#warehouse rigging

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[officetoofficemovers]

Office to Office Movers provides a wide range of moving services in Clinton. We offer moving services such as office moving, library moving, heavy equipment and rigging, and warehouse moving. Our top-notch services are available at reasonable prices Our skilled and experienced team ensures a stress-free move. Visit our website, officetoofficemovers.com for more information.

[glitter-stained]

Prompt:

After Red Hood stopped killing and someone leaked footage hinting that he's the second Robin, he expected to fight for every morsel of territory, for everybody to desert him and the murder attempts to triple.

And, well. It's not like he doesn't find himself in a rigged warehouse on Monday, walking off that one explosion with singes on his back. It's not like on Wednesday, a bullet pierces through a hole in his armour and he's losing half his blood in an alley. And sure, someone takes advantage of him throwing his helmet away on Friday (he was out of grenades and needed a bigger bomb) to fear gass him, but it's fine, he can function normally under fear gass nowadays.

Except. Except nobody deserts him. By Monday, the attempts have completely stopped. He walks into a meeting with his men and sees his goons' hands won't stop shaking, and even his lieutenant won't look him in the eyes.

Jason is confused, and so are the other bats, but soon the rumours reach their ears: you can't go after the Red Hood, because no matter what you do, once you've targeted him it's over, like a dog with a bone, he'll get you eventually- no matter how you shoot or how many explosives you use. It doesn't matter that the Red Hood doesn't kill, because the Red Hood doesn't die.

[emilys-bangs]

baby, if your love is in trouble | e.p

Tags: emt!reader, flirty!emily, blood and injury, established relationship (we won’t question how they went from point A to point B), canon typical injuries, quite a few mentions of blood in this one oops, medical inaccuracies, use of petnames, reader is pissed but emily’s a smooth mf with big brown eyes

Summary: You get called to a scene and find your girlfriend—yet again—all bruised and bloody. She flirts, you don’t reciprocate. Requested here.

Word count: 2.2k

Part one (you don’t have to read it to read this part)

When you arrive at an abandoned warehouse, the last person you expect to see is your girlfriend. The surprise is muffled; you were aware this wasn’t outside the realm of possibility once Emily told you two weeks ago that the unsub they’re hunting is local.

Even in a messy, crowded scene like this, crawling with FBI agents and police officers alike, it’s easy to spot her amidst the chaos. She doesn’t notice you, leaning against a cop car and shying away from a lanky guy who reaches out with his finger, attempting to prod at her bleeding nose. A crumpled tissue is held between her fingers; it’s soaked through with blood, barely an inch of it unblemished white. Emily doesn’t seem to mind it as she glares and avoids the guy’s touch, swatting at his hand with hers.

“It’s not broken, Reid.”

“I’m just saying, it looks a little swollen—”

“Emily.” You say unthinkingly. She turns, her ponytail swishing as her eyes meet yours. 

The first thing you notice is the bruises on her face, a violent galaxy etched around her right eye. The cut on her cheekbone, dried blood crusted around the skin you just recently discovered you loved to kiss. Not the way her brows lift in surprise, her mouth parting to breathe out your name.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is muffled into the hand holding the tissue.

You can’t reply for the nausea in your throat. Emily’s coworker is frowning at you, no doubt mentally tearing this interaction to pieces. It kickstarts your brain into action, practicality forcing its way over the queasy roiling in your stomach. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask him.

He shakes his head.

Jaw set, you meet Emily’s eyes and try to pretend they’re anyone else’s. “Come with me, please.” You say tightly, one hand listlessly extended to her body.

This time, it’s easier to wrestle her into the back of the rig. Emily wordlessly shoves off of the cop car and lets your fingers grip her elbow, lets you drag her to the ambulance and force her to sit on the hard metal ledge. The heat of her eyes follows you as you get your kit, burning holes into your face when you set it down next to her and pinch the sodden tissue she’s holding. Her hand falls away, exposing the bottom half of her face; a blooming cut on her lip stains her chin red.

Your mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Hi,” Emily says again, softly. “I, uh, didn’t know you’d be here.” She tilts her head to meet your gaze.

You don’t let her.

She exhales a low sigh. You ignore it as you toss away the bloodied tissue and scan her face, surveying the damage but not settling on the near magnetic pull of her eyes. What you find is harrowing: bruises on her temple and brow, a black eye, a cut on her cheek. They’re quickly darkening into deep reds and purples, visciously marring her ivory skin. Oh, and not to forget her bloody nose and split lip. Her face is a kaleidoscope of color.

Jesus.

“What happened?” You ask, reaching for the straps of her kevlar. Velcro separates, screeching as you rip the wretched vest off of her body. Shoulders, hips; you free her, then toss it carelessly into the ambulance.

“Can I get a hi first?” Emily retorts tiredly. You finally meet her eyes, the weight of them a physical blow to your gut. The black eye doesn’t help. “Hi?” Her fingertips skim yours.

You swallow thickly. Grab her hand, squeeze. “Hi.” You say back.

A smile flickers over Emily’s face. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m okay, I just got a little banged up.”

A little.

Your lips purse. “What happened?”

Emily laces her fingers through yours. You need to pull away, but you can’t help the way your shoulders loosen under her touch. Her skin is warm, thumb skating over the back of your hand with her head ducked. 

“Doesn’t matter.” She murmurs.

“Emily.” You take your hand back. The movement isn’t quite so gentle; Emily’s brows dip into a frown as she winces, a low curse escaping past her lips. “What?” You demand. Taking her hand again—carefully—your eyes travel until you find a dampness on her shirt sleeve, the blood almost invisible against the navy blue fabric. You cut it off to expose a long cut, the width of her arm, just above her elbow. It’s still bleeding sluggishly, most of it staunched into her shirt.

Nausea stirs again. 

Your jaw is tightly set as you let go of Emily’s arm and snap on a pair of gloves, eyes fixed on your hands and the forceful sting of the elastic. If you look up, if you find the face of the woman you’re half in love with rather than some nameless stranger’s face, you’ll fucking lose it. Already your breathing is shallow, not enough oxygen filling your lungs as you try your best not to breathe in the scent of Emily’s blood.

“Hey,” she says quietly. You let the silence answer as you clean around her cut. It looks deep, deeper than you can manage, but at least it’s clean. Emily’s ragged inhale sours your mouth when you place pressure on it, stopping the flow. Blood blooms on the gauze, and—maddeningly—she still persists. “I’ll be home tonight.” Her voice is only slightly choked. “All on my lonesome. Would you like to keep me company?”

There’s a few things you’d like to do to her right now. You voice none of them.

When you’re certain the bleeding has stopped you grab a roll of gauze, wrap it around her arm. “We could order pizza. Get that cheese crust you like.” The first layer dampens; the second doesn’t. Neither does the third, but you still wrap another layer for good measure.

A low sigh tickles your ear.

“I miss you,” Emily says, velvet soft. 

Work had gotten in the way more than usual these past few days, both yours and hers. You missed her too, more than you think is in any way logical, but you can’t rise to her flirtations when she’s half beaten and bloody. Just the sight of the bruises on her pale face turns your stomach.

You snip the gauze and tuck the end under the layers. Her shirt is in tatters now; you don’t linger on the fact that it was one of your favorites on her.

“It’ll probably need stitches,” you lift your gaze from the bandages around her arm and grab another antiseptic wipe. You don’t mean to catch her eyes. It’s accidental, a stupid move that freezes you in place, stops your hand from meeting the cut on her cheekbone.

Her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline, the black carving out her irises until all that’s left is thin brown rings. And still they’re captivating. Emily shakes her head, tongue darting over her lip. “Honey, talk to me.” She says desperately.

You exhale a short breath through your nose. “What do you want me to say?” You murmur, dropping your eyes from hers and focusing your attention on cleaning her wound. The skin scrunches beneath your touch as she winces; guilt stabs you in the chest. Your heartbeat quickens, the pace of it making your hands shake. Briefly, ever so briefly, your eyes fall closed.

You can’t do this. Fuck, you can’t, not when it’s her.

“I already asked you what happened and you didn’t answer.” You toss the wipe away. Looking down, you take a moment to breathe in before grabbing the antiseptic ointment. She’s fine now, you try to remind yourself. Mostly. At least she’s in one piece.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.” Emily says. Her fingers find your chin; she pinches it gently and tilts your face up, to her tentative smile. It tugs at the cut in her lip. “I’m fine now.”

You can’t tell if it’s profiling or if she can genuinely read your mind.

An exasperated breath parts your lips. “You have a skewed definition of fine.” You huff, dabbing ointment on her cut. Emily’s lashes flutter closed, a frown digging its way between her brows. You bite down on your lips, immediately hating yourself. “Hurts?” You ask quietly.

“Mmm,” she doesn’t verbally confirm nor deny. It’s answer enough. By the time you peel a bandage and are placing it over her cheek she’s opened her eyes. “Maybe you can kiss it better?”

“You’re bleeding.” You say flatly.

“Babe,” she murmurs, frowning as if you’re being unreasonable, “don’t be like that.”

Her too calm tone sparks fire in your blood.

“Like what?” You bite out. “Like someone whose girlfriend is beaten and bloody because of god knows what trouble she was in? How exactly do you want me to act, Emily?”

“Girlfriend?”

You falter. “W-What?”

Emily grins stupidly. “You called me your girlfriend.” Her eyes glitter.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. It knocks over the guilt, the nausea, swarms of butterflies crowding your lungs. God, what are you, fifteen? 

You huff out a flustered breath. “Well, aren’t you?”

You’d had this conversation weeks ago. Not over an intimate, candlelit dinner; rather Emily had found romance in the early morning light of her bedroom. Body warm over yours, she’d grabbed your sleep-pliant hand, murmured into your knuckles if you would be her partner, let her be your girlfriend.

It had taken a few slow blinks of your eyes, chasing the blurriness from your vision and sharpening her tentative silhouette, before you’d said yes.

“I am. It’s just the first time you’ve called me that.” Emily’s arm goes around your waist. Her smile is transcendent and bloody.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you rub at your temple. “I’m still mad.”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly. Her fingers squeeze your side. “Cross my heart.”

The childish promise makes you huff out a humorless laugh. It thins out quickly, dissolves into the air between the two of you.

“You can’t look me in the eye and honestly tell me you’re fine, Emily.” You sigh. This close, you can’t help yourself. You gently cup her jaw, your thumb just shy of the broken skin at her bottom lip. It’s wet with fresh blood, the cut deepening with her careless smiles.

Emily gives you another one. You internally wince, wishing she’d stop. “Okay, well, I’m banged up.” She murmurs, leaning into your hand and blinking long lashes at you. “At least I have you to stitch me back together.”

Stupidly, thoughtlessly, your heart jumps. With no regard for the violence on Emily’s face or the complete lack of privacy of the scene around you. It’s basically your first meeting, reincarnated.

“And if I wasn’t here?” You mumble half heartedly, beginning to crack under her persistent flirtations. “Do you flirt with all your EMT’s or just me?”

Emily gives you a soft smile, a dizzying flash of dimples. “Just you, sweetheart. Only ever you.” 

The saccharine drip of her voice only makes you feel more like shit. Here she is, actually, physically hurting, and taking the brunt of your sour attitude because you couldn’t stand seeing it for yourself. You don’t know how she wipes the pain almost clear from her voice, how she can brave injuries that make you squirm at the thought of bearing them yourself, but somewhere beneath all the worry, there’s awe. 

“That’s reassuring,” you say lamely. You give her fingers a squeeze, attempting to convey what your dry tone can’t as you lean away. “Just please don’t get so banged up next time.” Reaching for another patch of gauze, you gently press it to her bottom lip. Her knee bumps into yours. “You do already have my attention, y’know.” 

A whole lot of it. Who are you kidding, probably all of it is hers.

Emily tucks the gauze into the corner of her mouth. “Like to have it at all times.” She mumbles.

You shake your head, breathing out a slow breath through your nose as the corner of her lip turns up. The ring of bruises around her eye has darkened into purple, capillaries bursting in blooms to chase away the unblemished expanse of her skin. It’s a terrible contrast, unmistakably stark and dripping violence. Still, you try your best not to shy away from her gaze.

“Will you come home with me?” Emily asks again.

You’re nodding before you know it. “Yeah, baby. Is that okay?” It’s a miracle she still wants you around after your wretched demeanor.

“That’s a stupid question, Y/N.” She says, so bluntly a laugh is forced from your lungs. It bubbles past your lips, making Emily’s smile stretch into a beam.

“Don’t fucking do that,” you scold, grimacing when fresh blood soaks the bandage. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot girlfriend.”

It’s no use trying to staunch the blood. Her grin is so wide you discard the gauze and reach for her jaw instead of another one. 

When you finally kiss her, the metallic taste of her blood flooding your mouth, you know you’re in too deep.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi@temilyrights @professorsapphic

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

[wandasslut3000]

Are you desperate for me?

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, car sex, sub!reader, thigh riding, fingering, sex pollen, breast play, marking, praise, cum play, semi clothed sex, mentions of drug trafficking and death.

WC: 2.24k

               ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Wanda are currently in Bari, Italy, on a mission to find locate and arrest a dangerous drug dealer that is rumored to be heading towards London for an important deal.

Your goal is to find his base of operations and destroy his current supply. The suspect in question, Cecil Adams, otherwise known as 'The Count', has been injecting his victims with his test products.

