#black hood theories

[amxthystiine]

Also while ik P5T hasn't released yet and nor has its DLC I'm like 90% sure that Akechi is Guernica so I'm posting this here in case Apollo hits me with that dodgeball and I'm right (I have circumstancial evidence & a theory kind of I think)

[fingertipsmp3]

Had another sleep paralysis incident last night

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

A Week (He Will Take You)

~

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

~

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

~

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

~

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

~

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

~

Just an Idea

[bonebrokebuddy]

bone

sometimes characters and their motives aren't complex and are in fact just as dumb as they appear. also in this vein expecting rational and logical actions and thoughts from established irrational/unstable characters is just asking for a headache

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Who Started The Fire?

From the prompts list:

“That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

Batman stared down the two teens standing before him. The boy was pointedly looking anywhere but the Bat’s face, finding more interest in the dirt and gravel crunching under his shoes. Meanwhile, the girl stood with her arms crossed, head held high, meeting Batman’s gaze with a defiant glare that wouldn’t be out of place on any of his own children’s faces.

Behind them lay the smoking remains of what was once a warehouse that had been used as a front for a weapons smuggling operation that the bats had collectively spent the past few weeks investigating. Although their investigation had taken longer than anticipated thanks to this group’s rather impressive security, they had been so close to a breakthrough…when the place had gone up in an inferno.

When the Gotham vigilantes had first arrived on the scene the fire had been so intense that they’d had to put in their gas masks to avoid any inhaling any of the thick black smoke from not only the fire, but also whatever chemicals may have potentially been within the building that would have been released into the air.

Batman’s initial hypothesis had been that the group had become aware of their investigation and burned the place to avoid any evidence being discovered while they moved locations. However, that theory had been shelved when Red Hood had announced the presence of charred bodies amongst the rubble, and evidence of explosives having been used in multiple area where the building’s structure had been the weakest. Whoever had been inside had not had any warning of the blaze that had swallowed the building too fast for them to get to safety, and with the structure being compromised from the explosions all exists had been blocked, preventing the inhabitant’s escape. Red Hood and Nightwing had been discussing potential suspects as Batman and Red Robin searched for any evidence that could have survived the destruction, when a clattering sound followed by the sound of voices hushing each other had altered all of the on scene bats to the presence of possibly several unknowns.

The two teens had been apprehended quickly and ushered to the side, far enough away from the scene of the fire to avoid them overhearing details of the investigation and to prevent any potential tampering. Accidental or otherwise. The teens had been stubborn in their refusal to answer any of the bat’s questions to their presence. Nobody knew why they were there, where they had come from, and they had even refused to disclose their names. Oracle, unfortunately, was sick with the flu and had been gently ordered to rest by Agent A. Batman was nevertheless confident that they would be able to discover their identities quickly either once they had returned to the cave or if they could get the kids to talk.

He would have asked Red Hood to speak with the teens, he was the best with kids. And if caught up in anything illegal they often seemed to respond better to him due to his more ambiguous morals and reputation for ensuring kid’s safety. Both from rouges and in some cases, the rest of the bats and birds. But he had been needed in Crime Ally after he had been alerted to a gunfight breaking out between two gangs who had been more hostile and antagonistic in recent months. Nightwing had accompanied him, and Spoiler had diverted from her patrol route to assist. That left Batman and Red Robin behind to deal with both the police and the frustratingly stubborn teens.

Batman resisted the urge to punch the bridge of his nose as yet another question was blatantly ignored by both kids. The boy had begun fiddling with the sleeved of his letterman jacket and the girl had taken to checking her manicured nails for any dirt or imperfections.

Just as he was about to turn the questioning over to one of the on scene police officers, a writhing mass of shadow had emerged from the girl’s shadow. Two tendrils of black smoke reached out to wrap themselves around the wrists and hands of both teens, who had in turn glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“We’re fine,” the boy had muttered quietly, “no need to worry.”

“What is that?” Batman asked, eyeing the mass with a cautious suspicion. He wanted to believe it wasn’t hostile given the kids reactions to it. But this was Gotham.

The girl shot him another glare, one hand on her hip while the other remained in the hold of whatever the shadowy mass was.

“That sir,” she spat out the first word with such venom to her tone that Batman almost flinched, “is our emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

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[jaythes1mp]

This is my first official post, and idk how to feel about it. So any and all comments & reblogs are really appreciated. If it’s bad please comment so I know I have to delete it🙏

Your secrets are ours, Kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH1 -> CH2 -> CH3 -> CH4 -> CH5 -> CH6 -> CH7 -> CH8 -> CH9 -> CH10

Nightwing, who’s known for his impressive acrobatic skills and crime-fighting abilities, has become a prominent figure in the city of Blüdhaven. Renowned for his fearless approach to taking down criminals and has gained a notable reputation among the superhero community.

The guy's identity is a complete mystery, though. Nightwing works alone, leaving many of us to wonder who the man behind the mask really is. — Some say he has connections to Gotham City’s own famous vigilante, Batman.

When the young hero is seen in action, he can be often spotted leaping from rooftops and engaging in daring acts of superheroism, leaving criminals and citizens alike in awe of his skill and courage. Some question if he's a human or something more, while others simply look on in admiration. Despite the secrecy surrounding his identity, Nightwing's reputation seems to grow endlessly.

Then there’s Red Hood, the dark and brooding vigilante of Gotham City, a fearsome sight to behold. His red mask and signature pistols make him easily recognizable, and his actions leave criminals trembling in terror.

Some have speculated him being a former criminal reforming his ways while I believe that he too has ties to our one and only Batman. Despite his dark demeanor and ruthless tactics, it seems clear to me that there is a connection between the two. There has been a lot of evidence submitted for their collaboration, even if they choose to deny it publicly. Though, Batman, known for his strict code of ethics, would not typically associate himself with someone as morally ambiguous as Red Hood. But the circumstantial evidence is too compelling to ignore.

Regardless, Red Hood's impact on the criminal underworld is undeniable. He uses violence and intimidation to enforce his own brand of justice, which is rather admirable, yet causing many to question his brutal methods.

Next up is our one and only Batman himself, the dark knight of Gotham City. He’s a mystery in itself. His tall, imposing stature is enough to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, and his reputation as a master detective and fighter only enhances his mystique.

I have been trying to piece together the puzzle that is Batman's identity. Who is the man under the mask? What drives him to take on Gotham's criminals with such determination?

Though the billionaire Bruce Wayne has long been suspected as the man behind the mask, no concrete evidence has ever been presented. His true identity remains a puzzle, something that adds to his allure and intrigue. Every lead I follow seems to hit a dead end. The playboy is too obvious, too niche. What would motivate a Wayne, someone brought up into filthy wealth, who wastes his money on grand galas and prostitutes, into defending this city? The theory is too far reached.

Next are Red Robin and Robin. Batman’s sidekick-associates. Their partnership with Batman has been evident in their actions and fighting style. However, a rumour has been running around, theorising that the newer Robin was a young child when he had first joined Batman at his side.

Would our beloved hero really force a minor into sighting the dark dangerous streets of Gotham? Would he_

As you sat uncomfortably at the countertop of your kitchen, typing away on your laptop, you were suddenly interrupted by the unexpected sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up from the bright screen to see your roommate standing in the doorway, arms crossed. You raise an amused brow, a grin tugging at your lips at the sight of the other male in pyjamas rather than the usual broody black clothes and leather jacket. You click save and shut off the computer, turning fully to face him. “Yes, Jayson dear?”

Jason’s nose scrunches at the name, even as he stands in the doorway wearing nothing but a thin, well-worn shirt and pants. He looks like a child, which is somehow more than a little endearing. His eyes flickering up and down your frame as he appraises you. Despite the relaxed state his attire provides, his expression is as serious as ever. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of the worn flannel pants he’s sporting, but it does little to make him look anything other than intimidating.

He raises a brow, tilting his head as he looks at you, watching you save your work and then turn to face him. “Don’t ‘yes, Jayson dear’ me, smartass.”

You snort, moving off of the chair and stretching out, the cracks in your back loud enough for him to purse his lips at. “Well aren’t you sour this fine morning.”

Jason scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “It’s four am.” He mutters, crossing the kitchen to get to the coffee pot. He doesn’t really need the caffeine, but he likes the routine. He grabs a mug from one of the cabinets, filling it up with black coffee. He’d just snuck back in after his patrol, not expecting to see you up.

“And I’m not sour,” he says a bit petulantly, taking a sip of the coffee before setting it aside. “I’m concerned.”

Your brow raises higher, turning to the worn down clock practically glued to the wall from all the times you’ve both hit it to get the ticking sound to shut off. It’s a digital, why does it need to make such an annoying sound? “Huh. I guess it is.”

He rolls his eyes, not at all surprise that you would lose track of time so easily when you got lost in your writing. “Yeah, you do that sometimes,” he grumbles, taking another sip of coffee.

He looks you over, studying you intently as he crosses his arms. “How long have you been working?”

You hum, looking out the window into the polluted skies of Gotham. The sun had risen. “What answer will make you the least angry?”

“None of them,” Jason says, a scoff escaping his lips. His jaw twitches slightly as he watches you stare out the window, and he can’t help noticing how tired you look. He’s seen you like this before, pushing yourself to the brink just to finish a project, just to get everything perfect.

