#tw: mentions of past drug addiction

[arlana-likes-to-write]

hello!!

tw drugs??

i have no idea if you take request for Natasha and daughter reader, but if you do, would you be willing to write about nat finding out the drugs addiction of reader and like the angst of a mother and then like happy ending where nat obviously helps reader to be clean again?

Leave a Light On

Warning: mention of death, past of abuse in the Red Room, substance abuse (drugs, alcohol), laced, drug buying, hallucinations, fighting, physical injuries,

Relationships: Natasha x reader (platonic), Natasha x Maria

Word Count: 4.1K

“Parker,” the boy jumped almost 10 feet in the air at Natasha’s voice. The Black Widow felt terrible for scaring the teen, but your absence worried her more. “Where’s my kid?” He looked at Ned and MJ, a confused expression on his face. As the seconds ticked by, her heart started to beat rapidly. The sound echoed in her ears.

“She’s not with us, Miss. Romanoff,” Peter said. “She said she couldn’t hang out because she was working on a school project.” MJ nodded.

“We haven’t hung out with her outside of school lately,” she said. The Black nodded, thanked the kids, and left them. There wasn’t much she could get out of them regarding your whereabouts. She needed to find you. The lies were stacking up.

I’ll be with Peter. I’m not hungry; I ate before. I’m sorry I’m late; I had to stay after school. Nat, I’m tired. I’m going to turn in early.

Natasha knew it was going to be difficult. She adopted you when she and her sister brought down the Red Room. You were so young when Natasha found you in a room. You looked so small. At that moment, Natasha wasn’t going to let you go.

The Black Widow found Tony in his lap. She grabbed the table from him and threw it onto the couch. “You know normal people say hello when they enter a room.”

“I need you to find my daughter,” he sat up in his chair. “Trace her phone, hack street cameras, anything. Just find her,” she pleaded. Tony nodded without a second thought. Natasha hated showing any weakness and hated asking for help of any kind, but she would do anything to find you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The bass of the music was rattling your bones. The apartment was loud, sweaty, and overcrowded, but you never felt more alive. It reeked of alcohol, weed, and sex. As you stumbled through the party. People’s hands touched your body. Somehow, you got to the small kitchen and found your friend who brought you to this party. She was a sophomore in college, and right now, she had her tongue down some guy’s throat. You laughed and took the spoon out of the juice to fill your cup. Before you could sip the juice, a small shot glass was pushed into your free hand. “Take the shot, Tiny,” Heather yelled in your ear. You smiled at your friend and took the shot. It went down smoothly, and you chased it with your mixed drink. Everyone called you Tiny, from the Avengers, your friends at school, and the people you got high with. It was due to your small stature that kept you alive in the Red Room.

That place haunted your mind and body. There was no peace from the horrors you faced. The only time you felt at peace was when a strong drink was in your hand or a pill that would dissolve on your tongue.

“Here,” the guy Heather was kissing handed you a pill. It was light blue. “Take it,” he encouraged. There was no need for peer pressure. You took it. It tasted like blueberry as it dissolved on your tongue. You were ready for a fun night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were alone. Somehow, you managed to leave the packed apartment and walk down the stairs. You sat there with your head on the wall while others came and went. No one stopped to see if you were okay. You weren’t. Your head was spinning, and there were a few missing memories. You had a shot, the pill you were given, and your first drink. You weren’t sure what you had after that. You were playing with a ring that rested on your right ring finger. It was a gift from Yelena. A ring that acted as a fidget toy. You could still hear the music from the apartment, but you sang your song.

“Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” your voice slurred. It was the only light in the Red Room. You remembered your biological mother singing it to you as she held you close. Her soft voice covered the sound of gunshots and screams. Fuck the Red Room. Fuck that miserable place that broke you. Fuck Dreykov. Fuck it. Fuck all of it.

“Dorogoy,” you slowly raised your head. Eyes squinting at the person in front of you. Something was wrong. The stairwell you sat on felt too small - the walls were moving closer and closer to you. You tried to focus on the pattern on the wallpaper - a floral print but the flowers were moving, too. No, they weren’t just moving but blooming, stretching, and twisting, and the petals drifted towards you.

“Tiny,” that voice again called out. You knew that vice. That voice called so much pain and suffering. The voice robbed you and so many girls of their childhood. A hand touched your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slapped the hand away and rushed to your feet. It took a moment for your feet to figure out what you wanted them to do. You stumbled your way down the last few steps and outside. The clear air helped clear your mind. You put your hood up and walked down the sidewalk. Glancing behind your shoulder, there was a car following you. They were going to bring you back. You could hear footsteps behind you.

It was a bad idea to quicken your pace. The mix of drugs and alcohol messed with your coordination. You stumbled, catching yourself on your palms. The pain moved through your arms. Again, you felt hands on you. “Net, net, otoydi (no, no, get off),” you yelled and tried to fight the hands off you. You couldn’t go back there. It would kill you.

“Hey,” the voice was quiet, and the hands left you. “Stop, you are going to hurt yourself.” The world around you started to spin. You couldn’t figure out which way was up or down. Bile began to form in your throat, and you rolled over to your side, throwing up the alcohol in your stomach. Your limbs felt heavy, and you were too weak to stop the hands carefully picking you up. “Poust vzegda boudyit solnse…” the voice whispered. Your head fell heavily against the person’s shoulder, and you drifted asleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When you came to, there was a pounding in your head. Your mouth was dry, and it tasted like the drinks you had the night before. You groaned, and your stomach flipped. “Sweetheart,” Natasha’s voice echoed. Can you open your eyes for me?”

“No,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Why is that?” Her voice was soft and loving.

“I’m going to throw up,” Saliva pooled in your mouth. You heard movement and felt something placed on your lap.

“If you are going to be sick, it’s okay,” she ran her through your hair. You shook your head, which was a mistake as your stomach worsened. Being sick was a weakness. You weren’t weak. You were strong. “Come on, Tiny, if it will make you feel better, it’s okay.” You opened your eyes, grabbed the metal bowl, and threw up the contents of your stomach. Natasha robbed soothing circles on your back as you were sick. You slumped back once you were done, all your energy drained from your body.

“That’s probably not the last time you’ll be sick,” you weren’t sure when Helen opened the door and entered. “Your body is trying to expel the laced drugs in your system,” Laced? No, that was impossible. Heather won’t let you take something that was laced. “Do you want me to go over the damage you caused from what you took?” You’ve never seen her this angry at you. When you were first brought to the Tower, she had to give you a health exam. Her touch was so gentle, something you weren’t used to. “You’ll have to go to a rehab program.” It was like ice was injected into your veins. Going to a rehab program meant you had a problem. You were fine. You could stop if you wanted.

“I don’t need rehab,” you told the doctor. “It was a one-off. I’m fine.”

“Helen,” Natasha cut off the doctor before she could say more. “Can you give us a second?” Helen looked between you and the Black Widow. She nodded and closed the door behind her.

“I’m fine, Nat,” you said, playing with the blanket threads. You used it for movie nights and random hangouts around the Tower, a checked pattern of greens and blues. “It won’t happen again.” You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye.

“I believe you,” you slowly looked at her. She was smiling, a kind and bright smile that reminded you of when she saved you from the Red Room. The sirens were blaring, explosions rocked around you, and you smelt of death, but her smile as she held you close made you feel safe. “But if you lose your way, I’ll leave the light on.” You forced a smile.

When you first arrived at the Tower, you were terrified of everyone and everything. The only source of comfort was a small lighthouse nightlight that Natasha had. She gave it to you, and she learned that when you had it on, you needed her—you needed her to keep you safe. As you got used to living out of the Red Room control, you gave it back to her. She kept the light on, a reminder that she was always there.

“Okay,” you said. But you were okay. You had it under control.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lasted five days, clean of everything, even coffee, but the withdrawal was killing you. You were exhausted, snapped at everyone, and your body hurt. So, you gave in to the things that you knew would help. You bought a pack of cigarettes from Heather. Those helped to get you to 7 days. Until the nicotine couldn’t stop the shakes, you brought a gram of weed from Tyler, your dealer. That got you to 10 days. On the 11th day, you were desperate for it all to stop. Even when you managed to sleep, your mind created nightmares after nightmares. They made you relive your biological mother’s murder over and over again.

You bought something more substantial from Tyler and took it while you walked around the park. When the high hit and you walked back into the Tower, you saw Yelena going through the fridge. Dammit. You wanted to grab a snack and hide in your room until you were sober enough to be around people. “Tiny,” the blonde said. “I am going to make mac and cheese. Do you want some?” You were starving, but it was a bad idea to stay here. However, if you went to your room, it would look more suspicious. Without a word, you sat down at the kitchen island. “How was your day?” Her back was to you when she asked.

“Good,” you said. “We went for a walk,” Yelena placed a bowl before you. It took everything in you not to start giggling, even when you picked up the fork and mixed the hot sauce in the noodles. As you slowly ate, you felt Yelena’s eyes on you.

“Are you high?” She asked. You shook your head.

“Just high on life,” you laughed at your dumb joke. Yelena narrowed her eyes at you. “Damn tough, crowd,” you mumbled and slid off the chair to bring the rest of your food to your room.

“Tiny, get back here and tell me the truth.”

“You aren’t my mom,” you said.

“Then I’ll tell Natasha.”

“She isn’t my fucking mother either,” you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Yelena grabbed your shoulder to stop you. It happened on instinct, you dropped your bowl and spun around. You grabbed onto Yelena’s wrist. You only let her go when she yelped in pain. The sound broke through the drug-induced haze in your mind. You dropped her hand.

With wide eyes and your heart beating, you stared at Yelena, who held onto her wrist. You were a monster, just like Dreykov said, just like your mother called you. “It’s okay, Tiny,” Yelena said. “I should not have grabbed you,” you saw the grimace of pain on her face. So you ran. You ran to your room and ignored the call of your name. The drugs in your system made your head feel fuzzy, and you stumbled a few times, but you made it. Slamming the door closed, you locked it and moved your dresser to block yourself in.

You stumbled onto your bed and heard knocking on the door. “Dorogoy,” it was Natasha. “Can you let me in?” You stayed frozen. “I’m not upset, no one is, but I need to know you are safe.”

“I am,” you managed to call out, wanting to give her some peace of mind. “I can’t open the door, Nat. I need a minute.” You heard her sigh.

“Okay, Yelena is fine, and I’m here for you. The light is always on.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stayed in your room until you knew everyone was asleep. Your stomach ached with hunger, and you were thirsty. The last time you ate was yesterday. You put your dresser back and carefully unlocked the door. You walked into the kitchen on quiet feet but froze when you heard voices. Someone was softly crying, and the other was trying to soothe them. You peeked around the corner and saw it was Maria and Natasha. The Black Widow was the one crying. You pressed your back against the wall and strained your ears.

“Baby, you have to breathe,” you heard Maria say. The relationship between the two was relatively new. It’s so new that Natasha hadn’t told you about it. You only knew that you caught them one night when you snuck back into the Tower after a party. “I know it hurts, but you will make yourself sick.”

“I don’t know how to help her,” Natasha’s voice shook at each word. “I feel the trouble coursing through her veins, but it’s got a hold on her,” you leaned against the wall and closed your eyes. “I can’t lose her. I don’t know what to do,” Maria sighed, and you waited with batted breath and wondered what she would say.

“You can’t help her if she isn’t willing to accept the help,” Maria softly spoke.

“It’s gonna kill her, Ria,” it felt like a snake wrapped around your lungs and squeezed tight. It was impossible to breathe. Even though you were in such a massive space as the Avenger Tower, you felt small. Once again, you ran back to your room to grab your wallet and took the stairs to the back exit of the Tower.

You weren’t sure where you were going. Each step felt heavy with guilt. “Hey, kid,” you looked at a man standing in an alley’s opening. “Want any?” He had a small baggie of pills. Without much thought, you handed him money and took the pills from him.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, walking with your hands in your pockets. If your mind wasn’t on a downward spiral, you knew buying from a random city corner was a bad idea. The pills looked sketchy, and a nagging feeling formed in the back of your skull. You walked down the sidewalk with the pills in your pocket, not able to take them, and stopped at a pay phone.

Fishing some quarters out of your wallet, you dialed Natasha’s phone number by memory and listened to it ring. “Hello?” She answered on the third ring. You were silent. “Who is this?” Even over the phone, you could tell she was still crying.

“Nat,” you answered.

“Hey Tiny, where are you?” You looked at the street corner and rattled off the closest intersection. “Are you on anything?” You closed your eyes and shook your head.

“Just the stuff from this afternoon,” you admitted. “I uh bought stuff, but I haven’t taken it.”

“What do you need?” It felt like the first person to ask you. Everyone thought they knew what you needed; no one asked what you wanted.

“You,” you answered. “Can you pick me up?” You heard her sigh in relief.

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and hung up. You put your hood up as you felt the first drop of rain. It felt therapeutic as the rain began to pick up, and you waited at the corner for Natasha. Your mind was your worst enemy. Part of you wondered if she could come from you. Maybe you were more trouble than you were worth. You heavily considered taking the pills in your pocket.

But the rain silenced everything. The rain was steady, creating a soothing white noise that confronted you. The drum-like patter of the droplets hitting the roof calmed your racing mind. The water that hit the windows made a rhythmic beat. You loved the sound of cars splashing through the puddles. Your clothes stuck to your skin, and your hair was a mess. Still, you felt at peace. “Sweetheart,” you opened your eyes and saw Natasha standing before you with an umbrella. “Hi.”

She came when you called, and you pulled her into a hug. The hug was bone-crushing, and Natasha hugged you just as tight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Natasha’s clothes were drenched like yours, you got into the passenger side, and the Black Widow ran to the driver’s side. She let out a sigh. “I didn’t expect the rain,” she said. “Or I’d bring towels.” You smiled and watched the rain run down the glass. “Do you want to go back to the tower?” She asked.

“I like the rain,” you answered instead. “For once, my mind was quiet,” Natasha said, starting the car and driving. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me,” you nodded. She drove in silence; the only sounds were the rain and the music on the radio. You leaned your head on the window and watched the rain. You picked some droplets, and they raced down the glass.

Finally, Natasha parked in front of an apartment building. “Why are we here?”

“Maria owns an apartment here,” Natasha unbuckled her seat belt. “She likes to have a place away from the craziness.” She turned off the car. “Follow me,” you exited the car and entered the complex. Natasha waved at the doorman and went straight to the elevator. You entered, and the Black Widow pressed the button on the roof. You began to hum the lullaby that your biological mother used to sing. It helped fill the silence. When the doors opened, Natasha grabbed your hand and pulled you to a small covering.

The metal roof over your head protected you from the rain, but it amplified the sound. It echoed slightly, which made it more intense and filled the space with a rich, immersive sound. You closed your eyes and allowed the sound to engulf you. Without opening your eyes, you put your hand in your pocket and handed the colorful pills to Natasha. You felt her take them. “Is Yelena okay?” you finally asked.

“Yeah, she is. Her wrist is just bruised. She’ll be fine tomorrow,” you nodded and opened your eyes, looking down at your feet. A pool of water started to form. “Tell me what’s happening, what’s been on your mind? Lately, you’ve been searching for a darker place to hide and that’s alright,” you looked at Natasha. “But if you carry on abusing, you’ll be robbed from us,” you licked your lips.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m so scared, Nat because the drugs silence his voice.” You knew she knew who you were talking to without saying his name.

“I know, baby girl, it’s so hard,” she took a few steps to get close to you. “You’ve been so strong, and you can move forward without that stuff.” You weren’t sure if you could. You relied so heavily on it.

“I need help. I can’t do this alone.”

“You aren’t alone. I’m here. I’m right here,” she said as she pulled you into her arms. Your body shook against hers as tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, mama. I’m so scared,” you whimpered. You were terrified, but you felt somewhat safe in her arms.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

3 Months

Your entire body hurt. There was a pounding in your head; the metallic taste of your blood filled your mouth, and you rested your head on the cool metal of the elevator. Groaning when the elevator stopped and you had to face the music. Your hood was up, and you stepped onto the floor. Glancing up slightly, you saw Maria in the kitchen. At least it wasn’t Natasha. Quietly, you walked to your room. “Hi, Tiny,” you groaned and stopped.

“Hi, Maria. I’m going to go to my room. I have a ton of homework,” you kept your head down.

“Why don’t you have something to eat before you start?”

“Not hungry” was the wrong answer. “I had a late lunch.” It was a half-life. You ate late because you were working on an assignment and hungry. But you needed to clean your face and put on makeup to cover the bruises.

“You know the rules, kid, you need to eat as soon as you get home from school,” God, you hated that rule right now. Bruce and Helen were worried about your weight while going through rehab. So after school, you had to eat a little snack. “Let me make you something,” you knew you weren’t winning this fight. You sat at the kitchen island with your head down and your bag by your feet. “How was school?”

“Good. I have an essay due at the end of the week,” your lip was aching from the repeated hits to the face. Maria placed a plate in front of you. It was a peanut butter sandwich.

“Kid, can you look at me?” You shook your head. “Come on, Tiny.” Sighing, you put your hood down and looked at her. You knew what she was seeing. Your lip was split. There was swelling around your nose, and the cuts on your cheeks were from the rings on Tyler’s hand.

“Don’t tell, Nat,” you broke the silence.

“FRIDAY inform Natasha she is needed in the med bay,” you groaned as Maria grabbed your hand and dragged you down to see Bruce. It was a blur as you sat on a medical bed, and Bruce cleaned and patched up your face. He determined your nose wasn’t broken, and you refused any pain medication. You were afraid to take any drugs as you were three months clean.

By the time Bruce was done, Natasha ran over to you. “Who did this to you?” she asked, gently cupping your face in her hands.

“You should see the other guy,” it was a poor attempt to joke because you couldn’t fight back. Tyler had some of his guys hold your arms. Maria gave you a pointed look over Natasha’s shoulder. “My old dealer,” you told them. “He’s been upset that I haven’t bought from him.” Natasha’s eyes turned stormy, and the look scared you. Maria took a quiet step closer as she saw the look of fear pass through your eyes.

“Names,” she said. Her voice was cold, and a shiver ran down your spine. It reminded you of orders given in the Red Room. You rattled off Tyler’s name and a few others. “I’ll be back.” Her hands left your face, and you felt cold.

“Mama,” you whimpered, and she stopped at the door. Can you stay? I need you to stay.” Everything hurt, and you were so scared you would use to stop it. Natasha’s face softened, and she walked back over to you. She sat down, and you slumped against her.

