#cw taser

[blumin-onion]

Daily Doodle Day 11

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CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER

SELECT LEVEL

Yes that is a taser in the third block down🫡

[braveryhearted]

Kasumi's penchant for acting tough and blaming herself that she couldn't stop a wanderer or a situation probably stems somewhat from when she was younger mainly because of Caleb telling she couldn't be tough or handle situations. His constant reminders of people capable of overwhelming her in a fight thanks to the bond memory that was presented also probably attributed towards this mindset. Kasumi wants to be part of a situation, not to be told she couldn't, even if the other person had some good intentions underneath the cruel actions ( locking her in an attic for a day because Caleb wanted to hang out with friends but was told it was to protect her from 'bullying', which I digress isn't great at all ).

Adding to the fact in some 4 star cards, even Rafayel points out she could get overpowered in certain situations even if she does fight wanderers all day for her work but backtracks his opinion when Kasumi tells him that she could had handle the situation with the clerk that was somewhat obsessed with her if they only didn't have a taser. And his response is, 'no one is saying that you couldn't' after she tries to justify what went wrong. Haven't really explored the other's 4 star cards but Kasumi really didn't care for the things Sylus also said to her during their initial three day meeting, adding to the fire of wanting to act tough and get better at bluffing because of it. Kasumi is hard on herself because of many factors, even her job is because she never wants to feel powerless again.

In all, there's a wall she puts up sometimes but it's understandable to say the least. And it's one reason why her relationship with one of her childhood friends is strained. But then again, sometimes it seems like Caleb likes shooting himself in the foot, Kasumi thinks.

[killerplink]

DISCIPLINE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: Jason wants you to learn self-defense in case he's not around, but he should've known you'd turn it into a game—batting your lashes, pouting, testing his patience at every step.

Words: 7k

CW: established relationship, fingering, breast play, explicit sexual content, mild power dynamics (teacher/student vibe), suggestive self-defense instruction, light manhandling, praise, and a whole lot of filthy tension

A/N: This one-shot is basically an expanded (and slightly smuttier, oops) version of a convo we had a few days ago about Jason teaching his girl self-defense. It spiraled into something much steamier than planned, but honestly... are we surprised? Big thanks to that little idea spark—y'all know who you are 🖤

Jason stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down at you like he's really trying to figure out where he went wrong in life. Because when he said he wanted to teach you self-defense, he expected some pushback. Maybe a little nervousness. Some hesitation. At worst, some stubborn "I don't need to learn that, Jay, you're always with me" bullshit.

What he didn't expect was for your eyes to light up like he just told you he bought you a puppy.

"Can I learn how to stab someone?" you ask, voice soft, excited, like you're asking if you can bake cookies later.

Jason blinks. "What."

You nod, like this is a normal response. "I mean, obviously, I have a taser and bear spray, but I think a knife would be a nice addition, you know?"

He has to take a second to process. "You—you have a what?"

"A taser! And bear spray," you clarify, eyes shining like you're announcing your engagement. "Bear spray is way better than regular pepper spray, so that's why I have that instead. Been itching so bad to use them, but who knew it took eons to get assaulted in Gotham when you actually want to?" you let out a dramatic sigh. "Like, I've been ready for this for years. I am so fucking up the first stupid asshole who wants to try me."

Jason has to take a very deep breath before responding, because he doesn't know whether to be concerned or turned on. Like, he genuinely doesn't know what to do with this information. Because he came into this fully prepared to convince you that learning self-defense was a good idea. He thought maybe you'd be scared, maybe you'd worry about getting hurt.

Which, in hindsight, was fucking stupid.

Because yeah, you're his small, sweet, shy girl—at least 90% of the time. All soft smiles and warm cuddles, curling into his side, acting all innocent. But he should know better. Because you're also a menace. Especially when you're drunk.

And the thing is, alcohol makes you bold as fuck. Your mouth runs without a filter, and somehow, that always ends with either you ready to commit assault over the stupidest shit or getting him in trouble. Like that one time a guy tried to cut in front of you in line at a food truck, and before Jason could even blink, you were calling him a "dickless little piss baby" and offering to fight him over a fucking taco.

So yeah, he should've known.

"Baby," he finally says, rubbing a hand down his face. "You don't get to just manifest gettin' mugged."

You pout, arms crossing tight over your chest like you're trying to physically contain your frustration. "I'm not manifesting it, I just think it'd be fun." 

Jason stares at you, unimpressed. 

"Not fun fun," you amend quickly, eyes darting to his face as you shift on your feet, hands waving as if that'll somehow make your argument more reasonable. "But, like, practical fun. Who doesn't wanna kick some criminal ass?" 

"Jesus Christ," he says, voice dry, incredulous. "Doll, no one just casually waits for an opportunity to fuck someone up." 

Your pout deepens, bottom lip pushing out as you tip your head, batting your lashes. "You do." 

His eyes narrow. "That's different." 

"How?" You take a step closer, blinking up at him, playing up your sweetness like you're not actively trying to convince him to arm you with a knife. 

He groans, tipping his head back like he's asking the universe for strength. "Okay, yeah, no weapons for you." 

"What? Why not?" you whine, stomping your foot just a little, because this is bullshit.

"Because," Jason says, tone final, firm, like he's laying down the law, "I'm not lettin' my girl run around with a blade just waitin' for some dumbass to try her." 

You huff, arms crossing tighter as you glare. "This is so unfair." 