“How long?” he asks again, his voice a little softer this time.

“...” you sigh, looking away from the window to face him once more. “All night.” Before he can open his mouth to reprimand you, you cut in. “But! My project is due today. And Tim will decapitate me if I’m late on another assignment...” You rub the side of your face tiredly, displaying an uneven smile.

Jason’s annoyance melts away into concern as you speak. He can tell you’re exhausted, and the thought of you pushing yourself so hard for so long makes him want to wrap you up in a blanket and force you to take a nap.

But he can’t do that. Not when you’re an adult, not when you’re not actually his little sibling. Yet. He settles for crossing the kitchen and putting a hand on your shoulder. “You need to take care of yourself,” he says firmly. “You won’t be any good to your professor if you pass out from exhaustion.”

You grin softly and give a tired nod, fishing out your phone to check the university’s time table. “I only have to go in at nine forty.”

“And then you only have to endure a full day of classes,” Jason says dryly, narrowing his eyes. He gently takes your phone out of your hand and tucks it into his pocket. “No more work until then.”

Your eyes widen at the action, quickly scrambling to get the device back. “You– Jay!” You huff, leaning back against the hard counter. His gaze set sternly on you. You feel small under his gaze, as if he’s your father disappointed in you for stealing a tenner.

Jason crosses his arms once more, his eyes never leaving your face. Looking like the definition of a disapproving older brother. “No,” he says firmly, his voice stern. “You need to rest. I can’t have you passing out in the middle of class.”

He takes a step closer, looming over you as he stares you down. “You’re gonna take a nap, and then you’re gonna eat a proper breakfast. Got it?”

You can do nothing but glare. Cursing under your breath and walking past him. You’ll have to complain to Tim about this later.

He watches you stalk past him, a smirk on his face. He can practically hear you swearing at him in your head. He takes a moment to finish off his coffee before following you into the living room.

“What, no clever comeback? No witty remark?” he teases, leaning against the wall and watching you storm into the living room. “Are you actually listening to me for once?”

You make a show of laying down on his red beanbag, tugging the blanket off of the couch to drape over your form and throwing up the middle finger at him.

Jason can’t help but chuckle at your childish display. He moves towards you slowly, stopping when he’s close enough to look down at your face. He crouches down beside you, a smirk on his lips. He places your laptop on the table opposite you and your phone next to it.

“Real mature, kid.” He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He ruffles your hair then stands, descending back into the kitchen. “I’ll wake you up an hour before you gotta leave, don’t worry.”

You sigh, mimicking him in an exaggeratedly high pitched voice. “I’ll wake you up an hour before you have to leave, mehmeheh.”

No use of y/n, currently gn leaning towards male.

Things to note: reader is unaware that the Batfamily members are related yet, age is young adult (19-20), everyone is aged up.

Any questions or feedback is appreciated.

[thelibrarian1895]

If your sibling is a rogue then make the best of it

I would like to think that Jason is very Hondo Onakha about kidnapping, very dramatic, fairly polite/chill to the one he kidnapped, minimal trauma, very professional overall but also very theatrical. Out of anyone in Gotham to have as your kidnapper, Jason aka the Red Hood is by far the very best person.

ALL of Jason's family whether they be legal, biological, emotional, or honorary, will absolutely try to convince Jason to kidnap them to get them out of some stupid civilian event. Whether or not Jason will go along with it will depend on several factors such as:

Does this benefit Bruce and get him out of a boring civilian event too? Then so sorry, you're just going to have to suffer!

How busy is Jason at the moment? Because being a drug lord and vigilante is actually pretty time consuming and kidnapping can be a lot of work for potentially very little gain.

What does Jason get out of it? Yes money is all well and good but Jason is rich by his own merits and can just steal from Bruce whenever, there's got to be more to it!

When is the last time Jason has kidnapped this sibling? He can't do it too often or it gets less effective. He has a reputation to maintain after all!

It may also depend on which sib is asking and what they need to be "saved" from.

Dick asks to be kidnapped from a bachelor auction charity? Ha! No chance, sorry Dickie! He will be there though and take pictures and laugh. (And also join all the other siblings who are stalking Dick and the winner of the auction in the event the winner wasn't one of the Bats or an invited member of the JL or Titans using Bruce's money) Dick asking to be kidnapped from a gala or some opening night of trendy place he's at to maintain civilian status? Maybe but the bribe has to be considerable. And it cannot benefit Bruce. Dick's normal bribes consist of taking some tedious part of an investigation over for Jason or getting intel from JL databases for Jason and the Outlaws.

Cass? Anytime and always, favorite sister who can beat him up has special kidnapping privileges, though they did stop for a very long time when some weirdos put out the theory that the Red Hood was in love with Gotham's Princess. (idk if Cass is considered Gotham's Princess in any version of canon but she is to me) Cass does still repay Jason in the form of Black Bat keeping an eye on Jason's territory when he's out of Gotham for any significant length of time.

Tim? He does owe the kid for several incidents and Tim normally doesn't abusive the privilege so he'd probably do it but there does have to be some sort of bribe for appearances sake. Tim usually gets Jason to agree in exchange for pictures of Batman tripping over his cape or in some other ridiculous position. Bonus in Jason's mind if Tim requests a kidnapping when Bruce is off world or otherwise occupied, therefore giving Brucie Wayne's reputation a hit. However if Tim wants to be kidnapped from something where Bruce is also suffering as Brucie, Tim is SOL (Tim might get revenge by getting Kon to wear Red Hood gear and "kidnap" Tim from the event if Jason refused. Kon will do it because Tim asked and also I would like to think that Kon isn't too fond of the guy who beat his best friend/boyfriend nearly to death and will mess with him if given the chance) Since kidnapping normally interferes with things that Tim wants to do however, he may instead bribe Jason to not kidnap a sibling that has asked to be kidnapped. Jason usually obliges this no kidnapping request.

Barbara? Sorry, no, he doesn't want to stress the Commissioner like that. He will, however, kidnap other people for her if she asks.

Stephanie? No Stephanie, he doesn't care what you offer, he's not kidnapping you so you can avoid your finals! Stephanie has, however, worn various wigs and been various hostages who died at the hands of the Hood in order to maintain his reputation. She gets paid in baked goods for her service.

Damian? Damian considered the idea ridiculous and proclaimed he'd never stoop so low and he would carry out his duties no matter how onerous! Damian then had to go to a Gotham gala. Damian is trying very hard to figure out a suitable bribe to get the Red Hood to kidnap him often enough that Bruce will be forced to keep Damian away from galas because of the ongoing security threat. So far it hasn't worked because Damian is very bad at bribing Jason, Jason thinks Damian forced to interact with normal people is funny, and Tim is successfully bribing Jason to ignore Damian's bribery attempts. The Red Hood has "kidnapped" Damian once, as a treat, when he thought the kid was looking particularly down about something.

Duke? Duke has yet to be made to attend any society gatherings as the solo Wayne (normally that falls to Bruce, Dick, or Tim) and can usually be spotted hanging out with Cass by the snack table at any gala or trendy event. He's not at Cass's level of reading body language but he's pretty darn good and he and Cass have reached a new level of being able to avoid annoying rich people while at parties. Duke is Cass's favorite gala buddy. Duke hasn't felt the need to ask Jason to kidnap him yet but Jason will allow the first one to be free of charge, no questions asked. After that Duke hasn't figured out suitable bribes for Jason but has realized that all of his siblings are hyper competitive and that Jason would absolutely wager a kidnapping in a competition or for a bet.

Alfred? If Alfred asked then Jason would without any caveat. Alfred will not ask however but might ask on behalf of someone else and Jason will comply.

Bruce? Jason just laughs. And if someone else is planning on kidnapping Brucie Wayne from a particularly boring business meeting or gala? Jason will actively thwart the kidnapping to force Bruce to continue to deal with social activity.

Jason usually splits a portion of the ransom money into bonuses for his goons since their original job outline is drug dealer/enforcer/mobster and not kidnapper. If they're going to get major felonies on their records, better make it financially worth it. All of Jason's goons are masked during any kidnapping event. The rest of the ransom money goes towards a charity of Jason's choosing.

Jason has also kidnapped people who are not his family or family adjacent. Barbara thought her dad could use a vacation at one point but he didn't have the PTO for it so Barbara had the Red Hood kidnap him. James Gordon experienced the weirdest kidnapping of his life that included some of the best food he'd ever eaten, an extremely soft bed, his pile of books that were on his reading list, and access to the sports games he'd meant to watch. The ransom was successfully paid after he had a week to relax. Gordon was then, as per protocol, allowed time to relax after his "harrowing" event. Barbara forced him to take the time. Strangely enough, some politicians who had been giving the Commissioner a hard time were suddenly very quiet when James Gordon came back, well rested, well fed, and ready to get back to the grind. It, of course, had nothing to do with the very polite emails with pictures attached that they all received while the Commissioner was very publicly out of the way.

Oliver Queen, when he was visiting Gotham, was kidnapped by the Red Hood. He was released after the ransom was paid and specifically he was released back in Star City. Mr. Queen was unavailable for comment after the incident but some sources say that he was cursing bats for some reason.