“I’ll handle it,” Maria said. She kissed Natasha’s cheek, then the top of your head. “Make sure you eat,” she teased. You nodded with a smile. Bruce came back in to give you ice, which Natasha held against your nose. She moved your hair and ran her fingers through it.

“I’m proud of you, dorogoy,” you hummed in question. “You needed something, and you asked for it.”

“You told me that you’ll leave the light on if I lose my way.”

[lexaverse]

meet ruth ★

she's a stripper who lives in the desert trying to escape her past but winds up needing to return home to face some demons that she had tucked away. along the way, she bumps into things where she finds herself doing the same very thing she's been running from.

i honestly see a lot of myself and my trauma in her so buckle up!

{tw: this story has a lot of mature themes and sexual content along with physical abuse being mentioned. other tw include: smoking, drugs, addiction, alcohol, sexual content, violence, assault, blood, death/murder, possible gore, guns/weapons, mental health issues/mentions. all trigger warnings will be shown as one word, for example - twalcohol. read at your own discretion!

my inspo for this story comes from listening to a lot of ethel cain + lana

[coco-loco-nut]

We Can’t Be Friends

Pairing: George Russel x Reader

Summary: George’s girlfriend, a former child actor, is not well liked by the public

TW: mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, implied child exploitation

A/n: going off of the more popular interpretation of the song (ari vs the public)

requests open!🫶 masterlist

———————

You just finished filming a short interview in a docuseries with some of your former colleagues, those who fell into the same trap and downfall as you did. You prefer not to air everything out, but you knew your statement would support the others.

The industry basically forced you into a drug and alcohol addiction, one that you thankfully beat, but you went from someone who was once loved to someone hated, just from how the media spun your name.

You met George at a hospital event -you now work as a biochemist and bioengineer- and he immediately recognized his childhood crush. You dated for a year before feeling strong enough to go public, but ever since he posted a very cute picture of you, the hate has started again.

“I’ll make a statement asking them to leave you alone,” George offers but you shake your head no. He hates seeing you upset, but both of you didn’t expect the backlash on you.

“They won’t understand, they could never even try. They will never know what it was like to grow up like that, even the docuseries won’t help,” you start to dismiss the thought.

“We can’t do nothing,” he tries to reason, wanting to protect you.

“I don’t want to tiptoe around the public, but I don’t want to hide, either way I’m feeding this fire,” you groan, running your hand through your hair as you pace the room. You had to call off of work today, the entrance to your townhome being blocked by paparazzi.

“The story is gonna die, and we’ll be alright,” George stands up and pulls you into a hug. In your mind you picture the public liking you again, waiting for their love again.

A few days later, George drags you out of the house for lunch, you had only been leaving for work. The two of you step out, a reporter immediately coming up to you. You ignore the first few, sitting in your silence.

“It’s just me and you, Baby girl,” George whispers to you, supporting you however you choose to respond.

“Y/n, is it true that you have been in and out of rehab for the past year? You are in and out of hospitals,” one reporter, who always hounds you, asks causing you to whirl around. You don’t want to argue, but you don’t want to bite, so you choose a confusing answer.

“You’ve got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good,” you smirk, watching their face scrunch in confusion, gripping their paper and pen, before continuing your walk.

The next day a clip of one of your short interviews drops, taken while you were in college, as a trailer for the docuseries release the following week.

~-~-~-

I don’t like how this industry painted me, but I’m still here hanging, just not what they made me. It’s almost like a daydream sometimes, finally leaving that world. I feel so seen, I am everything that I defined myself as, not all that the industry made me be. My truth and I may always sit in silence, but one day I hope I am brave enough to say it out loud. For now, it’s only me on the road after recovery, but maybe that’s all I need.

~-~-~-

buzzfeed.com/uk

A list of every child actor we need to apologize to after watching “Drugged: The Truth Behind the Lives of Child Actors”

1. Y/n Y/l/n

~-~-~-

“Are you sure you want to go out there?” George asks, looking at the crowds of journalists. You nod, tired of being silent and waiting for things to be better, not caring about feeding the fire anymore.

“Let’s go,” you release a shaky breath, stepping out behind your boyfriend as he walks you to work.

“Y/n! Anything to comment regarding the documentary that’s been released and the allegations made by your former colleagues?” A journalist asks, the rest hoarding, pens at the ready.

“Actually, I do. You owe us an apology. Villainizing children who needed someone like you to expose how awful our working conditions were, that’s sick and cruel. You wrote lies about us, and instead of apologizing, you want to ask us for statements and exploit our names more? You’re sick. We can’t be friends,” you chem them out before continuing on your way to work. A part of you will always wait for their love, but you are tired of waiting for them to like you.

“You’re a badass. I hope they will see you are the biochemist and bioengineer, not the child actor. You’ve come so far and I’m so proud,” George says once your breathing steadies from the adrenaline.

“Thank you, Georgie,” a small part of you wants to flip them off behind you, just like you would’ve done ten years ago, but you don’t, finally moving forward.

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

The Double-edged Blade of Chance

Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight.

“Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

"Why would I be a ghost?”

  

@deadonmayn Day 5: Soulmates | Pretend | Jason and Danny were childhood friends | "I never thought I'd see you again."

TW: Major Character Death, Child Neglect, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Drug Addiction, Depression

AO3 link

   Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate. It was just a fact of life. There was always a chance, though. Maybe it was small, but it was a chance. For those born with black ink scrawled across their wrists, it was a hope. A perfect match who could understand you on every level straight down to your atoms was waiting, and maybe you would meet them today! Or tomorrow. Or a year from now. Or… never.

   Sometimes, life is cruel. Sometimes, black letters burn and scar. Sometimes, your soulmate dies before you can ever meet them. Words on your wrist were a chance, but chance was a double-edged blade. 

   On average, most people didn't meet their soulmates until their twenties or thirties. Jason Todd was not most people.

   Jason quite literally runs into his soulmate at the young age of eight. Lungs burning and legs shaking with adrenaline, he sprints with his singular pilfered apple. He's not being chased, but it's better to create distance between him and the scene of his crime. If the past six months as a street kid has taught him anything, it's that caution is a virtue. Caution keeps you alive. 

   He falls back into muscle memory, allowing his feet to carry him through familiar shortcuts. Jason rounds another corner into a dirty back alley only to ram into something face first. There's a startled yelp and before he knows it Jason is horizontal. The only thing separating him from the ground is a scrawny torso. Jason's about to throw himself away from the poor schmuck when there's a burst of pain in his back. He rolls and lands on the asphalt with a pained groan.

  The other kid scrambles away from him with panicked, pale blue eyes. He looks the same age as Jason, skinny like a twig with a loose-fitting NASA shirt and unruly black hair. If Jason had seen him walking down the street, he would never have guessed he knew how to throw a punch. 

   The kid scans him up and down, suddenly embarrassed, “Sorry! I thought you were a ghost!”

   Jason is so busy nursing his kidney that he doesn't register the significance of the words. Instead, he snaps back with incredulity, “Why would I be a ghost?”

   The kid stares at Jason with wide eyes. His mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish out of water. Whatever. Let him have his crisis, it's not Jason's problem. He dusts off his apple and stands to leave.

   "Wait!" 

   Jason yanks his sleeve back out of the other kid's grip, "Don't touch me!"

   "Sorry…" he shrinks back and the expression on his face is so heartbroken that Jason almost feels bad, "Please don't go!"

   Jason ignores him. He has things to do and places to be. Winter will be coming soon, and his abandoned apartment has very little in terms of blankets or jackets. A cold street kid is a dead street kid. 

   “Just-” the kid cuts in front of him. Jason stops short. Twig kid rolls up his sleeve, holding his wrist so close to Jason’s face that he couldn’t look away if he tried, “Look!”

   Jason freezes. His eyes scan over the words once, twice, and then a third time. 

   Why would I be a ghost?

   Jason can feel the scowl evaporate from his face, replaced by a softness he doesn’t know what to do with. Gently, ever so gently, he brushes over the words with his thumb. He doesn’t need to look at his own wrist to verify. Now that his head isn’t so far up his ass, the words the other boy uttered finally click and he knows that this is his soulmate.

   “My name is Danny!”

    Jason lifts his eyes to meet his soulmate’s. Danny’s grin is brighter than the sun itself. Something unfurls when he sees that smile. His lips tick upwards.

   “I’m Jason.”

   And so begins a beautiful friendship.

   Danny’s parents were… interesting to say the least. Jason had never met them himself, but he sure heard about them a lot. The two were self-proclaimed ghost hunters, and Mrs. Fenton was a trained martial artist. They had taught Danny from a young age to defend himself and instilled a fear of ghosts while they were at it, hence Jason being floored with a kidney punch.

   Other than that, the Fentons were hands-off. They didn’t pay much attention to Danny or his older sister, Jazz, so the two were mostly left to their own devices. Jazz couldn’t entertain Danny all the time, so he had taken to slipping out of the apartment to explore. 

   Jason may have been young, but even so, he had an inkling that the Fenton parents could have been doing a better job… well… parenting. Then again, it wasn't as if Jason had room to talk. Willis�� form of parenting had been more fists than words, painting out the rules of the house with black and blue bruises. Catherine had been good to Jason, even living under the smog of Willis Todd’s anger. She had taught Jason to cook (recipes he still knew by heart) and would read to him late into the night, fingers skimming old pages (Jason still carried the old, battered copy of The Little Prince with him, one of the few belongings he grabbed before fleeing CPS). Even under the drug-induced haze, his mom had tried her best. When she became too ill to do much of anything, Jason paid it forward as best he could. 

   There were some benefits to all of this. With the Fentons paying so little attention to anything outside of work, Danny could sneak supplies to Jason no problem! Suddenly issues like food or clean water were no longer as pressing, and Jason had a lot more free time. Naturally, he spent it with Danny. Jason taught Danny how to slip in and out of Gotham’s shadows unnoticed, and Danny taught Jason all of the things he learned in school. Danny would tell Jason stories written in the stars such as Orpheus’ lyre and Orion the hunter. In return, Jason would read his battered copy of The Little Prince to him under the trees in the park.

   Like all good things, it had to come to an end. 

   It happens a little over a year after their fateful meeting. Danny arrives at their spot dragging his feet, eyes watery. Jason abandons his book on the grass beside him in favor of rushing to meet his soulmate, who all but collapses sniffling into his arms. They sit in the shade of their tree, Jason running his hands through Danny’s hair as he cries into his dirty shirt.

   “What happened?” Jason asks once the other boy has calmed some.

   “We’re moving.”

   “What?”

   “Mom and Dad want to move someplace in Illinois. Something about ectoplasm readings. They said we’re moving out by the end of the month!”

    It feels like the ground drops from underneath Jason, nothing but a yawning chasm beneath his feet. Moving? To Illinois?

   The tears return to Danny’s eyes with a vengeance, “I don’t want to move! I don’t want to leave you!”

   Jason sets his jaw, tugging Danny back into a hug. He swallows the lump in his throat with false bravado. “It’ll be okay, Danny. You wanna know why?”

  Danny makes an inquisitive noise, wiping his face on his shirt as Jason pulls away. 

   Jason reaches for Danny’s hand, turning his palm up to the sky. He stretches his arm out next to Danny's, their soul marks brushing next to each other. 

  “We’re soulmates, Danny. The universe decided that we are two halves of a whole. Fate decreed that we are meant to be together,” Jason poured the conviction into his words, “We’re soulmates, and soulmates are magic. Even if you leave for weeks, months, or years, I know we will find each other again. We’ll be together someday.”

   Danny gawked at him, wide eyes a pantomime of when they first met. He stared at Jason, and then- 

   “You read too many books, Jason.”

   Jason rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shoving Danny into the grass. Danny giggled as Jason fell beside him with a huff. They stared up at the branches of the trees. The leaves swayed in the breeze. Jason follows them in captivating circles, his soulmate a soothing presence beside him.

   “You really mean it though?” Danny asks.

   “Mean what?”

   “That we’ll be together again?”

   “Of course,” Jason easily confirms.

   It’s the most sure Jason has been of anything in his life. 

   With Danny gone, there is no steady supply of food or blankets. Jason quickly finds himself reacquainted with hunger and desperation. After the third consecutive night of dumpster diving with no reward, he decides something has to change. Armed with a tire iron, Jason makes money the only way he can. 

   Six months after Danny leaves, Jason steals the tires from the batmobile. Batman found this more amusing than aggravating, and the next thing Jason knows, he’s stepping into the role of Robin. Jason! As Robin! Who would have thought?

   The new gig comes with some super awesome advanced tech. With all his work for Bruce, Jason figures it's only fair that he gets free reign with the batcomputer, or as Jason likes to call it, his best chance at finding Danny. 

   The batcomputer is one of the most advanced pieces of technology in the world. It's hooked up to satellites, has access to almost every database, and can run ID checks in seconds. Theoretically, there should be nothing stopping Jason from finding Danny. And yet…

    It's like he’s disappeared.

   All evidence of the Fenton family only dates to before their move. It doesn’t make any sense! There should be paper trails or social media posts or something! Anything! Jason searches for weeks but it’s as if Danny stopped existing as soon as he moved.

   Jason doesn’t give up. There has to be something he’s missing, one little thread poking out of the seams. A single tug is all it takes. He just has to find it. He keeps looking.

   He keeps looking for years. 

   He hangs on to hope.

   Jason is fourteen when his hope shatters.

   The night starts off normal. Jason dons the Robin suit and joins Bruce on patrol. They run through Gotham, stopping an arms deal and tying up a few muggers. Jason stops to take a breath, looking out over his city. 

   Jason loves this. He yearns for the whip of the wind in his face as he swings between gargoyles and fire escapes. He likes to help people, to defend others from the scumbags that think they rule the streets. Jason loves being Robin. Danny being here with him is the only thing that could make it better. That’s why Jason stays up high near the stars. It makes him feel closer to Danny, wherever he is.

   Burning pain makes Jason stumble in his steps. He clutches his wrist with gasping breath, wondering what he’s been hit with and when. Quickly, he removes his glove, throwing it to the floor.

   His stomach fills with icy cool dread.

   “No…” Jason mutters, eyes wide as saucers as the black ink on his wrist begins to fade, “No no no no no-”

   He digs his fingers hard into the words as if that will stop the color from leaching away.

   “No! Don’t do this! Please, Danny, don’t-” his voice cracks with a sob as the black becomes a pale grey, “NO!  You're stronger than this, you jerk! Don’t give up! Fight!”

   Bruce lands on the roof with him. He says something, but Jason isn’t paying attention. 

   “Don’t… don’t leave me, Danny. Don’t leave me alone.”

   Jason would normally never cry in front of Bruce, but he doesn’t care about Bruce right now.

   “You can’t leave yet! I’m supposed to find you! Do you hear me, you asshole?! You're not allowed to leave!” 

    The words are nothing but pale scars. It’s over. It’s done. The burning fades to a numb nothingness. Jason throws his head into his forearm and screams.

   Nothing will ever be the same.

   Bruce takes Jason home. He refuses to speak, not even to Alfred when the butler greets him with the offering of a hug. Jason walks right past his open arms to the bathroom and takes off his suit. Jason doesn’t feel like Robin right now. Jason doesn’t feel like anything.

   He showers just to be done with it, unfeeling of the ice-cold spray. Like a preprogrammed machine he runs through his routine.  Water. Shampoo. Soap. Rinse. Dry. Jason heads straight to his room when he’s done, not even bothering to brush his teeth. Burying himself under his bed covers, he cries until he passes out from exhaustion.

   It doesn’t get any easier. 

   Jason pushes the misery down and gets through the next day one step at a time. Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. He goes to school, forcing himself to pay attention rather than sink into tempting numbness. Danny would have been so excited that Jason was in school. Danny would have wanted him to learn. 

   He comes home to Wayne Manor feeling, ironically, like a ghost. Alfred’s food tastes like chalk. Dick’s endeavors at movie nights and days out are about as tempting as swimming in the polluted harbor. He still joins Bruce as Robin, but he leaves the batcave feeling angry, hitting harder than he’s ever hit before. As if that will change anything. As if that will bring Danny back. 

   Sometimes, Jason draws over the scarred words on his wrist with a black marker. He pretends that Danny is still out there somewhere in bumfuck Illinois, waiting for him. It helps.

__________________

   Danny Fenton was unlucky. The very first sign was his workaholic parents with their conditional attention and lack of safety precautions, leading to his eventual early demise (Also known as sign one hundred and twenty-six, not that Danny was counting). Then there was the whole Oh Shit I’m a Ghost revelation quickly followed by the Oh Shit My Parents Want to End Me realization. Danny could only assume that he pissed off some ancient deity in a past life. 

   So yes, Danny was extremely unlucky, but he did have one thing going for him: Jason. 

   How many people got to meet their soulmate so early in life? Perhaps all of his luck had been invested in Jason. Jason with his vibrant blue eyes and dirty hair. Jason with the soft voice he used for Danny alone. Jason with his stubborn hold on childlike wonder despite being faced with the worst Gotham had to offer. 

   Danny may be unlucky, but Jason made him feel like the luckiest guy on Earth.

   He thought about Jason frequently. Idly tracing the words spread across his wrist, Danny would let his mind drift. Sometimes, he relived old memories. Other times he dreamed of their future together. 

    He imagined moving out of his parent's house and into one of his own. Jason would move in with him, warm and safe for once in his life. He’d be free to focus on learning like he so obviously wanted. Danny would go to work and Jason would go to school, but they would always come back together at the end of the day. Jason would pull out a book and Danny would curl against his side. Jason would get that adorable scowl on his face when something happened he didn’t like, and Danny would kiss it off of him with so much sweetness that Jason would forget what had annoyed him in the first place. 

   The honeyed kisses were a new addition to the fantasy, but not an unwelcome one. 

   Danny also thought about the present. He wondered what Jason was doing now. Was he still holed up in that awful abandoned apartment? Did he have warm enough clothes for the upcoming winter? Did he find enough food to last him the week? Did Jason feel Danny die? He must have been so scared…

   Moving away from Jason was the worst thing to ever happen to Danny, including the portal accident. Four states away, there wasn’t much he could do to help his soulmate, and he had no way to contact him, no way to check on him. His parents barely left the lab let alone the house, so a family trip to Gotham was out of the question. He had thought about flying there himself after the whole dying and becoming a halfa thing, but between the ghosts coming through the portal and his parents, he couldn’t leave Amity Park unprotected. 

   Danny thought he had a solution to the issue when he met Clockwork. While they may have started off on the wrong foot, these days the two were on better terms. Danny would even go so far as to call him a friend. Perhaps Clockwork would be willing to help a guy out and pause time for a bit. Only for a few hours! Just enough time for Danny to return to Gotham, find Jason, and establish some form of contact. Surely that wasn’t too tall of an order!

