#also is that a shoulder holster because PLEASE

[andy-clutterbuck]

The Ones Who Live | 1x01 | Years

#THE DOG TAGS STAY ON #Rick Grimes #The Ones Who Live #towl spoilers #* #rg #why did this make me so feral #i would really like to know #because i just..... #also is that a shoulder holster because PLEASE #P L E A S E #i don't need an explanation for that one #feminism is concerned for me rn #where's my rick trash at #because i look like cujo rn #*GLASS BREAKING* *CASH REGISTER NOISES* *CAR HORNS*

[jayswhorex]

guns & roses 🥀

ak!jason todd x f!reader

here's part 2

his skin slapped against yours, giving you rough thrusts every second. Your nails digged into his shirt while your legs were hooked around his waist. you held on tightly as the red hood fucked you up against the wall of one of his safe houses. "can't believe you're taking my cock like this, even after you've cum, how many times is it now?" you weren't sure how you ended up in this position but you weren't complaining especially when his cock felt so good. your bra was practically falling off and you had no clue where your underwear was. his pants were at his ankles and his holsters were on the floor. you couldn't deny sex with him was messy but it was so worth it. "oh fuck you, just shut up and keep fucking me, that's your job isn't it?"

you felt his thrusts pick a sloppy and desperate rhythm, one you'd felt many times. "you want me to shut up or you wanna get fucked like a slut? you only get one" his groans became louder and he looked up at you, practically locking eyes with you. if his helmet hadn't been on, you'd probably find this intimate but this was nothing like that. this was his way of reminding you, that you were his whore, nothing more. just fuckbuddies, for each other mutual release. work had taken a big toll on you and the red hood would never tell you was bothering him but you always saw the effect of it when he fucked you.

your moans became a mixture of begging for him to stop but also begging for more. "red can't take no more- oh fuck! harder harder harder! please red" he was big, if you didn't already know, and he barely fit in you the first few times. but once you started to take him more & more often, he made sure that he'd bottom out in you every time. if you could take all of him, why wouldn't he take advantage of it?

he let a couple of frustrated groans, swearing at you constantly but you loved it. you knew he was stressed and frustrated and had so much pent up inside him, you were goddamn release. so he'd fuck you any way he liked, as long he to make of you. out of everything, you were the one thing the red hood could control in his life and he needed that. "just fucking shut up and take it, baby, we play this little game every week and it always ends with you begging for more" his hands move towards your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you even closer to him, so he could fuck you just the way you wanted. "ohhhh god! i'm gonna cum red, m'gonna make a mess" you slurred, being drunk on just his cock.

"good girl, cum f'me like my little whore, then i can paint your thighs for you," he said while pounding you into the wall. your face was stained with tears, you could barely catch your break and everything felt so good and bad at the same time. you weren't sure if it was his words or the way he grabbed his face and forced you to look at him but you practically came on the spot and the red hood followed as he quickly pulled out of you.

you whined at the empty feeling of a lack of warmth, while he spilled his poad onto your thighs, painting your thighs with his load. the red hood wasn't going to be risky with you especially when you didn't know him that well.

except you did. but he didn't want to remember those times.

he got you a towel to clean yourself up and you placed your hands on his shoulders trying to steady yourself. the red hood made a grunting sound in annoyance and that quickly made you let go of him. he pulled up his black jeans and grabbed his holsters along with them.

the grunt had snapped you back into reality. you quickly began to grab your clothing that had been flung around while also putting it back on. you searched everywhere for your underwear but couldn't manage to find it and accepted defeat. this wasn't the first time you'd lose clothing because of this man and you hated it. the two of you hated each other, whatever you had was just for sex, well it was supposed to be just for sex. you don't even know the man's identity or what he looked like, but that doesn't stop your desire for him.

the red hood made himself comfy on what seemed to be his bed. he took off his holster and removed the gun, unloading it before placing it in a locked drawer. you watched him contemplate taking off his helmet in from you but he quickly redacted his hands from his head. he needed you to pray soon, not just cause he wanted to take off his helmet but also because he didn't need you snooping around this place. you'd find a lot of things you weren't ready for. your eyes focused on the bed, something about how messy it was caught your eye. it was messy enough that maybe two people had been in it…

you knew you couldn't possibly be the only one he's fucking. but it didn't bother you any less, you'd think he'd have the decency to clean up when he invites you over but he doesn't. another annoyed grunt leaves his lips, as he looks up, with his helmet still on. "you plan on staring for the rest of the night or what?" his voice was deep and strained like it was trained to talk that way. he knew you had been staring at the bed, and he knew why but there was no point in teasing you now.

"don't be a fucking ass, i'm just about to and you were the one who dragged me here dickhead"

"yeah, for a fuck" he said followed by a laugh, "i think it's time for you to go home"

"next time how about you call one of your other whores, i've got an actual life unlike you who goes around this city playing pretend" you knew the moment those words left your mouth, that you were fucked and not in a good way. you planned to quickly get out the door but you weren't quick enough. he slammed the door shut and locked it, trapping you in the middle.

"you think what i do doll, is for fun? that's it's a game?" he asks grabbing your face and forcing you to face him again. once again he was in control of you, putting this barrier between the two of you by wearing his helmet yet forcing you to face him. he chuckled and for a moment you caught a small glimpse of who might be behind the mask but that was quickly shut down when he asked you another question "you think that i just bring home every girl on the street huh? that there are 'other whores'?"

"yeah i do, you're more than a whore than i am- "

"if you value your life i’d choose those next words carefully y/n"

your name came out of his lips like it was a sin. he wasn't supposed to know that, he wasn't supposed to know you at all.

"you don't know a fucking thing about me, you're just some faceless vigilante who has a thing for every girl he manages to pick on the street"

"i know more about you than you could possibly imagine," he says grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the door. the way he held your wrist wasn't even tight like he wasn't dragging you like he usually would. in other words, he gave you the opportunity to run away but you didn't because this relationship you had with him was addicting and you kind of wanted to see how you'd be punished. "you want to do it on the bed right?"

he's pushing you onto the bed and you know you're in trouble cause how tf did he know? he wasn't a mind reader because if he was he would've let you go home by now. you weren't even shocked that he suggested but more that he knew that that's what you wanted. the two of you rarely even spoke casually and even when you did you didn't expect to listen or pay attention but he did and on his own accord too. the red hood knew just what you wanted from him, but he had to hear it from you if you were going to get it. "but you gotta say it doll"

"say what red?"

"that you're a jealous doll and if you do, i might just fuck you in the bed if it's that special to you" he knew what he wanted from you and you wanted from him. you may hate each other but deep down there was always going to be something else mixed in with those feelings. and one day he'd have to tell you why but that day is very far away. you didn't want to answer him but he called you sweetheart and promised to fuck you in his bed, how could you say no to such a rare offer?

"…m jealous," you said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. the red hood didn't know why you were jealous and he didn't really care why yet it still excited him. and before you knew it, he's fucking you into the bed. the bed creaked as he pushed your body deeper in the bed, holding onto your hips as if his life depended on it. he had you on your tummy, fucking you from behind like his personal fuck today. you don't even remember him taking off your clothes again or if he'd even let you go home tonight but that didn't matter because this was the routine.

fuck. fight. fuck again harder.

this relationship you had with the red hood was wrong on so many levels and it was toxic, you knew that but you were going to stay. yes, you hated how much he reminded you of him. because he was gone and he was never going to come back and you had finally come to terms with that only for the red hood to reopen that wound. as much as you hated the red hood and as toxic as this relationship was, you wanted to be special to him because of the past and maybe that's why you wouldn't leave and he wouldn't even let you if you wanted to.

#✩ kleo's sex tapes ✩ #ak!jason todd #ak!jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd smut #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood smut #toxic relationship #dc comics #dc multiverse #dc universe #dc x reader #dc x you #dc x y/n

[ghcstao3]

Can we please have more Makarov's son Soap?

yes for sure. unfortunately i don’t know more than basic russian so we’re just gonna stick to italics to represent that (also from what i’ve found? ivan is the russian equivalent of john? i may be wrong but that’s what we’re going with here)

(part 1)

-

“Johnny,” Ghost murmurs, for maybe the nth time, but Soap still refuses to tear his eyes away from Makarov for even a second. Like even a single blink would erase the mission’s progress.

Makarov’s expression is smug as always. Ghost wouldn’t be surprised if that smarmy look was permanently etched into his face.

“Is this how you treat all of your hostages?” asks Makarov. His eyes flicker between Ghost and Soap, nothing but amusement written in his gaze.

“Criminals, not hostages,” Ghost corrects. He looks over at Soap, whose glare is still fixated on his father. He shrugs off the gloved hand that finds his shoulder.

Thankfully, for Soap, there isn’t much resemblance between the two. Maybe their height, the width of their shoulders; maybe the colour of their hair, their wicked intelligence. But that’s about as far as it goes, for being labelled father and son; Soap’s eyes are warmer, his skin sun-kissed, his limbs thick with muscle.

And Ghost might argue that Soap is actually human.

Soap’s lips are moving, but the noise around them is too loud for Ghost to make anything out.

“They said your name is MacTavish?” Makarov directs his attention to Soap. He says the name with a poor imitation of a Scottish accent. Soap doesn’t blink. “Sounds familiar.”

Soap sits back, squaring his shoulders, finally broken from whatever trance he’d found himself in. His voice is clear, firm, commanding when he speaks. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Since your captain decided?”

“Since you taught me how to use a gun when I was six,” Soap spits. “Six. Just in the hopes that I could start doin’ your bidding sooner.”

There’s a flash of recognition in Makarov’s face, a slight shift in expression—a feat Ghost thought impossible.

“Ivan,” Makarov says, almost disbelieving. He then lifts his chin, pleased. “It all comes full circle.”

“No,” says Soap tersely. “This is where it ends.”

A silence falls over the craft, the tension between Soap and Makarov suffocating. Ghost waits on a taunt, a break, anything predictable, though he certainly knows better.

Ghost barely catches Soap’s subtle reach for his holster. He seizes the sergeant’s arm before he has the chance to do anything rash, sending him a look that says not yet.

Not yet, because while Ghost may not fully understand his situation—he knows what it’s like to hate his father. Not yet, because he knows what it’s like to have one so horrible.

And not yet, because Ghost doesn’t need Soap getting in trouble. Makarov’s time will come soon enough.

“I can’t wait to watch the light fade from your eyes,” Soap snarls. “Father.”

Of course, Makarov isn’t perturbed in the slightest. “I can’t wait to see you try to make that happen. Son.”

#ask #perhaps tbc #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #alternate universe #writing #vladmir makarov #soapghost #ghostsoap

[ghostswoman]

My Rescue l

König x hostage!reader

a/n: it will have gore and smut and maybe some manipulation in it soo please only interact if you don’t have problems with that. It’s also my first ever series sooo I hope you enjoy it lemme know in the comments!

Getting ready for one of the biggest rescue missions König started putting on everything he needed like his bulletproof vest,his mask plus helmet and his gloves and started loading up his guns. Huffing out as he grabbed the huge bag as he started walking out to the helicopters that were slowly getting ready for bringing König and his teammates to a huge base from a terrorist organization that were holding civilians as hostages,but what made the soldiers nervous was that the organization was known for being one of the worst and most brutal ones to their hostages.

Throwing the huge black bag under the seat inside the helicopter König started checking if he has everything he needed his favorite knifes are secure against his strong thighs snuggled inside their holsters and his gun was laying secure on his lap.

Cracking his back loudly he took a deep breath in as he looked as the other soldiers started getting inside the helicopter. Some of them were nervous and some of them looked like their were ready but definitely a bit nervous under the eye of their colonel. “Don’t even think that this is easy. This is a hostage rescue and if I just see one of you shoot without my permission you would want to stay with the terrorist organization,ja?” All of the soldiers started nodding nervously as König just sat back down as the helicopter started flying.

Leaning back against the Metall wall as he was listening to the younger soldiers speaking about how they hope it was easy and not to bloody. Just rolling his blue eyes as the stupidity from his fellow teammates. Getting up grabbing his gun tightly as he took a deep breath in as the helicopter landed on the wet wood floor. Walking out from the helicopter waiting for the others as he tapped his foot on the mutt littered ground.

“So now that we finally are here. The organization is deep into the woods we will have to be on high alert every little noise you make can be our death. Act like I told you guys to,no one goes in first I will be going in first.” His deep voice made it clear he was no joking that he would definitely punish if one of the rookies would want to go in first. Because König knew that this will be bloody he doesn’t need his new recruits to be traumatized right away.

As everyone started walking silently towards the abounded hospital the terrorist organization used to hide the hostages. The Soldiers were on high alert like König told them to at least he can trust them with being silent enough. Looking from behind a big tree König made sure there were no one outside the old hospital building as he made a hand gesture that showed them that they could start getting ready for the ambush. Grabbing the Walkie-Talkie as he pressed into the button “listen here,we go in. No scream,no gasps and no running to any of the hostages they are probably traumatized and scared to the maximum. Be aware of the terrorists and of the hostages they may think we wanna hurt them as well,make sure they trust you.”

Quickly making his way to the side of the door as he took a step back as one of the soldiers said “we don’t have anything to break down the door colonel.” as König swings his shoulder with strength against the door as the door breaks open. As König just went in as the others looked shocked at how easy that was for him. Well what could they think their colonel was a man pure made out of muscles and roughness.

Looking around as König made his was inside the old hospital with the other behind him. Clutching his rifle against his chest,ready to shoot if he needed to. Walking through the many hallways as he heard muffled whimpers as he turned around and made a sign for the soldiers so they know that it’s now or never. As he quickly made his way in with his team right behind him.

Inside was a huge massacre. Blood was almost staining all over the normally white tiles and some dead hostages laid still bounded up on the floor. Looking around he saw most of them were men that were hold hostage but also some woman as he made directly eye contact with you.

There you saw him a man that definitely looked as scary when not even more scary then the people you got kidnapped from he has a mask one that hides his face completely besides his almost striking ice blue eyes. Looking around as best as you could with all the rope around your body as you saw that probably the teammates of the scary men helped the other hostages.

Seeing him come walking over you as whined out as you couldn’t speak as you had tape over your lips. Instinctively you closed you eyes,you didn’t knew why but you just didn’t hope he would hurt you as well. You body started shaking violently as you felt a hand around your shoulder as you kicked ahead with your leg as you heard a pain filled groan. “Jesus Mädchen! Calm down I’m here to help.” he hissed at you with his deep voice.

Opening your eyes you made eye contact as the hulk bends down to free you as you smelled him. He smelled like gun oil,some kind of citrusy soap and some cologne. Trying to wiggle your way out of his way as he grabbed you but way more soft and gentle than you thought as he made sure you looked at him. “Trust me liebes. I’m hostage rescue I’ll get you out of here.” Slowly starting to trust him he removed the tightly wrapped ropes from your body as he softly also removed the tape from your mouth.

Trying to get up on your own as you probably didn’t stand for over three months on your own ,your legs instantly collapsed together as you let out a pained whimper because you also had a deep scratch on your upper thigh area. Quickly König turned around as he softly puts his strong hand on your waist and the other under your knees as he picked you up securely against his chest. “Liebes I know it’s hard but try to talk to me okay? What’s your name kleines?”

Kind of dazed you looked up at you. “M-my name is y/n..” nodding softly at your answer as he started walking out the old cafeteria area you and the others were ‘stored’ in for the last months. Exhaustion took over your delicate body as you leaned your head against his strong shoulder your hands were resting against his chest but he also didn’t complained about it so you kept them there. You could feel strong abs maybe even an eight pack but you didn’t want to get all touchy and feel now so you focused more on his strong heartbeat,it calmed you down a lot.

Looking up at him you saw he was staring at you as well maybe he felt your touch shit! As you quickly looked away as a soft touch of red was getting noticeable on your cheek. “I’m König. Just letting you know I will take care of you for the next whatever weeks or months. So better be obedient.”

#cod mw2 #könig x you #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig #könig smut #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #könig fanfiction #könig x y/n #konig mw2 #konig smut #konig x reader #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig x you #cod konig

[dxckgrxsonx]

Half My Soul

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader Words - 4.6K Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Graphic Sexual Content - Unprotected Sex - Swearing - Choking - Dirty Talk - Multiple Orgasms - Crying - Begging - Jason makes reader Embarrassed - Jason is giving major Dom Vibes - Car Crash mention at the start (Reader hits Jason with her car lol) - Fluff at the End. Notes - I have nothing to say for myself. The idea of the reader wearing Jason’s holsters came to me in the middle of the night and I scrambled to come up with something resembling a plot. I love you all very much and hope you like this!! 💕

MASTERLIST

**

You spin into his life with no clear trajectory.

For a second he thinks you’re a misfire, a stray bullet fired straight into the centre of his armour-covered chest. He feels your impact burn, the bones of his spine shaking in response to a wound that isn’t there. There’s adrenaline bleeding into his bloodstream and while Jason knows his mind works a mile a minute, it goes completely silent when he looks at you.

Because you just hit him with your car.

And he’s lying on his back in the middle of the street like a moron.

“Oh fucking shit! Please don’t be dead.” Your voice registers vaguely in the back of his skull, there’s a shrill note of panic weaving through your words and he’d laugh if the breath wasn’t knocked from his lungs. “Also, please don’t sue. I’ve got no money, the only thing you’d win in the settlement is my fucking cutlery.”

He could use some new cutlery.

“It’s not even legally mine.” You continue, lost in a ramble. He thinks you’re going into shock. “I stole it from IKEA. Oh god. They’re not even metal, they’re plastic! Who even uses plastic cutlery?”

He smothers a chuckle, sits up and starts assessing.

Jason knows the Lazarus Pit changed his body, offering abilities that would be labelled unnatural by any sane person. He’s given up on trying to catalogue all the ways the pit altered him, a large part doesn’t want to know, isn’t ready to process it. But he does know he’s stronger, harder to kill, quicker to heal.

You hit him with your car and the only thing he feels is a tight ache in his shoulder from where he slammed into your windscreen then the tarmac.

Some might call it a gift. On hard nights, Jason calls it a curse.

He pats along his thighs, searching for the holsters that house his dual pistols. He can’t remember when being armed became such a comfort. Somewhere between torture and death and rebirth. Either way, the cold metal bleeds into the tips of his fingers and he sighs, exhales the tension biting at his throat.

