And now you know that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral into something all consuming. 

But this love is tender, this love is kind. This love you and Spencer share is pure and true. And you will happily live with this love for the rest of your days. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @yondiii@juhdoche@themarauderseraslut@shardsofmarxx@mel-vaz @bippityboppityboob1tch @babyspiderling @honestlyloving @emisback @thatredlipped-classic @desperately-seeking-serotonin @threespacemonkeys @small-and-violent @ropickle @honestlybabymiracle @hiireadstuff @suckstobrlaurie @random000000sblog @mynameiskelly @emma-e-a @pleasantwitchgarden @your-favorite-god @gghostwriter @all2unwell24 @haleyshue97 @placidus

[orbweaverspidergirl]

Chapter 2: but i am in the twilight

summary: Orbweaver, Gotham's one and only spidergirl. A hero for only a year, she's easily recognizable from her brown spider suit, and six-eyed mask. But, without the mask, she's Nicole Lawson, the "unwanted" daughter of Bruce Wayne. She didn't mind it, not too much, but after the death of her mother and the exposure of her identity, her life is in shambles.

tw: descriptions of blood, someone being stabbed, and someone on the brink of death.

Chapter 1

You felt like a ballerina when up in the air. The sky was your floor, and the webs your wings. It was fun, being able to fly in the air. You often wondered if Superman took glee in it like you. It seemed nice, at least on TV, you’ve never really met him in person. You’ve seen him though, when you had patrol in the day. You wondered if he ever noticed you, that would be cool. Orbweaver, noticed by the most famous hero in the city, Superman! 

You snort, a girl could dream. 

You land on an old warehouse roof. It rattles, but you jump off the roof, landing a backflip onto the pavement, right in front of the door. Your hood falls down when you land, but you let it be and begin to walk the streets of Gotham. You weren’t particularly looking for a specific crime tonight, you’d prefer if there was none at all, but that’s rarely ever the case. 

You crinkle your nose in disgust when you smell blood. You hear someone yelling, and you pick up your pace into a run. You hear it from a nearby alley and make a sharp turn right. A woman stands there, slouched against the wall of the apartment building. A knife is stuck in her abdomen, and you see a man standing over her, a shocked look on his face. He sees you, and his face turns into one of fear. You quickly web his feet, now frozen in place, you tackle him. Your knee goes up against his neck, and you zap the web onto his hands. He struggles, but there’s not much he can do other than that.

“I promise, I promise I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t-” You web his mouth close and then look at the woman before you. She can’t be older than twenty, you think, as you assess the damage. Sweat drips down her face, and she tries to pull the knife out. You stop her, resting your hand on hers. 

“Don’t. You’ll cause more damage to the wound. Where’s your phone?” You say, words rushing out of your mouth. Even after a year, you still get nervous about open wounds. 

“In,” she lets out a ragged breath, “in my pocket.” You reach for it, quickly dialing 911. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” You recognize the lady’s voice behind the phone. She’s often the one who picks up your 911 calls. 

“It’s Orbweaver, I got a civilian with a knife wound, the knife is still in. The perpetrator is webbed down. 819 Dixon Road.”

“Understood, police and medics are on the way. Keep the person away the best you can Orbweaver, and please, stay on call.” 

You look at the lady and sweat pools around her head. You put the phone on speaker and start to ask her questions. “What’s your name?”

Tears start to form in her eyes, but she answers, voice quaky, “Josselyn.” You know a girl in class named Josselyn. You didn’t think it was a real common name, but you guess you stand corrected.

“That’s a pretty name, I know a girl named Josselyn in class. She’s cool.” Her eyelids flutter, and you’re tempted to force them open, but you just gently shake the dark-skinned woman. “What happened Josselyn? Can you tell me? Speak as loud as you can for the agent on the phone.” 

“I, uh, was walking to my, uh, my apartment.” She begins to hack up blood, and your nose twitches at the now iron filled air. “Oh fuck...” She says, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. 

“It’ll be alright, Josselyn. The medics will be here soon. Please continue.” She just nods, grimacing.

“He just, he, uh, came out of nowhere. Asked for money…” Her eyelashes bat against her cheeks, and you shake her once more. She looks at you, but her eyes are distant, “Told him I didn’t have any, then he threatened me. Told him to fuck off, and uh, he, uh, pulled out a knife.” 

You can hear clicks on the other side of the phone. No doubt the agent is typing in the information told. “You did well, Josselyn, thank you. It’s almost over, I promise.” You get up, making your way over to the poor excuse of a robber. The man is passed out, so you pull back the webbing from his mouth. You didn’t mean to suffocate him, but it’s less work for you, and it isn’t like he’s dead. You think. 

You hear him before you see him, Nightwing. You don’t know why he’s here, usually he’s in Bludhaven, doing God knows what. You were close with him, as close as one could be in this type of work. He looks down at you from the roof, and you see him smile. 

“You alright down there, Spidey?” He asks, before backflipping off the building. 

“Show off,” you snort. “But yeah, I’m okay. Her on the other hand,” you glance at the lady, and the 911 agent speaks up from the phone. 

“The medics are on your street, Orbweaver.” 

“Heard.” She cancels the call before you can, and you pick up the woman, holding her to your chest. She startles, but you’d rather her be startled then dead. 

Nightwing walks behind you, picking up the man from the ground. “How has Bludhaven been?” 

He picks up the pace, now standing beside you. “It’s been nice. I came to visit some family today. We had to go to some school event.” You raise an eyebrow, that’s awfully familiar. 

“Really? What school did–” 

Before you can finish, a loud “WEEE WOOO, WEEEE WOOO,” fills the air. You both stand aside waiting for the medics, and you make sure to check Josselyn one more time before giving her to them. Eventually, the robber is handed off as well, and you let out a sigh of relief when the situation is over. 

Nightwing notices, and he reassuringly pats your head. “You’re doing good, Spidey. Keep it up.” You roll your eyes, not like he can see, and shove his hand away. 

“How kind of you, birdy!” You say in a mocking tone, before shooting your webs on the buildings. You swing through the air, and you hear Nightwing struggling to catch up.

“Hey, kid, wait! I forgot you could do that!” He whines, and it makes you laugh out loud. 

“It was nice to see you again, Nightwing. Have a good night and tell your family Orbweaver said hi!” You yell, prancing off into the night, leaving the hero to his lonesome.

A/N: Inbox/requests are open!!

[especially-obsessed]

#icanteven

pt. 4

#icanteven - The Neighbourhood

"I can't even, I can't even believe what you did to me You can't even, you can't even say I'm overreacting I can't even, can't even hear your side Shame on me, you fooled me twice"

Summary: series; Sam cheats on you.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: descriptions of depression, guilt, anger, infidelity, fluff, smut (sam x other woman)

Word count: 2.8k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Half a Year

You wake with a start, shooting straight out of bed gasping for air. Your skin was blanketed with sweat. 

It’s been six months. Why can’t I get past this? You thought, brain still foggy from sleep. You glanced over at the alarm clock resting on the nightstand, reading 3:16 am. You threw your head back, a low groan escaping past your lips. You aggressively threw the covers off of you and swung your legs over the side of the bed, planting your feet firmly on the carpeted motel floor. 

You drudged over to the sink, flipping on the faucet and cupping your hands under the faucet's stream. You brought the water to your lips, sipping from the pool in your hands. The water had a metallic taste, the pipes old and wearing down slowly. You closed your eyes tightly and splashed water on your face. 

Instantly, you were brought back to your dream – a woman cloaked with a sheer bedsheet. Her hands were placed down firmly on Sam’s chest. Her body moves up and down slowly, intentionally. Through the sheet, you can see Sam’s member sliding in and out of her. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. You tried opening your mouth to say something, anything. Instead of your voice, all you could hear were her moans. You opened your mouth again and moths flew out, muffling your voice. 

Your eyes flew open as you stumbled away from the sink, gagging on the water you just tried to drink unknowingly. You spit up the water that never made it down your throat and spit it back into the sink. 

What the actual fuck was happening? 

The images still bounced around in your head as you turned off the running water. Running your hands through your hair, you sighed and pivoted on your heels, grabbing a sweatshirt that was thrown on the table over your computer. You slumped down into the stiffest chair known to man and flipped open your laptop. 

Something was tearing folks apart in this town. It was close enough to the last job you were working on that you couldn’t just ignore it. Like you would have anyway. Your current lead was now dead, lying in the morgue. So you were starting back at square one, trying to piece together the missing pieces. The connections. 

There was a nagging at the back of your mind, telling you something was off. Something was wrong. But you pushed the feeling down, assuming it was just remnants of your dream moments ago. You shuddered, pulling your focus back to your computer screen, scanning for more evidence on the local PD’s recently hacked website. 

Red. 

That was all you could see. 

Red was everywhere. On you, your clothes, the floor, your machete, the vampire’s head at your feet. The blade fell to the ground, echoing in the now-empty warehouse loudly. The thick liquid coated your hands. A mixture of the vamp nest you just conquered and your own, oozing from multiple wounds. 

Somehow you were able to pick up your blade off the ground and make it outside of the warehouse and to your car. You slumped against the cold metal and pulled your phone from your pocket. The screen was shattered but still worked. Kind of. When you touched the screen it went in the opposite direction of what you were trying to do. Eventually, you were able to hit your speed dial, and Dean’s familiar face appeared on the screen. You weren’t anywhere near the bunker, but last you knew Dean was two towns over, working a case. His phone rang and rang, and then his all too familiar voice crackled through your busted speaker. 

“Th-s is Dea- other oth- ce- y- kn- … to do”

You gripped your phone in frustration, contemplating chucking it across the alleyway. 

“Damnit Dean please,” you plead, tears silently running down your face. You took a deep breath and hit the call button again. On the fifth ring, you were ready to give up and take your chances on foot to the nearest drugstore. Suddenly there was a click and some shuffling on the other end. 

“y/n, a- yo- kay?” 

A pit formed in your stomach. Even through the crackled mumble, you knew that wasn’t Dean’s voice. 

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to check in with Dean,” you said awkwardly. You shifted your weight to a different foot and winced audibly. Loud enough for your phone to pick it up. You quickly piped up, wanting desperately to get out of this situation. “Listen, I have to get back to, uhm, y’know, the job. Vamp nest in Lewisburg.”

“Wai- don- h-...wher- a-...ou-”

“Bye,” you quickly interrupted and tried to hang up. The screen freaked out, going to your home screen and opening your photos app, then opening your text messages. You were still on the phone with Sam, but you were too pissed off to care. 