Lois Lane found herself kidnapped by Red Hood and ransomed by the Daily Planet while Superman was off world. Lois Lane returned safely to Metropolis and published a shocking expose on Luthor's latest scheme. Her sources for the article remain a secret.

Bruce is very grumpy about the whole thing, not just because Jason won't help his poor father get out of the stupid social event, but also because Jason being technically a rogue like this makes it very hard for him to successfully argue that Jason should let himself regain legal living status.

[amandacanwrite]

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

imagine like reader being a detective or something, being on the case to catch Red Hood (while he’s still a crime boss)/ the Arkham Knight, but being in a relationship with Jason, unaware of his nightly business. And then boom, they find out one day and it’s all angsty 🤞🤞 love ur work btw hihi

Betrayal

Hi, nonnie! I thought I had this done earlier, but then I had to keep world building. Stuck with Red Hood on this one. Hurt/No comfort warning. Non-graphic, very minor character death. ~1.8k words

Gotham is cursed. That's what they told you when you transfered to the GCPD. Yeah, you've heard the stories, but they're just messing with you, right? Trying to scare the newest rookie cop.

Except they were telling the truth. A few years later, more cases than you can keep track of, enough masked rouges to fill arkham three times over, and a promotion to detective, you tell the rookies the same thing they told you. Gotham is cursed.

"Alright, Detective, this one is yours." You make a face at the case file the Commissioner drops on your desk.

"Sir, I took care of The Penguin robbery last week, isn't it someone elses turn to deal with the high profile cases?" You gingerly pick up the file, reading over the name Red Hood stamped on the front.

Gordan sighs at you, already turning away to move onto the next poor detective. "We cycled through everyone else after the Black Gate breakout. Anyone who didn't work on it has active cases. That makes this one yours."

You grumble reluctantly, cases like this lead to more press coverage than you want to deal with, but start flipping through the file, mentally noting down the sparse facts and theories about the up and coming crime lord.

That was four months ago. In such a short amount of time, Red Hood has taken over more territory in Gotham than any other crime lord and completely changed the game. No dealing to children, no human trafficking. You hate to acknowledge it, but crime technically has dropped since he took over the majority of gangs in Gotham under an iron fist.

The work is exhausting, he's always one– no, five steps ahead of you and your growing team of detectives and beat cops. You don't think you've even gotten a real glimpse at him that he didn't mean to let you have.

The closest you've gotten to Red Hood was out of uniform, weeks after you got the case, when he was still a new name on the streets.

It was a robbery, some desperate punk in a mask that didn't conceal anything, was dragging a little girl out of the store as a hostage.

"Take me instead, she's just a kid." You had protested, heart sinking at the terror in the little girls face.

"Not a chance." He barked back at you.

"Look, she's scared, she'll only slow you down."

The gunman stares at you, you see his fingers twitch. "Fuck it. Fine. Both of you are coming with me." That's how you ended up in some alley, familiar sirens wailing in the distance and your hand curled protectively with the child's.

"Shit. Man. Shit. The cops weren't supposed to be here. What am I gonna do? I can't go to jail." He's snapping. Rambling and desperate. Your eyes dart for some kind of plan, a way to help the little girl stay safe. But the alley is empty, not even a dumpster to seek shelter behind. "I just gotta get rid of the witnesses. Yeah. The witnesses."

Your eyes dart to him, he's lifting the gun. You don't hesitate to grab the little girl, wrapping your arms around her and turning your back to the man, tucking her to your chest to provide as much cover as you can provide.

A gun fires.

There's a thud.

You look over your shoulder, the girls face still hidden against you. He's not moving, gun unshot and laying next to him on the ground. There's a pool of dark liquid forming around him. You look up.

You manage to see a red glint, the shine of a gun, the eerie glow of a luminescent eyes. Red Hood.

That's all you manage to see before you're swarmed by cops, guiding you and the girl to safety.

It's a memory that plays in your mind sometimes, when you hear testimonies of how Red Hood saves people in crime alley, despite his crime lord status. It's confusing, exhausting even, to try and sort between the good and the bad, the duality of one man. At least you have your loving boyfriend to come home to.

Jason. He makes you feel like Gotham might not be so cursed. It's great, he gives you butterflies. He makes you happy. You cook meals together, and you both work the weird twilight/night shift hours. He holds you like you're precious under your shared comforter. You think you might love him. He whispers sweet nothings into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping. You kiss his palms when his eyes get that far away, haunted look he can’t seem to explain.

He's insisted on cooking dinner tonight as you watch him, a little starry eyed. You can't really blame yourself when he's shirtless and working over your favorite meal.

"Oh, Jason, I need to wash my clothes. Do you need anything done?" You ask, finally remembering that you do actually have a job and responsibilities and you can't stare at your handsome boyfriend all day.

"No, I'm good, baby. Go ahead and do your thing. Dinner's almost done." He answers idly, shooting you a lazy grin as you stand.

You smile back before leaving the kitchen to gather your clothes. As you dump the dirty laundry in the washer, you realize you never refilled the detergent. Mumbling an annoyed curse, you head to the spare bedroom you rarely use. There should be some extra necessities stock piled in there. You know, for the next time a criminal messes with Gothams chain supply.

You're more focused on the delicious smells floating through the apartment as you open the closet door, idly looking around for the detergent. That's why it doesn't really click in your mind what you're looking at. Guns. Armor. Your thoughts freeze to a stop. Are you dating some kind of henchman? A bright red helmet takes up your vision. Nope. You're dating a crime boss.

The helmet is in your hands and you're fumbling your way to the kitchen before you even have your thoughts sorted. Should you call for back up? Shouldn't you try to catch him by surprise? Sure. But, you need answers. You want this to be a misunderstanding. You want Jason to be your partner– not– not what the evidence that's heavy in your hand says he is.

Statistics run through your mind. Stories of Red Hood saving working girls. Stories of him leaving bodies of dealers that sold to kids. Then, memories of your boyfriend. How he leans down to kiss your forehead. How runs his hand up and down your arm while you watch movies together. If there was a sign. If you were too blind and in love to realize.

He turns to look at you when you stalk in. You throw the helmet at him. The helmet you'd recognize anywhere, even if you've never gotten close enough to touch it before. He catches it with the grace of a predator. "The hell is this, Jason?"

"It's a helmet." He says evenly, turning off the stove and placing the helmet down on the counter.

"No, duh, it's a helmet, Jason. Don't patronize me. Is it yours?" You nearly hiss, hands curling in anger and frustration and heart break you're not ready to admit you're feeling.

He studies you, eyes dark and calculating. It makes you bite the inside of you cheek. His eyes never looked at you like that before. "It is."

You laugh out of disbelief, stepping back. "So you've been using me? Is that what all this was? Just a way to get information about the GCPD and what we had on you?"

"What? No." He says your name a little pleading, "it's not like that. Not anymore."

"But it was." You bite out, cursing yourself for the sting of tears in your eyes.

He steps closer, you step back, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He whispers your name, and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes before it disappears. His voice goes steady, even. "It was. But I haven't tried to get anything like that since–"

"Since when, Jason?" You cut off, anger and hurt clear in your voice, in your face. "Was it before we raided the warehouse at the docks? Is my computer bugged? Did you hack my phone?"

He winces. You don't need to be a detective to know he has. "I haven't used them since we started getting serious."

"And when was that, Jason?" You ask, voice breaking at his name. "Because it's been serious this entire time for me."

He doesn't answer at first, gaze leaving you to stare at his helmet. "Since I– I saw you save that kid. Instead of going after that shooter. When I realized you weren't just another one of the corrupted cops. That you care about this city. And the people. I realized I couldn't keep doing that to you."

You go quiet. What can you say to that? "Were you ever going to tell me?" You settle on.

"I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, eyes leaving the helmet to meet your teary gaze. "I didn't know how. I don't– think I wanted you to know. " He stutters over his last sentence, and then says your name, pleading coming back to his tone. "I can't lose you over this."

"You never had me!" Your voice raises, a shout in anger before you can bury it down. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively and lowering your voice. "You never had me if everything this was was built on a lie."

"It's not a lie." He says firmly, snapping to attention and stepping towards you. He gestures between the two of you, says your name like he demands your attention. "This is not a lie."

"It is, Jason! You're only here to gain something from me! From my job!" You push back, throat tight and head spinning. Maybe you shouldn't be yelling at Gothams most dangerous and deadliest crime boss, but your heart is too broken for your head to think straight.

"No, pretty." You think he's pleading. You think his mouth might even be trembling as he speaks, but you can't make it out through the tears in your eyes. "No. It was like that at first. I know. I know that hurts you, but, it's not like that now. It's nowhere near that now."

"I don't care." You choke out.

"You don't mean that." Jason protests, but he doesn't sound certain.

"I don't want to see you anymore." You say the words before you're even sure you want that.

His face drops. "You don't mean that either."

"I do." It tastes like a lie. It sounds like the truth. You're turning and leaving before he can speak again, before you can unpack what you really want, locking yourself in the bathroom.

You fall asleep to the sound of your own tears, curled on the cold tile floor. You wake to silence. His helmet is gone from your counter when you enter the kitchen.

Your favorite dinner is wrapped in plastic when you open the fridge.