Until he pats his second holster and finds it empty.

There’s a split second where his stomach drops, a gaping hole swallowing the wet meat of his organs. The drop feels endless, feels like jumping from a building and realising you have no grapple to break the fall.

Jason reaches for the one pistol he has, moves to flick off the safety and point it at your centre mass. He didn’t see you as a threat, can’t see any bumps of concealed weapons under your clothes but he’s been wrong before, been foolish. He isn’t going to make the same mistakes.

“Oh,” You mutter, “I think this is yours by the way.” Jason looks at you, thankful that his helmet covers the horrified look on his face because you’re holding his pistol. “It kinda fell out of its umm–pocket?” He watches your face, cataloguing the way your pupils are so dilated he can hardly tell what colour your eyes are. You look at his helmet, then back at the gun and suddenly your hands start shaking. “This is a gun…I’m holding a gun, right now, in my hands…”

Inexperience shines fever bright on your face. Your fingers hold his gun clumsily, almost like you’re tugged between curiosity and fear. Jason tries to swallow the harsh words from his mouth, tries to control the reflective urge to snatch the gun from your hands. He’s never liked other people touching his weapons.

“Yes you are.” Jason finally says, mouth bone dry. “And it’s mine, so hand it over.”

Your eyes flick to his helmet for a split second, an unreadable expression slotting into place, “Would you mind if I borrowed it for a minute? I’m gonna go get myself some metal cutlery and live like a millionaire before I go to jail for running you over.”

Jason grabs his pistol before you have a chance to react. There’s no way you are using his baby to commit robbery.

“You’re not going to jail.” He sighs, slotting the weapon into its holster. It’s the truth, he’s in no way going to press charges against you for something that’s his fault. “No one in the right mind would sue you for plastic forks.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I was in the presence of royalty.”

You say it like it’s an insult and Jason, for the smallest second, finds himself thoroughly amused, the edges of his mouth quirking up in the ghost of a smile.

Swinging himself upright he glances at your car and brushes off the glass caught on his jacket. Staring at the windscreen he understands why his shoulder feels like it was dragged from its socket then shoved back in. His impact has shattered the glass, raining glittering shards over the road and all across the interior of your car.

“Look what you’ve done to my car.” You growl, hooking a thumb over your shoulder and gesturing wildly to the ruined windscreen. “How am I supposed to get home now? Better yet, how the fuck can I pay for the damage?”

Jason wants to run his hands through his hair, maybe tug at the ends in frustration. He’s already mentally run through the costs on fixing your car, has the numbers for two different people who could come and get the vehicle now and get working on it. They both owe him a favour after all.

But then one question remains: how are you supposed to get home?

Jason knows his bike is close by and the solution easily wades to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t want to leave you to find your own way home in the middle of the night, especially for something that wasn’t your fault.

He’ll have to take you home.

Apprehension quickly follows the solution though, and there's a weight sitting heavy in his stomach, he thinks it might be the beginning of a warning.

“I’ll take you home.” He says, trying to swallow the taste of bile from his mouth. You’re not a threat, you didn’t hit him on purpose. It was his own fault for misjudging his landing from the roof above. “We’ll need to wait for someone to come get your car though, it’s not exactly in a drivable condition.”

You arch an eyebrow in his direction, hands still shaking, “Yeah. That does tend to happen when a masked idiot falls from the sky directly in front of your car.”

Turning his back Jason doesn’t reply. Instead he uses his helmet's heads up display to call someone for your car.

Watching you from over his shoulder as he speaks he measures your gait as you walk, checking for injuries hidden by adrenaline. You slide into the driver's seat, clearly ignoring the bite of glass scattered across the fabric. Leaning over the centre console Jason hears you click open the glovebox and pull something out.

Immediately he maps out his options, fingers hovering over his holsters.

“Don’t think it would be a good idea to leave my purse in there, huh?” Jason’s heart pounds beneath his ribs, blood rushing hot through his head. It’s not a weapon, you’re not going to attack him. You slip out and lean against the side of your car, thumbing through your belongings. “If anyone asks. Yes, I do have a valid licence.”

“You don’t have a valid licence?”

You roll your eyes and deadpan, “What did I just say?”

Shaking his head, Jason turns to face you fully, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Your eyes follow his movements, gaze lingering on the ripple of his muscles. Glancing away just as fast Jason can’t find it in himself to fight the smug smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Question–” You start.

“No.”

Frustration blazes across your face, jaw tightening. You shove off the side of your car with a growl, steps quiet as you stalk towards him, purse in hand. There’s a bright flash of something in your eyes, you look powerful, downright lethal.

Jason’s heart skips.

He can’t deny he finds it attractive. That your immediate response is to challenge him head on rather than go quiet and back off. Your whole posture flips in the blink of an eye and Jason finds himself responding, curious and giddy at the prospect of pushing your buttons. He knows it’s stupid of him, you might very well be in shock, you did just hit him with your car. But it's been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

“I will hit you with my car again. Don’t test me.” Jason grins, a mean flash of teeth hidden behind his helmet. You step easily into his space, getting up on your tip-toes to almost stand at the same height. Cute. “Anyway, as I was going to say–”

Jason finds himself distracted. It's a dangerous thing, to let your mind wander in the middle of the street in Gotham. He can hear the grumbling disappointment of his own brain, thinks that the voice it adopts sounds like Batman.

Jason swallows, fingers tapping along his holsters for comfort, reassurance.

The distraction is you and there's a part of him that hates it.

You’re on your tip-toes, fired up and ready for a fight. There’s not a single speck of fear swirling in your eyes and Jason doesn’t quite know how to react. Doesn’t know whether he wants to nudge you so you fall back onto the flats of your feet just to see your reaction, or press his mouth to yours and swallow all that controlled fury into his stomach.

“–we’re stopping at Batburger, right? I mean, hitting someone with your car really works up an appetite.”

His brain throws him out of his own head. There’s a disbelieving laugh caught in his chest, “Are you for real?”

You smile, and Jason’s head goes quiet again.

The dim street lights cover your face in shadows, features drenched in artificial light and darkness, but your smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen. He thinks you’re ethereal, goddamn fucking beautiful.

“Deadly.” You breathe, rocking back onto the flats of your feet. “I’m going to see how many free packets of ketchup I can get.”

There's a heavy flip in his stomach and–

Oh.

This is what his brain was warning him of earlier.

**

You still manage to surprise him.

Like hitting him with your car as a first meeting wasn't good enough and you’re trying to one up yourself.

Jason thinks it’s in your nature, thinks that part of who you are is geared towards throwing a curveball at anyone close enough. It used to shock him, coming home from patrol in the early hours of the morning and seeing you awake and alert and doing something goddamn stupid.

Last time it was seeing how many glow in the dark stars you can stick to the ceiling. The time before that it was pulling all the spices out of the cupboard and mixing them together just to see what it was going to taste like.

Terrible.

This time though, he comes back from patrol swimming in frantic adrenaline to find you standing in front of the bedroom mirror. There’s an almost wicked look on your face, mouth tipped up in a mischievous smirk. It makes his fingers twitch with the overwhelming urge to touch you–even after all the time you’ve been together, Jason never tires of seeing you, touching you, loving you. 

His eyes are greedy and he takes you in with measured appreciation, blood thrumming hot through his veins.

You’re in your underwear, wearing one of his worn shirts–the black one with the hole in the side. 

With a pair of his holsters strapped around your bare thighs.

**

In the back of your head, you think pulling a gun on him might give you more of a reaction.

Jason goes strangely still. His silence reverberates throughout the apartment and there's a quiet part of you that just barely scrapes the blunt edge of apprehension. You wonder, for a split second if you’ve crossed a line. That the sight of you wearing his holsters offends him somehow.

After all, you know how protective he is over his weapons.

You look at him, twist so you can face him fully, then pause. There’s an apology balancing on the tip of your tongue and you find that you hate the taste of it. You shift slightly from foot to foot because sometimes–if he doesn’t want you to–Jason will almost close off his body language.

It took a long time to learn his quirks, to read between the thin lines he gives you. For a long time you think he was bracing himself for an endless fall. That he was purposefully preparing himself for you to decide he wasn't worth your time, like he expected you would wake up one morning and realise something horrible about him.

You never did, you never would.

Jason Todd is threaded through the delicate wisps of your soul. Tangled himself so deeply that sometimes, if you close your eyes, you don’t know where you start and he ends.

But looking at him now, you get a soft tug along the notches of your spine.

Wrapped in kevlar and dusted with gunpowder you think you understand the bolt of fear that runs through Gotham's criminals. Understand why that bright red symbol on his chest makes them scramble for cover.

Jason is tall and broad and fucking deadly.

The helmet over his head offers no reassurance, gives you a blank, emotionless stare that leaves your stomach half in knots. It’s hard to look for something tangible on something so blank.

His hand reaches up to press along the release mechanism and you hold your breath.

“Sweetheart,” Jason drawls, voice half shrouded in his modulator. “You are a motherfucking menace.”

The smile that breaks over your face feels like relief.

Spinning in a quick circle you rub your fingers across the rough fabric, thumbs hooking into the holsters. “You like?”

Jason’s eyes are appreciative as they rove over your figure, you feel the weight of his gaze skirt across your thighs and stop there. Tucking his bottom lip between his teeth you watch as his pupils blow out, darkness sweeping in over a bright blue horizon and swallowing everything in its path.

“You’re so pretty baby.” He says, helmet dropping to the floor with a thud. “I had no idea you’d look so fuckin’ good wearing those.”

Your smile turns hungry.

You almost want to sink your teeth into his jugular and never let go.

“Yeah?” You grin, edges of your mouth turning a little too sharp. “So you don’t want me to take them off?”

Tapping the pads of your fingers along the plastic clips you threaten to undo them and let the holsters slip off your thighs. Across from you Jason growls, low and threatening. Your skin prickles in response, hair along the back of your neck standing on end.

Between one blink and the next Jason has you shoved against the wall. Your spine trembles in response to his strength, fingers quickly smoothing along his lower stomach, searching for soft, warm skin. Resting his hands either side of your head Jason ducks to catch your eye.

“Nah baby, want you to keep them on so I can fuck you in them.”

His tone is authoritative, almost brushing the edges of an order.

You respond with a quiet noise and slip your hands under his shirt, finally touching the warm skin of his stomach. Tracing the hard lines of his muscles you feel them twitch under your gentle ministrations. Without breaking eye contact you rake your nails down his abs, scratching the sensitive skin to leave red marks in your wake.

Jason snarls in response and for the smallest second, you regret doing it.

One hand closes around your neck faster than you can comprehend and squeezes. The air drags through your throat and your eyes roll straight into the back of your skull.

“You just can’t be good can you? Not even for one second.” Jason hisses, lips touching the shell of your ear. “Just have to piss me off.” Your throat works hard under his palm, words trapped thick in your chest. “Nu-uh baby, you don’t need to speak, you just need to be quiet and take my cock.”

Sweeping his free hand over your hip Jason slips his thumb under the elastic band of your underwear. Snapping it against your skin he loosens his fist, tips your head back and forces you to expose the soft arc of your neck.

Vulnerability never came easy to either of you.

In the first few months Jason always chose his words carefully, never put himself in a position where he was exposed, where he didn’t have at least some advantage. He was curious but overwhelmingly afraid. You knew, even back then, that something had shattered him. Someone had broken him so brutally that he reflectively decided the only way to stay safe was to remain alone.

Sometimes, you wonder if his soul was pulled out of his body and replaced with something else.

Sometimes, you wonder if it was replaced at all.

And you?

Ex’s are ex’s for a reason.

You have no desire to relive that portion of your life.

Cupping his palm over your pussy, Jason places the slightest amount of pressure there and your mouth parts in a silent whine. Rubbing two fingers along your weeping slit Jason chuckles as he feels your swollen clit throb when he passes over it.

“You must really be desperate, sweetheart.” Jason mutters. “I can feel your horny pussy soaking through your panties.”

“Shut up.” You growl, embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“What?” He coos, circling your clit through the wet fabric. “You don’t like me talking about how wet you are? Don’t want me to tell you that I can feel you soaking my fingers after a few light touches? Fuckin’ Christ baby, I think you could come just like this, just from me rubbing your little pussy through your underwear.”

There’s something humiliating about how he points it out and you want to hide.

But you’ve never been this wet.

“Jay.” You whine, wide eyes darting over the ceiling, pulse positively thrumming under your skin.

The pads of his fingers press against your jugular, measuring the frantic thud of your heart. Humming quietly, Jason dips his head, mouths at the sensitive skin under your ear and you want to flinch. Dragging his teeth down your neck he licks over your pulse point, smiling when he hears your breath catch in your throat–feels your heart skip against his tongue.

Refusing to slip his hand under your underwear Jason keeps circling your clit. The fabric turns sticky, starts to mould to every dip and groove of your cunt. You feel it stick, warm and wet to the puffy lips of your pussy. You want to start crying.

If Jason was to look, you know he could see everything.

The thought is almost as mortifying as it is arousing.

Scoffing against your throat Jason moves one hand to your hip and stops you from rocking against his fingers. “You’re so easy, baby.” He teases, “A few gentle touches and look at you, desperate to come in your underwear.”

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip you try to swallow back a moan. You think your thighs are shaking.

“Think I should make you keep them on after you’ve come.” He muses, thoughtful. “Or maybe I should come in them too, make you sleep with them on, all wet and sticky from our come.”

Part of you wants to strangle him just to shut him up, but your body betrays you.

Just like Jason knew it would.

You come with a desperate cry of his name, thighs trembling and threatening to give out underneath you. Tears well in your eyes, lashes wet, eyes glassy. Your clit twitches wildly against Jason's fingers, the rhythmic spasms barely felt through the fabric. Your walls flutter around nothing but empty air.

You ache.

Hooking his hands under your thighs, Jason hoists you up and guides your legs around his thick waist. A quick, surprised noise escapes from between your teeth. His strength never fails to make you feel like you’ve been hit by lightning, all buzzing and sparking like a live wire.

Spinning on his feet he dumps you on the bed.

Jason stands over you, leaves you spread out across the sheets, legs parted to give him a perfect view of the soaked piece of fabric sticking to your pussy. Dragging his eyes over the holsters still strapped around your thighs he groans, low and a little feral.

In the back of your head, you’re glad the sight of you wearing his holsters makes him so unhinged. For far too long he’s pulled that reaction from you when he gears up for patrol, something about the danger that gets you hot under the collar.

Sweat beads up along Jason’s hairline and he swipes it away absentmindedly.

Shifting onto your knees you rest your hands on his shoulders, twist your fingers into his hair and guide his mouth to yours. Licking into your mouth Jason sighs, the harsh line of his shoulders softening. Cupping your jaw to hold you in place Jason kisses you, warm and soft and lovingly. The taste of him coats your tongue and your eyes flutter shut when he nips at your bottom lip.

Letting you go, Jason grins, lips swollen and flushed a deep red.

Shoving you backwards he unclips his own holsters and lets them drop to the ground with a heavy thud. Unbuckling his tactical belt he wrestles with his pants and boxers, just barely getting them shoved down far enough to free his throbbing length.

Curling his hand around the base of his cock Jason groans and gives himself one, slow pump from base to tip. Precum beads up on the fat, flushed head and you find that you want to lick it off, want to have the heavy taste of him on your tongue.

Dragging you to the end of the bed Jason pauses, only for a second, but long enough for you to hook your thumbs into the elastic of your underwear and try to pull them off.

Growling your name Jason swats at the inside of your thigh. The sharp slap leaves your skin tingling and on a reflex you try to close your legs, but Jason simply shoves them apart and delivers another smack to the opposite thigh.

“What did I say I was going to do, baby?” He questions, a horrible glint in his eyes. Heat scathes across your cheeks, you think he’s set you on fire. Shaking your head you find that you can’t quite look him in the eye. “Come on, sweetheart. S’not that hard.”

“Jay,” You say, voice touching the edge of pathetic. “Don’t make me say it.”

Tipping his head to the side Jason coos, “Aw baby, are you all embarrassed?” The look on his face has you moving to hide, hands coming up to cover your eyes and block him from view. “M’not going to make you say anything. You’re going to say it because you’re a good girl.”

Tugging your hands away from your face Jason brushes his thumb over your lower lip. There’s a hint of softness swirling under his skin and you don’t know if he’s comforting you or manipulating you.

He’s always been good at getting his way. Uses your weaknesses against you to get what he wants.

“You’re going to come in my underwear.” You finally get out, voice quiet, small.

“And?” Jason grins.

Tears bubble up along your lashes and slip into your hairline, “Make me sleep in them.”

Pulling your underwear to one side Jason sinks into your pussy, the fat head stretching your slick walls apart. The thick girth of him burns as he splits you open around him and you hate that the slight pulse of pain makes you wetter, has you clamping down around him like a vice.

“There we go,” Jason says, “That wasn’t so hard was it?” Crying out when he pulls back and thrusts back in you shake your head, mouth parting to choke on a drawn out gasp. “See what you get when you’re good?”

Moving to press his palms against the inside of your knees Jason spreads you out wider, holds your legs down so he can shove his cock deeper. Your muscles stretch and burn and when you try to buck your hips up in retaliation Jason smiles because you can’t move more than an inch.

“Oh no baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bleeding into a rough rhythm you moan, body shaking with the sensation of being so full.

“Jay–please–.” Your fingers twist into the sheets at your side. “I–I…fuck!”

“What do you want, baby?” He pants, sinking balls deep into your wet heat.

“Hng–Jay.” You sob, tears quickly streaming down the sides of your pretty face. A harsh thrust has your eyes rolling back. “Jason, oh please–please.”

“I don’t think you even know what you’re begging for, sweetheart.” He replies. 

Arching your back you shudder, pleasure rippling and alive under your skin. Jason releases one of your legs to swipe at your clit and your voice cracks, then breaks on a shuddering cry when the pressure becomes too much. Your pussy gushes around Jason’s cock and you wail when your underwear soaks it straight up.

“Oh–oh, I’m…”

“Gonna come?” Jason finishes for you. “I know, can feel your messy pussy squeezing me.”