“Damnit!” You screamed, falling into your impulse from earlier and throwing the phone as far as you could manage. A severe pain shot up through your side at the action, and your scream turned from anger to pain. You collapsed to the ground, feeling lightheaded. Your vision began to blur around the edges, and you were pulled into darkness. 

Loud footsteps were approaching you, muffled by the loud ringing in your ears. Your fight or flight instinct acted up. You tried to move; tried to move anything. Your eyes couldn’t focus and the poorly lit alleyway wasn’t helping at all. You were completely discombobulated. The only thing you were sure of was that someone was approaching you, and approaching fast. A deep muffled voice spoke close to you and you could make out a blurred outline of them. You built up all of the energy you could and started swinging, neglecting the pain that was screaming from your body. 

“No!” you yelled loudly at them. You clenched your eyes shut, knowing that this was a losing battle. Any minute know the final blow would land. This was it. 

But it never came. 

Instead, the muffled voice got louder, closer, clearer. 

You opened your eyes only to see Sam coming closer and into focus. When he reached you, his large hands grabbed at your shoulders and pulled you to him. 

“y/n, y/n? Can you hear me?” he spoke quickly. He took your face in his hand and forced you to look at him. “y/n? Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said, trying to get your attention. 

But once you saw his face, and felt him touching you, you instantly relaxed. 

You felt safe, and your body had just used the last of its remaining energy, and you were done. 

“Sam…” you started, not knowing where you were even going with it.  

The last thing you heard was Sam’s muffled yell as he shook your body, before losing consciousness once again. 

You shoot up from the bed, breathing heavily and arms up defensively. Your eyes scanned the room wildly, not actually seeing anything from their rapid movement. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe,” a familiar voice spoke. Your rapid eye movement slowed, and you focused on him, standing at the end of the bed in front of you. 

“Sam?” you questioned out loud, trying to connect the recent events. And then suddenly, it all hit at once. You winced at both the pain from sitting up so suddenly and the instant flashback of the heroic battle fought last night. Your mind was reeling, still not computing why he was in the motel room with you. 

“You called Dean’s cell last night, but he left it behind when he went out. When it wouldn’t stop ringing I answered. You sounded like you were in trouble,” he said quietly, innocently. “I didn’t even think about it. I heard Lewisburg and nest and your scream…I didn’t stop until I got here.”

“How did you know-”

“There were only two abandoned buildings in this town,” he said, not letting you finish your sentence. 

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, baffled by what he had done. You hadn’t seen this man in months, and at the hint of trouble, he dropped everything to come to you. Why would he do that, especially after all this time had passed? You looked away from him, feeling your emotions start to overwhelm you. The bed dipped next to you as Sam sat down. 

“So, you took on a vamp nest by yourself?” He asked, lightening the mood a little. 

You chuckled and wiped at your cheeks, turning back to face him. Your shoulder bumped into his as you adjusted.  

“I handled it,” you responded defensively. “And I did call for backup,” you added. Sam shook his head and chuckled. You glanced up to see the small grin on his face as he ran a hand through his thick hair. You looked away quickly, not wanting to make eye contact with him. 

“After the nest was already taken care of,” he retorted. Sam watched as you rotated your shoulder, wincing at the movement. “Yeah I uh, had to pop it back into place. You’re lucky, I almost brought you into the hospital. You lost quite a bit of blood.” You just shook your head and sighed. 

Sam couldn’t help but glance down at you. Your hair was longer than the last time he saw you, and he didn’t miss the new freckles that peppered your skin. A direct result of your being in the sun, he knew all too well. He recalled when he used to map those very freckles with his finger, tracing images into your skin and naming them. And how you’d giggle when he traced ticklish areas of your body, like your side just above your hipbone. You’d squeal and squirm under his touch, and he’d take the opportunity to place innocent kisses across your face. 

Sam was pulled suddenly from his memory as he felt the bed shift from the absence of your weight. He watched as you made your way to the end of the bed. 

“Thank you for coming to help me, Sam,” you spoke as fluently as you could, your brain still a little foggy. “I owe you one.”

Sam was taken aback by your words. You were sending him away. His face contorted, unsure of how to respond, then softened. He looked at you with that patented puppy dog look of his. You just shook your head, looking away. 

“I can’t do this,” you said quietly, starting to pace from the corners of the bed. “Sam, I can’t. Not after what happened.” And you were serious. You were melting in front of him, falling all over again. The way he had just looked at you, that longing look. It was the same look he gave you the first time you had gone out on a date. The way his eyes watched you adoringly like you were the only girl in the world. You crossed your arms over your chest, mixed emotions clouding your judgment. 

Sam stood up and grabbed your wrist, pulling your attention back to him. 

“Focus on me, baby,” he spoke softly. You all but melted into his touch. It was so familiar, so safe. He knew exactly what he was doing, too. He moved backward to the bed, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. Your legs instinctively straddling his hips, fitting perfectly like two puzzle pieces. He placed soft kisses on your temple, moving his way down to your jawline. 

“Sam…” you all but moaned as his lips traveled to your collarbone. 

“I missed you,” he mumbled against your skin. His hands gripped your hips, carefully avoiding any of your recent injuries. He slowly guided you forward, bringing you dangerously close to his crotch. The feeling was so familiar, so comfortable. You relished in it. You hadn’t felt like this in months, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief and pleasure that escaped your lips. Sam hummed against your skin. 

You closed your eyes, letting the feeling sink in.

And suddenly, the feeling of relief and pleasure is taken over by a new feeling. One that you never wanted to feel ever again. You couldn’t even name it. It was a black hole deep in the pit of your stomach. It washed over you rapidly, a wave of nausea and guilt and fear all at once. The same black hole that consumed you when you walked in on Sam and that woman. And then you were thrown back into your dream, just a bystander in the doorway as she sank down on him over and over again. 

You snapped back to reality, roughly shoving yourself away from Sam. You stumbled off of his lap, a look of horror plastered on your face. 

“What-”

“I said I can’t do this, Sam!” You yelled at him. Your chest was rising and falling vigorously, your panic and anger growing. You angrily grabbed at your hair, then threw your arms out wide, letting them fall limp at your sides. “I can’t get past this! Whenever I close my eyes, the only thing I can see is you and that woman, that fucking woman! Fucking you! And I can’t just forget about that! No matter how much you might try to explain yourself or how much of a hero you are,” you yelled. Now that you started, you weren’t able to stop. 

“I trusted you. I loved you. We were together for two years. And you decided that you would throw all of that away? If you had a problem with me or what I was doing, you break up with me! You talk to me! You don’t just go and fuck another woman!”

“y/n, I loved you, too. Hell, I still love you,” Sam said quietly, standing up and reaching for you again. You ripped yourself from his grasp and clenched your fists. 

“No, no! Y’know what, fuck you, Sam Winchester. You don’t get to love me anymore. I’m done,” you spat at him. Your nostrils flared, breathing heavily. You couldn’t believe what you had just said. Here was the love of your life standing in front of you, and you no longer felt a thing for him. Your chest ached, not sure if it was from the hunt or an oncoming panic attack, but you willed it to hold off. 

You stared at the floor, unsure of what to do or say. Sam wasn’t sure what to do either. He wasn’t ready for this to end. He truly did love you, that was never a lie. He always thought that if he could just talk to you again; if he could just touch you one more time, then he could fix everything. 

Sam’s phone broke the silence between the two of you. His ringtone sounded like a tornado siren with how quiet the room had grown. You both glanced over to the bed and stared at it, lying face up. There was no image or name for the contact, but whoever it was knew Sam’s main phone number; his “call me if you need me there now” number.  

“Who would be calling you this…” your voice trailed off as realization set in. Goosebumps broke out across your body and anger set in, boiling deep from within. You set your jaw. “Well uhm, you better get back. You wouldn’t want to keep her waiting. 

“y/n, stop, just listen-” Sam started. 

“It’s time for you to leave,” you said sternly. The look on your face was blank, void of emotion. You weren’t giving him anything else from you, no matter how hurt he looked. 

Sam picked up his phone and made his way to the door. He reached for the door handle but hesitated, tilting his head down. He moved his head, as if to look back at you one more time, but didn’t fully turn around. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He didn’t wait for a response from you, not that he would have gotten one. Not now. He quickly pulled the door open and walked out, pulling it closed behind him gently. As soon as the door latched, your legs gave out from under you, and you collapsed to the floor. You wished that you would have died on that hunt tonight. Nothing could hurt more than what you were feeling at this moment. You clenched your fists to your chest, feeling an ache that you had never felt before.

The night Sam cheated on you, your heart splintered and cracked, opening a wound you never thought would heal. When he left your motel room tonight, he took those broken pieces, and swept them away with him, leaving you with nothing but emptiness.

Series Masterlist

A/N: This felt so choppy with the setting cuts! Sorry! <3 Please let me know if I missed you on the tag list. I am trying my best to keep up! Also, one more part left!

Likes, reblogs, and follows are never expected but greatly appreciated! These let me know I should keep on doing what I’m doing! (:

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[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my! part 2

Here's Part 1 and somehow there's going to be a part 3 too because I'm apparently incapable of doing anything short. Just ain't made for it. I've become resigned to my fate. But, hey, here's part 2! ;3

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“What is going on with this thing tonight,” Tim murmurs harshly with an irritated huff. 

Jason would like to know, too, since Tim’s comms patched into his private line without Jason’s say so. It could’ve been the Red Hood fucking with him again but the suit has been tame. Well, okay, as tame as his suit gets. Which is suspicious all on its own but that’s a problem for a later time. Right now, he has an unsuspecting Tim on the line. 

“Come on you stupid piece of shit,” Tim whispers like a man at the end of his rope.

“Woah, woah, language there, RR,” Jason chides him because he can.

Tim makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a grunt which would normally have Jason laughing except Tim chokes off the sound and mutters, “Uh oh.”

He’s never liked uh oh’s. 

“What?” he demands, feigning annoyance but honestly a little worried. 

“So,” Tim starts hesitantly. The rest of the words spill out of him in a rush when he says, “I was trying to get a hold of Batgirl because I’m on a stake out that isn’t a stake out anymore and I’m currently hiding from about thirty heavily armed and trained mercenaries but all the exits are covered so I can’t exactly sneak out.”