It makes the truth of it all worse. Gotham really is cursed.

Part Two

[ivorydragoness44]

Red Hood x Reader: Dibs

Word Count: 1,100 Warnings/Notes: Inspired by an episode of Batman: Wayne Family Adventures. Minor injury mention for the Reader (a bruise on their knee), some of the Batfam trying to figure out which one of them is the Reader’s favorite, and the Reader getting assistance to walk up a set of stairs. Summary: Walking home for the night, the Reader is found with a slight limp. They are offered a ride home from Batman. After some back and forth, the Reader finally agrees and finds that Batman is not the only one is the Batmobile.

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

  Gotham City. The night was almost as busy as the day depending where you were. For the most part, you were grateful that you were missing any and all villain or otherwise ill intended activities.   There was a public text alerting citizens to a delay in public transportation. More notably, a bus that you wanted to use to go home. Walking home, in theory, would take the same, if not less amount of time than the estimated wait time for the bus alone. And walk you did. It would not have been so bad if not for a bruise you had gotten on your knee earlier that day. It made walking a bit more challenging.

  Continuing down the sidewalk, you kept a closer eye to the surroundings to the right of you, rather than the streets. However, the slowing down of a vehicle definitely caught your attention. The intersection was further up the street. Hesitantly, you peered over. What you saw made you stop with a small uncomfortable hop. The Batmobile.

  The passenger’s side window slid down. With it, revealed the black cowled cape crusader.   “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you,” he called over, leaning toward the other side of the car. “But, would you like a lift home?”   You shook your head slowly as you turned toward the vehicle. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”   “Oh, I saw you limping a little. I only wanted to offer some assistance in case you were injured.”   You rubbed your arm in your small wave of awkwardness. “I’m sure the bruise is healing by now,” you said, not missing Batman’s glance into the backseat. “I mean, if you really don’t mind?”   Batman smiled. “Not at all.” The side-door swung open.   Carefully sitting inside, the door closed on its own. “Automatic?”   “No,” he chuckled, “I pushed a button.”   “Oh,” you laughed quietly, buckling the seatbelt securely before giving him the directions/address to your home.

  Taking a breath, you calmed yourself. It was not every day that Batman asked to drive you home. Unless he was doing that now between vigilante work. You had no idea. What you did know was that every button, switch, and dial on the main console had absolutely no indication of what either of them did. Did he have every function memorized?

  “So, um, how’s your night going? I mean, I hope there isn’t a lot of villain incidents or anything, because I’m sure even you need the rest.”   “Mister Freeze was out tonight,” a voice replied from the backseat.   “We stopped him of course, but man were we freezing.”   “If that was you trying to do word play, it was awful.”   Surprised to hear other voices, you turned around in the seat. There, squished together in the backseat were four additional vigilantes. Red Robin, Robin, who was sitting with quite the disgruntled expression between Nightwing’s legs, and the Red Hood.   Side-glancing over to Batman, you whispered. “Are they in trouble?”   He smiled, steering the Batmobile down another street. “No, a… decision could not be made.”   “They all called dibs on this seat, didn’t they?”   A collective agreement affirmed your humored suspicion.   Nodding in understanding, you turned to sit correctly in the seat.

  A quiet moment or two passed before anyone spoke again.   “So, who’s your favorite?” Asked Nightwing.   “Hey.”   “That’s not fair to ask.”   “Overall, or specifically in the Batmobile?” You asked with a laugh.   “Batmobile,” they said rather quickly.   “You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t pick favorites.”   “Aw.”   “But if you had to choose.”   “Obviously Batman. He’s the responsible adult driving right now.”   “That doesn’t count.” Red Hood’s muffled voice interjected.   “Yeah, well, Wonder Woman isn’t in the Batmobile, so,” you laughed with a shrug. They were appearing more normal by the second.   With a thoughtful hum, Red Hood replied. “That’s a good answer.”   “I thought so. Besides, if I were to have favorites, they’d probably change day to day.”

  The Batmobile slowed to a stop by the sidewalk. “Here we are.”   “Thank you, Batman. I really appreciate it,” you smiled gratefully.   “You’re quite welcome,” he smiled in return.   With a press of a button, the passenger side door flicked open and you stepped out.   “Will you be all right?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.   “Yeah,” you assured, stepping carefully away from the open door. “I’ve been dealing with this all day.”   “All day?” The backseat erupted in protest.   You gave a tired shrug. “Just another day in the life of an ordinary citizen.”   Red Hood pushed the passenger seat forward with a single gloved hand. Climbing out of the vehicle, he joined you on the sidewalk. But before you could ask, he put up a hand to stop you. “You shouldn’t have to struggle on your own.”   “It’s not that bad,” you assured, “I can manage.”   Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just…can you let me help you?”   Genuine. That was the word you wanted to use to describe the sudden turn of events for you that evening. First, an offered ride home, and now this? Were they like this with everyone?   “Okay,” you finally answered.   Red Hood’s sigh of relief was not subtle enough to go unnoticed by you. He likely thought it was.   Shutting the door to the Batmovile, it only drove away after the pair of you started walking toward the steps to your apartment building. Red Hood offered his arm. Previously intending to grab ahold of you for your own stability, but quickly retracted his hands.   Holding onto his arm, the initial warmth was a welcoming contrast to the cool night air. And thick. How much muscle did these vigilantes have/ And where did they even find the time?   “Easy,” he cautioned softly.   You pushed your weight onto his arm with every other step. Other than that, going to your apartment door was quiet and uneventful.

  Standing by the door to your apartment, you retrieved your keys. “Thank you for your help. And… I hope I didn’t bruise your arm.”   “Ha, I doubt it,” he crossed his arms. “Even if you somehow did, I’ll take it as a temporary momento.”   “And despite my better judgement, I’ll definitely be telling my boyfriend, Jason about this.”   “Heh, maybe not the best idea,” he advised.   You smiled. “I’m going to anyway. Have a good night. And thank you again, Red Hood.”   “No problem. Rest that knee.”   “I will. Bye.”

  In your apartment, door shut, and thoroughly locked, you laughed at the ridiculousness that had became your evening. “Jason might not believe me.”

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

Thank you for reading! If you would like to read more imagines and fanfics, check out my pinned post for My Masterlist of Masterlists.

[laine-is-pomegranted]

You won’t do it, no balls (like curly).

Jimmy x co captain Y/N smut, or head cannons NSFW and SFW. Anyways you ate your last Jimmy fic!

Jimmy Headcanons ! (NSFW & SFW)

c/w - jimmy being jimmy

a/n - thinking abt doin headcannons for all of the mouthwashing crew.... lmk if that would be something you guys would wanna see... also sorry about this being so short.

wc - 408

(image not mine)

Safe For Work Headcanons !

huge on pda! always has a hand on your waist or the small off your back or an arm around you. not really in a cutesy "i love my partner so much i need everyone to know how much i love them" way but more in a "i need to keep my dog on a leash" kind of way.

contrary to popular belief, i think he is actually very well groomed. he thinks very highly of himself so i think it would only make sense that he wants to make himself appear extremely put together.

uses cremo's 'bourbon vanilla' bodywash and their ' spice and black vanilla' cologne.

love language is definitely acts of service or gift giving.

he hates telling you that he loves you because it makes him feel like you have a level of control over him and he can't stand it. however, he is constantly doing things for you.

your car needs repairs? he's under the hood. you need help moving something? he's doing it by himself and will NOT let you help.

smokes camel crushes. used to use chewing tabaco because pony express doesn't allow cigarettes onto the ship due to them being fire hazards, but stopped after realizing you could taste it in his mouth. now he just uses nicotine patches while on the ship.

listens to divorced dad rock. think hinder, theory of a deadman, my darkest days.

much bigger fan of cats than he is of dogs.

Not Safe For Work Headcanons !

slightly above average dick size, not huge though. quite girthy, though.

not a fan of you riding him, he says it doesn't feel as good as missionary or doggy but in reality it makes him feel emasculated having you on top of in a 'position of power'.

a huge sadist (shocker). he's constantly spanking or hitting or pulling hair.

LOVES making you cry during sex. whether its from overstimulation or just straight pain, it doesn't matter.

really big on choking too.

not very big on bondage or restraining you. he likes to feel you grabbing at him and writhing around under him. it gives him a huge ego boost to know that he doesn't have to tie you down to keep you from squirming away.

bites and leaves hickeys frequently. he enjoys the thought of there being physical marks on your body that show that you're his.

very vocal in bed. he's not necessarily *loud* perse but he talks and groans a ton.

[orionremastered]

Damian Wayne x Paramedic!Reader

Soulmate AU

Part One, Part Two, Part Three (finale)

The ache in your chest had been there for a week now, and it was becoming your new best friend. Coincidentally, the first and only time you talked to your soulmate was also a week ago.

You hadn’t expected it at first, and you even asked Harper to check if you were going to have a heart attack in the back of the ambulance during a meal break.

As you figured, nothing was wrong.

So after a long night shift, a shower and dinner for breakfast, you were almost, and by almost I mean seconds away from falling asleep.

A knock at the door snaps your eyes open and with a grumble, you get out of bed and get yourself into more appropriate clothing than sleepwear.

“I’m going to kill whoever's at the door,” you grumble, glaring through the peephole before you opened the door.

