#claustrophobic hero

[macknus]

Heroic Betrayal (II)

Twisting the Knife

Read part one here // Master-post // read next part here

They stopped at a car parked right on the edge of the park, pulled in on the opposite side of the road. Secluded, and remote. Villain was already at the car, and when he saw Morgan and Flynn, he walked around the car and opened the boot, turning to smile at Morgan.

Morgan stepped back unconsciously, shaking her head. “No. No. No.”

Flynn grabbed the crook of Morgan’s elbow and pulled her forward, but Morgan made herself grow heavy, dead weight. Flynn’s hand slipped off Morgan when she landed on her arse on the frozen muck. She pushed herself back on her feet, trying to escape. No, no, no, no, she couldn’t – Flynn wouldn’t, he knew she was claustrophobic, he knew and oh my god, he couldn’t!

“No! No! Flynn don’t, please! Please don’t do this!” Morgan cried. She kicked out a leg at Flynn when he came closer. “Please, please don’t put me in the trunk please.”

Flynn put a placating hand out to Villain as he crouched down in front of her. “I’ll make you forget,” Flynn said softly. Morgan’s heart slammed against her chest as tears pooled in her water line.

“No, Flynn. You can’t. I’ll know! You can’t please, please—”

“Morgan,” Flynn said, voice firmer. “If you drive with us in the car, I can’t trust you not to crash it or do something stupid.”

“I—” Morgan said but the words were whisked away with the hitch in her breath. She couldn’t go into the trunk. Morgan reached pathetically for her power as Flynn advanced, but it was silenced by the power dampeners and Morgan cursed. Her eyes never leaving the car’s boot that Villain stood at, grinning all the while over at her. Did he know? Did Flynn tell him that she was…?

She didn’t notice Flynn getting closer until it was too late. Flynn wrapped a hand around Morgan’s ankle and yanked her forward. Morgan yelped, screaming for “someone! Someone help me! So—”

“Flynn shut her up!” Villain yelled, as Flynn grabbed each side of Morgan’s head and locked his gaze on Morgan’s panicked eyes. Morgan felt her body go numb with Flynn’s gaze alone.

“Flynn, don’t, don’t – please,” she whimpered, pawing uselessly at Flynn’s chest as his eyes seemed to swirl, locking her in place.

“Ssh, there we go. Morgan you’re going to forget the journey to Supervillain’s house. You won’t remember you were trapped in the boot the whole ride there. Tell me.”

“I won’t remember the journey to Supervillain’s house. I won’t remember being trapped in the boot.”

“Good,” Flynn said with a smile. Then he took the opportunity to get the dazed Morgan to her feet and walk her over to Villain.

“It’s so creepy when you do that,” said Villain. Flynn flashed a grin in reply. Villain grabbed Morgan's arm and said, “start the car. I’ll put her in the boot. Knowing you, you’d let her ride in the passenger seat in a heartbeat.”

“You’re not wrong,” Flynn laughed. He left the pair and walked around the car to the driver’s seat, sliding in and shutting the door. He let out a sigh as he turned the key in the ignition. He forgot Morgan was claustrophobic. How could he forget that? He remembered Morgan telling him that fact in confidence, during one of their late-night stake outs. How scared she sounded.

He should have made her forget before she saw the car, but it was too late now anyhow. Villain climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. Flynn put the car into drive and pulled out onto the road, as nonchalant as ever.

***

The next thing Morgan knew she was in a cell on a bed, the cuffs still firmly locked around her wrists. She didn’t remember how she got there, or where she was, something she could no doubt credit to Flynn. Though she felt the salt trail of tears hardened around the corner of her eyes and down her cheeks.

So much for not using his power on me.

She was thankful Flynn left her with her scabbard at least, straps still wrapped tight around her chest, a reassuring weight on her back. She could grab her daggers anytime.

As soon as Flynn took these stupid handcuffs off, Morgan thought mulishly, staring down at her trapped hands balanced in between her bent knees.

The sound of a door opening nearby made Morgan raise her head to look at the cell bars, waiting for whoever it was to come gloat. Somewhere, in the dark side of her mind, a sad, quiet voice wanted nothing more than to see Flynn’s stupid face on the other side of the bars. His stupid crimson red hair that was always precariously sticking up and perfectly windswept.

Instead, Villain appeared. Morgan struggled to keep her face neutral. She didn’t want to show him what impact he left on her. Villain and his stupid fucking shadows. Morgan fixed Villain with a bored stare, resting her head back against the cold wall.

“Miss me?” Morgan asked, wanting to celebrate that her voice didn’t betray her. Unlike Flynn.

Villain just stared, cocking a brow at her. Her eyes darted down to Villain’s hands, a trick of the light catching her attention. She frowned, about to raise her gaze again when she saw them. Shadows slipped in flowing rivers from his palms and under his clothes, slowly, dreadfully slowly, dripping, slithering along the ground and through the bars of the cell. Morgan’s heart hammered against her chest, but she forced herself not to move. Not to react. That’s what Villain wanted, for her to scream and cry.

Fine. Maybe she would, but Villain would damn fucking sure have to work for it.

“If you want to give me a hug Villain, you can come in here and do it yourself.”

“Cute,” said Villain, cocking his head to the side, as a smile slipped onto his face, “but I think I’ll leave that for Flynn.”

Morgan’s heart panged, and she hated herself for it. She shouldn’t be sad. she should be angry. Pissed off, but her stupid little heart ached at the mention of Flynn, and she couldn’t wrestle the feeling away.

“What was it like?” Villain asked, leaning his hands through the bars and clasping his fingers together. His eyes shining with malice as he continued, shadows inching closer and closer, “realising your best friend and greatest ally was all lies. Did it hurt? I bet it hurt.”

“Ehh. You win some, you lose some,” Morgan shrugged, subtly retracting her feet to her chest to evade the shadowy claws that were crawling up the legs of the bedframe.

“Ah. You seem more confident than before. Have you had time to process it all? Compartmentalise? Is that what they taught you during Hero training? Maybe I’ll ask Flynn…”

Morgan smiled, the result humourless and wan. “You do that.”

The cold was the first sign that the shadows were upon her. A hand wrapped around Morgan’s ankle, slowly pulling her leg down. “What about you?” Morgan asked, wanting to take her focus off the shadows that pulled at her.

Villain’s eyebrows raised in question. “What about me?”

“You must have missed him,” Morgan continued, nonchalant. “I mean when Flynn was pretending to be my friend. The late nights, the early mornings. The stakeouts… we got close. Maybe he was lying to me about being a villain and a traitor, but still… all that time he spent with me he wasn’t with you. How does that feel?”

Villain didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his arm back sharply and the shadows yanked Morgan down the bed. Morgan kicked and fought, but she was struggling in vain against air and shadows. They weren’t a tangible thing. With her hands locked uselessly in front of her dulling her powers Morgan could do nothing as the shadows kept dragging her towards the bars where Villain stood.

“You’re not worth the effort,” Villain spat as he reached down and pressed his actual cold hand to Morgan’s throat, keeping her chin up and forcing her to look into Villain’s cool black eyes, burning with an old kind of hatred.

“Mmm,” Morgan said, clearing her throat with a slight cough that highlighted Villain’s hands on her throat. “Maybe you should ask Fly—”

Villain cut Morgan off by squeezing his hand around her throat. Morgan pulled back, her brain screamed at her to flee, but it was as if a wall was behind her squishing her towards the bars, to Villain’s hand and his unyielding grip. Morgan couldn’t even use her hands to free herself because they were squished between her rib cage and the iron bars of the cell.

Eventually Villain let go and Morgan pushed back a little, gasping in lungfuls of air.

��I don’t even know what he sees in you,” Villain hissed. Morgan looked up through her lashes, still wheezing for oxygen and said: “my devil may care charm, perhaps.”

A shadowed hand gripped the back of Morgan’s head and slammed her nose into the bars in front of her. Morgan gripped the bars on instinct when a loud resounding crunch echoed through Morgan’s head, and she cried out. Warm blood started flowing down her nose and lips, dripping passed her chin and onto her shirt.

“Motherfucker,” Morgan gasped out. Her head was slammed down again and Morgan screamed. The impact caught the bridge of her nose this time making the blood gush, some sliding down the back of her throat and she coughed, the taste of iron staining her mouth. Enraged Morgan spit some of the blood into Villain’s stupid, smirking face.

Villain smiled and it seemed to suck all confidence from Morgan’s very soul. A smile so dark it struck fear straight to centre of Morgan’s heart, pumping the danger signal around her body through her blood that that was a mistake, and she should run.

“Ah. I see now what he likes about you. You look perfect when you’re bleeding and scared.”

Morgan couldn’t help herself as the words spilled from her mouth: “you creep. At least buy me dinner first.”

The shadows tightened around Morgan, cold hands grabbed and pushed her down. She knew it was futile to resist as she fought and struggled, Villain’s shadows were freakishly strong, and Morgan’s knees hit the cold concrete floor of her cell. Villain grabbed Morgan’s chin, moving her head side to side, examining her. She tried to push back, to stand up, to do anything; but the shadows kept her exactly how Villain wanted her.

“There. Beautiful,” Villain said. Morgan’s blood was dripping onto Villain’s hand, but he didn’t seem to care. Morgan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and choked on some of the blood, sputtering slightly. Villain’s eyes seared into Morgan’s soul, watching her struggle and revelling in it. He pressed his hand that was soaked in Morgan’s blood to her cheek, wiping the remnants on Morgan before straightening properly.

When Villain released the shadows Morgan fell to all fours, coughing out the blood onto the concrete floor. Painting the miserable grey, a bright red. When Morgan looked up again Villain was gone, but the fear he trapped in Morgan’s chest was still very much there.

Lingering like the coldness of his shadowed touch.

Morgan retreated to the back wall of the cell, sat on the cot again and rested her head back against the wall, and waited for the blood to stop falling.

What kind of idiot was she to be stuck here? She should have told Sidekick when she got the tip about Villain… she should have told them that she was going to rough Villain up a bit, get the information they needed on Other Villain’s whereabouts and beat the shit out of him. Just a little revenge for touching a hair on Sidekick’s innocent head.

Even if she managed to catch Villain and mete out justice on Other Villain, she would have beaten the ever-living shit out of the wrong person, and that was something Morgan didn’t want to think about in that moment.

That Flynn…

Her Flynn was the one who put Sidekick in the hospital.

Sidekick, who was still in the hospital, where Morgan should be, but no. Instead, she was stuck here, powerless and bleeding and it was all her fault.

Morgan didn’t know how long she sat and stewed on that thought. Long enough that her nose stopped bleeding anyway. She tentatively reached up to her upper lip, her hand came away from it dry, the blood caked and flaked now. At least that was something, she supposed.

“What happened to your face?” Morgan angled her head down from where she stared at the ceiling to see Flynn standing on the other side of the cell bars.

“Fuck off, Red,” Morgan grumbled, and fought the wince at the nickname that slipped so casually from her lips. “I’m not in the mood.”

A jangle of keys and the cell door was open, footsteps approached Morgan in her cot in the corner. Her heart ached with every beat as Flynn came into her line of sight, concern drawing his features together.

How many times had she seen that same concern on his face? Told her it was going to be okay… Cleaned her wounds, laughed about the bruises the next day?

How much of it was a lie? — Morgan wanted to ask. The question burned a hole on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t dare speak it. She just stared and tried not to cry.

“What? You piss someone off already?”

Morgan sighed. Flynn sat on the edge of the bed, moving closer, hands going to inspect the damage. Morgan slapped them away, tears burning the back of her eyes.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Flynn,” Morgan spat. “You don’t get to betray me and then pretend to be my friend and concerned about me.”

Flynn stared; eyes sad as he said: “okay. Guess I deserve that.”

“You deserve so much more,” Morgan said, eyes burning with hatred, her voice barely above a whisper. “How many of our friends died because of you? Hmm?”

“Morgan, not all of it–” Flynn began then stopped, huffed out a breath of air through his nose, hand running through his hair. His nervous tick. “Not all of it was a lie. I am your friend. I do care about you.”

“Oh really? Then you’d never use your power on me, right?” Morgan demanded, echoing Flynn’s words against him. Flynn had the audacity to look guilty at that, and Morgan leaned forwards, hands on Flynn’s as she said: “I forgive you, okay. I forgive you if you let me go. Flynn, please.”

Flynn’s eyebrows knit together, clearly conflicted but he said nothing. After a moment, Morgan let out a breath of disbelief and sat back against the wall again.

“Yeah,” Morgan scoffed, “we’re friends.”

“You have blood all over your face, Morgan. You really want to just leave it?”

“Why the hell not?” Morgan demanded, an attempt to force her tone into some form of neutrality.

Flynn sighed and stood from the cot. “Supervillain wants an audience with you. I was sent to retrieve you.”

Morgan rolled her eyes, but she got to her feet regardless. “Of course,” she said, pushing past Flynn to the door. “God help you actually wanted to see how I was doing.”

“Morgan—”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Let’s just go.”

“Morgan that’s not—”

Before he could get the fourth word out, Morgan had whirled on him eyes blazing hotter than any of hell’s furnaces.

“Fair?!” She asked incredulously, her voice jumped two pitches at the sheer audacity of the word on her lips. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Flynn didn’t back down this time. He stepped forward, and stared down his nose at Morgan.

“Yes. That is what I was going to say.”