Not pausing in his rhythm Jason keeps rubbing your clit and you think your brain is going to rot right out of your ears. There’s a flicker of overstimulation across your nerves and your cunt clenches up tight when the head of Jason’s cock brushes over a soft, sensitive patch inside you.

“Oh really?” He says immediately, choking back a moan. “Right there?”

“Uh-huh.” Pulsing hard around his length again you want to crack your chest wide open. “Jay–s’close.” Scrambling at the sheets for stability you feel your head spin, think that being drunk on pleasure feels the same as being drunk on alcohol. “Please, Jason. I can’t–I’m not–please!”

“I know, baby. I know.” Jason soothes. “You’ve been so good for me.” Your clit swells against the pad of his finger and you balance on the blinding edge of oblivion.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your whole world implodes and Jason Todd stands at its centre.

**

Moving around the kitchen with practised efficiency Jason makes breakfast.

At two in the afternoon.

You sit at the kitchen table, eyes still soft with sleep. He finds it hard sometimes, to focus when you’re sitting there with warm afternoon light streaming through the windows. You must feel his gaze on your face because you look up, catch his lovesick gaze and smile.

He loves you.

Grabbing two plates he dishes up breakfast and pads over to the cutlery drawer. Tugging it open he grins, mouth pulling up into a beaming smile. Sometimes he can’t believe that he ever managed to live without you.

The first, and second time.

Grabbing the one set of plastic cutlery in the drawer he slides it across the table and when you spot it you laugh, eyes crinkling at the edges.

You’re so beautiful it hurts.

Under the soft light of the afternoon he thinks: you are half of my soul, the half that the pit took away and never returned.

Jason Todd loves you.

**

#jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #ella writes #I’m going directly to bed #today has been a day #unconsciousness take me awayyy

[toxicanonymity]

Hey :)

Possible ask for you : i can't stop thinking about something that could annoy Raider. Since the beginning she comes almost everytime when he fucks her. I see this as a pride for him (it assets his dominance). In "if you want him", he asked her if she was wet.

And i was thinking, what if one time she wasn't wet ?

So i was wondering why she wouldn't be, since she is since day one...

Maybe she could be in a depression phase (because of her captivity ?) and maybe she could think about Jack. Not in a way where she'd misses him, but because he was killed in front of her. Her situation can certainly lead to a depression. Depression can lead to least horniness. And raider could be annoyed, at first, and worried. But i don't know how he would handle it. Overstimulation? (hard way lol)

I don't know if it works (it's a hard balance because we can't let him think that she's "useless") for what you're planning, but i'd love to see him lost, if reader wouldn't want him, for once

Have a nice day :)

Raider goes down on you

450 words | Raider Joel Master List

A/N: Very interesting thought. I think his sex animal instincts might kick in for a. . . pragmatic approach.

WARNINGS: I8+ oral F receiving, unsafe P in V

Let's say you're face down on the bed in the middle of the night. You wake up, which wakes him up. He's lying to your side. . . Once he shoves his hand between your legs, he doesn't find the usual pool. His brow furrows as he probes for it.

"What's wrong?" You don't say anything. He turns you over like a toy that needs its batteries checked.

He tries again from the front. "Talk to me."

"Nothing, I'm sorry," you shake your head. "I had a bad dream." His face softens, but he's still a little disturbed. He wedges your legs open and kneels between them. He gets on his stomach and puts your legs over his broad shoulders. He plants his face and starts slowly, looking up at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

The sight alone is one to behold, his back and shoulder muscles hulking, his face determined but also a little concerned. The scar on his eyebrow. Soon he's completely overtaken by desire. You taste so good, smell so good, feel so good on his tongue, he forgets why he's even down there and just goes to town. Eating you voraciously, moaning into your folds, nosing your clit, shoving his tongue inside you like you're an oasis in the desert.

He looks up and sees you arch your back a little with a whiny look on your face and he whispers, "yeah," because he knows he's turned you on. He prowls back up your body. He looks down between your bodies, lining his cock up before he shoves into you. And yeah, he turned you on enough, it feels good, but you still have a lot on your mind. You try not to show it. He starts slow, watches your face, and pounds you. You don't look at him.

Let's say you can't come and he doesn't say anything, but you get the sense he's disturbed. Yeah, he considers forcing you to come, but when you insist "please come, I want you to come," he does. His massive pulsations inside you are almost enough to send you into your own climax if you weren't so in your head.

. . . . .

After he's come, he starts to worry about you. He recognizes that you have a lot of bad things to dream about (even if he doesn't quite face the fact that a lot of it's his fault) and maybe not enough good ones, like maybe when he's not there it's kinda boring and you can get to thinking too much. He doesn't know what he can do, but it stays in the back of his mind, and maybe the next day he invites you to shooting practice with him to use your gun. Maybe once you have a holster he invites you to go for a walk. Like, "now that we're both armed, we can go out more."

#joel miller smut #raider!ask #joel miller x reader #raider!joel miller #tw dubcon #toxicanonymity ☠️ #raider!joel☠️ #raider!PR tour #milla frenchy

[loverhymeswith]

Let's Be Alone Together || Part Four

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader

Summary: Tommy's revelation is cut short by an unexpected distraction

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: This chapter contains scenes of a violent nature, including a physical attack, blood, guns and gore. Please proceed with caution. Also, a probably poor description of inside the Shelby's betting shop.

A/N: Shout out to @a-reader-and-a-writer for the love, support and whump-spiration💖

Masterlist

For half a moment, you think that Tommy Shelby is going to kiss you. His mouth - parted - is so close to your own that if either of you were to move forwards, even by just an inch, your lips would be touching. 

So close, yet so far. 

Because in the quiet of the betting shop, the two of you stand frozen; a tableau. Your hands, surprisingly steady, rest against Tommy’s broad chest, fingertips brushing the dark leather straps of his shoulder holster. His hands, surprisingly soft and warm, cup your jaw as he searches your gaze. 

“Tommy…” 

His extraordinary blue eyes widen, blinking rapidly. But it’s not the sound of his name as it falls from your lips that breaks whatever spell he’s fallen under. Somewhere in the back of the shop, a floorboard creaks.

Tensing beneath your touch, Tommy’s voice is low but urgent when he finally speaks. “Were you alone? Before I got here?”

Tentatively, you nod. Arthur had locked the door behind him before leaving earlier this morning. It’s inconceivable that anyone else could have been here with you - that you hadn’t been aware of their presence this whole time.

Isn’t it?

Tommy carefully releases you, his scar-flecked hands balling into fists as they fall to his sides. “Go,” he tells you in the same quietly compelling tone that leaves no room for argument. “Lock yourself in the office. Don’t come out until I tell you to do so.”

Deprived of the reassuring warmth of his touch, your head spins at the sudden shift in the man before you - the man now reaching for his gun. From curiously captivated to deadly calm - this is the side of Tommy you recognise. The side you have become accustomed to. 

The man who protects his empire and his assets at all costs. 

“Go.”

With little choice but to follow his orders, you abandon the wooden table in the centre of the room and hurry behind the metal bars that separate Polly’s office - and the cash boxes - from the rest of the shop. The gate shuts behind you with a heavy clang and with trembling fingers you lock yourself inside, pocketing the key.

Despite your line of sight being skewed by the bars, you watch uneasily as Tommy begins his sweep of the shop, one unwavering arm outstretched as he aims his gun into the dimly lit corners of the room. 

Is it possible he’s overreacting, or is there really someone else here? Someone who doesn’t belong. 

The thought alone causes you to falter, staggering backwards until you reach the far wall of the office. How long have they been watching you? What would have happened had Tommy not returned? Have you really been a sitting duck all this time?

With a start, you remember the gun. The small pistol Arthur had given you - an employment gift of sorts - stashed away in your handbag beneath the wooden table. If you could just make it out of the cage undetected… You’ve never fired the thing, but the intruder doesn’t know that.

Attentioned focused solely on Tommy as he slips through the curtains to check the rest of the house, you take a hesitant step forwards. Three more steps and you’ll be back at the gate. But before you can move another inch, something - someone - grabs hold of you from behind, dragging you away from the bars. 

A rough hand smothers your mouth, stifling the scream you were about to let rip.

“Make a sound and my pal over there will blow his fuckin’ brains out.”

The voice, barely more than a harsh whisper, is unfamiliar and you freeze in the foreign grip, just in time to see a shadowy figure move beyond the bars. Damning evidence of Tommy’s impending peril.

“Atta girl,” your assailant mutters into your ear, his hot, damp breath making your skin crawl. “Now, you’re gonna do exactly what I say and no one has to get hurt. We just want the cash.”

Fear paralyses your body, but your mind is whirring, desperate for a way out. Because you recognise the northern accent. You know enough about the Shelby’s business dealings to understand that it’s far more than money these Yorkshiremen are after.

Power. Revenge. War.

If you stand here silently, they will murder Tommy in cold blood.

Despite the heavy breathing of the man holding you captive, you strain your ears for the faintest sound - any indication of where Tommy is or what he’s doing. If he comes back into the shop and finds you being held hostage, he’ll take aim at your captor and it won’t end well for anyone.

You can’t let it come to that.

With concern for Tommy clouding your judgement and no better plan emerging, you say a fleeting prayer to the god you no longer believe in and discretely raise your left leg, bringing your heel down with great force on your assailant’s foot. 

The man yelps. The shock of the attack briefly loosens his grip, just as you’d hoped, allowing you enough room to wiggle out of his arms whilst simultaneously elbowing him in the stomach. As he doubles over in pain, you bolt to the gate, scrambling for the keys.

Get the gun. Get to Tommy. Get out.

From the furthest recess of the shop, you hear Tommy - alerted by the sounds of your struggle - shouting your name, his voice thick and rasping with panic.

“There’s two of them,” you yell back, no longer fearing for your own safety. You just need Tommy to be ok.

But there’s no response, and before you can unlock the gate, a hand clamps tightly around your forearm, hauling you away from the bars and spinning you around.

“You stupid bitch.” 

The man lashes out, his palm connecting with your cheek in a wicked blow. Tears spring to your eyes as your skin burns, but you manage to stumble to the side, ducking unsteadily in order to avoid a second strike.

“Didn’t I warn you, eh? Didn’t want to spill blood today but looks like you’re leavin’ us with no choice.”

The hold on your arm is relinquished, only to be replaced almost instantly by the same hand clasping your neck, thick fingers pressing painfully into your windpipe until it’s difficult to breathe. 

But apparently, this would be far too kind a demise. Because, moments later, you feel the telltale sting of metal as the cold, hard muzzle of a gun kisses your temple.

No. Not like this. 

Where is Tommy?

As you grapple to free yourself from the tight grip around your throat in a panic-stricken haze, you recollect a lesson given to you by John all those months ago - half in jest - on the basics of self-defence: how to hit a man where it hurts. 

If this is the end, at least you’ll go down fighting. Maybe they made a Peaky Blinder out of you, after all.

Your fingers scratch desperately at your assailant’s hands as he draws you closer, the dampness beneath your nails indicating that you too are capable of spilling blood. But it’s a mere distraction. He doesn’t notice you jerk your knee upwards in a violent fashion, as high as it will go, until it’s too late.

Seconds away from blacking out - or having your brains blown out - you hit the magic spot. 

The man lets out an almighty grunt as he releases you, both hands flying to his crotch as he folds to the floor. Nothing less than sheer instinct sees you lurching forwards and wrenching the gun out of his weakened, bloody grip.

You’re panting now, every breath burning as you fight to fill your lungs and clear your head. You have the gun trained on the crumpled man, but the nightmare is far from over. Behind you, there are sounds of a skirmish. Grunting and shouting as Tommy wrestles with the second intruder, but mercifully no gunshots. 

Without taking your eyes off your attacker, you slowly inch backwards until you hit the bars of the cage. The keys remain jammed in the lock, just as you’d left them.

“Tommy,” you yell, frantically. “Are you ok?” But the damage to your throat has left your voice hoarse, little more than a wheeze. 

When Tommy - understandably - doesn’t reply, you risk a glance over your shoulder, just in time to spot him grabbing the stranger by his jacket and hauling him against the blackboard. The man might tower over him by at least half a foot, but he is no match for Tommy’s pure strength. As Tommy begins pummelling his fists into the man’s face, you dare to allow yourself a moment of relief and, barely registering the horror of the situation, you look away.

Returning your attention to your own assailant, you are startled to find that, like something out of your very worst dreams, he has risen. His hideous face twists into a cruel smirk as he approaches, his pace slow yet menacing. 

“You ain’t got it in you, lass.”

Maybe he’s right. Your hands are certainly trembling as they tighten around the gun, the prospect of taking a man’s life suddenly very terribly real.

Kill or be killed. 

It doesn’t make it any easier. And you’d had the nerve to call Tommy a coward. Maybe you should take a look in the mirror.

On second thoughts, better not. Because in one moment the man is standing before you, his arms outstretched and ready to attack. The next, there is a deafening bang and he slumps to the floor, his brains splattered on the wall behind him. 

Stunned into stillness, you hear Tommy shout your name, his spent gun clattering to the ground. You’re vaguely aware of the cage opening behind you and the next thing you know, you’re collapsing into a strong, reassuring pair of arms.

“It’s over now. I’ve got you. It’s over.” 

Tommy’s hushed words are a soothing balm as he gently turns you to face him, assessing you for injury as he holds you at arm’s length. Whatever he sees quickly causes his brow to furrow and his jaw to tense, his attention lingering on the bruises around your neck.

Through tear-stained eyes you meet his gaze - a frightening, ice-cold gaze - the kind of gaze that promises a swift and painful death to those who hurt you - except he’s already delivered that, hasn’t he?

In the waning afternoon light, you take the opportunity to study him, too. His shirt is stained red and a sheen of sweat covers his skin. The lengths of his hair are damp, slicked across his forehead. But despite being in such an unusual state of disarray, there’s no obvious sign of injury, except for a small cut above his brow. 

Tommy’s fury passes and gradually, his expression softens. “I’ve got you, love. It’s ok. You’re going to be ok, you hear me?”

He starts to pull you closer as you nod mutely, but you feel something damp against your temple and you stiffen in his arms. When you touch a finger to your skin, it comes away crimson.

“Blood…” you murmur, somehow not as horrified as you know you should be.

Ever so slowly, so as not to startle you, Tommy takes your face in his hands just like before. 

“It’s not yours,” he assures you, softly wiping away the evidence with his thumb, oblivious - or maybe not - to the fact that his own hands are already stained. “You’re ok, eh. We’re ok.” 

“I couldn’t do it, Tommy. I couldn’t pull the trigger.” 

“I know.” He lowers his head, until your brows are almost touching. “And that is nothing to be ashamed of. You did more than anyone could have asked for. I saw the way you fought back. The boys will be so proud of you. I am proud of you.”

You try to shake your head, still in his grasp. “It wasn’t enough.” 

Because you should have been better. Quicker off the mark. You shouldn’t have frozen. You should have noticed earlier that you weren’t alone.

“It was more than enough,” Tommy tells you firmly. “You are more than enough. All this time, I’ve underestimated you. I thought it was you who needed protecting but now I see that I was wrong. I think maybe it was me this whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

In lieu of giving you an answer, Tommy leans in, finally closing the distance. His lips - surprisingly soft - brush over yours, a gentle caress and a silent request.

This time, you won’t hesitate. This time, you won’t freeze. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself onto your tip toes and deepen the kiss, distantly wondering if he’s right. 

Maybe it has been him, this whole time.

Tommy Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @simpforbuckyb @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @iammrsrogers @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy @fia-thefirst @dreamy-caramel @trixie23

#tommy shelby #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #whump #let's be alone together

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Can you do Gotham!Victor Zsasz x reader where he gets jealous? And maybe it leads to smutty angry sex ;-)

‘YOU’RE MINE,

-GOTHAM!VICTOR ZSASZ X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; you’re his girl, only his.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!victor zsasz x female reader. obsessive and possessive behavior. victors dry humor (sort of?) persevering through his jealousy. SMUT !!!!!! like, i went heavy with this one guys. SADOMASOCHISTIC SEX! victor marks reader. also, drama queen victor.

♫ “whistling like a bullet in the sky / you don’t talk to no one, don’t you look at nothing / no ones gonna use you up and break you the way that I do.” You’re Mine by Phantogram

He typically doesn’t get like this. No, he trusts you. And even if he didn’t- he stalks you every damn day. Has your phone password. Crashes your apartment and searches your drawers. And when he’s not keeping an eye out for you- one of the zsaszettes is. Y’know, just in case, he always adds- whenever you come home to him fiddling around your apartment or browsing your phone.

In reality, because he keeps tabs on you is WHY he trusts you. And so far, nothing has been out of the ordinary. You’ve been his loyal soldier- his girl.

Well, until percisley 10 seconds ago. He was doing his daily…night watch? Lurking on top of buildings, with a loaded sniper, the stake-out usual, watching you converse with work friends. Just like you said you’d be. Normal tuesday.

He just has to be clear. It’s his motto, yeah? And thankfully, it came in clutch for him tonight. He’s reminded of why he does this so frequently when he spots you out in the parking lot of your work, when a man comes behind you.

He zones in through the scope of the sniper, immeadiatley aiming it at this guys head. He’s about to shoot this creep, until you laugh.

Why the hell are you laughing? (Victor thinks only he should be the funniest person you know.)

He’s watching carefully through the scope, vein popping through his forehead. All he can do is clench his jaw.

He notices everything. The way the man gestures towards you, the way you two converse like two old pals. It gets a bit too much for victor when the man gently grabs your shoulder while the two of you laugh.

Immeadiatley, you hear the sound of boots on gravel, and turn around to see Victor. You and said work friend damn near scream.

Your male friend is looking on in horror, it’s VICTOR FUCKING ZSASZ.

You on the other hand, after the inital shock wears off, give a polite smile to victor.

“Oh- hey.” You chime, but stop in your tracks when you read his expression. No smile. And his gloved hand is gripped tight around a handgun in it’s holster- itching to be set free. You swallow.

“Out.” Is all he says to your friend- and he looks at Victor incredously. You feel yourself start to sweat.

Victor looks at the man, eye practically twitching. The man stays frozen in shock.

“PLEASE?” Victor suddenly harshly calls- rolling his neck and cocking his head. His eyes are opened fully, and you feel fear bubbling up in you.

You’re friend instantly runs off, and you visibly see victor’s hand around his gun relax. He turns to you, taking a deep breath.