Tim trails off while Jason’s stomach churns. “You’re what?” Jason responds, this time truly annoyed. 

“If I have to repeat myself and I give away my position,” Tim warns him absently. There’s another pause and Jason much prefers Tim’s word vomit to the ominous sound of Tim’s measured breathing and the growing din in the background. “Uh oh” Tim says but with more feeling this time. 

“Don’t you fucking uh oh me. Where are you?”

“It’s the home goods warehouse southeast of the docks. 1334 Har-." Tim doesn’t get a chance to finish rattling off the address. If Jason has to guess, he would say it has something to do with the sudden sound of gunfire.

This is not happening. He got butt dialed into a backup call and now the littlest bird is a sitting duck in a den of lions. With only Jason to lean on. Who isn’t even sure where he is. It’s not like the actual contents of Gotham’s warehouses isn’t ever shifting between legitimate goods and illicit ones or anything. Property rights and leases exchanging hands between asset management teams and gangs. Money is money after all. The area around the docks is all warehousing and logistics so, over all, Tim has been completely unhelpful. 

He knows better than to divide Tim’s attention when he’s in the middle of a serious fight. One wrong word and Jason could be the reason Tim gets a bullet to the brain or pushed off a two story catwalk. It doesn’t exactly leave him with very many options other than immediately changing his trajectory to take him over to the industrial center by the docks. It’s a quiet night. He should be able to hear the gunshots. 

Turns out, he doesn’t have to waste valuable time playing Where’s The Fire Fight? because Red Hood has it handled. Or Tim finally made use of one of the many panic buttons he’s sure are sewn all over his less-than-stellar, non-magical-mystical-whatever suit. No matter how, Jason gets a ping on his HUD and a map of Gotham pulls up into the corner with a neat little red dot for Tim’s location. Now knowing where he’s going, Jason pushes himself to hurry the fuck up.

Getting back to his bike is a blur but he’s ripping down Gotham’s streets as soon as he gets the engine started and kickstand up. One irate cab driver has the audacity to honk at him when he blows through a red light so Jason gives him the middle finger and few choice words. The guy must be new to the city if he doesn’t know to look both ways for high speed vigilantes. Jason would be more than happy to teach him the lesson if he didn’t have places to be and things to do. 

Thanks to his incredible driving skills and his innate ability to not turn himself into a pavement pancake, Jason gets to the warehouse in record time. If only Guinness had been watching. He would’ve gotten a medal or whatever it is they do when someone breaks one of the many, many pointless world records the books have immortalized. 

Since all the doors and exterior windows do appear to be fortified and armed, Jason grapples himself to the roof and is delighted to see the unsecured skylight. Whoever these guys are, they must be from out of town too. Any Gotham-ized gangster, goon, villain or otherwise knows to board those up first. Out of towners, he swears. No problem, the cab driver got him primed for a teaching moment so he’s about to take these motherfuckers to school. 

Handling Vigilantes 101:

-Never leave your skylights or exterior vents unattended.

-Before engaging in criminal activity, make sure you have active health insurance.

-Prepare to get your ass pounded into paste by some douchebags in tight leather (and not in the fun way).

In true Bat-fashion, Jason makes his dramatic entrance via ziplining through the skylight after cracking the glass with the steel-toe of his boot. He’s already got a gun out by the time his feet touch down with a jarring thud. The total amateurs, by Gotham standards, startle enough Jason has ample time to start putting them down. A flash of red and black from the corner of his eye lets him know Tim has darted out to either pull some shifty, sneaky shit or find better coverage than the shot to hell crates he’d been keeping between himself and a .22 to the dome. 

Even when the mercs gather up their wits and retaliate against the new threat, the Red Hood does its job. About a minute of getting shot at, knowing he’ll be sporting a myriad of bruises from it but trusting his suit to keep anything fatal at bay, and the idiots start second guessing their current line of attack. 

What’s a bruise or two for the ghost tales that’ll get spread around about the Red Hood being impervious? Jason may be all too human but the Red Hood allows him to pose himself as something more, something greater. Obviously unnerved, the shooting stops as the guys start back pedaling. Too bad Red Robin is there to greet them when they turn tail to make a run for it. 

Jason watches as Tim neatly dispatches the leftovers. He might not have been able to properly appreciate it before, but Tim really is good with that stick of his. Liquid grace in motion, slipping under the mercenaries’ guards easily and transitioning from one opponent to another with a little flair and a lot of skill. Bits and pieces of it Jason can recognize from his own training regimens as Robin, some of it from a couple people he’s run into as Red Hood and can’t help but wonder how Tim met them. The weird amalgamation is all Tim though in the way he takes the best from what he’s learned then takes the discordant moves and shapes them into a symphony of movement. And pain cause, hot damn, Tim isn’t playing. Jason swears he sees one guy's molars get smacked right out of his head. 

One of the assholes groans from where he fell at Jason’s feet  after getting hit with a couple rubber bullets point blank so he kicks him in the head to shut him up. Jason is appraising his ally’s fighting skills, thanks. People can be so rude sometimes.

Tim downs the last merc and, with a satisfied smirk that has Jason’s gut twisting, he leans against his staff with his hip cocked. The tight fabric of his suit is clinging to him like a second skin. Enough so to make Selina and Dick proud. His cape falls in a wave at his back, held in place by the bandoliers crossing his chest. The damn things make Tim’s tiny waist painfully obvious. Small mercies Tim decided to ditch the cowl a few months back. The elegant fall of his too long hair suits the whole Red Robin look a lot better than the gimp cowl.

“Are you going to help secure them?” Tim asks, frowning and looking over his shoulder at Jason as he zipties one of the guys starting to wriggle around.

Jason’s higher thinking kicks back in. Tim does make a good point. They should probably truss up the trash before they’ve got another scuffle on their hands. He hadn’t even realized he drifted off a little bit there. Weird but it has been a long, strange night. Brushing it off, Jason crouches down to start hog tying the mercenaries closest to him. 

Nothing, nothing, will ever beat the hilarity that is criminals awake and wriggling while they’re literally hog tied. Tim may not have approved while he was doing it but, standing next to each other on an adjacent roof to make sure the GCPD carts them off as they should, Tim isn’t saying a bad word about it. In fact, his lips are pinched together like he’s trying to hold back a snicker. One of the mercenaries jolts awake when an officer takes their arm to start hauling them away. The man startles hard and starts grunting and thrashing. 

Tim loses it and, man, Jason has never heard him laugh. Like really laugh. It’s a good look on Tim. 

“I’m not saying you should’ve,” Tim pushes out past a couple more chuckles.

“I’m sensing a but,” Jason says, his grin all charm and completely wasted since Tim can’t see his face because of the helmet. 

“But,” Tim parrots, “that was pretty funny.”

Jason bows with a flourish which has Tim laughing anew though it is softer, quieter this time. In the middle of drinking up the delicate lines of Tim’s face and the curve of his smile, Jason’s HUD goes dark. Totally dead. There’s a couple emergency lights built inside since small, dark places don’t mix well with him anymore. Otherwise, nothing is working.

The Red Hood isn’t subtle one goddamn bit and the stupid suit is lucky he bothered with slapping a domino on before he went out tonight. Quickly undoing the security panels on the underside of his jaw, Jason pulls the helmet off. He shakes out his hair and swipes at the sweat beaded along his brow. A couple strands are stuck to his head and refuse to move so Jason reaches up and musses his hair in an attempt to not feel grungy and gross. 

When he looks up, Tim is staring at him so, without the barrier of the helmet, he whips back out the ol’ Jason Todd charm, smiling wolfishly. Then Tim sort of, freezes up. Jason looks over his shoulder to make sure some new big bad isn’t lurking nearby that they missed. But, nope, nothing there. As he turns his head to meet Tim’s gaze again, he’s back to normal. Tim’s approximation of normal at least. 

He’s tapping a hand against his thigh and looking off towards the cityscape of downtown Gotham. His other hand is settled firmly on his waist while he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

“Alright, well, thanks for the backup. Talk about a happy accident,” Tim says after clearing his throat a couple times. 

“Don’t mention,” Jason tells him. “But really, don’t mention it. I don’t want all the Bats breathing down my neck.” 

They’re a give an inch, take a mile bunch. If he green lights as a solid reach out for back up, the next thing he knows he’ll be on the main comms listening to inane chatter. Probably have a shadow or two trailing him on patrols like he needs help running his happy, shitty section of the city. Invitations to the Cave will shift to dinners and movie nights. As pleasant as that all sounds, he’d like to avoid it at all costs.

Tim nods easily and readies his grapple. “Fair. Well. Have a good night?” The awkwardness of Tim’s polite goodbye has Jason laughing and shaking his head. Tim bristles as he shoots off his line. “Or not, whatever,” Tim mutters. 

“Yeah, alright, awkward bird,” Jason calls out to him as Tim swings away. 

Next time, it’s Jason reaching out to Tim. Not even Red Hood calling out to Red Robin. He’s literally phoning Tim's personal cell on one of his burners and asking for a favor. There’s a little cell of nasty drug traffickers from down south with their sights set on Gotham. Although he could wait for them to make the egregious mistake of coming onto his stomping grounds, Jason has decided to gift them the honor of a house call given the sheer viciousness they’ve been using to move their product. 

Problem is, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be undercover snuffing them out and Crime Alley rarely rests even with the Red Hood’s impressive shadow looming over it. If he goes dark for more than a week all hell breaks loose. Usually Roy will step in for him and his suit has been accommodating to the temporary trade off in wearer. That’s not an option this time with Roy otherwise occupied. As are his second and third options so he’s had no choice but to ask for help from the Bat he can best stand. 

He didn’t even need to threaten or bribe Tim after promising a rubber bullets only policy would be fine. The agreement may have come readily but Tim did sound distracted. A niggle of doubt has him pacing his apartment as he waits for Tim to show up. For all he knows, Tim might’ve been less present in the conversation than he thought and not show up at all. 

The knock at his window comes as a mild surprise. Twisting his head around, hand twitching towards the gun he has lying on the counter next to him, Jason relaxes when he sees Tim standing on his fire escape clad in dark clothes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Tim waves at him and gestures to the window with a raised brow. 

Jason doesn’t scramble to open it but he might do it a little too eagerly. Thankfully, Tim doesn’t comment on it as Jason steps back to let Tim in. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Tim asks dubiously once he’s standing in the middle of Jason’s living room with his hands jammed in his pouch pocket. 