“You are unbelievable!” Morgan snapped matching Flynn with a step forward of her own. She held her cuffed hands up in Flynn’s face as if to remind him exactly why Morgan was there in the first place. “If you’re my friend you’ll take these off.”

“Morgan you know I can’t—”

Morgan didn’t let him finish. Instead, she placed her palms flat on Flynn’s chest and shoved him as hard as she could. Flynn looked about as bothered as if a fly had flown into the room.

“I can’t uncuff you Morgan,” Morgan said, lowering her voice to mimic Flynn’s and shoved him back again. “I can’t let you go Morgan.” And again. “I can’t fucking think—” shove “for myself” shove “Morgan.”

Morgan glared up at Flynn trying to fight back the frustrated tears building behind her eyes. Anger was easier to focus on in the moment rather than that vast aching pit that twisted like briars uncomfortably in her gut.

“But I promise I’m your friend, Morgan,” Morgan mocked, shoving him back again until Flynn’s back hit off the wall. Flynn’s eyebrows curved down and it left a pang in Morgan’s chest that she hated. “And then you have the gall to look hurt. As if I betrayed you.”

Morgan ignored the tears that fell at the last sentence, or at least, she tried to. She tried to be firm and act tough, but saying the betrayal out loud, acknowledging it when it was just the two of them was too much.

“Would you trust me if the roles were reversed?” Morgan asked, not wanting to look at Flynn for the answer. The more she saw the conflict on his face the harder it was to hate him. Flynn, however, didn’t take this into consideration when he put his hand on Morgan’s face and tilted her back to face him.

Morgan narrowed her eyes at him, pushing every ounce of anger into her gaze hoping it would turn into actual daggers and stab him.

“No,” Flynn breathed softly, thumb wiping away the tear streaks from Morgan’s face. “I wouldn’t trust you if the roles were reversed, but I would hear you out of you tried to explain it to me.”

“And if I took you to Supervillain?!” Morgan asked, her voice low and furious as she stepped out of Flynn’s touch. “The enemy we’ve been trying to stop for months?”

“You.”

“What?!” Morgan demanded hotly.

Flynn’s gaze hardened, his face devoid of all emotion now except for his usual mask of easy confidence, smirk on his lips as if he didn’t just wipe Morgan’s tears away with tender strokes.

“The enemy you’ve been trying to stop for months,” Flynn said again taking a step forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Morgan matched it with one back, cautious, hackles raised. “I mean the man you borderline obsessed over, Morgan. Don’t you want to meet the genius who eluded you, the great detective, for all that time?”

“Not particularly,” Morgan said through gritted teeth with another step back that Flynn matched, getting closer and closer each time. She was acutely aware that he was cornering her but she didn’t have time to do anything except evade.

“That’s what you called him though, right? A genius,” Flynn teased, his grin showing his teeth. “I mean, fuck, Morgan some of the moves he made you were damn right impressed with. You even said you’d have done exactly the same thing if—”

“I was in his position,” Morgan cut Flynn off. Flynn’s smirk grew wider as he took another step closer, dipping his head conspiratorially.

“Now you can be,” said Flynn with a wide gesture of his hands. Morgan followed his hand to the cell door that they happened to be right beside. “Even just for the intellectual stimulation if nothing else.”

“Go fuck yourself, Flynn. I’m not willingly walking into the Lion’s den.”

Flynn’s eyelids fell halfway over his eyes. “It is less dignified to be dragged, Morgan, but if you insist.”

Flynn made a grab for Morgan’s arm, but she dodged at the last minute, turning to shoulder Flynn out of the way. Flynn didn’t so much as budge from his spot. Instead, he caught Morgan by the strap of her scabbard and yanked her back into his chest.

“The hard way, wonderful. I wouldn’t expect any less of you Morgan,” Flynn said, wrapping an arm over Morgan's chest and keeping her close as he stepped out of the cell, pushing Morgan forward with his own body weight. “Let's go introduce you to Supervillain.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

[alaraxia]

Unusual Muse Associations

Thanks for the tag @m3k-fhr! I’m not sure who alls done these already so will tag @pffpth who got me into fallen hero in the first place to do one for Morgan.

Vesper Becerra — Akrasia — Fallen Hero

list under the cut to save scrolling.

Seasoning: black sesame seeds

Weather: either still fog on a cold morning or sheer vertical downpours

Colors: reds, burnt oranges, muted warm colors

Sky: the time before sunrise especially in summers when the dawn chorus is kicking up and the sky is that lightish grey-blue but everything else is still dark

Magical Power: If not telepathy then telekinesis

Plant: unsure, but she quietly loves a lot of flowers

Weapon: strong preference for her mind and manipulations, but for actual weapon weapons: if ranged the energy gun she favored in her sidestep days, if melee then a baseball bat (nails optional).

Subject: anthropology

Social Media: multiple shell accounts on multiple niche forums she uses for information gathering, favorite tactic is to post blatantly incorrect information to incite conflict and acquire usable info.

Makeup Products: brow setter clear gel

Candy: used to be really into super sour candy and still is to an extent, but now moreso a compulsive gum chewer.

Fear: loss of control or agency, both over situations and self (but mostly self), and by extension vulnerability.

Ice cube shape: those shitty thin rectangle ones you get in a lot of restaurants that sometimes all come in a chunk because the tray or whatever overflowed and stuck em all together at one end.

Method of Long Distance Travel: beat up but reliable old two seater or bench seat truck with crank windows she can ditch off the road if needed. Truck bed cover in case she needs to haul her armor or supplies.

Art Style: abstract (think Rothko)

Mythological Creature: dragon

Piece of stationary: pen with a chewed up top from focusing. Not paper—she’s a compulsive shredder if she gets paper in her hands

Three Emojis: 💨🕸👁

Celestial Body: Mercury

[me-writes-prompts]

Random + angst prompts:

By @me-writes-prompts

Yearning prompts

“I can’t stop loving you.” Angsty romance prompts

Character A gets hurt/injured ft. Character B’s feral response

Coffee shop love prompts

Situationship prompts

Situationship jealousy prompts

Heartbreaking prompts

Reuniting angst prompt

“What are we?” Prompts

Ghost x vampire prompts

More ghost x vampire prompts

Vampire x werewolf prompts

Close proximity prompts

Crush prompts

Navigating through new relationship prompts

"Please don't leave me" prompts

Lovers in "denial" prompts

Reunited lovers prompts

Grumpy x sunshine prompts

"You're too good for me" prompts

"I think...I'm in love with you" prompts

Fake dating prompts

Betrayal prompts

"What would I do without you" prompts

Roommates to lovers prompts

Ice cream prompts

Underrated trope list

First date prompts

Oblivious x pining prompts

Break up prompts

Marriage of convenience prompts

Jealously prompts

OTP bonding with their children prompts

Denial of feelings prompts

Internalized homophobia prompts

Sunshine vampire x grumpy human prompts

Party game prompts

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Childhood friends prompts

Self-esteem issue prompts for your ocs

Nervous/awkward couple prompts

Forced proximity but one of them is claustrophobic prompts

[sanguineterrain]

knight in shining helmet | jason todd

Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!reader 

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.

the divider

You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life. 

You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with. 

“Unhand me!” you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. “You'll be executed for this!”

You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught. 

“Batman will find you,” you add. “He'll save me.” You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him. 

That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. “If he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.”

“I am a priority guest in this city, of course he would—”

“Shut her up,” the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You don’t want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.

You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to the fear: either Batman finds you in time, or he doesn't.

That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious. 

When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.

You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. You’re alone, which confuses you.

Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.

The good news is that your kidnappers aren’t here. The bad news is that the reason they aren’t here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they don’t get the ransom they’re no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham. 

Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. You’re going to die.

But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.

They’ll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. You’re the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you. 

Yes, you’ll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and you’ll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. That’ll be very nice. 

You’ll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure. 

The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If it’s your kidnapper, you want to act like you’re still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didn’t catch the whole film, though—you were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d watched the whole film!

As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that he’s a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.

“‘Lo?” asks a gruff voice. “Anybody here?”

You shout through your gag. You can’t make out a face, but it’s alright. Relief floods you. You’re saved.

Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a… red helmet? With glowing eyes?

Wait a minute.

“Holy shit,” Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. “Y’okay?”

Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.

"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.

"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. “You don’t look very happy to see me, all things considered.”

“I don’t want your help!” you say, wriggling away from him. “I’m in an alliance with The Batman!”

He tilts his head. “‘S that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?”

“I am not a beauty pageant contestant,” you say hotly. “I am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.”

He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.

“Princess, huh?” Hood nods. “Ah, yeah. I heard somethin’ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that I’d run into ya.”

“You mean, you weren’t actively looking for me?” you ask in a small voice. 

“Nope. You’ve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here ‘cause I smelled motor oil.” 

Now that he’s found you, what does he plan to do?

“Are… are you going to release me?” you ask.

“Depends. Is this place rigged to blow?”

“My dress,” you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesn’t seem wrapped up too tightly. 

“Hm?” Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. “Damn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.”

His praise doesn’t comfort you, oddly enough.

“Is it live?” you ask.

“Doesn’t look like it. And I’ve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.”

Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view. 

“Who were they?” he asks.

“Who was who?”

“The people that took you.”

“I don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,” you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.

“Mm.”

Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you. 

Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."

“I don’t work for the Bats,” he says, an edge to his words.

“Well, I don’t feel comfortable with you rescuing me,” you say. “You’re a criminal.”

Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.”

He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.

"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"

But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.

"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"

You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.

You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.

"Are you cryin'?"

Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded. 

"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.

He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.”

You look away. "You left me.”

"I did,” he says. “But as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."

"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."

He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your ankles—a feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."

He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you don’t want to throw up. Success! 

“Anything hurt?” he asks. 

“My legs,” you say miserably. 

“Okay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?”

“Um… no.”

“Fantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.” 

You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.

“I don’t give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.”

You huff. “You expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.”

“And what am I s’posed to do about that?” Hood asks. “I look like a Payless to you?”

“I don’t know what that is,” you say. “Don’t you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. I’ll catch a virus! You’ll have to carry me.”

Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure. 

“Oh my God! Highness, you’re a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I don’t carry anybody unless they’re unconscious and I like ‘em a lot. It’s a short list.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m a guest in your city, and I’ve been kidnapped! The least you can do—”

“The least I can do is leave you to rot here,” Hood says, tone cutting. “Or let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You aren’t in whatever palace they carted you out of; you’re in fuckin’ Gotham, and if y’want my help, you’re gonna suck it up and walk.”

You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle. 

“You don't have to be so mean,” you say, voice watery. “I’ve had a difficult night.” 

It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger. 

“...Look, I think I got some spare boots,” Hood finally says. “Stay here.”

“Where would I go?” you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesn’t reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots. 

“Used?!” you ask, voice high.

“Lightly, Your Majesty. They’re my spares. Here.”

Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like he’s flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.

“Time’s a-ticking, princess. I’m on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. He’ll find ya. Eventually.”

So you put on the boots. 

You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket. 

He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing. 

“Got it?” he asks, arms slipping away. 

You definitely don’t have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back. 

“Whoa. Easy.” Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. “Look a'me. Look—stop fighting, Jesus Christ.”

“This is no way to treat a princess!”

“Yeah, I missed that day of training,” he says dryly. “Stay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.” 

“Your grip hurts!”

Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.

“Seems like you’re still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. Now…”

Hood steps back, but not so far that you can’t grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover. 

“So that’s not gonna work.” He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen. 

“What on earth are you doing with that?” you ask, taking a small step backwards.

“Cutting your dress,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

You gasp, backing away. “No you will not!”

“Princess—”

“This dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonight’s gala. You’re not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!” 

“Is it worth more than your life?” Hood snaps. “I don’t have any spare clothes and I’m not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.”

You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isn’t as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.

“Bike?” you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. You’ll grieve for your dress privately.

“Mmhm.”

“I thought you had a Batmobile.”

“That’s Batman’s car. Hence the name. I have a bike ‘cause I’m a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Can’t we take a taxi? Or call a car service?”

Hood snorts. “No one’s driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. It’s my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.”

He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hood’s strides are long and you’re unsteady in his too-big boots.

“Can you please slow down? These boots are enormous!”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. It’s a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. You’ve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enough—why remove the comfort and protection of a car?

Hood’s bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused. 

“Hasn’t killed me yet, and I’ve been dead once.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

“You’ll be fine,” Hood says at your silence. “I’ll go slow.”

“Alright,” you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. “Very slow.”

“Yeah, yeah, very slow. C’mon.”

Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him. 

Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesn’t work.

“Yo, Bambi. This century would be good.”

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle!” you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. “You could help me.”

“For fuck's—” 

Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain you’re about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you don’t bang into him as you sit. 

“What is wrong with you?” you hiss, smoothing down your dress.

“Re-lax, I didn’t see anything.”

“This is highly undignified—”

“Yeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?”

“No.”

“Mm. Hold my waist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all ya want.” Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. He’s warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. “You’re drugged and unsteady. If y’don’t hold on, you’re gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.”

“Go slow,” you say again, obediently holding his waist.

“Yeah, I’ll go slow,” he says. 

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.

True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. You’re able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. You’re definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.

You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom you’ve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous. 

But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.

Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. That’s when another biker turns onto the road behind you. 

“Shit,” Hood says, and you’re startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. It’s like he’s in your head. “We’re being tailed.”

Well, that’s not good. You turn around briefly but you can’t make out your follower; you’re too scared to move on the bike.