In a strange fashion, he offers you his arm like a gentleman, and doesn’t say another word the rest of the walk home. You don’t find out the reason for his anger until much, much later…

The moment you two came home, you assumed he’d want a bite to eat, talk about what was bothering him. But apperently not. The second the door closed, he was pushing everything on your counter top down to the floor with a loud slam, man-handling you, pushing you on top, and kissing you until you had to force him away for air.

He’s deadly silent, not explaining himself. You want to ask why- but the moment he pulls away from your lips, he shoves two of his fingers in your mouth- making you suck on the flesh. You gag as he forces them deeper and deeper, tasting the rubber of his gloves. He doesn’t stop until his fingers are soaked in your spit, and shoves them into your cunt.

You’re practically mewling around his fingers, taken aback.

And now… you’re here. Your face is buried into the pillows, ass-up. You’re soaking wet, working toward your fifth orgasm. The previous four had all just been from his trigger finger fucking you out until all you could do was scream his name. Tally marks have been all but littered into you’re thighs and chest and back- bloody and raw from his blade. Typically he’d only make one cut each time he claimed you like this- but appearently it’s not enough. People need to know who you love.

No, now his cock is buried deep inside you. Messily sliding in and out of your swollen pussy, generously giving you every inch to clench around. You need to know who owns you. That you two own each other.

He replays the image of your work friend staring at him in surprise. Victor’s practically tweaking out…why haven’t you told anyone that you two are together? God, he’d fuck you in front of the whole GCPD if he could. And here you are, keeping him like a dirty little secret.

“No one’s gonna love you,” He growls out, punctuating each sentence with a thrust. It’s the first thing he’s said all night.

“No one’s gonna touch you,” Between your moaning and his groans, it’s almost inaudible.

“No one’s gonna look at you the way that I do.” Thrust after thrust he emphasizes his point, fingers tracing over the tally marks on your back to make you moan in pain. He needs to consume all of you.

You’re gasping, whining for him to slow down- and he only goes harder. Sex without pain for Victor is like food without taste. Every part of you aches, and every part of you feels fucking euphoric. You know the marks will scar in the morning, no matter how delicately placed. You assume that’s his goal.

You two cum together in an instant- fast and unprecedented. The sudden shockwave takes you both by surprise, feeling your pussy squeeze against his dick makes him finish inside you- and you feel the ropes of his cum flood into you. He fucks you through your orgasm, movements not stopping until he’s sure he’s satisfied every single spasm within you, and you’ve milked him for all hes worth.

“There you go, sweetness,” He groans gently, hands weakly pulling your hips to his. He slows to a stop, but doesn’t pull out.

Between the numerous light cuts littering your body and bruises from how tight he was gripping your thighs, you don’t even have the energy to scold him. No, you collapse into the mattress, letting him shift down next to you, his cock still inside.

Oh, he intends to sleep like this, you warming his cock. He grabs you to his chest, not letting you go. You feel the marks on you back sting as he shuffles behind you.

You’re too fucked out to say a word, and he simply gently kisses your knuckles. Man of few words.

You think he’ll be gone in the morning. But no.

He intends to stay until you and your body can’t remember the feeling of anything or anyone else.

#x reader #gotham #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #batman x reader #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #dc comics #gotham imagines #gotham villains smut #gotham villains #victor zsasz x reader smut #gotham victor zsasz #victor zsasz headcanons #victor zsasz gotham #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz

[yukipri]

Heroes & Villains Clone Backpack Review!

The Heroes and Villains Clone Troopers collection is here!!

I'm absolutely ECSTATIC about this collection, bc I've wanted a general clones/GAR collection (not TBB/332nd, as cool as they are) for AGES. I begged a rep for this collection in person at last year's NYCC, so now that it's here, of course I ordered ASAP. Got a few other items that I'll review too, but starting off with the backpack!

This is the "Grand Army Tech Backpack"! There are tons of little nods to the clones/the GAR throughout.

Detailed review of the design under cut!

First, the top flap is a really neat fusion design of both the clones' helmets & ARC pauldrons. Only visible from a top-down view, the black bit in the middle actually looks like the clones' visors, which is a design thing I love that they also did with their Ahsoka Trooper backpacks. It's got the helmet vents over the blue, and the sides can come out to look more like shoulder pauldrons too!

On this flap, there's a lil black velcro patch that reads "Elite Clones" in Aurebesh. In the middle, you can swap out the designations of 4 included clones: Rex, Fives, Echo, and Cody! (love them ALL, but sorry I've a Cody bias) I LOVE that they have this customization option, since all us clone lovers have our biases😅 (will include more details on this in a follow-up reblog1)

Next, we've got the stretchy cross bands across the front middle, which are practical because they can stretch to hold stuff, but visually, are clearly a nod to the straps over ARC kamas. A bit hard to see in photos, but they cross over a Republic Cog on the white pleather!

Below that is the 3-button ARC chest pouch-inspired pocket. There's a GAR patch next to it, and both of these are on top of another flat pouch. There are 2 pouches on both sides of this, giving the appearance of ARC holsters.

On one side, there's a detachable "gadget case," which is really fun! However, one comment: I don't love how the zipper opens on the bottom, which means that if you want to put anything inside it without securing it tightly into a compartment, it'll fall straight out🥲Could be solved if it opened at the top instead!

Both sides have very stretchy bottle holders that hold my chonky thermos from Batuu with ease. Also, loops so you can easily hook carabiners (and then add more keychains/charms for more personalization eyyy)

Overall, I absolutely adore this bag. It's got an awesome design that's clearly got a ton of thought put into it, and is an amazing homage to GAR clones and specifically ARC troopers!

Because Tumblr posts only allow one video per post, please keep an eye on the reblogs because I'll add videos showing how the velcro designations swap out + a demonstration of how much this thing fits.

This post is NOT sponsored, just a fan sharing honest reviews.

However, here's my non-influencer “refer a friend” code, if you want $25 off $75!

And here's a direct link to the bag itself on the Heroes & Villains site!

Hope this review was helpful!

#HeroesVillainsBrand #heroes and villains #clone troopers #clone trooper #arc trooper #starwars #tcw #the clone wars #merch #review #YukiPri rambles

[gaysindistress]

Sad Girl

summary: James has an interesting new business’ proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with. 

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing... for now

word count: 1.8k

authors note: This is my first time posting so please let me know if you want to rest of this series!

series masterlist

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

Angry foot steps stomp through the large hallways and up the marble stairway. Raised voices try to alert the others that she is coming and is fuming. She waves a manicured hand above her head, telling them to shut the fuck up before she takes her anger out on them. Her heels nearly crack the marble as Scott trails after her, trying to get her to slow down.

“Ma’am please stop,” he gasps, lot of breath from chasing her through the foyer. 

She stops, taking a deep breath, and turns to look down at him. The diamond “S” of her necklace swings as the pearls and chain barely leave her skin. Her hair nearly whips Scott from the force of her turn. 

“Oh Scott it’s too late to reason with me. I’m already seeing red so why don’t you be a good boy and open that door before I tear it down,” she says eerily clam, pointing to the door in question at the top of the staircase. 

“I… I can’t do that,” he stutters. 

Her black french tips rub the headache coming on as she closes her eyes, “Yes, yes you can. Now go.”

The movement from her arm causes her black outercoat to open slightly and the holster with its accompanying gun flashes every so slightly. Scott’s eyes go straight to it, knowing that she would never pull it on him but the men she’s after are an entirely different question. Scott just nods, climbing the stairs around her as he curses himself for taking this job and dealing with such horrible people.

Once he reaches the door, he gives it a heavy push causing the room to go silent at the intrusion. There is a large oak desk towards the back of the room, crowded by men who all look the same. The head of the family is sitting behind the desk in an even larger throne-like chair, two giants at his sides. The men doing business with him are lounging in the oversized chairs in front of the desk. They too have men flanking their sides as if to say “fuck around and find out”. A woman typing feverishly at a computer is the corner and doesn’t even look at Scott because her job is not stop typing no matter what happens. The room also houses two couches and a coffee table for the “easier” business dealings, at least that’s what the family head says. 

Scott makes eye contact with the head, “she’s here and pissed.”

The head just nods and gestures to one of his side men. He starts to say something to him when the woman in question slides behind Scott, one hand on his shoulder and the other on her hip. 

“Hello, Dad.”

He smiles, “Hello, Darling. We were just finishing up.”

She lets out a sinister laugh, “Like hell you were. Did you really thing you could get away with doing all of this shit without me present?”

She gently pushes Scott out of the room, shutting the door in his face before walking towards the bar her father had installed to fuel his drinking habit. Grabbing 4 glasses and an amber bottle, she makes her way to the desk, not saying a word as if to dare any of the men to utter something. She pours a drink for each glass and hands her dad a glass. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be involved in all of this,” her dad states as he takes the glass and leans back in his throne.

Ignoring her dad, she turns to the men and gestures towards the glass, silently saying “go one and take one”.

“You know you aren’t supposed to offer your daughter up as collateral when you fuck up a business deal,” she offers over her shoulder as she takes a sip from her glass, leaning against the desk, “now which one of you fools actually agreed to this deal?”

The brunette is watching her and taking in every detail she has to offer, willing and accidentally. The blonde sits up a bit straighter and readjusts his suit jacket under his overcoat. 

“No one has agreed to anything yet, Miss. Stark,” the blonde says, crossing his hands in his lap. His watch peaks out from under his sleeve, shining under the natural light from the window. A slight glint bounces of his finger and she makes note of the pinky signet ring he wears. 

“Darling we were just about to sign the papers, so if you could leave that would be great,” Mr. Stark’s voice is growing slightly impatient at his daughter’s invading presence. 

“Don’t you want your business partner to see what prize he won for saving your ass, dad?” the last word is meant to land like a dagger in his heart but his unbothered face proves it does little to change his mind. 

“Don’t you think they might want an inspection? You know to make sure their new property isn’t damaged,” she sneers as she sets her glass and down and begins to take off her overcoat. 

“I’m sure they would love to make sure there are any structural flaws that would render their property useless,” she continues to shed her blazer, leaving her with her holster and v neck blouse. Her necklaces are now shining in all of their glory from the sun and the gun strapped to her ribcage makes everyone stand on high alert. 

“Stop,” is the single word that leaves Mr. Stark’s lips and now the impatience is growing to the surface. 

The men to his side step forward when they spot her gun and the men behind her step closer to their bosses. The blonde and brunette share a look as they both chuckle under their breath at the display of defiance and anger. 

“You are not property so stop referring to yourself as a real estate transaction.” 

The gun is pulled from the holster as she slips the holster off and tosses it on the desk beside her jackets. She points the revolver at her dad’s forehead as she shakes her head. 

“Then don’t treat me like I am one. I am your daughter so start showing me some respect and call of this deal.”

“Doll put the gun down,” the brunette says from behind her. 

“Doll?” she questions as she drops the revolver and turns to look at him, “Don’t call me by some pet name, Barnes. Use my name if you really want to talk to me or did you forget what it was considering you’re too dim witted to see what that contract actually entails.”

A shift in the air around her causes her to look to her right as the blonde takes the revolver from her hand and sets it on the desk. He towers over her, looking down as he scans her face. 

“We already made the necessary changes, Miss. Stark. I can assure you James and I are well aware of what we are getting ourselves into. Is there something you might want to add?” he says to her and her only. 

She scoffs at his pretend nice attitude and goes to push him away but his hand pins hers to his chest. 

“Do you want to make any changes?” he whispers again, blue eyes boring holes into her eyes. 

“Yeah take me out of it,” she whispers back and rips her hand from his. 

“Wanda!” the woman typing looks up at the sound of her name, “I have one thing that I want to add. If he harms me in any way, I reserve the right to cut his dick off, leave and nothing happens to my family.” 

The blonde continues to watch the enigma of a woman in front of him as she tries her hardest to not shot her father, him, and everyone else in this room. 

“Define harm,” Wanda asks, still typing. 

“If he lays a hand on me, breaths wrong, looks at me wrong, says something I don’t like, anything that I don’t like,” she replies and pushes past the blonde to steal his chair. 

The blonde chuckles again when it’s his turn to lean against the desk and glance between his friend and her. 

“She’s gonna be a real handful,” James states as he stands, “can we sign the papers and get out of here?” 

Confusion flashes across the woman’s face for a second but it returns to her resting bitch face. 

Mr. Stark nods his head, handing  James a pen as the blonde slides out of his way for him to sign the contract. 

“Um excuse me? Why the fuck are you signing?” she questions, pointing a finger at Barnes, “Isn’t Rogers the one my dad made the deal with?”

James takes a look at her before going back to finish signing the papers in front of him. Rogers, the blonde, hands back her hostler, blazer, and overcoat before speaking, “James and I both made a deal with your dad. In exchange for our protection and resources, we will receive a portion of his earnings from Stark Industries. For extra reassurance that he wouldn’t cross us, he gave me his vibranium supplier and he gave you to James.” 

Silence fills the room. She stares daggers at Rogers, slicing her way to Barnes before settling her knives on her father. 

“You gave me up instead of some other supplier?” she nearly screamed at her father as the two men at his side quickly grab her by the arms. All sense of self preservation and elegance has left her body as she thrashes in their hands and desperately tries to keep her sobs in. 

“You chose a fucking supplier relationship over me?” 

Mr. Stark ignores her as he signs his name and passes the papers off to Rogers. He shakes James’ and Rogers’ hands before stalking his way towards his daughter. 

“You are my daughter so start fucking acting like it. You knew this was going to be your life when I found you begging on my door step. If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at your mother for leaving you for drugs,” he whispers through clenched teeth into her ear. 

Her eyes had welled up with tears but her father’s words freeze her, only one escaping down her cheek. Mr. Stark makes a motion with her hand and the men release her on unsteady feet. She stumbles forward into her father’s arms. 

He wipes the tear away, pulls her into a death grip hug and soothes her hair down as he whispers in her ear again, “James is the lesser of two evils. He won’t hurt you if you play the part. You know I wouldn’t let any undeserving harm come to you. Now go pack a bag and get ready to leave with him.”

He pulls away, keeping her at arm’s length and pretends to check over her as a good father would if his babygirl was upset. All she does, all she can do is nod, pick up her dropped jackets, and walk out of the room. All eyes are on her as the head strong façade crumbles in front of them, leaving behind the frightened little girl she really is. 

#mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sad girl - bucky barnes #bucky barns x you #bucky barnes #mob au

[temptingfatetakingnames]

The Last Steve Harrington

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

The apocalypse sucked.

The sky was always the same depressing shade of Vecna Scarlet and Steve hadn’t seen the sun in 432 days. Or what he thought had been 432 days. It was hard to tell sometimes without anything to mark the passage of time. He tried to sleep when he was tired but couldn’t let his guard down with Demodogs and Demobats roaming around. Vecna had left Hawkins, but the open portals still spit out the occasional Upside Down monster. Sleeping also meant dreaming and nightmares. Steve didn’t know which were worse; the dreams where everyone was alive and he had to wake up or the nightmares where he watched them die over and over again. He didn’t sleep much.

He had slowly made his way through every house in the area looking for food and supplies, but there was only one left. Which meant it was time to leave Hawkins. He would scavenge the last house and then head out. He didn’t really have a plan but figured he would just start walking in the opposite direction to the one Vecna had taken. He went up to the house and broke the glass above the door. Sticking his hand in carefully to avoid the shards, he unlocked it from the inside. He opened the door and listened carefully for any movement before heading to the kitchen.

He checked the cupboards first, knowing not to touch the fridge. The power had turned off in the first few months of Vecna’s invasion and never came back on. The first few cupboards had plates and dishware so he kept looking until he came across the canned goods. The first cans were baked beans.

“Why is there always beans?” Steve asked himself. He fucking hated beans. Moving them to the side, he spotted canned peaches and Campbell’s soup.

“Jackpot.”

He grabbed them, put them on the counter, and went searching for water. Food had never been a problem but water was getting harder to find. The grocery store and super-market had been cleaned out of bottled water after the ‘earthquake,’ and the taps weren’t working anymore. There also hadn’t been any rain since Vecna fucked up the sky so no way to get fresh water. Luckily, he found some bottles in the pantry, along with stale cookies. Delicious. He grabbed his backpack off his shoulder and dumped everything out onto the counter.

The backpack had all his worldly possessions. The peaches and soup went to the bottom of the bag with the rest of his canned goods. He ate the cookies as he repacked. He used to have more clothes but they were a waste of space. Underwear and socks were the only spare clothes he kept anymore. He also had a blanket, flashlight, lighter, cigarettes, ammunition, spare batteries for his Walkman, some tapes, and Dustin’s copy of The Hobbit. He shoved his bat back down the side and zipped it up to keep everything in place. Unclipping his canteen from the side, he refilled it with the bottled water.

He hefted the bag, pleased that the new cans didn’t add too much weight and threw it back over his shoulder. Steve looked down for a moment, taking stock of himself. Boots from War Zone were laced up to his ankles. A machete was strapped to his left leg with the holster for his handgun right above it. His jeans were filthy but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Every bit of him was covered in grime, water too precious to use for washing. He had a thick grey sweater on with Eddie’s jacket layered over top. He nodded. Time to go.

After leaving the house, Steve looked around. When he had started scavenging, he had worked his way from the heart of Hawkins and moved outwards. He had saved this house for last because it was on the very outskirts of the city. Walking to the road he looked right then left. Left led back to Hawkins and right led out of the city.

“Good-bye,” he said to the only home he had ever known and turned right down the road.

The only good thing about the sky being fucked was he didn’t have to worry about the weather anymore. The bad thing about the sky being fucked was no plants could grow anymore and all the trees were either dead or dying, leaving very little cover on the open road. Steve hated feeling so exposed, but at least he could also see anything coming towards him. Stopping for a moment, he took his Walkman out of the bag and popped in his Bruce Springsteen tape. He put the headphones around his neck and turned the volume all the way up. He needed to be able to hear so he never put the headphones over his ears.