   Evidently, it was. Even after bargaining, pestering, and begging for what felt like hours (it could have been days or it could have been minutes, time was weird in Clockwork’s lair), Clockwork still refused. 

   Danny tried Nocturn next. It was more out of desperation than anything. His relationship with the ancient was still rocky, and he wasn’t expecting much to come from it. To his surprise, Nocturn agreed to help him but only once. Just one dream. Just one chance. 

   Danny is so excited he has trouble falling asleep. Eventually, he gives up and knocks back some melatonin. He’s willing to see the ceiling children if it means he also gets to see Jason. Danny closes his eyes.

   When he opens them, he is standing in a library. It’s fancy, fancier than Gotham’s library. The shelves are decorative polished wood and filled with books in better condition than any Danny has seen in one before. One wall is bare of any books or shelves. A stone fireplace with glass doors resides against it, exuding a comforting heat that makes Danny’s eyes droop even while asleep. The couches and chairs near the pit are so plush and pristine that Danny is certain this is a private library. No way would any public seating be this clean.

   It's all very nice, but not nearly as nice as the sight of the teenager residing on the furniture. The round baby fat that had shaped his face had begun to make way for a chiseled jaw. He's put on weight, no longer as gaunt as Danny remembers with more muscle. The skinny, starving kid Danny had known is no more.

   He's older now, almost unrecognizable, but that furrow in his brow as he reads and the slightly crooked nose gives him away. This is Jason. Danny's Jason. 

   "Jay!"

   Jason startles, dropping his book. He scrambles to his feet, tense as he stares uncomprehendingly at Danny. It hurts to not be recognized, but Danny understands. He looks different too.

   "...Danny?" 

   Danny can't find the words to respond so he settles for a smile, opening his arms in invitation. 

   Jason catapults into them. They clutch onto one another. The embrace is familiar but different, arms lankier than they used to be. Jason shakes like he’s crying. Danny thinks he might be too.

   Jason finally pulls away, hands running over Danny’s shoulders and arms,  "This… this isn't real. I'm dreaming."

   Danny laughs, "Well that depends on your definition of real. It may be a dream, but I'm still here."

   Jason’s hands raise to cup Danny’s face, "You died.”

   "Yeah,” Danny can’t help but lean into Jason’s palms, fingers rising to brush over his soulmate’s.

   "I don't care if it isn't real, I-" Jason swallowed. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Danny’s, "Can we just… pretend it is?"

   "Of course, Jay."

   Jason plants a kiss on his forehead and drags him over to the couch. They collapse onto the cushions, Jason’s chest breaking Danny’s fall and strong arms wrapping around him.

   "I missed you," Danny says into his shirt.

   "Not as much as I missed you."

   "You look better. You look like you've been taking care of yourself."

   "Sometimes."

   "Only sometimes?"

   Jason laughs.

   For the next hour or so, Jason tells him about his life as Batman’s sidekick, Robin. Life in Wayne Manor has been beneficial for him. His smile is fuller and more carefree as he talks about his latest patrol than it ever was when he was living in the apartment. He seems happy in a way that Danny rarely saw.

   "I'm so proud of you, Jay."

   Jason doesn't say anything in reply, but he doesn't have to. His wet eyes are response enough. He's quiet for so long that Danny's convinced he's broken him. 

   Then Jason leans in, slowly, oh so slowly. Danny's heart flutters. He closes his eyes, tilting his head forward. He prepares himself to feel the press of lips against his own and then-

    His alarm goes off. 

    Danny's eyes fly open, surveying his room in frustration. He never got Jason's number. Fuck.

   There’s nothing to be done except to continue on with life. Between school and ghost fights Danny still finds time to pester Clockwork. It’s the same song and dance each time but Danny is nothing if not persistent. Occasionally, his attempts are rewarded with glimpses into his soulmate's life. Just little everyday things like Jason doing his homework or cooking with an older man in a suit. This of course led to Danny pushing for more, something like an actual conversation or contact information, all of which Clockwork refused to provide. It didn’t stop Danny from asking. 

   If Clockwork truly wanted Danny to stop then he shouldn’t have rewarded his behavior in the first place.

   It's not long after Nocturn’s favor that Danny finally wears the old cog down.

   “Come on, Clockwork! Please?” Danny whines, tugging on the ancient’s cloak, “I just want to talk to my soulmate!”

   Clockwork ignored him, peering through another screen.

    “It’s not like we haven’t already met! How could there possibly be any harm in us talking?”

   Clockwork stopped, considering. This had never happened before! Danny waited with bated breath.

   “I’ll let you see him-”

   Danny cheered, happily doing loop-de-loops in the air. 

   “I wasn’t finished,”

   Danny stopped cheering.

   “I’ll let you see him, but you can’t interfere.”

   “Interfere? Interfere with what?”

   Clockwork frowned, “Some things are destined to be. If I take you to him, you can’t stop what is about to happen. For better or worse. Are you sure this is what you want?”

   Danny stilled, considering. This didn’t sound like he was going to talk to Jason. It seemed like this would be a mere passive observance. It wasn't much different from watching Jason through Clockworks’s portals. Whatever. Danny would take what he could get.

   “I’m sure.” Anything to see Jason again.

   “I foresaw as such.”

   Danny barely has time (heh time) to register the sad look Clockwork shoots his way before he’s portaled out of the ghost’s lair. One blink he is staring at the gears and cogs in the walls, then next he is standing in a warehouse. Alone.

   “Clockwork?”

   There’s no response, so Danny investigates. It's hot. Hot enough that Danny feels like he is sweating despite his intangibility. The warehouse is filled with boxes upon boxes. As he wanders further in, he begins to hear signs of life. He peers between the crates.

   A few musclemen are unloading more crates to the floor. Someone out of sight sounds like they’re laughing. No not laughing. Full-blown manic cackling. That’s a villain's laugh if Danny has ever heard one.

   He peaks around the corner to get a better view and nearly reels back. That’s a clown. A fully dressed clown. Green hair, white face paint, and all.

   Danny hates clowns.

   “What? What’s going on here?”

   Jason!

   Danny looks over his shoulder in the direction of the footsteps.

   “Just step over here and you’ll understand everything, Robin.”

   A blonde woman rounds the corner, Robin, Jason, following close behind. They walk past Danny and right into the clown. 

   “What?!” Jason leaps between the woman and the gun lime-flavored Mr.Mime is aiming squarely at her chest, “But you said…”

   “I lied.” 

   The woman is aiming a gun at Jason’s head. Danny growls, but it goes unheard.

  “I can’t afford to have you stirring up trouble. I’ve been dipping into the medical funds myself. If you blow the whistle on the Joker, the investigation will certainly uncover my embezzling. Sorry about that, kid. Looks like you picked the wrong person to trust. ”

   “Clockwork,” Danny asks the open air, “what is this?”

   Jason is surrounded but his eyes are solely focused on the woman. He looks devastated.

   “What should we do with him?” the woman asks the clown. 

   “Something I’ve wanted to do for years,” The clown lets out another one of those awful cackles. 

   Danny doesn’t think it would be possible to hate this guy more than he already does, but then he pistol whips his soulmate across the chest hard enough that he hits the ground.

   Jason gets up again. He’s always been tenacious, Danny thinks as he watches him punch the clown in the gut. He feels a glimmer of satisfaction. Jason will be okay. He’s giving the newest additions to Danny’s shitlist a solid beat down, and Danny gets a front-row seat.

   But then one of the gym bros knocks Jason to the floor again. He follows it up with a kick to the ribs. Jason lies there heaving, and suddenly Danny isn’t so certain anymore.

   The clown approaches him, dragging a crowbar against the concrete with a harsh scraping sound.

   “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me.”

   Danny tries to rush forward. He wants to tear that crowbar out of the clown’s hand and hit him so hard that he loses his teeth. He wants to grab Jason by the collar of that stupid outfit and fly him far away to safety. Danny wants to, but he can’t. His feet are rooted to the ground. His arms refuse to lift from his sides. His head won’t swivel on his neck. Danny can’t even switch off his invisibility. All he can do is blink as the crowbar careens into Jason’s ribs.

   “You can’t interfere, Daniel.”

   “Clockwork,” Danny grits out, quiet and desperate, “Clockwork, please.”

   He feels a hand squeeze his shoulder, “All is as it should be.”

   No no no no no no no no no no no no no-

   Danny isn’t sure how long he’s there, frozen uselessly in place as the maniac clown brings the crowbar down on Jason’s body over and over and over again. Eventually, he seems to get bored and decides to leave Jason to the mercy of a bomb. With a grand flourish to the ever-so-helpful timer, he leaves Jason bleeding on the floor. That woman is there too, but Danny doesn’t care about her. 

   Finally, Danny can move. He collapses next to Jason, cradling his beaten face in his hands and murmuring nonsensical platitudes. Jason’s breath wheezes shallowly, unseeing gaze fixed far away. 

   The clock ticks down. 

   Jason doesn’t make it to six minutes. 

   Danny chokes back a sob as the words on his wrist burn. With utmost care, he brushes Jason’s eyelids shut. Danny presses a kiss to his forehead. It still feels warm against his own ice-cold lips. Taking Jason’s limp hand in his own he leans back. He waits. He hopes. 

   He doesn’t have to wait long. 

   Danny almost thinks that Jason’s- no, the body’s eyes have opened once more. The color gives him pause though. Vivid green eyes like his own blink open in place of blue. A pale, wispy figure sits up, legs remaining within the corpse as if superimposed. The domino mask that had covered his face has been replaced by what looks like permanent grease paint. The Robin uniform is a mess even in death. The holes and tears have carried over, but thankfully it's no longer bloodstained. Jason’s wounds are all but gone except for a single glowing ectoplasmic scar running from his hairline down to his cheek.

   The newly formed ghost’s chest heaves in a mimicry of desperate breathing. Danny remembers it from when he first died. He had also panicked at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. It's hard to break such an ingrained instinct. 

   Danny feels his soul mark tingle, and though he doesn't look away from his soulmate he can see the green glow of the words in the corner of his eye. 

   “Jason?” Danny drops the corpse’s hand in favor of reaching for Jason’s.

   Jason’s eyes whip around wildly, landing on Danny. His chest slows to a stop, “Danny?”

   “Yeah, Jay,” Danny lets out a broken laugh, tears pooling in his eyes, “It’s me.”

   “Danny!” Jason lunges for him wrapping his arms around his waist, “I never thought I’d see you again,” he choked out, voice watery with emotion.

  Danny clutches him back, gloved fingers curling into the fabric of his cape, “I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m sorry, Jason,” Danny sniffs, tears soaking into the fabric of Jason’s shoulder, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   “It’s okay! Well, not really,” They pull back to look at each other. Jason tucks a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear, fingers lingering to trace his jaw, “but I get to see your pretty face again so I can’t complain.”

   Danny flushes green but still manages to level Jason with a look, “That’s stupid and you know it! You have every right to complain you just-” 

   Danny cuts himself off with a small, distressed noise. Danny has died before. He knows what it’s like. And now Jason has too. They both know. There are no words.

   “Yeah…” Jason trails off, eyes lingering on his body, “Yeah. But you're here, right? You found me!"

   Danny smiles, cupping his soulmate's face in both hands, “Always,” he presses a chaste kiss to Jason’s lips. Even after it ends their foreheads remain touching. 

   “I missed you,” the grin Jason gives him could only be described as dopey.

   “Not as much as I missed you,” he teases back.

   Jason pulls him into another hug. They hold one another until their tears finally dry up. It reminds Danny of the good old days, running rampant through Gotham’s streets and finding solace from everything awful in each other. 

  Suddenly Jason starts to giggle. Danny doesn’t know why but his joy is contagious and soon Danny is snickering alongside him.

   “Why are you laughing?” Danny asks between unneeded breaths.

   Jason slips his tattered glove off, displaying his soulmark with a wiry grin, “I just realized I’m a ghost!” Jason giggles again, “And so are you!”

    “Why would I be a ghost?” Danny deadpans, which only causes Jason to laugh harder.

   Danny glances at the clock. One minute. “We should leave.”

   Jason nods, standing up before Danny can even move and offering his hand. Danny takes it, rising to his feet. Their fingers remain linked together as they phase through the wall of the warehouse. They turn to watch it blow with a sense of finality. The flames licking the sky feel like an end, but also a new beginning. 

   Danny turns away from the ruins and focuses. His fingers sharpen and tear through the fabric of reality, opening a swirling green portal into the Infinite Realms. 

   He holds the portal open with one hand, extending the other back out for Jason to take, “Together?”

   “Together,” Jason’s fingers clasp his own.

   This time, they don’t have to pretend. 

[mypearlsareclutched]

We're Sinking Into The Sand

High By The Beach | Chapter Eleven

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

After the chaos that was Viserys' funeral, Mila heads back to Old Town to help the Targaryen she loves. But it was Aemond who brought her and Aegon together, will it be him who tears them apart?

BTDubs this was where I was originally planning on ending the series but I had SO MUCH MORE TO SAY about Mila and the Targs and ole Creggie and the homies. So (as you can tell from the masterlist) there are a further six chapter coming after this mwah. Also I updated hella quick, huh? Who's proud of me <3

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), smut, angst, joking at an inappropriate time Aegon style, Old Town and the beach house, drugs, mentions of addictions, HELLA angst at the end, British lingo, morning sex, passionate missionary yuh, consent is sexy, Aegon is OOC in that respect, enjoy the good vibes while they last because I'm here to hurt your feelings <\3

Word count | 5.2k

previous chapter // next chapter

It took almost a whole day to drive back to Old Town. Which was good time. She drove like a bat out of hell, never stopping. Except for traffic lights, because having the police on her ass was not in the cards. By the time she arrived to her destination, the sun was falling down in the sky once again.

Parking Laena's car in the driveway of the Old Town beach house, Mila breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she had been holding in her lungs since leaving the Targaryen home.

Just the sight of the house relieved tension inside her very bones, the smell of the sea air drifting through the open windows and the sound of seagulls flying high above all made her feel like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

Another car was parked beside the house, expensive looking and clearly the car Aegon had stolen from Viserys' garage. Mila walked past it to the house, holding the front door's handle with shaky hands.

The house is unlocked, the keys discarded on the table near the door, next to Aegon's alien sunglasses. He must be here.

"Aegon?" Mila calls out, stepping into the entryway.

The house is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the far wall. No lights have been turned on, the room is shadowy and painted with strips of sunlight from the surrounding windows. A small sliver of darkness catches Mila's eye, and she crouches down to pick up a black tie.

A pair of sandy, black dress shoes lie a few feet away, the discarded garments leading a bread crumb trail right to the bedroom. Mila stands, walking to the door in search of the MIA Targaryen. A relieved sigh leaves her when she sees him.

He's lying on the bed, legs splayed out over the edge and eyes closed. His black suit from the funeral is still in tact, save for the tie and his shoes.

"Hey-"

"Seven hells!" Aegon exclaims, sitting up. His wide eyes blink at her, before he exhales out a laugh, "Jesus, Em, you scared the shit out of me."

Mila laughs as she shakes her head, her own spirits lifting as she looks at his smiling face, a much prefered alternative to the grimace he wore during his father's funeral.

"So, you took a page out of my book and fled the Targaryen prison?" He asks, standing up.

"Yeah, and Otto is going to drag you by your short and curlies right back there." Mila shakes her head, smoothing her hands over the crinkled black dress she still wore.

"Let him try." Aegon chuckles, "I can disappear if I want to."

He wraps his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate yet gentle kiss. Mila sinks into it, letting out a please hum as he licks along her lower lip.

The kiss grows heated, and Aegon's hands are quick to wrap around her and pick her up, spinning her around to deposit her on the bed. Mila's legs open automatically to welcome him in, his weight a comforting presence against her sore body. Soft hands run through her hair, over her thighs. Chapped lips run along her neck.

Aemond's hands... Aemond's mouth...

"Baby, stop." Mila says softly, guilt wracking her body as she pushes him away gently. Aegon's face falls, but not from disappointment. Concern is evident on his cherubic features, his hands leaving her as he sits up and looks at her worriedly.

"What's wrong? We don't have to if you don't want to-"

"I fucked Aemond." Mila bites out, closing her eyes.

Aegon is silent, and her stomach drops. He blinks at her, and she can see his mind processing what she just said.

"Oh." He says, voice soft and robotic.

"Aegon-"

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said okay." He shrugs, lying back down on the bed, "That's fine, it's your body, babe."

"Aeg-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Aegon sighs, one hand coming to cover his eyes, as his other hand takes hers. Mila looks down at their clasped fingers, squeezing his hand.

"I'm so sorry."

"Hey, shh." He sits up, eyes once again soft and face warm again, taking her hands in his, "I'm not mad at you, baby. I would never be. This shit is complicated. I just... don't want to hear the details. It'll make me want to cut open my stomach and pull out all my internal organs.

"I wouldn't tell you." She smiles weakly, reaching a hand up to move a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes, "It meant nothing, really. It was just... a moment of weakness. I got too caught up in who I wanted him to be, instead of who he really is. I want you, for who you really are."

Aegon smiles sadly, "If you saw me for who I really am, you would run for the hills."

"Maybe I'll surprise you."

"All you do is surprise me." Aegon laughs, nosing at her hand as it fiddles with his shoulder-length hair, "Wherever you were yesterday doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad you're here now, with me. I really do love you, Em. So much."

"I love you, too." Mila reaches a hand up and cups his cheek, his face leaning in to hers, "Otto is still going to come for you."

Aegon is silent, his head lifting so he can look over at the ocean through the window panes. The sun has begun to set, casting the bedroom in a hue of blush pink and burnt orange. A far away look forms in Aegon's blue eyes, a small crinkle appearing between his pale brows as he thinks.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Mila asks, prodding his temple playfully.

Aegon sighs, looking at her, "Suicide pact?"

"Aegon."

"So that's a firm 'no' on the suicide pact?"

"I need you to take this seriously." Mila says, taking his chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

"I am." Aegon says as smiles, taking her hands in his, "I'm taking this seriously."

"This?" Mila laughs, confused.

"This. You and me. This. Us." Aegon smiles, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Us?"

"Us."

The next morning, as the sun rose over Old Town, Mila woke up encased in the warm arms of Aegon Targaryen.

She slept like the dead, immediately falling into the land of dreams after Aegon had helped her get out of her dress. He grimaced at it, throwing it in the bin, waving away Mila's complaints.

"You look better in the crappy clothes we got from big Tesco anyway." He grins, tossing her an oversized shirt with the words 'Straight Outta Old Town' written on the back. She rolled her eyes with a smile of her own as she put it on, laughing at Aegon's ogling as he removed his own clothes and threw on some joggers.