But then you hear the bike behind you speed up. 

“Motherfucker,” Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip. 

“Hold on,” he says, like you'd do anything otherwise. 

Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and you’d prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.

“We lose him?” he asks when the road levels off and it doesn’t feel so much like you’re on a rollercoaster.

“Um…” you begin, and chance turning around.

It’s clear for a few seconds until…

Well, to echo Hood’s sentiment: motherfucker.

“He’s there!” you yell, and Hood growls.

“The helmets are mic’d, you don’t have to shout,” he says, leaning into a left turn. 

“I see him!” you say, and grab one of Hood’s holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hood’s neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words you’ve never even heard. 

The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign. 

“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand. 

But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.

“He’s gone! We’ve lost him!” you say happily. 

“Are you insane?” 

You wince at his volume. “The helmets are mic’d, you know.”

“You’re so—”

Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask, putting out your arms. “We lost him!”

“No, we didn’t. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But that’s not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You don’t know how to use a gun and you could’ve hurt yourself.”

You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isn’t wrong, he’s just… loud about it.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps. 

You don't reply. 

“I need a yes.”

“...I wanted to help.”

Hood sighs. “Yeah, well… just don’t. I’m good at what I do and I’ll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. “I'm sorry, Red Hood.”

You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful. 

It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, “Don't cry.”

Your jaw works as you swallow hard. “I'm not.” You turn your head so he won't see.  

“Christ on toast,” he mumbles above you. “This is exactly why I don't do rescue missions—”

You sniffle. “I'm not crying.”

“—’Cause I'm the world's biggest asshole,” he finishes, voice miles softer. 

Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other. 

“Look, ‘m a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.” 

You rub your eyes. “I don't like yelling.” 

“Yeah,” Hood says quietly. “Okay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you can’t pull stunts like that. Deal?”

You nod. “I won't fire any more of your guns.”

He snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’d you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, y’didn’t do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.”

“My father wanted me to learn gun sports,” you say. “I learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I don’t condone killing animals for sport.”

“Uncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?” You think you detect a smile in his question. 

“Everything has its exceptions,” you say primly. 

“Ain't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, ‘scuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.”

Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle. 

“How far are we from my hotel?” you ask.

“‘Bout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,” he says apologetically. “Wasn’t planning to save lost princesses tonight.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?”

“Pretty and funny,” Hood says. “You're the whole package, beauty queen.”

Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen. 

“Pardon me,” you say, mortified. 

“What, ‘cause you're hungry?” Hood asks. “‘S a normal human condition.”

“You don't know anything about royal manners,” you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public. 

“No, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.” 

“Showing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,” you say. 

“Being a princess sounds exhausting.”

No arguments there. 

Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down. 

“There's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,” he says. “I'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys won’t be far behind.”

“A seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!” you say. 

“I’m… glad you're so excited about convenience stores?”

“I saw it in a film once. My father didn’t catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.”

“I know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,” Hood says. “Wait, did you say your dad didn’t catch you?”

You hum. “He doesn’t like me watching films that aren’t pre-approved.”

“Wow. Y’know, I could pirate you some movies if y’want. I know a great website for it.”

You laugh. “That’s alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that he’s older.”

“Pretty sneaky, beauty queen.” He sounds impressed. 

You shrug, trying to hide your pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax. 

“Red!” a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.

“Hope you’re listening to your ma,” Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone else—to you—it would be unnerving. 

But the boy grins. “I am!”

“Then why aren't ya in bed, huh?” 

The boy shrugs. “Not tired. Who's the lady?”

“The lady is a princess, so be nice,” Hood says.

“Whoa!” The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window. 

“Mom!” he yells. “Red Hood found a princess!”

You giggle as Hood leads you away. 

He shakes his head. “Kids.” He sounds terribly fond. 

You stare at his back for a moment. 

“They like you,” you say. “You keep them safe. But you're also a friend.”

“Helps to earn their trust,” he says gruffly. 

You walk a little more in silence. 

“I was wrong about you, Hood,” you say. He doesn't look at you. 

“Lotta people are. Nothin’ new.” 

No, it probably isn't. 

“‘Kay, here we are. C’mon. We gotta be fast, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, following him into the 7-Eleven. 

“Hey, Benny,” Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.

Benny nods. “Long night?”

“You got no idea.” He gestures to you. “She’s a princess.”

“Sweet,” Benny says. “What’s up?”

“How do you do?” you say politely. 

Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.

“I have had a hot dog before,” you say. “I’m not that sheltered.”

“Yeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.”

“Well, you’ve gotten me this far, so I suppose I’ll trust you,” you say.

“I’m flattered. Benny, my usual.”

Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ‘roller’ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.

“Why is it that color?” you ask.

“Tasty chemicals,” Hood says cheerily. “It won’t kill ya, I promise.”

“That would be counterintuitive at this point,” you say. 

“I appreciate your faith in me, princess.”

You return to Benny, who rings up the food. “Five twenty-seven.”

Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.

“What?” you ask.

“This is the part where you pay,” he says.

“A princess never carries money on her person,” you say, like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“You–” Hood looks at Benny and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door. 

“Thank you, kind sir!” you say as Hood waves. 

“See ya, Ben.”

You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.

“I’m not a cupholder,” he says, but he takes the cup anyway.

“It’s warm!” you say, delighted. “Let me take a bite.”

Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.

“Good?” he asks.

“I like it,” you say. “It’s unusual. Is this chicken?”

“So they say,” Hood says. “Try the slushie.”

You take the cup and first take a small sip. It’s cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.

“This is wonderful,” you say. 

He laughs. “Yup. Told ya, nothin’ like this combo. It’s a classic. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly. 

“This is just like Roman Holiday,” you say.

Hood snorts. “I don’t think we watched the same movie.”

“It has a likeness. You’re Gregory Peck.”

“Yeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. I’m Greg fuckin’ Peck.”

“No, you’re right. You’re much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?” you ask.

“Twenty-four.”

“Really? Why are you doing this?”

“Took a career test.”

You bump his shoulder. “Seriously, Hood. You’re young. You’ve so much potential. I can tell that you’re smart.”

“Hence why I do this,” he says.

You tut, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.”

“You’re just fulla charm, aren’t ya?” Hood says. 

Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” you say. “I guess I assumed…”

“Yeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And you’re wrong.”

“You made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and I’m not.”

Hood stops, turns. “Maybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said I’m not a criminal anymore. I help people.”

“I know that,” you say quietly. “I see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just… I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.”

He’s quiet for a bit. You keep walking. 

“I didn’t think you were stupid,” he eventually says.

You scoff. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Yeah, I thought you were a little… sheltered. But you’re smart. You’re certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.”

You roll your eyes. “He still thinks I’m six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.”

“Pretty shitty tour.”

You smile behind his back. “Oh, I don’t know. The tour guide is alright.”

Hood stops. When he doesn’t speak, you approach.

“Hood?”

He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.

That’s when you hear voices.

“��single fuckin’ clue. She could be in the fuckin’ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!”

“China’s on the other side, dumbass.”

You look up at Hood, eyes wide. 

Those are your kidnappers' voices.

He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down. 

You assume that means stay put and don’t try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.

Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own. 

“Nice night, ain’t it?” he says. 

The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.

“Hood, we weren’t doing nothin’!” one says.

“Yeah, Ricky and I are clean!”

“Oh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.”

“We was nowhere near the Plaza!” Ricky cries.

The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks. 

“You were gonna hurt her,” Hood says, and now there’s no trace of humor in his voice. “That poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckin’ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckin’ animals.”

“It wasn’t our idea, it was Bobby’s!” Ricky cries. 

“Shut up, Ricky!”

A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.

“The only reason I’m not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.” Hood leans in. “You’ll pay for hurting the princess. I’ll make sure of it.”

With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud. 

He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go. 

You look down at the unconscious bodies. “You don’t have to kill them.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience.”

“They kidnapped you. They would’ve hurt you had their boss ordered it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t want you to bear that burden, Hood.”

“‘S not a burden,” he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. “If it’ll make you feel better, safer, anything. It’s no burden.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.

“I’ll tie ‘em up and send for ‘em when we get back. One second.”

You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like they’re sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them. 

“So they can see what it feels like,” Hood says, dusting his hands. You can’t help your small smile. 

“Ready?” he asks.

You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. “I guess so.”

Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.

“Climb on my back.”

You blink. “Pardon me?”

“You’re pardoned.” Hood shrugs. “I can tell you’re tired. We don’t have far to go.”

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask. “All that way…”

“Princess, I’m honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. I’m more than capable.”

“But what about your rule?” you ask. “About carrying people.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad,” he says. “Get on ‘fore I change my mind.”

So you climb onto Hood’s back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Don’t choke me out,” he says. “Otherwise we’re both goin’ down.”

You smile and relax on his back. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You can’t complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike. 

You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago. 

And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hood’s solid figure lulls you to sleep. You don’t even realize until you’re being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness. 

“Hey.”

You’re gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hood’s shoulder.

Oh. Right. You’re on his back.

“Hm?” 

“Ride ends here,” he says. “We’re at the Plaza.”

“Oh.” Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You could’ve woken me! I—”

Hood holds up a hand. “Hey, chill out. ‘S fine. You had a long night, I get it.”

“Right. I, um…” You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog that’s settled over the city. You wonder what Hood’s windows look like. 

“I’m gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll kick his ass, at the very least.”

You look at Hood, blinking. “Oh. That’s very nice of you, thank you.”

He shrugs. “‘S my job.”

You nod clumsily. “Right, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?”

He snorts. You smile shyly. 

“Cute,” he says, but he’s not being mean. “No, that’s okay. I’m pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.”

“Surely there’s something—”

“Seriously, princess, no charge.”

You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.

“What about a kiss?”

At first, you think Hood hasn’t heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you. 

“Ex-cuse me?”

“Um.” You scratch your neck. “Well, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, don’t they?” you ask, but it’s weak. It’s stupid. You’re so young.

You think he’s going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.

“I’m sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,” you blurt.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didn’t have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.

“Wasn’t terrible or wasn’t a joke?” you ask, blood roaring in your ears.

Hood’s quiet. 

“Haven’t done much kissing, to be honest with ya,” he finally says, not answering your question. 

You shake your head. “Nor I.”

“Mm. And y’wanna kiss me? Don’t offer ‘cause you think you owe me.”

“I want to kiss you, Hood.”

He tilts his head. “Y’wouldn’t be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.”

You frown. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m no Greg Peck. And I’m no hero either.”

“Do you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?”

“You’re the first one who’s wanted to,” he says.

You inhale sharply. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You don’t. Neither does he.

“Can’t believe a princess wants to kiss me,” he mumbles.

And then he covers your eyes with his hand.

You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud. 

Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though he’s covering them, out of respect.

His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesn’t know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what you’ve seen others do and what you’ve watched on television.

You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears. 

“Your Highness? Your Highness!”

The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.

Your lips tingle with heat. It’s all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress. 

You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.

Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. “Can you hear me? Doctor, I need a—”

“I’m fine,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m alright, Father.”

He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.

“I am so glad you’re alright,” he says. “The police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?”

“No, not at all,” you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. “He was my hero.”

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 3: How bad can a day get?

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 (You're here) - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10

Tim gazes at you. He doesn’t know what to do or feel.

He hates you, he really does, but at the same time he kind of enjoyed the afternoon with you. If you put aside the arguments and such it was kind of fun being in your presence.

He’s conflicted, he should hate you – you’ve done bad things in the past and you hate Aranea! But, hanging out with you gives him some kind of weird feeling – euphoria fills him when you make a sarcastic comment in jest or when you chuckle at one of his jokes.

There were times you both fought but it felt nice to see you come back into the room and not just leave – his parents tended to leave for the whole night if they got into an argument and he’d have to stay in his estate alone.

He watches as you sleep peacefully, you’re in the lower age part of his class – with you being sixteen and he seventeen – yet you look so much more youthful while sleeping, your face isn’t in a scowl or bored look, you look content.

Tim slowly gets up from the bed and looks around the small, cramped room. It's easy for anyone to feel claustrophobic and it feels wrong for someone to live in it who acts like how you usually do.

His attention is drawn to the toy chest in one corner, curiosity fighting with respect to open it. One peak wouldn't hurt and surely you wouldn't find out.

He walks over, one of the floorboards creaking, it was only two steps but felt longer for him. He opens the chest. As he stares down at it's contents he's filled with disappointment.

In the chest there's only diaries, metal and engineering bits and pieces. He guesses he should have expected this, you're a civilian, you wouldn't be hiding anything to begin with.

His eye catches on a childish diary decorated in stickers and press on jewels. Before his mind can register what he's doing he picks it up and turns it over in his hands a couple times, examining it.

The date goes back twelve years. So you'd be about four at the time. There's nothing to hide so he opens it - a sneak peak never hurt anyone.

Diary entry 1:

Today I got this diary from my mama! I can decorate it however I want! Mama said it's my birthday gift, I wanted a stuffed toy but this works too! I don't want to disappoint my mama by saying I don't like it!

My neighbor, Susan, is helping me write this! I love her, she's very old and wrinkly and I think she is going to turn to dust. Which is sad.

Bye now!

The first thing Tim noticed was the messy handwriting. It was endearing in a way to see it. The next was the way you spoke about Susan. It was blunt but it seemed you liked her.

He goes to turn another page when he hears the front door of the apartment open and talking entering the once quiet apartment.