He had a few tapes in his bag but Springsteen was his favourite. He had listened through it twice when a distortion appeared in front of him. It looked like a portal, the edges of reality bending into a focal point. It shimmered and cracked with electricity. Jesus Christ, Steve could not handle Demodogs or Demobats in the middle of nowhere without any cover or defensible position. He could handle one dog, maybe a couple of bats. But what were the odds that only a manageable few would come out of a portal? Slim to none. Steve was fucked.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Steve had promised Dustin before he died that he would fight. That he would never give up. And over the past year, he had wanted to give up over and over and over. But he kept going. Because that promise was all he had left. But the portal was opening, and he was tired. There was nowhere for him to run. This was the end. Steve was… relieved. It was finally going to be over. He dropped his bag and took his bat out. He wouldn’t go down without a fight…he had promised after all.

The distortion pulsed once before breaking open into a doorway, Steve took a step back but stopped and stared in bewilderment when it wasn’t The Upside Down on the other side. The sky was blue and sunlight leaked out, close enough that Steve could feel its warmth. The grass was green and a sweet-smelling wind swept over him. His bat slipped from his fingers. Standing in front of him were his kids.

He was dead.

He didn’t know how it happened and he didn’t care.

He sobbed and ran to them.

Dustin. Max. Will. Eleven. Lucas. Mike.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cried as he got closer. He reached Dustin first and crushed the younger man into his chest. The rest of them crowded in around him, hugging him. He opened his arms to gather them all close. Tears were streaming down his face as he laughed and cried and held them. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun, feeling the warmth on his face. This was heaven. It must be. He had missed them so much. His kids.

“Where’s everyone else? Where’s Eddie?” he asked, looking around. He needed to see him. If Steve was dead, then he should be here, too. Everyone should be here.

“We didn’t tell them we were looking for you,” Dustin replied. “We didn’t want them to get their hopes up in case we couldn’t find you.”

That…made no sense. Steve dropped his arms and stepped back from them. Max and Eleven stuck close to his sides, holding on to the sleeves of his sweater like they were afraid he was going to float away.

“What?”

“It took El a long time, she traveled to-” Dustin trailed off and turned to Eleven, “how many did you go to El?”

“Thousands,” she said and nodded. “I would have gone to a thousand more.”

“I don’t understand. Thousands of what?”

“Parallel universes, Steve. Keep up!” Dustin said.

Steve blinked. Parallel what?

“You’re all dead,” Steve said slowly, “and I’m dead.”

“No!” they yelled.

“Our Steve died when we killed Vecna. El has been searching through parallel universes to find a Steve who had lost us and we finally found you,” Max chimed in for the first time.

“Why did it take so many?”

Eleven looked uncomfortable. “The circumstances had to be right. I could not take a Steve away from his family.” There was something they weren’t telling him. Eleven didn’t lie, but she was skirting the truth right now and Steve could tell.

“What were the others like? The other Steves?”

She turned away from him. Looked at Mike and then Dustin. Both of the younger boys looked back wide eyed and terrified. An awful feeling started curdling in Steve’s gut.

“Steve-” Dustin started but Eleven beat him to it.

“They all died, Steve. In every other universe Steve Harrington dies.”

“El!” Mike yelled.

“Friends do not lie.”

“Every one?” Steve asked, startled.

“Yes,” she replied. “Every one. Except for you.”

“How? How did they all die?”

“They sacrificed themselves to save us. To save the world.”

The words hung in the air around them. Steve turned back to the open portal that showed the hell-scape that was his home. He hadn’t sacrificed himself. He had lived and his world had ended. The truth smacked him hard in the face. If he had given up his life, everyone he cared about would still be alive. An easy choice to make for every single Steve Harrington in every single universe, except for him. The coward who chose himself.

He was going to be sick. He pushed the kids away and tumbled to his knees. He vomited into the grass, his body shaking from the force of it.

“I don’t belong here,” Steve whispered but Max heard him.

“Yes, you do,” she said with no hesitation.

“I’m the only one who didn’t sacrifice himself and my world ended. How the hell can I live with myself knowing that? Knowing that I doomed my whole world and everyone I loved because I was afraid?”

“I watched you die many times,” Eleven said. “Saving Dustin, or Max, or Eddie or me. Steve always put himself in front of us because he did not think he mattered as much as we did. So, I am glad that you were afraid. That in one universe you saved yourself. You deserve to live just as much as the rest of us. Don’t you think your Eleven or your Dustin would be happy you lived? That you made it back to us?”

“I don’t know! They’re dead and I’m not and I don’t know what to do with this – this new life you’re trying to give me. I don’t deserve it! I failed them! They needed me to be strong, to be their protector and instead I saved myself!” Steve stood up and pointed his finger at her. “You’re not my Eleven,” he said and then spun around to Dustin, “and you’re not my Dustin and I sure as shit am not your Steve.”

He was breathing erratically and couldn’t catch his breath properly. Steve spun and ran for the portal that would take him back to where he belonged. He would go home to the apocalypse he had created and he would let something kill him so he could be with his family. That’s all he deserved.

The world went black before he reached it.

Part 2

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #multiverse #steve x eddie #dustin henderson

[gallusrostromegalus]

PLEASE tell me you have plans/powers for Tatsuki in AEIWAM, she's my biggest pet peeve from Bleach, criminally underused

I don't have a lot with Tatsuki drafted out yet, but she does play a prominent role in the fic, starting with going to Seireitei with the gang instead of Uryuu in the soul society arc. Have this bit with her and Uryuu:

--- Inside urahara Shoten, a few days before everyone* leaves for Seireitei to rescue Rukia: "Ichigo." Uryuu glared magnificently at him, glasses shining in the dingy flourescent lights inside the display room of the Urahara Shoten. "I'm coming with you."

"...Uhhhh-" Ichigo began.

"I know- I have not behaved... rationally, as of late. Setting off an entire pack of hollow bait in the middle of a heavily populated city in some kind of demented dick-measuring contest with a classmate who is only peripherally involved in the cult bullshit my family is trying to escape was. Not the most hinged behavior." Uryuu started.

"That's putting it mildly." Muttered Keigo.

"-But you were right that my anger was misplaced, and you and Rukia both have been so kind to me, that- Look, this grudge between Quincy and Shinigami has gone on long enough- it's gone on so long I don't even really understand why it got started!"

"-Yeah, okay but-" Ichigo tried to speak up.

"So I'm coming with you. If Rukia hadn't stepped in with the portal closure device I don't know what would have happened, and I- I owe her just as much as you do, Ichigo!"

"You do, but-"

"Dammit Ichigo I'm sorry! I'm sorry for what I did and I need to make it up to her and bury this stupid fucking hatchet between our people and-"

"DUDE!" Ichigo shouted, slapping both hands against Uryuu's cheeks and smooshing his face until he looked like an alarmed goldfish with Hyperopia-corrective glasses. "Uryuu- It's okay. You and I are cool. You are Rukia are cool. I don't know all of what's going on with your family and soul society, but I feel like they could eventually be cool too."

Uryuu smiled as best he could with his face compressed like this, tears in his eyes.

"...However-" Ichigo sighed. "Rukia's Boss who runs the whole Soul Society is apparently the kind of maniac that sends people's own family members to arrest and imprison them for minor accidents in the field, which is, as you say, not the most hinged behavior, and not someone who I expect to be cool about anything, but especially not my friend, the son of people who were involved in something called a 'Thousand Year Blood War' with said boss, coming to said boss's house, specifically to commit crime. I feel like that's antithetical to the whole 'No more blood feud' movement."

"...I shee yourg poind." Uryu mumbled, face still smooshed in Ichigo's hands.

"Also, didn't you get hit by a truck?" asked Tatsuki.

"What?" Demanded Ichigo.

"Ah. Yeah." Uryuu said, face still smooshed. "Id'z fine though! Onngly a Hairline Fragture!" he said, gesturing to the middle of his forearm

"Bruh." Chorused Ichigo, Tatsuki, Chad, Keigo and Mizuiro.

"Based on every medical rant I've ever heard both your dads give, you absolutely not be doing magical archery when you've got any broken bone, but especially not a broken radius." Sighed Orihime.

"Well, I mean- You guys still need a Medic!" He tried.

"Orihime's shield can heal... like, anything, apparently." Tatsuki shrugged.

"Oh don't worry, I armed everyone!" Mizuiro beamed, and Uryuu noticed the holsters out on the table where Mizuiro was working. "...Ohg." Uryuu wilted, and Ichigo let go of his face.

"Don't feel too bad," Keigo said, standing on his tip-toes to pat Uryuu's shoulder sympathetically. "-Mizuiro and I aren't actually going either."

"Yeah because I'm also a Quincy, and because you just generally suck." Mizuiro called, returning his attention to the holsters.

"...Actually." Ichigo frowned at Mizuiro. "There IS something you can do here that would help out and I'm sure Rukia will be glad you did."

"Really? I mean, I'll do it." Uryuu smiled. "Its okay Ichigo, you're risking your life, the least I can do is run a few errands and do some sewing here."

"-cool, because I need you to leverage your reputation as a goody-two-shoes and lie to all our families and school about where we are." Said Ichigo.

"...Ah." Uryuu sighed. "I will do this, but I cannot promise results. I am. Not good at deception."

"Doesn't matter, everyone believes you no matter what anyway." Tatsuki shrugged. "Anyway, until then, you wanna come down and watch training while you sew?"

"Uh. Sure?" Uryuu shrugged. "Wait, why do only you three need uniforms? It's not just you guys going, right?"

"Well, Ichigo already got one with his new magical girl powers-" Tatsuki waved, walking towards the back of the shop. "Urahara's a chickenshit and not coming with us, and Yoruichi-san who is coming with us is a cat."

"A... Cat?" Uryuu asked. "Like Kon?"

"-You know? I didn't ask?" Tatsuki frowned, opening up the trapdoor in the back room of the store. "She's really good at Martial Arts though- this Hakuda shit ROCKS! See ya at the bottom!" she grinned, before sliding down the ladder. ---

It took Uryuu a solid twelve minutes to get to the bottom, unwilling to slide like Tatsuki and Ichigo, until Chad grabbed him around the middle near the bottom and set him down.

"Its okay." He said. "It took me a few days to get used to sliding too."

"Th-thanks." Uryuu muttered looking around the enormous room. There was a distant crack like lightning, and Uryuu peered around one of the many boulders in s faux-desert landscaping to see Tatsuki, wearing only a halter top and bike shorts, facing down a small black cat, lighting crackling from between her shoulder blades.

At least, he saw her for a second, before Tatsuki transformed into a blur and then vanished altogether, appearing briefly in little flashes of afterimage, trying to high-kick the cat fifty feet in the air, blocking a return kick from the cat two hundred feet away, throwing a punch right next to him, only to vanish again in a gust of air, even outrunning her own dust trail.

"Did you know that the National Champion of the High School karate Tournament almost always sits the following year out?" Ichigo asked behind Uryuu, making him jump. "Usually from injuries, but I think in her case, Tatsuki will have moved on to an entirely different class of opponent."

"Is- Is Tatsuki also a Shinigami?" Uryuu asked, deeply alarmed.

"No, we don't know what she is, actually." Ichigo shrugged, looking puzzled. And... smelling strangely skunkish.

"Do you have a new bodyspray or are we doing drug violations as well as war crimes down here?" Uryuu winced, nose crinkling.

"What? Oh, the weed. No, I'm not doing weed or anything but Kisuke always REEKS of the stuff- Shit, did it get into my clothes? It's so bad I can't even smell it anymore, my brain just blocks it out-"

"Wait, Kisuke? Like, Kisuke Urahara? Stuptid hat and Geta, looks kind of like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo?" Uryuu asked.

"Yeah!" Ichigo frowned. "...wait, how do YOU know him?"

"...He's uh- hm. Okay, I don't know the exact nature of his business relationship with my father, but I hear dad complain about him raising his prices when he thinks I'm in bed." Uryuu winced.

Ichigo frowned for a moment, before putting his hands on his hips in and turning to holler over his shoulder. "AY SANDALHAT! YOU DEALING TO URYUU'S DAD?"

"Yo, WHAT?" Shouted Tatsuki. reappearing next to them, face full of gleeful anticipation for fresh drama.

"Don't get distraOW!" Yelped Yoruichi as it dove for Tatsuki, only for her to pivot-kick the feline into the far wall anyway.

"GOTCHYERASS!" Tatsuki bellowed triumphantly.

"Okay!" Yoruichi called weakly from a pile of rubble. "Good job there- FUCK, DAMMIT GIRL!!"

"You said 'No Mercy'!" Tatsuki shouted, grinning as she followed Yoruichi across the training ground and set up to axe-kick her into the floor. "NO MERCY!!"

"I am not 'dealing' to Ryukken, I am selling him what would be perfectly legal chemical therapies to treat hollowfication and other supernatural disorders, if the leadership of the living world knew about hollows. Which they don't, but it's not illegal." Kisuke sighed, appearing at Ichigo's shoulder. "Also, what are you doing down here?"

"Tatsuki invited me." Uryuu blinked. "I'm making everyone's shinigami uniforms and providing their alibis.

"And that girl has the nerve to lecture me about Operational Security..." Urahara sighed. "Still, good to have you on board. Don't worry, mum's the word to your families- I don't want to lose some of my best customers!" he winked.

"-Or have another thing for Mr. Kanonji to write you up for!" Tatsuki beamed, appearing again with Yoruichi under her arm. "You're really slow today, do you need to go to the vet or something?" She asked with genuine concern.

"It's his fault for keeping me up all night." Yoruichi groaned, pointing a claw at Urahara.

"-Yeah but the hangover is all you." Kisuke grinned.

"My therapist says I have so many issues with authority and trusting adults because of shit like this, you know." Ichigo sighed.

"I thought those were your daddy issues." Said Tatsuki.

"I mean, they're primarily my Dad's fault, but two out of three of the adults helping us with rescuing our friend from another dimension getting wasted in the middle of training isn't helping." Ichigo glared at Urahara. "Don't let the posture and good nature fool you, watch the sword- the only reason he's not hungover is that he woke up still drunk."

"DUDE!" Tatsuki glared, tossing Yoruichi at him, who he very nearly fumbled catching.

"C'mon Uryuu, let's go say hi to Tessai, THE REAL ADULT HERE-!" Tatsuki shouted over her shoulder, throwing an arm around Uryuu's and walking off while Ichigo lit into the combat instructors about the seriousness of the situation.

"...I have to say, this is not inspiring a lot of confidence in the operation." Uryuu mumbled.

"Yeah, but who else can we talk to? Your dad?" Tatsuki sighed.

"Ugh." Uryuu moaned.

"It'll be okay- I kinda expected them to be a bit of a mess this morning, what with it being the first weekend since Yoruichi got here that we weren't also here." Tatsuki smirked, winking.

Uryuu frowned. "...Are you implying that Mr. Urahara is in a romantic relationship with a Cat?"

"I know, talk about a weird way to get your Pussy!" Tatsuki laughed at Uryuu's distraught expression. "Ease up Uryuu- Mr. Yoruichi passes the Harkness Test as-is, and I'm like... 94% sure he's a shapeshifter. We ride Mr. Urahara pretty hard as a matter of principle, but he and Mr. Yoruichi are actually pretty good teachers most of the time- we just want to keep them to that high standard, you know?"

"Hm. You ah, Have advanced significantly in martial arts since the last time I saw you fight, but that was at the club fair demo event back in March." Uryuu nodded.

"I promise I wasn't zipping around faster than the human eye moves at Nationals last month either." Tatsuki grinned as they approached the far end of the training room, where a strange golden light was glowing, interrupted by flashes of bright blue. "Ah, cool. Mr. Tessai has Orihime and Chad strength-training against each other- Chad wails on her shields until they break or his punchin' arm gets tired, they take a break and do speed training with the kids, Orihime wails of Chad's Shield arm until he drops it or she runs out of energy. They're getting close to a speed-training break so you can ask Mr. Tessai details about Shinigami uniforms." She explained, leaning against a large boulder for cover from stray bolts of energy.

"Ah. Thank you." Uryuu nodded, moving into the lee of the boulder as well. "Do you... Do you really think you're going to be able to save Miss Rukia?"

Tatsuki sighed. "Honestly? No idea. Mr. Tessai has been the best about sharing information about the shinigami with us, but he hasn't lived there for like 100 years, and he doesn't have any idea what's changed or how strong anyone who lives there now is- maybe it'll be easy peasy lemon squeezy, maybe it'll be instant death, but..." She stopped, frowning at the floor. "-I can't explain it, but now that I know? I mean, now that I know a bit? I have to go. I have to know what's going on."

"I can recap what my father told me about my family's history with the Shinigami for your notes after training today." Uryuu offered.

"That'd be great, actually." Tatsuki nodded. "You know, you're a pretty swell guy for an academically overachieving prick that sometimes causes supernatural super-predation events." Uryuu winced. "I- the whole thing with bait was- and I'm so sorry, this is just an explanation, not an excuse- It started because I found the notes my father took when he autopsied Opa, er, my grandfather- his father too."

"Your dad Autopsied his own father??" Tatsuki blanched.

"He autopsied my mother after she died too, and every other Quincy whose body he could get a hold of, to try to understand what... actually causes our abilities, and to know who and what is killing us." Uryuu explained. "-Like, as I found out a few weeks ago, Shinigami."

"Wait, what? What the fuck? Your dad- wait- Okay-" she sputtered, shaking her head. "Alright, alright- One, your Dad is fuckin' hardcore man. Two- Shinigami killed your grandfather? Like? that was recently, right? I though this whole war thing had been over for a while."

"Yeah that's what I thought too!" Uryuu grimaced, slightly manic. "-the last major battle between Shinigami and Quincy happened back in the 1800's and honestly it's not even clear WHY- but I got ahold of Dad's notes and he's pretty sure that- I mean, what happened was that Opa and I were out training- Dad hated it, but I needed to learn some control- and we were attacked by an entire pack of hollows. I was... six? Opa told me to run, and I got away but he didn't. I always thought he'd been torn apart by hollows, and according to Dad's notes, he had been ripped up and would have bled out in minutes, but the thing that struck the killing blow was a Shinigami's Zanpaktou."

"...Shit." Mutteres Tatsuki. "-Not Rukia?"

"No-" Uryuu shook his head, leaning against the boulder and sliding down to sit as Chad and Orihime continued their training, nearly drowning out Ichigo and Urahara's distant bellowing. "She only started her deployment in the living world back in May of this year. Whoever it was, I'd have to look up in the Seireitei's actual archives." He shrugged, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"...Like, I don't want to sound like an apologist but- if your grandpa was already, um, bleeding out- could it have been a mercy killing?" asked Tatsuki, chewing her lip.

