Also, No Dispute, The Darkling Deserved Better

Wow just wow.

I could've finished at least some of my countless WIPs, but no, this new idea popped into my head...

⚠️Warning spoilers for the shadow and bone books and the darklings name⚠️

Personally I never liked Alina or Mal.

Mal was just- he was something to say the least.

And as this lovely person said Alina just doesn’t care about anything but Mal. Ever since the very moment she found out she was grisha and could help her country, she just wanted to go back to Mal. I feel as if she never had any real interest in protecting or the wellbeing of grisha. During r&r we see Alina get extremely power hungry. She was extremely restless and rude towards Mal and everyone else because she so desperately wanted the firebird. When Nikolai proposes to her for obviously political interest she says no. Nikolai tells her that if they got married it could be good for this country seeing as she is grisha and seen as a saint by the people. She could aid the country and help unite the armies to make ravka stronger. Tbh it was in the country’s best interest but she shows no interest in helping the country whatsoever.

Throughout the entire series Aleksander was dehumanized by LB so much. I think it had something to do with the fact that she supposedly based his character off of her manipulative ex(?). At the end of r&rhe we see a side of aleksander that was more human as he died.

The one thing I can agree with M*lina shippers is the confusion over the fact a grown man like the darkling acts the way he does. He’s petty. He spends most of his time in book 2 & 3 doing evil cookie jar acts and using the force to spy on Alina. The thing is, this character is written this way. Most of the characters are annoying because they’re poorly written. The plot drives the characters not the other way around, so their growth remains stagnant. As a morally grey character, Aleks works so well. He cares for ravka and he’ll be the one to cross the line if it means the grisha are kept safe. But instead, he got retconned into a villain with no real plan, kills other grisha, forms an alliance with Fjerda, and dies. His death does nothing except make things worse. I’m so glad for Ben’s portrayal because he brought humanity to the character and the audience can sympathize with his plight. JML and Ben’s approach to darklina is also realistic compared to the book counterparts although I’m not really a shipper tbh. I prefer Luda because I feel like she is the perfect balance for Aleksander. She was clearly powerful, compassion and trustworthy

I mean, the thing with the Darkling is that the person that created him doesn't treat him like a human. So I wouldn't say that we could even call him 'a grown man', as my friend @yototothelalafell has pointed out about the book, he is incredibly dehumanised. So, in a Watsonian perspective, if he is not human and/or treated as such. Can we even expect him to act like a 'grown up man'? Is he even treated like a man at all?

Also, when LB is doing her stupid baiting in the first half of SaB, she basically describes him as every soldier's dream general: he goes around checking his troops instead of staying at court, eats with his men and overall seems like a polite person that his men keep following because he has managed to give all these people that would be burned or cut open in other places a home and position above "those dirty witches".

Then after presenting him like a perfectly reasonable person who is encouraging Alina, she just throws that 'twist' and opens the Evil Deeds Cookie Jar to never close it again. And as you said, the plot moves him because the plot needs a villain, his arc doesn't require villainy. I really can't say that I agree with m/alina shippers on anything because you don't need to ship Alina with someone to understand the characters are badly written, and even then the argument is wrong and seems to come from just dissing the Darkling. I mean, Mal doesn't act like a young man in a XIX setting either, he acts like a jerk jock from an American TV show and I can say that without shipping darklina because I don't really ship them in the books since they have little to no interactions that have enough emotional weight.

I mean, if you look at it from a character perspective, Fanon!Alina is... Basically Luda with Sun Summoner powers? Is Alina caring and warm? No. She is defensive and sarcastic to a point of being rude. Does she care about the Grisha? No, because she leaves them all to live as a rich woman in her orphanage. Does she embrace her identity as a Grisha and helps in the cause? No, because in the moment she loses her powers she says she is no Grisha anymore, even when her friends tell her the contrary.

All of this is the contrary of Luda, we see her complicit on Aleksander training the Grisha since the soldier says 'you two could train witches'. We see her being caring and warm with Aleksander and that he trusts her enough to make her aware of his immortality. Every time I see darklinas dismissing her to prop up Alina I am like: Sure, but Alina will murder him. No talk about soulmates can fix that.

You're my sister, my sister, my blood, my family. I should want to protect you. To protect you from the sort of boys who want to do with you exactly what I want to do.

Im so sorry this is what I was thinking about as I read this 😭😭😭

Twisted Devotion (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, DUB-CON, adopted sibling!reader, incestuous relationships, murder, violence, loss of virginity (m. and f.)

! By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut !

➥ {page breaks done by @firefly-graphics}

summary: Loki was your guardian angel from the moment you were left at the palace doors. Angels fall sometimes, don’t they?

Keep reading

HELLO? UM 😦

The Agony of Desire

Part 11 // Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, Smut, fingering, p in v sex, mild choking, talks of pregnancy, canon typical themes, drugging, assault, guns.

A/N: Brace for impact...

~

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

~

It's kind of annoying that good things don't last. Who designed a world like that anyway? Where you could get a taste of something so perfect, so peaceful, and so explosive. The rekindling of a lost love, the burning passion of two years of agony, the desire to stay in a blissful paradise with the one person who ever made you feel... seen.

To have it ripped from your hands without a forethought, taken by the universe with five simple words.

We have to go back.

But you didn't want to. You wanted this, here, with him and the quiet moments in between careless laughter and the shared breath of lovers before a kiss. And you wanted to grip it tightly and tell the universe to fuck off because Billy Russo was yours and nobody would ever take him away from you again.

And he sees this all written on your face when he gets the words out.

"Hey, hey, hey," he says, finding his way to you as you look down, your throat tight beyond compare, your eyes watering as you try to pretend that you're fine. His hands on your shoulders, "We'll be okay," his voice interjects, "I'll keep you safe, it's just that Kingpin needs something more from me, and then we're done. We'll be back here- or free to be in New York together- wherever you want- it's just one more thing and it'll all be over." He rambles into your ear, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him to you.

You take a deep breath, listening to his heart race in his chest.

"I don't want to lose you. I only just got you back." You sniffle.

"Oh baby," he kisses the top of your head gently, "You're not losing me. Not that easily. You told me no several times and I still kidnapped you anyway."

That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh.

"When you say it like that, it makes you sound like a villain." You say in between breaths.

"I am a villain. I'm a really bad man." He confirms with a nod and you shake your head in disbelief.

Your stomach picks that moment to make a loud gurgling sound and your mouth drops open.

"Oh my god did you hear that-?"

"-I know right, what the fuck is living inside of you?" He says with mock horror in his face and you laugh, pulling him back into a hug that he returns easily.

You sway for a moment, before pulling back.

"Come, let's talk strategy over dinner." You say decidedly, pulling him toward the kitchen.

~

You're staring at his sleeping form, from your seat opposite him.

He always looks so young when he sleeps, appearing so innocent about the ways of the world, and you acknowledge that it must be his eyes that give him his age. The look in them, the weariness, the distrust, the way you can see him analysing things as they happen. It's what makes him look close to the age he always claims to be. Now though, he could pass for at least a decade younger. Billy's got eyes that have seen so much, and you just wished for one moment you could ease his burdens.

He'd explained to you last night, that some of the money hadn't gone through, that Fisk was demanding the remaining twenty million and would restart his pursuit of your family if he was not compensated. It was one thing to be hunted by the Meachums, but you would most likely never survive if they managed to put their differences aside long enough to pursue you.

It made you nervous. To be going back into the lion's den no matter how reassuring Billy was, that everything would be okay.

How could he know something like that? How was he so sure, that the minute you two landed in New York, that both groups wouldn't descend on you both and take it all away? Take what you'd just been given...

You unbuckle your seatbelt, standing, and smoothing out your black dress for a moment. Billy peeks an eye open sleepily, looking up at you as you take the few steps to him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his voice laced with heavy sleep, undoing his seatbelt and opening his arms for you to climb into his lap. You accept the invitation, straddling his body easily, burying your head in his chest, listening for a quiet moment to his heart, feeling fear and anxiety rise in your throat, and letting the soft scent of him calm you.

"I'm okay." You say after a little bit, "Just scared."

His arms encircle you, a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

"It's easy, in and out, nothing to be afraid of."

He'd said the same thing last night, but fear, held no care for rationality. Fear's only job, was to remind you of everything you could lose.

You grip his sweater, taking a deep breath, contemplating whether to tell him what you'd almost spilled yesterday- that you loved him, beyond words, beyond reason, maybe even beyond fear.

And yet, you still couldn't figure out if you could forgive him for the last two years.

It was... strange.

To love someone so deeply and still be burdened by the weight of their actions.

Maybe that was love. Imperfect, flawed, cracked, but so blissfully warm at the same time.

The Japanese art form, Kintsugi comes to mind next, and you wonder if that was something possible for you and Billy. An object, made more beautiful after being broken.

It's what lulls you to sleep.

The comfort of broken things, and the hopes that you have the chance to put them back together.