The second her head hit the pillow, and Aegon wrapped around her from behind, Mila was out like a light.

When the sun rose, she never wanted to leave this room again.

Aegon murmurs sleepily behind her, offering a quiet 'good morning' when he realises she is awake. Mila hums back, turning around in his arms. He gives her a dopey grin, eyes barely open. She returns his smile, reaching her hand up to trace along his face from his eyebrow, down his nose, and across his jaw. When Mila's fingers dance across the skin of his lips, Aegon purses his lips to kiss her finger tips.

She leans in for a kiss first, and he meets her halfway. Their lips meet in a loving dance, noses brushing and hands grasping onto whatever was in reach.

In an instant, Aegon rolls on top of her, kissing her feverishly as he covers Mila's body with his own. Her thighs open for him to lie in between them, flushes skin pressing against one another.

"Is this okay?" Aegon asks softly, desperate to feel more of her but unwilling to go beyond her boundaries.

"More than okay." Mila affirms, leaning up to kiss him again. He groans against her lips, his hands continuing their exploration as his hips buck against her one.

The hot tip of him presses against her wetness, and they gasp into each other's mouths. Aegon shifts forward, slowly fucking into her as she mewls against him, throwing her head back at his familiar, euphoric size.

"That's it, baby." Aegon murmurs, pressing his face into her neck as he begins thrusting into her sensually, dragging his hips back and forward in slow, loving strokes, "Fuck... feels so good."

"Aegon..." Mila moans out, running her hands over his hair and kissing his temple, "I love you."

"I love you too... so much..." His words trail off as his speed increases, fucking her in earnest. The sound of Mila's breathy whines and Aegon's grunts fill the room, mixed with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

Mila's orgasm creeps up on her, making her body jolt as a loud moan leaves her parted lips. Feeling her tighten around him, Aegon speeds up, breathing out curses and praises.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck!" He grits out around clenched teeth, grabbing the back of her knees to press her thighs to her chest, opening her wider. Mila gasps as he fucks her harder, hips pistoning into her with passion yet great care. Her peak subsides, and her body trembles with overstimulation.

"Aegon, fuck... 's too much..." Her eyes roll back, her hands weakly gripping onto the sheets below her and the pale, soft skin of Aegon's thigh.

"Doing so well for me, doll. Making me feel so fucking good. I can feel you getting tighter, wanna feel you cum again. You can give me another, right baby?"

"M-hm!" Mila bites her lip, words leaving her as Aegon angles his

"Right there? That feel good? Fuck, look at you." He praises, his eyes trained on her writhing body below him, "Come on, baby, need to feel you cum again. Please, baby."

"Aegon, fuck!" Mila shrieks, shaking uncontrollably as her legs tighten, her cunt gushing around him as he pushes her over the edge again.

The feeling sends Aegon over the edge, his pace faltering until he shudders and thrusts into her as far as he can go, painting her walls with his spend. Eyes rolled back, Aegon mumbles praises and promises and recites Mila's name like a prayer as his cock throbs, releasing all he has into her soft heat.

The Stark below him feels boneless and content, her knees still pressed to her chest and her cunt still full of Aegon's softening cock, her walls trying to push him out as she moans softly in overstimulation.

When he finally pulls out, both of their releases leak out of her, making Aegon groan at the sight, "Fucking beautiful."

Mila smiles sleepily, eyes blurry. She winces when she stretches her legs out, her hips and thighs burning.

"I'll be right back, Em." Aegon says softly, kissing her knee before rising off of the bed.

As hus weight disappears, Mila whines as she waves her hand to try to stop him. His tired chuckle makes her heart flutter, and after a minute he returns. A cold rag presses against her inner thighs, cleaning the mess they had made. Aegon's hands are gentle as he soothes her aching muscles, pressing kisses against her flushed skin.

"Sit up, baby." Aegon softly orders, and Mila rises slowly onto her elbows. The cold feeling glass presses against her lips, and she swallows down the offered water.

Satisfied that she's clean and hydrated, Aegon kisses her forehead before getting up again, putting the empty glass and soiled rag in the adjoining bathroom.

"I'm going to have one hell of a time trying to walk later." Mila smiles, dazed. Her eyes follow Aegon as he enters the room again.

"Oh, so you think you're leaving this room?" Aegon asks with a mischievous grin, diving back into the bed atop a laughing Mila.

The next day, Aegon drags her along an unfamiliar street. It's old, all ancient cobblestone walkways and winding alleys covered in ivy.

"Woah, Aeg, chill." Mila finds herself laughing, gripping onto Aegon's hand as he pulls her along like an overexcited puppy.

"Come on, we're almost there!" Aegon says, a beaming smile across his face.

Mila had never been to Honeyholt before. She had woken up this morning to Aegon laying on top of her, his chin against her sternum as he watched her sleep.

"Creep." Mila murmurs, a smile on her lips. Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes with his own cheeky grin as he presses a kiss to her collarbone and stands up.

"Come on, lazy, we've got things to do."

"Lazy? You're the one who twisted me up like a pretzel from dawn to dusk yesterday, no wonder I'm tired." Mila laughs, exasperated as she fluffs up her pillow and gets cozy again, "Also, what things? I don't know if I have the energy to do that last thing we did again."

"As much fun as that was, no. We have more fun things to do." He says as he pulls on his jeans, searching the room for a clean shirt.

"What's more fun than a sixty-nine bridge?"

"If you want the answer to that age old question, you should get your perky ass out of bed." Aegon wiggles his eyebrows as he tosses her a shirt.

Honeyholt was beautiful. Cultural, historic, full of tiny shops and homes. They pass smiling faces around every corner, including a flock of old ladies who chuckle as Aegon drags Mila down the street towards the unknown location.

Out of breath from running and laughing, Mila is grateful for when Aegon halts with an enthusiastic, 'Ah!'

She tosses her windswept curls over her shoulder as she watches Aegon walk into an old shop, dusty and seemingly disused. When he realises she is not following him, he pops his head out the doorway.

"Come on, then!" He calls, beckoning her forwards.

Mila laughs as she follows him in, her jaw dropping when she gets a good look at the place.

It had long been abandoned, cobwebs and dust covering most surfaces and furniture. But underneath the years of misuse, was a work of art. Antique chairs and tables dotted around, dark wooden floors covered in floral rugs. The wallpaper was peeling, and some mould had begun to grow, but the dark coloured spirals of the painted paper remained vivid. Along the back wall were ancient bookcases, and dirty chandeliers were hung from the ceiling.

Aegon bounces around the room, picking up fallen chairs in his wake before he leans against a fireplace across the room, looking at her for her reaction.

"What is this place?" Mila asks in awe, eyes wide with wonder as she walks around the small yet beautiful shop.

"It's just some old litt place. It was like a cafe or something until the lady who runs it, you know, bit the dust."

Mila rolls her eyes at his candidness, running her fingers along the dusty bookshelves that lined the far wall, "It's beautiful here."

"And cheap, too." Aegon comments, walking over to her to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, "The old owners son wants to get rid of it so the price is beyond reasonable."

"You're thinking of running a cafe? Aw, will you wear a frilly little apron while you're at it? You'll look so cute." Mila jokes, turning around in his embrace to kiss along his jaw.

Aegon rolls his eyes, but his smile never falters, "It doesn't have to be a cafe, dumbass. It could be anything we want once we buy it."

Mila stops, looking up at him with wide eyes, "Once we what?"

"Buy it." He says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm thinking bookshop in the front, tattoo parlour in the back. Our own little haven."

"That's absolutely crazy." Mila laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You're crazy."

"You love it." Aegon smiles as he leans in to kiss her.

"I love you, you crazy Targaryen."

They stayed like that for a while, standing in the cramped and dirtied room of a shop that promised a future for them both.

They had stopped off to get petrol on the way back from Honeyholt, when Aegon's phone began to ring.

Mila was paying inside the station, chatting idly to the woman behind the counter. Leaning against the car, Aegon watches her with a small smile, studying the movement of her lips as she spoke, and they way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

His phone ringing caught him off guard. Looking around, he noticed it lying in the back seat where he had flung it over his shoulder on the way here the night of Viserys' funeral. Helaena had given it back to him, chastising him ever so gently for leaving Weirwood without any of his belongings.

Grabbing it, he looks down at the caller ID, a groan escaping him as he rolls his eyes at the name.

"Piss off." He sighs into the phone.

"Hello to you to." Aemond scoffs, voice already sounding annoyed, "Is she there?"

"Who?"

"Hilarious. My fucking girlfriend."

"Which girlfriend? The hot one, or the dinosaur? Oh, wait, the hot one abandoned you after pity fucking you and came back to me."

"...So she is there."

"...No."

"Aegon." Aemond sighs, his rings knocking together as he seemingly runs a hand over his face, "Stop being childish for five minutes, and listen to me."

The older brother laughs, "Listen to you? What could you possibly say to me right now that won't make me hurl this phone into the sea?"

"What did you buy?"

"Should have bought condoms the way this is going." Aegon chuckles, eyes flicking to Mila once again.

"No, Aegon." Aemond's voice takes a dangerous tone, "What did you buy? On your way back to Old Town."

Aegon's blood runs cold, ice water in his veins. He swallows, turning around, as if looking in Mila's direction suddenly hurt to do, "How the fuck did you know?"

"You forget that I've known you all my life, and how you operate as a scumbag junkie for almost two decades." Aemond laughs cruelly, the sound prickling Aegon's eardrums like needles.

"I haven't done anything." He emphasises, "I wasn't going to-"

"Yes you were. If Mila hadn't turned up when she did you would already be stoned beyond human capabilities, possibly even dead. Now, wouldn't that be a shame."

"What the fuck do you want, Aemond?!"

"For you to end things with her."

"Then you are out of your goddamn mind." Aegon bites, knuckles going white around the phone as he grips onto it, "I won't. You can't make me."

"I'm not going to make you, Aegon." His brother chuckles humorlessly, "You've proved time and time again that you won't listen to a single thing we ask of you, even when we try to help you. But it's not you I want to help, not now."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Mila should not be around a bad influence like you, Aegon. She's a recovering addict. She's unstable, and delicate right now. And she's going to relapse if she's around you."

"She won't-"

"But she will. Because you will." Aemond explains, simply as if he were educating a child, "You've been down this road far too many times, brother. You will go back to your vices the second things get too hard. Mila stopped you from getting high this time, but at some point, the thrill of being with her will wear off for you. As it always does."

"She's different."

"Oh they were all different to you!" Yells Aemond, startling Aegon into docile silence, "It's all different until it's mundane. Until you get used to those feelings she inspires within you. Then you'll go back to drinking, or to snorting, or injecting, until it's fucking. It'll be all of those and she won't be able to handle it, Aegon. She will relapse."

Aegon flinches, his hands twitching as he takes a shuddered breath, feeling his heart crack at the thought, "I wouldn't do that to her."

"You wouldn't try to, Aegon." Aemond says, his voice softer now, "But you can't protect her from yourself."

It's silent. Aegon swallows this information like a bitter pill. It leaves an aftertaste like bile in his dry mouth, his heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse and his stomach twisting into knots.

Because he's right, a voice whispers inside his head. You are beyond saving. No matter how many times you try, you always go back to your wicked ways. Can you live with yourself? When you poison her, like a spec of black dye in a basin full of crystal clear water? You will ruin her, because that is what you always do.

It is almost like Aegon can hear Aemond reeling back for the final punch, his brother's voice like a siren's when he states...

"Mila deserves better than you."

A blow to the gut, because it is true. Aegon knew it from the second he met her, from the second he saw her smile and heard her laugh. She was good and she was kind and Aegon will kill her.

"Rot in all of the seven hells, brother." Aegon bites out, ending the call. He takes a shaky breath, blinking away tears he hadn't realised had formed. He throws his phone as far as he can, watching it flicker with light reflected by the sun before it disappears into the long grass.

Turning in place, he watches as Mila waves goodbye to the shop clerk, smiling to herself as she walks out the station and heads his way.

If only he felt the contentment she feels. But all he feels is sick.

Mila knew something was wrong the second they got in the car. Aegon wouldn't respond to anything she said, except a few hums and one-worded answers. His smile had vanished, the light in his eyes dimmed.

It broke her heart, because she had no idea what could have caused it.

When they finally got to the beach house, Aegon disappeared inside, walking on autopilot like a ghost. Mila watched him with wary eyes, biting the skin around her gnarled thumb nail.

Inside, he was nowhere to be seen. The taunting ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise that greeted her, and she glared at it as she walked past, heading towards the bedroom.

Aegon was standing beside the bed, looking down at the rumpled sheets with a frown.

"Aeg?" Mila says softly, standing in the doorway. The room felt cold, the beginnings of winter making the overall temperature drop, but an icy chill surrounded Aegon.

"You need to go." He says, voice quiet.

Mila freezes, staring at him with furrowed brows, "Huh?"

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, groaning against his palms.

"I need you to go. You can't be here anymore." With a shrug, he finally looks at her, face emotionless and eyes stony.

Standing before her, was the Aegon she never met. Something in him had changed, switched gears inside his head. His entire aura became somber, uninspired... broken.

Looking into his dulled eyes, Mila took a step forwards. But he took a step back, working his jaw as he flexed and unflexed his hands beside him.

"Aegon... I don't understand what you're saying." Mila pleads, hoping to the old gods and the new that he's not saying what he .

"We can't be together." He shrugs, "Aemond was right. I'm going to fall back into old patterns, and when that happens, it's going to fuck you up. Worse than Aemond did. I'm not good for you."

"It was Aemond on the phone wasn't it?" Mila chokes on a bitter laugh, looking up to the ceiling as she runs her hands through her hair, "I saw you talking on the phone. Aegon, baby, please, let's just talk this through."

"You're wasted on me." He mutters to himself, "You should get out while you still can, before I make you worse."

"All you've done is make me better, Aeg." Mila insists as she takes another step closer to him.

Hearing her insistence, Aegon stares off into the distance, his face hardening while his eyes remain shining with unshed tears.

"Quick question." Aegon says, his voice turning cruelly playful, "Did Aemond tell you to come here when he was balls deep inside you or was it kind of like a pillow talk conversation afterwards?"

Shocked by his impersonal voice and crude statement, Mila is take aback, a shiver running down her spine, "Aegon-"

"No, no, don't answer that." Aegon waves his hands, "I'm sure it doesn't matter."

"It's different with you. All of it is different. What I have with you is so much realer than what I ever had with him."

Aegon scoffs.

"Aegon, I want this. I want us. We can do this."

"We can't." Aegon chuckles, "Because Aemond was right. At the end of the day, you're going to go back to him and I'm going to go back to all of the other shit."

"No, you're not, Aegon. You're not-"

"Will you stick by me?" Aegon asks, his voice taking a taunting tone, "When I come home drunk or high or smelling like some other pussy would you just sit back and forgive me?"

"You're not going to do that, you're doing so much better, you wouldn't-"

"No? I wouldn't? What's this then?" Aegon stomps over to the bedside table, opening the drawer hard enough to send it clattering to the floor. Various items scatter against the faded carpet, but one item in particular makes Mila's heart stop.

A ziplock bag full of various coloured pills and powder filled baggies, "You didn't...."

"Oh yes I did, baby. Stopped round an old buddies house the night after the funeral. Got all the best flavours here; LSD, ket, some molly too, I know you love that... ooh, and some crystal, didn't even realise that was in there-!"

"Stop it." Mila says, trying to keep her voice level though it shakes.

"Ah, come on, baby. Let's have a little fun, eh?" He taunts, shaking the bag in her face, "We both know I will, so are you just going to sit pretty and watch me?"

"Why are you being like this?" Mila yells, frustration building as she watches the man she's loved turn into the nightmarish, fictitious man Aemond warned her about.

"So boring." Aegon groans dramatically, flinging the bag away across the room, "I'll go back to one of my addictions, doll, so pick one. Maybe you would prefer it if I did what my brother did, hm? What if I found myself my own Alys Rivers? Some hot, older lady that I can stick my dick into every time I get sick of you. Maybe I was too quick to judge my dear brother. If I had you on my ass every second of every day I'm sure I would also be dying for some other cunt-"

Aegon is silenced as his head whips to the side, Mila's palm stings as it lingers in the air.

She slapped him. She can't believe it for a second, too shocked

Mila stumbles back, cradling her hand to her chest as sobs wrack her body.

He watches her, cheek slightly red from where her hand struck him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're right, Aegon." Mila sobs, "We can't be together."

Though she fully intended to drive away, Mila sat in Laena's car, suddenly struck with an uncertainty of where she would go.

Her apartment in Kings Landing was stained with memories of Aemond, every item of furniture lines with scars where he once sat, stood, lay. Mila used to think fondly about how his cologne could be smelt in the air, on her blankets and on her couch cushions, but now the thought of smelling his scent turned her stomach.

It no longer felt like the comforting aroma of the man she loved, but the scent of a man who claimed her, used her, broke her.

She could go to Cregan's. Or Baela's, or back to Dragonstone where Rhaenyra would always wait with open arms.

But the beauty of Old Town boiled down to its distance. The distance from King's Landing and all the sordid experiences Mila had there that haunted her past. The parties, the clubs, the bars. The drinks, the drugs, the men, the women, the people whose genders mattered not to her in the moments where their lips touched. All the nights spent drifting from reality with magic in her veins, the mornings crashing back down to the real world in fits of sweating and throwing up the contents of her stomach.

The year where she made new memories no longer wrapped in a drunken haze, were ones she made by Aemond Targaryen's side.

Mila could not go back to King's Landing, because the ghosts will be waiting for her.

But she could go to another haunted place.

Pulling out the pay-as-you-go phone, she dialed Baela's number. The sound of her best friend's soft voice greeting her made her feverish skin cool a bit, "Hi, gorgeous. Are you okay? Mom told me you borrowed her car and left the city."

"Yeah, I needed to get away, needed to talk to Aegon." Mila says, her voice thick with her tears.

She can hear Baela sit up straight in her chair, her voice taking a concerned lilt, "Mila? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It doesn't matter." Sighs the Stark girl, "I'm going home."

"Okay, babe. Do you want me to set up my sofa so you can sleep on it?"

"No, Bae. I'm going home."

It's silent on the other end for a moment, seagulls caw in the near distance, and another tea tracks a warm trail down Mila's face.

"Holy shit... really?" Baela asks in a soft voice.

"Yeah." Mila sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The sun looms behind the beach house, casting the patio and driveway in shadows. Within the darkened windows, the shadow of Aegon watches from behind the sheer curtains.

"I'm going back to Winterfell."