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Jason responds without actually being sure. The Red Hood could always reject Tim. Only one way to find out though. “Follow me,” Jason says as he gestures Tim down the hall to his bedroom where he keeps his suit stored.

“Alright. Sorry I’m late, by the way. My suit has been giving me issues lately.”

“Like what?” Jason asks curiously as he pushes open the door to his room and goes to unearth the Red Hood.

Tim shrugs and absently looks around Jason’s room. It’s uncomfortable to have Tim here, for him to see where Jason lives. He does his best to ignore it as he spreads the suit out on his bed. Approaching slowly, Tim takes his hands out of his pocket so he can run a finger down the chestplate. The whole thing does a little shimmy shake. Jason has a bad feeling about this. 

“I’m not exactly your size,” Tim drawls, looking Jason up and down. 

A spark of molten heat sparks deep in his core so Jason smothers it with extreme prejudice. “If you’re not lookin’ like a kid in daddy’s clothes then we’ll be fine. It’ll adjust. If it likes you.”

“If it likes me,” Tim murmurs. 

There’s a sad, bitter edge to Tim’s expression as he stares down at the suit. Once more, Jason realizes he has stepped on a sore spot for Tim. The same one even. Let no one ever accuse him of being great at interpersonal relationships. 

Tim banishes whatever he has going through his mind with a shake of his head. His face shifts to one of determination as he shucks off his sweatshirt. And his shirt. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants.

“Enjoying the show?” Tim questions sarcastically.

Right. Right, he was staring. When he shouldn’t have been. 

“I want a refund,” Jason throws out to cover his folly. Tim snorts so Jason takes it as a win. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if the suit gives you a hard time. It’ll listen to me sometimes.”

“Sometimes. That’s comforting.”

“I try. Now get your tiny ass in it.” 

Jason excuses himself from the room, shutting the door, before making his way to the kitchen where his open duffel bag is already stuffed with the essentials. To keep himself busy, Jason checks over the contents. Then double checking and tossing a couple other things in the bag. Once satisfied, he zips it up and pats the thick canvas of the bag. When he looks up from his distraction, Tim is there in the hallway.

I fucked up, Jason bemoans internally.

Not because the Red Hood is being antagonistic and obstinate in letting Tim help. The stupid suit must not have a single qualm with letting Tim wear it. Everything fits so damn well. There’s only so much reshaping the suit can usually do given the difference in size between himself and others but whatever bullshit gives the suits a brain has pulled out all the stops to make it work. 

Tim looks good in it. Still short although the heels on the boots are higher. The extra armoring pads Tim’s form, making him look bulkier than he is but the suit nips in at the waist. He’s pretty damn sure the tac pants aren’t supposed to be that tight, either. Tim tosses the helmet from hand to hand under Jason’s scrutinizing eyes before popping it on.

“Wow, okay, I want one of these,” Tim says through the voice modulator. The mechanical growl has a shiver running down Jason’s spine. Because he keeps his apartment cool and there’s a draft somewhere he hasn’t fixed yet, of course. “The tech in this thing.”

“Great for concussion prevention, too.”

“I’m hoping to not put that to the test.”

“Yeah, try not to. You’re still smaller than me, shrimp, so keep moving and maybe nobody will notice.”

Pulling the hood off, Tim glares at him. “I’m not that much smaller.”

“You’re like, what, a buck forty soaking wet?”

Huffing, Tim puts the helmet on again. “Excuse me while I prove that doesn’t matter.”

“Go off,” Jason cheers flatly. 

Tim flicks him off while he walks back towards the window. “Just getting in character,” he says as he gracefully slides back out onto the fire escape. 

I am so very, very fucked, Jason thinks with no small amount of dismay. There’s only so much a mantra of ‘Don’t stress, repress’ can do and it’s getting really hard to ignore the way he’s been responding to Tim. Doesn’t mean he’s not going to keep trying to savagely squash what he’s starting to suspect may be the beginnings of attraction. 

It all comes to a head when Tim asks him to partner up on a counterfeiting case. The request shouldn’t have surprised him. After Tim successfully patrolled Park Row as Red Hood, reporting no issues, they’ve been crossing paths more often. On one occasion, the tracker Jason stuck to a mobster’s car brought him to Tim instead. By some stroke of luck, Tim was tailing the same guy so, aside from the momentary hiccup, the takedown went smoothly. Then Tim’s grapple jammed when they were set to part ways another night after running into one another. Jason ended the night red faced and unable to think of anything but Tim’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, hanging on for dear life, as he flew them back to Tim’s bike. 

A few weeks ago, he’d ended up battered, bruised and bleeding in some dark, dank alley in the East End. Willingly, Jason hailed Tim for an assist. Tim got him to a safe house and patched him up efficiently. The weird thing is, Tim’s cape was being weird. Sure, that makes him sound slightly insane and maybe a civilian would think so but Jason has been a mask for what seems like half of forever now. He knows these suits. So, the way Tim’s cape had fallen around them, stretching itself so it covered the both of them to create a safe, quiet space all their own, was suspicious. Then it got really suspicious when Tim tried brushing it aside to get some better lighting while doing the stitches but the cape kept somehow slipping over his back to go back to embracing the both of them. 

There isn’t a single doubt in Jason’s mind that Red Robin was a plain,ol’ regular mass of fabric when Jason got it. None. He’s starting to suspect that isn’t the case anymore which is only cemented when they walk into the hotel room they booked for the night to serve as a base of operations in New York while they follow a trail of counterfeit money. 

See, Jason was right next to Tim in the car when he called the hotel and made the booking. He personally heard Tim ask for a room with twin beds and the front desk agent confirm there was one available. Then Tim had tossed his phone into his bag, the same one with his spare clothes and suit, and they’d blared hyper pop and grunge on the radio without a second thought. Jason vividly remembers pulling into the hotel parking lot and Tim grabbing his bag, fishing his phone out and frowning thoughtfully that the screen was on with his email open. After a cursory check, he’d shrugged it off and they got out to settle in. 

Getting comfortable is going to be a Herculean challenge for Jason since there’s only one queen bed in the room. 

Tim pauses in the entryway and blinks before glancing down at his key card, backing up to look at the room number and back down at the card again. “They must’ve made a mistake,” he says blankly. 

Before Jason can put his two cents in, Tim shoves his bag into Jason’s arms and snatches up Jason’s key card. Tim books it back down the hall towards the front desk. Which, okay, that’s fine. All’s the better because Jason will literally go insane if he has to share a bed with Tim. Years of freezing on the streets taught him to gravitate towards whatever heat source possible. Including people he trusts in his general vicinity when he’s sleeping. He simply won’t survive waking up with Tim as his personal teddy bear. 

Storming into the room, Jason throws Tim’s bag onto the bed and yanks it open. He opens the hidden pocket where Red Robin is neatly folded and glares down at it. 

“I don’t know what your game is, but cut that shit out,” Jason hisses at the suit. It doesn’t move but Jason gets the distinct impression it’s smug. Or he could be projecting. Can regular suits gain consciousness? Is that a thing? Doesn’t matter, not like anyone is around to judge him for talking to a maybe, maybe-not inanimate costume. “Seriously. I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it.”

Jason doesn’t get the opportunity to further threaten the Red Robin costume. A harried looking Tim pops back into the room, two key cards in hand. When he looks at Jason, he seems a little lost. 

“This was the only room they had left,” Tim tells him, tone carefully calm and even. “There’s some business conference going on.”

He swallows hard and nods, remembering a couple news articles he’d read through on it before leaving. “Okay, yeah, no problem.” There’s no couch either. Just a dresser, nightstand, bed, desk and one of those armchairs with cushions hard enough to use as a bludgeoning weapon. “I’ll take the floor?”

Tim doesn’t look at him but his face pinches in distaste at the idea. “No, it’s fine. We can share, right?”

“Nah, it’s alright, I’ll take the floor,” Jason insists.

Now Tim looks him in the eye and the steely determination takes Jason by surprise. “I can’t even fathom what the stains on this carpet are and there’s no padding. You’ll wake up an aching mess and be useless on the mission tomorrow. We can share the bed,” he says firmly. 

Well, what is Jason supposed to say to that other than, “Good point. Bedfellows it is.”

The time they spend organizing their things and then getting ready to lie down is just as awkward as Jason thought it would be. On no fewer than five occasions, Jason nearly calls the whole thing off. There were other hotels in the area, right? Not all of them could possibly be full from the corporate HR consulting conference being held in town. Anything would be better than the fragile silence between them. 

He doesn’t though. The thought of backing out like a yellow bellied coward had his gut souring and his mood shifting from placid dread to irritation. Each time the impulse comes up, he kicks it to the recesses of his mind along with every budding fantasy of what the night may bring. It’s getting pretty cluttered in that dark corner of his mind. 

Tim doesn’t appear to be quite as affected. Some of his movements are stilted and he’s giving Jason a wider berth than normal but otherwise he does his own thing while Jason does his. If Jason weren’t harboring an incredibly inconvenient crush, he’d even say things were companionable. But he is, so suffocatingly uncomfortable atmosphere for him. Woe is his life, seriously. 

Those feelings of giddy anticipation and mounting horror go sharply into focus as he and Tim, dressed down for bed in sleep shirts and comfortable pants, stare at one another from either side of the bed. Tim has a corner of the blanket in his hand, fiddling with a loose thread on the side of it. Otherwise, he’s completely still and everything he’s thinking is locked up tight behind the pale blue of his eyes. Jason can’t help but fidget too, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he feels a prickle of embarrassment slithering down the back of his neck. This is the weirdest game of semi-gay chicken he’s ever engaged in. 

Jason breaks first if only to end the game. Grabbing the edge of his blanket, Jason tosses it back before flinging himself onto the bed. After a brief shuffle, he gets himself covered up to the chin with the blanket and his back facing Tim. Carefully, slowly, Tim crawls in beside him with much less flair and flourish. The blanket tugs for a second before settling again. While the bed is a good size, Jason isn’t exactly your average guy. Despite his best efforts to get as far away as he can, he can still feel Tim’s warmth brushing against his back like a phantom caress. 

Man, sleep isn’t happening. He may as well get up and do some more research on the case or something. Screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, Jason wrestles with himself on if he should ditch the idea of sharing the bed and how he can get out of it without being overtly disrespectful.