You wake a little later when the plane shakes, you stiffen in fright and his hand is immediately on the back of your head.

"Just turbulence baby, you're okay." He soothes.

You make a little hum, crawling off his lap to give a big stretch.

He watches you carefully, and you turn to look at him in question.

"What are you doing?" You ask, wondering why he's just staring at you.

"Nothing, just... remembering." He says, giving you a sly smile.

"Creep." You say, with mock malice in your tone.

"Careful," he warns, "You'll get me hard if you keep talking like that."

You almost choke on your spit with the speed you inhale at. Holy fuck what gave him the right?

You grin when a comeback flies right into your head.

"I bet it doesn't take much to get you hard, Russo." You tease, reaching under your dress to tug your panties down your legs. You watch the muscle in his jaw pop as he clenches his teeth together, never breaking eye contact with you as you free your panties and ball them into your fist.

"I bet it just takes the right move at the right time and that big cock is all swollen and leaky, hmm?" You tease, tossing your panties at him. The soft material hits his chest.

He doesn't say a word, looking at you with amusement as you silently dare him to say something.

He takes a deep breath, tilting his head to study you a little, before he extends a hand to give two swift pats to this thigh.

Holy shit that did not just make you tingle.

"Do you want something, Russo?" You ask evenly, and his smile deepens.

Shit. He had that quiet dominance about him that made you want to get on your knees and have him fist your hair in his large hand-

Christ almighty, where did your feminism go?

"Come here." He says casually, looking away from you for a moment, as if the clouds could ever be as interesting as the little brat of a girlfriend he had, one that he knew craved a firm hand.

"Bite me." You quip.

"If I have to get up from here," He warns "You're not getting to come."

You lick your lips.

"You're bluffing. You like me too much."

When he stands, your entire body gives you a warning that you were now in danger of being punished.

"I do like you," he acknowledges, "but that's not going to stop me from teaching that bratty cunt some manners."

Oh boy.

You take a step back as he begins to approach you, adrenaline spiking in your system, but in this private jet, there really was nowhere to go.

"Lesson number one, when I say 'come here,' do you know what I expect you to do?"

You keep backing away, knowing that your space to evade him is getting smaller and smaller.

"Do I look like I give a shit?" You ask, looking back to see how much space you have left.

It's all the distraction he needs to grab you. You gasp as he pins your lower half against a seat, you wriggle your body, but can't seem to get any leverage to push him away.

"I expect you, to bring that needy little cunt to me." He says lowly, as if you haven't spoken.

"Who said I was needy?" You gasp out, between small grunts as you struggle to get away from him.

His warm hand is sliding between your thighs in the next second.

"Oh please," he says, doubling down on you, using his body to stop any hint of struggle, "We both know how hot and wet this cunt gets for me."

Your mouth drops open when his middle finger slides over your clit. You bite down on your bottom lip, going still.

"There she is," he hums in appreciation, "Just ready for me, hmm?" His finger circles your clit slowly, you feel your thighs relax involuntarily, opening up for him to take what he wants. Your head is turned to the side, avoiding his stern, but deliciously warm gaze to listen to his sultry voice.

"Say my name, baby. Tell me whose cunt this is."

You can't deny him here. Not when you're in the air flying back to your ex-fiance, you wouldn't give him any doubts about this.

"Yours, Billy." You say so softly, still avoiding his gaze.

You're rewarded with firmer circles to your clit. You hiss, tilting your head up to expose your neck to him reflexively.

You were made to be taken. And he was made to take.

"The things I want to do to you, baby, the ways I want to ruin you would probably get me arrested in some countries."

Your mind fills with all the terrible possibilities. A small moan slips from your mouth.

"You want that too, don't you? You want to give me what I want?"

You nod your head, sighing as his finger on your clit pauses for a moment, only to push into you a second later.

You gasp as his thick finger breaches your entrance, filling you and pressing right against your g-spot. You go rigid, gasping as the pleasure builds inside you, teetering on an edge that doesn't come because he then holds his hand still.

You let out a low whine and he chuckles in response, your noses bumping affectionately as if he isn't a finger deep inside you.

He makes a small movement, something of a 'come-hither' with his finger, that creates a tapping motion on that spot inside you.

Pleasure blooms from your cunt all the way up your spine, exploding in your brain, before his finger stops moving.

Your eyebrows are scrunched together, mouth parted as he torments that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Why?" He asks, as if you can remember what was being said.

"What?" You question, out of breath, as he makes a few pumps of his finger into you. You gasp, tightening your walls around his finger in a silent plea not to stop.