AN// nOW LISTEN PUT THE GUN DOWN I CAN EXPLAIN. Don't hurt me for making Emiliaegon fight :( we are all children of divorce. TRUST things will get better. The sadder the angst, the sweeter the subsequent fluff <3

Lula x

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Addicted to You

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 19. Losing a Sense Fandom: Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, f!reader, dark!Jason Todd Summary: Kidnapped and locked in a room for months, your life has become nothing but Hood, the drug he gives you, and the pleasure you receive from both. But this time when it is time for your next dose, Hood is nowhere to be found... Word Count: 3073 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Addiction, Drugs, Poison, Forced Drugging, Kidnapping, Locked Away, Extremely Dubious Consent, CNC, Sex Pollen-Like Drug, Thigh Riding, Getting Off in Front of Others, Withdraws, Pain, Sensory Loss, Sensory Overload Notes: Thank you to @ohtobeleah and @mayhem24-7forever for reading this over and encouraging me along the way 💗 Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It’s been too long. 

Hood should have been back to give you your next dose hours ago. He hasn’t let it get this bad since the beginning, back when this was meant as a punishment and not part of your normal routine. Ever since he realized his mistake, what the poison he fed into your system had done to you, he never pushed you past a mild discomfort. 

But right now, you were in agony. 

You look desperately towards the door as if you can somehow will him to appear, but it remains firmly shut. A low moan is pulled from your lips as the ache in your gut begins to shift into a stabbing pain and every nerve ending begins to prickle like needles under your skin. The short silk slip you always wear feels like sandpaper as does your satin sheets as you writhe against them, desperately seeking relief. But it’s not just the drug you need, it’s him: his skin pressed against yours, his heart beating against your cheek, his scent soothing your aching body. He has become as much of an addiction that your body craves as the liquid he injects into your veins. 

But he’s not here.

Curling into a ball in the center of your king-sized bed, you try to remember what it was like before he brought you here, before the endless cycle of euphoria and torment. But your brain can barely remember to keep breathing right now, let alone try to recall who you were before this room. No, for the past—had Hood mentioned it had been four months already?—your world consisted of this room, this bed, the drugs, and Hood. Nothing else mattered. 

But where was he?

Suddenly, the metal door to your room heaves open and you try to lift your head, only for it to fall limply back against the bed.

Struggling to gather enough strength to try again, you hear a voice call out, “B! She’s in here!”

“Hood….?” you whimper, your vision swimming too much to clearly make out the figure standing across the room.

“Oh my god.” 

As he hurries over to the bed, you are finally able to see this newcomer is— unfortunately—not Hood. This man is in a tight, dark one-piece costume with a splash of bright blue at the top that matches the mask he wears over his eyes. His dark hair falls across his face as he leans over to examine you. But as soon as he places a gloved hand on your head, you cower back as fresh pain rips through your body. It’s as if his hand is blazing hot and has seared its mark onto your skin. Even as he draws back, the pain remains, throbbing and burning with every pound of your racing heart. 

Unaware of what his touch has done to you, the stranger reaches out again as he coos in a soothing voice, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.” 

You brace yourself for another wave of pain as his hand nears your shoulder, but then a familiar modulated growl pierces through the air. “No! Don’t touch her!” 

Your eyes snap to the door and you let out a small cry of relief as Hood storms into the room. As always, the sight of his smooth red helmet and glowing white eyes causes the painful knot in your chest to ease slightly. However, that relief quickly evaporates as you realize something is wrong. A man in yet another costume—this one black with a cape and pointed ears on top of his mask—has a tight grip on Hood’s arm and is practically dragging him into the room. He looks familiar and some sort of recognition stirs in the back of your mind, but you don’t care enough to focus on it. Right now, all you want is Hood and the drug.

“Hood…” You stretch one hand out, trying to reach him, but you’re in too much pain and he’s too far away. 

However, the movement is enough to spur Hood into action. He drops low and spins, freeing his arm from the man’s grasp. Then he sprints forward and dives onto the bed, gathering you into his arms in one fluid motion. Immediately, the painful prickling across your skin lessens and you snuggle your face into his chest. 

Weakly, you moan, “...gone so long…hurts…”

Hood rips off his gloves and runs his hand over the bare skin of your arm. It feels like cold water washing over a burn. You crawl deeper into him, curling like a kitten in his lap, as he whispers, “I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now and I’ve got what you need.” 

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the familiar glowing syringe. The need in your system now outweighs any pain. Eagerly, you push up your sleeve and hold your arm out to him. 

But as he takes it, the man with the pointed mask growls, “Jason!”

Hood looks up at him and you swear you can almost hear tears in his voice as he says, “I know, I fucked up. But if I don’t do this, she’ll die.” His glowing eyes drop back down to your face. His bare fingers trace the line of your jaw, and your eyes flutter closed with a wanton whine. “Please, just let me help her and I’ll go with you. No more fighting, I promise. I just have to save her…from what I did to her.”

The man hesitates for a moment—another moment the drugs aren’t coursing through your system. You squirm in Hood’s grasp, groaning as the mix of need and pain once again begins to become unbearable even with his touch dulling it. Finally, the man nods and Hood drives the needle into your arm.

The relief is instantaneous. You throw your head back with a euphoric gasp as the drug surges through your bloodstream. The prickling of your nerves shifts, where before there was pain, now there is only pleasure. Each brush of the bed sheet or your slip on your skin feels like a lover’s caress and you moan as the fiery tension begins to build in your core. It quickly reaches its peak and you wail in blissful relief as your eyes roll back into your head, your body collapsing forward against Hood. 

Panting softly, you bury your face into that small space between where his jacket and helmet meet. The small sliver of skin showing floods your senses with his essence. Your tongue slides against his skin, savoring the saltiness of the sweat formed there after his scuffle with the other two men. Already feeling the pleasure in your core building once more, you hum hazily against his neck.

Watching your lurid display, the man in the pointed mask asks, “What have you done to her?” The horrified disgust is obvious in his voice and though you know it is at least partly directed at you, you can’t make yourself care. Not with the drug flowing through your system and Hood cradling you in his arms. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I swear. She’s the one who told the Joker about my mom and how to lure me to that warehouse the night he killed me. I just…I just wanted her to have a taste of the pain, the hell, she put me through. But I never wanted this.” 

“What happened?”

“I paid Ivy to make a new toxin for me. It was only supposed to give her an unbelievable high with an even worse crash when it wore off. I was planning on giving her a few doses and then letting her go. I didn’t know she was already high when I grabbed her and gave her the first dose. She couldn’t tell me what it was but somehow the two drugs mixed together and altered how she responded to it.” 

You are barely listening to what Hood is saying. You’re annoyed he is giving these other two all of his attention and barely even touching you while the drug is at its most potent. With a frustrated huff, you swing one leg over his beefy thigh and begin grinding against him. Yet Hood barely reacts. His only acknowledgment is to place both hands on your hips to steady you as he continues speaking.

“This stuff was supposed to wear off after a few hours but only…it doesn’t. I tried to wait it out between doses as long as I could, thinking she might eventually come out the other side, but each time she almost died. So now I just keep giving her more when she starts to come down and before the after-effects get too much for her. She wasn’t supposed to go this long between doses, but you two got in my way.” 

“Why does she only respond to you?” The first man who entered the room finally speaks up. “When I touched her, she acted like it hurt her. But with you…” The man glances away as you continue to rut against Hood’s muscular thigh. 

“It’s my pheromones. Ivy said because I’m the one giving her the drug, whatever Ivy put in it is also making her addicted to…well, to me. And when she doesn’t have enough of the drug in her system, my touch helps ease some of the symptoms.” He runs his hand over your hair and it sends a shiver of pleasure through you causing you to tense up around his thigh. “But even that’s not enough. She needs regular doses or she’s going to die.”

“Does she know who you are?”

Hood shakes his head. “No. She's never even seen me with the helmet off.”

 “B, what do we do?” the first man asks.

The man in the pointed mask stares at you for a long time. You continue to grind on Hood’s thigh but you stare back at the man, cocking your head to the side. The familiar feeling you had when you first saw him returns, tickling at the back of your brain. “B” the other man had called him. Ba…Bat…Batman! The name suddenly pops into your blissed-addled brain. But that made no sense. Why would Batman be here? He helps people and you don’t need help. Not now that Hood was back and you had your drug. 

But he continued to stare at you for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he says, “We take her back to the Cave. We’ll see if we can create some sort of antidote or cure for whatever Jason did to her. Hopefully, we can reverse this.”

“And…Jay?” The other man looks anxiously at Hood and you feel him tense beneath you. 

But Hood shouldn’t feel tense. He should feel just as amazing as he makes you feel. You begin to reach for the zipper on his tact pants but he gently pushes your hands away. You look at his helmet, staring at his unblinking glowing eyes trying to understand what he is doing. 

He cups your face—sending another warm bolt of pleasure through you—and he whispers, his voice modulated as always, “It’s okay, baby. It’s all gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Then he presses his helmet to your forehead, his version of a kiss, and lifts you off his lap so he can climb off the bed.

The sudden loss of his presence feels like a bucket of ice water has been thrown on you. The drug is still causing your pleasure sensors to go off like fireworks, but there is an emptiness without him near you. 

“Hood?” you ask, voice trembling as you reach out to him. 

Turning back to the bed, he gently scoops you into his arms and all is right in the world once more. You snuggle into his chest, your fingers digging tightly into his jacket so he can’t leave you again. He carries you past Batman, pausing to give him a slight nod. Then, for the first time in four months, he takes you from your room. 

Three months later, you stand before one of the cells in the Batcave containing the man who not long ago was more vital to you than food or air. Yet as you stare at him, he could be a stranger from off the street for all you knew. You had never actually seen his face since he never took off his helmet, never heard his voice not masked by his modulator. For the first time, you look into the eyes of the man who had destroyed your life and held you captive for so long. 

With a small tilt of your head, you say, “So…you’re Hood.”

Jason Todd nods from his seat on the floor of his cell. “I am.”

You hum slightly, your eyes shifting across his face as you soak in every detail. He’s so much younger than you expected—probably no more than twenty or so years old. The dark hair that falls across his face is marred by a thick streak of white on the left side. His blue eyes bore into yours, and you can tell he’s searching for something, maybe a spark of what you once felt for him or a raw hatred for what he had done. But you know he will find neither in your face. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I’m not sure how much Bruce told you, but he managed to find a cure for what you did to me.”

Jason nods again. “He told me. He said it almost killed you a few times but you’ve made a full recovery.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips. “I wouldn’t say that.” But then you change the subject without elaborating. “Bruce also filled me in on our connected history. Apparently, when I was sixteen, I gave The Joker some information that he used to hurt you.”

Jason scoffs. “‘Hurt’? Is that what he told you?”

“Yes,” you reply. “I’m not doubting this didn’t happen but I don’t remember any of it. But that’s not surprising. Drugs had already taken over my life at that point and I was either high or looking for another way to get high 90% of the time. If The Joker offered me money or drugs, I’m pretty sure I would have done anything I had to to get my hands on it.”

Jason pulls his legs into his chest and wraps his arms around them. “That doesn’t excuse what you did or what happened to me because of it. But—” His eyes dart to your face then to the ground “—it also doesn’t justify what I did to you. I’m so sorry things turned out the way they did. I never wanted to hurt you like that, bab—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t call you that anymore I guess. It’s just that after a while, with us in that room together, I actually fell for you. The things I said, what we did, I meant all of them. I know it’s crazy and you probably despise even looking at me right now, but it’s true.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

Jason’s head shoots up. “You...you don’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I guess I’m supposed to hate you or be disgusted to be standing here in front of you or something, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything when I look at you…because I can’t. Whatever Bruce did to save me from those drugs you gave me, I’m now just numb. Like all my senses were overloaded and now…there’s nothing. I can’t even feel physical sensations. I burnt my hand yesterday making tea because I forgot the kettle was hot.” You hold up your thickly bandaged hand then let it fall. “Luckily, Dick was around and noticed before it got too bad.” 

His face contorts into sheer horror as the full ramifications of what he’s done hits him. Half sobbing, he cries, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…I just wanted you to know how it felt…”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” you say. “And you don’t have to apologize. Like I said, I don’t feel anything. There’s no hate, no pity, no longing, no shame. I’m just…” you hesitate as you search for the words. Eventually, you just shrug. “I don’t know what I am. But Bruce thought it might give both of us some closure seeing what has become of the other so that’s why I’m here. But, honestly, I have nothing more to say. Goodbye, Jason.”

As you turn and begin to walk away, he cries out, “Please!” His hand juts through the bars of the cage as he presses his face against it, his eyes pleading and wet with tears. “Just…can you accept my apology? I know it means nothing to you, but it’d mean everything to me. I can’t…I can’t live with what I’ve done to you without that.” 

He’s right. It doesn’t mean anything to you so you figure why not. Reaching out, you take his hand.

And immediately drop to the floor as an immense rush of pleasure floods your body. Every nerve fires at once and your vision goes white as you come with the most intense orgasm of your life. Not even the combination of the drug and Jason buried deep inside you had ever felt like this. After so long feeling nothing, feeling that much pleasure at once is overwhelmingly euphoric. When your vision returns, you find yourself drooling and twitching on the Batcave floor.

He releases your hand and everything begins to fade until you can’t feel anything again. Yet just as the numbness begins to overtake you, he grabs your hand again sending the overwhelming sensation through you once more. It’s not as intense as the first time, but it still leaves you gasping and moaning in pure bliss. 

“God damn…I can’t believe it worked.”

Slowly, you lift your head to stare at the man still holding your hand. “H-Hood?”

The tears are gone from his eyes, their blue flashing dangerously in the dim light. Slowly, a cruel smile creeps across his face and he coos, “There she is. There’s my girl.” His hand cups your cheek causing your eyes to flutter as heat rushes to your core. “Now, how about we get outta here?”

Tag list: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah, @writercole

@sunshineflowerchild789, @wildbornsiren, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx, @merlehs

[ratlikeclown]

WIP Wolverine x femReader 18+

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled,

“Ya lookin to find out Princess?”

x Deadpool kinda eventually lmfaoooo

FemY/n is mid 20’s - early 30’s

Tw for depression and like drug use mentions ig

🌶️🫵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello 👋 This is the first fanfic that I have written in over 10 years the brain rot is so unbelievably real for wolverine and deadpool rn

its a little embarrassing tbh lmfaoo

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I’m not really sure how to tag this tbh. I’ve never posted on tumblr. . It’s a little spicy and will get more interesting later. I just wanted to toss this small part out for readers to test the waters. Anyway um I’m not experienced writing y/n pov so please be nice.

Your friend, Wade Wilson, couldn’t take no for an answer. You knew that and yet you still had the audacity to tell him ‘no’ three times tonight. And about thirty minutes after you ignored his last phone call there he was, practically knocking down your door. It wasn’t like he couldn’t actually kick in your door, he was just being polite. 

The apartment buzzer went off. You sat up from your position on the couch, hoping he’d just give up and leave if you didn’t acknowledge him. Like a stray cat. Or a crackhead.

“Knock knock~” you heard his voice through the door. “I smell Hot Pockets and sadness I know you’re in there”

Gripping the arm of the sofa you waited hoping he’d have the common courtesy fuck off .You heard the door knob rattle. Dumbass.

With a click of the lock, your door swung open revealing Wade, grinning as he shoved his Baby Knife back into his coat.

“Wade, what the fuck? I told you-“

He clapped his hands loudly, interrupting you.

 “Let’s go Funshine Bear, the nights young and I’m not going anywhere without you” Wade marched past you, straight to your bedroom humming to himself.

“You look awful by the way, we’ll fix you up though.” He clicked his tongue and crooked a finger in your direction. You huffed angrily, sliding off the couch to follow him. 

You stopped in the doorway, almost refusing to step inside. He was elbows deep in your closet drawers, throwing clothes onto your bed, muttering his disapproval at every item he tossed.

You crossed your arms as you watched him. 

“Do you have anything that doesn’t look like you took it from the Walmart dumpster?” He pulled a drawer out from the dresser and dumped it on the floor. “You know the one I’m talking about, right? Where all the coke addicted bronies go to have a bone sess before band practice.”

You crossed your arms as you watched him. “Wade, I’m not in the mood to go out.”

You heard him sigh, but continued to riffle through your things. 

“That’s nonsense, the plot can’t continue with out you. Annnd we made these plans last week.”

He peeked at you from behind the open closet door. “I’m a little worried about you. You aren’t your chipper self lately”

“I’m just tired” You replied dismissively.

It wasn’t like Wade hasn’t been trying to cheer you up in his own way. For the last few weeks he’d text you obscure and quite frankly disturbing memes at 3 AM. Excitedly offer you drugs that he’s pilfered from the his blind roommate- (he knows you don’t do drugs, he just wanted to brag about stealing coke from Blind Al)

He’s also been sending you the strangest X-Men fan fiction. (His favorites were ‘old man yaoi’ including Professor Xavier and Magneto) Usually you eat that kind of stuff up, finding it funny that you knew some of the people that the fanfiction was written about, like a private joke between you and Deadpool. But worst thing he’s done has beencalling you almost every day and attempting to make plans with you, but you always seem to cancel last minute. So yeah, he has been trying. It just.. didn’t help.

Your eyes flickered to your wall of photos next to the closet door.  Pictures of your closest friends and family. Their arms around you laughing, smiling. Pictures of trips and silly outings that meant the world to you. You felt so much guilt and regret looking at them.

Depression was a bitch. It was like a rabid dog that wouldn’t let you get back on your feet. You felt it gnawing at you, causing you to lose interest in everyone and everything. You felt alone. Your eyes fell back to Wade, you watched your friend hard at work trying to match your shoes with a dress he had found. He was clueless. You couldn’t tell him any of this though, it would just make him worry more.

There was someone you did want to talk to though. To tell everything to. Someone that you had grown so close to the last few months.

You missed Logan.

This realization caused your face to heat and anxiety weld up in your chest. You balled your hands into fits thinking about that arrogant jerk. You’ve tried to be a friend to Wolverine. After all this wasn’t his reality. He was your timeline’s replacement. (Idk you should go watch the movie. I’m not explaining it.) and for a while, you thought you were friends.

Lately, if he wasn’t drunk and depressingly moody, he was angry and a massive dick. 

“Y/N? Look a little pink at the cheeks are you feeling OK?” Wade was now standing less than a foot from you, his brows furrowed. You hadn’t noticed him move.

Snapping back from your thoughts by Wades voice, you ran hands over your face as you turn towards the attached bathroom.

“Dude, I told you I’m just not feeling good-” You stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet “I don’t wanna hang out with-“

“Logan?”