This was Gotham, and you weren’t stupid.

It wasn’t the Ridddler or the Joker, but rather your soulmate. Standing in a black jacket with the hood over his head, waiting patiently in the middle of the hallway.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, you narrow your eyes at the tall and no doubt muscular figure.

“How the fuck do you know where I live?”

“Hello,” he greets, walking past you and into your apartment, gazing at it like he’s on a sightseeing tour. With a grumble, you close the door behind him and lock it again.

“What do you want?” The ache in your chest was gone but your heart craved even the slightest touch, begging you and pulling you towards him. Your other half.

“I want to talk,” Damian admits after a short pause, hanging his jacket on the hook by the door. “Something you apparently don’t want to do.”

“How are you feeling?”

“It’s been a week, habibi,” he points out, raising a dark eyebrow. “Don’t try and change the subject.”

“What does habibi mean?”

Your apartment goes silent before finally, Damian sighs. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out eventually. Now, we’re going to talk about this without you trying to change the subject-”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve made my stance on this very clear,” you state, lightly emphasizing each word in order for it to sink in. “I cannot have publicity if I want to be able to do my job.”

Being a paramedic was the biggest achievement of your life- a ‘fuck you’ to your parents, an amazing work partner, a fulfilling life- the pay didn’t matter much to you, and that’s what your parents hated.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to go to galas or anything similar.” His tone changes, “But you can’t just give up an entire relationship-”

“I don’t think you understand just how public of a figure you are,” you interrupt. “You could’ve been followed here by paparazzi- they follow you everywhere. I can’t be walking on eggshells whenever I want to go outside with you.”

“I wasn’t followed,” he says with a frown. “And… that is a valid point.” His jaw clenches, unclenches and finally he sighs his thoughts into the air. “What if we just try? This is all theory but in practice we might be able to pull it off.”

“That’s a lot of stress for someone that already has a high-stress job.”

Damian’s head snaps towards you, a grin slowly forming on his face. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He explained it all. You kept thinking that was it but no, he kept going. The gist is; he was an assassin, then Robin, now Batman.

It created more problems than solutions but you were somewhat willing to hear him out. It was almost midday now and you were exhausted.

“And your plan is what, exactly?”

“You don’t date me, you date Batman. He’s a ‘public’ figure but he’s a different kind of public than a Wayne.”

You didn’t think it was a bad idea, much to your surprise. It could work, and perhaps not just as a temporary fix.

Your heart was screaming at you by now, kicking and shouting for you to just give in.

“That sounds doable.”

A smile, genuine and bright and rare, breaks out onto Damian’s face. He wraps his strong arms around you, pulls you close and is finally able to kiss you lightly on the forehead before resting his head on yours.

You were soaring in warmth and joy and you were finally here, where you needed to be. You could make this work. You will make this work.