"Why do you want to give me what I want?"

You shiver as his thumb begins slow circles into your clit, your knees wobble.

"Because..." you trail off.

"Because?"

He stops all movement and your frustration peaks.

"Because I'm yours." You say under your breath, finally looking into his dark eyes.

Is that what he wanted to hear?

His mouth stretches into a predatory smile.

Suddenly, his finger withdraws from you. You gasp, desperate to keep him close, but your hands are unable to grab him before he's pulling away from you.

"Good. Don't forget it." He says, his back is to you as he heads back to his seat.

Oh this asshole...

The fasten seatbelt sign pings on and you huff in frustration.

You make your way back to your seat angrily, sitting down and fastening your seat belt, glaring at him the whole time.

He sits too, fastens his seatbelt, but not before giving you a good show of sucking your arousal off his finger.

Which only throws you back into the memories of his tongue, and how much he genuinely loves tasting you.

You couldn't even fathom how that was possible. How his head between your thighs, his tongue working you over could give him so much pleasure, when Ward before wouldn't even-

You suck in a breath, heart squeezing as you look at him. Really look at him.

He looks at you too, from his spot opposite, and you're not even touching, but you've never felt this connected to him. It feels like he's in your head, like you're in his, like you know everything he feels from one look at him.

Billy Russo is a part of you now, he's in your bones, running deep in your veins, and he always will be.

And from the burning look in his eyes, he feels the same way about you.

~

Your face is pressed to the bed, a little bit of drool slipping past the edge of your lips and soaking into the soft sheets as he ruts into you from behind.

There's a couple of pillows under your hips, propping your boneless body up, presenting your body for his railing.

Your eyes roll back in your head, an unintelligent sound floating past your lips and you hear him chuckle above you between forceful thrusts.

"Do you like that, baby? Does it feel good?" He asks, and you can only make another dumb sound in response.

'Feel good' was an understatement. It was more than that. If your pleasure was the big bang, he was at its center. He was the source, the fuel, the reason. All emphasised by each rough motion of his cock.

"So perfect for me, baby. So fucking perfect." He gasps, his brain short-circuiting with the abundance of pleasure.

You clench fistfuls of the sheets between your fingers, your pussy tightening around his cock, warning him that you're going to come. He grunts, hips slapping against yours loudly, his hands smoothing over your skin, scraping at the curve of your back and ass with his blunt nails.

Open and pliant below him, you whine as you're brought right to the edge.

"Gonna come so hard, hope you taste it." He grunts out, and you let out another whine, so close... so close...

But he pulls out of you at the very last second and you whine in distress. He flips you over forcefully, the pillows still haphazardly beneath you, raising your hips so that he can reenter you easily.

You gasp his name, pulling the wild strands of your hair away from your face. His hands are firm on your hips, squeezing so tightly, you think it may bruise.

"All mine. Isn't that right?" He asks.

"Mmhmmm." Is all the noise you can make.

"Only me?"

"Yes Sir." You murmur.

He pushes one of your legs up, you gasp as you feel him go deeper, a droplet of sweat trickles from his forehead, down his nose and lands on your hip. You've been going at this for a while, and you know you're going to be so sore tomorrow.

Your back arches, you were on edge again. Shallow breaths and desperate sighs and the gasp of his name and the clenching of your core and he stops again and you swear you're going to murder him.

"Stop. Fucking. Edging. Me." You gasp out angrily between breaths, and you hiss when his hand wraps around your throat tightly.

"Lose the fucking attitude, baby. You're mine and I can do what I want." He grits out.

He pulls the pillows from below you, so that you're flat on the bed, it makes a good position to cover the entirety of your body with his and then he's back inside you again.

Your ankles lock behind him as he delivers swift thrusts, one hand cups the back of your neck to pull your mouth to his.

You bury your fingernails into his back and he groans into your mouth. You want to leave evidence on his skin that you were here, below him, taking his cock inside you.

He breaks the sloppy kiss to catch a breath, but you barely let him, before you're pulling his mouth back to yours in a heated frenzy.

There it is again. You whine as you get close, your body tightening around his, begging him not to stop.

He takes the message this time, speeding up. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, your nails grip and scratch along his skin. His cock fucking you open faster and faster until an explosion goes off in your head.

Your scream is silent. Voice too gone to make an actual sound, your body squeezes down on his cock firmly.

He grunts at the feeling, your cunt fluttering around his cock so blissfully he has to squeeze his eyes shut to stop himself from exploding.