“Your friends.” You finished. You felt your face flush deeper at his name being mentioned.

“That’s what I said” Wade followed you to the bathroom, but thankfully didn’t come in. He stood outside while you closed the door. 

“Trust me honey, I know he’s the embodiment of a sentient happiness starved cactus whose father never loved him but-“

You groaned, trying to avoid Wades ramblings you turned the water on full blast, drowning out the remainder of his sentence. You splashed water on your face and ran a comb through your hair. You heard Wade continue talking, almost to himself while also sounding like he was talking to someone else in the room  as well. Someone you couldn’t see. He did that often. It was creepy.

You swung the door open frowning.

“-sometimes he stabs me through the face to shut me up, but I know he does it because he’s not good with words.”

Wade smile faded when he saw your face. 

“It’s kinda hot”

“I don’t want to talk about it Wade.” You sat down onto your bed with a huff despite the pile of clothes and plastic hangers. You stared at your hands. You felt the overwhelming weight of your anxiety in your chest and stomach. Maybe you should go out. Maybe he won’t show up tonight. Maybe-

“You look like you wanna talk about it Friendo.”

Wade joined you by dramatically pushing all the clothes off the bed, making an even bigger mess of your room. He flopped down onto your bed stomach first, propping himself up by his elbows. He kicked his feet and smiled at you.

“I’m all ears.”

“I don’t know how to start” You admitted.

“Start with an ‘I feel’ statement” 

Another sigh escaped your mouth. How did you feel? It felt complicated. You met him a few months ago. At first he was rude and closed off. Then he slowly began to open up, sure you still bickered and fought like cats, but it had playful undertones. (‘Sexy undertones’ Wade had joked) When he was being genuine and open, it felt like you could talk to him for hours. Though he never spoke for too long, he would to listen to you earnestly. Up until a few weeks ago, that is.

“I feel like Logan hates me. I feel like he would rather huff paint thinner than have a decent conversation with me.”

Wade laughed. “Well that’s not true, I can’t get him to huff anything.”

You shot him a look.

“Listen, I invite Mr. Grumpy out every time. But he’s too busy sulking to get fucked up with us. He would rather get drunk and pass out in the floor of the apartment. He probably won’t even show up.” Wade gave you a reassuring look.

“If he does you’re gonna be there with me. We’ll leave if you feel uncomfortable at all.”

He rolled over and sat up, putting an arm around you.

“I’ve just noticed your mood lately I need you to know that I love you.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze.  “-and I miss getting fucked up with you.”

“Will you stab him for me if he’s mean?”

“Of course. I always have Baby Knife on me.”

“Fine. Let me get ready”

He jumped off the bed excitedly.

You pushed Wade out the door to get dressed, pausing in the doorway. “Wade?”

“Yes Friendo?” He turned on his heel

“I love you too bud”

He squealed as you closed the door.

~~~

You never understood why Wade wouldn’t just buy a car. He makes decent money (he doesn’t) and could probably afford a nice one. (He couldn’t) At one point you recall him having a weird hyperfixation with the Honda Odyssey (he fucked Wolverine in one) (allegedly)

Instead, you were climbing into the back of a dirty beat up taxi cab that his friend, Dopinder, drove for a living. At least you didn’t have to walk. Dopinder was a sweet guy, if not a little unhinged every once in a while. 

“You look quite beautiful tonight Miss Y/N” He complimented you as you settled in the back seat. You smiled at him, appreciating the comment. Wade had picked out your dress and you felt a little exposed and out of your element in it. It wasn’t anything crazy, just a slick black dress with a low neck line. The dress was short, ending a little above the knee. The problem was the slit up the side. You wanted to wear tights under the outfit but Wade insisted on fishnets. ‘You look like a goth baddie’  he had assured you, ‘Like a Hot Topic clearance rack version of Morticia Addams.’

Wade hopped in the front and immediately started to flip through the radio channels. Dopinder usually had on pleasant sounding Indian pop music but Wade settled on some heavily censored 90’s hip hop. 

The drive was rocky. Wade, who almost never kept his hands to himself, would grab poor  Dopinder while dancing along to the music causing the cab to swerve. A lot.

Having made it to the bar in one piece, you quickly scrambled out of the back, thanking the young man for the ride. 

Wade waited for you at the door.

~~~

The bar was loud and dark. One of those typical bars you see in movies, filled with moving bodies and cigarette smoke. Music pumped through the speakers with some people lingering near the bar while others swayed on the dance floor. Wade bounced through the crowd pulling you along towards the bar, where his group of friends took up half the bar area. You scanned the crowd nervously. No Logan. Your muscles relaxed, and you moved with a little more energy.

Wade greeted his friends with various enthusiastic greetings and crude gestures. You smiled in greeting and waved at a friend you recognized but sat down on a stool next to where Wade stood, him blocking you from most of the other bar patrons. There was a part of you that was a little disappointed that Logan wasn’t here. It made sense if he didn’t show up here, this bar was honestly more like a club, upbeat and energetic. He’s used to dark depressing dive bars, places you can drink yourself into a coma and not be bothered. But the few times he had shown up here you had thought that he enjoyed your company, for a little while at least. During times when the others were off doing dubious shit somewhere, he’d sit with you at the bar. You even managed to get him to dance with you once. That all changed recently. Something happened that caused him to be distant and often rude for seemingly no reason.

Everyone seems to be so happy to see Wade and he, them. You didn’t really know why you were here. It already felt overwhelming. You used to love coming here. Drinking and dancing, playing pool badly and belting out shitty country music karaoke with everyone. Lately, things have felt different. You’ve lost interest in a lot of the things you use to enjoy, spending your days just working and rotting in your apartment. This was too much.

Wade touched your shoulder causing you to jump.

“Hey we’re off to play some darts you in?” 

You smiled at your friend. “You really wouldn’t want me to play, you’d end up as the dart board.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Sweetheart” Wade laughed, “we’ll be over there if you change your mind.” He made a heart with his hands and turned toward the group already making their way to the play area.

You sat quietly at the counter with a glass of something sweet and strong. You wanted to feel a buzz but you needed it to taste good. Your eyes scanned the crowd, people watching. You watched people dance and sway to the newest Kesha song blaring through the speakers. You witnessed a near fight over a pool game. You heard Wade’s laughter from across the room, his friends echoing along. You felt alone. It was your fault you told yourself. If you wanted to feel better you would’ve gotten up and joined your friends. But here you sat, being miserable on purpose. 

“Hey beautiful, mind if I joined you?” Your head snapped up meeting the face of someone you didn’t recognize. He was good looking, in a vanilla frat boy kinda way. With his backwards hat, sleeveless tank, skinny jeans and all.

But he smiled like a wolf.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to smile politely, but you had a twinge of anxiety growing in your chest. “I’m not really in the mood for company” 

The man smiled motioning to the bartender for a drink. “Can’t I just buy you a drink? “

“Really, I’m fine” You turned back to your drink, your eyes unfocused, hoping that if you just ignored him he’d leave. Your gut flipped when you heard him pull out the stool next to you. He wasn’t leaving.

“Come on babe, I can show you a good time”

“She said she ain’t looking for company bub.” A low voice growled behind you. A beer bottle came down heavily in between you and the creep. Your eyes trailed the hairy but beautifully sculpted arm to its owner, though you already knew who it belonged to. Logan. Even in this lighting you could see his rugged face. His hair was styled in its iconic cat ear shape. His beard was trimmed nicely combined with his thick muttonchops. His eyes were a little hazy but beautiful and dark. You met those eyes for a brief moment, he smirked at you before his gaze flickered to the other man.

 “Well?” He rumbled, barring his teeth.

“Naw, I was here first grandpa, you fuck off.” The frat guy stood up straight, trying to look intimidating.

“Trust me” Logan chuckled. He straightened cracking his knuckles before raising his fists and extending three razor sharp Adamantium claws from each hand.

“You don’t want none of this”

~~~

“You didn’t have to do that” you looked down at your glass avoiding Logan’s gaze. You heard him land heavily in the bar stool next to you. He tapped the counter signaling the bartender who was very clearly avoiding your side of the bar.

“I wasn’t going to have some limp dick creeping on you.”

“I was handling it” 

“You didn’t seem like you were handling anything Princess.” He scoffed.

You shot him a look. He smirked as he chugged his remaining beer, you couldn’t help watch his throat bob as he drank. He finished and loudly set the bottle down. He met your eyes and you looked away feeling your face heat violently.

“You thirsty princess?” He asked as the bartender set down two shots of something before scurrying away. He slid one glass your way.

“No thank you. I have my own drink”

You pushed the glass back his way. He eyed your almost empty cocktail and shrugged.

“Suit yourself” he took the glasses and knocked back both shots simultaneously slamming the glasses back down. After a few moments of silence, where you clearly felt Logan eyeing you the entire time, you sighed.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight Logan.” You admitted. Another beer had appeared in front of him, he took a swig. He eyed you, his eyes slowly trailing from your face down your body. They rested at the slit in your dress, exposing most of your fishnet covered thigh. You felt a ping in your lower belly, causing you to cross your legs uncomfortably. His eyes followed to movement. He licked his lips and met your eyes again smirking.

“Why didja miss me?”

You looked down at the growing piles of shredded napkins you had been anxiously ripping apart. 

“Yes” you said at last. There was no point in lying. You did miss him. Even seeing him now, clearly drinking away his problems, you couldn’t help but feel glad he was there with you. You were glad he scared away that creep, despite his now passive aggressive demeanor. You met his eyes again.

He snorted and tipped the beer to his lips.“You’re a fucking liar”

You felt your gut squeeze with anger. Why was he treating you this way? You didn’t ask him to step in to a play hero. You didn’t ask him for anything. You just wanted to get out of your shitty apartment for one goddamn night. You balled your fists and spun to face him fully.

“What. The. Fuck.” You clenched your teeth annunciating each word bitterly. “Is. YOUR PROBLEM”

“My PROBLEM,” he practically spat the word,

”is that I have to deal with your moody ass attracting the eye of every fucking creep in this place when you very fucking clearly don’t want to be here.” 

You threw your hands up angrily and gestured around the bar. 

“I didn’t want to deal with any of this Logan. I just wanted to go out with my FRIENDS, which I used to think you were one. I don’t fucking know what prick you had up your ass lately, but you sure as hell don’t act like you like me. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”

He was silent for a moment, studying your face, making it turn even redder. Then he laughed. He shook his head laughing and sloppily chugged his second beer.

You had enough. You needed to get away from him. You shoved yourself back, tipping the stool over in the process.

“Come find me when you figure out what you want.” You turned to leave. You made it a few steps before you heard Logan’s voice call mockingly.

“Nice dress by the way” 

You didn’t turn to look at him.

“Fuck you, Logan”

~~~

You ran your hands under cold water, leaning over the sink you splashed the water into your face and sighed. You looked into your mirrored face. This was a disaster.

Maybe if you just stayed in the bathroom you can avoid everyone until Wade was ready to leave. You felt bad that you ran off instead of finding him. You would’ve felt safe with Wade.

Your head was swimming, from the alcohol or the interaction with Logan you couldn’t tell.

The speaker above you crackled playing the opening notes to ‘Dirty Diana’, a favorite of yours. A banger Wade would say.

Without warning the door sung open and Logan stumbled in. 

“You’re in the wrong bathroom you drunk asshole” you snapped. His eyes met yours from a brief moment before he swayed slightly and took a step forward.

He pushed past you wordlessly and began kicking open the bathroom stalls. They were all empty. 

“Dude get out” You gripped the sink behind you, watching Logan warily. You knew deep down he wouldn’t hurt you but you obviously didn’t want him in here with you. He turned to you, taking a step forward.

”I needed to talk to you”

“Yeah, you could have waited til I got out of the ladies room??” 

“No.” he growled before in one swift movement he was in front of you, his arms on either side of the sink trapping you between them. Your breath came out in a shudder and your knees wobbled. This honestly was a thing out of a fantasy, something that you were embarrassed to admit you’ve thought about. You had been fighting your feelings for this big stupid man, stuck between thoughts of friendship and lust. God, he wasn’t helping with the latter.

“Logan”

“I’m sorry” he said looking as remorseful as he could under the circumstances.

“What did you need to talk about that couldn’t wait Lo?” You swallowed, gently lifting your hand and placing it on his chest, pushing lightly. His hands moved to your legs keeping you from pushing him further.

“Ya told me to find you when I figured out what I wanted”

“Yeah” You scoffed. “Enlighten me”

~~~

“I want you”

Logan leaned over you, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His fingers dug in lightly, the movement making your legs feel like jelly. You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. He was so firm and warm under your hands.

His face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable in the low lighting. You smelled the smoke and alcohol on his breath.

“God, do you ever suck on anything other than Wade’s dick and cheap cigars?”

He leaned in close to your ear and growled, 

“Ya looking to find out princess?”

You felt a ping of desire sink into your lower belly as his hand moved from your waist.

Shivers went down your spine as his hands slid up your torso coming to a stop right below your breasts. One of his thumbs brushed upwards lightly, teasingly.

You sucked in a breath as he lowered his face to your neck and brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin. His facial hair tickling your jaw.

“Logan, you’re drunk.” You croaked out, pulling away slightly, your hands sliding from his shoulders. He moved with you.

You felt his lips brush your skin again, another kiss, before his thumb slid upward against your breast. Fuck. The wet heat between your legs was unbearable. You needed some sort of friction. You definitely noticed the pressure from his pants pressed against your stomach. So close, you just needed anything. You bucked your hips against his, almost involuntarily, causing a rumble to escape his throat. His thumb stroked again.

“That’s a good girl” His head bobbed lower dragging his tongue down as he kissed your neck. You could feel him smile as he sucked the skin of your collar bone in a way that would definitely leave a mark. Holy Hell. What was happening.

You were sick of your neck getting all the attention as you reached up to take his face in your hand. He practically melted at your touch, his breath hitching as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. You wanted him, needed his mouth on yours. You pulled his face up, a little roughly, to meet your gaze. You thought you heard him let out a little surprised chuckle from the movement. His eyes were half lidded as he met yours. He was drunk, and you realized, so were you. You leaned in, your lips feather light against his-

You jumped at Wade’s voice from the other side of the door, calling for you.

Shit. You dropped your hand away from his face.

Logan growled, low and angry. He abruptly took his hot hands from your body and leaned his head to your ear, you felt his lips against your skin.

“Some other time then, darlin’.” He pulled away from you swaying slightly, before grabbing his beer from the counter and yanking open the bathroom door.

~~~

Anyway, thanks for reading. I guess I don’t know if this is any good and I will be posting the rest on Ao3 eventually

[zeltqz]

𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST.

♱ SECTION ONE

pairing. ex!ran x reader

length.

authors note. the long awaited series lmaoaoaaoaoo. if you read it before i took it down, wipe that shit from ur memory pls lol. i changed a lot up so don't try and remember anything from the previous version bc it's not the same <3

♱ SECTION TWO

SYNOPSIS. Bonten is forming and in the midst of it, you find yourself caught in the sticky webs of your ex-boyfriend and current Bonten executive, Haitani Ran.

GENRE. exes to lovers, crime, love triangle, porn with plot, unhealthy relationships, post-breakup, flashbacks to past relationship, bonten timeline

WARNINGS. please proceed with caution: heavy adult content, violence, drug use, criminal activity: gambling, prostitution mentions, etc.

♱ SECTION THREE

taglist form to be notified when each chapter drops.

CHAPTER LIST

Chapter One 7.9k words

content. angst, first meetings, mentions of alcoholic mother in rehab, drinking mentions, bonten timeline, smoking mentions from Ran in flashback

Chapter Two 7.2k words

content. smut, smoking, fluff

Chapter Three 5.2k words

content. pretty mild chapter, not many warnings

Chapter Four - 5.5k words

content. smut (again #noshameatall), mentions of violence; bruised eye, busted lip and concussion, more smut...but less detailed near the end, mentions of gangs

Chapter Five - 5.4k words

content. NSFW!!! prositution work, reader has a gun put to her head, minor violence

Chapter Six - 7k words

content. smoking, mild drug use, SMUT, mentions of past alcohol addiction, murder/implied death threats

Chapter Seven - 9.6k words

content. buckle up guys, there's a LOT. detailed drug descriptions gun play; shion puts a gun to rans head, TW FOR DRUGS!!!! reader does drugs, sanzu injects drugs like a lunatic, mentioned whorehouse, gambling, sanzu and mochi talk badly about women so tw objectification.

08. -> to be posted

09. -> to be posted

more chapters tba

[astayinwonderland]

Thinking of yandere!namjoon— he knows you are his soulmate

pairing: namjoon x f.reader

genre: yandere | smut +18 MDNI

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ but contains toxic and stalker behaviour (not healthy).

tw: mentions of drug use

enjoy!(;

yandere!namjoon who fell in love with you as soon as he saw you smiling that summer afternoon. you walked by with a group of friends but who is that idiot who follows you closely and dares to put an arm around you?

yandere!namjoon who leaves an anonymous note on your car that leads to find your so-called boyfriend in a compromising position with his so-called friend you deserve so much better

yandere!namjoon who carefully follows you home at a safe distance but notices your fellow companion won’t walk with you anymore mission accomplished

yandare!namjoon who casually stretched his arm to reach for a book— the book you were reaching out for…what a perfectly planned meet cute you’ve been checking out this same book from the library for the past three weeks

yandere!namjoon who for your first date cooked you dinner and danced with you under the stars, finishing the night with you asleep in his arms. the translucent power he slipped into your drink making effect not to do anything inappropriate, but to make sure you started getting used to sleep with your true love

NSFW

yandere!namjoon who couldn’t hide his erection from you when you hugged him tightly but you are so perfectly made for him you decided to help him out. he never understood the hype of getting his cock sucked until you, his precious darling. “fuck, baby it f-feels so g-good, keep doing that… don’t. fucking. stop.”

yandere!namjoon who likes to tie you up and ruin you. your eyes fill with tears as a result of the out-of-this-world pleasure only he can give you. no one else would ever be close. “is it too much, baby? look at me… i love you. i. love. you.”

yandere!namjoon who feels the most alive when he is inside you. your cries, pleas, moans, curses fueling him to never let you go. your pussy clenching for his cum is more than enough to spill into you his release. your eyes consumed by lust is the best thing that has happened to him— that is until you said “i love you”

yandere!namjoon who slowly but surely gets you addicted to the way he makes love to you. you can’t seem to recall a time where it was not him inside you— and you need him every. single. day if possible. he makes sure to put in your drink a couple of drops of the aphrodisiac drug he hides so well. you have been tired, you need the encouragement as much he needs you.

yandare!namjoon who hugs you tightly while you sleep. keeping and eye on how your chest rises and falls… he can’t believe he is this lucky to have you. he can’t wait for you to wake up and do it all over again.