And for the first time as you stand in your soulmate’s arms, you want to make this work.

~~~

Masterlist

[msfantasy-comics]

The Perfect Match

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: A head cannon on how you’re the perfect match for Bruce.

Warning: Established relationships

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Bruce had always considered the concept of a perfect match to be a feeble notion. The idea that a someone could be perfect and perfectly compliment one’s self was simply illogical and just not possible.

But that’s the thing about hypotheticals, they’re just theories until proven otherwise. Bruce can distinguish five instances on when he recognised you to be his perfect match.

Intelligence:

You weren’t a genius capable of rattling off theories and solving impossible equations. Not by any means. You were, however, incredibly intelligent when it comes to people and making them feel important.

It wasn’t a super power or psychological trickery. It was that you listened to people and ask them questions about their hobbies or family.

It was the way that you leaned in as if you were keen to hear what that person had to say.

It was the way you smile softly when people start to babble off in excitement as you reciprocate the conversation

Whilst you didn’t fully comprehend quantum physics or the engineering to Bruce Wayne’s degree

You sat there happily indulging Bruce as he discusses a new equation he solved

It was the way you made him feel like he could talk about anything without judgement or without your eyes wondering elsewhere in boredom.

Bruce: “Anyway, you probably have more important things to do.”

Y/n: “Don’t be silly. You’re just as important. Go on, finish what you were saying.”

Independence:

Bruce dreaded needy women who are utterly incapable of being self-sufficient. Who required rescuing and constant entertainment like a puppy.

Bruce: “I have an emergency work trip for an unspecified amount of time. I probably won’t be able to contact you too much. Will you be okay without me?”

Y/n *acting like a damsel in distress*

Y/n: “Oh no! I’m being abandoned in the biggest mansion with a butler, a library and a black Amex card. What could one do with one’s self? What a travesty!”

Bruce would return from his two week trip excited to see you again after not being in contact the whole time.

Only you weren’t at the mansion at 4pm on a Tuesday.

Bruce *calling your phone*

Y/n: “Hi honey! I missed you so much!”

Bruce: “Come home and show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Y/n: “What? I finish work in an hour, surely you can survive 60 more minutes without me- oh I have to go, I’ll see you soon my love!”

Supportive:

Bruce didn’t make it to your anniversary dinner.

He didn’t even have a chance to call you and cancel.

He exited the bat cave feeling utterly guilty for abandoning you on such an important occasion.

Bruce felt utterly defeated. A failure of a father. Batman got into a one on one fist fight with Red-Hood, attempting to save the Jokers life, only for his son to forsake himself. Now he had to face his failures as a husband.

Opening the door he sees you laying in bed, scrolling away at your phone.

As soon as you noticed him you tossed the phone and made a mad dash, pulling him into a bear hug.

Y/n: “Honey, I’m so proud of you. Being there when your son needed you most. You’re such a good man. Don’t be hard on yourself, remember that Jason is a grown man who made his decision.”

Pulling Bruce to bed, you pull him into a tight hold and continue to comfort him.

Bruce really appreciated that you didn’t bring up his absence.

Bruce: “I missed our -“

Y/n: “You didn’t miss anything. Your with me now aren’t you? Happy anniversary my beloved.”

Emotionally Stable:

Damian was over your nagging.

Y/n: “Damian, you need to get more sleep. I’m worried your burning yourself out.”

Y/n: “When was the last time you had a proper meal? You can’t survive off burgers alone you know.”

Y/n: “When was the last time you saw Jon? You have to maintain your friendships or else they fall apart.”

Y/n: “Stop having these energy drinks! It’s basically poison for your body - have you had any water today? You look dehydrated!”

You snatched the can out of his hand and threw it in the bin.

Damian lost his absolute shit.

Damian: “Enough with your incessant criticism!You’re getting on my nerves!”

Crosses his arms over his chest and looks off in irritation.

Bruce stands frowning behind him, ready to give his son the scolding of a life time.

But instead your laughter booms across the bat cave.

You find Damian’s little outburst amusing and adorable rather than rude and hurtful.

Y/n: “You’re right D, I’m sorry, I’ll lay off you a bit.”

You’d pull him into that tight hug he says he hates but he always leans into your comforting hold.

Y/n: “You boys be careful tonight, I’ll see you both in the morning”

[planetwaynez]

FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

CHAPTER ONE

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Soulmates AU!

Chapter Synopsis: Jason knos how things works, how people get togheter and how Fate is always working, he just wonders when it's going to be his turn to be loved. Y/N loves her job, she loves the tiny, comfy flowershop and her co-workers and costumes, but it's still Gotham and wierd things are bound to happen, anyways.

WARNINGS: mugging, self-deprecating thoughts, wierd interections, Jason punches a guy, it's pretty chill for a first chapter.

WORDS: 2,2k

TAGLIST: @27drunkdeer @solarrexplosion @mariam12344 @nyxisnotok

Soulmates. The golden string floating around them doesn’t lie and neither does the golden string tattoo that shows up almost right away around their pinkie fingers. 

Jason watches dumbfounded the scene in front of him. Of course, count it with Red Hood to help you find your forever and always while saving you from a mugging in a 7-Eleven. 

Jason scoffs as the couple hug each other, even the guy that was trying to take the money from the cashier stopped in his tracks watching the scene.

“Are you some type of cupid?” the guy with a ski mask asks. The reason why? This is not the first time that the Red Hood is the bridge between soulmates. It happened last month during a rescue in The Narrows after Ivy decided to transform Gotham into a jungle. It happened four months ago when he was stopping a guy from stealing an old lady. It happened one year ago at the Iceberg Lounge while he was taking care of a few Crime Lord Things. 

It seems to be a recurring thing with Jason. He seems to be destined to find others soulmates but not his, apparently. 

“No” he answers, bittersweet, and punches the guy in the face knocking him out cold. 

In the back he can hear the police coming and he knows it’s his cue to leave but Jason can’t help it but to look at the new couple once again, noticing that they already seem so in love with each other. Reluctantly, he leaves the 7-Eleven, with a new theory about himself in mind.

What if he is only meant to, truly, help others in this lifetime? What if he is not meant to have his own forever and always? Maybe this is all due to his death and resurrection, maybe way before that, maybe before he was born, Fate already knew he was not meant to be a whole soul in this lifetime, maybe this is who he is and he has to be ok with that.

The engine roar of his bike is not enough to make his thought spiral stop, it seems it only makes him think more about the things he doesn’t have. The wind is cold and its blowing at him, making him take a deep breath, even with the helmet on he is grateful for the cold in Gotham tonight, it calms him down. 

It's almost six in the morning, so he stops at one of his safe houses. This one is special, he thinks to himself as he gets inside, since it was the first safe house that he got after he started controlling the pit madness, this house, this is like a home. Its purely and entirely his. From the tiny kitchen with all the things he needs to the couch in front of the TV and the bookshelves in his bedroom. The bathroom with one mirror for him to shave, the black courtin dividing the showerhead from the rest. The round table in the kitchen and the two chairs, one for him and one from when Alfred or Roy comes visiting, the toys in the living room in a big pink box for Lian. 

This is a safe house and also his safe space, his little heaven on Earth and that’s why he only comes here after patrol when he needs comfort. He can’t risk people finding out about this place but this time he is just so tired. 

He needs a hot shower, and some tea, and then a deep sleep until the odd hours of the day. But he gets none of that because when he steps his foot inside the house, his phone starts ringing. It 's Roy. 

“Good Morning, Jay!” Roy’s voice is excited on the other side of the line and Jason knows he had a full night of sleep just by his friend's voice. 

“Morning” he answers, voice tired and he can definitely feel a headache forming behind his eyes at this point. But he needs to know what Roy could possibly want at the time of the day.

“Jeez, what happened?” the redhead asks and Jason wants to laugh when he thinks about the 7-Eleven encounter. 

“I just put two soulmates together, by accident, again” Jason answers, taking his combat boots out and lying on the couch, letting his muscles relax a little bit from the tension he's been feeling lately. 

“I can’t believe this” and Roy laughs, because yes, it is a laugh type of situation. Neither Jason can believe his luck at this point. “You have some type of superpower, Jay”

Jason sighs, he thinks its more of a curse but he says nothing about that, changing the subject of the conversation.

“What do you want? Must be a reason for you to call, right?” he says instead, trying to forget the patrol and Roy understands. Deep down, both of them know that Jason is a hopeless romantic and just wants to find his soulmate, but he seems to be running out of luck for himself. 

“Just wanted to remind you that Lian’s birthday is this sunday” the line goes silent, they both know that Jason forgot and it's already saturday morning and he didn’t finish preparing Lian’s birthday present. “You coming, right?”

Jason can’t not come. It’s Lian, after all, his little sunshine.

“Yes, of course I am,” he answers, knowing that he will have to go earlier to patrol tonight to come home earlier and have some sleep before he takes his bike to New York City to attend Lian’s Tea Birthday Party in the afternoon. 

“Good, she will be so happy to see you” Jason can tell Roy is smiling, because he is also smiling thinking about a little front toothless Lian smiling at him on sunday. 

“Yeah, I will be happy to see her too” taking a deep breath, Jason takes his body armor off and relaxes a little bit more on the couch “I gotta go now”

Telling each other goodbyes, Jason gets up from his couch and goes to his bathroom after talking to Roy to take a hot shower, thinking about the only missing piece of Lian’s birthday present. A bouquet of flowers.

He wants to make his goddaughter feel special, so he bought the doll that she's been talking about for months now and decided to give her flowers, since she loves them so much. He also wants to give her a good example of what a guy or a girl should do to make her feel special, that’s his and Roy's goal, to give Lian all the safety they didn't have when younger.  

Jason thinks about that little flower shop near this safe house, this little flower shop he always goes to, just to see if everything is alright when they close late at night, since they are situated near The Narrows, and he knows the owner from when he was a street kid, he takes care of that place. Mrs.Sullivan was always kind to him and he is just repayin that, in his own way. He could go there to buy the flowers, but he will be in full Red Hood gear, since he has his time counted from now on.

Clicking his tongue, Jason finishes his shower and puts in some sweats to sleep. He gives up on the tea and goes directly to bed, thinking about how he will make a bunch of civilians feel not threatened at all when he enters the flower shop later that day. 

It’s almost seven pm and Y/N is tired. The flower shop was busy with clients and with the arrival of the flower supply, but she can’t be sad about it, the more that she sells the more Mrs.Sullivan will pay her commissions, and she can’t deny it, she loves love. She gets happy to see others happy and with the approaching of the Soulmates Holiday on July 12th she’s been working more than normal and seeing happy people all around, even being close to The Narrows.

She smiles as a girl leaves the store with a huge bouquet for her girlfriend and Y/N feels warmth in her chest, sighing she can’t help it but think about when its going to be her turn to feel the same happiness as the one that is already mated to the other half. 

She looks down, annotating another successful sale when the front door opens and makes that little sound thanks to the noisy hinges of it. 

“Welcome to the Sunshine Flower Shop, how can I help you?” She says it all in one breath and looks up, with a welcoming smile on her lips when she feels her gut get cold. In front of her is standing one of the most dangerous men in Gotham. The Red Hood. 

He is standing there and his presence alone makes the store seem smaller, adding his physic, Y/N feels almost claustrophobic. 

“Do you have lilies?” he asks, his voice a robotic tone because of the helmet he is wearing. She gulps and nods, still smiling softly at him, all thought a little worried.

“Which color?” she questions it and he just stares at her, well at least that's what she thinks he is doing, since she can’t see his eyes with the helmet on. The silence is thick and she can feel the air leaving her lungs bit by bit.