He quickly places the diary where it was before and he packs away everything. He debates putting you into the bed before deciding that you're fine.

He walks out and is immediately met with a plate smashing the wall next to him as a frazzled man stands in the kitchen, cowering almost. Tim puts his hands up slightly to show he's harmless and the man's stiff form eases slightly.

The man raises his hands and signs out a sentence.

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

Tim raises a brow, should he sign back or just talk? After some consideration he decides to sign back.

"Your child and I are partners on a project for school"

The man's eyes darken slightly at the mention of his daughter - or who Tim guesses was his child, they bare some resemblance.

"So my child is a slut like her mother then?"

Tim stares, jaw dropped. No fucking way he just said that. Tim shakes his head.

"No, of course not! We had to do a poster!" He states, he doesn't bother with the sign language, the man didn't seem to be deaf judging by the scar on his throat.

The man points to the door before signing.

"You better go right now before my wife punishes you! As it is my child is in trouble!"

Tim, not wanting to cause a fight or scandal, walks to the door and leaves. He wonders how your father is going to "punish you", clearly you had to have been spoiled by someone to end up so rude - even if you were fun to hang out with for those hours.

Tim gets to the front of the apartment and gets into the car waiting for him. One thought was one his mind however:

Are you as bad as they all assumed you to be?

----

You wake up the next day to your dad and mother standing above you angrily. Not a good way to start the day and you had to sort out your red eyes before people asked if you'd been crying.

Heading to school was as uneventful as Gotham gets and when you get to the front gate you realize your two friends aren't at school today. Great. Your day is the best!

You debate sneaking back home and going on a day patrol, maybe running into Signal, though you hope not. He's nice and all but he along with the other Batman lackeys and Batman himself give you bad vibes, they set off your spider senses and cause you to feel icky when in their presence.

Before you can make a decision you hear your name being called out and Tim walking up to you with a serious expression. You think you're going to barf - now that you think about it, Tim gives you the same reaction Red Robin gives you - a feeling of anger and motion sickness.

Each vigilante gives a different type of icky feeling so it's crazy you haven't noticed Tim giving you the same feeling.

It's not your business though so you won't think about it further.

"Did you bring the poster?" He asks, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks to you in slight annoyance. "Duh. It's in my bag." You respond, rolling your eyes and handing him the poster.

He hums and puts it in his bag and you raise a brow. You won't question why he did it, probably just wanted the credit of handing it in.

With that you head to your first class of the day: Engineering.

[andypantsx3]

READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters

Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.

Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.

Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.

You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.

In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.

The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.

What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.

And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.

And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.

You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.

Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.

Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.

“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.

You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.

“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.

But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.

Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”

You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”

Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”

You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”

And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.

Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.

And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.

You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.

“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”

Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.

Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.

“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”

“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.

Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”

Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.

And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.

“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”

Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”

You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.

You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.

However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.

“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.

“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.

“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”

The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.

“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.

“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”

The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”

You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”

You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.

She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.

You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”

She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.

“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.

As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.

Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.

The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.

In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.

He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.

Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.

You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.

This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.

Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.

Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.

“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.

He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”

He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.

“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.

He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?

“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.

But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.

A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.

“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”

The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?

“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.

Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.

A thrill raced down your spine.

“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.

There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.

You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?

“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.

“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”

You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?

As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.

The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.

“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.

The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.

An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?

Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?

Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.

Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.

“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.

It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.

As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.

He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.

He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.

He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.

Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.

Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.

“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.

He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Something under your skin shifted in response, then.

To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.

“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.

It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.

It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.

Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.

It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.

His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.

“Your scent is….calming to me.”

You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.

“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.

“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.

Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.

You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.

God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.

You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.

Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.

You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.

But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.

Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.

You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.

[the3rddenialist]

Voices manifesting as pulsing blood in Hero's body

With specific voices Hero feel the pulsing blood in that area, which tempo is aligned with the frequency/amplitude of the voice

Narrator: Outside

Princess: Outside

Feels claustrophobic pressure when possessed

Hero: Doesn't pulse any particular part of TLQ, but is still noticeable

More like veins in general

Smitten: Feel blood pulsing in the chest

Like how 'love' is supposed to feel

Skeptic: Feel blood pulsing in the head/back of the head

Keep in the back of your mind Also mind vs heart dynamic w/ Smitten

Paranoid: Feel blood pulsing in the eyes

When he does his mantra, starts feeling blood pulsing in those regions as well

Cold: Feel blood pulsing in the back

Slowly creeps up from the bottom to top of spine

Opportunist: Feel blood pulsing in the hands

Something something trigger fingers

Hunted: Feel blood pulsing in the feet

Ready to jump/move/flee

Contrarian: Feel blood pulsing in the anywhere (wings)

Completely random, sometimes internal, sometimes external, always the opposite to the most recent voice After everything and nothing happens, pulsing is located in wings

Cheated: Feel blood pulsing in the vocal cords

Located in throat, completely gone when TLQ pushes everyone out at the end of the Razor paths

Broken: Feel blood pulsing in the ribcage

*stomach Tummyache, like a sickness

Stubborn: Feel blood pulsing in the limbs

Like how your blood rushes when fighting

[jesswritesthat]

Kirishima Eijirō: Intervention

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.8k, humour

• Yourself and Kirishima have spent the night in each others dorm rooms before, but this time your classmates decide to question you both about it.

Warnings: Suggestive, insinuations.

>>>>——————————>

It was bizarre, the atmosphere almost claustrophobic when you walked into the common area with Kirishima by your side. The pair of you abruptly quit laughing when met with utter silence and an intensity that suggested the rest of Class 3-A had been awaiting your timely arrival.

"Told you they'd be together, at least we know it wasn't a hit and run situation." Sero stated with a knowing smirk, though Izuku and a few of the girls sent him embarrassed looks.

"What are you are all doing here?"

"Staging a pre-intervention. For you and Kirishima." Iida sternly informed, a hand cementing the situation.

"Alright, we're open to listen. Have we done something wrong?" Eijirō respectfully added, though slightly apprehensive.

"We heard the two of you last night."

Immediately you furrowed your brows at them, and then exchanged a questionable look with Kirishima - instantly the scenario came to mind and sorry wouldn't nearly be enough. Still you held your hands up in defence and immediately began spewing your panicked apologies.

"We're so sorry! We didn't mean it to be that loud but—"

"Could you refrain from having sex in the dorms...?" Momo hid her face as Shōto calmly spoke, scarlet completely enveloping her as well as few of your friends. However it wasn’t nearly as prominent as the overwhelming awkwardness.

There was a heavy silence full of comprehension that cut your defence short, yourself and Kirishima critically trying to piece together the story (which you definitely hadn’t written).

"Having..." Eijirō started, with you finishing the thought train enraptured by equal puzzlement.

"...Sex?"

"Yes! Don't act all innocent - I heard you through my ceiling! (L/n) you screamed, and then there was the banging..." Denki pointed at you accusingly with flustered sparks flying from him, his argument convincing judging by his circumstances even if untrue.

"We were watching a horror film! The speakers were maxed so when the jump scare came I freaked out." You adamantly justified, desperately fighting the rising heat of your skin due to the insinuations.

"Sero tell them what you caught when passing by after leaving Shojis' room!" Denki rectified, nudging the tape hero’s’ shoulder encouragingly and with a hesitant sigh, Hanta reluctantly gave his testimony.

"I heard (Y/n) say 'Ah Eijirō not so hard! Be gentle with your grip.' and then a few moments later Kirishima goes '(Y/n), this is tight, you sure I’m okay to keep going?' - that's enough for me."

Again the awkwardness only seemed to increase with every piece of incriminating evidence they convicted you with. Shadows looming over the pair of you, the crushing embarrassment and spicy thoughts racing through both of your minds enough to melt you to the floor. Instead, you briskly pulled up your sleeve - white bandages (decorated a funky sharpie scribble of Red Riot) encircled your wrist.

"I did not sleep with Eijirō!"

"And I'd treat (Y/n) with far more class than that if we did, it's the manly thing to do!"

"After the scare I fell off of his bed hence the banging, Eijirō went into hero mode and tried to pull me up - hard." You sent him a pointed glare, as if scolding him again to which he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, then you continued. "I landed weird on my wrist, so we bandaged it, I wanted him to wrap it tight enough in case it was more than a sprain but it seems alright this morning."

With that you twisted your wrist, checking it again meanwhile your classmates processed the illuminating explanation with mutterings of understanding amongst themselves until Kirishima encouraged a unanimous agreement.

"That covers everything, but if watching a horror film leads to this, then we'll watch down here."

"Nah no need for that, it all makes sense now. Sorry for jumping to conclusions, just because you're dating doesn't mean you're doing the dirty so—“

"Kaminari, (Y/n) and I..." The redhead looked to you reassuringly, and before continuing he slung an arm around your shoulder which you naturally reciprocated. "We aren't dating man.”

“…”

"THIS IS EVEN WORSE THAN THE SEX SCANDAL!" Mina stood from her seat with an outraged tone, one that would’ve startled the others if they weren't in agreement with her.

"This whole time... (L/n) was available... could've made a move without feeling guilty..." Mineta quietly muttered, rocking back and forth in the corner.

"I'm sorry, how are you not dating?! How are they not dating?!" Uraraka shook Izukus’ shoulders aggressively whilst questioning such blasphemy.

"Just... wait but... you just... You guys are gonna be the reason I turn to smoking." Sero painfully pinched the bridge of his nose, whilst some were done with this idiocy before it even started (Shinsō, Bakugō, Tokoyami…).

"Eijirō... would you go on a date with me to spare their sanity? Is that reasonable? Is that manly of us?" Your voice shook with false concern, but it was the joking lilt to it that spread a shark tooth grin across the lips of Kirishima.

"Yeah, let's discuss it over lunch."

With that, and effortless laughter that seemed to mock your fellow classmates, you left the dormitory - not before asking if anyone wanted something picking up of course.

Yet watching the two of you leave like that, smiling so brightly with each other, had Class 3-A wondering if the two of you secretly were dating? And if you weren’t, did you truly not see the love you shared?

Honestly they almost wished they were right about last night.

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

Something about percy and the concept of breathing like

Sally has to tell percy to breathe once in a while (this and the next example is tv canon but its technically Rick's work since he wrote it so I'm counting it)

@vfdcatlady on here was talking about how percy was not frozen in time as the golden statue in the tunnel of love scene, but he was trapped inside and suffocated judging by the way he gasped for breath after coming back to life and by the way he was slightly panicking while the gold enveloped him as if he couldn't breathe.

Percy's fear in heroes of Olympus was drowning aka not being able to breathe

Percy canonically having issues of wheezing after coming back from tartarus

Edit: percy canonically hating claustrophobic spaces

[macknus]

Heroic Betrayal (VII)

Consequences

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

The concrete steps cut into her cheeks like a razor's edge, her shoulders hitting the walls and her feet tumbling over her head until she crashed and bashed every point of her body on the way down. She landed on her stomach, blood dripping from the side of her head, breath stolen from her chest. She tried to push herself up, but a hand grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her stumbling to her feet again.

She was going to be sick, nausea clung to her skin like oil, stuck in a twister of Supervillain’s strong sharp movements that she couldn’t anticipate with her pounding headache raging.

“Now, here we are,” Supervillain said. He shoved Morgan forward again. She cried out as she tripped over her feet, her ankle rolling as she tried to stop her momentum in vain. An edge of something metal caught her around the hips, and she fell forward, her torso folding with an oomph. A click and the room flooded with light. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut, the light burning compared to the pitch black it was not a moment ago.

Morgan squinted taking a quick survey of the room, searching for an escape, but no, no, no, no. There would be escape from this room that was just a concrete square of torture devices. Morgan’s heart jumped into her throat as she glanced down at the metal bench below her hands. It was a table. A surgical table. Her stomach bottomed out as she gasped involuntary, stepping back and right into a solid chest.

Her blood froze, ice in her veins, and she couldn’t stop the tremors of fear tearing through her. Two strong hands settled on her shoulders, and she flinched despite herself, her entire body trembling, her eyes and brain disoriented from the fall and the lack of oxygen and her fucking pounding headache. And she was really starting to wish she didn’t open her mouth.

Morgan let out a sharp breath, a claw of panic grabbing at her chest as her eyes scanned the room searching for a window or anything that would tell her she wasn’t underground right now. She couldn’t… couldn’t breathe, oh fuck, there were no windows, there was a window in the cells, she gasped, pushing back against the chest shaking her head.

“Oh, that’s right,” Supervillain cooed behind her, his voice painted with sick delight as his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Villain told me you were claustrophobic. Does being underground trigger it, Morgan?”

Morgan drove her elbow back wildly hitting her mark, but Supervillain didn’t flinch or even grunt. Instead, he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm up and around her back, the other going to the back of her neck and slammed her down against the table.

“You really have no manners, Morgan, do you know that?”

“F—fff— fuck you,” she said between fretful breaths. Every action, every movement was lessening and lessening, she only had a little bit of oxygen left in her lungs that was stuttering out. The walls pulsed closer, shrinking and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least the metal of the table was cool under her cheek.

Supervillain pushed her wrist further up her back until Morgan cried out, trying to kick back at Supervillain to get him to stop but the lack of oxygen in her lungs was dizzying as she scrambled. Her brain stuttered as she tried to remember any of her combat training as panic seized her throat.