He scoffs, throwing his hands up. "Unfair—you—oh my fuckin' God, no knife trainin' for you and that's it." 

Your jaw drops, scandalized, because how dare he? "Jay—" 

"Fuckin' no," he cuts you off with a sharp look, voice absolute. "You don't get a knife." 

Your lips wobble like you're actually sad about it. "But—"

"Jesus Christ, you're worse than me," he mutters as he pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in deep like he's trying to summon the patience of a saint.

Which, let's be real, he doesn't have. Not when it comes to you and your innocent—and very concerning—enthusiasm for fucking people up.

"Baby," he starts, slow and measured, like he's talking to someone who's about to do something really fucking stupid. And honestly, maybe he is. "This is self-defense. Meanin' it's only for when you have no other choice. Got it? You are not—I repeat, not—goin' out of your way to stab someone just because you wanna see how it feels."

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering, mouth curling into the sweetest little pout. "I would never do that."

Jason stares. Stares. Because you're lying. Blatantly.

"You just said you've been waitin' for someone to try and mug you," he points out, voice flat, arms crossing again as he levels you with a look. "That doesn't sound like self-defense, baby. That sounds like premeditation."

You tilt your head, like you totally don't see the problem here. "But Jay—"

"No." He lifts a hand, cutting you off before you can even start with whatever bullshit argument you're about to pull. "No buts. This isn't a game. If someone actually attacks you, you do exactly what I teach you. No extra shit, no tryin' to one-up them, and definitely no pullin' weapons just because you feel like it. Understand?"

You nod, but it's too quick, too eager. Too much like you're just saying it so he'll shut up and move on to the part where he actually shows you how to hurt someone.

Jason sighs through his nose, jaw tightening as he gives you a slow once-over. "Say it back to me."

You bite your lip, rocking on your heels, playing up the innocence in your eyes. "I will only use self-defense if I absolutely have to," you recite, soft, sweet. "I will not go out of my way to fight someone, no matter how bad I wanna try out my taser—"

Jason groans, tipping his head back. "Jesus Christ."

"—and I will definitely not stab anyone unless I am in mortal danger."

He squints at you. "Are you fuckin' with me right now?"

You clasp your hands behind your back, swaying slightly, still looking up at him like you're the picture of pure intentions.

"No, baby," you say, voice syrupy and so fucking fake, and you can see the muscle in his jaw twitch, the barely contained exasperation tightening his shoulders. "I'm taking this very seriously."

"No," he mutters, rubbing his hand down his face again. "No, you're not."

You step closer, pressing your fingers to his chest, looking up at him through your lashes. "I am," you insist, voice so soft, so sweet. "Don't you trust me?"

Jason's hands drop to his hips, and he leans in, just enough to look you right in the eye. "Not even a little."

He exhales slowly, leveling you with a look that's somewhere between exasperated boyfriend and man barely holding onto his sanity. He doesn't know why the fuck he thought this would go smoothly. You, of all people. You, with your wide, innocent eyes and that suspiciously sweet little voice, who he knows is just itching to cause some kind of bullshit.

He should've seen this coming. Should've known.

Because realistically speaking? You rarely go anywhere without him. It's fucking Gotham, and he's Jason fucking Todd. Which means if you're not with him, you're with someone he trusts—or you're home, where he left you, safe.

Not because he's some controlling asshole who doesn't let you live your life, but because he's been out there. He knows what this city is. Knows how fast things can go from fine to fucked in the blink of an eye.

And not that the freaks here need a reason to attack people only at night anyway—God knows they don't. Broad daylight, rush hour, middle of the fucking street? Doesn't matter. Gotham's got its own fucking rules, and they don't care if you're just trying to grab a coffee or get home from work. But still, he thought it'd be good for you to at least have some self-defense training.

What he didn't think, was that you'd be fucking giddy about the idea of stabbing someone. He drags a hand down his face for what feels like the thousandth time, shoulders tensing as he looks at you again, standing there all sweet and so fucking suspicious.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, shaking his head.

You just beam at him, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. "But I'm cute," you remind him, voice sickly sweet, lips brushing against his skin.

Jason sighs, tilting his head down just as you try to step back, catching your chin between his fingers before you can get away. "Yeah?" he murmurs, eyes flicking between yours, thumb stroking along your jaw. "That supposed to make me forget you just admitted you're impatient to commit a felony?"

Your lips part, your breath warm against his, but you're still smiling, still playing that little game of yours, still batting your lashes like you're the picture of innocence. "Not a felony," you say softly. "Just... an act of self-defense that may or may not get me arrested, depending on the jury."

He groans, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head as his hands slide down to your waist.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, voice rough, full of barely contained affectionate frustration. "You are so lucky I love you."

You giggle, bright and genuine, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him like you know exactly what you're doing. "I know," you say, smug and happy, and fuck, he's so fucking gone for you it's ridiculous at this point.

Jason breathes you in, lets his fingers tighten around your waist, and kisses you. A slow, lingering press of his lips, soft enough to make you melt a little, teasing enough to remind you that he's got other ways of distracting you. And maybe he should've just started there instead of pretending this was ever gonna be a serious lesson.

But he pulls back, just enough to murmur, "You done playin', doll?"

You blink up at him, still smiling. "Depends."

Jason squints, lips twitching. "Depends on what?"

"Depends on whether you're actually gonna teach me now, or just keep kissing me until you forget about it."