Almost all of them ended up dead within minutes.

"Oh come on."

"It's for the good of the people" Tony said and you rolled your eyes.

"So me and Wanda have to cancel our honeymoon just to find some wack ass Peter Piper? Why can't the police just deal with it?" 

"They've tried, but every officer they sent has come back in a casket. You know we wouldn't have asked you if we didn't need to, but the rest of the team is already assigned elsewhere." Steve informed, crossing his arms and expressing a look of sympathy.

You groaned as you buried your face in your hands in annoyance. Wanda grabbed your hand, stroking the back of it her thumb as an attempt to help you calm down.

"A week in Italy wouldn't really be so bad, just think of it as a last minute change of venue." She whispered and you brought your head up to look at her and her bright green eyes.

"I... alright, fine." You couldn't bring yourself to argue with her, turning back to look back at Tony and Steve.

"You owe us two weeks off after this." Both men nodded in agreement.

Four days into your stay, you and Wanda had found his headquarters, an abandoned wear-house at the edge of the city.

You and your wife are rigging the place to blow. Members of S.H.E.L.D waiting just outside of the property as backup.

Wanda had used her magic to knock out the guards surrounding the area, putting handcuffs onto each of them, and with a snap of her fingers, she'd sent them straight into the secured van.

"You done, baby?" You ask Wanda through your earpiece.

"Everything's all set over here"

"Alright then, just make sure you're safe ok?"

You back away from the building with the remote trigger in your hand, your backpack filled with product in the other, you'd managed to sneak in prior and retrieve some per S.H.E.L.D's instructions.

"I will be detka, are you?"

"I'm safe" You assure her as you take small steps backward and away from the building.

Suddenly you feel a cool piece of metal brace itself against your throat, strong muscular arms wrapping themselves around you.

You sigh, reaching for the man's wrists and throwing him on the ground, the knife in his hand flying into the distance.

You hear him groan before you flip him on his back, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from your bag and putting his hands behind his back, locking him in place.

"For someone who's created such a hassle, you really need better fighting skills." You mutter, Wanda picking everything through the mic.

You cuff him and grab him by his hair, holding his head up. Pulling a chloroform-laced cloth from your pocket, you knock him unconscious.

"Luybov? What happened?"

"We've caught our culprit." You chuckle as you picked the man up, throwing him over your shoulder and heading towards the front of the warehouse.

You set Adams down, his body limp against the cemented ground.

"Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

Boom.

The warehouse erupts into a riot of flames, painting the area in orange and red.

You notice a puff of smoke head in your direction but it's unlike anything you've seen before, it was... pink?

You tried your best to avoid it but you couldn't, the cloud reaching you and the moment you inhaled it, you cough heavily.

Wanda uses her powers to contain the fire and puts it out, red wisps of her magic encasing the remaining smoke, clearing it into thin air.

Once you can finally breathe, you turn to pick Adams up and hand him into S.H.E.I.L.D's custody. A group of agents taking him into the back of the van along with rest of his henchmen.

You hand one agent your bag of evidence, receiving a nod in thanks before they get inside and drive off.

"You alright?" You feel Wanda's hand grab your shoulder from behind you, her voice is laced with so much love and a hint of worry that makes you fall even deeper for this woman.

You nod, turning to face her and wrapping your arms around her neck, pulling her in for a desperately lustful kiss.

The moment your lips make contact you can't help the moan you let out at the sensation. When you pull apart, she noticed how of how your pupils have dilated drastically.

"I think it's time we go back to the hotel, don't you agree?" Your fingers playing with the pendant of her necklace, Wanda smiles back at you and nods, giving you another peck that makes your heart skip a beat.

You'd never felt this needy before.

She brushes her hand past your ear making your breath hitch, disappoint running though you when you realize she was only trying to grab your earpiece, taking her's out right after and putting them in her pocket.

Hand in hand, you both head to car that Tony had lent you for your time here. Wanda opens the door for you, a blush painting your cheeks at her chivalry.

She then heads into her spot in the drivers seat, starting up the car and putting the hotels address in the built-in GPS system.

Once on your way, you feel Wanda's hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You were starting to lose your composure, though the act was innocent, the heat in your pants was becoming unbearable.

"Oh my poor baby," she coos, "I can read your thoughts; they're quite loud."

"Are you desperate for me?"

You feel your eyes shut for a moment at her accent slipping into her words, your thighs clenching at the rasp in her voice.

You grab her hand, bringing it down to your clothed pussy, making her feel how your wetness had already stained through your uniform.

Wanda bites her lip, making a sudden turn, slowing down, and coming to a complete stop in an empty lot. You look at the screen on the dashboard, your hotel a fifteen-minute drive away.

You awkwardly shift towards her, straddling her lap, and reaching to the side for the lever of the seat, pushing it downwards.

She cups your cheeks and kisses you deeply, your tongues meshing together in a familiar dance.

Wanda unzips your suit from the front, smiling at your lack of bra. You pull apart so you can slip it off and throw it somewhere into the backseat, leaving you in just your panties.

You gasp when she sucks different marks onto your neck and collarbone, teasing you.

She's looking at you with innocent eyes, batting her lashes and pressing kisses against your skin, she then takes your nipple into her mouth, her free hand toying with your other breast, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

You move your hands to the back of her head, moaning lightly whilst treading your fingers through her silky strands. "You want me to touch you detka?" She mumbles against you and your breathing gets heavier. 

"Please."

You buck your hips against her, grinding on her thigh pathetically, the friction of your panties brushing against your clit in the just the right way, little gasps and moans escaping your throat without permission.

Wanda releases your nipple, a string of saliva being the only thing connecting her to your chest, the sight making you whimper.

You look down at her with dewy eyes, the ache in between your legs becoming unbearable. Your breath shudders when you feel her fingers slip your underwear off, making contact with your wet folds, and you bite your lip at the feeling.

"So wet for me." She whispers, your eyes shutting when her slim digits make contact with your clit, and you can't help the noises that escape your lips. "You like when I touch you like this princessa?"

"Yes- fuck." You moan when she starts to tease your entrance, spreading your wetness thought your folds. When her fingers finally enter you, your eyes roll to the back of your head as she starts to pump them in and out of you.

"Such a pretty girl." Wanda coos, placing hot open mouthed kisses on your neck and jawline, her fingers curling ever so slightly on every pull out driving you insane, a familiar hot coil building up in your stomach.

Wanda repositions her hand, placing her two fingers on her pubic bone, using her free hand to help guide you into riding her.

"You make such pretty noises my darling, make some more." she smiles sweetly at you, making you groan at her words.

Your hands fly to her shoulders to help hold you up, your nails digging into the fabric of her suit, her lips back going to suck onto your nipples, your hips bucking frantically in your effort to chase you upcoming climax.

"Mm- mhmm, yes- Wanda, right- right there!" You squeal when she moves her thumb to put pressure on your neglected bundle of nerves.

"You're so beautiful" she murmurs against you before she pulls away, moving her other hand towards your ass, squeezing it gently.

"I'm gonna cum... fuck, baby I'm gonna cum! " Your eyes roll as you let the pleasure faze through you, you hide your face into her neck though your orgasm, pressing a light kiss there as your body trembles around her.

"You did so good detka, such a good girl." You hear her praise, rubbing up and down your back soothingly, as you slowly start to come down from you high.

When you lean back and open your eyes, they land on a lust ridden Sokovian, her pupils completely enlarged as she pulls her digits out of you.

Wanda brings her fingers towards her lips before slipping them both into her mouth, You feel another surge of wetness flow through you, slightly coating Wanda's thighs with my you slick.

She hums, "So sweet." She says as the swipes her fingers through your folds again, your head falling onto her shoulder as you shudder at the feeling.

You feel Wanda hold you up slightly, digits coated with your cum, you moan when she starts to pull at your nipples. "You like that, don't you?" She smiles before pulling you into another kiss.

She moves her lips downwards towards your chest, taking each bud into her mouth, tasting your juices as she swirls her tongue around them.

"Do you think you can do one more for me?" You nod, and she positions you onto her left thigh, guiding you hips as you start to grind onto her.

You whimper as your clit comes into contact with her skin each time you move your hips, Wanda pulls you into another lip lock, grabbing you by the back of your neck with one hand while her other one helps your movements.

"God- you feel so good..."

Wanda smirks against your lips before moving her hand from my hips towards your overstimulated clit, rubbing tight circles around it before pinching it, sending you into a deeper state of pleasure.

You scream her name and a string of curses, trying to steady your breathing. "So perfect for me." She whispers as she kisses your forehead.

"I love you" You say as you kiss her nose, watching how it scrunches adorably.

"I love you too" She returns, pecking your lips and hugging you close. Both of you sighing in content at the skin on skin contact.

[ghost-bxrd]

Just an idea:

As a result of the lazarus pit jason is now immortal he doesn't ageand he cant die, realizing this he fakes his own death. Would love to hear your take on this idea

Ah alright so I can’t go full sad because I’m very much incapable of writing angst where one person has to watch all their loved ones age and die, but I can do an element where… none of them age. But Jason thinks he’s the only one thanks to the pit (his immortality still works different).

So… he fakes his death.

And it’s good. He goes the whole nine yards. Fake body, DNA samples, footage of himself frantically trying to escape yet another warehouse rigged to blow, the panicked call to the rest of the Bats to “Please, please, not again please, get me out of— please, i don’t want to burn again-“ that has everyone in a mad scramble trying to save him him…

But they arrive “too late”. Again. (Jason’s last hurrah at Bruce for the shit he pulled since his return).

And then Jason Todd is… dead.

He watches them from the shadows. Sometimes from continents away (but he can’t escape Gotham. Something pulls him back time and time again, no less than once a year.)

And at first.. it hurts. It hurts watching his family grieve him. But it’s better this way. He can’t stay and watch them age out and die. It would destroy him. But this way— this way he can focus solely on keeping them alive. To give them the longest life possible in their line of work. No more dead Robins. (No dead Batman.)

It hurts, but he makes it work. Watches years pass in which Tim grows up first. Then Damian. And then… it just stops?

After a decade Bruce still only has that faint shimmer of silver to his hair, movements neither slowing nor becoming sloppy with age.

Dick still survives on an unholy cocktail of sugar topped with more sugar, in peak physical condition despite it all.

And finally— finally Jason catches on that something might not be quite right here.

(And they still mourn him. Acutely aware of the loss of one of their own. Of the empty space at the dinner table. Of the silence down the comm line they still keep open religiously. Just in case. Just in case….)

[everwalldigan]

I love me some delicious miscommunications so:

Bruce and Jason standing off (again) after a mission actually gone right and Bruce is looking constipated trying to articulate how proud he is while Jason’s just pissed as fuck that he accidentally followed the bats’ rules and

Jason, fuming, thinking to himself: Bruce must be behind this, he MANIPULATED me into playing by the rules the asshole I didn’t even get to shoot ANYBODY today im never teaming up with them again my reputation is ruined people are gonna think I’ve gone SOFT

Bruce, going through five stages of grief just trying to find a way to say that he’s proud of Jason without him getting decked in the face and Jason running away: today showed me that you will always be your father’s son (he means himself)

Jason, thoughts immediately going to Willis because Bruce would obviously never address him as his son: actually fuck you, fuck you never speak to me again I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to this what the hell is wrong with you

So, on one hand. now you have Bruce face palming because he’s sure he articulated himself in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted so Jason obviously wants nothing to do with him and oh great they’re back to not speaking terms but hey at least Jason didn’t shoot at him so he obviously understood what he meant, right?? Right????

Meanwhile on the other hand Jason is capital H Hurt and so so angry about it because what the actual fuck. He’s TRYING to reform but obviously nothing will ever be enough for golden standards Bruce so he should just go back to at least beating criminals within an inch of their lives because he wasn’t going to prove Bruce right no matter how much he wants to take those pieces of shit off the streets permanently.

And of course, because both of them would rather shoot themselves in the foot than, I don’t know, talk, it results in a huge falling out and Jason’s “shoot at the Bats on sight” rule is back, until one day just happens to trap Bruce and Jason together in a warehouse rigged to explode. They accidentally went after the same gang and got themselves captured instead in the confusion. So Jason’s watching Bruce frantically trying to dismantle the bomb while sitting back casually taunting him like

Jason: you know damn well your cape’s gonna protect you from most of the explosion and the whole building is deserted by now, why are you trying so hard? The only one who’ll bite the dust is Willis’ son, fitting ending isn’t it? Always his son until the very end, you said it yourself!

And holy mothers of all fuckups Batman, there hasn’t been miscommunication this bad since the aftermath of the Tower of Babel

Bruce, turning around with the dismantled bomb in his hand, actively inventing new stages of grief: I was referring to myself actually.

[natalievoncatte]

“Let her go,” said Lena.

“Not a chance, said the Atomizer. Or Atomo, or the Atomic Lad. Some idiot with a cheesy atom symbol on his jumpsuit and a beam projector strapped to his arm.

Lena knew why this guy hadn’t already been mopped up by Supergirl: he wasn’t worth her time.

This was, frankly, embarrassing. She wasn’t listening to his monologue, something about losing his job after Supergirl stopped a nuclear incident and he was found out to have violated safety protocols. He’d jury-rigged himself up some kind of particle beam, probably not enough to scratch the maid of might.