She splayed her fingers, mind reaching, the invisible pull of her blades familiar as they rushed back to her hands. If she could just— two clangs against the door upstairs and Supervillain straightened, letting up some pressure. Morgan pulled and pulled, trying to rip the daggers through the obstacle but Supervillain grabbed her splayed fingers and pushed them back down into a fist, smothering her connection to her daggers, her safety.

“No!” Morgan wailed, struggling furiously under him, kicking back, trying to do anything, get anywhere away away away away from the danger, be able to breathe again properly. Her tears hit the metal table with wet, metallic drops, like a leaky tap dripping into the sink.

“What did I tell you about using your powers, Morgan, hmm?”

“Let go of me, you fucking psychopath!” Morgan cried, anger flooding her veins. With Supervillain’s hand off her neck, Morgan threw herself back with a roar of adrenaline mixed with fury. Supervillain’s grip tightened on her wrist, about to push it up but Morgan wedged a knee up between the table and shoved until the pair went stumbling.

Morgan slipped free of Supervillain’s hold in his stunned state, but he recovered quickly, grabbing at her hoodie but Morgan was too quick, and she was ascending the stairs, her breaths getting heavier but her breathing becoming even the closer she got to the surface.

She got to the door and grabbed the handle and shoved it open.

Only.

It didn’t open.

Morgan stared. No. No. No, no, no, nonononono!

NO!

Morgan slammed an open palm on the metal, screaming. “FLYNN! FLYNN I’M SORRY PLEASE! Please!”

Footsteps sounded on the staircase. Morgan slid down the door, banging weakly against it and crying out for Flynn to save her as Supervillain advanced again.

“Did you really think I’d leave a handle on the way out of this room, Morgan?”

Morgan swallowed the lump in her throat, focusing all her energy into the glare she shot at him, hoping he would melt right on the spot. Which he didn’t.

“You can come down and your punishment will be less severe than if I have to drag you down.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. She splayed her fingers again and wished, hoped, prayed that somehow, they would get through the thick metal door she was trapped behind.

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! What was she going to do? There was only one option for her right now and that was down, down into a tight, underground nightmare that was threatening to kill her. She needed— she needed to be able to breathe to think clearly, but even thinking was difficult at the thought of being dragged back down to Supervillain’s torture chamber.

Supervillain sighed, a few steps away from her. “Okay, Morgan. Have it your way.”

He reached down and grabbed her ankle and turned to walk down the stairs. Morgan kicked at him, landing a few solid ones on his arm and back before he was dragging her down and Morgan’s head smacked off the concrete steps. She didn’t even have time to scream or groan or whine, small gasps at every bounce fogged her vision until she was back on solid ground.

Supervillain appeared above her, grabbing her, one arm under her shoulders, the other her knees as he bent and scooped her up. She protested weakly, her brain rattled and her reaction time non-existent. Supervillain placed her on something cool under her skin, but she could feel something wet on the back of her head.

She reached a hand up to find the source of the wetness, but Supervillain grabbed her wrist before she could investigate and strapped it down to table in leather. He pulled the cuff tight around Morgan’s wrist, so tight she couldn’t move it left or right, just up and down. She whined when he took her other wrist and restrained it the same way by her side. Then he moved onto her ankles and soon Morgan couldn’t move an inch, her eyes glazed over and staring blankly above her.

Supervillain grabbed Morgan’s cheek, appearing in her scope of vision, but there was two of him now, a shadow or a clone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hmph, you spoiled some of my fun, Morgan. I was hoping to teach you this lesson to remember, but, oh well. I guess I’ll just have to leave a reminder for you when you’re more conscious, won’t I? Something you can’t ignore.”

Morgan blinked at him, the entire world moved like cotton, and she was completely out of it, Supervillain’s words echoing around her head. On loop over and over again, but still seemingly so far away.

“Lemme go,” she pleaded weakly, pulling at her restraints.

Supervillain smiled a wicked smile down at her. “I’m thinking something like a three-strike system, Morgan. Like tally marks or something to that effect. Something easy to understand, strike one was your insolence at dinner which will not be tolerated. What to do,” Supervillain mused stepped away from the metal table and out of sight.

Morgan pulled against her restraints, trying to loosen them as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Flynn… she thought hopelessly. Please, please, rescue me. Please.

Supervillain returned to the table, a hunting knife in hand. “Wait, no, please.” Morgan didn’t even know what she was protesting, but the words fell from her mouth anyways as Supervillain grabbed her right hand.

“Three strikes, Morgan. While I know I could cuff you in power dampeners and leave you down here to hyperventilate all night I think this will be far more effective.”

“Tell me Morgan,” Supervillain began as he started undoing the cuff of her right wrist. “Is it all knives you can summon with your ability?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Any will do.”

“Fascinating. And do they all sharpen your senses when you feel them in your hand?” Morgan glared at him as he freed her wrist and turned it, so the back of her hand was positioned above the metal table. Morgan didn’t bother asking him how he knew that, because she knew the answer he would be all too happy to supply. The reason Supervillain knew everything about her; Flynn told me.

“It depends on the knife,” Morgan answered, the pained fog of her mind ebbing and flowing allowing some coherent thoughts to pass through her brain. “None are as good as my blades, but that’s because I made them myself.”

“I will never cease to be awed by adepts and their crafts,” Supervillain said fondly, tracing the tip of the hunting knife up Morgan’s elbow and forearm before pinching it down slightly on Morgan’s wrist. Morgan didn’t dare struggle or move, afraid if she did the knife would slip and she would be dead. “But now that you’re more conscious, I’ll repeat your punishment.”

“We will do a three-strike system, this is strike one. With every strike I will leave a wound on you, a scar that will remind you not to make another mistake again, okay?”

Morgan shivered at how easy he explained his punishment system for her, as if he was telling her that her car needed a service or one day it would just stop. “Three strikes, and I will drag you along to watch Sidekick being murdered and you’ll know it was all your fault. Okay?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Wonderful.”

In one quick movement, Supervillain slid Morgan’s right hand over the rim of the table and plunged the hunting knife in all the way through her palm. A howling, banshee’s scream tore through Morgan’s throat as she bucked against her restraints, howling and screaming please, please, stop! Stop!

Tears and snot clogged her senses as she shook her head, her arm violently trembling against the trauma and Supervillain’s tight hold. Morgan splayed her fingers on her left hand, trying to summon the knife out of her hand, but Supervillain’s grip was too strong, or Morgan’s pull was too weak, and he twisted the knife in her hand instead, pulling more shrieking screams of pain from Morgan.

“There, now. The first two strikes will be in your palms, Morgan. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise… you,” he said, stressing the final words, “will fail.”

Morgan sobbed as her fingers tried to curl around the blade but could barely move more than a flinch in any direction. Morgan wouldn’t be able to summon her blade for this hand for a while, until the wound healed and even then… Would she get physio for the muscles and tendons Supervillain just cut through with a terrifying amount of strength?

Supervillain put a hand on Morgan’s hair, brushing the strands from her face like a parent would a child who’s eating an ice cream and threatening to get their hair stuck in it, chiding but fond.

“This doesn’t have to happen again, Morgan. We can be civil with each other. You and Flynn, I know you have a special connection. A bond. You can have a nice life here, free from the burdens of being a hero in this city, of always fighting uphill battles hmm? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Morgan shivered, staring up at Supervillain and she knew she probably looked sickly pale and ashen as she felt the blood harden around the blade in her palm, dripping down to the floor on the other side. She knew it would leave a scar, the reminder that Supervillain wanted her to know in her gut and it made her sick.

“So, Morgan,” Supervillain beamed, smiling down at her. “Will you behave?”

Morgan’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded, warm tears flooding her cheeks as she sniffled. Supervillain’s smile turned softer, comforting, like a concerned parent. “Use your words, Morgan.”

Morgan sniffed. “Y-yes,” she croaked.

“Yes, what?”

Morgan sucked in a breath. “I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Supervillain smiled. “Good. Good. Excellent. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Supervillain removed her restraints and sat her up on the metal table, and said he’d be a minute getting the things he needed around the room.

Morgan sat upright shaking violently and trying to hold her hand steady by supporting it with her free hand at the wrist. She stared blankly ahead, both staring at nothing and staring resolutely at one white painted brick, where the groove was a faded, paler white, less glaring at her while Supervillain gathered supplies.

Before too long Supervillain was in front of her, setting bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol down on the tray beside the bed. Along with other stuff Morgan wouldn’t think was necessary like a ruler and Q-tips and other supplies. He was wearing surgical gloves as well, and despite herself Morgan was thinking about what he did for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, her voice hollow.

Supervillain smiled a secretive smile at the question, as if he just found her out. “Ah. You’ve noticed, have you?”

Every once in a while, Morgan forgot that Supervillain was her nemesis of the last year, the Moriarty to her Sherlock Holmes, the Joker to her batman, although really more like the Riddler with how elusive he was. When she considered Supervillain’s job back before she knew him, she suspected it would be something as cerebral, like a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. She didn’t feel good that she was right.

“Yes, I’ve been a doctor since medschool. Long hours, overworked conditions, but I won’t bore you with hospital tales, and luckily for you I happen to be an acute trauma surgeon,” he told her, smiling at her through his lashes. “So, your hand won’t have too much lasting damage. I didn’t hit any of the important muscles or tendons.”

Morgan gasped, which sounded more like a bewildered laugh, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hissed as Supervillain pressed down on the wound. He smiled. “Sorry, I just have to make sure I didn’t hit anything important. Okay, yes.”

He took a Q-tip from the table and said, “okay, Morgan. I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Try not to move too suddenly.”

Morgan let out a sharp gasp of pain as Supervillain inserted the Q-tip through Morgan’s wound until it almost poked out the other side. “You’re doing great Morgan.”

But she wasn’t. She was going to be sick as he pulled it out and she saw the blood. The smell had never annoyed her before, but now the metallic kiss hung on the air like a factory that had to suddenly cease operations, a promise of something suspended between functioning and closure, hinting at something to come.

He set the Q-tip on the table and measured the blood stain against the ruler. Morgan stared down at it, her vision blurring slightly as her mind went woozy and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Supervillain was standing over her hands on her shoulders sitting her back up again. Morgan blinked, bile climbing up her throat.

“Here,” Supervillain said and shoved a bar of chocolate into Morgan’s hand, the wrapper already opened. Morgan blinked at it dumbly, and Supervillain gently guided it to her mouth. Morgan took a small bite of the sweet, velvet chocolate. “You fainted. You’re okay. It’s normal with this kind of injury, but I would like you conscious while I tend to it.”

Morgan blinked at him. When he was certain she wasn’t going to faint again he released her shoulders. This time Morgan remained upright.

“If you’re a doctor…” Morgan said, her head spinning, but she was determined to get this out of her head. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“Ah,” Supervillain smiled. “Yes. The Hippocratic oath. I did.”

“Then how can you justify this?” Morgan asked, nodding to her hand. That was a mistake as nausea swirled in her stomach. Supervillain remained silent for a moment, dabbing at the bleeding of the wound, staunching the blood and cleaning around it. His movements were so methodical, so clean and purposeful, Morgan found her eyes drawn to it as she took another bite of chocolate.

“Where I stabbed you, Morgan, is a very delicate place to be stabbed. There is a flurry of activity in the centre of your palm.” Supervillain squeezed just below the wound and Morgan squirmed with a groan. “Here is your carpal ligament that controls the movement of your thumb, index and middle finger.”

He squeezed Morgan’s thumb and said: “and here are all the muscles for full use of your thumb. If I went too far to the right, I could risk damaging the ligaments that connect to your other two fingers or hitting a clump of nerves.”

Supervillain dropped Morgan’s hand and held up his own, pinching the spot the dagger went through Morgan’s palm. “Here, there is a hole in your hand. No bone, no muscle, no nerves or ligaments. Minimal damage and less time for recovery. No need for more than standard hand physio and six weeks recovery at most.”

Supervillain smiled at Morgan. “The Hippocratic Oath is an oath all doctors must take to do no harm. However, all doctors must accept that in order to make something better, there must first be pain. To treat the sick, they must make the sick endure the pain, and fight infection, the body must fight.”

“Your defiance, in the long run, will make you worse than if I curb it now. So, I am doing no harm, by ensuring that you quit fighting me unnecessarily. The same way I am trying to stop this city from running straight to ruin. I must do no harm,” his smile was warm, “as a doctor. But as a civilian I can’t stand by and watch this city burn. Does that answer your question?”

Morgan stared. Then shrugged with her good shoulder. “Not really, but I’m kinda woozy from blood loss right now.”

Supervillain laughed. “Mmm, let’s do something about it.”

Supervillain worked fast, careful to only press too hard when Morgan gave him a snarky reply, and later on she would wonder how she got so comfortable with the man bandaging her up, when he was the same man that stabbed her in the first place. She would attribute it to blood loss and Supervillain would bandage her head and help her up the stairs he threw her down before, and when they got into the kitchen, he gave her painkillers and water.

Flynn rushed through the doors, his heart racing when he saw Morgan. Her head bandaged and her hand bound so tight and thick that Morgan couldn’t close her fingers even if she wanted to.

“M-Morgan?” He asked, breathless. Morgan smiled at him when he came in and waved. Flynn was by her side in a second, while Supervillain stopped chatting to her about why they chose to replace the black and white tiles for the floor in the kitchen. “Are you okay? Morgan, oh—”

“She’s fine,” Supervillain said lightly. “We’ve cleared the air, haven’t we Morgan?”