Jason huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls away, finally taking a step back. "Alright," he says, rolling his shoulders, glancing down at his hands like he's mentally preparing to deal with you. "Let's try to get through a fuckin' lesson, then."

You giggle again, soft and way too pleased, and he already regrets this, because he knows you're gonna try some bullshit the second he gives you an opening. He knows it. Can see it written all over your too sweet expression, the way you're still smiling, still batting your lashes, like you're not already planning your next move.

So he sighs, rolls his shoulders, and chooses to ignore that for now. Because if he wants to get anywhere with this, he needs to at least get the basics into your head before you start trying to murder him.

"Alright," he starts, keeping his voice even, professional. "This isn't a "how to win a fight" lesson, okay? You're not lookin' to beat someone. You're lookin' to get the fuck away as fast as possible. You with me?"

"Mhmm," you hum, tilting your head, still smiling.

Jason narrows his eyes, but moves on. "Gotham's a shithole. You're not gonna have time to square up and throw a clean punch. So this is about gettin' yourself out of a bad situation before it gets worse. You get grabbed? You break the hold and you run. If they're faster than you? You make sure they regret gettin' close to you in the first place."

You perk up, excited, and Jason almost groans. So fucking predictable.

"So," he continues, pretending he didn't notice, "most common grabs. If someone gets your arm—"

He reaches out, quick but controlled, his fingers circling your wrist in a firm grip. He doesn't squeeze, just holds, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. "What do you do?"

You think for a second, then— "Break their fucking nose?"

Jason lets out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. "Okay, yeah, that's an option, but first? You wanna break the grip. They grab your wrist, you don't pull back. You twist toward their thumb, push through the weak point in their hold."

He loosens his fingers just a little, giving you the chance to practice. You try it, twisting your wrist too quickly, too eager, but Jason keeps his grip light so you actually get the motion right, slipping out of his hold easily.

"Like that?" you ask, looking pleased with yourself.

"Yeah," he nods. "If they grab both wrists, same thing, but you yank up and break out of both at the same time. Quick, before they can adjust their grip. Got it?"

You nod, biting your lip like you're really paying attention, and fuck, Jason has no idea how much of this is actually sticking and how much is just you playing with him. But he moves on, because next is something he needs you to know.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. "If they go for your throat—"

His hand ghosts up, barely touching, just resting his fingers lightly against your neck, so gentle it's barely pressure at all. But it's enough to make your breath hitch, just slightly, your body going a little still.

Jason watches you carefully, reads every microexpression, every little flicker of something across your face before continuing.

"People fuck this up in movies. You don't try to pull their hands off. You're not gonna be strong enough to break the grip outright, especially not if they're bigger than you."

He flexes his fingers slightly, just enough to demonstrate, to show you what he means before pulling back. "You wanna go for the thumbs. That's the weak point. Both hands, grab their thumbs, push out and down, then duck away. Got it?"

You nod, more serious, something thoughtful in your expression.

"Good," he murmurs, then gestures to your hair. "If they grab your hair—"

"Oh fuck no, I'd simply die," you say, deadpan. "That's my nightmare scenario, Jay."

Jason huffs a laugh. "Yeah, well, let's say you'd rather not die, baby. If they grab it, you don't try to yank away, or you're just helpin' them control you. You grab their wrist, stop them from jerkin' your head around, and you drive your knee into their fuckin' balls until they let go. Got it?"

"Got it," you echo, nodding, biting your lip like you're really thinking about it.

Jason watches you for a second, then takes a step back, flexing his fingers. "Alright," he says. "We're gonna go through these real quick, one by one, get the motion into muscle memory, yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod, lifting your hands a little. "Okay. Ready."

Jason nods, reaches for your wrist again—

And you go straight for his throat. No hesitation. Zero fucking hesitation. You move fast, hands darting up like you're ready to go for his jugular, and Jason barely manages to react in time, catching your wrists before you can dig your fingers into his windpipe.

"Jesus Christ," he barks, startled, holding you back as you giggle, eyes bright, too fucking pleased with yourself. "We are literally practicin' breakin' a wrist grab, and you go for my fuckin' throat?"

"It was open!" you defend, twisting in his grip, trying to move your arms, but Jason just tightens his hold. "Seemed like a good opportunity!"

Jason lets out a long, slow exhale, like he's praying for patience. "You are so fuckin' lucky I love you, I swear to fuckin' God," he mutters.

You just beam at him, but he's determined to get through at least one lesson with you before you either land a dirty hit or he ends up putting you in a fucking time-out.

It's a battle though. Because every time he tries to correct your form, show you the right way to get out of a hold, you're already one step ahead—twisting in his grip, shifting your weight, going for some batshit move you absolutely should not be attempting yet. And you do get it right, more than once, your motions smooth and sharp when you actually focus, but the problem is that you never just focus.

It's always followed by something else. Something you shouldn't be doing. Like now.

"Jesus, baby," Jason grunts, dodging just in time as you try, for the millionth fucking time, to go for his balls. "Do you have to aim there every fuckin' time?"

"It's a very effective tactic," you say, so damn pleased with yourself. "It's a vulnerable spot, isn't it? You literally said I should make them regret getting close to me."

"I meant them, pretty girl. Not me."

"You're just in the way," you say, batting your lashes, grinning. "Move, and it won't be your problem."

Jason lets out a sharp huff of laughter, shaking his head. "Y'know what? Fuck this."

And before you can react, he moves. Quick. Smooth. Controlled.

