#killjones

Dinner. Their old stomping grounds: the Italian place. It’s Japanese now, but he orders the Pasta Amatriciana regardless. She tries to hide her shudders, knowing that he had ordered it with Hope, and knowing that he had ordered it with her when it was still an Italian restaurant. He watches her intently, and misses nothing.

“Eat, Jessica.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Another liquid dinner?”

“Maybe.”

He sighs, “We’ve both had a terribly exciting day, what with saving that miserable sod’s family. You should keep your strength up and eat.”

“Why do you care about my strength?”

“We’re a team, Jessica! We’re heroes now. We can do anything together.” He smiles like he is ready to consume her.

She looks away, unable to meet his grinning gaze. She says under her breath, “Christ! Do you even get it?”

“Oh course, I do! Save him, rescue her! They’re going to adore us.”

“Adoration is not the point,” she says, meeting his eyes, “It’s the saving, the rescuing. Not the praise. Better not to be noticed.”

“Ahh, Jessica. You have no idea how to enjoy life, do you? Why not take the perks? What are you punishing yourself for?”

“You really want an answer to that?” she deadpans, glancing to the floor. She clamps her eyes closed. His smile slowly fades away, revealing the icy stare behind the friendly facade. Her eyes are closed, but she doesn’t need them to feel his eyes on her. He could see through her anyways.

He leans back in the chair, one arm draped over the chair next to him, an ankle crossed over knee, still staring at Jessica.

“Jessica, play nice,” drawls Kilgrave.

“You never do.”

“I thought you liked that,” he says with a smile returning. Bile rises in her throat, the acidic taste in her mouth burning at her tongue. She wants to wretch but that will certainly ruin the night. Maybe it needs ruining.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she says, excusing herself to the washroom. In the dimly lit toilet, she stares herself down in the faded mirror. She closes her eyes, not wanting to see the eyes that had seen Reva and the hands that had killed her. She counts streets quietly under her breath.

The door creaks as it swings open. She sighs. Her eyes are closed, but yet again, she doesn’t need them to feel Kilgrave in the room.

Fanfiction oneshot - from Kilgrave’s perspective - reflecting on Rage and Love- Triggers: Jesus Christ, you should all have this figured out by now, it’s Kilgrave

Rage and love are, in fact, rather like two sides of the same coin. They have the same passion, the same all-consuming fire that takes over your brain. They blind you and bind you. In many ways, they are no different.

Just like Jessica and I.

I suppose there are some differences. Jessica wants to be a hero. I want to be her hero. More selective, I suppose, but still doing whatever it takes for the thing we love.

JESSIGRAVE?

KILLJONES?

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?

I mean, yes, I love Tennant’s Kilgrave and I certainly love the show and I love Krysten but how the fuck do you ship their characters?

I mean, NO, NO NO NO.

Kilgrave is Jessica’s rapist, her kidnapper, her fucking abuser, how the fuck do you ship them?

Yes, yes I know they look cute and stuff but think about it, he’s fucking mad, he’s fucking insane and obsessed with her to the point of control someone to take her pictures and give them to him, to the point of fucking force her to live WITH HIM in the fucking SAME house she grew up on before her PARENTS died.

Yes we love Krysten and we love Tennant but fucking ship Kilgrave and Jessica is just fucked up.