Morgan nodded, smiling at Flynn. Something she’d attribute to her concussion later because everything was just a little too smiley, a little too comfortable, a little too easy, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Supervillain didn’t give her the floating, high-end painkillers.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard the screaming,” Flynn said, his hands going to Morgan’s cheeks, checking her over and looking for any sign that she was lying to him. Other than her too large pupils she seemed okay. “I— your daggers— you—”

Morgan grabbed Flynn’s hand with her unbandaged one and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears brimmed on top of Flynn’s bottom eyelids as he looked at Morgan, his Morgan, acting so unlike herself. So compliant and soft. It made him ill, the fact that he was the reason Morgan was injured in the first place. That she was being subjected to the whims of his family.

God, he didn’t think Dad would do this…

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Morgan asked with wide eyes.

Flynn ran a thumb over her bruised cheek, his touch featherlight. “Of course. Will you give out to me tomorrow about it?”

She shrugged happily. “Probably.”

Flynn laughed and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’d love to.”

Flynn helped her stand and wrapped his fingers around hers keeping her close. “Be sure she doesn’t sleep for the next hour or two.”

“We can watch a movie!” Morgan said, her voice light and chirpy, so like it was when she’d get excited before that it made Flynn’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he guided her out of the kitchen, away from his father and up the stairs to her room, terrified that if he dropped her hand for even a second, he would lose her forever. “We can watch a movie.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Helo helo, just asking...r u planning to update heroic betrayal? 👁👁 NO RUSH THOUGH IT'S JUST REALLY GOOD AND I CAN'T WAIT SJSJHSHSH

GOOD DAY!!

Heroic Betrayal (X)

Read part one // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to everyone who commented under the last part, that made me cackle like a maniac, and everyone who asked for a continuation of this series that warmed my heart— I’m so sorry it took so long, and I hope you enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*

The concrete cut into her cheeks like a sharp edge, her shoulders hitting the walls and her feet tumbling over her head until she crashed and bashed every point in her body on the way down. She ended up on her stomach, blood dripping from the side of her head. She tried to push herself up, but a hand grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her stumbling to her feet.

She felt like she was going to be sick, stuck in a twister of Supervillain’s strong sharp movements that she couldn’t anticipate with her pounding headache raging.

“Now, here we are,” Supervillain said and he shoved Hero forward again. Hero tripped over her feet, her ankle rolling as they tried to stop her momentum in vain. An edge of something metal caught her around the hips and she fell forward, her torso folding with an oomph. A click and the room flooded with light. Hero squeezed her eyes shut, the light burning compared to the pitch black it was not a moment ago.

Hero squinted taking a quick survey of the room, searching for an escape, but no, no, no, no. There would be escape from this room that was just a concrete square of torture devices. Hero’s heart jumped into her throat as she glanced down at the metal bench below her hands. It was a table. A surgical table. Her stomach bottomed out as she gasped involuntary, stepping back and right into a solid chest.

Her blood ran cold and she couldn’t stop the tremors of fear tearing through her. Two strong hands settled on her shoulders and she flinched despite herself, her entire body trembling, her eyes and brain disoriented from the fall and the lack of oxygen and her fucking pounding headache. And she was really starting to wish she didn’t open her mouth.

Hero let out a sharp breath, a claw of panic grabbing at her chest as her eyes scanned the room searching for a window or anything that would tell her she wasn’t underground right now. She couldn’t… couldn’t breathe, oh fuck, there were no windows, there was a window in the cells, she gasped, pushing back against the chest shaking her head.

“Oh that’s right,” Supervillain cooed behind her, his voice painted with sick delight as his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Villain told me you were claustrophobic. Does being underground trigger it, Hero?”

Hero drove her elbow back wildly hitting her mark, but Supervillain didn’t flinch or even grunt. Instead he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm up and around her back, the other going to the back of her neck and slammed her down against the table.

“You really have no manners, Hero, do you know that?”

“F—fff— fuck you,” she said between fretful breaths. Every action, every movement was lessening and lessening, she only had a little bit of oxygen left in her lungs that was stuttering out. The walls pulsing closer, shrinking and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least the metal of the table was cool under her cheek.

Supervillain pushed her wrist further up her back until Hero was crying out, trying to kick back at Supervillain to get him to stop but the lack of oxygen in her lungs was dizzying as she scrambled. Her brain was fried, and she couldn’t remember any of her combat training as panic seized her throat.

She splayed her fingers, mind reaching, the invisible pull of her blades familiar as they rushed back to her hands. If she could just— two clangs against the door upstairs and Supervillain straightened, letting up some pressure. Hero pulled and pulled, trying to rip the daggers through the obstacle but Supervillain grabbed her splayed fingers and pushed them back down into a fist, smothering her connection to her daggers.

“No!” Hero wailed, struggling furiously under him, kicking back, trying to do anything, get anywhere away away away away from the danger, be able to breathe again properly. Her tears hit the metal table with wet, metallic drops, like a leaky tap dripping into the sink.

“What did I tell you about using your powers, Hero, hmm?”

“Let go of me, you fucking psychopath!” Hero cried, anger flooding her veins. With Supervillain’s hand off her neck, Hero threw herself back with a roar of adrenaline mixed with fury. Supervillain’s grip tightened on her wrist, about to push it up but Hero wedged a knee up between the table and shoved until the pair went stumbling.

Hero slipped free of Supervillain’s hold in his stunned state, but he recovered quickly, grabbing at her hoodie but Hero was too quick, and she was ascending the stairs, her breaths getting heavier but her breathing becoming even the closer she got to the surface.

She got to the door and grabbed the handle and shoved it open.

Only.

It didn’t open.

Hero stared. No. No. No, no, no, nonononono!

NO!

Hero slammed an open palm on the metal, screaming. “FLYNN! FLYNN I’M SORRY PLEASE! Please!”

Footsteps on the staircase. Hero slid down the door, banging weakly against it and crying out for Flynn to save her as Supervillain advanced again.

“Did you really think I’d leave a handle on the way out of this room, Hero?”

Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, focusing all her energy into the glare she shot at him, hoping he would melt right on the spot. Which he didn’t.

“You can come down and your punishment will be less severe than if I have to drag you down.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. She splayed her fingers again and wished, hoped, prayed that somehow they would get through the thick metal door she was trapped behind.

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! What was she going to do? There was only one option for her right now and that was down, down into a tight, underground nightmare that was threatening to kill her. She needed— she needed to be able to breathe to think clearly, but even thinking was difficult at the thought of being dragged back down to Supervillain’s torture chamber.

Supervillain sighed, a few steps away from her. “Okay, Hero. Have it your way.”

He reached down and grabbed her ankle and turned to walk down the stairs. Hero kicked at him, landing a few solid ones on his arm and back before he was dragging her down and Hero’s head smacked off the concrete steps. She didn’t even have time to scream or groan or whine, small gasps at every bounce fogged her vision until she was back on solid ground.

Supervillain appeared above her, grabbing her, one arm under her shoulders, the other her knees as he bent over and scooped her up. She protested weakly, her brain rattled and her reaction time non-existent. Supervillain placed her on something cool under her skin, but she could feel something wet on the back of her head.

She reached a hand up to find the source of the wetness, but Supervillain grabbed her wrist before she could investigate and strapped it down to table in leather. He pulled the cuff tight around Hero’s wrist, so tight she couldn’t move it left or right, just up and down. She whined when he took her other wrist and restrained it the same way by her side. Then he moved onto her ankles and soon Hero couldn’t move an inch, her eyes glazed over and staring blankly above her.

Supervillain grabbed Hero’s cheek, appearing in her scope of vision, but there was two of him now, a shadow or a clone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hmph, you spoiled some of my fun, Hero. I was hoping to teach you this lesson to remember, but, oh well. I guess I’ll just have to leave a reminder for you when you’re more conscious, won’t I? Something you can’t ignore.”

Hero blinked at him, the entire world moved like cotton and she was completely out of it, Supervillain’s words echoing around her head. On loop over and over again, but still seemingly so far away.

“Lemme go,” she pleaded weakly, pulling at her restraints.

Supervillain smiled a wicked smile down at her. “I’m thinking something like a three strike system, Hero. Like tally marks or something to that effect. Something easy to understand, strike one was your insolence at dinner which will not be tolerated. What to do,” Supervillain mused stepped away from the metal table and out of sight.

Hero pulled against her restraints, trying to loosen them as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Flynn… she thought hopelessly. Please, please, rescue me. Please.

Supervillain returned to the table, a hunting knife in hand. “Wait, no, please.” Hero didn’t even know what she was protesting, but the words fell from her mouth anyways as Supervillain grabbed her right hand.

“Three strikes, Hero. While I know I could cuff you in power dampeners and leave you down here to hyperventilate all night I think this will be far more effective.”

“Tell me Hero,” Supervillain began as he started undoing the cuff of her right wrist. “Is it all knives you can summon with your ability?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Any will do.”

“Fascinating. And do they all sharpen your senses when you feel them in your hand?” Hero glared at him as he free her wrist and turned it so the back of her hand was positioned above the metal table. Hero didn’t bother asking him how he knew that, because she knew the answer he would be all too happy to supply. The reason Supervillain knew everything about her; Flynn told me.

“It depends on the knife,” Hero answered, the pained fog of her mind ebbing and flowing allowing some coherent thoughts to pass through her brain. “None are as good as my blades, but that’s because I made them myself.”

“I will never cease to be awed by adepts and their crafts,” Supervillain said fondly, tracing the tip of the hunting knife up Hero’s elbow and forearm before pinching it down slightly on Hero’s wrist. Hero didn’t dare struggle or move, afraid if she did the knife would slip and she would be dead. “But now that you’re more conscious, I’ll repeat your punishment.”

“We will do a three strike system, this is strike one. With every strike I will leave a wound on you, a scar that will remind you not to make another mistake again, okay?”

Hero shivered at how easy he explained his punishment system for her, as if he was telling her that her car needed an service or one day it would just stop. “Three strikes, and I will drag you along to watch Sidekick being murdered and you’ll know it was all your fault. Okay?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Wonderful.”

In one quick movement, Supervillain slid Hero’s right hand over the rim of the table and plunged the hunting knife in all the way through her palm. A howling, banshee’s scream tore through Hero’s throat as she bucked against her restraints, howling and screaming: please, please, stop! Stop!

Tears and snot clogged her senses as she shook her head, her arm violently trembling against the trauma and Supervillain’s tight hold. Hero splayed her fingers on her left hand, trying to summon the knife out of her hand, but Supervillain’s grip was too strong, or Hero’s pull was too weak, and he twisted the knife in her hand instead, pulling more shrieking screams of pain from Hero.

“There, now. The first two strikes will be in your palms, Hero. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you,” he said, stressing the final words, “will fail.”

Hero sobbed as her fingers tried to curl around the blade but could barely move more than a flinch in any direction. Hero wouldn’t be able to summon her blade for this hand for a while, until the wound healed and even then? Would she get physio for the muscles and tendons Supervillain just cut through with a terrifying amount of strength?

Supervillain put a hand on Hero’s hair, brushing the strands from her face like a parent would a child who’s eating an ice cream and threatening to get their hair stuck in it, chiding but fond.

“This doesn’t have to happen again, Hero. We can be civil with each other. You and Flynn, I know you have a special connection. A bond. You can have a nice life here, free from the burdens of being a hero in this city, of always fighting uphill battles hmm? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Hero was shivering, staring up at Supervillain and she knew she probably looked sickly pale and ashen as she felt the blood harden around the blade in her palm, dripping down to the floor on the other side. She knew it would leave a scar, the reminder that Supervillain wanted her to know in her gut and it made her sick.

“So Hero,” Supervillain beamed, smiling down at her. “Will you behave?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded, warm tears flooding her cheeks as she sniffled. Supervillain’s smile turned softer, comforting, like a concerned parent. “Use your words, Hero.”

Hero sniffed. “Y-yes,” she croaked.

“Yes, what?”

Hero sucked in a breath. “I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Supervillain smiled. “Good. Good. Excellent. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Supervillain removed her restraints and sat her up on the metal table, and said he’d be a minute getting the things he needed around the room.

Hero sat upright shaking violently and trying to hold her hand steady by supporting it with her free hand at the wrist. She stared blankly ahead, both staring at nothing and staring resolutely at one white painted brick, where the groove was a faded, paler white, less glaring at her while Supervillain gathered supplies.

Before too long Supervillain was in front of her, setting bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol down on the tray beside the bed. Along with other stuff Hero wouldn’t think was necessary like a ruler and Q-tips and other supplies. He was wearing surgical gloves as well, and despite herself Hero was thinking about what he did for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, her voice hollow.

Supervillain smiled a secretive smile at the question, as if he just found her out. “Ah. You’ve noticed, have you?”

Every once in a while Hero forgot that Supervillain was her nemesis of the last year, the Moriarty to her Sherlock Holmes, the Joker to her batman, although really more like the Riddler with how elusive he was. When she considered Supervillain’s job back before she knew him, she suspected it would be something as cerebral, like a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. She didn’t feel good that she was right.

“Yes, I’ve been a doctor since medschool. Long hours, overworked conditions, but I won’t bore you with hospital tales, snd luckily for you I happen to be an acute trauma surgeon,” he told her, smiling up at her through his lashes. “So your hand won’t have too much lasting damage. I didn’t hit any of the important muscles or tendons.”