His arm hooks around your waist, the other sweeping your legs clean off the floor, and the next thing you know, you're falling, pulled down with him, but the landing is soft—the plush rug cushioning you as Jason twists, making sure he hits the floor first, his arms caging you close against his chest as you let out a startled little gasp.

Your hands press against his chest, pushing yourself up slightly, but Jason doesn't let you go far—his grip tight, his fingers curling against your lower back, keeping you right where he wants you.

He smirks up at you, all slow and lazy, something dark flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is warm and rough, low enough to send a thrill down your spine.

"Careful with my balls, baby," he murmurs, the rasp in his voice making your stomach flutter. "I thought you loved gettin' fucked."

Your breath hitches, heat sparking through your veins, and Jason watches the way your lips part, your lashes fluttering as your grip on his chest tightens just slightly.

You let out a soft little giggle, feigning innocence, tilting your head as you trace a slow, teasing line over his collarbone, down to the fabric of his shirt.

"I do," you murmur, pouting a little, "but I'm also very dedicated to my studies, Jay. You wouldn't wanna distract me, would you?"

Jason huffs, his grip tightening for a split second before he shifts—one arm coming up, curling around your back as the other slips down, fingers pressing against your hip as he flips you under him in one smooth motion, his weight pressing you down into the rug.

"Doll," he breathes, tilting his head, his lips so damn close to yours, "I don't think you wanna study right now."

And then he kisses you. Slow. Deep. Messy. His lips part against yours, his tongue licking deep into your mouth, coaxing a sweet little whimper from you as your hands fist into his shirt, pulling him closer.

He kisses like he owns you—mouth hot and searching, tongue sliding over yours with purpose, like he's trying to taste every little gasp you give him. His hand slides up, fingers cupping the top of your head as he tilts it just how he wants it, deepening the kiss until it's all spit and need and heat. You can feel the groan rumble in his chest before it spills into your mouth, vibrating against your lips, low and rough.

Your lips part wider for him, letting him devour you, and he takes full advantage, licking into you slow and filthy, like he's savoring every second of it. His teeth catch on your bottom lip when he pulls back just a little, only to dive right back in, lips sealing over yours again like he can't stand not kissing you.

And fuck, you melt for it. For the way he kisses like you're something sweet he can't stop craving, like he wants to drag the taste of you out long and aching and endless.

His weight presses against you, his body solid, heat radiating from his skin, and when his thigh shifts, pressing between your legs, you let out a soft, shaky little sigh, your body arching up into his. Jason smirks against your lips, his fingers dipping under your shirt, warm against your skin as he teases up your waist, his touch light, slow, deliberate.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, voice thick with want, "guess you're not so dedicated after all, huh, baby?"

And he doesn't stop there. His hand drifts higher, fingertips skimming your ribs before they finally close around your tits, squeezing, kneading, teasing you with slow, intentional touches. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how sensitive you are, how easy it is to work you up until you're a whimpering mess for him.

His lips brush your jaw, then your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, dragging his tongue along the pulse that flutters under his mouth. His voice is deep, mocking, when he finally speaks, words warm against your throat.

"So damn insatiable."

And you are—grinding against his thigh, your breath coming faster, hips rolling like you need something—anything more than just the pressure of his leg against your cunt. Your nipple pebbles against his palm, and he chuckles, tugging your shirt up with one hand before leaning in and taking it into his mouth.

The heat of his tongue makes you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he sucks, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before he bites, just enough to make you jolt. Then he soothes it, licking over the sting, lips closing around the peak to suckle again, slow and deep, making you arch into him, chasing the feeling.

And he loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way you whimper, the way your grip tightens in his hair when he switches to the other, dragging his teeth over the soft curve before his lips close around it.

He mouths at you like he's starving, like your tits are the only thing he needs to live. His tongue drags slow, lazy circles around your nipple before flicking the tip again and again, just to hear you whine for it. Then he sucks harder, lips sealed tight, cheeks hollowing slightly as he pulls another breathless moan out of you.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and ragged, hot breath ghosting over the wet flesh. "These tits—God, you know what you do to me?"

He licks lower, wet and messy between the swell, then back up again, trailing spit like he wants you soaked everywhere, not just between your legs. His hands push your shirt higher, bunching it under your arms as he palms both at once, squeezing, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples, slick with his spit.

He leans in again, lips dragging between them like he can't choose which one he wants more, switching back and forth like he's addicted, like he's trying to memorize every soft noise you make when he tongues one and rolls the other between his fingers.

You're grinding harder, pussy practically dripping, every drag of his thigh against your clit making your whole body twitch. And Jason? Jason just grins, lips still wrapped around your nipple, watching you fall apart just from how he sucks your tits like they're his personal fucking addiction.

He hums against you, the sound dark and pleased, one hand sliding down, down, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers slip between your thighs, pressing just right over the soaked lace clinging to your cunt, and he groans, low and rough, like he feels it in his chest.

"Jesus, you're so fuckin' wet, baby."

And you are—the fabric already drenched, sticking to you, barely anything separating you from the slow, teasing circles he's rubbing against your clit. But it's not enough, not when you're already aching, already needing more, and he fucking knows it.

You whine, hips shifting, trying to push against his fingers, but he doesn't give you what you want. Just keeps barely touching you, brushing his knuckles over the damp lace, the ghost of pressure over your pussy enough to make you whimper.