“Which color says I love you best?” When he speaks, Y/N takes a deep breath and feels like her head is once again functioning right. The big bad Red Hood just wants some flowers for his soulmate, no biggie. 

“Honestly, none of them” silence again. Y/N thinks that she might have just made this guy angry and Jason feels like an idiot for not knowing the meaning of lilies. “But the red tulips mean true and eternal love for someone. And it's also a beautiful flower”

Jason looks at her and tilts his head to the side, he can’t help it but thinks that he probably looks more intimidating this way but she looks extremely comfortable in his presence since he started talking to her about the flowers. He can’t help it but also thinks that she would look beautiful standing in a field of red tulips. He blinks, slightly shocked with his thoughts.

“That will work. Please a big bouquet of those” he watches as she arches an eyebrow and a smirk shows up in her lips, there is also this amused glint in her eyes.

“How big?” she questions it, getting a little notebook and a pink pen in her hands, looking down to annotate something. 

“Big enough that I can’t close my arms around it” he says, thinking about how cute Lian is going to look with a giant bouquet of tulips in her tiny arms. 

“Ok” she says, a smirk adorning her pretty face and turns around, going to the back to make the bouquet. 

Jason looks around, appreciating the little flower shop, always so cozy and almost domestic. He smiles and thinks that this place is just like Mrs.Sullivan and the girl that he was talking to.

A pretty girl. The prettiest he has seen in years. 

He feels something grow in his chest and Jason’s hands are sweating as if he is fifteen again. That 's weird. He does get nervous around pretty girls but not like this, not since he got bigger and stronger.

A few minutes later she comes back with an obscene amount of flowers all wrapped up in a pretty bouquet. 

“Here it is” when she puts it down on the counter his brain stopped working in its full capacity. The only thing in his mind is how beautiful she is, how sweet and how her smile could heal all his old internal wounds only if she smiled at him every morning for the rest of his life.

He pays, thanks her and leaves with the flowers but he can’t shake this weird feeling out of his chest everytime he thinks about that flower shop again.

“She loved you know that, right?” Roy asks Jason as they watch Lian hug her new doll and smell the bouquet of flowers. All the little girls and boys around her are mesmerized with the size of the bouquet and the moms are looking at Jason as if he is some sort of Knight in shining armor. Roy has that smile on his lips that always means that when they finally get to be just the two of them, the redhead will make sarcastic comments about the situation to Jason.

“I know” he answers, looking fondly to his goddaughter, that is talking her friend's ears off about the doll and the flowers that he just gave it to her. “I planned a lot this gift and I am so happy that she loved it”

Roy knows Jason like he knows himself and he is sure that his best friend is hiding something from him and it involves those flowers that his daughter loved so much. He looks at Jason and makes some mental notes about the brunette, anything that could indicate this weird behavior but the only thing Roy notices is the fact that Jason can’t look longer than five seconds to the bouquet.

“When this party is over I want to know what happened at the flower shop” Roy says slowly and with a big smile, to not attract people's attention to them.

“I will tell you don’t worry” Jason answers in the same way, thinking that even if he tries he can’t hide things from Roy, ever.

And that, sometimes, like right now, sucks.

[acciotaitlynn]

⋆｡˚꒰sharp desires꒱˚｡⋆

You hand Zayne a list, each bullet point revealing your most secret desires. Instead, he devises something infinitely better than anything you could have imagined.

⤵

⟢ zayne⌇fem!reader

⟢ 18+ graphic sexual content. unprotected sex/no pulling out. p in da v. oral. fingering. light bondage. knife play. teasing. slight sub/dom dynamic. triggering situations such as depictions of cutting, staged assault, and a staged break-in. teensy bit of blood. i don’t normally write themes like this bc i feel i can’t do them justice, but this man and his scalpel been on my mind for a whileee now

* i know that last part is probably unrealistic but i think it’s hot sue me 🙈

⟢ 4,008 words

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You woke with a start, your senses immediately on high alert despite the grogginess of sleep. The dark room, bathed in eerie moonlight, sent shivers racing down your spine while fluttering curtains and an unsettling silence prickled your skin with goosebumps.

The digital clocks glow, flashing 2:44am, seemed unnaturally bright, amplifying the sudden creeping fear tingling through your body.

Gripping your firearm tightly, you moved with cautious steps to the kitchen, systematically checking the bathroom and closets for any signs of intrusions. Finding nothing, the unease settled deeper in your gut as you poured a glass of water and headed back to bed.

You were halfway down the hall when powerful arms wrapped around you from behind, a hand clamping over your mouth to suppress your screams. The glass shattered on impact as you struggled fervently, but the grip remained unyielding.

In all black attire, a hood masking their face, the intruder exuded a possessive aura that felt unnervingly familiar. Thrown onto the bed, you were pinned down with a roughness tempered by gentle caresses. Bright hazel eyes, burning with an intensity you'd never seen before, met yours.

Recognizing the intruder was Zayne brought an initial wave of relief that quickly dissolved under his predatory gaze. His eyes traced your form with an unfamiliar hunger as he held your arms over your head, watching raptly as your breath hitched in an intoxicating blend of fear and arousal. 

Despite your angelic demeanor, you had often shared desires for darker, more intense experiences, even recently presenting Zayne with a list that truly challenged his boundaries.

He had grappled with the idea of inflicting pain without mutual arousal, ending up in a struggle to align your fantasies with his own pleasure. Thankfully, a realization had dawned on him, igniting a surprising, twisted excitement that fueled a resolute plan.

In the midst of trying to persuade him to explore some of the acts you had listed, your main selling point was the notion that letting go in such a way could potentially alleviate the intense work-related stress he habitually bottled up. Zayne, however, failed to grasp this perspective—in his view, causing you pain would likely only escalate his stress levels. Yet, the night he had endured was nothing short of harrowing, and it was thoughts of indulging in precisely that release that saw him through the ordeal.

Apart from the moments he was forced to focus solely on a surgical procedure, visions of you beneath him—just as you lay now, eyes swirling with an utterly captivating blend of fear and desire—danced persistently in his thoughts, gradually consuming his mind entirely. Abandoning his unfinished paperwork on the desk, with plans to return to the hospital once his encounter with you concluded, he hastily made his way home.

The bag, meticulously prepared and awaiting its moment ever since he first conceived this plan, beckoned him from the edge of the bed.

“You’ve haunted my every thought today,” he confessed in a low voice laced with longing, his eyes fixed on yours, fervently searching for a response that mirrored his own tumultuous emotions. “Perhaps your theory was correct—it's as if the weight of the day is beginning to melt away… It’s intoxicating.” 

Zayne found it intriguing to see the way your eyes had flickered with relief upon seeing him, only to quickly morph into anxiety as you realized the darker intent lurking behind his gaze. There was a faint question lingering in the recesses of his mind—what was happening to him? Never could he have imagined that witnessing your struggle against him, and the realization sinking in that he had no intention of releasing you, would stir such a potent, almost primal arousal within him.

His breath brushed lightly against your skin as he drew close. His voice, low and teasing, carried a startlingly cold edge as his lips ghosted over your jaw. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Number 5 on the list, correct? ‘Use force to use me, Zayniee. Even better if u break into the apartment and scare the ever-loving shit out of me when u do this,’ in squiggly brackets with a smiley face—technically, I’m just following orders.”  You glared at him, irritation flashing in your eyes, which only earned you a cocky smirk before his lips crashed onto yours.

There was nothing gentle or tender about the kiss—something you had come to expect from Zayne. It was bruising, possessive, and all-encompassing, his mouth devouring yours as your body instinctively stiffened under his touch.

While you had indeed asked for this, the intensity of his actions caught you off guard—the thrill he was exuding from instilling fear in you left you feeling a bit queasy. His entire demeanor was different—charged with an excitement that was both unsettling and exhilarating. But mostly, it was just incredibly hot.

His dark hair framed mocking, sultry eyes, which gleamed beneath the hood of his sweatshirt as they roved over you. Dressed casually in sweats and a hoodie, with giddy eyes and tousled hair, Zayne exuded a youthful energy that starkly contrasted with his usual professional appearance.

For so long, you had wondered if it was even possible for Zayne to let go like this. Now, seeing him so unrestrained filled you with a happiness that you could barely contain.

Fear and arousal simmered within you, battling for dominance—but the fear was a relentless force churning in your stomach, no matter how hard you tried to push it away.

Your mind scrambled to remember why you ever thought this was a good idea. The notion of someone breaking into your home to assault you had quickly lost its appeal, even if the intruder was your fiance. He kept your arms pinned above your head, his weight still pressing you into the bed. You hadn’t even noticed the black bag resting there until he reached over and rummaged through it.

Your eyes widened as he pulled out a length of rope, a smile curling his lips as he caught your hesitant expression. “Zayne?” you whispered, uncertainty threading through your voice. He stayed silent, skillfully binding your hands to the headboard before you could fully comprehend what was happening. In a blur, your loose tank top and snowflake-print pajama shorts were pulled down the length of your body, a startled squeak escaping you as the fabric was roughly yanked down your legs.

Zayne’s full weight returned to settle beneath your knees, giving him an unobstructed view as his warm finger traced your folds. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you looked away, unable to bear the sight of his finger glistening with your arousal, which he then licked clean with a grin. “It seems like you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on, love,” he mocked, his voice dripping with amusement.

His fingers continued their exploration, sliding deep inside you, stretching you with a steady rhythm. Your hips began to grind against his hand, seemingly of their own volition. Zayne groaned lowly, his teeth closing over his lip as he watched your body’s eager reaction to him. Suddenly, he was consumed with the desire to help you push past your fear.

He captured your breast with his lips and teeth, eagerly sucking, licking and biting every inch of skin he could find. When your eyes met again, he was pleased to see that fear was slowly giving way to arousal.

His touches grew gentler, his fingers tracing soft patterns along your stomach and sides, drawing out those adorable giggles he cherished so much. His kisses became tender and lingering, no longer bruising. Hands cradled your face lovingly as his tongue danced passionately with yours. The room filled with a symphony of soft groans, gentle whimpers, and the cool night air, creating a beautiful, intimate melody. “Let’s see if we can’t make this everything you dreamed of,” he murmured against your lips, his voice softening with his touches.

The more he thought about it as his fingers traced your breasts, the more Zayne wanted this experience to be free of fear—at least for the first time. At first, he worried that his newfound tenderness wouldn’t be enough for you—but when your body relaxed beneath him, going almost limp in his hands after you released a deep sigh of pleasure and relief, his worries melted away.

His lips roamed over the marks from his earlier roughness, soothing them gently with every touch. He continued to straddle you, but his weight eased off, and his gaze sought yours with a sudden intensity.

The idea Zayne wanted to try tonight wasn’t on your lengthy list of fantasies, and he wasn’t even sure if you’d be interested—but he found himself hoping with all his heart that you would be; letting this go would be surprisingly difficult for him. A blush began to spread across his ears and cheeks as he began to speak, a faint hint of nervousness and hopefulness beneath his words. “I’ve wanted to try something new with you for as long as you’ve asked it of me,” he admitted, returning your soft smile as his hand brushed your cheek. “But I’ve struggled immensely to find something that would be pleasurable for both of us—I’m simply incapable of hurting you if it’s not appealing to me too.” Slowly, he reached for his bag and removed two small, identical items that glinted in the moonlight. Your eyes widened, locking onto him with curiosity and a tinge of returning fear as you realized what they were.