[melorambles]

hei xiazi and zhang rishan headcanons I will never be talked out of:

they met back in the day when rishan was fo ye's fu guan, definitely committed a whole bunch of arson and murder they narrowly escaped being arrested for, and a whole bunch of other stuff fo ye had to pay bail for

fo ye spent the rest of his life carefully monitoring hei xiazi's whereabouts to make sure he and rishan were never in the same city unsupervised. sometimes he hired hei xiazi for BS he made up on the spot because it was cheaper than paying for the property damage

fo ye was also a little jealous they didn't invite him to the Shenanigans, but he's too Official and Responsible to do those sorts of things anymore and he does pout about that on er ye's couch.

when Rishan takes on fo ye's mantle, he keeps xiazi on speed dial to mess with people who annoy him. Just, straight up says 'here's a bunch of money, do whatever you want so long as I don't have to hear from them for the next month'

Rishan unknowingly mirrors fo ye's frustration with having to keep up appearances and not being allowed to be the agent of chaos he was born to be. xiazi is aware of this and sometimes 'kidnaps' him on vacations where they go burn down a wang family warehouse or training facility or the summer home of some corrupt government official.

they've never been caught, but poorly drawn police sketches have ended up on wanted lists rishan has had to make arrangements to have deleted

xiazi is also one of the few people who understands the Immortality Depression, who would also - probably - give fair warning before trying to shank rishan (and vice versa). rishan and xiazi have definitely fucked about it, but even the suggestion they ever dated would be met with some sort of reaction on a scale of confusion to horror (also the ghost of fo ye starts screaming from the afterlife)

rishan has definitely made green pepper fried rice for xiazi and it's their go-to currency, other than favors and flammable materials.

[tozettastone]

With the usual disclaimers that this is a draft, may be subject to change, etc. etc., I have come to show you the first part of the draft of my OC×Itachi Covenant Fic (paging @mixelation and @waffliesinyoface, my covenant buddies). This is also to prove I am definitely writing it, 100%, promise, LOL.

I think for me right now, this opening sets up all the things I want it to, but it's pretty slow and it introduces three (3) OCs, when the preferred number is probably one (1). That's kind of a product of its setting, but maybe that means I should have picked a different one. Well, we'll see how I go.

---

It was almost impossible to buy close-toed boots in the elemental nations.

Fuyumi had tried. For years, Fuyumi had tried. Suppliers who produced them — mostly those in the frigid mountains up near Lightning, go figure — did not make them in her size. Everywhere else, they were a custom product, and requests were met with furrowed brows and eye-watering prices.

Fuduka Fuyumi, an unaffiliated ninja doggedly avoiding her own debtors, certainly could not afford to have warm, dry toes. This was why her toes squelched when she stepped out of the river that morning.

There absolutely existed ninja in this world whose chakra control was good enough to jog five miles down a swift-flowing river and simply avoid wet toes altogether. Some of those ninja even stopped in Uteki village, actually, since they were so close to Ame, where the worst-hidden secret society of ninja criminals on the planet made their base. Fuyumi was not among their august number, though. She had her own tricks and talents — she could drink grown men under the table and crush watermelons with only the undiluted power of her thighs. Fine chakra control? Not so much.

The dock was a floating wooden platform that bobbed along with the current of the river. The boats that arrived there were mostly long river barges, and the waterway was narrow enough that some of them were even drawn by horses or oxen pulling along the far bank. The bleached and battered wood creaked under the feet of the labourers, rough-looking men whose jobs consisted in the logistics of all this industry, taking from boats onto carts into warehouses and into, presumably, other carts.

In this part of town, the warehouses huddled like stout ugly sentinels over the river, surrounded by detritus of crates and ropes and rusted horseshoes and canvas. Further in was the market square, which was a bloody grand name for a place where they generally sold sweet fuck all.

Despite her squelching footsteps, nobody even glanced twice at Fuyumi when she returned. The tiny Fuduka family was well known in the village. It was her home now.

While she'd been living there, Fuyumi had never once thought she'd come to miss the dubious luxuries of her old home town. She'd grown up on a hard-packed red-dirt road between an electrical supply store and a farm equipment supplier. She'd had dial-up internet well into the 2010s, and the places to be seen were the mobile monthly disco and the shopping centre car park. But the elemental nations, in aggregate, had really made her count all the blessings to which she no longer had access. You know: a variety of beautiful out-of-season foods, healthcare that wasn't based on vibes alone, taxpayer-funded disability and aged pensions, a twelve-year educational curriculum… and fucking shoes. With covered toes.

Fuyumi even missed XXXX, which was, frankly, saying something. She had yet to find a single lager in the elemental nations.

She squelched a little more on her way to the market, waving to the few people who lifted their hands at her in passing, most of whom she recognised vaguely from long nights spent in the bar. In her experience, docks always had the better bars. Anywhere the wharfies were, you could guarantee no wine sat open long enough to sour.

Although heading immediately to a bar at noon on a Wednesday was not totally unknown for Fuyumi, she did have responsibilities, and today these took her down towards the market instead.

The warehouses were quickly exchanged for symptoms of consumer commerce: faded striped awnings and peeling wooden signs arranged loosely down a tiny street of semi-permanent storefronts, manned by farmers' wives and the odd travelling merchant. The very moment she stepped out of the shadow of the teahouse on the corner, a creaky voice called out:

"Oh, Fuyumi-san! Could I trouble you to help me with this?"

'This,' was three hefty crates packed tightly with bottles and straw, and 'me' turned out to be an ageing woman Fuyumi recognised only vaguely. She might've been one of her grandmother's friends. (Akane, despite her entire personality, had many friends.)

"Sure," said Fuyumi, because her next destination was her mother's house, and there was pretty much no task Fuyumi would disdain in pursuit of procrastinating against that eventuality. She unloaded the clinking bottles under the twin glowers of the midday sun and of the lady, who turned out to be called Aya. It wasn't ringing a bell? But Fuyumi didn't really mind moving heavy stuff for old ladies even if she didn't know them. If Fuyumi was ever old — which experience said was… uh, not likely — she'd want local ninja to unload crates for her. Right?

The bottles turned out to be full of oil, so they were light, but there were a lot of them and their shapes made them awkward to handle. While she was drifting between the crates and the shady insides of Auntie Aya's little wooden store, Fuyumi learned that the crates were outside on the street because that was where Aya's son had delivered them, instead of putting them inside the shop where they could be locked away from harm.

"He's useless, you know," Auntie Aya said, watching Fuyumi's progress from her three-legged stool. "You mustn't marry him. Although I suppose you'd be useful enough for two. You ninja have to have so many skills, it's a tough job for a woman…"

She went on in this vein for some time, and Fuyumi mostly let it wash over her.

Before she let her go, Aya said, "Those ninja men in the black coats have been around again," which really just went to show why you should always help lonely old ladies when they asked.

"Huh. Good to know. Are they… bothering you?" Fuyumi wondered. She didn't know what the hell she was going to do about it if they were. She was a ninja, but she wasn't, like, the kind of ninja you asked for when Uchiha Obito was causing a nuisance and you wanted someone to stop him, you know? She licked her teeth. She could help with an expeditious evacuation, in a pinch.

"Oh, no, they never bother us here." Thank fuck for that. "But I thought a kunoichi should be careful."

Fuyumi cracked her neck and rubbed her nose. "That's good advice, Auntie," she agreed.

She left the store, richer by a single bottle of oil Auntie Aya pressed upon her, and went about her business, which today consisted in collecting groceries for her mother — the inimitable and moody Fukuda Setsuko. She kept an eye out for a flash of red clouds and black swishy fabric while she did it, though.

Once upon a time, back in, like, 2007, the person currently known as Fuyumi had read a shitty scanlation of the Naruto manga. She'd done this via a screebly dial-up connection, hunched over a glowing CRT monitor while the fan clicked lazily (and futilely) overhead. Later, she'd caught… most of the Shippuden anime, probably, on her laptop, and managed to figure out the rest via social media osmosis in between her university classes.

Back then, she hadn't been an Akatsuki fan. Even the most fleshed out of the characters had seemed to have confused (and confusing) motives, and some of them were completely incomprehensible. Now, living as she did in Uteki, she'd actually spotted several of those men in the wild, and she… still wasn't an Akatsuki fan? They were extremely impressive ninja, sure, but the elemental nations were full of extremely impressive ninja, and not all of them were sixteen personality disorders in a flappy coat.

Fuyumi had even spotted the much-beloved figure of Uchiha Itachi once, from a distance, and her thoughts on that fan favourite were: wow, there's really no accounting for taste, huh? She didn't get the appeal. He was a pale guy with a resting bitchface that could kill someone from fifty paces, and he walked around swaddled in a coat too big for him, looking exhausted.

Personally, Fuyumi's favourite character had been Tsunade, because she was an absolute fucking legend who could break walls with her pinkie and Fuyumi badly wanted to get a drink with her one day. This was lucky, because she was so famous a figure in the elemental nations that, if asked, Fuyumi could still say, 'Well, I really admire Senju Tsunade,' and even random guys in bars just grunted and nodded their heads sagely.

So… Suck on that, Itachi girls.

Despite her drifting thoughts, knowing that there were Akatsuki members in Uteki did make Fuyumi move more purposefully and quickly. As a born unaffiliated ninja, she had no bounty, so there was no reason they'd be interested in her — but she had no interest in courting a surprise introduction to, like, Hidan or something. Christ. That would suck.

Setsuko lived six miles out of town, which would have been an absurd walking distance to Fuyumi in a previous life. For a ninja, blessed with a chakra-fortified body and training that commenced in early childhood and never really ceased, it was forty-five minutes, while carrying the groceries, taken at her laziest jog. Fuyumi would have preferred internet access and childhood immunisations, sure, but since she was stuck here, chakra and absurd physical fitness were pretty cool consolation prizes.

"Did you roll in mud before visiting me?" sighed Setsuko when she saw her daughter. Thirty-nine, five foot nothing, and pale, Setsuko had a perfect round face and the deceptively delicate look cultivated by true, old-fashioned kunoichi. She was pretty, poisonous, and not nearly as fragile as she habitually pretended. Today there were hydrangeas decorating her hair, a splash of purple against its midnight darkness. In spring, it had been fruit blossoms.

"I think you get bigger every time I see you," she said, tapping her lower lip as Fuyumi ducked into the shade of the house and kicked off her sandals. They were dry after the trip here, at least.