His mouth is still working you over, still licking at your tits, sucking slow and deep until your nipple pebbles against his tongue, until you're so fucking sensitive you can't stop the little noises slipping from your throat.

Your fingers tighten in his hair as your voice comes soft, needy. "Jay, please—"

He hums against your skin, tongue flicking over the peak of your nipple before he suckles again, just toying with you, like he's perfectly content to keep you like this—whining, squirming, so needy it's almost pathetic.

His lips curl against your skin as he finally lifts his head, his fingers still moving slow, teasing, barely pressing against your clit.

"Please what, huh?" His voice is thick with amusement as he brushes another lazy touch over your pussy. "What do you want? You were talkin' so big earlier. What happened, baby?"

You whimper, hips shifting again, trying so desperately to push into his touch, but he doesn't let you. Just holds you down, controlling the pace, the pressure.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with mocking sweetness as he drags his fingers over your clit—slow, featherlight, barely enough pressure to give you what you need. "Say it. What do you want?"

Your panties are soaked, the thin lace clinging to your cunt, and you know he can feel it. The way your slick seeps through the fabric, the way it makes every slow, teasing brush of his fingers even slipperier, easier for him to keep you right on the edge without giving you anything.

Your breath stutters as you try again, voice coming out soft, desperate. "I need—" A sharp inhale as his fingers skim your clit, and fuck, you're so sensitive already. "I want you, Jay."

He makes a low sound in his throat, something that's almost thoughtful as he keeps up those infuriatingly light touches, the pads of his fingers gliding over your slick, swollen clit with just enough pressure to keep you right there, to keep you aching.

"Yeah? Do you?" he grins against your skin, his mouth moving to your throat, kissing, sucking until he knows it'll leave a mark. "Cause earlier, you were sayin' I'm in your way."

Your pout is immediate, your fingers tightening in his hair as you whine, frustration bubbling up in your chest. "I was just talking shit, baby—please, I need you."

But he doesn't budge, doesn't give you what you want yet, just keeps playing with you, his fingers teasing just right over your clit, flicking, rubbing, not letting you grind against him like you're trying to.

"Need me, huh?"

His voice is so fucking deep, rasping against your skin as his fingers finally slip beneath your panties, pushing the soaked fabric aside. You gasp when he spreads you open, fingertips sliding through your slick lips, smearing your arousal around as he grins.

"Jesus, baby, you're so fuckin' wet."

He loves it, loves the way you writhe for him, loves how fucking needy you are, even as his cock throbs, straining against his sweats, aching to be buried inside you.

But he doesn't care, not when he's having too much fun teasing you, playing with you, dragging his fingers over your soaked pussy like he's just getting started.

Jason groans, deep and gravelly, his mouth slanting over yours with a heat that makes your toes curl. His lips are rough, possessive, like he needs to taste every single moan he pulls from you, like he wants to swallow them down, keep them all to himself.

His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing you into parting for him even more, and you can't help but moan when he finally presses his fingers against your clit, circling the swollen bud with slow, deliberate strokes.

The slick, wet sounds are obscene, filling the space between your breathless little whimpers, your needy, muffled gasps as he works you, rubbing tight, precise circles that have your thighs trembling, your body tensing as he brings you right to the brink.

Your hips jerk as he drags his fingers lower, sliding through your soaked folds, gathering up every drop of arousal before he brings it back up, spreading it over your sensitive clit, making it easier for him to tease you.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at your lower lip, grinning when you whimper, "you're drippin' all over my fuckin' fingers."

And you are, your slick coating his fingers, making his strokes smoother, more precise, working you into a mess of needy little gasps, of desperate, helpless little moans.

Your head falls back against the plush rug as he grins, taking the opportunity to kiss down your jaw, nipping at your skin between murmured praise.

He finally—fucking finally—slides a finger into your pussy, sinking it in slow, making sure you feel every inch stretching you open. Your walls flutter around him, clenching at the intrusion, and fuck, he loves how tight you are, how you always squeeze around his fingers like you're desperate for more.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "So fuckin' tight for me. You love this, don't you? Love havin' my fingers inside you?"

You whimper, nodding quickly, too lost in the slow, steady thrust of his finger, the way he angles it just right, making your cunt pulse around it.

"Yeah, I know you do," he rasps, a grin in his voice before he adds another, pressing both fingers deep, stretching you open as his palm grinds against your clit, sending a sharp, electric jolt through you.

You gasp, your hips rolling up, seeking more, but he just chuckles, keeping his pace slow, teasing, fucking you on his fingers with deep, steady thrusts that have your thighs trembling.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark, full of heat, "takin' my fingers so good, baby. You're so wet, fuck, you're drippin' all over me."

You moan, making every movement smooth, obscene, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his fingers only making you more desperate.

Then he curls them, dragging against that perfect, sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, your back arching as your pussy clenches tight around him.

"Yeah? That's the spot, huh?" he grins, doing it again, pressing his fingers just right, making your whole body shudder. "God, baby, you feel so fuckin' good squeezin' me like that. You gonna cum for me?"

And God, you need to, you want to, especially with the way his cock is pressing against your thigh, hard and thick, the heat of it searing through his sweats. The thought of him fucking you, of him stretching you open on his dick instead of his fingers has you whimpering.

Your pussy clenches around him, and he groans, fingers thrusting deeper, his palm grinding against your clit, rubbing, teasing, working you closer, closer, closer.