It doesn't work, because in the next second you adjust your head to bite down on his shoulder- and the explosion goes off inside him any way.

He fills you right up, all the way to the brim- you can both feel it. The way his spend slips out of your pussy while he's still deep inside you. Billy knows it's the hardest he's ever cum in a while.

And it's all for you.

You both pant, your skin uncomfortably hot, but unwilling to detatch your body from his. His nose brushes yours, the shared breath between you is hot as well, sweltering and likely to become uncomfortable soon.

'I love you,' you say with your eyes, and he smiles, kissing the tip of your nose in a gesture that lets you know that he loves you too.

Finally, he slips out of you, and you get your first breath of Billy-less air, and you sigh when you feel his come begin to dribble out.

You blink suddenly, realising that it's been a week since you took your last pill. You let out a shuddering breath, remembering that the last few days have just been you, being filled with his come over and over again.

"You okay?" He asks, noticing that you've been holding your breath for a little.

Your eyes flit to his concerned ones.

"Yeah...I'm okay." You answer quickly, pretending that you're not in a state of panic. Damn, when was your last period? What if you were-

"Want a bath?" He offers, and you turn to look at him. He links your fingers into his large ones, pulling them to his face to kiss the tips.

Would it be so bad?

"Yes please," you say softly, "A bath would be amazing."

He's careful. Like he always is, gentle to your body after thoroughly sating it. You lean against him, head tilted back on his chest, half asleep in the warm bath. The water makes gentle swiping sounds as he moves, raising his hand to gently trickle warm water over your neck and collabones.

"Billy," you whisper, the thoughts in your head going too wild for you to keep it in, he hums in question.

"We've never spoken about it... but... do you ever want kids?"

He pauses for a long moment. You squeeze your eyes shut, the silence is honey thick and you struggle to breathe while waiting for the answer.

"I've... never thought I could have something like that." He lets out a little laugh, "Hell, I'm probably the last person on earth that deserves that kind of life, and I definitely shouldn't be in charge of a kid, with a head as fucked as mine."

You listen intently, relating to his fears as best as possible.

"I'm not gonna tell you what you are, and what you aren't." You say, turning your head to speak against his neck, "But I know you're a fast learner, and if you wanted something, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to learn." You smile, kissing his neck, "As for deserving, there are worse people out there with families of their own. Don't judge yourself too harshly."

He makes a low hum, one that implies that he doesn't believe you, but he's not dismissing your words either.

"What about you? Do you want kids?" He asks, lips brushing your temple.

Another long moment as you think about your answer.

"It's....scary... not a simple yes or no, I'm terrified of both- having and not having." You reach to link your fingers into his, he squeezes tightly for a moment, "But it's just a little less scary with you."

The corner of his lip rises.

"I can confess one thing though," he murmurs lightly, dropping his hands to grip your hips, you gasp as his fingers press into your sore spots,

"The idea of getting you pregnant, makes me so fucking happy, I just want to fill you up all day long."

You laugh.

"You're insatiable." You comment, with a shake of your head.

"You have me this way, baby." He replies easily.

When you're almost asleep, face pressed into his chest, legs tangled together, he repeats the plan to you.

He's not going to be here when you wake, getting an early start on gathering the money he needs and assessing the meeting point for possible traps. There's a security team monitoring the hotel, so you'll be safe as long as you don't leave unnecessarily. Later tomorrow evening, he'll meet Fisk, and hand off the remaining money and he'll be back before you know it.

He kisses the top of your head and in your sleepy state, you hum something that sounds very similar to 'I love you.'

It makes Billy's heart skip a beat.

~

When you wake at around midday, he's gone as expected.

You stay in the hotel room all day, watching TV and catching up on random news, finding out what you'd missed in the little time you'd been gone.

Around six in the evening, the phone in the room rings, and you click the TV off before reaching for the receiver.

"Hello?" You answer, your heart pounding, unsure of who it might me.

It's the receptionist at the front desk who greets you on the other end.

"There's a Mr. Meachum here, requesting to speak with you." She says casually, as if you don't go rigid.

"Which Meachum?" You ask cautiously.

Ward, she tells you. Ward has found you and is waiting downstairs to speak to you.

Your heart hurts a little, remembering that the last time you were supposed to see him, you left him at the altar instead.

"Can you tell him to wait for me in the restaurant? I'll be down in ten."

She relays the message to him and confirms his acceptance to you.

You hang up, your stomach twisting into knots, the anxiety of facing him again is so strong, the worry of how you've hurt him is visceral, it makes you want to hide.