"I've been going like a cut cat all morning, so, no, I didn't shower. They had dogs," she explained, eyeing her own ankles. Her mother, predictably, reached up and rubbed her fingertips across the scars on Fuyumi's face. She didn't mention them aloud but her expression said a lot, none of it good. "I ran the river to get back so nobody'd track me."

Her hems were pretty grotty, a fact that had totally escaped her until it had been pointed out. Her legwarmers really needed a wash.

Setsuko's eyes had drifted in the same direction. "You should get rid of those," she said, for perhaps the sixth time. "You must have dropped six separate stitches."

"I made them," Fuyumi protested, as she always did. So what if it was hard to keep track of her rib stitch? "Out of nothing. Like a god." She sucked at all the girly arts her mother had tried to pass on to her. Handicrafts were just one among a million.

"Out of yarn," her mother pointed out. "And… more like a toddler."

"Where do you want your onions?" she asked, even though she knew exactly where they went. It was time to change the subject before her legwarmers got confiscated straight off her legs, somehow.

Setsuko was, Fuyumi thought, totally capable of getting her own groceries. She could even have sent a water clone, if her knees were really causing her so much pain. But Fuyumi valued the routine of bringing her weekly shopping to her, when she could. This way, her mother could not claim she was being cruelly neglected by an unfilial child, but Fuyumi could show up, unload groceries, and be gone in twenty minutes, if she was lucky. It was a perfect system.

However, if she was not lucky…

"I'll need you to get on the roof and get some of those branches down before something makes a nest up there. And there are some trees I've been meaning to transplant, so you'll need to do the ditches."

"Okay," said Fuyumi, letting this information drift over the surface of her mind without touching down.

She liked doing menial chores for her mother a lot less than she did for the grandmothers about town. What she really wanted, she felt, was a drink. Or five. Just to get a little fuzzy at the local bar and not think too hard about anything at all. But before she could do that, there was roof-climbing and trees, apparently. And, inevitably, Setsuko.

"You don't think you're still growing, do you?" she wondered, peering up at Fuyumi.

At over six feet tall, Fuyumi was an anomaly. She came by it honestly, though: her dad, long dead, had been a giant among men, a hulking taijutsu expert from up in the mountains somewhere.

Having a lover — a male lover — built like a brick shithouse was one thing. But, for Setsuko, having a daughter follow in his footsteps was quite beyond the pale. And she'd been chucking an extended wobbly about it on and off since Fuyumi was about twelve.

"Hardly matters," Fuyumi responded with forced cheer. "I'm already the tallest person you know. Let me get the roof out of the way first," she added, putting away a huge sack of rice and closing the cupboard door, "and then we'll see about the garden."

Her body shape wasn't the only way in which Fuyumi was nothing like her mother and a whole lot like her absent father. She also had his elemental affinity for earth. Her poor control meant that, unlike him, she was only entrusted with the creation of roofing tiles at moments of direst need. But she was an expert ditch-digger.

Despite her facility at the task, her mother kept her hard at work in the garden under an endless stream of helpful criticism for another ninety minutes, after which Fuyumi made her excuses with more firmness than tact.

"Going off to drink too much with Harusame, I assume," Setsuko sniffed. "Your father drank with that man for ten years and he ignored me for eight of them. I've never come to understand what the appeal was."

Since this was indeed, exactly, one hundred per cent what she intended to do with her evening, Fuyumi just shrugged. She bent down to put her shoes on at the door again.

Setsuko sighed a deep, put upon sigh. "Just… please tell me you're not sleeping with him."

Jesus fucking Christ, the things that worried this woman. "I am not sleeping with Harusame. Don't be ridiculous."

Setsuko examined her sternly, but her mum-senses must have detected no lie, because she made a little noise of relief and adjusted her hydrangeas. "Fine. Go, then. And wear your knee brace, Fuyumi!" she added, apparently unable to prevent herself from offering one more parting criticism.

It was, at last, probably good advice. As soon as Fuyumi figured out where she'd put the stupid thing, she'd follow it.

Right. That was her day done, then. Mission: finished. Pay: collected. Mum: visited. Now, to the bar, and Harusame's careless temper. And if she was very, very lucky, she'd get exactly drunk enough to stop thinking without getting sloppy.

---

Of course, now that all the worst parts of her day were over and she couldn't use them as an excuse to put anything off… this was when Fuyumi spotted the Akatsuki members about town. Naturally.

She took the same route back as she'd taken to get to Setsuko's home. The stores and stalls were closed now, and the faded awnings seemed exhausted in the golden light of the early summer evening.

She stepped into the square proper, and was smacked in the face by a tidal wave of chakra that was so massive even she couldn't help but feel it. Water, she thought, even though she'd never once picked someone's elemental affinity from feeling their chakra before in her entire goddamn life. It was just… very obvious.

Fuyumi's heart thudded heavily in her chest. She exhaled, slow and careful, and took a step back again. Whatever that was, she probably didn't need to run headfirst into it.

She licked her lips and scaled one of the nearby buildings for a better view of what the hell was going on. It was a residential one, so they'd probably be pissed off when they discovered the damage she did to their flowerpots on the way up.

Crouched on the roof of the two-storey building, Fuyumi squinted against the sunlight, catching mostly chakra, golden sun glittering on an expanse of water that categorically did not belong where it was surging, and dark silhouettes trying to kill each other atop the choppy flow of it.

The surface tension of the water was defined by chakra rather than any normal physics: it eddied around buildings and flooded the streets, and then when it reached the edges of the chakra bubble in which it was permitted, it just kind of… stopped, huddling wetly, a tame wall of fluid.

The amount of chakra that must have required was… astronomical. Fuyumi felt faintly queasy just thinking about it.

Hoshigaki Kisame was easy to pick out: he was big and waving his feared sword, which looked sort of ridiculous when you actually saw it. It might have been a veritable cheese grater of a weapon, each spiky protrusion perfectly lethal and thirsty for blood... but it looked like it was some kind of fluffy animal puffed up in indignation.

He was fighting someone small and fast, who was wearing sensibly tight clothing rather than a giant flappy coat. He was not in much danger of victory, Fuyumi judged, but he was giving it a red hot go, twisting and darting in and out with his superior acrobatics, evidently in an attempt to out-manoeuvre the mix of absurd power and even-more-absurd reach that made Hoshigaki Kisame such a bloody hard opponent. It was a respectable way to face his certain, grisly death.

She watched for a second, transfixed. Hoshigaki's defence was airtight. His footwork on the moving water was precise and practised. He was calm, he was controlling the distance between combatants, and he was setting the pace. He was indomitable. The fight was clearly his.

If she'd been the other guy, she'd have called it and run.

While she was distracted watching Hoshigaki's fight, a second silhouette darted out from the shadow of of his opponent, leaping away from the fight, zooming over the water at speed. It wasn't an illusion: its feet hit the water audibly.

It hit the ground running and didn't look back, racing past her perch on the roof.

In hindsight, Fuyumi could actually pinpoint exactly the moment that would change the trajectory of her new life. Since it was a brutal fiery murder, it did not, at the time, seem very auspicious. This — again, in hindsight — was probably the kindest warning fate had ever given her.

Uchiha Itachi still looked like he was swaddled. The coat was too big for him, and he hadn't even bothered with the arms this time: it just hung off his shoulders, sleeves flapping.

He appeared in one of those dizzying Konoha-style body flickers, standing still and moving at light speed, and the running figure made a noise of shock and dismay that she could hear even up on her roof. It drew a short, curved sword, upon whose sharp edge the setting sun burned golden.

There was a clank as it met Itachi's kunai and was deflected with, apparently, no effort, even though a kunai had nowhere near the weight of the short sword. Fuyumi watched, dazed, as the two exchanged a lightning-fast flurry of blows. Dirt sprayed underfoot.

Itachi took one easy, elegant step back — like he had predicted every movement, like he had all the time in the world — leapt over the sweep of the sword, and, while performing a mid-air flip to avoid the follow-through with the shuriken, formed several hand-signs. They were just… not even fast. It looked almost languid, even though it was probably about twice as speedy as Fuyumi herself had ever managed.

His pale fingers moved deftly through the signs like he knew the rest of the world was just waiting for him to finish before it continued apace. His enormous dark coat fluttered. His hair streamed in the breeze, long, dark, and, somehow, nowhere in his line of sight.

Fuyumi was barely twenty metres away, and even though she could see the effect of his chakra, she couldn't feel even a whisper of it against her own senses. The world before him burst, beautifully, into flame.

The swordsman didn't dodge.

Maybe he'd been distracted, like Fuyumi was, by watching Uchiha Itachi's long pale fingers and effortless athletics.

There was a lot of screaming, then.

Fuyumi watched, transfixed, from her crouch on the roof. He had really nice hair, she thought, stupidly. It looked so silky. It positively glowed in the blazing light of his burning victim. She had the sudden, powerful image of just… sinking her hand deep into it, closing her fist, and giving it a firm tug. She could pull his head to one side, expose the soft, vulnerable part of his neck. He might even like it.

You cannot do that, she said to herself, firmly, reeling from both the intensity and the stupidity of such a thought. You cannot do that, because that is Uchiha Itachi.

There was an unsettlingly familiar warmth in her belly that told her she was going to think really hard about it anyway.

Fuyumi wasn't suicidal, so she licked her dry, dry lips, got silently to her feet, and retreated from the market square entirely. She could take the long way around to the bar.

On her way, she thought about how the Itachi girls had somehow been right all along. Fuck. What the fuck. No. No.

----

"I've never seen you rhapsodising like this about anyone without tits," Harusame mused, nearly two hours later.

Harusame, dark eyed, dark haired and broad shouldered, was nearly double Fuyumi's age and, technically, had been a longtime friend of her father's. But her dad was long dead, so she'd laid claim to him now. He wore a set of swords: a wakizashi and a katana, both on the same side of his sash. His blue and grey yukata gaped, exposing pale bandages wrapped around his waist and an old amulet dangling on a necklace.

"He doesn't even have tits," she agreed, putting her face down on the sticky wood.

"You have no idea where that bar has been. Do you know what kinds of people they serve here?" He didn't actually sound particularly concerned. "They serve me here."

"The bar has no idea where my face has been," she countered after a long, blurry second of thought. Her brain moved fast, but her tongue moved underwater-slow.

"...I guess I have no way to refute that." He scratched his stubble.

She rolled her face to watch him light his next cigarette with the glowing butt of the one that came before. Then he dropped the dead one into his empty sake bottle and took a long drag.