Jason groans into your mouth as he kisses you, lazy and wet, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, sloppy strokes that have you whimpering. His lips are soft, warm, but his kiss is hungry, deep and messy, like he's devouring you, like he can't get enough. And you—Jesus, you're already a wreck, your body trembling against him, your breath hitching between every filthy press of his lips.

His fingers fuck into you with a steady rhythm, curling deep, pushing against that perfect spot inside you, and you shudder, your pussy tightening around his fingers, so close, so fucking close.

"C'mon, baby," he rasps against your lips, his voice all low and wrecked, full of heat. "Let me feel it. Cum for me, baby, cum all over my fingers."

And you do. Your whole body locks up, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave, crashing over you in a hot, electric rush that makes your legs shake, your breath hitch in a broken gasp.

Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching so tight he can barely move them, your slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through it, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until you're gasping against his lips.

Jason fucking moans at the feel of you cumming for him, his fingers sinking deeper, fucking into your spasming pussy with slow, deep thrusts, coaxing every last drop from you. His cock throbs against your thigh, aching, needy, but he stays there, taking his time, watching you come undone.

Face all flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, your pretty little eyes all hazy and fucked-out, barely even focusing on him as you come down from it. Jesus Christ, he fucking loves this. Loves how you always get like this whenever he touches you—dazed and needy, wrecked and whimpering, like he's the only thing keeping you grounded.

His fingers slow, dragging against your soaked, sensitive walls, making you twitch, and he fucking grins.

"Fuck, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with praise, "that was so fuckin' pretty. So good for me."

His hand lingers, fingers still buried inside you, soaked with your slick, and fuck, you're still clenching around him, like your body knows what it wants.

Him. Specifically, his dick.

And he's so tempted to just fuck you stupid right now, to shove his sweats down and give you exactly what you need—his cock, deep, hard, relentless—but no.

Not yet. Because you've still got a lesson to learn. But first, Jason drags his fingers from your pussy, slow and lazy, feeling the way your spent little hole clenches down on nothing as he pulls away. He lingers for a second, fingertips slick and shiny with your arousal, and then he drags them over your twitching clit, making you jerk against him, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

And then—because he's a fucking bastard—he tugs your panties back up, pressing the soaked lace firmly against your still-sensitive cunt, trapping all that messy, sticky heat right where it belongs. You whine, a pout already forming on your lips, and Jason just grins, bringing his fingers to your mouth, rubbing them over your lips, smearing the taste of you against them.

You know what he wants. So you open up, tongue peeking out, and Jason groans as he slips his fingers inside, watching as you suck them clean.

Jesus.

Your tongue swirls over them, slow and wet, sucking him in deeper, your lips wrapping around his thick fingers as you hum against them, letting your mouth get all sloppy as you clean every last drop. Your lashes flutter, heat pools in your belly, your cunt throbbing again as you think—you really think—he's gonna fuck you now.

Because that's all you can think about.

His dick. Hard, leaking, hot, stretching you open, sliding in and out of your desperate, needy pussy, fucking you deep, fucking you hard, pumping you so full of his cum it drips out of you.

But oh, you're so wrong. Jason watches you for a second longer, his control fraying at the edges because fuck, you look so hot like this, but then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, spit clinging to them before it breaks. He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, and then he moves, getting off you entirely.

You gasp, scandalized, blinking up at him in betrayal as he stands over you, adjusting himself with a satisfied little grunt.

"Baby, what the fuck are you—"

"Well," Jason interrupts, voice way too smug, "you didn't learn shit yet. Prove to me you can do what I told you earlier, and then I'll fuck you for as long as you want."

You stare at him, jaw dropping, because you cannot believe he just said that.

You sit upright, letting him pull you up from the floor, still gaping at him. "Jay, you can't be serious right now—"

He quirks a brow. "Bet."

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, your lower lip jutting out as you glare up at him. "You're mean."

Jason barks a laugh, eyes gleaming as he tilts his head at you. "You're the one who agreed to learn self-defense, baby."

You whine, pouting like that'll somehow change his mind. "But I have a taser and bear spray—"

"I don't give a fuck."

You pout harder, but it's not working. Not even a little.

He just smirks, shaking his head. "The more you pout, the longer you waste time."

You stick your tongue out at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. "I hate you."

He just chuckles, dark and knowing, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to yours. "Keep talkin' all you want, baby. We'll see how sweet you moan on my dick after."

Jason waits, watching, arms crossed as you huff and pout, clearly not happy about being denied, but then your expression shifts. Your lashes flutter, your lips part like you're about to whine, but he sees that little glint in your eyes—oh, you're about to try some bullshit.

And he's right. Because the second his hand reaches for you, you move. His fingers barely close around your wrist before you do just like he showed you—twisting toward the weak point by his thumb, slipping free in one smooth motion.

His brows lift, and for a second, he looks genuinely impressed. But he doesn't say it, just rolls his shoulders and reaches again, this time wrapping his hand fully around your throat, fingers firm but not too tight. Testing you.

You don't hesitate. Both hands, grab the base of his thumbs, push outward, duck and pivot out of his reach—just like he told you. And it works.

Jason lets out a low hum, watching as you step back, grinning like you just pulled off the heist of the century. "Huh," he says, head tilting, that hot glint of approval in his eyes. "Guess you actually did listen."

But then he moves again, lightning quick, fingers aiming for your hair, and without even thinking, you go for his balls.