Hero gasped, which sounded more like a bewildered laugh, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hissed as Supervillain pressed down on the wound. He smiled. “Sorry, I just have to make sure I didn’t hit anything important. Okay, yes.”

He took a Q-tip from the table and said, “okay, Hero. I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Try not to move too suddenly.”

Hero let out a sharp gasp of pain aa Sueprvillain inserted the Q-tip through Hero’s wound until it almost poked out the other side. “You’re doing great Hero.”

But she wasn’t. She was going to be sick as he pulled it out and she saw the blood. The smell had never annoyed her before, but now the metallic kiss hung on the air like a factory that had to suddenly cease operations, a promise of something to come.

He set the Q-tip on the table and measured the blood stain against the ruler. Hero stared down at it, her vision blurring slightly as her mind went woozy and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Supervillain was standing over her hands on her shoulders sitting her back up again. Hero blinked, bile climbing up her throat.

“Here,” Supervillain said and shoved a bar of chocolate into Hero’s hand, the wrapper already opened. Hero blinked at it dumbly, and Supervillain gently guided it to her mouth. Hero took a small bite of the sweet, velvet chocolate. “You fainted. You’re okay. It’s normal with this kind of injury, but I would like you conscious while I tend to it.”

Hero blinked at him and when he was certain she wasn’t going to faint again he released her shoulders and Hero remained upright.

“If you’re a doctor…” Hero said, her head spinning, but she was determined to get this out of her head. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“Ah,” Supervillain smiled. “Yes. The hippocratic oath. I did.”

“Then how can you justify this?” Hero asked, nodding to her hand. Supervillain was silent for a moment, dabbing at the bleeding of the wound, staunching the blood and cleaning around it. His movements were so methodical, so clean and purposeful, Hero found their eyes drawn to it as she took another bite of chocolate.

“Where I stabbed you, Hero, is a very delicate place to be stabbed. There is a flurry of activity in the centre of your palm.” Supervillain squeezed just below the wound and Hero squirmed with a groan. “Here is your carpal ligament that controls the movement of your thumb, index and middle finger.”

He squeezed Hero’s thumb and said: “and here are all the muscles for full use of your thumb. If I went too far to the right I could risk damaging the ligaments that connect to your other two fingers, or hitting a clump of nerves.”

Supervillain dropped Hero’s hand and held up his own, pinching the spot the dagger went through Hero’s palm. “Here, there is a hole in your hand. No bone, no muscle, no nerves or ligaments. Minimal damage and less time for recovery. No need for more than standard hand physio and six weeks recovery at most.”

Supervillain smiled at Hero. “The Hippocratic Oath is an oath all doctors must take to do no harm. However, all doctors must accept that in order to make something better, there must first be pain. To treat the sick they must make the sick endure the pain, and fight infection, the body must fight.”

“Your defiance, in the long run, will make you worse than if I curb it now. So I am doing no harm, by ensuring that you quit fighting me unnecessarily. The same way I am trying to stop this city from running straight to ruin.”

“I must do no harm,” his smile was warm, “as a doctor. But as a civilian I can’t stand by and watch this city burn. Does that answer your question?”

Hero stared. Then shrugged with their good shoulder. “Not really, but I’m kinda woozy from blood loss right now.”

Supervillain laughed. “Mmm, let’s do something about it.”

Supervillain worked fast, careful to only press too hard when Hero gave him a snarky reply, and later on she would wonder how she got so comfortable with the man bandaging her up being the same man that stabbed her in the first place. She would attribute it to blood loss and Supervillain would bandage her head and help her up the stairs he threw her down before, and when they got into the kitchen he gave her painkillers and water.

Flynn rushed through the doors, his heart racing when he saw Hero. Her head bandaged and her hand bound so tight and thick that Hero couldn’t close her fingers even if she wanted to.

“H-Hero?” He asked, breathless. Hero smiled at him when he came in and waved. Flynn was by her side in a second, while Supervillain stopped chatting to her about the reason they chose to replace the black and white tiles for the floor in the kitchen. “Are you okay? Hero, oh—”

“She’s fine,” Supervillain said lightly. “We’ve cleared the air, haven’t we Hero?”

Hero nodded, smiling at Flynn. Something she’d attribute to her concussion later because everything was just a little too smiley, a little too comfortable, a little too easy, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Supervillain didn’t give her the floating, high end painkillers.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard the screaming,” Flynn said, his hands going to Hero’s cheeks, checking her over and looking for any sign that she was lying to him. Other than her too large pupils she seemed okay. “I— your daggers— you—”

Hero grabbed Flynn’s hand with her unbandaged one and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears brimmed on top of Flynn’s bottom eyelids as he looked at Hero, his Hero, acting so unlike herself. So compliant and soft. It made him ill, the fact that he was the reason Hero was injured in the first place. That she was being subjected to the whims of his family.

God, he didn’t think Dad would do this…

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hero asked with wide eyes.

Flynn ran a thumb over her bruised cheek, his touch featherlight. “Of course. Will you give out to me tomorrow about it?”

She shrugged happily. “Probably.”

Flynn laughed, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’d love to.”

Flynn helped her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers keeping her close. “Be sure she doesn’t sleep for the next hour or two.”

“We can watch a movie!” Hero said, her voice light and chirpy, so like it was when she’d get excited before that it made Flynn’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he guided her out of the kitchen, away from his father and up the stairs to her room, terrified that if he dropped her hand for even a second he would lose her forever. “We can watch a movie.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call: (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @xenlust @books-are-everything @micechomper @shywhumpauthor @aarika-merrill @0eggdealer @watermelonrandom @tippytappytyping @swift-perseides @gloriousqueen101 @isnortkoolaidpowderteehee @jumpywhumpywriter @bitter-space @lumpofsand

@xxgalgurlxx @silentpotat0 @ladygwennn @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[bkgml]

hii! i have a hurt/comfort idea with pro hero bakugo where basically his pro hero wife (or gf) comes home looking like shit after getting called to save civilians from a flood caused by a villian (but her quirk doesn't have to do with water) since the other aquatic heroes weren't available n basically shes upset with herself since she wasnt able to save everyone :( anddd bkg comforts her and cleans up her wounds

ive had this idea for a long time and i thought youd execute it perfectly 💙💙

“i made dinner! you better like it because i lowered the spice level for you!” katsuki yells from his spot in the kitchen.

you shut the door lightly. there’s a hollow expression on your face, dried tear streaks covering your skin.

you can’t find the strength to reply to him.

“hey, did you go deaf on patrol??” he calls, voice getting closer as he rounds the corner.

he stills at your sullen face, his fingers twitching.

“baby? what’s wrong, what happened?” he says in a whisper, trailing over to you.

your empty gaze stays glued to the wooden floors of your shared home, unable to look at him.

he immediately goes into protection mode.

“can i touch you?” he whispers softly.

you offer a small nod, letting him know you won’t flinch or get uncomfortable.

he brushes his hand across your cheek before moving down to grab you from under the armpits.

he pulls you to him and you gently wrap your limbs around him, a small sniffle escaping you.

“shhh i know.” katsuki comforts you, starting to walk to the couch with you still tight in his hold.

he sits you on the couch and gets on his knees in front of you, grabbing your foot to unlace your boots.

when he’s done he stands and places your boots in the front hall before returning in front of you.

he grabs your hands while still just kneeling there for you.

“ready to talk?” he asks slowly.

your brows furrow and you shake your head.

“okay, let’s go shower.” he says before lifting you again. he’s never pushed you to talk in situations like these and you’ll have to remember to thank him for that later.

the walk to the bathroom is silent. he strokes your soaked hair and rubs your back over your equally drenched hero suit.

he wants to ask what happened, wants to tell you he’ll be able to help you once he knows what it is.

he sits you down on the toilet seat before grabbing the first aid kit and resumes his spot in front of you.

“you need to take your suit off baby.” he says gently.

you look down at your suit covered in blood and soaked with water and tears.

sniffling, you grab the zipper on the front of your suit. you tug on it gently and it won’t budge. tug on it a little harder, frustrated tears burning in your eyes. you rip the zipper as hard as you can and start to tug on the fabric of your suit. you feel constricted and claustrophobic and hurried sobs rip from your throat.

“hey. hey. stop. i’ve got you. katsuki’s here.” he mumbles grabbing your wrists and peeling your hands off your body.

“i can’t- it won’t come off! i can’t do this.” you whimper, squirming in his hold.

he shushes you gently, caressing your face to wipe the tears.

“i got it, okay?” he assures you, reaching for the zipper and pulling the trapped fabric that stopped the mechanism from working before freeing you from the suit.

you continue to sob as he takes your suit off and once you’re free there’s a myriad of kisses pressed into the skin of your face and hands.

he waits with you. doesn’t rush you by immediately cleaning your wounds, he just waits. letting you cry while he rubs your thighs to keep you warm and kisses your face.

once the tears slow he presses a last kiss to your forehead before pulling back to his spot on the floor.

“can i clean you up now?” he asks softly.

you sniffle, wiping your hands down your face and nodding.

“okay.” he says sweetly, opening the first aid kit while assessing your wounds.

the alcohol he uses to disinfect your cuts stings, but every wince you make disgusts you compared to what the victims of the flood endured.

he finishes disinfecting your wounds and makes a note to himself that there were only small cuts and bruises, they should all heal quickly.

“okay, we gotta shower now baby.” he says, grabbing your face in both hands to make you look at him.

“kay.” you nod and stand on shaky legs to remove the last of your clothes.

katsuki does the same after turning the water on, the pitter patter of the water hitting the tiled floor mimics the white noise in your head.

you feel katsuki wrap his hand around yours, pulling you into the warm shower.

you sigh deeply at the feeling of the water against your skin.

katsuki starts to clean you up, top to bottom. shampooing your hair before grabbing a loofa and dragging it down your arms and stomach, careful not to irritate any of your cuts, then gets back on his knees to scrub your legs.

a whimper makes break his focus. looking up at you, he watches as you break out into wailing sobs, echoing off the walls of the shower.

“i know. just let it out.” he says, continuing to clean you off.

when the tears don’t stop he puts the loofa down and look up at you.

he’s never seen you cry like this before.

standing from his spot on the ground, he drags his hands up your body, caressing you with care.

“it’s over now. you’re safe.” he whispers, arms wrapping around your head to pull you close.

“they’re not safe.” you mumble uncomfortably.

he looks down at you, trying to be eye level.

“who’s not?” he questions.

“i couldn’t save them. i was drowning. the villain covered the city in water and-” a choked sound rips from your throat.

“windows on the apartment shattered and all the bodies… they all got swept into the water.”

katsuki’s eyes widen, he didn’t know what to expect but it definitely wasn’t this.

“it’s not your fault baby, you did everything you could.” he soothes, kissing your face in a desperate need to convince you.

your eyes meet his for the first time tonight, you look broken. it’s like the light from your eyes has been drained.

“i know it’s my fault katsuki.”

your words suffocate him, he doesn’t understand how to help you and it’s killing him inside.

“and they know it’s my fault too.”

your eyes bore into his skull and he tightens his grip on you.

“what? what do you mean, what happened?” he’s desperate. desperate for answers. desperate because he couldn’t help you. desperate to get his girlfriend back.

“the woman’s husband. the boys mother. the little girl whose mother died because of me!” you’re desperate too. you don’t deserve to be held and comforted after what you did.

you struggle in katsuki’s grip but he doesn’t let you go.

“you didn’t do anything wrong. this wasn’t your fault, and you did everything you could. this isn’t a villain you should’ve been sent to deal with, especially on your own. you can’t punish yourself for things that were out of your hands. you stopped the villain, okay?” katsuki says firmly, voice not wavering once.

you stop struggling, knees going weak in his hold. he picks you up and lets you koala around him, the vibrations from your whimpers and sobs echoing off his skin.

“it wasn’t your fault.” he whispers into your ear.

he shuts off the water, taking you outside and wrapping a towel around you.

you’re shivering. partly from the cold and partly from guilt and sorrow.

but katsuki’s there. to hold you up, to keep you from falling apart.

“i’m here.” he whispers as he lays you down in bed, not caring about your wet hair and choosing to forgo getting you both dressed.

he climbs in next to you, pulls the covers over your cold body and wraps his arm around your waist, the other coming to play with your hair in a final attempt to soothe you.

“i love you. more than anything, okay?” you nod, silent tears streaming down your face.

“i’m so proud of you.” you sniffle, inching closer to him to tuck your face in his warm chest.

you both stay like that, his fingers running through your hair and your steady puffs of breath hitting his chest.

“goodnight angel.”

[galahadwilder]

Dame Marinette of House Dupain, hero of the realm of Cheng, is tasked with defeating the Demon King Chat Noir. Chat Noir took the throne after the previous Demon King, Hawkmoth, disappeared and has led the demon forces ever since.

However, when she arrives at the Demon Castle and fights her way past the Akuma and the Sentibeasts to the throne room, she finds a beautiful, anxiety-ridden claustrophobe on the throne who swears her his hand in marriage if she’ll just get him out of here he doesn’t want to be the Demon King please save me

[icarusredwings]

Carly Crocker

(Not to be confused with Carly Boothe, That's Al's girlfriend, This is Beast's wife, Story of Wade meeting her at the end)

The beauty and the beast episode pissed me off, so let's go, In finding home AU Carly Anne Crocker (aka the ex blind girl) shows up later to the mansconfesses her feelings to Hank. This time, Jeans words ring in his head about letting a girl decide how much she wants to risk and can't turn her away. If anything, he is overwhelmed with joy. I mean, come on, it doesn't take a genius to know he struggles with romance so the fact that he loved her so much and let her go, and she still came back to him? It's enough to make his entire face purple and spin her around. And if you're wondering, 'Do they replace Scott and Jean as the mansion 'lovebirds' ?'