But you knew you had to face him, you knew that you had to go down there and look him in the eye and apologise for the embarrassment you caused him.

So you stand from the bed, determined to make it up to him in some way.

The elevator opens up to the restaurant on the top floor, a beautiful modern design with large windows to see the sun setting on the city.

Your heart pounds, smiling at the waitress and giving her your information.

You spot Ward, sitting alone at a table for two, sipping on a drink.

He stands when he sees you approaching.

He takes you into a hug when you get close enough, and you allow it, though it's not your favourite feeling.

"I'm so glad to see you're okay." He says, as his arms tighten around you, and you smile.

"I'm glad you're okay too."

You smile at him when you pull away.

"I hope it's alright that I ordered a drink for you," he says, pointing at the fruity drink on your side of the table.

You not at him in appreciation, sliding into your seat, and taking a small sip of the concoction. It's something slightly sour, and you appreciate the flavours.

He takes his seat as well.

There's a moment of silence.

"When you didn't-"

"I'm so sorry that I-"

A pause, filled with shared smiles.

He nods his head, silently indicating for you to speak first.

"I really meant to show up. It- It wasn't my intention to leave you there. I'm sorry if I hurt you in anyway, or made you look... bad, but, in the end, marrying you- it- well- I-" You give him a sad smile, trying to find the words, "I realised it wasn't something that I wanted. I'm sorry for that."

His face is stoic, all harsh lines and even breaths. He nods, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"When you didn't show up at the church, I knew something went wrong. But I was hoping, that it was just jitters, I waited there for hours. And then I found out that you'd disappeared. I spent the last week combing the world for you, hoping you didn't leave me there without a word."

You take another long sip of your drink before speaking.

"I- well- Billy paid my debt and got me out. But it's a good thing too, because- Harold- he tried to have my parents killed."

"That's not true." Ward immediately says, and you look up into his eyes.

You can see it now, something around the edges, something about his appearance is... off. He isn't as put together as he'd like to seem, and you feel like he's a spool about to be unravelled.

Too bad you didn't owe him a single thing.

"I trust Billy with my life." You say firmly, "He told me that Harold tried to kill my parents. They would have died if Billy hadn't gotten them out."

He grips the edges of the table, leaning closer.

"And you believe him? My father was about to pay off your family's entire debt- and you believe some low-level scum like Billy Russo?"

"Ward." You say his name in warning, letting him know you don't appreciate his words or his tone.

He blinks, catching himself, realising that his words have rubbed you the wrong way.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "But, Russo has always had his own interests first. He lied to you, he told you he paid off the debt, and he didn't, he told you that my father tried to harm your family, and that was a lie too."

You bite down on the corner of your lip, deep in thought.

"What does he have to gain from lying?" You ask Ward quietly, afraid of the answer. You lean back, taking another casual sip as if his words will have no effect on you.

"You might not realise it, but your family name has a lot of weight. Even though it's been dragged through the mud in the last couple of years, a combination of our families opens a lot of doors."

You swallow.

"A combination of our families? By that, you mean that fancy clause in our contract to have me pregnant within the year?"

He blinks, "Y/N-"

"-No." You say, "No, I'm sorry Ward, but I think I've heard enough." Your drink hits the table with a quiet sound, "Billy might not be honest with me, but at least I know he wants me for me, and not for whoever's last name I'm carrying." You stand from your seat and he stands too.

"I'm sorry, please, wait." He says, taking a step, reaching for you slowly, but you dodge his hold, walking away from him with a muttered 'Goodbye.'

He doesn't follow.

The emotions are a mess in your head and it sticks in your throat, there's a permanent frown on your face as tears spring to your eyes.

You don't understand why, though. You wish someone would take your brain out, map it, and show you exactly why you felt like crying your eyes out.

Maybe they'd circle a spot, "This is where your trust issues come from," point to another spot while saying, "Your low self worth comes from your body image issues, only reinforced by the fact that your family almost sold you to make babies and look pretty for the rest of your life."

You press your face into your hands, letting out a muffled sob.

You no longer knew what to believe, who to trust but at least you were sure of one thing.

Regardless of his motives, regardless of any lie he's told you, Billy loved you. And he would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe.

You couldn't wait for him to come back to you, so that maybe you could forgive him for the lies he's told, and admonish him for the lies he would tell in the future.

You smile, shaking your head. No, you couldn't settle for being lied to, no matter how strongly you felt for him.

You begin to feel a little sleepy as the elevator doors open, yawning as you begin to make your way to your room. Your vision swims for a second and you frown, wondering why you feel so tired all of a sudden.