He was still giving it the old college try, so he’d kidnapped Lena Luthor on the logic that whenever Lena Luthor was in danger, Supergirl was quick to appear.

She’d been sitting here for four hours, tied to a chair at the docks on the west end in some dilapidated shithole warehouse. Supergirl was decidedly a no-show.

Lena could almost write this off as an inconvenience. This dipshit meant her no harm and she was, at least a first, sure that Supergirl would show up and this would turn into one of those heartwarming ones where she didn’t have to throw a punch and the bad guy ended up forgiving her.

He should. From the bits and pieces she heard, it was his fucking fault anyway.

There was a problem. It was making Lena’s heart race, her pulse pound, and a thin trickle of sweat run down the small of her back. Kara was in a chair just like hers, parked six inches away, and tied up.

She was also drifting in and out and had a knot on her head from where Captain Doofus here whacked her over the head with his arm beamer.

Her head perked up a little and she glanced at Lena, looked around.

“Whu… where am I?”

“You’re in the lair of DOCTOR ATOMOS!” he screamed. “I thought the Kryptonian would put in an appearance to save Miss Luthor, but she’s been a no-show, so I grabbed you. You’re her best friend, aren’t you?”

Kara shot Lena a furtive glance. “Not exactly.”

“Where is she? Why hasn’t she come? Do I need to grab that photographer, too? Jim Olden?”

“James Olsen,” Lena corrected.

“Shut up! I’ve broadcast to the city that if Supergirl doesn’t face me and admit what she did, I’m going to drop you two into the acid!”

“What acid?” said Kara.

Lena looked at her and looked down. They were both sitting on hinged grates positioned above a rather large vat of a nasty corrosive. Some toxic sludge that Lex probably had the company stockpiling here back in the back-when.

He was always ruining her day.

“I gave her an ultimatum,” he declared. “First one of you, then the other.”

Lena’s stomach dropped. Hard. She almost threw up her tuna wrap and kombucha. For some reason, the thought of her own shockingly horrific death -drowning in the acid, her lungs melting from the inside with no hope once she was submerged- was secondary.

Oh God. Oh God please not Kara.

“She’s not coming,” Lena said, firmly. “She’s busy or-“

“She wasn’t too busy to ruin my life!”

Kara looked frantic as she wriggled against the ropes holding her.

“Come on, come on come on come ON!” she thrashed. “Why now? Why now?”

The ‘villain’ paused. “Why now what?”

“Nothing. Just, listen. Don’t do this. You don’t want to add murder to your list of crimes.”

“I’m INNOCENT!”

“Then don’t start a list of crimes!” Lena pleaded.

He rounded on her.

“Look,” said Lena. “I’m Lena Luthor, I’ll get you a new job. I’ll build you a fucking power plant if that’s what you want. Just,”

“What, let you go?”

Lena looked at Kara.

“Let us go. Please. I’ll stay if you let Kara go.”

He belly laughed at her. “So she can tell the cops where we are?”

“You already announced where we are!” Kara snapped.

“Don’t hurt her. Please. Just not her.”

Kara turned slowly and looked at her.

“What’s your real name?” Lena asked, looking at their captor. “You know mine.”

“Ha! That hostage negotiation crap won’t work on me.”

He turned and headed for a pair of levers.

“Eeenie meanie miney moe,” said… the guy. Lena was not giving this bastard the dignity of a trade name.

“Kara,” said Lena. She felt strangely calm, looking at her… her best friend. Like she knew she needed to do this right in whatever little time she had, and her nerves gave her the gift of tranquility.

“Lena?”

“You mean so much to me,” Lena said. “I… I just want to… I wish I could…”

Oh, now she couldn’t get the words out. Perfect.

Kara looked at her wide-eyed, and terror flashed briefly in her eyes as the grate swung below her and she plummeted into empty air.

“KARA!” Lena wailed.

Splash.

Lena screamed, a wordless, titanic cry of agony that tore her throat and burned her lungs. When it faded she wailed again, words lost to her. Oh God.

“You monster!” Lena screamed, “you miserable fucking monster, you’d better fucking kill me too, because if you let me live I’m going to-“

Lena went silent as a shape rose through the hole in the floor, rising gracefully into the air. Supergirl hovered in the air, a scowl of righteous fury carved on her lovely face.

“At last, there you are!” Professor Douchebag snarled, aiming his arm at her.

Her eyes flashed and he screamed, suddenly tugging at the red-hot ruin strapped to his arm. Supergirl landed, and dragged Lena’s chair, and Lena with it, away from the grate.

She turned and sucked in a breath, flash-freezing his ruined weapon with a concentrated blast. With a contentious smack he knocked his helmet off, revealing a doughy, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and blood running down his nose.

Supergirl grabbed his collar and hauled him off his feet. She stalked over and held him above the opening in the floor, his feet dangling over the acid.

“Supergirl?” Lena said.

“How does it feel?” she said, coldly.

“Please,”

“Lena said please,” her voice was ice. “You didn’t listen to her.”

“Supergirl,” said Lena. “Don’t.”

Then it hit her.

Supergirl had her hair up. She never wore her hair up. It was exactly the same as…

Her mind raced though possibilities. None of them fit. There was only one conclusion.

Oh.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Please.”

Her gaze snapped to Lena and a harrowing moment later, she tossed the wannabe villain aside, and wrapped a chain around him, binding him to an upright. Then she turned to Lena.

Kara tapped her ear.

“Alex, you have my location? There’s a wannabe here, he kidnapped Lena. She’s fine. He’s not. Get a cleanup crew and a bus down here please. No, I’m not staying.”

With a single smooth motion, she snapped the cords binding Lena and scooped her up against her powerful chest, tucking her in close before lifting off through skylight.

Lena pressed her eyes shut- she hated flying, even like this. She opened them when she felt the jolt as Kara’s boots touched down, and Kara set her down.

They’d come in through one of the tall windows in Kara’s loft.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed. “I thought he… I thought you were…”

“I almost was,” Kara said softly. “I solar flared a few days ago. I burned out my powers fighting that Mondarian. It usually takes a few days, maybe a week, before I can use them again, but sometimes an adrenaline rush will make them kick in early.”

“Was it hitting the acid?”

Kara shook her head.

“No. It was what you said, and the way you screamed when I fell. I knew I had to live.”

Lena blinked a few times, surprised by the hot burn of her own tears, mirrored by those falling down Kara’s cheeks.

“What you said… what I think you were trying to say,” said Kara. “Me too.”

Lena stood frozen in shock for a second, before she launched herself at Kara. Their lips met in a dizzying soft crash and when Kara’s hands landed on her waist, Lena felt a pang of fear that she’d misjudged and ruined it all.

Then Kara’s hand snaked up her back as the other looped around her waist and pulled her in, using her height to tip Lena back just a touch as the kiss deepened and Lena felt her heart flutter in her throat as her tongue tasted the soft taste of Kara.

[live-love-be-unique]

Misery’s your master

Summary: After an emotionally and physically draining mission Ghost finds you alone at the barracks.

This is my first attempt at writing angst, please be gentle!

Parings: Ghost x f reader

Warnings: mentions of death.

The mission should have been routine. Except intel had mentioned nothing about hostages; women and children that the cartel had locked in the warehouse. You’d tried to open the door before Gaz had shouted that it was rigged with explosives, and someone grabbed you, pulling you away just before the explosives were detonated. Killing all inside.

You’d been back on base for over a week now and everyone was treating you with kid gloves. Soap had tried to check in with you but at that point you were so sick of everyone asking how you were that you took a swing at him, after that Price insisted it was time that you speak to the base therapist. It wasn’t a bad idea, you hadn’t eaten or slept in days; the nights were the worst, you stayed awake replaying scenarios in your head, hearing the explosion over and over again.

For the first time in a week you had left your room, making your way to the mess hall and taking a seat as far towards the back of the room as you could find. Pulling your hood over your head and trying to eat something, anything that you could keep down, you felt the eyes of your teammates burning into you.

The hall suddenly became too much. The lights were too bright, the sounds and the voices overlapping each other was overwhelming. Your blood pounded in your ears, heart thudding in your chest. You had to get away. You couldn’t stay in that damned room anymore. With your breath heaving in your lungs, you push your way through the door and make your way towards a terrace at the end of the hallway. Standing in the open feeling the cold air against your skin you gasp, visions of civilians; of the women and children you couldn’t save replaying in your mind. Your hands trembled as you pull your lighter out of your jacket pocket. Clicking the lighter as hard as you can, it wouldn’t light. Frustrated, you sigh around the cigarette between your lips.

“Thought you didn’t smoke” a deep voice came from beside you. Glancing over you spot Ghost leaning against the railing, holding his own lighter under the cigarette still dangling from your lips.

“I don’t, generally” you mutter, inhaling and blowing the smoke into the night air. Watching for a moment, the way the smoke rings curled through the sky.

“How are you?” He questioned, pocketing his lighter.

“Nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep can’t fix” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

He stared at you, “I’m going to ask you again how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly”

You don’t answer, turning your eyes back to the stars as you take a shaky breath. A warm pressure settles across your hand, looking down you see Ghost’s gloved hand resting atop yours. You let it settle there, his thumb tracing circles on your skin, anchoring your body as you took a shaky breath “I can’t get it out of my head, I can hear them screaming for me to help them. I should have…”

“Come on” He grunted, stepping back from the railing.

“What?”

“Hit me”

“I’m not going to hit you”

“You wanted to take a swing at something. You took a shot at Soap the other day” Ghost shrugged.

You stared at each other for a moment before you balled your fist and struck Ghost in the chest. “Again” he said.

Ghost kept saying “again” as he let he you hit him until you were gasping for breath and fat, heavy tears streaked down your face. You drew back your fist for one final hit but Ghost easily caught it; pulling you close against his chest as he held you tight, one large hand securely against your back holding you firmly against him and the other cradling the back of your head.

“The door was rigged. You were never going to get it open, the cartel had eyes on it the whole time. They wanted us in the warehouse when they blew it up” his voice was low and deep, you could feel his breath against your ear. “You tried to free them. Remember that, hold on to that”

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there like that. He let you cling onto him like a life raft as you cried out everything you had.

“…Thank you” you mumbled, pulling away whipping at your eyes with your sleeve. A door opened and the two of you watched as a group of recruits spilled out of the doorway.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened” Ghost said, his eyes boring into yours.

“I’ll…I’m trying”

Ghost’s eyes soften at your response, you can hear him breathe out one word, with all the kindness in the world.

There is something so comforting about the simple phrase.

“Good,” he says quietly.

His hand moves to your face, to gently trace the skin on your cheek. A tiny muscle by Ghost’s jaw twitches as he watches you.

Almost as if he is suddenly realized what he was doing, his hand drops from your face and he steps back, glancing towards the door where the recruits came from.

“Make sure you eat something” he said before turning and heading towards his room. You stood alone in the dark for a moment before returning to the mess hall, a small plate of food in front of you almost as if Ghost’s words were the balm your soul needed.

[deepdisireslonging]

Reassurance

Bruce and the Reader are kidnapped by Two-Face. Their kidnapper wants to make the Batman choose, unknowing that the Batman who shows up isn’t the one he expected. After being rescued, Bruce reassures you and himself that you two are safe. Which is something he needs after being completely helpless to do anything to protect you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reporter!Reader

Warnings/Promises: canon-level danger and violence, near-death experience, angst, SMUT, oral (female receiving), overstimulation, fluff

Word Count: 3500

Note: This heavily reliant on the events of the Dark Knight trilogy. As well as being inspired by the 1995 “Batman Forever” situation with that version of Harvey Dent. It’s a bunch of plot for the express purpose of getting Bruce Wayne into ravenous, desperate smut with his lady-love. With that in mind, happy reading!

It had all happened so fast.

One minute, Bruce had been giving a toast. It had been another successful fundraiser downtown. The next, guns were stuttering and the guests were pressed against the floor as their valuables were removed. You were separated from the diamond bracelet Bruce had given you last Christmas. And Bruce hesitantly gave away his father’s signet ring. (But at ease knowing it was a replica. As was your bracelet.)

Two Face strode through the room. He paused between you and Bruce. With his charred face, he glared at you. You with your constant stream of news releases and exposés that kept uncovering his plans. And you, always able to evade him, until tonight. With his unblemished face, contorted with hate, he glared down at Bruce.

“Harvey –” he tried.

“Shut up!” Harvey Dent aimed his gun at Bruce’s chest. In his other hand, his fingers twiddled his fateful coin. He didn’t toss it. With a growl, he shot the ceiling instead. “Come on, before the Bat gets here. Bring both of ‘em with us.”

Bruce had pleaded with him to leave you there, playing up his more cowardly public image. He begged for them to come up with a different solution. And with a wave of his hand, Two Face ordered them to gag him.

There would be no resolution. No peace. Not until Two Face had what he wanted. 

***

One of these days you were really going to have to talk with Bruce and the city council members about how many abandoned warehouses there were in Gotham.

You couldn’t budge. The ropes around your arms and legs, tying you to the chair, were too tight. At least you could breathe. A few feet from you, Bruce was tied up in a similar way, but still gagged. Unmoving and observant as he was, you could still see that he was uneasy. He kept glancing between you and Harvey.