"Jesus fuck!" Jason jerks back so fast you'd think you actually landed the hit, his hands immediately dropping as he glares at you like you just committed a war crime. "Alright, fuck this, I give up."

Your brain barely has time to process it before you're grinning, bouncing on your heels as you beam up at him. "I did it!"

"That's not—" he groans, running a hand over his face before glaring at you, but there's something hot in his gaze, something that has your stomach flipping. "Yeah, fine, you did it. Now c'mere, you little shit."

His gaze drags over you, slow and deliberate, as he takes a step closer, big hands flexing at his sides. His jaw twitches, like he's debating how he wants to grab you, where he wants to put you, and then he just fucking moves.

He's on you in a second, hands snapping up so fast you barely have time to gasp before he's got you by the waist, pulling you right up against his chest. His grip is firm, possessive, fingers digging into your ass as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you squeal, clinging to him as he starts toward the bedroom.

Jason smirks, voice dropping, rough and teasing. "Gotta say, baby, 'm real proud of you."

You preen, tilting your head smugly. "Oh? Does that mean—"

"Yeah, yeah, I keep my word." His hands flex, grinding you down against the thick, hard bulge pressing into your pussy, and your breath catches. His smirk deepens, dark and promising. "And you're gonna take every inch I give you."

And you did.

You took every inch, again and again, in every way he wanted to give it to you. On your back with your legs spread wide, face down with your ass in the air, straddling his lap while his hands dragged you down onto his cock, over and over until your thighs were shaking. He used every angle, every position, fucking you through the bratty attitude until all that was left were the soft, sweet little sounds you made when he hit just the right spot.

He stuffed you full of him each time, slow at first, like he wanted to feel every clench of your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around him with each stroke. But it didn't stay slow. Not when you were begging, nails clawing at his back, whispering his name like a prayer.

He came deep, again and again, grinding into you with a low, possessive growl as his cum spilled inside—thick and hot, dripping out around his cock every time he thrust back in. He fucked it deeper with each roll of his hips, chasing every last tremble from your thighs until you went all soft and pliant underneath him, wide-eyed and dazed.

No more teasing. No more smug little smirks. Just you—sweet, ruined, and wrecked just how he likes you.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 

"Who is this?" 

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 

"There's someone in my apartment." 

"You're sure?" 

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 

You hang up the phone. 

"I know you're here." 

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 

You could be dead in the next two minutes. 

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 

"Found you." 

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 

"Aw. To begin with, sure." 

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 

"We both know you don't like nice." 

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 

Hotch moves in. 

"Drop the weapon." 

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down." 

"No, I was surrendering." 

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 

You hang your head. 

— 

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 

"That doesn't need a cast?" 

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 

You'll be gentle? 

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 

You don't answer. 

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 

"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 

"Don't think so." 

"It's shock," says the paramedic. 

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?" 

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 

"Her boss." 

"Not her partner?" 

"He's my closest friend," you say. 

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 

"No. No, I want you to." 

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 

"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 

"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

[clownsuu]

Just a lil doodles smhhhh

cw: mentions of violence and distress. Also weapons-

This is probably a good time to mention everyone’s jobs since I keep forgetting to mention it JDHDGDH

Wally: Da Boss (yeah no shid) he isn’t that merciful of a boss- can be very brutal with how relentless he can be and is a bit of a (non sus) sadistic a s s sometimes. Usually is playfully humorous initially, but can quickly go sour if he feels ever so slightly ticked. Preferred weapon: his eyes and his arms.

Barnaby: Body guard, boss’s left hand man, usually the one who talks for the boss. Sometimes he’s even seen as the “unofficial” boss of the whole group (which he likes to humor sometimes) but in the end he is possibly the most loyal out of everyone to Wally (man’s best friend after all). Preferred weapon is “da biggest gun we got!!!”

Howdy: Butler, bartender, boss’s right hand man. Will do basically everything anyone says (who’s part of the family) without question, however he will always take the Boss’s requests as main priority over the others. This will often keep him awake and exhausted, and a few new stitches to add to his collection. He has the lowest ability to think freely. Preferred weapon: Ice pick

Julie: Hitman A, interrogator, mad scientist really. Killing isn’t really too much of her thing, she prefers methodical planning and slow suffering with the use of chemicals and even random substances she can get her lil paws on. She’s not afraid to use anyone as a test subject, even if it’s her own members. preferred weapon: tranquilizers

Sally: Hitman B, intimidator, c h a o s. Almost the complete opposite to Julie. Absolutely chaotic and adores violent bloodshed to a point it’s theatrical. Usually is called if they don’t really need a clean kill. Can often be seen dancing and listening to music while on the job, often says it helps her focus (nobody really argues with it). Preferred weapon: anything blunt and/or violently loud (tasers, rocket launchers, fireworks) (sally is banned from using rocket launchers)

Poppy: Medic, crime scene cleanup, voice of reason, sometimes chef. She does ok when it comes to clean ups and stuff, however she has panic attacks and gets terrified when ever she hears screams of pain/torture, and freezes. Typically Howdy is there to help her snap out of it and help her complete her work, if not do her work for her. Everyone, even including the boss, is there to support her when she’s distressed (everyone would hug her except Wally. He does not like being touched unless it’s Howdy or Barnaby). Preferred weapon: n/a