Zayne removed the protective cap from one of the scalpels, balancing it on his fingers as he turned it over slowly. His eyes, brimming with longing, drifted back to you. “If at any moment you want me to stop, I will,” he said softly, his tone unwavering. He searched your face, and the vulnerability in his expression struck you deeply. Zayne, always selfless, was rarely ever selfish, and more rarely did he ask for anything for himself. The hope in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings, and despite the fear once again coursing through you, you nodded softly, granting him the permission he sought.

His eyes sparkled with a mix of disbelief and adoration as he processed your answer, finally rewarding your trust with another passionate kiss. His lips moved to your cheeks and eyelids, pressing soft, thankful kisses as your eyes fluttered shut. He kissed you until you were breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your breasts swaying with every movement, practically begging for his attention.

“This first blade is very dull. I’ll use it to get you accustomed to the sensation before switching to the sharper one,” he explained, his calm, professional tone instantly reassuring. You nodded again, too anxious to speak, your mind racing as the metal inched closer. Your body tensed at the scalpel's cool touch, but you quickly relaxed as you realized it was merely the backside tracing a slow circle around your nipple. A groan escaped you when the dulled edge took its place, moving gently over the sensitive bud before gliding down your stomach. His hand eagerly replaced the scalpel on your breast, kneading it firmly as he continued to explore your skin; the dull blade traveling over spots you assumed the sharper one would later revisit.

As your body relaxed, you began to surrender to its unfamiliar, tantalizing sensations—the slow, deliberate dragging and tapping motions Zayne was applying with just the right amount of pressure brought you more pleasure than you'd anticipated. “How does it feel?” he whispered. “It’s… different,” you managed, your voice barely above a murmur. “But good. Really good.” A satisfied smile spread across his face as he continued his careful ministrations.

He was absolutely drunk on your reactions, and the two of you had barely even begun. Your eyes had long since drifted shut, soft sounds of ecstasy filling his ears as the blade danced across your skin. He could see it—you had completely surrendered to the pleasure he and the blade were bringing you. Setting the scalpel aside, he captured your lips in a fervent kiss, greedily devouring the beautiful noises spilling from you.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen and glistening, eyes bright with excitement as you beamed up at him. The joy he felt at your newfound eagerness was overwhelming. He couldn’t decide whose excitement was greater—yours or his—as he reached for the second scalpel, a small smile playing on his lips. You couldn’t help but burst into a wide grin at the look on his face. His smile didn’t waver as he met your eyes, raising an amused eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “Nothing, it’s just… you literally look like a giddy schoolboy right now, Zayne—it’s adorable,” you teased. He huffed a gentle laugh. “Truthfully? I feel like one.” He paused. “Would you like me to untie the restraints?” You gave him an affronted look, as if he’d just asked the stupidest question of the day. “Absolutely not,” you answered firmly. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he chuckled and moved closer, the sharper scalpel glinting in the dim light. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Let’s continue.”

His fingers brushed the soft skin of your neck as he gently tilted your head to the side. His mind wandered, imagining how that first cut would feel against your flesh, and what delicious sounds you might make in response. Leaning close, his lips grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear. “I need you to stay very still for me,” he murmured, his voice a blend of calm and command. “If you feel the need to move, let me know so I can pull back the knife first. Do you remember your safe word?” You beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with excitement as you whispered, “Yes! Now come onnn.” A note of amusement crept into his tone. “I’m not convinced you were listening,” he taunted, noticing your barely-contained squirming. “I’m not coming near you with this until you calm down.” He ran the back end of the scalpel along your arm, sending shivers through your body.

Suppressing a giggle, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to relax. The sight of Zayne holding the scalpel was insanely arousing, but you focused on your breathing, trying to ignore the hard press of his body against yours. Gradually, your muscles loosened, and your breaths evened out. Tilting your head to the side once more, he brought the scalpel near the nape of your neck. As the blade lightly traced your skin, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure. Zayne's eyes widened, fixated on the faint line forming beneath his touch. Awestruck, his fingers brushed over the mark, gaze flickering up to meet yours. Seeing your happy, aroused smile, he knew you were okay, but you didn’t give him a chance to ask. “Keep going, please,” you softly begged.

With newfound confidence, he moved the blade with precision. His focus was intense, almost trance-like, and you couldn’t help but wonder aloud if this was what he looked like during a medical procedure. Breaking your thoughts, his low voice responded, “Such a situation would be missing two crucial elements—my arousal and you. So no.” Before you could reply, your nipple was in his mouth, tongue eagerly lapping at the bud as he ground against your core. He pulled back, his fingers pinching the opposite nipple as he methodically slid the the knife across your breast. “Holy shit,” you whispered, the mix of pleasure and pain sending shivers down your spine and heat pooling between your thighs.

“More,” you breathed, heated eyes locked on the scalpel. Zayne’s hand traveled downward, and with deliberate precision, he made a cut on your lower abdomen. The sting of the pain mingled with a faint soothing sensation, causing your body to relax deeper into the comforter on a deep sigh. “You have such soft skin here,” he murmured, admiring your body beneath him. He added a few more cuts there, each one followed by gentle kisses that felt like a balm to your burning skin. Pausing, his fingers glided through your folds, playing messily in the gathering wetness. You whimpered as he circled your sensitive clit, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, resting his head against yours as two long fingers slipped deep inside you, wiggling to press that sweet spot that made your back arch off the bed in sheer ecstasy. A soft laugh escaped him as he moved to kneel between your thighs, spreading them wide, his mouth replacing his hand as he devoured you like a man starved.

Tiny kisses and licks punctuated by quick, light cuts along your sensitive inner thighs intensified the experience beyond words. The initial pain was almost overwhelming, the safe word dancing on the tip of your tongue with the second cut. But then, it transformed—pain melting seamlessly into a pleasure even more intense than the last.

Zayne relished your response, pausing to savor your taste in between each pull of the blade, feeling you grow wetter and wetter on his tongue with every cut. He lingered between your thighs, mouth working fervently, fingers brushing over the shallow marks scattered across your skin. Peering up, his blissed-out gaze met yours, sending a sharp pain of need through your core. “Go ahead and come for me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and sultry, a caress in itself. His mouth found you again, hands squeezing your increasingly sensitive thighs as your hips moved eagerly against him. Whispers of his name filled the air as your walls throbbed around his tongue, your entire body succumbing to pure ecstasy. You were still floating in your high when Zayne’s cock pushed into you. Taking his time, he stretched you slowly, filling you completely, his low groans intertwining with your soft whimpers as he watched your bodies meld together.

You became a teary mess under the intensity of his thrusts, your breasts bouncing in his face as your love-drunk voice whined, “Feels so gooood when you fill me up," on a giggle. Without warning, his cock slipped out of you, and he reached above to untie the restraints. A protest was forming on your lips, but it died when he plunged back into you, stilling once he bottomed out. He took your wrist in his hand, guiding the knife just below the inside of your elbow. “Don’t look away,” he murmured. The pain in this spot was sharp, yet fleeting, replaced quickly by the throb of pleasure as his cock twitched eagerly inside you.

He'd made this cut the faintest bit deeper. Tiny beads of blood bubbled to the surface, and Zayne groaned, hips pumping into you before stopping to choose another spot. Again, the cut was controlled, precise, just deep enough to bring the smallest amount of red to the surface.

This tormenting rhythm continued—a few thrusts, then the gentle drag of the knife. It was exhilarating, made even more so by Zayne’s intense focus. His hazel eyes were bright and enchanting, a stark contrast to the rise and fall of his chest and the steadiness of his hands.

Feeling his orgasm approaching too fast, he pulled out, capturing your lips with his. “You are everything to me. You know that, right?” Your hands tangled in his hair as you nodded, deepening the kiss with a smile against his lips. He sat back on the bed, motioning for you to join him. As he lowered you onto his cock, he pushed you hard against him, your back flush with his chest. “Good girl,” he murmured, grinning when your body tightened around him in response. You began to grind softly on top of him, squeaking when you felt the backside of the knife trace the area around your shoulder blade. “Be still,” he reminded, flipping the knife to trace your skin with the edge. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder before making a cut directly beneath the first one, then moving to the area between your shoulder blades.

Even as your body trembled and silent tears streamed down your cheeks, your blissed-out, dreamy expression never faltered. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered, setting the blade aside to hold your hips tightly. He moved inside you, the sensation of your warm, tight cunt wrapped around his length and your ass clapping against him with each movement driving Zayne absolutely wild. Breathless utterances of his name escaped your lips, enough to ruin him completely.

He stilled within you, his hand keeping its grip on your hip to keep you from moving. The scalpel traced a delicate line down your spine, your body immediately tensing with a nauseating mix of anxiety and tension. But when Zayne removed the knife and continued to grind against you, cock pressing deeper with each movement, that tension transformed into sheer pleasure.

He kissed the fresh marks along your back. His hands wandering from your hips to your slick folds, each languid circle of his fingers promising to drive you mad. “Would it be okay if I finish inside tonight?” he murmured in your ear. You smiled, nodding eagerly—he knew the answer would always be yes, but ever the gentleman, he never stopped asking. His fingers and lips softly traced the marks left by the knife as he moved inside you, gently rubbing your swollen clit while you moved over him.

Suddenly, his hands dimpled your ass, holding you just high enough for his hips to pound into you harder. You glanced down, practically drooling at the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you. When he sat you back down, you pressed hard again, forcing him deep inside as you wiggled around him. He held you close, pressing worshipful kisses along your neck and shoulders as his fingers glided through your heat with more deliberate strokes, lifting you higher and higher until you were utterly drunk on him.

Zayne's own release was approaching fast, and this time, he didn’t want to hold back. As you came undone above him, your walls pulsing wildly around his cock, he watched with rapt fascination as you gripped his thighs tightly, your release trickling around his length. Holding you open with one hand, he reached for the scalpel with the other. Neither of you breathed as the blade hovered over your glistening skin. His fingers grazed the sensitive area around your opening lightly. “This is where a group of veins drains blood from this perfect cunt,” he whispered, his voice low and controlled. Gently, he made a tiny cut, just enough to part your skin and bring the pretty beads of red to the surface. You whimpered and gripped him tight as his cock pulsed inside you, coating you with his warm essence. His thumb idly played with the little cut until you had milked him dry.

Leaning against him, you both tried to calm down, his arm holding you tight as he rocked you gently. “Well, was our first time trying something new everything you thought it would be?” he teased. You nodded enthusiastically. “And more. Your idea was far better than anything I came up with.” His breath was a warm puff against your hair as he chuckled softly. Lifting you off him, he stood before scooping you up in his arms. Meeting your quizzical stare with an amused one, he explained, “We need to get cleaned up so I can treat your wounds before bed.” Your eyes turned imploring, using that voice you always did when trying to get your way. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed his cheek and grinned. “Maybe after we clean up, you could show me how to do some of that to you…” Zayne’s response was immediate, his tone leaving no room for negotiation—“Absolutely not.”