The walls of the warehouse were practically gone. The one remaining concrete walkway you were on was at least four stories up, with only rubble on the ground-floor below. Two Face stared off into the distance as if he could watch Batman’s approach in the darkness. The make-shift Bat-signal he’d rigged together sat at his feet.

Only Bruce wasn’t startled when Batman showed up from the opposite direction.

“What is this about, Dent?”

Harvey turned slow, his unburnt side making eye-contact first, before he glared at Batman fully with both halves of his face. “Does this situation look familiar to you?”

You wondered if it was Jason or Dick under the mask. Neither of them had been in the life yet when Harvey Dent had fallen into working as Two Face. But Bruce’s thorough report of that night wasn’t too hard to find on the Bat-computer after a few hours of digging. When “Batman” nodded, you knew it was Dick. Part of you already knew your fate was sealed.

“The two of them had nothing to do with that night.”

“No, that’s true.” Dent took to flipping the coin. Up and down. Catching and flipping. The coin landed flat in his palm, unread and unacted upon. He grinned at you with his burned face as each flip made you shudder. “But each has… cost me greatly here of late. Instead of flipping a coin for each of them and being done with it, I thought this time I could give the choice to you.” Dent caught his coin and gripped it tight. “With half a chance, would you change the choice you made that night?”

Dick/Batman hesitated before answering. “Nothing about this is like that night. We both know now that the Joker lied to me, switching where each of you were. He’s bragged about it to you himself. As for Rachel—”

“Don’t.” Both sides of Dent’s face twitched with rage. He hissed, “you don’t get to say her name.” Sucked through gritted teeth, the breaths he took made his chest heave. A final sigh leveled out his control. “We were on opposite sides of town that night. The two of them are right here. Maybe you can save both. Maybe not. Which will it be? Heads: Bruce Wayne. Billionare playboy with more brains than he shows to the media. How many hospitals, grants, scholarships has he funded over the years?” Dent flipped the coin a couple of times. “How many suits has he replaced for you?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying—”

“I know Wayne tech when I see it. Don’t try to deny it.” Dent shifted his focus to you, making you flinch back in your seat.

As a young reporter you’d attended the funeral of Rachel Dawe. She’d been a role model for you. But this was the last second on earth that you’d mention that in front of him. You breathed a sigh of relief as he faced Dick.

“Or heads: the reporter. A lifetime ago, she would have been a huge help to my cause. What the courts couldn’t decide fast enough, she could write and share with the world the research we all needed to hear. As she’s doing now. She’s your source of information, isn’t she? Isn’t she!” He grimaced. “Time to choose.”

At his feet, Dent kicked at a device bolted to the floor. On second glance, you noticed the wires traveling through holes bored into the concrete. They led under your chair, and another set ran under Bruce’s. Your eyes widened as you noticed the collection of explosives poking out from under the edge of the walkway… right behind his chair. You assumed you had a set too. Both of them ready to crumble your square of concrete towards the rubble below. Or to blow you to kingdom come the second Dent stepped on the device to set off the charges.

Dick slowly moved his hand toward his tactical belt. “Your men are on the bottom floor. Right under us. If you set that off, this floor will crush them. You yourself will have nothing left to stand on. It looks like the choice is yours: eliminating two thorns in your side, or being able to continue your business ventures.”

A slick smile slid across Dent’s face. “I made my choice years ago. As for my men… they made their choice when they accepted pay from me.”

“Dent—” In a very Nightwing motion, he held his palms out before returning them to his side to hold the stoic Batman pose.

“It’s Two Face. And would you point out the same double-sided leadership to your protégé turned ‘businessman,’ Red Hood? How is his war in weapon sales going against Black Mask these days? I’m tired of this.” Dent stepped forward, placing the toe of his patent-leather shoe on top of the device. “Ready to make your choice?”

Dick’s glance flicked towards Bruce first, who furiously shook his head. When he looked at you, you slowly shook your head. “It’s okay. Bruce Wayne can do more in one night,” your voice cracked, “one night of fundraising than I can do with ten stories. It’s okay.” As Bruce struggled in his bonds, tears began to course down your cheeks. You knew when those charges blew, he’d only be able to race gravity for one of you. And Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and the real soul of the Batman; he was more important to the future of Gotham than you.

As the charges fired, Bruce screamed behind his gag.

The ground fell out from under you. It was no surprise when the dark black blur darted away from you to fall over the opposite edge. Even so, you screamed out your fear, your pain, your goodbye. Only for it to cut off mere feet from the bottom as a blue blur snagged you out of the air. Your scream turned to frantic laughter. It took some effort, flying through the air as you were, but “Nightwing” (who had to be Jason) was able to cut the ropes so the chair dropped to the earth. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I thought you were supposed to be in Blüdhaven.”

Your rescuer alighted next to the Batmobile, where Dick was just landing with Bruce. The brothers shared that Two-Face’s goons had been collected long before Dick had shown up and were on their way with Damian to Commissioner Gordon. Two Face had been harnessed into the ceiling. It had lifted him out of danger and ensured his get-away. Dick smiled under the cowl.

Jason glared at his brother-in-arms. “Say nothing.”

“Blue looks good on you.”

They would have bickered longer, but Bruce darted between them. He held you fast in his arms. He kept patting you down, searching for anywhere you could be hurt.

“Darling, I’m alright.”

“Couldn’t do anything.” He glared at Dick. “You scared the hell out of me, not going after her.”

Dick’s jaw clenched. But he managed not to break eye-contact. “Red Hood was already on her side of the building. We were in constant communication throughout. Neither of you were in any danger of the fall.”

With the way Bruce’s shoulders were still tense, he didn’t seem to fully believe that. You knew he trusted his sons totally. But tonight had cut close. You smoothed your thumbs across his cheeks. “Let’s go home.”

Apologetically, Dick tried to say, “there’s not a back seat. Red was going to—”

“We’ll manage.”

Bruce sat in the passenger seat first, and you sat on his lap. All the way home, he ran his hands over your limbs, still checking you over. And his eyes kept flicking to the road. To the  dials and buttons on the dash as they flashed. To Dick as he drove, still in his cowl and cape. And all the way home, you did your best to put him at ease. Your blood was still pumping and your nerves were alight, but you ran your fingers through his hair. Ran your forefinger down his nose and cheeks. You pressed your forehead to his. As much skin contact as you could give him, you gave. As much calm as you could give him, you borrowed back.

Wayne Manor eventually loomed. Dick let you two out at the door. If anyone asked for it, the front cameras would provide visual evidence that you had been returned by the Batman. He drove off in a scuttle of gravel after watching Alfred let you into the house.

“We’re alright, Alfred.” You managed to wave him back to bed before Bruce lifted you in his arms and carried you up the stairs.

Thankfully, he waited until Alfred was long out of sight before sitting you down on a random hall table and latching his lips onto your pulse point.

“Can’t you get us to the bedroom?” You smiled through his kisses. “The boys could walk through and…”

“It’s my house.” Bruce shed his jacket and dress shirt, and he began fumbling with the hem of your dress. “I can ravage you where I want… where and when I need to.”

Still, he froze as your hand spread across his bare chest. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t tell Dick to save you instead of me.” He panted. Sweat was beaded across his brow. “I can’t do this without you. Not anymore.”

“You have me.” You kissed him. “You’ll always have me.” Hugging him close, you cried into the crook of his neck.

Batman hadn’t been able to save both Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawe that night. In the end, he still lost both. The choice, distorted as it was by the Joker, still weighed on him. The guilt had woken him up many a night. Like with every nightmare, you soothed him back to sleep. He was constantly afraid that he’d lose you like his childhood friend. Always afraid that he’d be out on patrol and some underworld power would grab you. No ransom would be too high for Bruce Wayne. No number of obstacles would be too much for Batman. What if he was a second too slow? What if the money wasn’t the point, and they harmed you anyway? What if… The what-ifs swirled in his mind constantly. They were swirling now, blinding him to anything but feeling you safe in his arms.

As for you? You still stood by what you told Dick to do. Nothing could change it. And you stood by your promise to always be with Bruce, even if only in memory should the worst occur. In your mind, he had been Batman long before he met you. He could be Batman long after you’d gone. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring that fateful possibility. He had you. Here. Now. Home and safe. In his arms.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered. “We’re alright. I’m okay.”

Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours and his hands were smoothing up your thighs. You rolled your hips forward, and wrapped your legs around his thick torso. You knew every muscle. Every scar. And every bruise long after they’d faded. Bruce ran his hands over your body, feeling your form still trapped under your dress. He knew the same points about you. Every muscle honed from self-defense training with Damian. Every papercut and bruise from archive drawers. And every inch of skin that he’d kissed a thousand times before. He couldn’t get enough.

You laughed as your dress ripped, pulled apart at the seams by a desperate man. His hunger paused as he finally saw the surprise you’d had in store. The entirely black set was your gift to him last Valentine’s Day. He trailed his fingers over the lace on your breasts before diving his face between them. You arched, digging your fingers into his hair. While he left open-mouthed kisses across your chest, you whispered as much comfort as you could. But your ability to speak was quickly degrading into soft moans and whines.

You wanted to be held. You wanted to be held so tight you could barely breathe. You wanted the space to wrap yourself around him like a snake looking for heat. Only his body would be able to warm the shiver out of your spine.

When you sighed as much, he only grunted.

He was lost in you. Lost to the word and the weight of it’s brokenness.

You were home. You were safe. You were in his arms. Skin to skin wasn’t enough anymore. Now he needed to be in you.

Bruce’s wandering touch finally drifted down across your tummy to the apex of your thighs. His fingers curled through the gap in the crotch of your panties. The wetness there made his knees give out. Face level with his target, he dove in, more hungry and hazy-eyed than when he kissed the valley of your breasts. While he ate you out, you gripped the back of his head, steadied yourself on the wall behind you, gripped the edge of the hall table, and you held onto anything you could while your vision blurred. One finger, two fingers curled while his tongue did the rest. He sucked hard on your clit, nearly toppling off your seat. Bruce took advantage of your folded position and hefted you over his shoulder.

Trapped there, you could do nothing but writhe as he continued to play with your wetness as he carried you down the hall. The fancy dress was left in shreds on the floor. You clenched on his fingers. With a growl, he dropped you to your feet. He pinned you to the wall, pressing close. Where your nails clawed into his shoulders, rough and desperate, his kisses to the underside of your jaw were soft and languorous. On the other hand, he never stopped wringing pleasure out of you by quickening the curling of his fingers. His thumb circled on your clit, weakening your knees. But he wouldn’t let you fall. The press of his body over yours was what he needed.

“You’re mine. You’re safe.” He hovered his lips over yours. “Tell me: how are you?”

Now? Your mind reeled. But every time you were about to answer, he’d change the pace of his fingers, or scissor you open, or change the direction of his thumb on your clit. Then your mind would blur. And speech left you. Finally, you managed, “you bastard.”

He smiled against your mouth. “Good.” If you could sass him, then you were completely at ease. His tongue curled into your mouth.

You accepted it, sucking on it like your walls were clamping down on his fingers. But as he quickened both, your breath stuttered. Your nails carved deep half moons into his skin as your body convulsed. Pinned to the wall, your body had nowhere to go as you shivered head to toe. Pinned back, you had nowhere to go when Bruce kept moving through your release. Your mouth fell open, panting with the onslaught of pleasure.

Bruce grinned against your cheek. Once again, he picked you up. This time, he wrapped your legs around his waist. He finished the journey to the master bedroom. When he laid you down, you were still hazy with release. It gave him time to rake his gaze across you again. He took in the heaving of your breasts in the lingerie you picked out. And the way your thighs tried to cover up the mess he’d made of you already. The only remnant of the fancy evening were your heels. Nearly passed out on his bed, there was nothing left of what Dent tried to do to you. He frowned. On second glance, your wrists were beginning to bruise.

From under your fluttering lashes, you took time to look him over too. How his torso shimmered with that fine layer of sweat. How his hair was mussed and his gaze was wild for you. But from the waist down, he was still presentation ready. Give or take the muddy patches on his suit pants.

“You’re wearing too much,” you said.

The frown shifted into a smirk. Slowly, he began to undo his belt. He leaned one way, then the other, as he removed his shoes. With a bit of shimmying, he bared every inch of skin for your view. He slid his hand into the one you reached towards him. His grip between your fingers was just short of painful. Carefully, he loomed over you, pupils blown wide, and his breathing heavy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Please, Bruce.” You closed your eyes as he slowly sheathed into you. A tiny whimper slipped out as he gripped your wrists, pinning them to the sheets on either side of your head.

When he moved, it was like he was trying to relearn you. Each twist and spear of his hips searching out your sweet spots reassured him that you were the same woman who had woken up by his side that morning. You were the same woman who took days or weeks to research an article topic, only to type it up an hour before the due date. Your cries were the same. How you moaned his name was the same. You were the same woman who walked into his life and immediately made it better.

He was the same man as that morning too. Even after a night of keeping Gotham safe, he could aways make you forget your own name. But you remembered his. Every drag and spear that made you quake brought it up like a talisman. Here was the man who knew your every worry. He listened to your every ramble and collection of convoluted theories for hours. And he came back to you. Triumphant or bloody and bruised, he always came back. Right now, he was replacing the bruises on your wrists with his own. And he was replacing the worries in your mind with nerve-blinding pleasure.