"I've re-read my father's notes since the bait incident and ah. I am inclined to believe that's the case, but it's not entirely clear." Uryuu sighed. "The Shinigami destroyed the organ- I say organ, it's more like a systemic response like the immune system- he had the system that allows him to draw Reishi into a weapon destroyed before he had his throat cut. Maybe it was a mercy killing and the Shinigami was scared of him, so he disarmed Opa first. Maybe he neutralized him to bully a dying man. It's really impossible to tell."

"Shit, I'm sorry." Tatsuki mumbled. "-Like, I know that's not the appropriate response but I genuinely have no idea what to say other than that's fuckin' awful man."

"You know? I don't know what I'd want to hear, but that helps." Uryuu huffed a quiet laugh, holding his glasses up to the artificial sun to inspect the lenses for grime before putting them back on. "...But you can see how, reading those notes the first time, I just went... fucking red mist descending sort of thing."

"No, no I get it." She nodded. "...Does Ichigo know?"

"He knows Opa was killed by a shinigami for some reason. Doesn't know how I know and given that his dad knows my dad, and there's bad blood between them about something, I don't want Ichigo to know about my father's secret autopsies."

"You know Ichigo. He's not a narc." Tatsuki prodded Uryuu's shoulder.

"Not to cops or teachers, but he's really honest with his family and I don't want to put him in the position of having to keep an additional secret from them." Uryuu sighed.

"Who is Ichigo keeping secrets from?" asked a strange man, tall and burly with strangely sectioned hair, brass-rimmed glasses and a resplendent mustache, suddenly crouched inches from Uryuu's face.

"EEAUGH!" Uryuu shrieked and Tatsuki immediately uppercut the strange man hard enough to force him to his feet.

"TESSAI! PERSONAL SPACE! WE TALKED ABOUT THIS!" She Shouted.

"My apologies Miss Arisawa." the giant sighed, rubbing his jaw and adjusting his glasses. "-I also recall a conversation about operational security and not letting strangers in here."

"Uryuu is already aware of the greater Shinigami bullshit." Tatsuki waved. "He's here to help, can you give him the specs and details on the Shinigami uniforms we'll need?"

"I see." Tessai nodded, looking down at Uryuu with an analytical glare that made his stomach flip for some reason. He must have passed muster because Tessai nodded and turned back to Tatsuki"Yes, but since Jinta and Ururu are on assignment for the shop, Would you be so kind as to do speed training with Mr. Yasutora and Miss Inoue today instead?"

"Oh, sure!" She chirped, and immediately vaulted over the boulder with a "-LOOKOUT! TICKLE MONSTER GONNA GETCHYU!!" and received a delighted shriek from Orihime and a wail of despair from Chad.

"I didn't catch your surname, young man." Mr. Tessai addressed Uryuu.

"Oh! Um, Ishida. I'm Uryuu Ishida. Your friend? Boss? Mr. Urahara does business with my dad." He sputtered.

Tessai stared down at Uryuu with a strangely somber look for a moment before smiling and bowing politely. "Of course you are. My apologies for treating you like a stranger, Mr. Ishida."

Uryuu blinked up at him, confused.

"Why don't you come have some tea with me while we discuss uniforms?" He smiled, gesturing for Uryuu to follow him. "Miss Inoue speaks most highly of your sartorial skills."

Uryuu nodded and followed, a little more at ease but absolutely certain that wasn't even remotely what Mr. Tessai wanted to discuss.

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #ishida uryuu #orihime inoue #chad yasutora #ichigo kurosaki #kisuke urahara #yoruichi shihouin #long post

[worstamongequals]

Deadly

— “This crazy bitch is trying to kill me.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

Eddie Brock x Vigilante!Reader

You and Eddie had been working together for months now: you, Karma, in your hooded disguise, and Eddie masked by Venom. The Lethal Protectors started working with you after coming across you in an alley one night, where they watched you single-handedly take down a would-be rapist, and Venom offered to eat his head. You and Eddie have never revealed your identities to each other, but tonight, you’re forced to when Eddie takes you back to his apartment for a patch-up after a really bad fight.

word count: 3k

Holy fucking shit. Eddie watched in awe as you handed that guy’s ass to him. You, whoever you are, wearing a protective suit with a mask covering your face, the visor glinting in what little light illuminated the alley. We should help her, Eddie. No, buddy, I think she’s got it.

The man grunted when your knuckles connected with his cheekbone once more and he dropped to his knees. “Come on, man, if you’d have just said she was your girl, I’d have left her alone.” You buried your boot in his stomach and he curled into a ball on the cold pavement.

“That’s your problem, pal.” Your voice was all ice and poison. It occurred to Eddie that the man you were currently kicking the shit out of hadn’t realized you weren’t a man. “You should’ve left her alone because she said leave me alone, not because you think she belongs to some other guy.” Eddie heard a loud crack and suddenly the man yelped in pain. You broke a rib that time.

“Please,” He begged. “Don’t do this.”

“Oh?” You paused, drawing a knife from some unseen hiding place and pressing the blade against his throat. “Are those words suddenly supposed to mean something now? Coming from you?”

The man fell silent, save for a wheezing sound whenever he breathed. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, like a fish gasping for air.

“You didn’t seem to think those words held any weight earlier.” The blade of your knife pressed deeper into his skin, releasing a thin trickle of blood. “Speak.”

“I-I just,” He stammered. “Please.”

“Hmm,” You hummed liltingly, as if considering his plea. “I’m gonna go with no.”

You put your foot to his shoulder and pushed him down, until he was flat on his back, lying in a puddle of what Eddie could only hope was the man’s own piss. You pulled a gun from the holster at your back, cocking it and aiming it right between his eyes.

“Good fucking night, you piece of shit.”

“Wait!” Venom leapt down from the roof he had been perched on. You stepped back, adjusting your stance so your gun was now pointed at Venom and your knife was back against the man’s throat. “Allow me to make you an offer.”

“I’m listening.” You tried to steady your voice, but it was difficult to sound cool and collected when you were confronted by this 7 foot, oily black alien thing, with rows of teeth and milky white eyes. But Eddie silently commended you for standing your ground.

“I will eat his head. For you.”

“You-” You stuttered, shocked, but also… pleased? “Who are you?”

“We are Venom, the Lethal Protector.”

“Uh… cool.” You lowered your gun. “I’m Karma.”

“You’re a bitch.” The man on the ground spat.

“Oh yeah? You think so?” You gently dragged your knife down his neck and chest, coming to a stop at the waistline of his pants. Ignoring his panicked shouts, you cut through the jeans and boxers, digging the serrated blade into the base of his weapon of choice. “Right, well karma is a fucking bitch, isn’t she?” You sawed halfway through before you stepped back, almost as if admiring your work. He won’t be using that anymore. Then you looked at Venom and gestured towards the man on the floor. “Be my guest.”

Venom devoured him. And this time, Eddie was glad he did it. Venom wanted to eat brains, and Eddie didn’t want innocent people to die. This was their perfect target group. Someone who deserved to be violently removed from this spinning rock.

“My partner would like to speak to you.”

Eddie could picture your eyes widening underneath your mask. “Who?”

Venom’s face peeled back, revealing a smaller, human face underneath. You tried to get a clear look, to figure out if this was someone you knew or someone you should be able to recognize later, but Venom distorted Eddie’s face just enough so that although you could tell you were now speaking to a human man, you couldn’t make out any identifying characteristics. “Hi,” He said, somewhat awkwardly. You cocked your head to the side - his voice didn’t match his hulking figure at all. “We are Venom. And I’d like to make a deal with you.”

- - -

You grunted when your back slammed into the brick wall behind you. Sucking in a ragged breath, you forced yourself back up onto your feet. Eddie admired that about you. You sniffed, dragging the back of your hand across your nose, only taking a second to acknowledge the blood that came away on your hand. “You’re going to regret that. And everything else you did tonight.”

“You crazy bitch,” The guy’s fists were up, but he looked tired. Not much of a fighter. “I didn’t do anything wrong. She wanted it. You’re just a fucking cockblock-”

“More like chopping block.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Come find out.” Two knives slid out of their sheaths and into your hands with a shink sound. The man pulled out his baton, gripping it tightly in his sweaty hand. You’d never liked batons - they were fucking brutal. Anyone whose weapon of choice was a baton made your stomach churn; it took a special kind of sick to be comfortable beating someone to death. “She wanted it.” He repeated, mostly to himself.

“None of them did.” You tightened your grip on your knives. “The only thing you protect and serve is yourself.” You launched yourself forward, dodging his first swing of the baton and landing a deep cut on his forearm. He hissed in pain and if looks could kill, you’d be dead. He reached for the radio clipped to his belt. “This is Foxtrot-22, I am in need of assistance-”

You shoved your hand underneath his chin, against the top of his throat, forcing him to step backward if he wanted to continue breathing. “I don’t think so.” You plucked the radio out of his hands, resting your thumb above the talk button. “Repeat after me.”

“You cun- AGH-” You pushed your hand harder into his throat.

“This is Foxtrot-22.” You nodded, signaling him to speak. You clicked the radio on.

“This is Foxtrot-22.”

“And I need to be held accountable for my crimes.”

“I need-” He paused. “Help, Code 8, at my last location-” He knocked you off balance, and you tripped over his discarded baton. You let out an angry, inhuman sound when your palms slammed into the compacted gravel. You flipped over almost immediately, already reaching back to grab your gun when a heavy boot connected with your face. “Fuck!” You fired off a single shot but missed when the man landed a solid kick to your ribs. You dropped the gun, arms immediately moving to cover your abdomen to protect yourself from his unforgiving blows. You heard the gun skittering across the pavement and were suddenly acutely aware of the ever-shrinking number of weapons you had left at your disposal. You pulled a small blade from a hidden holster at your belt and sliced it across the man’s Achilles' tendon, and he let out an animalistic howl of pain. Blinded by white-hot rage, he brought his baton down on you over and over again. You tried your best to gain back your control over the situation, but he got the drop on you. Black spots dotted your vision. That was when Venom came sliding down the rooftop.

“Oh shit.” This stopped the man in his tracks.

“What seems to be the problem here?” The question might’ve sounded neutral enough, but Venom was circling the man like a shark after its prey, eyeing him as if he couldn’t decide which part to eat first.

The man gulped, seemingly aware of his hopeless situation. That didn’t stop him from trying to talk his way out of it. “This crazy bitch is trying to kill me.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.” Venom smiled big. He ran his tongue across the front of his teeth before biting the man’s head clean off at the shoulders. “I never liked the taste of pig.” Venom turned, partially revealing Eddie’s face to you. “You okay?”

You coughed, clutching at your ribs in pain before spitting out blood. Should ribs move this way? Gingerly reaching your fingers under your mask, you touched your face, and you could feel the print left by the man’s heavy work boots. Nose is definitely not supposed to bend that way. The world grew fuzzy and dark. “No.” You mumbled, before fading away.

Venom immediately retreated back into Eddie. Eddie paled, staring at your limp figure that was now slumped back against the squad car of Venom’s most recent snack. He shook his head, forcing himself back into the moment.

Eddie rushed forward, gently placing his hands against your rib cage. Two, maybe three, broken? Carefully, he picked you up and carried you out of the alley.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Eddie muttered.

I can heal her, Eddie.

I need to get her somewhere safe.

And Venom took over again, holding you close to his chest, bounding from rooftop to rooftop until he reached Eddie’s apartment. He slid down the side of the building and landed on the sidewalk before melting away until Eddie was all that was left.

Eddie carried you up the stairs, adjusting his grip on you every few steps. He was afraid to drop you or bump your ribs the wrong way. He had to fight the urge to stop and check your breathing every two minutes. When he finally got you inside, he laid you down gently on his couch and checked your pulse.

Allow me.

Your eyebrows scrunched up when Venom vanished into your skin. Something cold wrapped itself around Eddie’s heart and squeezed as he watched Venom mend your broken bones.

- - -

When you woke up, you were warm. Wrapped in a blanket that smelled like a laundry detergent you’d never used. You opened your eyes slowly, afraid of the pain you knew you’d be in and the bruises that most definitely covered your body.

“Hey, good morning,”

Instantaneously forgetting to move slowly, your eyes flew open and you shot up into a seated position. “Venom?”

“Uhh…” He hesitated. “You can just call me Eddie.”

“I don’t remember any- Where-”

“You’re in my apartment, you were hurt really bad. I carried you here,” You turned to face Eddie, surprised to see him on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. “Venom healed you.”

Your hands flew to your face when you realized that Eddie was doing nothing to obscure his face from your view. “Oh no, no, don't worry,” Eddie reached out his hands in a calming gesture. You relaxed when your fingertips met the material that still covered your face. “I left your mask on. Never saw your face. Venom just attached to you for long enough to fix your broken bones.”

“Thanks,” You murmured. You looked around at his apartment. “Nice place.” Then you looked out the window. The moon was shining. “How long was I out?”

“It’s just been a couple hours.” He frowned down at his phone. “It’s 3 AM right now.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say next. You’d never interacted with Venom outside of kicking the shit out of assholes, and this was your first time meeting just Eddie.

Say something to her.

No, what the fuck? Let her go back to sleep.

“My face hurts.” And suddenly your eyes welled with tears. You squeezed them shut, glad to be wearing a mask.

“I can get you some Tylenol.”

Your lower lip quivered. “I can’t swallow pills.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” Eddie smiled at you. “I have these bad boys.” He set a small packet of dissolving Tylenol powder on your knee.

A laugh/sob combo clawed its way out of your throat when you picked up the packet. “Thanks.” You tore it open and flipped up the bottom part of your mask so that the lower half of your face was uncovered.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“N-nothing.”

“What.”

“Your face…” Eddie trailed off. “Are you… Wait here. Don’t move.” He practically leapt to his feet, rushing off to another room before returning with baby wipes and a first aid kit. “Do you want me to clean you up?”

You froze. “How do I know you won’t tell anyone who I am?”

“You know me now.” His smile was lopsided. Cute. “If I expose you, you expose me. Even trade.”

You silently pulled the mask off your face.

Eddie failed to hide his grimace. “That bad, huh?” You joked. He smiled apologetically, not bothering to stumble over his words in a feeble attempt to convince you that he never made a face. You appreciate that about him.

You made space for Eddie on the couch, sitting with your legs crossed. Eddie sat facing you, one leg pulled up between you and the other hanging over the edge.

“I mean, you took a boot to the face. It’s to be expected.” Eddie gently wiped your face, careful to not rub too hard.

Five minutes later, he had a small pile of red and pink-tinged wipes next to him and was diligently working at bandaging the scrapes on your face. You found yourself staring into his eyes until he met your gaze, at which point you would quickly look everywhere but him.

“You’re really pretty.” The words fell from his lips and he looked almost surprised at himself for letting them escape. Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Eddie had refused to bring you a mirror, but you could feel the swelling around your left eye and the many band-aids that Eddie had applied with care. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t a joke.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few more moments, until he moved the first aid kit aside and leaned back, satisfied with the care he’d given you. You fumbled with your mask, running your fingers over the stained material. “Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“Isn’t this what friends are for?”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Friends?”

“Yeah, I mean… we’ve been a team for a few months now, I’d say we’re friends.” Eddie didn’t meet your gaze. He couldn’t. Eddie had never wanted to speculate on what you looked like underneath the mask, or who you were during the day. Nothing he imagined could compare with what little he already knew about the kind of person you were, so why bother making something up? He’d also never asked. You wore a mask for a reason, Eddie reminded himself. He wanted to respect your privacy. But maybe… Maybe part of him was worried about what he’d find out about you if he ever bothered to do any digging. If he got to know who you were, he might find out something he didn’t want to know. Maybe you had a partner of the non-ass-kicking variety. A life partner. 2.5 kids and a dog in a yard with a white picket fence. I could eat the dog. Shut up. All of the above. Any of the above. It’d crush him. So yeah, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you for too long, because if he did, all he could think about was the next time he’d get to see you without the mask. Eddie already knew you were a fantastic person and a fucking badass. But to top it all off… You were beautiful. He never gave himself permission to wonder what you looked like, but seeing you here, now, you were better than anything he could’ve imagined anyway. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, everything was just so you. It was too much. You needed to leave. Or maybe he should leave. You were the one who had broken ribs 5 hours ago-

“Eddie.” Your voice pulled him out of his spiral and he looked at you. And then you told him your name. Your real name.

He repeated it after you. “Sounds familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”

“No, you’d remember if you did.” You smiled at him in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

Eddie laughed nervously, and the silence settled around you once more. You thrummed your fingers against your thigh, an anxious habit of yours that Eddie had clocked during your first few nights working together. “Can I-” Eddie cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Can I… can we,” Was it hot in here? Eddie tugged at his shirt collar. “Can we maybe see each other again, without the masks sometime?”

“Maybe in a restaurant?” Venom piped up.

“Dude! Can you shut up?”

I’m helping you, Eddie!

You smiled wide, accidentally tearing open a few of the cuts that had begun to clot. “Ow. Oh, fuck.” You and Eddie reached for a nearby roll of gauze at the same time and your fingers brushed together. “Sorry.” The two of you whispered. Eddie took the gauze and pressed it against your broken skin, holding it there. You looked up at him, but he was staring intently at your injuries. “Yeah. That’d be fun.”

This drew his attention back to you. “Really? So… you don’t have 3 adorable kids and a dog in a suburb somewhere?”

“No,” You smiled. “I’m more of a cat person.”

“Ah.” He smiled back. “Me too.”

#reader insert #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fanfic #eddie brock #venom #eddie brock fanfic #venom fanfiction #tom hardy #tom hardy characters #x reader #eddie brock x reader

[ms0milk]

𝟏𝟎 | 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐨𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 (part one & two.)

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Trembling tears, a fit of chill against the garden ground and a hold so tight on your prince’s arm you wouldn’t blame him for striking you. A golden hand keeps the cry quiet and the other presses gently into your cheek, tangled in loose hair, to try and soothe you, worried red eyes so like the Champion."

cw (I) another impressive attempt on your life and a haunted seaside garden. much blood, a dislocated joint, nasty (does not even being to describe it) dabi skin descriptors: melting ripping bleeding blehk, and one major burn wound. y/n reminds the group that murder is her job description but does also get her shit rocked. some long awaited tenderness and a loss of faith (II) bkg gets desperate. admit that you want to live, please. 5.3k

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You suppose you should be used to this by now. When have you ever been allowed to live for yourself?