It wasn't like people had failed to recognise the link between smoking and, you know, dying, in the elemental nations. But Fuyumi thought that they probably didn't understand the full impact of the practice here. Once upon a time, she had been raised on a diet of government PSAs and gruesome cigarette package art of infected fingers and eyes.

Harusame had a cough. But he wore it pretty well... for now. He was only thirty-six, though.

"Don't look at me like that. It makes you look like Setsuko."

"Fuck off," Fuyumi said, automatically. The last thing she wanted to hear about, pretty much ever, was her mother. "What are you going to do if you need to run somewhere, old man?"

"I'm retired," he said. "If I need to run somewhere, something has gone horribly wrong in my life and I probably deserve what's coming."

Ugh. "Idiot," she muttered. She looked away and immediately spotted a red and black cloak in the smoky dimness. Naka Tetsumaru was perfectly recognisable: snow white hair, lily-pale skin, overconfident swagger. He was deep in conversation with a hunched and misshapen figure in one of those ominous Akatsuki cloaks, which made her nervous to see in her local bar. They were sure out in force today, huh? This figure was recognisable, but it was decidedly not —

"Uchiha Itachi, huh," Harusame interjected thoughtfully, spinning his bottle on the bar. "You know... usually I would tell you to chase your dreams. But... Uh, I'm not so sure about that one, Fuyumi."

"Don't worry. He'd outrun me. Like, effortlessly."

"That certainly is the rumour, yes," Harusame agreed. "So? You going to do anything about it? Look for some sweet, dark-haired gentleman to take you home?" He flipped his own hair, which was, as advertised, long and dark.

Fuyumi snorted. "Well, obviously I'm going to sit here and drink and complain that it's unfair that a deeply unwell missing-nin should be more beautiful than he has any right to be."

"Uh-huh."

"And if I see him again," she thought about it, "I guess… I should go introduce myself?" It seemed unlikely that he'd outright kill her for, like, saying hi. Wasn't he meant to be a pacifist at heart or whatever? It couldn't really hurt, right? "What else do you do when you think someone's hot?"

It wasn't as though Fuyumi genuinely thought Uchiha Itachi was going to let her pull his hair and fuck him. But one thing that remained regrettably true between worlds was that… no matter how unlikely a thing you wanted was, if you asked about it, your chances of receiving it usually rose.

The spinning stopped. "Introduce yourself?" Harusame repeated dubiously. "Er, to... Uchiha Itachi?"

"Yeah?" She raised her head and propped her chin in her hand. She'd wanted to be drunk — rather badly — but now the bar seemed loud and close, her stomach was a little unsettled, and she needed to piss. "Jeez, don't look at me like that, it's not like I want to marry him. But how else do you meet someone?"

"Right." He took a long, long drag on his cigarette, presumably to stall for thinking time. "I think girls are supposed to wait for someone else to do that, aren't they?"

She snorted. "Girls like ma, maybe. If I waited for other people to want me, I'd never get a date. Luckily, confidence is sexy."

He frowned at her, the uncomfortable kind of frown of a man who was vastly out of his element but felt he should say something anyway. "That's not true."

She scoffed, and levered herself off her stool. She felt wobbly but she imagined she probably didn't look it. "Hardly matters, anyway," said Fuyumi, who was not very genre savvy, "what are the chances I'll see Uchiha fucking Itachi again? Really? Be back in a minute."

Visiting the bathrooms in this particular bar was a bit like spinning a roulette wheel. Thankfully, this time the only body in there was visibly still breathing, and didn't even twitch when Fuyumi stepped over her to use the single toilet with the stained bowl. It smelled overwhelmingly of bleach, which was a lot better than all the other things of which it could have smelled.

Her face in the cracked mirror was... Well... If a casting call had gone out for a fierce looking female villain, they wouldn't even have had to put makeup on her: her eyes were dark, hear features were hard and sharp, and her complexion was already showing the wear and tear of too many nights in a row on the booze. There was a scar that bisected her left eyebrow, a long, interrupted red line that scored over her cheek and dragged off into her hair. It was pretty red today, which had probably been what her mother had been so displeased about earlier. Ugh.

Her face covered the front of her skull, and that was basically all it had going for it.

"That's its only job, dipshit," she muttered to herself. She turned the water off, stepped over her snoozing bathroom companion again, and headed back into the bar.

[laswells-ashtray]

Muuuuuum, rogue weapon!Valeria, if you do the lovely lady, and the way no ones there to hold her back. No one's there to dial her in. No one, to tell her no.

They don't realise the weapon is missing. They don't have the time to do so because she lets them know when her handler's head is found on the doorstep of their organisation.

His eyes are stitched open, he's smiling. So is she when they encounter the security footage of her leaving him there. They never encounter the rest of him.

In the weeks that follow, the cartel in Las Almas takes a hit, gang wars erupt between groups trying to claim their place amongst the big leagues and it seems there's always a crowd dawning black, lowering a box into a six-foot pit.

El Sin Nombre gains a following, a mere spirit rather than an identity. No man can put a face to the nameless.

And Valeria explores the concept of freedom with no handler to point her in one direction.

Her outfit is destined to be burned, there's no saving it despite how much she enjoyed the soft comfort of the shirt. She's dripping blood and pericardial fluid onto the concrete below her. Distantly she hears one of her men retching behind her, he'll be the one left to clean the less.

Vomit, piss and blood. Three things she never had time for scrubbing off of the floor.

Her eyes gaze over the dead man with a faintly impressed look, she was lethal without a collar tightening around her neck.

The grotesque, cavernous mess of the man's torso took hours to achieve. There was a message to be found in the way his intestines unravelled from where they had been so tightly packed, the smell of charred flesh lingered around his skin. It was enough to cover the faint scent of urine clinging to the man's damp trousers.

His heart had been sloppily removed, torn from the roots that ground it to his chest and torched before being carefully placed back inside of his chest. It had been a fall risk before she had pinned it with one of her knives, sawing a ribcage into pieces meant a human's innards had a habit of falling loose.

He'd been dead for hours, his pulse had faded sometime after the flaying had started. It was a little disappointing but the goal was the warning, not the scare. There were few ways to properly ensure your people knew what happened to snitches, she had found that creating a cavity of charred tissue and dried blood in a man's chest before hanging him up in one of her warehouses was often effective.

Sweat clung to the back of her neck, her hair damp with it and there was a thick layer of sticky maroon coating her every available inch of skin. The tattoos she had spent so long sitting for, gaining an identity under the needle, were smothered by the blood. Her limbs ached, a telltale sign of how much time had been spent on such strenuous activity.

Torturing a man was child's play, tearing open his chest and searing his vital organs required a little more effort.

She offers her nails a quick glance, they're torn and bloody. She'd have to fix them after she had scrubbed herself clean, they should be well-kept. She should be well-kept.

She's no longer the animal they caged her as, she's someone who enjoys painting her nails the same colour as the hilt of her favourite knife. She's a woman who cuts her own hair and likes to watch it curl as it dries.

She's a woman who no longer has a hand pulling her back when she goes through for the throat. She's a woman who sinks her teeth in and ravages the body that her mouth is clamped around.

She's a woman who's going to paint her nails green later after she brushes the particles of bones out from under them.

[6rookie-writer0110]

I can't feel my heart

Hope Mikaelson x Male Reader

Request - Hi, can I request a Son of John Wick x Hope Mikaelson. This takes place a bit into John Wick 1 where instead of Helen having died it was John and leaving R alone as Hope jumps into Malivore and when she gets out she’s not in her universe and meets R after he almost a hits her with his car.

Hope knows there is no other way to defeat Malivore from returning to golem form again. She didn't want to tell anyone her plan because she knows they will stop her, but she didn't want Malivore to hurt the people she loved. She found a loophole on how to stop Malivore and she won't back down. She went to the abandoned warehouse and she stood over the pit. The memories she made with everyone is racing through her mind. Her eyes became watery and she started to cry, then she wiped the tears away.

“It's the only way to save them”

Hope whispered to herself. She jumped into the pit and she started to sink in deeper. Everything goes dark but she doesn't know that Malivore has a new ability. Now everyone’s memory of Hope is being erased but she will still remember everything. But everything around her has changed and she doesn't know it's happening fast. Malivore used his ability to teleport to a different universe permanently.

Hope gets out of the pit and she is breathing hard. She lies on the ground and her heart is racing, she looks around and noticted something different. She stands up and she used her magic to clean herself and change clothes. She leaves the warehouse and she starts to look around the city

“What is going on, this isn't Mystic Falls,” Hope mumbled

You are staring at your father’s tombstone, you sigh heavily. You miss him and you wish could see him again.

“I’m going to miss you, dad”

Your voice cracked and you wiped the tears away. You stayed for a few more seconds then you leave the cemetery and head to your car. You start to drive home while driving you turn on the radio but someone runs in front of your car. You turned the steering wheel and pressed the brakes extremely hard. You almost crashed into a mailbox, then you got out of the car.

“Are you insane!?” You yelled

“Where am I?” Hope asked

“What!? You almost made me hit you with my car!” You yelled

“I know this isn't Mystic Falls. Please tell me where am I” Hope begged

You look at her strange, but she doesn't look homeless. Other drivers started to honk their horns at you and her, and then you grabbed her hand and took her to the sidewalk

“You are in New York City,” You said

“No, this can't be. I can't be in New York. You are lying to me this is Mystic Falls” Hope said disappointed

“First of all, Mystic Falls is not a real town or city or whatever it is. Look around you, this is New York” You said

She looks around and she isn't home. She is freaking out and she starts to breathe a little hard

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” You said

“No!” Hope yelled

“Look, I don't know what is going on here but I can take you to the police station or a hospital,” You said

“I don't get it, what happened,” Hope said to herself

You didn't know what to do. You aren't sure if you should leave her or take her to your place.

“Where exactly is Mystic Falls?” You asked

“I have to call him,” Hope said

You give her your burner phone. She starts to dial Alaric Saltzman’s phone number but it is a clinic office. She tried another phone numbers but it's all business phone numbers. You are feeling bad for her and she is still freaking out

“Calm down. Look, come with me and I can help you” You said

“I don't know you,” Hope said

“My name is Y/N Wick. Look, just come to my place and I can try to help you contact someone you know. I don't want to leave you alone in the middle of the city at night” You said

“My name is Hope Mikaelson,” Hope said

You let her in your car and you start to drive home. Hope is fidgeted and her mind is racing

“This car is kinda old,” Hope said

“It used to belong to my dad,” You said

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn't mean to be rude,” Hope said

“It’s okay. Are you hungry?” You said

“I guess. It has just been rough lately” Hope said

“Same for me. I will buy food, don't worry about paying me back” You said

“Thank you,” Hope said

You buy burgers from your favorite place. You drove home and she followed you to your apartment.