“Darling,” you keened, “please. So close.” You didn’t say you needed him. Or that you needed him to do anything, even to cum. He was taking what he needed from you.

Bruce pressed his forehead to yours. “Look at me.” He pleaded, “look at me, please.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced your eyes open. And you almost collapsed under the desire in his gaze.

He turned his hips in that certain way, and you did collapse. Crying out his name and clawing the air, your body seized. Bruce stuttered and moaned, held in place by your walls and by the sight of you falling apart beneath him. He filled you. Thrusting to chase those last sparks of release, he hummed your name.

Finally, he pulled out and fell next to you on the bed. You curled into his warmth with his chest against your back. When his arm draped across your hip, you smiled.

“Darling?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

Bruce pressed his nose into the spot right behind your ear. He inhaled deeply. “We’re okay.” “Yes. We’re okay.”

***

General Masterlist

DC Masterlist

More smutty goodness with Bruce Wayne: A Night at the Theater

[local-new-kid-super]

Wendy and fem new kid bonding over girl things? The new kid actually enjoys being able to “let their hair down” around them so to speak

Sorry this took so long, I got off a south park kick and then HARDCORE back into one recently because FBW is on gamepass. Thanks for the request!

Platonic!Call-girl/Wendy x New-girl!Reader

☆ Wendy is thrilled to have another girl in town who gets her. It's not that she isn't close with Bebe, I mean, they are both instrumental in making lists on the committee, but after Bebe pulled that gun on her, Wendy worries she's a little bit of a loose cannon. Between her on and off relationship with Stan and dealing with Eric in school, this poor girl needs some stable classmates.

☆ She loves having you over to work on school work, she's class president and prides herself on being smart. Being the new kid can't be easy, and doing work to catch up to everyone in class is much harder given Mr. Garrison doesn't seem like he cares to teach. Expect lots of study hangouts, where she helps you with some class work and the two of you just chat.

☆ Wendy always asks for your input for the girls' committee lists. You might be new, but that doesn't mean you need can't have an opinion. She's also going to go over the old lists to make sure you understand the people in South Park. "Listen up, new Kid!" She exclaims. "That list was rigged, that's the old cutest boy list... there was a whole- a whole thing." She shakes her head. "All that to say Clyde isn't the cutest. Here, check this one-"

☆ Makeovers! For all her skills and talents, Wendy has been shown to be against things she thinks perpetuate beauty standards. Personally, she doesn't feel like makeup is good or bad really, but she has other stuff to worry about. She's the class president. Luckily; she has you, New kid! She's happy to let you apply some purple glitter or maybe a fun gloss on her face, just don't expect her to wear it everyday. She claims she "-Doesn't want to look like a clown hooker for her English presentation". If you teach her how to keep nail polish to the lines of her nails, she'd actually really like that. She'd roll into school with a nice purple or pink shade on her nails, shooting you a wave.

☆ If you're both superheroes, she's thrilled at the prospect of having another girl to fight with. Frankly, she hates that the freedom Pals stand for 'retribution with inclusion', but didn't even bother getting girl members. She Dislikes Raccoon and friends for more obvious reasons. She'll help you to learn hacking just like her, or if you prefer a more hands on fighting style, she'll be your guy, or gal, in the chair, surveying the security cams and radioing in all relevant data from a nearby rooftop while you complete a mission. She doesn't like the idea of sidekicks, you're a team. Two girls lifting each other up, while making super-boys cry. Plus; she's secretly been manipulating your follower count on Raccoonstagram to make it much larger than it would be normally. Your new, and shes felt alone before. Call-girl sees now reason that you should be any less popular out of costume than in.

☆ "Just hacked into the Raccoon and Friends, um, computer..." she mumbles, thinking back to the Toshiba handi-book that's taped to a cardboard box. "Anyways, looks like they've got a lead on some petty crime from the post office warehouse. Package thief." She chuckles. "Wanna bet we can handle it in half the time?"

[glitter-stained]

Jason sometimes in Lost Days, probably: Oh no

Talia: hmm? What's wrong?

Jason: I have PTSD

Talia: Wow, that's insightful. You're learning-

Jason: Don't worry I have a plan!

Talia: ... Let's hear it.

Jason: Did you know exposure therapy worked wonders on ptsd? Do you know an explosive specialist? Also I'm gonna call myself Red Hood from now on! And confront Batman and the Joker with a gun in a warehouse rigged with a bomb! I'm a genius!

Talia: ...

Jason: I'm gonna fix myself so easily!

Narrator Voice: He did not, in fact, "fix himself".

[lyjen]

Just a minute

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) are due to get married, but when an accident happens on scene during a thunderstorm, the lives of the two are completely flipped upside down.

A request by: @shauna-carsley

9-1-1 Masterlist

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

“I still can’t believe you’re actually getting married, Buck” Hen said as she bumped her shoulder against Evan’s who was sitting next to her. “Yeah who would’ve thought that..” Evan mumbled as he gave Hen a small smile as he looked down at his hands.

Their big day was coming closer with every second, minute and hour. They will get married next week. They weren’t the kind of people to throw a massive wedding, they would just invite their loved ones and some friends, and have an intimate wedding.

“Well I certainly didn’t expect it to happen for at least what, ten more years?” Chimney sounded through the headset while the truck hit another puthole on their way towards the location of their call.

Laughs sounded through the headphones as Evan was still with his head on cloud nine, even though he popped the question months ago. He still couldn’t believe he was engaged with the girl he loved desperately for these past years. They went through hell and back, from Evan getting crushed by a firetruck, to being targeted on duty by a sniper.

(Y/n) was sitting on Evan’s right side, and noticed his absent look. She placed her hand down onto his right hand, which was resting on his right thigh. When her skin touched his, he looked up and glanced at (y/n).

“Well, believe it because the proof is right here” (Y/n) said as she pulled the collar of her navy blue LAFD t-shirt forward and showed her engagement ring between her thumb and index finger of her right hand.

Her engagement ring was hanging on a small chain so she could wear it as a necklace.That was the solution if she was working, she couldn’t wear her ring around her finger if she was on shift. But she was determined to wear it, even if she was on duty. Tucked underneath her shirt so it wouldn’t get in her way as she would perform her tasks.

The truck pulled to a stop as (Y/n) placed her necklace safe and sound underneath the fabric of her shirt. She yanked off her headphones as grabbed her helmet off the floor and placed it underneath her arm, so she could easily jump out of the rig after everyone else.

She placed her helmet onto her head as soon as her feet met the wet ground.

It had been raining all day long. You’d think after a whole day with only rain, the clouds wouldn’t have any water left to send down to the ground.

But no, here they were.. in the middle of the night, getting called out to a warehouse fire, not exactly the kind of night she was hoping for, not when you haven’t slept at all in twenty four hours.

Hatches of compartments were pulled open, as she followed her captain. “Okay, Miller, Stafford, Mckenzie! Start evacuating the building!” Bobby ordered one half of his team. The three were preparing to collect everything they needed out of the truck. Such as oxygen tanks and halligans were getting snatched out of the compartment.

“Buck, Eddie and (Y/n) you are on ladder duty” he said as he pointed at the other three persons walking right beside and behind him. “(Y/n) I want you to raise the aerial, Buck and Eddie get up to that window and hit it. Let’s go!” Bobby called out as he clapped his hands together.

(Y/n) fastened towards the compartment where they stored the metal plates that go underneath the two arms on the side of the truck. She quickly grabbed two metal plates out and handed them over to Evan, as she grasped the two other metal plates and placed them on the right spot on the asphalt.

While Eddie gathered whatever Evan and Eddie needed for going up that ladder. (Y/n) and Evan expanded the side arms of the ladder truck.

As soon as she grabbed the metal side of the small ladder on the side of the truck to get on top of it and raise the aerial.

She flinched at the feeling of a hand pushed down onto her lower back. She was so focussed, she didn’t realize her fiancé - and soon to be husband - was behind her.

“I’ve got to harness up” he said as his hand remained on her lower back. His wet curls were flattened by his helmet and sticking to the skin of his face.

He softly patted his hand against her lower back, “See you in a minute” he said as he tried to make himself intelligible over the pouring rain. She sent him a small smile, which made him smile as he retrieved his hand and turned away from her.

She watched Evan walk away for a second, as she looked down to the ground. Still smiling. Making her realize that she has found the love of her life and she was really going to marry him.

This has been the happiest and blessed she has felt in years. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

A small and soft laugh left her lips, as she placed her hands onto the soaking wet metal pipe and pulled herself step by step up the ladder on the side of the truck.

When she reached the top of the fire truck, she directly turned to the left where the control panel of the aerial was placed. Her hand found the lever to raise the aerial while the other hand found the lever to extend the ladder.

A slight color change in the skies above her caught her attention as her hands were still pushing the levers.

It was like the sound of the rain was being muted and some kind of soft static sound filled her ears. She turned her face towards the still pouring clouds above her.

“What the hell…” she stumbled as she saw the bright blue colors through the dark night sky and dark clouds. She stopped pushing the levers as she took a step back.

Her stomach turned. This wasn’t good. It felt like some kind of demon could enter their would any second. But demons did not exist in this universe.

The sound was growing louder and louder, basically screaming into her ears.

Within a blink of an eye she felt a roaring pain through her body and her body tumbled backwards. Down to the ground.

The electricity entered her body through the hands, making its way up to her shoulders and made its way down her torso, down to her legs.

She wanted to scream, cry, do anything to make some sort of sound as a call for help. Even if it was just a little yelp, what would’ve given her hope. But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t make a sound. It was almost like her lips were sealed, stitched together, glued together with super glue.

Evan was just securing the red webbing around his waist, but the dreadful noise of the thunder and lightning made him stop his movements.

Evan jumped back and ducked as he heard a loud thunder sound roaring through the air.

“What the-“ he cursed as the truck he was standing next to started to smoke and move back and forth like it was possessed.

His eyes were locked on the firetruck. This never happened before. The rain did of course, but lightning that struck so close to him and his team didn't. Evan’s eyes grew wide as he realized who was standing on top of the truck before it got struck.

Adrenaline entered his veins as his heart started to beat faster and faster, pumping blood through his veins along with the adrenaline. His eyes searched for his fiance, standing on top of that truck. But it was hard to see with the rain drops dripping into his face. “(Y/n)” he stumbled, as the thought of her being in danger or being hurt entered his thoughts.

“(Y/n)!” he called out louder as his eyes couldn’t find his girlfriend on top of the truck. His legs were moving faster than his mind, which made him almost trip over his own body. Almost falling to the ground, Evan used one hand to push himself back up as he quickly made his way to the otherside of the truck where the small ladder was, to get on top of the roof of the truck.

When he rounded that corner, he saw her lifeless body lying on the ground. Arms spread wide across the asphalt, eyes closed and her helmet a few feet further than where it’s supposed to be.

Her name fell multiple times off his lips as he screamed like he was being tortured. He may be not being tortured physically, but mentally this was a whole other story. He dropped onto his knees next to her body as he cried out her name.

“(Y/n) can you hear me?” he tried to say through his sobs as his loud voice became softer with every sentence he spoke as he saw the raindrops falling from the sky onto her skin. “Please” he cried, he wanted to hold her in his arms, but he was scared.

“Coming through!” Chimney’s voice said, he kneeled down on the other side of (Y/n) and placed down the medic bag he was carrying with the strap over his shoulder.

Evan felt how a shadow of Chimney’s partner was in the corner of his eyes. But Evan refused to leave. He wasn’t going to leave (Y/n)’s side, not voluntarily.

Evan placed his index and middle finger against her neck to see if he could feel a pulse. But before he could sense a pulse, he felt two hands landing on both his shoulders.

“Buck, let Chim and Hen do their jobs” Bobby’s voice said. “No” he said, determined to stay, while the tears were welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t leave her, he wanted to do everything in his power to help her. But he wasn’t a paramedic.

Hen placed her hand on Evan’s upper arm. “Hey.. it’s okay.” she reassured him. “We got her” she continued as she locked her eyes with his. Evan’s eyes softened as Hen’s hand gently rubbed up and down over his upper arm and she gave him a small nod.

Evan glanced once more at his fiancé, as he squeezed his eyes closed to make some kind of quick wish, and moved out of Hen’s way to make room for her. His legs straightened as he felt two hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close.

He didn’t know who pulled him close, probably Bobby but that didn’t matter right now. His eyes remained on his girlfriend, his heart was beating so quick it almost felt like it could break through his chest and pop out of his body.

Evan let his fingers intertwine with his hair. He had so many emotions going through his body now, and didn’t know how to deal with it. He was sure he was about to pull some strands of hair out of his skull while he watched Hen and Chimney work.

Her eyes slowly opened as the ammonia from the little bag Hen had put right under her nose, entered her nose and triggered her brain to wake up. A groan left her lips as she turned her head and squeezed her eyes closed.

“(Y/n)? Are you in any pain?” Hen asked as she hovered over her, trying to get her attention. “Everything-” she said as a groan took over her sentence. “hurts” she cried as she opened her eyes again. “(Y/n), can you try to wiggle your toes for me?” Chimney asked as he focussed onto her feet.

With every small piece of energy she had left, she tried to wiggle her toes as she tried to catch Chimney’s reaction. She saw his eyes turn to Hen as he gave her a worried look. “It’s bad isn’t it?” (Y/n) said as she looked up into the dark night sky which still poured the rain into her face. “Hey, let’s not lose hope okay?” Hen tried to reassure her. But how could you not lose hope when there was as possible spinal injury?