[marrrrss]

dad! Voight x Kid! Reader request —

Voight has to deal with a traumatized kid he recently took under his care. Maybe he brings them to the department and they see someone/something that freaks them out so he calms them down <3

♡ no pressure. you don't have to do it if you don't want to.

Next time call me kiddo

Dad! Hank Voight x Kid! Reader

Fluff

Summary: request

TW: kid has some traumas pills, drugs, alcohol (mentioned)

Writers note: did a minor minor tiny tiny change to the request. Enjoy!

Word count: 1306 words

**english's not my first language**

(Gift's not mine)

Y/n. A teen that was found by the intelligence team of Hank Voight during a case. Drugged and beaten up by her parents. Addicted to pills and alcohol. Since a small toddler watching the parents drugged as hell and the dad beating mom. The dad got busted by his drug deal buddies and the mom went in with him due to being into the drug deal with him. Love in sickness and in health and drug deals.

The interrogation of the dad made Hank's blood boil. Not literal.

"you know y/n is going into the system right? You and your lady will die in a room smaller than this" the agent says with his rough voice pointing around the interrogation room

"y/n was supposed to never happen. The kid drugs herself? Then what. It's on the family blood" the dad says with a grin making Hank's vision becomes red. Red with anger. It takes everything to not kill this guy in this interrogation room.

This was 4 months ago. Hank chose to take the kid in instead of seeing the kid going through the system and never getting out or getting the help y/n needs. Or probably what would happen. Ending up in the streets getting the addiction worse.

For the past 5 months your life changed completely. School, rehab, therapy. Repeat. Even if you wanted to find anything around Hank's house nothing was around. Hank hide all the alcohol and medical pills to make sure no relapse would happen (of course not your mental health medication).

Hank became the family you never knew you had or deserved. He gave you a safe space , a shoulder to cry on and a group of people that care for you. More than you ever thought.

One evening you leave school earlier because one of your teachers got sick. Hank was supposed to go pick you up but as you left earlier you walked to the station that wasn't too far away.

Getting there you great Trudy and ask her if you can go up to intelligence which she with a "go on, and don't bother them!".

Entering intelligence you notice the space oddly quiet and empty. Getting further into the unit you see the border full of pictures of probably a case and you freeze when you see the photos of what you assume are the dead people on the case. Blood all over their face or Simply pale. Freaking out you get back downstairs and leave going home . 'why didn't I call him' goes Trought your mind as you walk back to Hank's home. 'Damnit I should have called or texted before appearing announced on the station'

As you enter the home, back in the station the team comes in from a case scene.

"Voight, Y/n came around" Trudy says as intelligence team enters the station

"what do you mean she came around?" Voight asks raising an eyebrow getting closer to the front desk

"she said one of her teachers got sick or whatever. She went upstairs but then left and without a word"

"did she say where she went? Wait she went upstairs?" Voight asks trying not to panic

" she didn't. And yeah she went upstairs to wait for you" Trudy asks now getting worried too

"damnit I'll be back" Voight says leaving again, now alone letting his team standing in the station entry looking at Trudy, questioning what's going on.

He knew you would be home. It was the only place you would be. As he parks the car in front of the house he rushes in, questioning if you say the case photos that he was working on.

"y/n!" He says getting inside the house, closing the door behind him.

As he turns to the living room he spots you looking blankly at the TV that was on in a random Chanel.

He knew that look.

The look of freaking out. Like he saw when he got you out of your parents house when they got busted. When he went to see you at the hospital after you got treated and he told you he wanted to take you in so you didn't go through the system . The look when you started taking your mental meds. The look when you were tempted to relapse. The look when you had the first nightmare in the house and he helped you calm down. The look when he got hurt on his hand on the job and you saw when he got home. The look that he hated seeing on you so much.

"hey" Hank says quietly as he sits next to you. "Teacher got sick uh?"

You nod slowly answering him yes.

There was a long pause before y/n says in a low and unstable voice "those people... The... Board on the station with uhm... The victims... Is the-" a big breath is taken "-do y'all have a lead on the killer?" The kid asks in a shaky voice. The images of people with shots in the head. Blood in their faces. Black eyes. Pale faces. Innocent people.

"we have a lead. The team is taking care of it. You could have called.... I had picked you up kiddo" voight was fighting not pulling you into a hug. Trying to give you space but the look on your face . The panic was killing him. "Next time call kiddo. I don't want you to see this things"

"I'm sorr-" your cut off by Hank "don't say you're sorry for fucks sake. You came in and saw it. It wasn't supposed to happen. So next time if you have a dead last period. Call me. I or someone else is gonna pick you up, ok?" The man says caressing your arm before pulling you into a hug.

You hug him back instantly. You felt safe there as you never did. It was still weird having someone carrying for you but you were committed to open up and letting him in. At the end of the day he took you in.

"thank you" "no need to thank me kiddo. I just don't want to see you like this again. You didn't drink or did something stupid, right?" Voight asks worrying you might have relapsed .

"no no. Promise I didn't" y/n says as they break the hug. "I didn't and I won't."

"alright I believe you. And I'll talk to your therapist to advance your appointment to this week instead of next week. Ok with you?"

"yeah- yeah.. thanks" y/n says looking down

"I need to go back to the station. I promise I'll close the case ok? The person who did it will pay" he says reassuring you the person who did it

"I know you will"

"will you be ok alone?" He asks getting up from the couch looking down on you.

Yeah I will, Thanks" y/n says looking up at voight

"When I leave the station and close the case I'll text you. And will bring take out for dinner. Any requests?"

"That burger place we like close to the station?" A hint on y/n face appearing. As a mirror it appears in Voights face.

"got it. The usual from that place. I'll go but please... Anything... Even just bugging me on work. Text or call."

"I will. I learned my lesson today." A chuckle excaped y/n lips as she says it.

"you sure did. See you at dinner, anything call me" Voight smirk smashed in his face. Y/n will be fine. He starts walking to the front door leaving .

He walks to his car still worried about you but he knew that getting that guy would make you ease a bit . Everything would be alright in the end of the day. It always did.

The End<3

[mj-iza-writer]

Tw: drug abuse mentions.

Whumpee shyly walked into the pharmacy and wandered around a little before they got brave enough to go to the counter.

"HI, uhm, I'm here to pick up my script", Whumpee tried to hide their shaking. Why couldn't the normal pharmacist be here, the one that knew them. Not this new person.

"Name?", the pharmacist grunted.

"Whumpee", they were quick to answer.

"Ah yes, you have a flag on your account for drug abuse. I'm not able to give these to you", they looked up.

"But I have a text they are ready. I need those", Whumpee pleaded, "please, I-I have someone who keeps me on track, and my Doctor checks on me regularly. I'm getting better."

"No", came the reply, "I'm not given these out to you."

"Okay", Whumpee whispered, they looked down to hide their quivering lip.

Whumpee left the pharmacy and waited outside for a few minutes wondering what they should do.

They only had one more pill left for tomorrow. Caretaker was out of town for today and wouldn't be back until way after the pharmacy closed.

"Should I call Doctor", they looked at their phone.

"I don't know what else to do."

Whumpee dialed the office number.

"Hello this is Triage, how can I help you?", someone answered.

"HI, uhm I'm Whumpee. I really need to talk to Doctor. I'm having a problem", Whumpee's lip quivered again.

"Yep, they're right here, give me one second", the Triage person heard Whumpee's voice break.

"Whumpee?", a concerned voice came on a few seconds later, "are you okay? What's going on?"

Whumpee started to cry, and talk really fast, "I'm at the pharmacist... it's a new person.... they won't let me g-get my script bec-because of my past w-with drug abuse. And I told them I needed it.... I only have one more."

"Okay Whumpee take a deep breath for me" Doctor requested, "it's okay, where is Caretaker at?"

"They are out of town for a meeting", Whumpee mumbled, "please help me, I only have one more pill left", Whumpee's voice broke again, "I don't want the voices to come back. Please help me."

"Okay", Doctor sighed, "it's okay, I'm annoyed at the pharmacy not at you. Are you okay if I put you on hold and call them to straighten this out."

"Yes", Whumpee shook, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. I'll get this all straightened out for you, just stay on the line for me okay", Doctor waited for Whumpee to agree, then put them on hold.

"These freaken pharmacist", Doctor grumbled as they looked through Whumpee's chart to find the phone number, "always getting in my way, and messing with my patient's care."

"Hello, Pharmacy, how can I help you today", someone answered.

"Hello, this is Doctor. I just received a call from one of my patients. Are you withholding their medication?", Doctor frowned, "I would hope not, they do in fact need that medication to stay on track with their mental health. It is also highly illegal to withhold medication without cause."

"I believe you are speaking of Whumpee, they were just in here. They have a flag on their account for drug abuse. This script is a fairly addictive controlled substance", the pharmacist explained.

"Yes, it's a controlled substance.... that's why I control it. They get a certain amount for a certain amount of time, and then they get a refill. They come in and see me every few weeks for a follow-up. They also have someone who monitors their medication for them."

"You are not helping them at all right now withholding their medication. They are terrified right now that they won't get it, and they will regress again. They literally called me crying", Doctor continued, "I am reporting you for harassment as well. That alert isn't there for you to play drug monitor, unless they are trying to get extra pills or showing signs of active addiction. I am going to send Whumpee back in, and I will remain on the line with them during their transaction. If you still withhold that script, you will have serious problems with me and law enforcement. Am I clear?"

"Yes", the pharmacist gulped, then heard the click of the phone being hung up.

"Whumpee?", Doctor came back on.

"I just spoke with the pharmacist. Everything should be straightened out for you. Please keep me on the line, though, so I can listen in. I don't want you to get hassled by them", Doctor's voice had gone back to their nice patient care voice.

"Yes Doctor, thankyou so much", Whumpee cautiously went inside and to the counter.

"Pi-pick up for Whumpee please", Whumpee was too scared to look at the person again.

The pharmacist gruffly handed over the script and took the payment.

Whumpee thanked them, then quickly left.

"They didn't seem friendly", Whumpee whispered to Doctor.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, hopefully next time the normal person will be there so you won't have any issues", Doctor stated.

"Thankyou for helping me Doctor, I'm sorry that I bothered you though", Whumpee sighed.

"Don't worry about it", Doctor smiled, "I'm here to take care of you...even if that means keeping the pharmacist in line. What are you up to now? Do you feel okay mentally, or should I call a police officer to come get you and bring you here?"

"No Doctor, I'm okay, I'm just going to walk home right now. I may stop and get some food though", Whumpee started to walk. They hid the medicine in a bag.

"Okay that sounds good", Doctor grinned, "let us know if you need anything else, I've got a few patients to see. I'll see you next week."

"Okay thankyou so much", Whumpee quickly thanked them before they hung up with each other.

A bit later Whumpee heard Caretaker come into the house.

"I'm home Whumpee", Caretaker called, "I heard you had a problem at the pharmacy today."

Whumpee peaked out from the kitchen and frowned.

"I did. It was embarrassing, demeaning, and unfair", Whumpee's lip started to quiver again, "and... and.. and... I didn't ask for these problems", Whumpee looked at Caretaker when tears started to fall, "I-I just want to be okay", they pleaded, "why do I have to beg to be okay?"

"I know Whumpee, I'm sorry", Caretaker held their arms out, "would a hug help, or would you prefer not to be touched?"

"I would like hug please", Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker smiled as they walked over and wrapped Whumpee in their arms.

"It's okay, I know it's hard right now, but their will come a time when you will be okay. Your drug abuse will be left far in the past. You may have to take the medication still, and that is perfectly fine, but it won't seem as big of a deal as it is right now. You may be able to live on your own even, but if not, I am always here. I will happily take care of you, I promise."

"But what if you get tired of me?", Whumpee rested their head on Caretaker's chest, "what then?"

"Tired of you? I don't think that's possible Whumpee", Caretaker chuckled.

"It is", Whumpee sighed.

"Nah! Not me at least", Caretaker squeezed a little tighter, "how about I get your medicine put away, then we can get started on dinner."

Whumpee nodded, "just a minute more on this hug please."

"Of course Whumpee anything for you", Caretaker chuckled.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 3

Summary: Without the red smoke to help you through rehab, you begin to experience thoughts and feelings that you never had before. It gets worse before it gets better, but don't worry. It DOES slowly get better.

Check out the other parts here. Also, check out Part 2 to my Incorrect Quotes if you haven't already. The Smiling Critters Space Riders AU belongs to @onyxonline. Enjoy!

TW: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Injury, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Mentions of murder, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Self harm, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing, LOTS of negative thoughts, Implied Abuse, Conditioning

----------

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been imprisoned at the heretics’ main space station for. Based on the lines scribbled in your journal, and what those healers and heretics told you, the closest timeline you could estimate was a month and a half…

Could be more…

In your defense, being in and out of consciousness because of not only healing from your wounds but dealing with your hellish headspace gave you no chance of keeping track. You weren’t sure if you TRULY wanted to know how long it’s been though…

Some of your wounds, at least, have healed. If you weren’t wearing those power mufflers, all your wounds would have disappeared a long time ago. But, no.

Those heretics just HAD to insist you heal the hard way. It is bad enough that those healers and their knights were watching your every move on the cameras. There was no nook or cranny in your accommodation that wasn’t under constant surveillance. They didn’t even try to be discreet about them. What’s worse is that now you had your whole body, head, and face exposed, especially to the people hellbent on killing you. They didn’t even deserve to have a face to associate with the Archangel. It was for your own good, they said. All that did was leave you with voices in your head screaming at you to get out, run, and hide from those prying eyes.

So what if there were a few instances where you tried to scratch yourself until you were satisfied with the red on you? You just needed a way to stop yourself from feeling these weird feelings. It’s leaving you weak. What would the Prototype say if he saw you showing such weakness when you were raised better than this? The scratching never went as far as it did the first time, though and it would never be like that ever again. Not on the heretics’ watch. They would always intervene before the first sign of red.

You spent a lot of time thinking about the perfect escape plan. You would get those power mufflers off, destroy those cameras the first chance you get, create a void, (maybe kill a few heretics along the way to send a message), and make an easy escape back to the prototype. It’s just… you could never muster any energy to go through with your ideas. You hated that you grew so lazy and weak when no prison was able to keep you contained in the past.

What happened to you?

Where was your energy to fight back, to make those heretics pay for what they’ve done to you…?

But…

Why save you?

Probably to interrogate you, torture you for ALL the intel concerning your God, and once they get everything, kill you. They can sure as hell try, but you’d rather die than betray your God and family like this!

You groan, cradling your pounding head with one hand. You slide down against the wall. Even though you've been clean for some time now, but you're still trying to get used to this red smoke free headspace of yours. Now you're just left sitting with thoughts and feelings you never had to sit with before, and you hated how much it consumes you. You wished you had the red smoke to help you through this, to make you forget these feelings, to go back to normal. But the Prototype never came back for you… no rescue parties were made for you as far as you know.

A few healers and knights argued that if he really wanted you back, he would’ve come get you by now, but he didn’t, and none of your “friends or family” did either, so you might as well get used to being here. You reminded them every single time that you don’t have “friends” nor are you selfish enough to need any. The Prototype was all anybody needed. You had that argument about 26 times before you stopped. There was no point in continuing this fight if they just refused to see any sense.

You hated to admit it, but...

Maybe they're right.

Not once, in the entire time since you’ve been separated from the Prototype was he there when you needed him the most. Your chest and the back of your eyes burn. Your vision goes blurry. You clench your blanket draped around your shoulders and take a few deep breaths until the burning sensation is smothered, and your vision clears up. You are NOT going to let weakness consume you.

Not now.

Not ever.

Not as long as you’re at the mercy of the heretics.

----------

Here you are, three months deep into your rehab program, sitting on the floor, and studying another one of Bubba’s “philosophy books” as he called them. He gave you some so that "you weren’t left pacing back and forth in a cell or being stuck with your thoughts all day." Granted you do try to do a few exercises to build your strength back. You discovered it was the best way to distract your mind from the mere thought of desiring red smoke. At least the books give you more to do in your cell.

To you, it was all heretic propaganda to stray the weak-minded away from the divine truth. It was still intriguing to study about, all the same. Besides, if you're going to be staying with the heretics, then now is a good time to start learning about their world and culture. As much as you hate to admit it, you're beginning to understand why many heretics find these kinds of teachings appealing. Not only does it go against everything the Prototype preaches, but there were so many teachings to choose from. How do the heretics even know which teachings are true? How do they know which teachings they should follow for the rest of their lives?

It was all so strange.

Back home, there is only one absolute truth: everything that happens in the galaxy is thanks to the Prototype. He’s the eternal source of happiness, of wisdom, of strength, of a second chance at life. He is in control of all. He gives his people his gifts, and in turn, they serve him. They devote their lives to him. To not believe in this truth would mean certain death.

In the heretic world, it seems it is up to the individual to shape the world in their image. Apparently, to discover the truth, you have to be willing to question everything. But how do these heretics expect to survive if they're expected to find their own happiness? How can they be trusted to take control of their lives when they don't fully know whether they made the right decision or not? How are they able to peacefully co-exist despite their differing beliefs?

Perhaps it's something you can clarify with the Space Riders when they come in for yet another visit. They've visited you quite frequently, but it was all so strange. They never asked you anything about the Prototype or the cult. In fact, the topic of conversation was always about… you. They would ask what you have been doing in “rehab” as they call it, how you are managing your red smoke cravings, what you have learned, how are the books (in Bubba’s case), and possible arrangements that are to be made once you are back in their custody. When they exhausted those topics, then they would make conversation with you...

Er...

...More like they would TRY to make conversation with you and you would give short answers. Sometimes, you wouldn't say anything at all. They never forced you to speak, nor did they ever punish you for being insubordinate. Instead, they just moved on to a different topic. This was something you never understood, but maybe they just want you to let your guard down long enough before punishing you.

The echoing of footsteps gets louder and closer to your cell, pulling you away from your thoughts. The seven Space Riders greet you, make themselves comfortable in front of your cell, and begin with the usual questions about you. You bite the bullet and decide you might as well entertain them.

[spideysgeorg]

Ok we’re doing some Hobie hcs bc we need some good food around here. Tw for past abuse, sexual abuse (not on him), mentioned pet death, foster care, dystopian themes, drug use

Hobie is technically a missing person. He escaped from an abusive foster home when he was 12 and was unhoused for most of his adolescence.