Bakugou charges as you do, as you drop your sword from him entirely and race together to the flame mage.

You grunt and land first in attack range. There aren't enough soldiers in this haunted castle for you to expect any backup to come towards the sound of a fight.

With a heft of your shoulder you swing your halberd from your back and across the man’s head, but he sidesteps faster than any fighter should be able and leaps over your prince’s back when he aims an explosion through the trellis. The sound of the blast could deafen alone but the frustrated cry that follows chills you. Bloodthirsty. Flower petals shower the battleground-garden and perfume mingles with gunsmoke.

It’s him. You knew he was here. The man wears the dark cloak you remember and everything about him that you hoped was a nightmare, scars and rotting flesh, shines outright under the moonlight. His hair glows, his smiling teeth glow, and he drops a blue flower from between his fingers. Bakugou catapults forward with his longsword as you’re thrown back with a kick and narrowly miss getting skewered on the garden gate.

“Thought I might find ya here Highness.”

The shock of his appearance from the shadows only dulls your reaction for a second because when you drop to the ground between the mage’s legs you know that he won’t be able to dodge both you and your prince. Your prince who is bracing his forearm with another range-demolishing blast.

Why is he here– how is he here? Why does he only dodge and flutter and grin? Where is the fire? He might really be a ghost.

“Show me those flames you blue bitch!”

“Don’t need fire to kill you, princeling.”

You see what’s going to happen before Bakugou does. From your spot poised on the ground you shoot up, halberd falling from your hands, and leap into the mage’s arms to contain the knife he pulls from a holster. It cuts you shallow down the arm like you knew it would and he grabs hold of you exactly like you feared. No matter how badly you want to be rid of him, no matter how deeply it pains you to keep him and tend him, your queen would never forgive you for Bakugou’s death.

The mage’s hand is calloused when it grasps the back of your neck and Bakugou’s warcry sounds off. It dies as a growl though, when an arm wraps around your throat. Keeping you tight in the crook of his elbow, the mage, so much taller, straightens up and lifts you to tippy toes and clawing hands as you try to keep the rotting arm from choking.

“Pause lovebirds,” he grins. He smolders. He lifts his hidden knife beside your head and twirls it delicately in the free air before leaning down to speak to you. “Are you the little monkey?” Bakugou vibrates where he’s forced to stand still just a few yards away when the mage presses both his temple and his knife to your cheek, “The little monkey from the forest?”

The ghost is too familiar when he touches you but you don’t seem to be the object of his entertainment. Why does he want your prince? His nonchalance burns you with rage hotter than any part of his body now that he doesn’t quite feel like using his flames. Where are they? You’re no bargaining piece, why does he bother toying with you? 

“Fight me, coward!”

“No can do.” A rough knuckle, purple with scars and stitches, tickles down your cheek to your lips, “I suspect this one doesn’t fight that fair.”

His arm tightens around your neck and it’s impossible not to gasp and try to raise your head higher. Every time you so much as struggle, Bakugou jerks toward your captor and freezes again like he’s playing a game of statues. This wasn’t supposed to be your evening. If your stupid fucking prince could focus in a fight you wouldn’t be wracking your brain for escape routes right now, and you certainly aren’t going to die before you find his bedchambers.

“Relax,” the ghost whispers to your prince with lips at the shell of your ear, “Killing her couldn’t start a food fight.” And then with every chilling stretch of his cheeks, he grins again, “You’re the only one that needs to die.”

One flick of the knife and two of the stupid blue ribbons that tie your tunic closed, fly away in pieces on the sea wind. Bakugou very nearly explodes. Boots literally sparking where he stands, the glass beneath him splinters. The arm against your throat pulls closer.

How dare they– two boys in a pissing contest. You can land ten heartstopping shots from the back of a saddleless horse. You can cut through a man’s neck with a chipped sword in one blow. Fires in a rainstorm, poison and perfect bullseyes, broken bones, blood in your eyes, only death will stop you.

“Just step off the balcony or something,” the flame mage sighs. He flourishes his little blade and hooks his rotting arm so tight against your jaw that the flesh brushes your lips. It’s getting too hard to breathe and the garden is locked in deadly stalemate. “I just need you dead, I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Bakugou, who doesn’t dare press forward with the knife to your temple, seethes. Barely still and entirely vibrating, he can’t contain his explosive magic and the heat sparkles around his figure like vengeful fairies.

This ghost isn’t using magic for a reason. The blood in your prince’s eyes is too thick for him to see and the mage is too excited to torture him to register you as a threat. He’s smiling, “What happened to ‘you’re mine’ huh? You gonna–”

The next sound out of the mage’s mouth is a scream to shatter heaven.

Blood fills your mouth– behind your tongue and down your throat– past your lips and gushes hot down the front of your perfect white tunic. The flame mage tastes like ash and you’re biting him hard enough to break teeth. You’ll get him to use his flames. You won’t let go until you break clean through. You’ll eat him alive before he lays a finger on your jackass princeling.

The rotting flesh pulls apart at jagged seams in your teeth and you know you’ve caught live nerves from the way he rushes to drop you. Black scars pull away from red meat and steaming blood smears your face like a smile. War is where you flourish, war is where the world slows.

The ghost drops you as you free a chunk of flesh from his arm, spitting, grinning, and his knife takes aim for your back. Bakugou has hardly processed you enough to move. The only sign of life from your prince are his ember eyes and the pinpoints of light roaring to life behind them as he leans forward into a silent charge. You can only imagine the sight, his guard painted in blood and from the feel of it– smiling. Wildly, victoriously. Is that why his eyes are so wide?

You drop heavy onto your feet and breathe a great gasp of free air as you pivot to catch the mage’s knifehand, but what catches you is a sunstone. A hot iron, molten glass.

You were going to disarm him, twist between his too-long legs and bury his own blade in his throat, but you aren’t the only person war slowed the world for.

The ghost snatches your bicep before Bakugou can even take a full step and immediately his fingers burn through fabric. His hand is big enough to wrap around your arm entirely and two things happen at the same time. “You want flames?!” He gasps. He grasps you with his ironhot hand and instead of escaping him all you can do is scream as he brands you.

There are few things in the world you can compare to this pain. To the sear that consumes the entire left half of your body– the way your body panics and pours sweat from every pore at a loss for what to do. The only breathes you can gather are between screams, soundless some, and tearful gasps from your spot held against the ground.

“Y/n!” Bakugou is airborne now and your body scrambles to flee without your permission, but the ghost uses all that desperate momentum to pull up hard on your scorched arm, face pressed to the ground– back curling– running out of– crack– until your shoulder breaks from its socket.

Your prince explodes on impact.

What you wouldn’t give to be five years old again. In a golden field, getting checked by your mother for ticks. Eight, with the queen’s hands cupping your cheeks. Eleven, pitching your own tent beside your master’s on a camping trip and falling asleep to the patter of rain. Something soft like that. Sixteen, winning your first tournament with one wooden polearm and skipping out on your own victory feast for fear of crowds. Twenty-one, above the library, under the oak. Six years old in a velvet carriage with Bakugou’s hands in yours.

Smoke consumes the garden and moving is hardly an option.

A golden flash leaps and crackles between short bursts of blue shield and even with your ringing ears you know that Bakugou howls as he fights. He bursts through his own smoke clouds like rainbow fury when the mage cuts the air with a short burst of flame, and skids sparkling to a crouch beside you. He’s waiting for something. Veins popping, fists screaming, pressed brows like he could kill with a blink. He keeps your dazed body under his own like a prey animal when the mage emerges from the black plumes. Glowing from the inside, a searing skeletal blue.

“Kacchan back!”

An unseen force throttles the ground from behind you and black lighting is unleashed from the sky. Bakugou collects you in his arms. War slows time for him too.

As the mage charges forward your prince lifts you carefully into his hold, a hand so strong against your back and another wrapped behind your head. His bicep and a flat open palm cover both of your ears and you only realize what’s going to happen as you’re blasted into the air.

Like being carried to bed, flying feels like sleep in your prince’s arms. Your shoulder is numb and your eyes are heavy until the weight of landing rockets through your fragile body and again you’re screaming like a nightmare.

You and Bakugou crash through a trellis on the far side of the garden where smoke doesn’t conceal demons, but your prince can only do so much to keep your arm from moving in what you now realize was an emergency landing.

“Where’re my little monkeys?”

On your back behind blue flowers, it’s clear now– so much easier to see, and your adrenaline is finally lending a hand in survival– Deku and the mage across the garden. Fire licks the ghost’s white hair but doesn’t burst from his fingers. Is he hiding? Is he trying to conceal himself? He could have this whole castle in seashell ashes if he wanted to but obviously he needs something else.

“Fuck– Y/n awake, stay awake–”

Hands. Cool hands on your cheeks and chest, squeezing and pulling. Numbness doesn’t last long though when Bakugou rips your burnt sleeve from your body and as you shout again, agitated blue flames burst to life a few feet away. He squeezes his palm over your mouth and when fire ignites in the flowers above you, presses the weight of his body down onto you.

Chest to chest on the garden floor you say a silent prayer. A scream sheaths itself in your throat so that the fire without eyes cannot find you and when heat dies down, Bakugou is the first to move. Just a tilt of his neck down to look at you. His expression– what he must be looking at–

Your wide eyes, both cheeks painted with mageblood and tears rolling like waterwheels between the fingers he holds against your face.

Before the prince can pull himself away like he seems so desperate to do, you jerk your good arm across your body and press his hand harder against your mouth. Don’t move, you glare and begin to reach with your other.

There isn’t a moment that your arm feels free of the fire; if only dislocation severed nerves. Prince Bakugou hovers above you on his knees exactly where you keep him and for the first time it’s not a scowl that greets you but something so much more upsetting. Shock? Awe? You reach higher. His golden face and sooted tunic place him in a painting that his mother would wear. Higher. His touch doesn’t hurt, in this second only his hands are not a threat to you. You can’t reach any further.

The riotous ache against your collarbone crescendos when you seize your limp arm above your head and snatch it back into its socket, only then allowing a dreadful sound out of your chest. Trembling tears, a fit of chill against the garden ground and a hold so tight on your prince’s arm you wouldn’t blame him for striking you. Fire doesn’t find you. A golden hand keeps the cry quiet and the other presses gently into your cheek, tangled in loose hair, to try and soothe you, worried red eyes so like the Champion.

A fight is still happening off in the distance and every now and then ‘Alderan’ echoes through the scorched flowers. Deku’s black lighting crackles– if that’s even his magic– if the gods didn’t open up night skies to save you. His gentle voice bellows, calling for the castle guards as he fights.

When Bakugou finally pulls away, blood and saliva string between his fingers from your face and you’re heaving with the realization that you couldn’t breathe at all. It’s disgusting, your panting and bruised body. A royal guard still conscious should be ready to fight not kept hidden by her prince, held together by his strong hands like the strings on a child's toy. How long has the mage been hiding in Takoba? You should have known– you did know– and now you need to fix this.

“–told you so,” you rasp between gasps and the prince immediately covers your mouth again. An anxious red climbs the column of Bakugou’s throat to his ears.

The prince is thinking too hard. Darting eyes and unsteady fingers assessing you. Too much attention. He keeps you hidden exactly behind the thickest parts of the climbing flowers and the undulating furrow of his brows tells you he doesn’t plan on letting you up. Gods, again and again you wish you knew what that look meant and of all the times you’ve been too close today he picks right now to be noble. As the battle churns up storms behind you, as Deku tries to keep the mage from stealing your prince away.

“Keep that smart mouth shut and stay here,” he growls, finally collecting the words. The shocking sore of your shoulder weighs it like lead when you shoot up to grab him, but Bakugou pushes you down as he rises and steps back into the smoky garden exactly fast and far enough away that you can’t catch him when you reach with your good arm.

He’s in a hurry to get away from you and for the first time you cannot stop him.

You can only watch as your prince bolts across the destroyed garden, over dead flowers and smoldering soil, to leap above the mage’s blindspot. While sidestepping the crackling black whips that Deku slings from his hands, the flame mage can’t find your prince in time. He’s too busy rupturing blood from the wound on his arm and dripping steaming puddles across the clearing. Why doesn’t Bakugou question the lack of flames? You don’t dare scream out to him, and give away your prince’s position. Bakugou vaults over a gate and into the air, pointing his open palms directly down and loosing a terrible twinkling explosion over the mage’s head before launching to Deku’s side to charge another blast into the bellflower dust bowl. Your halberd catches blue light on the ground twenty meters away, dead between your hiding place and the fight.

At the same time as blue flickers in the settling dust storm, thunder begins to churn somewhere deep inside the castle. If you weren’t at the edge of the garden you might mistake it for the distant sound of ocean waves. But high tide is silent tonight. Clicking teeth and the scent of ignition, the rotten taste of the mage on your lips, and not a peep from the sea. What is coming to life inside the lifeless castle?

You prince does not notice the great bellied rumbling, does not strike again to ensure the mage is dead, Deku does not pull him from the battlefield– you have to get back out there. Your pride as a guard screams to you yes, but worse than that, so much worse than that, your prince and the little Champion can’t taste murder. They wait at the edge of the dustbowl safely for the mage to collapse or emerge like proper sparring soldiers. They don’t know how to kill. They need to strike, strike and strike, until their opponent is retching blood, but they are just a prince and a champion. Princes should be pretty and should not lose. Champions protect like shiny trophies– guards kill. You kill. Kirishima hardly fights outright for fear of breaking jaws and ribs, murder is your job. Shinsou and Uraraka’s job– where are they? Your prince can’t smell what you can and it is going to kill him.

Up, up fuck, get up. Adrenaline will keep you steady if you can just fucking stand. Your body does not fight you but it does not comply. It wont move the way you need it to, it won’t stop trembling from the touch of seabreeze on your raw and bleeding arm so you’ll have to beat it into shape. Two legs standing, a proper shape to save your prince. Something is heating up the air of the cursed blue garden. You bring a fist down on your thigh to feel life in your nerves, to remind your body it needs feeling– not to hoard it in your shoulder, not to hoard it in your burn. Bakugou and Deku, green golden shapes in the distance, prepare to attack as dust settles. You don’t have time. Another beating fist at your kneeside.

From the sound of it, a storm has come to life inside the castle. A squawk here or a series of thumps there, like an animal in a box. Is it backup? Soldiers? Something deep inside, louder than the mage’s laughter and your heartbeat and the stars of your prince’s magic, is fighting to escape.

As you drop your first foot flat to the ground, the rancid air from a sudden pillar of fire propels you to standing in its periphery. It’s almost soothing. It’s almost like letting your full weight into bedding until you open two eyes to half of the blue bellflower prison up, very much, in flames. The mage alone stands in its center and every meaty part of him radiates blue. The gums between his too-big smile glow. The castle groans ahead.

“Stay back!” Your prince barks somewhere in the new smoke before you can even worry about his being maimed or mauled or burned to a crisp. Curse it all, right? You won’t waste this momentum. The rock in your ribs shifts like a hiccup and for one second– relief, rage, grief – you know that your legs will carry you at least ten good paces as you tear forward in a sprint. Curse everything. Bursting bruised from the place your prince meant to hide you, you hope it all burns and that this wretched place falls into the sea. Even as you kick your halberd to life, toe of your boot kicking the polearm from the ground into your right hand, even as you cross the burning threshold of mage’s last attack into hell, even as Bakugou drops from the sky where Deku floated them both to avoid the fire– 

“Y/n don’t–!”

What pushed the mage to use his flames again? What is it that keeps your heart pumping? What was he holding back? Who do you live for? There’s no time. Your white-haired ghost takes one crackling step towards the castle and your prince, and heat swells thick around the garden while you flutter light footed, weapon raised, to strike him from behind. Bakugou’s hands come to you again even in a time like this because the flex of your fingers reminds you of the dance of his. Horrible creature. As time slows, it dawns on you that war might not be what does it.

Fire is upon you. Deku pushes forward as if he’s fireproof and your prince has both hands raised but not enough time to charge his magic. You can feel him looking at you. The mage has unhinged his jaw like a hunched and bleeding serpent to do the sun’s job and burn you all alive. Blue spills from him, in every direction it begins to flow and eat the pathetic flowers alive. It heats up iron flower beds and trellises, it warms your face at first and reminds the bubbling skin of your arm to sear. It all happens in the span of one foot lifting in your stride and the other landing in your charge and in the second you ready the halberd’s spear at your good shoulder,  the second the flames explode from the dead star in the center of the garden, the simple castle doors fly open.

The mage’s glowing smile drops. His flames blink out like birthday candles and the clearing is cold again.

Spidersilk and shoreline, and the lone flushed face of the Takoban Queen. She hovers panting in the doorway, arms still up from throwing open the doors and she is so hauntingly beautiful not even your prince knows what to do with his attention for a moment.

You remember though, you know what to do, for the first rule of hunting with your Master is mercy. Kill swiftly greedy human, be thankful. The second is ruthlessness. Fire dies around you so quickly you’re lightheaded when you leap with your last thundering step, no longer silent– when the mage remembers his Alderan plaything and spins much too-late to face you.

Doused of flames like a wet cat, he catches the shaft of your weapon before your good arm and sanguinary pierce his heart, but you don’t need the spear to land. The weight of your body forces it through his shoulder as you land and you only need the momentum, because when you release your polearm the rotting man cannot stop you from riding it like a zipline to his chest and plunging a dagger up to the hilt. Bones crack.

He wants a monkey? Fine.

Before he remembers fire you hoist your body onto the halberd shaft wedged tight through his collarbone and tip yourself over his shoulder onto his back while the wheeze of his collapsing lung plays you on.

It’s almost soft, the way you press your ear to his spine and listen to the heartbeat there while securing your legs around his hips. It’s too slow to even count as living, but then a glass slipper clicks once in the haunted garden and this rotting heart comes to life for a moment. The queen takes one wide-eyed step forward and you wrap your mangled arm around the ghost’s head, driving the dagger to his throat from behind. Light glows at the back of that long empty hallway behind her. Soldiers presumably, her guards. Just how fast was she running to create such a delay? You can’t even imagine her seafoam fragility sprinting through smooth stone halls, tripping, desperate– sweating, sick– and for what?