“Pushing morphine” Chimney said as he already installed the IV in an artery in her hand. “Get a backboard and a gurney over here!” Hen yelled over to some of the other 118 team members, no one in particular.

“Evan?” she cried out, she knew he was there. How couldn’t he be? “Yes? I’m here baby” Evan said as he pulled himself free from the still resting hands onto his shoulder to keep him under control. Evan fastened towards (Y/n) as he let himself fall down onto his knees again as he took place above her head, still giving Hen and Chim the space they needed.

“I’m here” he repeated softly as he placed his hand down onto her collarbone and rubbed reassuringly his thumb up and down over her turnout jacket. “I’m sorry” she cried out the second she looked him in the eye.

“For what?” he asked her while a confused look was written all over his face. “Ruining our wedding” she sobbed. Evan sighed in awe, how could she be thinking of her wedding when the number one priority right now was herself?

Just a minute.. that was all that it took for the weather to turn and throw her in some kind of bad film or her worst nightmare.

______

“That went well, right?” Evan said as he closed the door of the car and locked it with the car keys. (Y/n) didn’t answer him and took the break of her wheelchair off and rolled herself over the threshold of their home. Evan just watched her rolling away from him as he slowly followed behind her.

They had just come home from one of the appointments of physiotherapy (Y/n) has twice a week. To treat her injuries, and train her muscles, but most importantly: to attempt to walk again.

The lightning strike had electrocuted her entire body, and touched her nervous system. While the fall off the top of the truck had damaged her spine. She could move her upper body, but from her waist down to the legs she was suffering from paralysis.

He went with her to almost all her appointments, if he could and wasn’t on shift. He wanted to be the shoulder to lean on or to cry on if she had to. He wanted to be a part of this journey, even if this was going to be hell on earth.

“Hey you okay?” Evan asks when he steps inside the house and closes the front door behind him. His eyes fell onto his fiance who was taking off her special gloves, which she got to protect her wounds and blisters, but also to give her more grip to push the wheels herself. Having everyone pushing you everywhere wasn’t going to make her happy.

She stayed silent as she put the gloves onto her lap, with her back still turned towards him. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not after the news she received.

Evan didn’t like the silent treatment, he never did. She only did this when they were fighting, or when she was upset. (Y/n) looked at the healing wounds on the palm of both her hands, as she softly let her fingers glide over the palm of her right hand, tracing the electrocution wound.

A sigh left his lips as he slowly came closer to his girlfriend. He stood in front of her as he kneeled down so he was on the same level as her. “What’s wrong?” He softly asked, his voice sounded almost broken.

Her eyes remained onto her wounds, as she emotionless kept tracing the same wound over and over again. He could sense that with every touch over those wounds, the spark in her eyes became less and less. As if she was losing herself.

Evan tries to make eye contact with her as he places his right and left hand onto her knee, folding both his hands over one another. “Please…” he sighed, knowing damn well what was going on. “Talk to me?” he begged her.

Her eyes kept being locked onto her hands. “What if.. all of the effort I put in to be able to walk again, won’t work..” she spoke silently, with a broken voice. Evan let out another soft sigh as he let both his hands wander and placed them carefully on both her thighs.

“All this work, and there still aren’t any results..” she said as he could hear her voice break, she was on the verge of breaking down. Evan went silent for a bit as the words she spoke broke little pieces off his heart. He wanted to react to it so badly, he wanted to tell her it was all going to be okay. But he didn’t want to give her false hope either.

“You just have to be patient.. and give it time, your ability to walk will come back. Im sure of it.” Evan tries to motivate her as he still keeps on trying to make her look at him, by using only his eyes. (Y/n) scoffed at Evan’s motivational speech. “Well, you may be the only one who thinks it will return.” she mumbled as she tried to look away from Evan.

Evan’s eyes narrowed at her reaction. “Okay, did something happen today? During your appointment?” he asks as he still tries to get her to look at him. Evan went with her, but wasn’t allowed to actually be in the room during the appointment. So he went and read some awful magazines -which probably didn’t get renewed much- they had in the waiting area.

“(Y/n).. look at me.” he said one more time. It took her a second, but then she found the courage to look her soon to be husband in the eyes. “And don’t even think about lying to me” he continued in a strict tone, as if he was talking to a child.

(Y/n) swallowed as she mentally prepared herself to tell Evan what happened. “We ran some tests. And he told me he wasn’t happy with the results.” her voice was trembling as if she was nervous to tell him the truth. ”He said he was doubting if I could walk ever again or hell even go back to work.” a tear slipped over her cheek as she quickly wiped it away with the side of her hand. She didn’t want to cry over it, but it was devastating news. How could she not cry over it?

“Oh baby…” the words fell off his lips like a whisper. He wanted to encourage her, but right now she needed to vent so it was best to just give her a shoulder to cry on. His thumbs gently rubbed up and down her thigh. “And.. I’m starting to think that he’s right.” she said as a voice crack took over her sound. “Maybe I’ll be stuck in this wheelchair forever, and we’ll never be able to do our first dance. Not the way I dreamed of all these years.” she cried as tears were running down her face.

Before Evan could think of what he was doing, he pulled her closer and locked his arms around her back. (Y/n) put her arms around his neck as she desperately sobbed with her face buried into his neck. She cried until there weren’t any tears left to cry. Evan could feel the fabric of his shirt sticking to his shoulder as a wet spot was created by her tears. “I’ll never be a firefighter ever again” she sobbed.

As soon as Evan heard her say that, he broke free from the state he has been in for the last few minutes, just letting his girlfriend cry onto his shoulder. His right hand wandered from her back towards her shoulder as he placed his left hand onto her cheek. “No.. You can’t think like that!” Evan said as he let his thumb cleared the wet strokes of tears from her cheek.

“I can’t do this..” she cried as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “But I’m tired Buck, it’s like i'm running towards the light at the end of a tunnel, but whenever I take a step, the light moves with it. It goes further away. ” she continued as she tried to help Evan imagine what it felt like, being stuck to that chair. (Y/n) placed her hand around Evan’s wrist of the hand that was connected to her cheek.

“Hey..I know it’s hard but we have to stay positive” Evan said. “Being a firefighter is my life! But I can’t do that while I’m stuck in this wheelchair! I want to do our first dance at our wedding, but not like this Buck!” she started to speak up louder. “And I know that, but that's why I said we have to stay pos-” Evan couldn’t even finish his sentence as he felt his hand being pulled down by hers, which was resting around his wrist. “Ugh! Would you stop saying that!” her loud voice echoed through the space of their home. She held her hands up as some kind of stop sign for Evan. ”You’re not the one who’s stuck to this wheelchair twenty four seven!” she said loud and clear as she tried to keep Evan on a distance from her.

She rolled herself backwards as she turned away from him. Arguing and being mad at him was easier if she wasn’t looking at him. “You are not the one who needs to constantly ask for help or the one who has been electrocuted or fell off a ladder truck!” she said, trying to calm herself down.

A silence filled the room as Evan got off his knees and stood up straight again. He has been where she is now. He knows for a part how much it sucks to not be able to do what you love the most, and being stuck at home. But she was right, he didn’t know what it felt like to be stuck to that chair, or not being able to walk no matter how hard you try and how much you want it.

Evan swallow was audible through the house, that’s how silent it was in the house. You could even hear a pin drop. “No, you’re right. I’m not that person..” he sighed as he leaned with his hands down onto the kitchen island in their house. ”But I am the one who almost lost my fiance when she was in the OR” he said as he looked her way, trying to get her attention.

He could see her head tilting to the side a little bit. She was still listening, even though she wasn’t looking. “You coded on the table.” he said as she could hear his voice practically breaking. A silence filled the room. “I was in that waiting room for hours, you were in the OR for hours. And when I saw that face of your doctor when he came through the doors, I almost thought I lost you.. again.” (Y/n) could only sense by the tone of his voice that he was struggling.

“And I didn’t tell you that, because I didn’t want to upset you. But I wanted you to have hope, because if you survived that.. I’m sure you can survive this too.” Evan tried to explain as he pushed his body from the kitchen counter.

Another silence.

Evan was ready to stop this conversation, to just.. walk away from it. But he didn’t have the heart to do it. He was sorry for her, that she has to go through all of this. Sorry for mother nature choosing the ladder truck as its target, with (Y/n) on top of it. It was just bad luck.

He could hear her breathing and hear her arms move, followed by a click of (y/n) taking the brakes off her wheels. (Y/n) turned the wheelchair so she was facing her fiance again. “You should’ve stopped me before I went up that ladder” she said, blood cold as she looked him in the eye.

Did she really still blame him for something he didn’t do? He understood she was angry, with herself, mother nature, physics, and Evan. A scoff left his lips as he let his hand run through his short curls.

He was thinking of what he should say next. He had so many words to say, and yet.. there weren’t any words popping up in his head. So he decided to go with the words he had already written.

A soft sigh left his mouth as he dropped his arm next to his body. “You want to know one thing that was written in my vows?” he asked carefully as he felt the tears trying to push their way out of the tear ducts.

(Y/n) looked him in the eye, an expression filled with confusion. She just blamed him for everything and he wants to talk about the wedding? About his vows?

“That no matter how hard life would get, I’d still be here.“ he said as his eyes connected once more with his, something that didn’t happen a lot during this conversation. Evan slowly moved forward, towards (Y/n). ”Whether you like it or not, I’ll be here in the good times and the bad ones.” he continued as he reached her wheelchair, and kneeled down in front of it.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached her level and took a breath. “You can try to push me away. But I’m not going anywhere. Because that’s what you do for someone you love so desperately.”

______

(Y/n) felt the sunshine kissing her skin as she leaned with her head against the window of Evan’s Jeep while she was sitting in the passenger's seat.

“Where are we going again?” (Y/n) asked with an annoyed tone as she glanced at her fiance. Evan could feel her eyes burning into his skin, his eyes remained on the road as he quickly glanced at her in the corner of his eye. He just smirked, as a reaction and continued his focus on the road.

She rolled her eyes as she let her head fall against the window again, just to see the sidewalks and buildings around her flash by. She hated surprises, and not knowing what was planned. Evan didn’t ask her to come with him, he commanded it.

_

“Hey I’m back! How was your doctor's appointment?” Evan said loudly as he closed the front door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket as he places his jacket onto the backrest of one of the chairs, which were placed by the dining table. When he doesn’t receive an answer, he calls out her name again. “(Y/n)?” he repeated as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

No answer, again.

Once more, he called out her name and slowly entered the living room. She couldn’t have left the house, right? That was something she hated to do these past few months, especially now because of the wheelchair. When his eyes fell onto the wheelchair being parked next to the couch, his eyes wandered back to the couch which was in use by his girlfriend.

She looked like a corpse, lying completely silent.

Step by step Evan came closer to the back of the couch, his eyes burning into her back as he was trying to see if she was asleep or just staring into the deepness of their home.

“(Y/n)?” His soft voice called out her name, trying to see if she would react to him. The only sound running through his eardrums were her breathing sounds.

Evan reached the back of the sofa as he stood on his toes, trying to get a look of her eyes. Only to realize that they were wide open. She was zoned out. Her arms crossed over one another, looking like she was hugging or comforting herself.

“Baby?” his soft yet concerned voice sounded through the living room as he placed a hand down onto her arm. “Are you alright?” he continued. He knows she isn’t fine. She hasn’t been in weeks. Since she lashed out at him, it’s like some kind of switch has been flicked.

She hasn’t been to any of her physiotherapy sessions as she did before. Normally, she would’ve had appointments twice in the week. On Tuesday and Thursday. But at some point, she just stopped going. She wouldn’t answer the calls and texts of her friends and colleagues, and people were getting concerned. Buck was getting concerned.

It was like she was falling into a well and he was trying to keep her up with his strength, but he wasn’t strong enough. He never let go of her, but she did let go of him. Instead of holding on and locking her hands onto his wrists, she just suddenly let go. As if she was sick and tired, and was fine with everything.

Evan walked around the couch, gently placed her legs closer to the back of the couch and sat down on the sofa. “What’s going on (Y/n)?” he asked as he placed his hand onto the side of her thigh.

He waited patiently for an answer. “Have you ever thought about how life would’ve been if we did get married months ago?” she sighed. Part of him wanted to smile, he could already imagine seeing her walking down the aisle, reading their vows and saying their “I do’s”. “Everyday” he whispered as he slowly rubbed his hand over a small piece of her thigh.

“I just… wish my legs would start working with me instead of against me.” she said as she kept on looking into the deepness of their home. A sigh leaves his mouth, as an idea crosses his mind.

"Okay, that's it. Get up.” Evan says as he shoots up and points at her to get up. “What?” she says as she only moves her head to look up at her boyfriend. “Get up.” he commands her, but he gets nothing but an annoyed scoff back from her.

Evan places his hands on his hips as he waits for his fiancé to push herself up from the couch and move herself into her wheelchair. But she just goes back to the position she has been in for the last few minutes, maybe even hours.