Were you drugged?

You sway, the panic setting in, and your first priority is making it back to your room.

You're at your door when someone calls your name. You look up in surprise, hoping that it's Billy- but it's not- it's Ward, making purposeful strides toward you.

"Ward?" You say confused, squinting at him as your body sags against the door.

He grips your shoulders forcefully, and you try to push at him.

"I think I've been drugged." You murmur, looking into his face, pleading for his help.

"You have." He says ominously and you whimper, realising that it's been him all along.

"Why?" You ask, your knees buckling as your body is forced to relax against your will. You feel so sleepy, you fight to keep your eyes open, pushing at him. Why won't he budge? Your fingers reach up to claw at his cheeks but your hands won't cooperate.

"Why?" He says, and you think he finally shows you his unravelling.

"Because I was promised a wife. And I will have one."

It's the last thing you hear before your vision goes dark.

~

His footsteps echo in the church as he steps in. There are candelabras scattered around the area, he counts them as he counts the pews. He also counts the number of people that are sitting with their heads bowed, praying, and the number of exits.

He sees the back of the marine's head, walking with purposeful steps to him. The marine doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge his presence, doesn't move as he slides into the seat beside him.

He's sure that the marine has counted the same things he has, made a similar assessment of the safety of the surroundings, maybe even knows the approximate number of steps it would take to get to the back exit if the situation requires it.

"Mister Fisk appreciates your cooperation, and sends his regards for not being here in person." He says.

Billy Russo turns to give him a blank stare.

"I suppose everything can't go the way I want," he says.

James Wesley smiles.

"I suppose not." He responds.

~

You wake with a groan, your head is swimming, packed with cotton, preventing you from forming a thought.

Where? What? How?

You can't find any answers.

Another deep breath and you open your eyes a little.

Your vision is blurry at first, but you recognise the surroundings of a hotel room, just not your hotel room.

You're lying on the bed, pressed against someone who is petting your hair softly.

You sit up suddenly in shock, swaying as you turn to look at the person. Something else draws your attention at the same time, and you look down to find that your hands have been cuffed together. You tug at them experimentally.

"Just in time," Ward says, sitting up, and you squint at him, trying to figure out exactly where everything went south.

"You drugged me." You say to him accusingly.

"Yes. I did." He acknowledges, sitting up easily.

He's changed into something different, a dark tuxedo with a black bow tie around his neck.

"Do you like it?" He asks, looking down at the suit, "It's the exact same one I was wearing the first time. I tried to get you the same dress, but I got something that was easier for you to get into by yourself.

He stands, and you just look at him, eyes following his movements as he grabs a garment bag lying over the small couch. He unzips the bag, tugging a wedding dress free.

You can't focus on any of the details of the dress- not the beading or the neckline, in your hazy state  none of it makes sense to you.

"Put it on." Ward says.

"No." You answer.

"I'm not asking." He tosses the dress beside you on the bed.

"I'm still not putting that on." You struggle to say something witty with such a cloudy head.

He takes a step forward, and you scramble back, slipping off the bed and backing away from him on shaky feet. When you try to get to the door, he intercepts your move- pressing you back against the wall.

"I don't have time for this." He says angrily and you seethe along with him.

"Fuck you." You spit at him.

The slap is sudden. You barely register the sound of it, your head is turned to the side, as your cheek screams in pain.

Did he really just hit you?

"I can't believe I ever defended you." You whisper, unable to meet his eyes.

"Karen once suggested you might hurt me, and I told her you weren't like that."

You raise your hand to touch your stinging cheek, it's tender and hot to the touch.

"You'd be mad too, if you were left at the altar to be laughed at by the entire city."

You swallow, looking up at him, fully awake now with the pain and adrenaline coursing through your system.

"You're delusional." You whisper with conviction.

"And you're not getting it. If you don't put that dress on, then I have no use for you." He leans forward, getting into your space and you grimace with disgust at the feel of his body pressed to yours.

"Do you know what I do with useless things, Y/N? I throw them away."

You wish for his death when your eyes meet his next. He smiles, raising a hand to cup your face, his fingers pressing painfully into the spot where he hit you. You don't make a sound, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your pain.

"Get dressed." He says, stepping away from you finally.

~

James Wesley is appraising the contents of the briefcase for authenticity when the church doors open, and several footsteps can be heard.

Billy doesn't look back, he'd anticipated a move like this. And honestly, it might be exactly what he needs to get his plan back into action.