Ragged breath now, the flame mage wheezes back a step in his effort to keep your blade from making good on its threat and slitting his throat. Your body weight, halberd and grabbing murdering fingers pull on his eye sockets and jaw, driving him another step and another step backwards. He uses both hands to keep your good arm from killing him, but there are no hands left to pry you from his back or your weapon from his shoulder and suddenly there is no more garden to back through. It’s almost terrifying how suddenly you realize that your plan tonight is to die.

If your body wasn’t completely out of adrenaline and heartache, depleted and locked in place around a furnace like the shell of a dying beetle, you would be more upset about it. You would give more time to thoughts of Takoba and your Mitsuki. You would have eaten dinner. If you were still alive, would you have found Bakugou’s bedchambers? Sat with him there? Is he capable of conversation? Would you have found out?

The salty wind is at your back again and there is still enough life in you to buckle under the pain of your shoulder and to taste the cookies from Uraraka’s first aid kit. Guided by autumn air, over the mage’s pierced collar and your beautiful polearm and through his shaggy white hair, he drops one of his hands from you and reaches ahead for something at a great distance. What good is longing in death? Fool.

He’s not quite fighting anymore. He leans backwards away from your blade but knows that he cannot dislodge you. He does not use his flames. The mage reaches silently, your eyes following the line from his long beautiful fingers, to the seashell queen. He reaches out to her as Deku dives at a sprint and your prince propels himself through the air to reach you.

The white castle finally purges itself of thunder and the first of the Takoban guards catch up with their Queen as you and the flame mage tip backwards, exhausted, over the lip of the garden and into the sea.

Bakugou will never be free of you. Not when you dropped your dagger poised to kill and reached your bloody hand out for him, right alongside the mage grasping for the frozen queen. Your eyes, pleading for help, before slipping silently off the edge of the cliff. Did you even realize?

Takoban guards trip over themselves like children but when the rocket thrusters at his hands sputter out he knows that the Takoban master is among them. The queen is swarmed by a hundred soldiers and medics who pour out of the tiny little doors into a garden half of them didn’t know existed. At their generals’ orders, some stumble through the melted flower beds to secure their Alderan guest.

“Izuku!” Bakugou wails as his momentum dies halfway to the cliff. He tears forward without magic as Deku races ahead, gaining speed, and hurdles himself off the garden after you, hiding from Aizawa’s eyes. One black whip straight up into Bakugou’s awaiting arms and the other flashing through the air to reach you before high tide can.

The rotting man at your chest does not ignite or try to slow your shared fall. You don’t cry or flail and you hate to admit it’s because you’re losing the fight with your body to stay conscious. What they don’t tell you about falling to your death is that you cannot breathe in freefall, and that your stomach screams the whole way down, and that dying is not peaceful.

You are not awake to feel relief at the little Champion’s magic wrapping round your chest and hips and you don’t feel the pain in your arm when he whips you back into the air like the arc of a pendulum for his friend to catch. No one sees the mage hit the water.

Your prince screams with determination when the weight of the whip seems almost tight enough to snap the limbs he’s wrapped it around, and at their breaking point a lurch drops all the tension from his fingers and sends both you and the Champion soaring back up over the edge of the clearing and into the air. Deku can figure out his own landing because the prince is already peeling back and rioting through incoming guards, rushing forward to try and stay underneath you.

“Don’t you drop her!” He bellows. Not after he waxed so fucking poetic about his responsibilities and certainly not after you asked him, so quietly, to save you.

Your consciousness returns when you land squarely on a group of guards all throwing their bodies atop one another for cushion and any multitude of clashing armor and broken bones, grunts and screams, ringing out, your voice among them. When you’re falling to your death they don’t tell you that landing is your reward. That surviving is the real punishment.

To feel your brain hit the side of your skull and test the flexibility of longbones meant to walk, not crumble. Grit of dirt and ash grate your raw wounds terribly in the sea of armor and hands and you don’t think you’re the one screaming until a fit of cough seizes your lungs and for a moment you’re no longer able to.

“Y/n– Move– Y/n, look at me.”

Where you expect too-warm golden hands, Aizawa’s wild hair frames your rapidly deteriorating vision. He wades through the rubble to reach you and something pink like Uraraka hovers behind him. The queen is lost somewhere under a pile of desperate guards. Where is Bakugou?

“Your arm–”

“I’m okay!” You flinch when the old guard lowers himself to you.

“Your– Y/n listen–”

“I’m okay!”

For some reason you can’t think of anything else to say or bring yourself to picture the state of your body. Rare and genuine worry for your prince keeps your heart beating but you can’t quite remember how to make the sounds of his name to ask for him. The old guard doesn’t move in the chaos. Does he look broken from lack of sleep or because he’s looking at you?

“I’m okay,” you murmur again.

He watches for a moment with unsettlingly wide eyes, both hands flat on the ground, and then nods. “You’re okay.”

Another voice above asks, “Can you walk?”

“No,” you respond too truthfully and too quickly to filter your answer. Where is your prince? Bakugou– you need him. You need the relief of your hands over his beating heart. You crane from your spot in the dirt littered with groaning guards.

“Then sleep.”

‏‏‎ ‎

Shinsou carries you on his back through the disarray, back into the castle. You aren’t awake to witness the terrified air of Takoba or the group of soldiers tasked with restraining Bakugou against the ground while they wait for Aizawa to complete his questioning.

Caught and trapped, roaring under the weight of ten bodies, blond hair plastered across his forehead as his eyes bare bloody holes into Shinsou who carries you away past him without a glance. The prince screams for you and for treachery and still you don’t open your eyes for him.

As the young guard takes you through the little doors, he steps cautiously past the half and half Takoban prince laid out beautifully and peacefully unconscious among guards on the ground directly inside.

Shinsou breathes deep for the first time in an hour and slumps with relief as he walks through the once-empty hallway that is now filled, at every corner, with jagged towering ice.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @jctaro @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawler @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @kiwifuji @mmmaackerel @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @dududubebo @falling4fandoms @katanaski @babitchsuki @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @madmayo @bakugouswh0r3 @heart-of-haunt @zukowantshishonourback @420mitskilover @ultracrii @nochuonii @carrobrumbrum @bkgthinker @chandiewashere @sleezy-axeriix @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1

couldn't tag for some reason :,( pls check your security settings!

#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #fantasy au #mha #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

[devils-acre]

Historically accurate Armando Salazar :) with a lazy background

Research:

I keep trying to find military uniforms from the 1720s but, like I expected, no museums care about the first quarter of the 18th century so I sadly couldn’t find any references. I did however find this portrait with similar buttons to Armando’s coat:

And also used this illustration of Calico Jack from 1725 for inspiration!

I’ve never seen anyone roll up the cuffs of their coat like that, so I assume either it was the artist’s interpertation of what a pirate would do, or something like that. Either way I thought it was cool! I also gave him the shoulder gun-holster thing. On second thought I probably should have drawn him with multiple pistols, maybe?

I decided not to give Armando a wig so I could draw his beautiful hair. I can’t tell you if this is something pirate captains did or not because from what I’ve seen no one knows and I’ve seen illustrations with and without wigs.

Ok, that’s it! If I got anything wrong or you happen to know anything else about 1720-1730s fashion please tell me!

#potc #potc fanart #character design #18th century #pirates #historical fashion #historical #1720s #1720s fashion #pirates of the caribbean #pirate history #? #i don't remember his backstory maybe I should have looked that up #armando salazar #i do realize he looks 20 years old

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 13

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: violence, villain death, poison

Summary: Jason hears about something that puts YN in danger and springs into action

Notes: I found a flower that is poisonous and is used in blow darts for the flower in this chapter. I am by no means a botanist or a scientist so please forgive my ignorance if my information is way off. Also, realized I've been spelling Iceberg wrong for years because I, someone who writes a lot, cannot spell nor do I care about spellcheck apparently. I am a liar and a fraud. Very sorry. Thank you!

Jason sat in one of his safehouses in the Bowery cleaning his guns, again. He couldn't stop his mind running and the only things he could think to do was make sure all his weapons were pristine to keep his thoughts at least distracted by the task of not accidentally shooting himself. He didn't know what to do. It was the night Bruce said YN would be at the Iceberg Lounge getting information about Penguin. She was probably there right now. Should he go? He wanted to go, but he wasn't sure if it was safe. What if she got hurt because he showed up? What if she didn't want to see him? So many thoughts all against the soundtrack of a clown faced madman. He was just finishing his one of his sniper rifles when he got a call from his second in the Narrows. Mac was a reformed drug dealer who now just dealt exclusively in dirty money and he knew almost as much about Gotham as Jason did. He was great when the Red Hood needed to know underground information about some of the normally quieter villains. While he was watching Penguin's dealings at the moment, Mac was watching everyone else. He answered, making sure his voice modulating phone app was working.

"Ya?" he said. He heard someone laughing in the background and had to shake himself to drown out the constant Joker laugh that played in his mind. He had to concentrate.

"Hood, got some interesting information for you," Mac said, then fell silent, waiting to hear what he would get out of it. Jason almost told him he didn't care that night, but something made him curious. He didn't know why but he felt whatever this info was it was going to be life or death.

"You get a bonus for it my friend, 5k," he said. He heard a satisfied grunt from the other end of the phone and then the background was a little quieter as Mac went somewhere private.

"I heard that Poison Ivy is pissed at Penguin for trying to buy up that big ass park in New Gotham," he said. Jason remembered seeing about Penguin trying to make a deal with Bruce Wayne to buy the park that Bruce paid for and carefully curated as a rare flower sanctuary. You could go to any of a dozen greenhouses and see rare flowers from all over the world. It didn't surprise Jason that Ivy would want to keep that. "She's heading over to the Lounge right now, right when it's busiest, she wants to make an example of Penguin and anyone who supports him." Jason stilled, color draining from his face. "Hood?" Jason coughed, mind scrambling.

"Thanks Mac, you'll get that 5k tomorrow," he said before hanging up. He needed to get across town fast. If YN was still in the Lounge...if she...he stopped his mind from racing and looked at his gear. He grabbed his helmet, shoulder holster, and his jacket. The rest would take too long to get on, and he ran out of the safehouse, getting on his bike and breaking every speeding law in the city to get to the Lounge before it was too late.

You weren't sure why you stayed at the Iceberg Lounge after you had talked to your contact. You had what you needed. They had let you into a server room that doubled as an illegal organ theft cooler, taken your pictures and made copies of the digital ledgers that were kept there. If you were smart you would leave before someone either stole your purse or realized you weren't exactly dressed for clubbing and got suspicious. You had planned to sneak out amongst the crowd of dancers at the club, but something about the rough music, it seemed edged in anger that night, kept you on the floor. You danced by yourself, letting months of annoyance, worry, and stress out in a way you hadn't been able to. Sure you threw yourself into work once you realized that Jason wasn't coming back. You left his book on your nightstand, note still attached, but other than that you tried to push him from your mind, stop feeling his hand in yours or seeing that smile or hearing his laugh. You started just working. You got Two-Face caught, and even had given some interesting info on Joker that had him on the run again, you were doing so much that Jim, your friends, even Bruce, were starting to worry you were careening towards a cliff face and if you didn't stop you would fall over the edge. Maybe you would, but at this point you just wanted to feel like you were in control. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought if you could get all the villains that Jason wanted off the streets, get him his territory, get rid of Joker, maybe he would come back. But right now the music was loud, your body was barely functional, and your mind was starting to feel like something good was coming, so you danced near the edge of the floor, ignoring anyone who came up to dance with you, sometimes sending them away with a glare. You wanted to be alone. That was a lie, you wanted to be with Jason, but you couldn't have that. It didn't help that Red Hood had become a costume just like Batman, people walked around the clubs and streets wearing helmets from costume shops, some of them getting into fights with the idiots donning the cowl. It was like a constant reminder.

A guy approached you with a drink, offering it to you. He said he had something cool for you to see. You rolled your eyes but when you saw the cheap looking way too red helmet you threw the drink in his face. He called you a cunt and walked off and you took a shaky breath. It was time to go. You turned and crashed headlong into the person behind you. You grunted, almost falling, but were caught by a familiar arm around your waist. Your eyes shot up and looked at the very real helmet of Red Hood. You noticed he lacked the body armor, instead just in his undershirt and his leather jacket. You glared and shoved him back.

"Fine, you can be pissed but you have to go now, I have to get you out of here," he said. You barely could understand him above the music but you heard and felt the urgency in him. He grabbed your hand and you allowed him to drag you to an emergency exit door. Just as you got to it the music cut out and the wall opposite crashed in and vines started growing through the opening. "Go!" Jason said, pushing you out the door and closing it behind him. You banged on it, trying to get it opened from it locked from the outside. You screamed for him. He didn't have his armor, what was he doing there without it? You ran to the front entrance where people were desperately trying to get out. The blacked out windows broke as people tried to escape that way. Anyway to get in was blocked by terrified party goers trying to get out. You could hear screaming and gunshots. Finally people started to slow and you found a broken window that no one was currently coming out of. You grabbed a discarded jacket in the alley and put it over the shards, climbing inside, staying to the outside of the room, hiding behind upended tables.

Jason was still facing off against Ivy, guns aimed for her as she towered above him, her precious plants holding her aloft. She seemed to be entertained by him. Several of Penguins men were dead around her and Penguin himself was probably locked away in his office or had already ran to avoid meeting the woman face to face.

"Red Hood, you impress me, why don't we become allies? You get your territory but make sure they leave my precious parks alone," she was saying. Her voice sounded sweet and for a moment you were almost drawn in by it. She must be pumping some kind of pheromone into the room. You saw Jason take a couple steps forward and you almost cried out, but didn't want to distract him. What was he doing?

"That doesn't sound like a half bad idea," he said, lowering his guns. Ivy lowered herself to the ground, walking over to him. He didn't raise his weapons, they hung loose, almost like he was in a trance. You took a breath, scared that maybe he was infected by whatever toxin she was pushing to him. You moved trying to get a better look and fell, making plenty of noise. Ivy looked over and snarled, a vine grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you out onto the floor. You grabbed your switchblade and cut the vine, making her scream. Jason just stood there, but you noticed the hold on his gun tighten again. Shit, he had been luring her in and you had ruined it, stupid. A large white flower appeared in front of you.

"Stay put until I'm finished with my new friend here and then I'll deal with you. I hope you like a slow death," Ivy snarled before turning back to Jason, smiling again. "Now, how about that deal?" She came even closer. "We can seal it with a kiss?" He stood still until she was within arm's reach, then his gun pointed to her head.

"How about no?" he said and fired point blank into her head. You dropped down as the flower fired a poison dart before dropping itself. The vines around you died as their matriarch dropped, eyes staring lifeless. You got up from the ground and turned to see Jason on the ground, the flower dart sticking out of Jason's arm. He grunted, falling to his knees.

"Red Hood!" you yelled, running over, surprised you had kept yourself from calling his actual name. He was on his knees, breathing deep. He pulled the dart out and looked around. He grabbed a stack of napkins and wrapped the dart in them.

"I need...Alfred..." he got out, voice rasping even through the modulator. "Ivy...poison..." You nodded.

"I have a car out back," you said, sliding his arm around your shoulder and standing, staggering a little. Even without his armor he was solid muscle and that wasn't light. "You need to help me or I'm going to fall." He took a haggard breath and stood on his own, still leaning to you. "How much time do we have?"

"Twenty minutes maybe," he said. He let out an agonized cry. You reached over and grabbed his gun from him, keeping it ready in case anybody gave you trouble as you walked into the alley. You saw the line of parked cars belonging to the currently dead Penguin henchmen and picked the closest one, putting Jason in the back. You climbed in and got to hot wiring it. "Thought you said you had a car?"

"I do, I have any car I want," you said. "Now shut up and rest." Your voice was severe because even in this horrible situation you were still mad at him. He disappears for six months, comes back to get you safely away from an attack by Poison Ivy and then goes and gets poisoned? How dare he put you through this roller coaster of emotions. You got the car going and then, safety be damned, sped to Wayne manor. You crashed right through the gate and stopped by the door. Alfred was out the door, gun in his hand, dropping it only when he saw it was you.

"Miss YN, what..." he started until you threw open the back door and dragged the now unconscious Jason from the back. Alfred jumped into action, grabbing him with you and pulling him into the front hall. He locked the door and turned to you.

"What happened?" he asked as you removed Jason's helmet. He looked terrible, pale, lips barely having any pink to them. You told Alfred about the attack, about the poison. "What did the flower look like?" You were glad it had been aimed at you first, in your fear you had memorized its features.

"It was white, with red like tendrils and yellow inside," you said, closing your eyes to remember better. You knew that wasn't how it worked but right now you weren't thinking straight seeing Jason like this. You needed to stop seeing him before you lost control entirely. Alfred nodded.

"Her modified Medusa Flower, find the point of contact" he mumbled, getting up and running towards the kitchen where he kept the antidotes to several of Ivy's poisons. Luckily this was a common poison she used, having modified the flower to actually shoot the poison and the effects to be quick. He got the syringe ready, going to back and knelt down. You had found the puncture and torn off his sleeve so Alfred could get to it, displaying the frightening spread of the black poison through his veins. He injected the antidote directly into the wound. You wondered how long it would take to help him. Alfred frowned when he didn't open his eyes. "Sit him up." You did as asked, sitting him up. Alfred pulled his shirt up and over his head and you set him down, seeing poison. It was still moving, but much slower. "Do you have the dart?"

"Yes," you went through his pockets, careful not to sting yourself. You handed Alfred the dart and he frowned.

"She has continued modifying her poisons," he grumbled. "What I gave him has slowed the poison, let me get into the lab with Master Tim, we will be able to fix this. You nodded. Alfred touched a pin on his lapel and not even five minutes passed before Bruce, Dick, and Tim were all there in the hallway, asking a million questions. Bruce picked up Jason and you followed him upstairs to his old bedroom as Alfred and Tim went down to the cave. Dick followed, arm going around you as you finally started to cry.

#jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jasontodd #jason todd #red hood x you #red hood x reader #redhood #red hood #red hood x y/n #brokenprism