He does actually own the crappy boat he lives in, only because it was given to him by an older unhoused friend who had gotten it on the cheap and had been trying to convert it into a permanent home but sadly died before it was fully finished. Hobie finished the conversion himself and has lived there since, largely undetected except by the select few people he wants to be able to find him.

He loves children and animals and is extremely good with them. He never baby talks to actual babies/little kids but hand him a kitten and he gets all mushy lol

He doesn’t eat meat because despite very much enjoying killing fascists, the PM’s smashed head looked like mince and he thinks about it all the time. He has absolutely no trouble shedding blood and guts but a bloody steak will make him straight up gag. He eats fish tho

His boat has a clan of “feral” cats that wait around on the deck for him to come home bc he feeds them even if he doesn’t have enough for himself. It’s a little bit dangerous to always have a NYAAAAAA alarm any time the cats hear him web sling in but he refuses to shoo them away. They aren’t technically his cats but when one of them dies he has to hide how torn up he is about it (because cats are smaller and more innocent and more trusting and more free than he can ever be)

He struggled with opiate addiction from a severe depression he went through during the period of time when he stopped being Spider-Man. He got clean and has stayed away from pills since (he won’t even take paracetamol) but smokes weed he grows himself in a closet to curb persisting urges. Also cigarettes. He tries not to overdo it with booze either but isn’t always successful. (If you don’t know about him having the Sam Raimi Spider-Man 2 quitting canon event, it’s in the web of life and destiny scene where all of them are looking at their respective canon events)

Hobie is extremely compassionate and it affects the way he does his work as Spider-Man. He allows certain things to happen that other Spideys wouldn’t and he’s vocally in opposition to the other Spideys’ brutalization of people committing crimes of desperation. He believes that crimes like theft are a symptom of a greater societal disease. He’ll interject in instances of violent robbery or mugging and things like that but only to ensure that the victims are safe, then determine the root cause of the attack and try to offer the perpetrator some direction. Sometimes the cause is hunger, addiction, or another unmet need. Hobie is much more willing to help them with that than have them thrown in prison. He doesn’t do that with rapists though, he kills those on sight. 🖤

Hobie has trained himself to look casual even though he’s always struggling with hyper-vigilance. He knows he doesn’t even need to keep that close attention on everything—that’s what spider senses are for—but he still takes note of all exits in a building, takes the seat against the wall, and analyzes the body language of everybody he sees for potential danger.

He’s also very emotionally intelligent. While he doesn’t show strong emotions outside of his Spider-Man persona very often, if ever, he can read everybody else’s without them even knowing and act accordingly. Sometimes he does this to prevent conflict, and other times he does it to cause conflict lol

He hasn’t cried in years but doesn’t consider that to be a “win” because sometimes he needs to cry to vent the extraordinary pressure of his place in the world and just can’t. His music is essential to keep him from completely spiraling since he has no other form of release.

He’s all for sexual liberation and consensual parties doing whatever they want. However, he doesn’t do casual sex himself. He needs to really bond with someone before he even wants to get intimate like that with anyone. This can be a problem because despite having quite a large social circle, he feels emotionally isolated in the same way that Gwen does, scared to bring anyone too close for fear of getting them killed.

His attraction and gender expression are pretty up in the air, though he doesn’t identify as trans and keeps he/him pronouns. His stance is that all that shit about gender norms was made up a long time ago and forced on everybody else and he’ll be damned if he lives out somebody else’s plan for his life.

Hobie is a singer in the same sense that cereal is technically a soup. He’s lucky his guitar skills are crazy bc his vocal range is really limited. Punk music works out for him like that—he doesn’t have to actually sing well for it to sound good. He actually likes all kinds of music but punk is the one he’s most comfortable actually performing.

He takes extremely good care of his hair and makes most of his body care/cosmetics himself because the cosmetics industry is indescribably evil. If he HAS to buy product, he only gets from black owned sources. Otherwise he mostly steals drug store lipstick and nail polish or calls dibs when his friends do their bi yearly dumping of their crusty purses and all the half-crushed expired makeup falls out with the crumbs and loose aspirin tablets lmao

[takami-takami]

Masterlist

(Order: newest top –> oldest bottom)

Writings

🪽 sugar confectionary

You Keep Sawdust for Starlight. || gn!reader. comfort.

Anew. || gn!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. loss of wings and regrowth. nightmares. keigo tends to your wounds. blood description.

Like Idiots. || gn!reader. fluff. pining like idiots. keigo is a pain in the ass. the reader is worse. i had fun with this.

A Dog Unfed. || gn!reader. angst. hurt/comfort. animal abuse analogy. discussion of drugs and cravings. be warned and avoid this if you need. sorry for spoiling the subtext lol, but it needs a tw. though, i encourage you to apply this however you feel it apply. perhaps we all have a dog.

Happy Birthday. || hawks. severe angst. hurt/no comfort. very grotesque trauma reaction. emeto. blood. ptsd. i cannot stress enough to be careful and avoid this if it's triggering.

Roost and Repair. || gn!reader. comfort. anxiety (could be from anything). keigo taking care of you.

Father. || gn!reader. angst. reverse hurt/comfort. past abuse. substance use. trauma.

Pet Shop. || gn!reader. fluff. you and keigo visit a pet shelter to adopt! so cute!

I Think I Love You. || gn!reader. fluff. keigo is in denial. tooth rotting fluff.

Sanctuary. || gn!reader. comfort/fluff. stressed reader. long days and loving arms. keigo is good at massages.

Alley Cat. || gn!reader. hurt/comfort. ptsd. trauma. panic. abuse. breathing exercises. genuinely be careful.

Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home. || gn!reader. angst (with a happy ending). breakups. keigo's trauma because i can't give this man a break and he needs to heal.

Nightmares. || gn!reader. angst. reverse hurt/comfort. ptsd. trauma. self harm. nightmares. touch starved!keigo. be careful and know your limits!

Let Me Take Care of You. || gn!reader. hurt/comfort. brief unhappy childhood/life mention. keigo making you feel safe if you'd just let him :(

🪽 spice cabinet

Like a Candle at Both Ends. || gn!reader, but they use a strap. sub!keigo. double penetration with a twist. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. cum as lube. slight feminization (of keigo). slight degradation. some brattiness. face-sitting mentioned.

Fixation. || afab!reader. sub!keigo. reader uses a strap. gratuitous oral. hazy under the pulls of subspace, a needy keigo makes a show of drooling on the strap.

How To Fix the Ache. || gn!reader. virgin!keigo. masturbation. slight primal play. a sexually frustrated keigo goes home to jerk off after your dates, and he's real cute about it. he tries so hard to be a good boy.

Sweet, Sweet Indulgence. || gn!reader. sub!keigo. corrupting the sweet boy till he's addicted to edging himself <3. hand jobs. masturbation. edging. desperation. brief mention of oral.

Crybaby. || gn!reader. dom!keigo. orgasm denial. edging. subspace. dacryphilia. dumbification. some degradation. keigo being mean. chewtoy reader.

Pretty Predictable. || f!reader. dom!keigo. dumbification. degradation. keigo loves you so bad.

Best In Show. || masc petnames. dom!keigo. heavy petplay. puppy play. collaring. oral.

Baby, I'm All You Need. || f!reader. a bit toxic!keigo. he's clingy. <3. a smidge of yandere. dirty talk. abandonment issues. rough sex. degradation. mirror sex. reader is way too into it.

Accidents. || gn!reader. daddy kink. predator/prey undertones. keigo being a meanie.

Can't Help Myself. || gn!reader. rut. breeding kink. biting. keigo getting lost in the sauce and trying (failing) to be nice. he can't help himself :(

Mine, Now. || fem petnames. cuckholdry. steal your girl. hawks is a lovesick puppy and not very nice here but i think that makes him cuter.

Pretty Boy, Pretty Hands. || afab!reader. fingering. excessive hand kink. hint of dumbification.

Thoughts

comfort + angst + fluff drabbles

Cute Things Hawks Does || gn

Hawks Unknowingly Pining || gn

Hawks and Snuggling || gn

Hawks and Sexual Trauma Support || HEED THE TAGS, TW

Hawks Spoils You || gn

Hawks and His Babies || gn

Kei and Makeup || gn, reader uses makeup

This One Is Just Mentally Ill || gn

Caregiver Hawks and Age Regression || gn

Hawks and Paternal Trauma Support || gn

Hawks and Substance Use Support || gn

Hawks and Father's Day Struggles || gn

Hawks Is Patient With Trauma || gn

Hawks Can't Help But Give Kisses || gn

Tell Hawks You Love Him || gn

Hawks Taking Care of You || masc petnames

Hawks Marriage Essay || gn

Sleepy Nights With Hawks || gn

Hawks Alpha Headcanons || gn

Hawks is a Good Alpha || gn

Drying Hawks' Wings || gn

Hawks and His Child Self || gn

Thirsts

smut + suggestive drabbles

Vash

Vash Says Marry Me || fem petnames

Hawks

Hawks Losing It Over You || gn

Hawks and Cock Humiliation || gn

Gentle Sadist!Hawks || gn

Happy Daddy's Day! || afab

Masochist!Hawks || gn

Hawks NSFW Alphabet || gn

Hawks Being a Menace || gn

Hawks Losing His Virginity Thoughts || gn

Even More Post Nut Clarity || gn

Hawks' Hands Are... || gn

Infecting Hawks With Kinks || gn

Hawks Has A Big Cock, Sorry || gn

Hawks and Scent Kink || fem clothes

Puppyboy!Hawks || gn

Hawks and His Pretty Boy || masc petnames

Bottom!Hawks/Pegging || gn

Hawks and Baby Fever || gn?

Hawks and Vibrators || gn?

Meanie!Hawks || gn

Moving On From Yan!Hawks || gn

Hawks and Edging || gn

Hawks and Snowballing || gn

How Hawks Eats Pussy Pt 2 || afab

Hawks' Chewtoy || gn

Hawks and His Bunny || afab

Hawks and Marking || gn

Hawks and Praise Kink || gn

Random Smut Headcanons || afab

Hawks and Post-Nut Clarity || fem, afab

Bully!Hawks Being Mean || gn

What Hawks Is Like as a Yandere || gn

How Hawks Eats Pussy || afab

Not a drabble but here's a penis essay! Yay!

Events

Hawkstober 2023

Masterlist Here!

Hawks Drabble Event

Masterlist Here!

Opinion Corner

He's So Pretty...

What He Calls His Parents

Hawks' Home

Hawks and Loneliness

Hawks Isn't Lying to Twice

Food and Cooking

Concentrated Comfort

On His Playfulness

Hawks is Not Selfish

On the Commission

Hawks is Misunderstood

Go Be Nice To Him Right Now

He Puts His Job First

Why I Like Him

quips i like (mix of sugar/spice)

Post Here

dark content banishment corner

Dark Content Masterlist

[cowgurrrl]

Don't Let This Darkness Fool You

Summary: Joel's journey to sobriety [1.1k]

Author's note: idk how i feel about this

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, ANGST, TW ADDICTION, misuse of drugs and alcohol, mention of Sarah's death and Ellie's time in FEDRA school, chronic pain, symptoms of withdrawal, Joel trying to make peace with his past, happy ending

The first time Joel goes to a meeting, he sits in the back and says nothing. He watches person after person get up and talk at the front of the room like it's the easiest thing in the world. He doesn't move. He can barely breathe in the musty church rec room as he listens to their stories and finds pieces of himself in each. The survivor left to carry on when everyone else died or left; the bereaved parent; the ruthless dealer shaking down clients to make ends meet; the addict.

Joel never felt the need to examine his relationship with substances. He drank and smoked and made bad decisions as a teenager and into young adulthood, which is partly how he became a single parent at twenty-two. After Sarah was born, he didn't have the time or energy to party anymore. Sure, he had a beer or two here, but never anything close to a bender. He always had to wake up for work and make sure Sarah got to school on time. He would just be setting himself up for failure if he drank heavily.

Then Sarah died, and nothing mattered anymore. The FEDRA doctor gave him a bottle of painkillers for the stitches on the side of his head, and he never thought twice about it. At first, it was manageable. A drink here, some pills there. His kid had just died. He was allowed to grieve however he wanted to, or that was his reasoning, at least, when it became harder to get under control. He would go from being fine to the throes of withdrawal and back to the hazy stupor that rendered him incapable of function. It was a cycle. One that Tess and Tommy hated, but he was always sober when they needed him to be, or he tried to be.

That entire year spent with Ellie, he was more scared of what would happen if he did touch the stuff than if he didn't. His objective was no longer how fast he could get his next fix. It was how fast he could get Ellie fed or somewhere safe. When they finally settled in Jackson, he felt like he could relax without the help of a neat whiskey or a handful of menacing white pills. He was good. He kicked his nasty little habit that followed him for decades and cold turkey at that. He was fine. Until the trauma from the previous twelve months finally caught up with him.

His back was permanently fucked up from falling off the horse in Colorado. He got horrible headaches, which were probably the result of one too many hits to the head and neck. His wrist clicked in pain every time he moved it too fast, and he couldn't sleep. The Jackson doctor cautiously prescribed him anti-anxiety medication and painkillers. And goddammit, if those little pills didn't make him feel the tiniest bit better. He could feel the spiral start again but was too scared to voice it or ask for help.

It wasn't until that night when he stumbled home drunk and a little high after a patrol shift and found Ellie doing homework at the dinner table. He slurred an apology, and she eyed him like a dangerous stranger when he sat across from her. They got into a fight. Joel doesn't remember what it was about, but he remembers going to bed feeling stone-cold sober even though the alcohol was still thrumming through his veins. In the morning, Ellie admitted that she hated when he drank because it reminded her of the FEDRA soldiers loudly coming home from QZ bars. Drunk men with authority and weapons are enough to scare anyone, let alone a little girl. Joel promised her it would never happen again, and he fully intended to keep his promise, but he'd be lying if he said it was easy to quit.

His hands shook in pain for the first few days, and he constantly felt sick. He was sweaty and irritable and uncomfortable. It didn't help that the other patrolmen would ask him to join them for a drink after patrols. He almost folded once. He was almost over the threshold of the Tipsy Bison before he doubled back and ended up at Tommy's door, crumpling in on himself from pain and withdrawal. It was Tommy who mentioned something about the drug addict's anonymous support group. "I'll even come with ya." His brother offered as he rubbed his back like Joel was a fussy infant instead of a grown man.

So, that's how Joel found himself white-knuckling his way through a DAA meeting with Tommy at his side. Tommy assured him that everything said in the meeting was privileged and couldn't leave the church doors. Joel was safe to say anything, and he would receive support. Still, he was so scared. He just sat and watched. It would take two more months of tears, sleepless nights, and fighting temptation before he found the strength to walk down to the front of the room.

"Hi, my name's Joel and… I'm, uh," he stumbled. "I'm an addict." He shared the bits of his story he felt comfortable sharing, but his hands wrung nervously the whole time. He was waiting for the room to turn on him or for the world to end (again), but it didn't. He said the worst things about himself and everything was… fine. "I just… wanna do better for my," he breathed deeply. "For my Ellie." He awkwardly thanked the group and moved to sit back down when the group leader, a kind-looking woman named Shawna, stopped him.

"How long have you been sober, Joel?" She asked softly, and he cleared his throat.

"'Bout four months, ma'am." He said, and she quickly turned to grab something out of her bag. Before he could ask what she was looking for, she pressed a dented circle into his hand and smiled.

"Now, it ain't as pretty as the ones back in the day, but you should be just as proud." She said before encouraging the group to applaud Joel. He felt silly receiving the praise, but when he sat back down, he couldn't ignore how much better he felt.

He didn't look at what Shawna gave him until after the meeting. He thought it was a personal thing he should see only when alone. He waited until his boots were off and he was comfortable on the couch before fishing the wonky thing out of his pocket and looking at it. It was obviously made from scrap pieces of metal, and the engraving was all wrong, but the words "4 months sober" still made him beam with pride. Joel stared at it for a few minutes before walking upstairs to Ellie's empty room and scribbling a note on her desk.

When Ellie gets home from studying with Dina and Jesse, she finds the coin on her desk beside a note in Joel's blocky handwriting. It reads, "Every single one is for you. It's all for you."

[poorxsouls]

Yandere Dokugai HCs!!༝༚༝༚✮

Yandere type: sadistic + stalker

!!︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶!!

————————————

TW: cursing, manipulation, stalking, slight/mild gore, possessiveness, gaslighting, sabotaging, mentions/implied drugging, yandere(isk) behavior in general, etc.

CW: Dokugai, Satanick's 10th subordinate. Created by DPS(deepseaprisoner)/Funamusea, mentions of Lec Hijoushiki, Roc Hijoushiki, Lobco, Yagi, STNK(Satanick).

Tags: DPS, deepseaprisoner, Funamusea, okegom, mogeko, okegom x reader, mogeko x reader, Dokugai, Dokugai x reader, x reader, character x reader, yandere, yandere x reader

—————————-

-You really fucked up, the chances of you being save/safe from him is slim to none due to how he always finds you. At first he just had a small crush on you which are common for someone like him, a archdemon, who is very disgusting.

-He normally stalks you by finding out what your body is weak to so he can sabotage your wounds, making them worst, so you can come to him more. Because lord knows that you don’t trust Lec (even thought he’s much more tame) due to Dokugai manipulating you into thinking he’s bad which he is, but he’s definitely better than Dokugai.

-Somehow always pop up in places you normally go to and claims he was just studying stuff to make his “doctor” work look more believable for his “patients” as he calls them then later up ends up having a date with the weirdo demon, or at least he views it as a date. But basing it off Roc’s viewpoint in love with Lobco, Yagi’s past yanderisk behavior he picked up from STNK, and so on, it would ironic if Dokugai actually sees it as a real date.

-Normally Dokugai doesn’t mind sharing or at least adding someone to his relationship, but it’s different with you, you aren’t allowed to look at anyone else unless you want Dokugai to “play doctor” with you which would either end up with your eyes being ripped out or only one. Depends on how jealous he is and how upset he is with you.

-Despite his manipulation, possessiveness, gaslighting, and lying, He is much more honest than the other (yandere) subordinates who would easily be more brutal just because they want to. Because unlike the others, Dokugai doesn’t want to be brutal with his darling unless he must or has a proper excuse for it which he normally doesn’t. Not that doesn’t mind it, if he wanted to, he would willingly get you addicted to the “medicine” he gives you just so you obey him.

-In conclusion? He’s a good boyfriend, but a horrible man in general. You’ll live (if you listen to his surprisingly easy rules). On the yandere scale, he is in the more tame yet still brutal scale next to Lec and Roc due to them being much more tame than the others (especially Lec).

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

-Fin.