A small okay fell from his lips as he placed his left arm on her lower back and his right arm under her knees, carrying her into her wheelchair. “Buck! No, no, no!” she groaned as she felt his arms underneath her body and before she knew it, she was being placed into her wheelchair and he was pushing her towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” she sighed annoyed, like a child that doesn’t get what she wants.

“We’re going for a ride.”

_

“Keep your eyes closed” Evan’s voice sounded through her ears as she was being pushed in her wheelchair. “Buck I really don’t-” she says as she gets cut off mid sentence. “Just wait for my sign” is the only thing Evan says as he keeps on pushing her wheelchair, maybe even going over a few thresholds. She could hear one of their favorite songs playing softly in the background.

“Okay and… open your eyes.” he says. (Y/n) uncovers her eyes and lets her eyes adjust to the lights that finally make their way into her eyes again. Evan smiles as he moves towards the middle of the space they were in.

They were in the ballroom where they were supposed to have their first dance in, filled with light strings, lighting up the room.

“Buck, what are we doing here?” she asks him, not amused.

He decides not to answer her question, at least not yet. He walks towards (Y/n) as he simply holds out his hand in front of her. “Take my hand” he softly says as his eyes connect with hers. “What?” she stumbles, unsure what to say.

Was he out of his mind? He was actually asking her to stand? After all these weeks of no sessions, and practice? “Am I speaking spanish? Take my hand.” he tells her again. He wanted her to try so bad. But he could see in her eyes that she was afraid. Afraid to fall.

She shook her head, “I…can’t” she says as she looks down to the ground. Evan squatted down so he could look her straight in the eyes. “Come on, I’ve seen you standing during the sessions. You can do this.” he tries to motivate her.

She shakes her head again as she starts looking around in the room they were in. There was no one else. “Hey, hey, hey… I’m here” he reassures her. Evan places his hand down onto hers as he softly squeezes her hand.

Her heart was beating like crazy, “Im scared” she whispers softly. “I’ve got you” he reacts as he pushes a lost strand of hair behind her ear again. Evan places his hand down onto her cheek. ”I won’t let you fall, I promise.” he continued.

Evan stayed at eye height, crouched in front of her. Hesitantly she looked at his hand which he was holding out to her again. A sigh rolled off her lips as she closed her eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden nerves.

She placed her left hand into his right hand, as a jitter made its way up her arm. Evan quickly got her feet off the little steps her legs and feet were resting on. Her feet were on the ground now, as he gently assisted her to stand straight upon her feet.

Her face was completely focussed onto her feet as soon as she was standing up straight. She couldn’t trust her legs, that’s why she keeps on looking at her legs. Evan smiles bright as he looks down and carries the weight she pushed down onto his hands.

Evan brings her hands towards his shoulder, as a sign for her to put her arms there and lean on him, like a real dance. When she gets the hint and places her hands onto his shoulders, his hands wander down her body to her lower back.

This whole time, they didn’t say a thing. (Y/n) places her head down onto Evan’s chest as she clung onto him like she could fall any moment. He places his warm red lips onto the top of her head and leaves a warm comforting kiss. “I’m so proud of you.” he whispers as he reeled her in. “I know it’s not the first dance you imagined..” he sighed.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you..” she said as she kept her head tight against his chest. “I’m not the best dancer, so maybe it’s for the better that we do it this way” Evan said as a grin was spread across his face. He could feel her body shaking because of the laughs she was letting out.

Evan pressed his lips into a thin line to suppress his laugh and swayed both their bodies from side to side to the rhythm of the music.

They were going to get through this, together.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Tim, Violet, Iris

@Cloudydreamless CW: gun violence, canon typical violence, kidnapping

Normally Tim found dusk to be beautiful. Even in a city like Gotham where shadows seemed to have more power, the change of light at dusk was captivating. It always made his fingers itch for his camera— to capture those deepening violets and that last, golden glow of the sun.

Today those beautiful colors it only brought dread.

Seven pm. Nineteen-hundred.

That was the deadline to save Danny and with every darkening tint of the sky Tim knew it was getting closer.

He hadn’t even been able to tell Danny he loved him.

He was so stupid.

He had let secrets get in the way again and again and again and for what?

To never get to tell Danny that he loved him?

No, there was still time. There had to be.

“Red Robin,” Oracle cut through Tim’s thoughts. “Warehouse on 5th and South.”

-

The glass shattered as it impacted with the heel of Tim’s boots.

The sound almost perfectly timed with the bang of the timer rigged gun firing.

Tim watched Danny crumple where he was tied to the chair.

Tim screamed. He was sure he screamed.

Danny wasn’t breathing.

He was—

He—

He shuddered, like a dog shaking off water, and sat back up.

Did some prompts, here is the masterpost. Feel Free to continue this one if you want!

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Six

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Guns, crime, Frank Castle, and panic attacks. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.9k

A/N : If you've see S.2 of The Punisher, some of this might seem familiar.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

Master List

Chapter Six

It was always the same dream; painted horses, blood, broken glass, screams. Flickering light, muzzle flash, and that white skull.

Night after night it haunted him, terrorised him. 

He’d wake up a cold sweat, his heat racing over the half-remembered terror that he couldn’t even say for certain was real.

Once he was awake, there was no getting back to sleep. He sat up on the cold warehouse floor, surrounded by his crew, his brothers. They’d all agreed to sleep in the warehouse before the job they were about to pull for the sake of operational security. But not every man had stayed where he was supposed to.

Jake was gone. Vanished without a trace.

As Billy searched the warehouse for him, he felt an unbridled sense of anger filling him at the betrayal, and that anger quickly spiralled out into other angry thoughts.

Like last night.

He’d watched you on your date, watched you do everything you could to get over him and move past him. But Billy hadn’t let you. He’d seen the way you’d thrown yourself at Marc once you had him in your bedroom, and then he’d revelled in your disappointment the moment you realised that your condoms were gone.

Today, he knew you’d probably go to your building manager and ask for the locks on your apartment door to be changed. You’d never think of checking the window latch, you’d never notice how he’d rigged it so it didn’t fully lock anymore.

You’d never be able to keep him out. He wouldn’t let you.

You were his, whether you liked it or not, and Billy wasn’t going to give up on you.

He’d already spent so much time in your apartment, all those days you’d spent working the day shift, he’d spent showing himself around, learning everything he could about you. And, when he’d learned all there was to learn, he’d spent hours simply laying on your bed, remembering what it felt like to sleep beside you.

And, when he wasn’t in your apartment, he spent his days following you.

He’d followed you into the city that day, and you’d almost caught him on the subway.  It made it more fun for him, made him feel like a Marine again. He picked hiding places like he would a sniper's nest, turning you into a mark, a target. His recon taught him so much about you; where you liked to shop, your favourite coffee shop, and how you liked to lose yourself in the city crowds with nothing but your headphones for company.

He’d grinned as you approached someone wearing a similar jacket to his, as if you could somehow sense that he was following you and you were trying to find him. And, just like that, he unwittingly pulled you into a game of cat and mouse.

His nights were spent on the roof of the building opposite yours, observing you through a scope then, when he was sure you were sleeping, he’d climb up the fire escape by your bedroom window to watch you sleep, sometimes spending the whole night there.

Billy came to learn very quickly that you were more than happy to walk around your apartment wearing little to nothing, and on more than one occasion, he’d found his hand in his pants, fingers wrapped around his cock.

“Where the fuck is Jake?” One of the guys asked, loud enough to rouse everyone and pull Billy from thoughts of you.

Billy shrugged. “We’ll deal with him later. Get everyone up, we’ve got a job to do.

They had a plan, they’d spent weeks running drills and rehearsing, making sure everything went smoothly. It had given Billy purpose, and being with the guys had given him a sense of belonging and brotherhood that he’d been sorely missing.

And, once the plan was set in motion, Billy was able to focus, silencing everything else in his mind.

They got into the cars, each armed and with a mask. Billy looked down at his mask, remembering the day he’d decorated it, putting all of his pain and uncertainty into the design. Sometimes the mask felt more like a face than his own did and, when he was alone, he’d find himself hiding beneath it. But, today, it served a different purpose; to strike fear into those around him.

They entered the check exchange and things became a blur. The plan went off without a hitch and, in less than five minutes they had the money and were on their way out without even having to fire a shot. 

Billy felt good, he felt a rush of adrenaline like he hadn't felt in - fuck, he couldn’t remember how long.

“Hey, isn’t that Jake?” Someone shouted, waving at a figure coming down the street in Jake's clothes and the mask he'd gotten for the heist. “Hey, asshole, you’re late!”

“He’s not gettin’ a cut now,” someone else said.

Billy turned, expecting to see his friend, but immediately realised that there was something wrong...

At first it was the voice, a rough growl from beneath a devil mask - the mask that Jake should have been wearing. It wasn’t Jake’s voice but it sparked an uncomfortable recognition in Billy, enough to make him freeze.

“Russo!” It called out.

He turned, his heart pounding in his chest.

(It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.)

He knew that he should leave, that they needed to get out of there before the cops showed up. But he couldn’t move.

The figure slowly pulled off the mask, confirming all of Billy’s worst fears. 

Frank.

Why was Frank there?

Pain and panic lanced through his chest, lungs burning as they refused to draw breath, and the world tilted on its axis as Frank opened his jacket and revealed the white skull daubed red with blood. His legs weakened and he almost dropped to his knees. His head shook, hoping he could wake himself from this new nightmare. But there was no escape.

Then there was a gun in Frank’s hand, an anger on his face that Billy had only ever witnessed a couple of times before, when they’d been pinned down by the enemy as Marines. Now, he was looking at Billy that way, glaring, wishing him dead before even lifting the gun.

Billy tried to force a breath, he felt claustrophobic, stifled by his mask. His mind continued to race, knowing that this was another piece of the jigsaw but not knowing where it fit into the picture. 

They were friends. They were brothers.

At least, in Billy’s mind they were.

But Frank had the skull painted across his chest, and the sight of it left Billy feeling inexplicably terrified and sick to his stomach.

All around him were shouts, his crew telling him that they needed to leave, but when their cries reached his ears they seemed like little more than distant mutterings.

Someone shot and, finally, Frank moved, lifting his gun and firing back. But Billy didn’t race for cover, didn’t move to lift his own weapon. All he could do was stand and watch, his feet firmly rooted in place by the panic and confusion that had forced the breath from his chest.

Without thought or care, he pulled off his mask, shaking his head again, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions that were tearing through him. The shots around him were barely noticeable over the ringing in his ears and the echo of his own racing heartbeat. 

(Why was Frank shooting at him?)

People were dying around him and it hardly registered. He just remained there, in the middle of the street. 

“Did you do this to me, Frank?” 

He heard the voice, loud and angry, broken and agonised. It took him a moment to realise that the shout had come from him. Although he didn’t want to admit it, it was the only thing that made any sense.

His head hurt. His face hurt.

Everything about the moment hurt.

Billy lifted his gun and repeated the question. “I said; did you do this to me, Frank?”

He pulled the trigger, even though his aim was wide - he wasn’t trying to hit Frank, just get an answer from him.

“You’re goddamned right I did,” came the answer over the din around them.

The words felt like a knife through his chest, slicing into his heart. He pulled the trigger, again and again, each shot getting closer and closer to Frank, a terrible gut wrenching scream leaving his lips. The gun clicked, the clip empty as he continued to pull the trigger.

Suddenly, there were arms around him; two guys pulling him into the car.

As they left the scene, Billy dropped his head into his hands, losing track of what was happening around him.

Somehow, on the drive back to the warehouse, amidst the yelling and the blaming, Billy managed to mostly pull himself together. When they got out of the cars, they divided the money up between them, and he sent two of the guys to look for Jake to find out what the fuck happened. Part of him knew that he should deal with the rat himself, but Billy had somewhere else he needed to be, someone else he needed to see.

You.

He needed you. He needed to see you, be near you. He wanted to hold you and lose himself in you.

----------

To say you were livid was something of an understatement. 

You were angry and scared. And you were exhausted. Fighting him all the time, looking over your shoulder and wondering if he was there, was so fucking exhausting.

First thing in the morning you’d been to see the building manager and asked to get the lock on your door changed, making up some excuse that your key kept getting stuck. He told you it could be done that day, but that it would cost you extra. You hated paying more, but keeping Billy out was more important, and you’d happily pay more to be able to sleep soundly that night.

After the previous night, you didn’t expect to see him again. You thought Billy would at least possess enough decency to give you some space. But decent and Billy were apparently mutually exclusive.

He was there when you reached the bar, earlier than usual and sitting at his usual table at the back. And, while he watched you enter the bar to start your shift, his gaze soon dropped back to the table in front of him, like he was deep in thought.

You looked at Jenna and she gave a shrug.

“He’s been like that for over an hour,” she said.

Good, you thought. Maybe he was feeling some remorse for what he’d put you through.

You got to work, chatting for Jeena and trying your best to avoid talking about your date with Marc.

“We’re going to see each other again some time,” you told Jenna with a shrug, wanting to make it seem like the night hadn’t been a complete failure. 

An hour passed and Billy hadn’t moved from his seat, but you’d started to notice the way he kept touching and holding his head like he was in pain. At first, you did your best to ignore it - so what if he felt like shit? It was probably a bad hangover.

But when you noticed a couple of members of his crew slowly filter into the bar and avoid him, you felt an unwanted pang of concern.