Harold Meachum steps into his peripherals. James closes the briefcase, looking up at said man, knowing James, there's only vague curiosity painted on his features.

"Sorry to interrupt your business, boys, but I have business of my own I'd like to take care of."

Billy is just, downright tired of looking at Harold's face, bored with this man's entire endeavour into making himself more powerful when he can hardly manage the power he currently holds.

"James, would you please call Mr. Fisk and tell him that is audience is requested?"

James doesn't hesitate.

"My apologies, Harold, but Mr. Fisk does not deal-" he pauses his sentence when Harold draws a gun, pointing it at James' head.

There's a moment of tense silence.

"Very well." Wesley says, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.

Billy listens to half of the conversation, unable to hear any of Fisk's responses. James lets him know that an urgent matter has arisen that requires his presence, and that Harold Meachum will not accept no for an answer.

When James ends the call, he informs that Wilson will be here within the hour.

"Excellent!" Harold says, reaching to take the briefcase seated on James' lap, "That's just enough time to have a wedding in the meantime."

Billy's stomach drops.

It drops even lower when he sees the younger Meachum, Ward, step up to the altar.

"Now, if either of you move from here, the man sitting behind you is going to shoot you in the head."

Billy turns to look at the man. One of Meachum's bodyguards sitting in the pew behind, he's large, maybe even larger than Frank, which means he's probably slower. A mistake on Harold's part to have this man guard him. The other five or six people that were here before are being shuffled into the other room.

He watches a priest, step up slowly to the altar, he raises his hands, and then the doors at the back open with a slow groan.

Billy almost doesn't want to look. He knows what he's going to see. It fills him with murderous rage. He watches Ward's smug face instead, a man that looks like he's already won, as an unwilling bride walks down the aisle toward him.

He knows when he sees you there, the shock, and rage and fear of it all with sear like lightning down his skin.

Billy waits until the very last moment to turn and look at you.

He can't see much of your face, covered by the thick veil, but he can see the tremble of your hands as you hold the bouquet and Billy decides, that he's going to wipe the Meachum line off the face of the earth.

.

.

.

A/N: Heeyyyyyy guyssssssss, how are we doing?

How many vampires do you think have been hit by a car backing up in a parking lot because the driver couldn't see their reflection

I’ve never considered it but you’re really shining light on what’s probably a very serious issue

You ever just find a fanfic that you really like at like 3 am, you don’t like it because you already liked it in the past and you also forget to reblog, then the next day you’re like “huh that was a really good fanfic I wanna read it again” and now suddenly it’s impossible to find it.

Tumblr needs to get a feature when I can see blogs or posts I’ve visited.

jelly have mercy on me

Hades!Aleksander Morozova x Persephone!Reader

word count: 2.3K

genres: Greek Mythology!AU, angst & fluff

summary: For most of your life, you lived in the garden that your mother, Demeter, created for you. You never left it until Aleksander, the god of the Underworld, took you away upon your request. In your absence, the crops of the human world began to fail because of your mother’s despair.

author’s note: This is technically the final chapter, but I will be making an epilogue :D

PREVIOUS. PART III . EPILOGUE COMING SOON

miniseries masterlist

The following day, as you arrived at Mount Olympus with Aleksander by your side, the pomegranate seeds sat heavily in your stomach. You were sure that if you moved too quickly, you would regurgitate them. The decision that you made with your lover was a testament to your loyalty to one another and it felt like it was at the expense of Demeter’s sanity. You were now forever connected to the god who had shown you the world.

From across the room, he and you could see your mother and Nikolai. It was like years had passed and this was the first time after a decade that you had seen her. She looked just as you had left her. You did not expect yourself to be so excited to see her, but when you saw her smile and glassy eyes, you were already prepared to make amends and move forward.

Demeter saw how Aleksander held your hand and how he slowly let it go when she started stepping toward you. You approached each other slowly, as if a small whisper would have brought both of you to dust. She looked over you to be certain that you were not being returned with a single hair split of your crown, then without any warning, she nearly crushed you with a hug. 

“Y/N,” she whispered as she patted your head while she embraced you. She said your name like the prayers she had been making for the past weeks. Her voice shook like a low earthquake and her eyes had a layer of water that was ready to topple over her water line. 

“Mother,” you said as tears were bubbling in your throat. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more than I can explain,” she cried.

Keep reading

He is a morally gray character and nothing anyone says or does can change that

That’s all have a good day

The way some people in this fandom react to the Darkling being called morally grey is so fucking funny.

now thats a lot of damage