YES. Yes, they do. Because there is not a word that describes how utterly whipped he is for her, and she sees no one else the way him, even before the operation. She can still recognize him by scent and foot steps alone.

Now that I fixed that, here's some head canons.

Carly, now that she stays at the mansion, can quickly be unnoticeable, especially if you don't go in the basement or the lab. Most people only first meet/ notice her when he comes upstairs with her on his arm.

She is mainly seen talking with Jean, but she has no distaste for any of the others. Anyone can come talk to her, and she would be more than happy to talk. She does occasionally ask questions that might seem personal, letting her curiosities of her new friends get to her.

Asking Kurt why his tail wraps around peoples legs when he hugs them, asking Kitty what would happen if she accidently got stuck in a wall, asking Ororo why she was claustrophobic, asking Logan what it was like in the 1800s. Asking Remy what it was like growing up on the streets with his type of powers. She once even asked Charles if he had regrets about opening a school.

Some things she just stook to asking Hank about. Like why Rouge didn't have a very strong trust in other women other than the ones on the team. Or How Scott delt with all the preasure of somehow representing the X men when the entire world seemed to dislike them until a time of crisis when heros are needed.

For the most part, he'd quote something at her or give her a simple awnser. "My dear, Rouge has had a hard life, and not a great time with her mother. I would steer clear of asking her this directly seeing as you dont wish to upset her, do you?" Its asked in a genuine stand point. Never trying to shame her into not being curious.

Of course, she doesn't wish to upset her friends. But there is so many lies on the media and they hold struggles she couldn't possibly understand without asking.

Hank is very chivalrous, between opening doors, taking her hand when they go up the steps, writing her notes, looks away when he feels shes indecent (dispite them having gotten married almost asap) Brings her small gifts of flowers and cakes, anything really he finds she might enjoy.

Being practically attached to the hip, she learns a lot of things and becomes somewhat of an assistant type, bringing him things, scolding him for staying up too late, forcing him to take breaks in order to eat, teasing him as a last resort. It's very Pepper Potts of her really.

Except Hank isn't like Stark. He listens (most days 🙄) seeing as he finds Carly can be very.. distracting.. when she wants too.

Mainly, She dosn't call him beasts unless she is saying "My Beast" or "Youre the only beast in my heart." Sappy stuff like that drives Hank insane. What also makes him a bit looney is when she refers to herself as "Mrs. McCoy." Or calls for him with a sweet low "Oh, Henry~"

Other than that, it's either Hank, Dr. McCoy or just Sweetie.

Carly also doesn't mind him hanging from things. She finds it cute and often teases him about Spiderman kissing her. She also simply adores when the bed dips down low and she can cuddle him like a huge teddy. Who needs a blanket when your husband was covered in the softest fur you've ever felt?

Sometimes Carly brushes him out, to save the drain later you know? But also it felt nice to get him to finally relax and lean into her. She would kiss his face and tell him how handsome he is, dragging the brush across his arms and chest, giggling at how love drunk he looks.

Other times, when Carly got cold she'd just come to him and he'll hold her while working, walking around with her in his arm, her snuggled up on his shoulder. Something Carly has learned is that Hank is very touchy. Almost starved for it so she dosn't mind being carried or held.

He rubs her back, pecking kisses onto her head while he types up something or reads. Sometimes the children make fun of him, comparing carly and him to when king kong grabs that girl and climbs the empire state building. It makes Hank a bit upset but Carly giggles because they have no clue just how safe she feels in his arms.

I wanna assume that during her periods he carries her extra and wraps one of those travel heating pads around her, gives her pain meds and makes her food. Domestic stuff that really just makes you wanna AUUUGGHH when you think about it cause god damn hes a romantic.

At first, Hank, being so gentle with her was sweet. How gently he'd hold her in bed, how softly he'd be sure to grip her when carrying her. But Carly gets a bit frustrated when Hank acts like she's made from glass.

I can see him humming Mozart to her, calling her Dear 24/7, quoting poetry to her, being sure to kiss her before he leaves on missions, etc.

He is OBSESSED when she wears his white coat because its so big on her. He thinks its adorable and cant help but stare when ever he sees her walking around in it. (Even though she lowkey looks like the pope) Carly likes wearing it when its cold in the lab or when shes taking a nap in his library chair because it smells like him. Hank has many pictures of her but one of his favorites is when you fell asleep in his chair while wearing his coat and you can clearly see in the picture that you dozed off while reading. He thinks its absolutely the best thing in that stupid cellular device.

I can definitely see their first night together- TOGETHER being something difficult. Hes too gentle with her and it takes her riling him up to get him to fuck her properly. She fully understands what shes getting into and they have plenty of time and lube, so why not?

"Henry my darling, I love you very much, and I know you are scared but I am not damaged, I'm not going to shatter if you touch me. I'm not an old vase, I am your wife. One who is capable of deciding when it's enough. So please.. stop treating me like im a pricless artifact."

"B-but you are priceless-"

"Henry-" she gives him this look of 'quit the bs'

"O-okay... I suppose I can try.."

Once she breaks his whole "I can't be too rough or ill hurt her cause shes human" bullshit mindset, It's insane.

No, they aren't rabbits but it is quite frequent and its a shock how they haven't gotten pregnant yet.

If anything its like they both cant get enough of each other, between the whispers she does in his ear to his hands around her waist all the time.

Sweet jesus. Poor Logan. He has to hear all this. He (both old logan and worst logan) is very happy for his friend but GOD he didnt ever think he'd hear someone moan 'Oh fuck- Henry!' before as loudly as Carly does. Jesus sometimes he wishes he didnt have super hearing.

It's not until Storm mentions that Hank has a wife during orientation, in which Wade finds out, and clearly, he has to go tease her about it.

Sliding onto the stainless steel work place he smirks. He's in his regular clothes today so he fully expects her to scream. She dosn't.

"Oh.. Hello. Dr. McCoy is out at the moment." She says, like an assistant does.

He smiles all big and leans forward. "So you're married to big blue huh?"

Quite proudly she smiles. "Yes. I am."

"Wwooww good for him. Actually, it's no good for you." The first part seems normal, but it's never normal with Wade. "Does he bend you over that table over there?" He blurts out. Well shit- that was suppose to stay inside.

But Carly already is smirking. "Yes, he does. It's deeply sanitized."

Wades eyes widden as if he had hit jackpot. Everyone in this stuffy place was all stuck up and prim and proper. So to hear Carly straight up admit this felt like immediate friendship.

"Wooo look at you girl. Get it. But I gotta ask. Why?"

"Why the table or why did I marry him?"

"Oooh... Both!"

"Well, A. It's fun. B. He's a good man. He's very sweet to me, even when I was blind I knew there was something about him. He cares for me so much more then anyone else has."

Wade feels like he can relate. He wants to say something honest like 'Yeah, He is a pretty good guy isnt he?' But instead his brain had other ideas.

"What? You into weird lookin mutants or something?" He makes a face that would have been wiggling his brows, if he had any.

It makes Carly shake her head, giggling.

"Well, not particualry but... You know what they say about guys with big feet.."

This made sense about wolvie actually..

He gasps loudly, hand coming to his mouth. "You naughty gal!! So it is true. You know, I've always wondered myself."

"Mmh. Now that I awnsered your questions, you have to awnser mine about the Wolverine."

"Ooh smart. Did your research I see. Who warned you I was coming?"

She gigles again. "My husband."

"Ahh that snitch. So. What do you wanna know? Im an open book but I do have a lying disorder. Full warning."

"Is it true what they say? That canadians make good lovers?" She asks, leaning on the table that Wade was now kicking his feet on.

"Unless...y'know... if you're into that sort of thing." This last bit is a whisper as Wade daintily flashes the tags around his neck while trying to give her a flirty face. "I'm owned, baby! You can't have me. Im too expensive."

He gasps again, putting a hand to his chest. "Woah woah woah! Ladies! Calm down. Im a married man!!"

COUGH engaged. Actually COUGH

Again, Carly shakes her head, giggling. Goodness. What a character this one was. "No, unfortunately, I am not. And im sure you are."

"Well, good! Cause if you break my friends heart ill rip yours out." He says, smiling, but you could tell behind those moonstone eyes that there was no joke about it.

"If I ever break his heart, I'll rip it out myself." Carly says, staring him dead center. She wasn't afraid. Should she be? Yes. But she wasn't. Because she knows the only way Hank was getting rid of her was if he cheated or hit her.

Just as he was about to say something else, he turns, hearing a "Wade?" In which suddenly he gasps again, drimatically. "Woah!! Stay off me lady! You're married!! What would ol hanky panky think about this!?" It's loud, over the top, and he even holds himself like carly was just trying to strip him all while she stood there, crossed arms, hip out and only a slightly entertained smirk.

"Really?"

"Wade what do you need?" Said blue guy asks, coming around to set down two lunch trays.

"Your wifes tryna get dirty with the poole Hank!" He says and now theres two people giving him a stupid look.

"Yeah.. riiigghhhtt.... anyway. I believe Logan is looking for you. Shall I tell him you're busy?"

Wade grins widely as he jumps off the table. "Nope. Have a wonderful day. Great meeting you. You're nothing like my roommate's girlfriend Carly, though. She's polish. You dont look polish-"

"Wade.."

"Bye! My HUSBAND is callin me!" He says, practically skipping away, out of their hair and into someone elses.

".. What a weird man." She says, watching him go. "Indeed..."

[chaotic-scraps]

Part 1 Part 2

The Beast (Part 3)

The henchmen dragged the hero out to the hall by their collar, snarling and snapping. They tried unsuccessfully to wrestle them onto a gurney, the hero's panic only matched by their raw fury. The villain watched on with a reverent fascination.

The hero glared with wild eyes as the villain calmly approached.

"Darling, you'd best behave." The villain reached to brush the hero's face. "I'd hate to muzzle such a gorgeous creature."

The hero growled in challenge.

"You want to be human again, don't you?"

An uncertain whine.

"Yes, that's right. I can help you if you stop fighting me."

This was a mistake. This was a huge mistake, the hero thought frantically. If the villain made them human, they would not let them go free.

Who else would help them, though? The Agency? Their understaffed, in-network hospital? They could be stuck like this the rest of their life. They had to trust that they would have a shot at escaping later.

The hero swallowed hard and laid back on the gurney.

"I thought so."

The henchmen exchanged glances and clamored to affix the straps. They pushed the gurney into a cold and sterile room. An exhaust fan whined in the corner. Surgical equipment laid out on a small table.

"Don't worry, darling, we're just running some tests today," the villain said, pulling out a small razor. They trimmed small patches of fur and grabbed a syringe.

The hero tried to pull away, but the straps were firm. They felt the telltale prick, and squeezed their eyes shut.

"Blood sample," the villain explained. They filled several vials.

The henchmen pulled up some kind of machine and stuck little wires all over the hero's arms and legs. The villain typed something into a laptop and the hero felt another prick.

"You'll tell me if you feel something, won't you, darling?"

A jolt shot through their arm. The hero yelped.

"Good. Very good."

Another prick. Jolt. The hero's eyes watered. This went on for a while.

"No discernible nerve damage," the villain said, very pleased. "Excellent response time."

They continued to poke and prod them for a while, looking at their teeth, shining a light in their eyes, feeling the pads of their palms.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

The villain began wheeling them towards a narrow tube-shaped device. The hero began to struggle again.

The hero had been in vents and crawl spaces and tight corridors before. They'd encountered walls that closed in on them, been trapped in a sinking car, and once had to be cut out of a drainage pipe by a rescue team.

All these experiences did not do favors to their anxiety response. They began struggling despite themselves, the straps digging into their flesh.

There was a high beeping noise beside them. Their heartbeat was being monitored. When did that happen.

The villain stopped the gurney. "Sh, shhh-sh, hush now, you're safe."

The hero struggled, because no they certainly were not, half the times they were trapped in dangerous situations was thanks to the villain--

Another prick.

"Rest now," The villain said, petting them gently.

The hero awoke back in their kennel. They had no idea how much time had passed. They felt a pain in the back of their head.

Stitches.

What had villain done while they were out?

Part 4

AN// Thank you for reading and asking to be tagged @sausages-things and I hope you enjoyed! If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know! (or if you want to be removed, please also don't hesitate to let me know!) I'm hoping to finish part 4 in the next couple of weeks!

[cityelfweek]

City Elf Appreciation Week

~ 5th of August - 11th of August ~

Here are some optional prompts for next week! Please feel free to do whatever you like with them. Remember to tag @cityelfweek or use the tag #cityelfweek24!

Day 1 - Vhenadahl

- A pillar of many alienage communities. Firewood in others.

Day 2 - Folklore and History

- Show the folklore that city elves have created over time. Superstitions, stories, heroes, villains... anything!

Day 3 - Community

- Close-knit family, or claustrophobic little box?

Day 4 - Customs and Traditions

- Andrastian? Dalish? Somewhere in between, or something all new?

Day 5 - Alienage

- The only home many city elves ever know.

Day 6 - OC

- A day to celebrate original city elf characters!

Day 7 - Free Day

- All things city elf!

[original post][divider credit]