“You live alone?” Hope asked

“Yeah. I travel a lot for work and I would be away for a while. So where exactly do you live?” You said

You and Hope are starting to eat the food.

“My hometown is Mystic Falls,” Hope said

“What happened? You were freaking out and you didn't believe me this is New York” You said

“It’s complicated and you wouldn't understand,” Hope said

“You can tell me. Mystic Falls, doesn't exist” You said

“That can't be true,” Hope said

“Trust me. Mystic Falls is a made-up city from a comic book” You said

You grabbed your phone and you start to type Mystic Falls. You show her the information and you are correct, you noticted her eyes open wider.

“I don't get it. This wasn't supposed to happen! Their memories were supposed to be erased not them” Hope said out loud

“Hope, listen to me. I will help you, I don't know how but I will help you. You can stay here with me, you can stay in my room” You said

You live in a studio apartment. Your father’s house was destroyed. You have hidden spots for weapons and many burner phones.

“Y/N,” Hope said in a low voice

“It’s fine. You can trust me” You said

“I don't know how to thank you,” Hope said

“Don’t worry about it. Plus, I have a pull-out couch” You said

You take her to your bedroom and lend her your pajamas. You go to the living room while she goes to take a hot shower. You sit in the living room and watch tv, you want to give her space.

Hope finished taking a shower, she uses her magic and she has it. She sighed then she lies in bed. She just stares at the ceiling and starts to think what went wrong.

———

The next day…

You let Hope use your laptop. She started to search for her hometown again and finds out its a made-up town in a comic book. Then she starts to type her family members name but didn't have much information.

You were in the kitchen, Hope quickly typed stores for witchcraft. A few came up online and she started to memorize the names and the address. Then she closed the tab and stood up fast.

“I have to go,” Hope said

“Go where?” You asked

“Thank you for everything” Hope said

Before you can say a word, she left your apartment fast. You didn't stop her and you drank your coffee. You opened the laptop and check the history tab. You are confused why she would look up witchcraft stores.

It took Hope a while to find the store. She goes inside the store and she starts to look around and she starts to remember MG, talking about the multiverse.

“Can I help you?” She asked

“Yes. Can a witch use magic in the multiverse?” Hope asked

“Let me get this straight, can a witch use magic to travel through the multiverse?” She said

“Yes. You know the multiverse, like in the comic books but in real life. Like how would a witch do it?” Hope said

The woman looks at Hope up and down.

“Are you a witch?” She asked

“Yes. Are you?” Hope said

“The multiverse is not real. It’s just a comic book storyline” She said

“This is hopeless,” Hope said

Hope leaves the shop and she doesn't know what to do. She tried to remember MG talking about the multiverse again. But he never stated how it could happen going to a different universe.

She starts to walk around the city then she sighed. She is starting to feel unsure about everything, she doesn't know where to ask for help or where to go.

✯ ✬ ✯ ✬

It's been a couple of days since you saw Hope. You weren't sure why you kept thinking of her. You get in your car and you start to drive around and you are hoping that she is okay.

You see Hope but she heads into the back alley. But she doesn't notice a group of thugs following her. You quickly parked the car and you grabbed your gun from the glove compartment. You run to the alley

“Leave me alone or I will make you cry,” Hope said

The thug takes out the gun to scare her, but she just rolls her eyes. Before you can say a word, you heard Hope say strange words then used her magic to get the gun. Your eyes opened wider and you became speechless. Then she used her magic again to slam them against the brick wall. One of the thugs is on the ground, she walks towards him then her eyes change and her fangs come out.

“Stop!” You yelled

“Y/N” Hope said

“What are you?” You asked

You still have your gun aimed at her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hope said

“What are you!? Your eyes changed now you have fangs. Tell me or I will pull the trigger” You said

She used her magic to get your gun.

“I don't want to hurt you. I don't have a reason to hurt you, Y/N. Look it's complicated and I will tell you in private. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it when you took me to your apartment” Hope said

“Okay, you are right about that. Try anything and I will hurt you” You said

“Yeah, whatever” Hope said and rolled her eyes

You did take her to your apartment and she gave you back the gun.

“Tell me what you are,” You said

“My name is Hope Mikaelson and I’m a tribrid,” Hope said

“What is a tribrid?” You asked

“I’m part vampire-part werewolf and part witch mortal. My home was Mystic Falls. I was fighting a mortal villain named Malivore, and he was known as Eater of the Dark. He was more of a pit but I jumped in because I wanted to save everyone that I cared for. But their memories of me would have been erased. When I came out of the pit and somehow I got here into your multiverse” Hope said

You don't say anything for a few seconds, she waits for you to say something. Your brain is trying hard to process what she said.

“So you are a supernatural creature and you are from a different multiverse. Am I getting this right?” You said

“Yes. Are there supernatural people like in this multiverse?” Hope said

“No. Magic or anyone who is a wolf doesn't exist” You said

“What about people who claim to be a witch?” Hope asked

“Those people pretend to be witches or wizards. They are scammers” You said

“So you don't think witches or vampires are real?” Hope asked

“Yeah, until now. I never thought about the multiverse. Now, it makes sense you acting strange on that night when we first met” You said

“I don't know how to get back home,” Hope said

“I’m still going to help you, Hope,” You said

“Really?” Hope said

“Yeah. I don't know how to help you but I'm going to try” You said

“I don't know what to say besides thank you, Y/N” Hope said

“You can stay here until we figure it out. Are you going to take my blood? Since you're a vampire” You said

“Don’t tempt me” Hope joked

You don't laugh.

———

It's been a couple of days, you have been trying to help Hope but no lead. But you have been searching online information on vampires, werewolves, and witches. You didn't expect to see a lot of information on the Internet. You did ask her questions about how the sun doesn't burn her then she told you.

Hope went for a walk but you didn't go with her. You wanted to give her space but you asked a favor from a friend and he didn't ask questions. You set up a small medical storage refrigerator in the kitchen, then you opened the duffle bag and put the blood bags inside. Hope came back and she sees what you are doing

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Hope asked

“You haven't been feeding. And you said you don't want to hurt people. These are blood bags, anytime you want” You said

Hope developed feelings for you, but she assumes you won't feel the same way. But she doesn't want to risk the friendship that she has with you.

“Thank you. But you didn't have to do it” Hope said

“I wanted to,” You said

You give her the blood bag and she starts to drink the blood, you see her eyes change colors.

“Are you scared of me?” Hope asked

“To be honest, I was at first but I got to know you better,” You said

“I still don't believe you are an assassin” Hope smiled

“I know and I’m not offended by it,” You said

It’s night time, You and Hope go to the fire escape and watch people walk by. She is still drinking her blood bag while talking she has her hand on top of your hand. You don't move your hand away, you and Hope are making each other laugh. You like her smile and her eyes and you can feel your heart racing.

✯ ✬ ✯ ✬

“What are yo going to do? Nobody knows how to travel through the multiverse. And we can't find anyone with powers like you” You said

“Guess, I’m stuck here. But I’m not alone because I have you,” Hope said

You and Hope are walking around the city. You hug her and you feel her grip a little tight around you.

“You can live with me permanently,” You said

She doesn't say anything, you and Hope break from the hug. You take her to your favorite restaurant and it's a small family owned restaurant. The owners hugged you because they were happy to see you.

“I eat here all the time” You smiled

“I can tell. So this our first date or something”

Hope couldn't believe she just said that, she looks away and hoped you didn't hear what she said

“This can be our first date. On the second date, I will ask”

You winked and she couldn't help to smile. You and Hope sit down and you tell her what food is good to eat. You ordered the food while eating, you tell her about your dad and she tells you about her family.

“I can't believe you family lived for so long died then came back,” You said in shock

“I know it can be hard to believe. Why an assassin?” Hope said

“My dad taught me how to fight because I was being bullied. I always looked up to him and I wanted to be like him. He wasn't happy at first because he wanted to live a different lifestyle” You said

“Have you ever told anyone?” Hope asked

“No, You are the first. I usually lie and say I’m a dog walker or a waiter” You said

You and Hope smiled at each other again.

“I can see you being rude to the customers when they annoy you” Hope giggled

“I would be mean to them” You smiled

After a while of talking and eating. You paid for the food and you left with her, while walking you noticted someone following you and Hope.

“Two people are following us,” You said

“I know, I can sense them,” Hope said

“Follow my lead,” You said

You and Hope went into Central Park, its nighttime and no one is around. You and Hope keep walking deeper and the lights are dimmed.

“What’s the rush?” He said

“We are just trying to get home. Just leave us alone” Hope said

He grabbed her arm, she was going to do something but you grabbed his wrist.

“She said leave us alone” You angirly said

His friend takes out the gun and aimed it at your face.

“You can watch us fuck her” The other guy smirked

Hope uses her magic to get the gun away from him. You punched the guy who was holding the gun, the guy’s wrist you are holding you grabbed it with the hand then you snapped his wrist in half. He is screaming in pain and he starts to cry, then you start to punch his face multiple times. Then you grabbed the other guy’s arm and flipped him onto the ground then you dislocated his shoulder and he started to scream. Hope used her magic to make them shut up

“Are you okay?” You asked

“You saved me,” Hope said

“Thanks for the help. Now you believe me?” You said

“Now, I believe you, Wick,” Hope said

You and Hope left the park and went home while holding hands. You are taking off your jacket but she grabs your shirt and pulls you into a kiss. You don't push her away, you continue to kiss her back and you put your arms around her body and pull her closer to you. Her lipgloss got on your lips and her hands are behind your neck.

——-

Hope is on the fire escape watching people pass by.

“Hey beautiful,” You said

Hope smiled and she gave you a peck on the lips, then you sat next to her.

“Hello, handsome. What is in the bag?” You said

“I know we just got together, but happy valentines Day”

You give her the bag and she takes out the chocolate box and a rose. She couldn't help to smile then she kissed you on the lips.

“I didn't get you anything, Y/N” Hope said

“It’s okay, I just wanted to surprise you,” You said

You kiss her and she starts to kiss you back. She opens the box then she feeds you a chocolate then she moves closer to you.