You’d seen glimpses of how Billy could be, how he could struggle and how he sometimes seemed to lose control of himself. And, now, you could see that he was in pain. The trauma and damage of whatever had happened to him ran deep and, as angry as you were with him, you wanted to be the cause of his suffering, not his injuries.

You left it a little while longer, until you noticed him wave Jenna over for another drink.

“I’ll get it,” you told her. 

But, instead of reaching for his usual brand of whiskey, you grabbed a glass and filled it with water and ice.

Your stomach knotted as you approached him and placed the glass down in front of him.

“What -” he started and then stopped as he lifted his gaze and realised that it was you and not Jenna standing beside him.

“Drink that,” you told him.

“That’s not what I ordered.”

“Yeah, well, you look like shit, Billy, and if you puke, me and Jenna aren’t cleaning it up,” you said.

“I’m not some fucking little kid. I don’t need a babysitter,” he snapped.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you snapped back, keeping your voice low so no one could overhear. “You’re lucky you’re in here at all after the shit you pulled last night.”

Before he could answer back, you turned away from him and headed back to the bar, telling Jenna that he was cut off. The way you said it was enough to tell her not to question why.

You made it another hour before things started to get quiet and you asked Jenna if she could close on her own. All you wanted to do was go home, have a hot shower and crawl into bed. You were tired, exhausted from staying up half the night, expecting Billy to let himself into your apartment again while you were sleeping.

More than that, you didn’t want to be around him when he looked so pathetic and broken. Despite everything he’d done to you, it was hard to hate him when he looked that way. And you were nothing if not set on hating him and burying all other feelings you might have for him.

Thankfully, Jenna agreed, still feeling guilty about making you cover for when her brother had been in the hospital. And, besides, it was quiet even for a Thursday.

You didn’t give her a chance to change her mind before heading in the back to grab your jacket and quickly leaving.

A sigh of relief slipped out as you stepped out into the cold night air and started your walk home, blissfully unaware that you weren’t alone until you dared to look over your shoulder. To his credit, he made no effort to hide and, honestly, he was hard to miss; tall, dark and miserable, his gaze fixed on you.

For a time you kept walking, wanting to just ignore him, but the closer he got, the more your blood started to boil.

“What do you want, Billy?” You said, finally stopping to confront him.

“I -” he paused awkwardly, like he didn’t have the answer, like he didn’t even know what he was doing, “- I wanted to say sorry. I just...”

You wondered if it was all an act, or if something had happened to him to spark this drastic change in him.

“Sorry for which part, Billy? Snapping at me? Breaking into my apartment? Fucking up my date with Marc?” You fired off question after question. At this point the list seemed endless and Billy had a lot to answer for.

Discomfort crossed his face at the mention of Marc.

“You deserve better than him.” 

“Really? And what do I deserve, Billy?” You asked angrily. “Someone like you who just wants to own me?”

“No, that’s not -”

“Someone who fucks me like I only exist for their pleasure?”

It was the first time you’d brought up the way that he’d fucked you and how it had made you feel. (Though, if you were to be honest, just because it had made you feel that way didn’t mean you hadn’t enjoyed it.) And, again, you saw a flicker of something uncomfortable on his face, as if your words were causing him physical pain.

“You - you liked it. I know you wanted it...” he said, managing to sound nothing short of uncertain.

Your heart gave an awkward squeeze in your chest when he didn’t fight back, when he didn’t make some smutty comment, or try to tell you what you wanted. Why wasn’t he fighting back?

“You never even bothered to ask what I wanted,” you answered back.

The words seemed to cut him, but that thought brought you no joy. What the fuck was going on with him?

“I -”

You watched as he shook his head, and you quickly started to realise that there was something wrong with him. He was usually so ready with a witty retort or a snappy answer but, now, he seemed almost lost in himself. This muted version of him unsettled you and you didn’t like it. You wanted the Billy who would take your rage, not the one who seemed like he might break if you said one more vicious word.

He moved before you could think to stop him, his hands holding your face as he pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and pushing you back. Even the kiss felt different; although it was eager, it wasn’t demanding. Instead, there was a hint of desperation to it that had you hesitating before pulling away.

“Stop,” you gasped against his lips, your hands on his chest, pushing him away.

You heard him take a ragged breath before he spoke. “Please. I - I need you...”

You would have rolled your eyes at his begging if it wasn’t for the catch in his voice, the broken tone that spoke of a pain far greater than a simple headache. His hands stayed on your face, holding you in place while your eyes searched his, desperately trying to understand what was happening.

This - whatever the hell it was - was different. This wasn’t Billy trying to stake some claim on you or get into your pants. He seemed desperate, like he needed someone, needed you to be there for him.

Something had happened between the phone call last night and this evening, something far more than his headache. You thought back to the bar, back to how people had been avoiding him and how Jake hadn’t been with him. Something was going on and you knew that you needed to get to the bottom of it if you ever stood a chance of getting him to leave you alone.

You covered his hands with yours but made no attempt to pull them away from your face.

“What’s going on? What happened today, Billy?” You dared to ask, even though you’re sure it’d only end with you getting pulled further into whatever mess he’s involved with. “Why are you being like this?”

His chest shuddered as he took a ragged breath, a flicker of panic on his face as he realised that he couldn’t quite draw breath. The confident and controlled man that you knew disappeared and you weren’t sure what had replaced him. 

“Billy...” you said, trying to keep him grounded in the moment.

He pulled away and turned his back to you but you could still hear his awkward, gasped breaths. He was having a panic attack and you had no idea if you were the cause but you felt responsible.

“Every night,” he said, a hand lifting to the side of his head, fingers pressing roughly against his scalp. “Every night, the same thing comes at me, over and over. That - that fucking skull! A-and it was him all along!”

Every night. He was talking about his nightmares, like the one you’d witnessed him having in your bed.

“Who, Billy?” You ask, trying to understand. “I don’t know what you’re -”

“I couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it.” His words were broken and awkwardly forced out between disparate breaths. “I don’t understand why he’d - why would he do it? Why?”

Against your better judgement, you reached for him, your hand finding his shoulder, forcing him to face you. You regretted the decision immediately, almost drawing back when his wild eyes fixed on you.

“Billy, you’re scaring me,” you said quietly. 

It was an admission that you didn’t make lightly, but you didn’t know what else to say, how else to try and pull him out of whatever his was. Part of you wanted to just leave him there, but another part was worried it wouldn’t be as easy as simply walking away from him. In his current state, you weren’t even sure he’d let you leave.

“It was him,” Billy repeated.

“What was him, Billy? What did he do?”

“This!” He said, his hand held inches from his face.

Obviously something had finally shaken the memory loose in Billy, and as he’d predicted, he didn’t like what he’d remembered. Now he was being forced to try and unravel his traumatic memories.

“Why?” You asked. “Why did he hurt you?”

“I don’t -” he gasped for breath, trapped by his panic, “- I don’t know. I know that it was him, but I don’t feel it. In here, I don’t feel it...” He struck his chest above his heart. “My best friend. He was my best friend, my brother, but he was pointing a gun at me.”

“When? When did he point a gun at you?”

You knew that you were better off not knowing, that none of this was helping in your plan to get Billy out of your life, but seeing him standing there, in so much pain brought up your own painful memories.

“I’d give my life for him. My life!” he continued, seeming to ignore your question. “And he knows that. So why - why would he do this to me?”

His hand pressed against his head again, pain obvious on his face.

“Billy -” you tried again to snap him out of it.

“How did they make him hate me?” He said, every word sounding like it was agony to speak. “How can I trust anyone if I can’t trust Frank? He was family to me, all I had. Now there’s nothing, no one. I’m alone again.”

Without warning, he slammed the heel of his palm down against the side of his head, as if he was desperate to mute his emotional turmoil with physical pain. Again and again, he struck himself, seeming more fraught and more lost with every moment that passed.

“Billy, stop! You’re not alone,” you said before you could even stop to think about what you were saying. You just wanted him to stop, you wanted the whole fucking moment to stop. “You’re not alone, Billy. I’m right here.”

You dared to reach for him again, fingers wrapping tight around his wrist, pulling his arm towards you, finally managing to get his attention.

“You’re here?” He said with a shake of his head. “They were all here, but they were never really here. They let me in, but never all the way. They always left me on the outside. Don’t you understand?”

“I -”

Even though Billy was the one breaking down, his question left you feeling exposed. He always left you feeling exposed. It was the most terrifying thing about him. 

Your chest ached to see him in such pain because it was a pain you understood, albeit for entirely different reasons. You too had been betrayed by someone you cared about, someone you loved and, like Billy, you’d spent your life on the fringes, a perpetual outsider.

In the silence, he stared at you, desperate to hear your response. The only sound between you was his ragged breathing. It didn’t even occur to you that you were still holding his wrist, the perfect mirror of that night in your apartment weeks ago.

“You know I understand,” you said quietly. Another admission that you hadn’t ever wanted to make.

That was the problem with Billy; he saw too much. He saw you. And, finally you were starting to understand why. You were so alike in all the worst ways, and it was that thought that kept you with him, holding onto him despite everything he’d done because you knew how much it hurt to feel so lost and alone. After weeks of confusion, you were starting to understand him.

“You’re here?” He asked in little more than a whisper, the pain on his face easing a little.

“I’m here right now,” you said, knowing it was all you could offer him.

“Right now?” He repeated, a gut wrenching sadness in his voice.

“I can’t give you anymore than that,” you managed to force out, though your heart ached for this version of him. 

Billy just kept on staring at you with those dark eyes that betrayed so much of what he was feeling; the loneliness, the longing, the sorrow

When his hand found your cheek, you didn’t even think about pulling away, about putting up your guard and trying to keep him at a distance. You were lost in those eyes, staring into the void and watching it stare straight back. Finally, you could see him, and you knew that he could see you.

Then he started to lean and you felt your heart stutter, expecting things to rapidly escalate, for the strange bubble you found yourself in to be burst by wants and desires you knew you couldn’t reciprocate.

But his lips barely touched yours, the ghost of a touch, the promise of a kiss not realised. It was as if he was afraid, as if he now saw you as someone else who might betray or abandon him - and, what hurt most, was the thought that he was right.

Abandoning him was all you could do. It was the only certainty that you could offer him.

“Billy -” you whispered softly, your lips brushing against his as you spoke, finding yourself cut off by another gentle kiss.

“I can be gentle,” he said just as quietly, like that was the problem, like that was the reason you couldn’t be with him. “I can be anything you want, if you’d just want me...”

“That’s not -” you started to explain only to be interrupted by another tender kiss.

For a few sweet minutes, you lost yourself to him; to his gentle kisses and the way that he clung to you. It would have been a lie to say that some part of you didn’t want to surrender to him, to give in to the tenderness that you both seemed to need so desperately, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. You couldn’t give Billy that and then walk away from him.

As much as he pissed you off, you didn’t want to hurt him like that.

“Billy, I can’t,” you finally managed, your free hand found his chest and gently pushed him back a step. “I’m sorry about whatever’s going on with you, but I can’t give you what you need - not because of you or how you are, but because of me and my issues.”

His hand remained stubbornly on your cheek, refusing to let you push him away completely. For a second he just looked at you, then he shook his head, unwilling to accept what you were telling him. His breathing still sounded forced, awkward, but not as bad as it had been.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he told you, “whatever you’re running from, I’ll protect you.”

With that, he moved forward again, kissing, though not softly like he had before, this time with more need, more urgency. And, oh, how you wanted to just give in to him, consequences be damned.

A shiver ran down your spine as his tongue slipped between your lips and his body pressed you back against the wall. The kiss silenced everything; your thoughts and doubts, the echo of your heartbeat, even the sounds of the noisy city. In that moment, you knew he was telling the truth, that he’d do whatever he could to keep you safe, but you also knew you couldn’t let him carry that burden.

“Billy -” you managed to gasp, gently pushing him back again, “- I can’t. We can’t.”

You braced yourself for more desperate pleas, for anger and upset. Instead, all you got was a shaky sigh and, when he closed the space between you, it was to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “I can’t stop. I won’t. Even if it takes the rest of my life to make you realise it, I’ll never let you go.”

And, then, he pulled away, turning and leaving you all alone on the dark, empty street. Your eyes followed him as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. When you found the strength to move, you found yourself thinking over what had happened and everything new that you’d learned, everything new that you’d felt.

He left you a wreck, unsure of yourself and what you wanted and, when you finally reached your apartment, you couldn’t help but feel angry at yourself for letting him confuse you. 

How could you want him? How could you feel anything for him after everything that he’d done? But, fuck, the way he’d kissed you, the tenderness that you hadn’t even realised that he possessed - you couldn’t help but wish your circumstances were different and that you’d met him somewhere else, and that your life wasn't so complicated.

End Note : I lost track of time so I'm posting this a bit late. I feel kind of dirty for repurposing a conversation that Billy had with Krista in the show but I really wanted to do something similar. Anyway, this was a little glimpse into Billy's side of things and I hope you enjoyed it!

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt (and on AO3 at some point in the hours after).

Tag List : @xxxsweetcarolinexxx @sweetserendipity65 @dreadfulxives18 @snowkestrel @ladyblacky

@readingabouthim @cheshirecat484 @broadwaybabe18 @oliviaewl @lincerad

@benbarnesprettygurl @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @whereismymindnow @danzer8705 @judig92 @everything015 @unlikelystarlightcowboy