Eddie: Messenger, delivery pick up/drop off, handler of the goods. He usually goes by himself, however after an incident where he lost his arm from a deal gone wrong, he is now required to leave with at least one of the hitmen (typically Sally). Very often does he get hurt in these trips and is usually always saved by Sally. Absolutely adores Frank for always trying to find the safest routes for him and wishes they had time together alone. Preferred weapon: a simple revolver

Frank: In charge of ordering goods, making contacts, being a voice of reason, basically just a manager. The most stressed member of the group. Rarely is he seen outside of the headquarters unless it’s to talk to well known individuals. He doesn’t usually talk to anyone besides Howdy (ranting at the bar about people), Eddie (telling him what he needs to get next), and Julie (normal convos and her asking him to order new chemicals for her next project). Every time Frank thinks he has an intimate moment together alone with Eddie, out of the blue Eddie would just randomly talk about how much he loves the family and how Wally is so amazing. The next day Frank asks him about it, it seems Eddie doesn’t remember what happened yesterday. Frank has the highest ability to think freely. Preferred weapon: a simple glock.

Home: Voice of reason. Preferred weapon: Wally

[gothic-thoughts]

Clearing Up Confusion

(sry its so long, i got a lil down bad i love him sm 😭)

Michael Myers x Black Fem Reader Smut

MDNI, AsylumPatient!Michael, Nurse!Reader, Forbidden Love, Virgin!Michael

Part 1: Right Here

Part 2: Right Here

Part 3: Right Here

CW: Confused Michael lol, afab parts mentioned, groping/palming, ✋🏾job, riding

TW: quick murder mention

Word Count: 2229 (give or take)

Michael didn't get it.

After months of knowing her, he still couldn't understand why (Y/n)'s body was always so... animated. Her hanging earrings bounced when she walked and her box braids swayed when she shook her head— on top of that, she was jiggly. Top, middle...bottom. 

He didn't understand and it made him mad.

She walks into the cafeteria, those plump, dark thighs wiggling under her white nurse dress— as usual. (Y/n) glances over with a small wave but he doesn’t respond despite his attraction to her, he only squints behind that orange mask as she disappears between the kitchen doors. A couple minutes later, the nurse walks back out, still unaware of her slightly bouncing ass and thighs as she sipped from a small paper cup.

“See ya tomorrow, Mikey!”

Cold blue eyes follow her until she vanishes from them when stepping through the open cafeteria doors. Michael turns to look over his left shoulder and then his right, noting the two security guards standing behind him with tight grips on his chains. He knows that they’ll either try to stop him or go with him if he leaves— he just wants to talk to her in peace. He resets his position before gazing back down at his cold, untouched food. 

The killer then slowly stands up, his almost 7-foot form casting an imposing shadow over the guards as he turns to face them. The guards immediately recoil and reach for their tasers but as soon as they do both of Michael’s hands grab their necks and simultaneously break them before dropping them to the floor with thuds, disregarding the cameras. He then turns to look at the exit.

Michael followed his nurse’s footsteps down the hall until he found her in the next, still drinking her water— still jiggling, unaware that one of the most violent and murderous patients escaped. Before he could grab her, another nurse turned the corner at the other end of the hall and gasped, stammering incoherently. (Y/n)’s steps slow down from her confusion, unknowingly making it easier for him.

“The hell is your problem— Mmh!?”

Michael’s hand suddenly covers her mouth, muffling her screams as he walks her back to his room. He shuts the door with a loud slam before turning and walking over to her.

“Hey, hey!” She called, eyebrows furrowed at him.

The Shape freezes.

“What did I say about the manhandling?”

His body tenses knowingly. He was so eager to see her, that he completely disregarded their agreement.

“Didn’t I say that if you wanna touch me, you gotta be gentle?”

He takes another step then gently places his fingers on her cheek, delicately stroking her cheek to show her understood— to show he was sorry. The gesture made her laugh a little, the sound, in turn, soothing his nerves as he continued to pet her like he would his masks. He didn’t like when she was disappointed in him; he wouldn’t even know what to do with himself if she was ever mad at him.

“It’s alright, you just scared the shit outta me. Now, why’d you need me so bad?”

He just stares down at her for a second, head tilting as he examines the unusual stillness of her body.

“Mikey...?” (Y/n) called, reaching out to rub his arm, “Michael, what’s the matter?”

Michael wordlessly spun the nurse around by her shoulders then guided her forward until her breasts and stomach were pressed against the wall next to his door, pinning her between him and the cement as gently as he could. He crouches down behind her so he can begin his analysis, starting with the jiggle in her thighs right as they stop. He got it: it was her movement; it had everything to do with why she was so jiggly. He gently swats the left one to truly confirm his observation.

“Wha— hey!” She squirms, “What are you— hey! Michael! Where is this coming from?”

Keeping one large hand pressed against her lower back, Michael uses the other finger to curiously poke and prod at (Y/n)’s left thigh. He then swats the right, making her tense then chuckle uncomfortably at his cluelessness but it was cut short with a sharp gasp when Michael squeezes the left thigh just under her ass, watching the smooth, dark flesh rise like bread between his spread fingers.

“Okay, okay, I get it: you like my thighs. Is that really why you pulled me in here?”

He didn’t even grunt out a response. He was damn near ignoring her with every poke and caress he gave her thighs. He wasn’t even aware of how perverted he was being, he was just so immersed, a contrast to how angry his confusion made him earlier. His cold, inexperienced hand slowly slid up the back of her thigh until it rested on her butt, the boldness making her gasp sharply.

“Hey!”

(Y/n) reached back to swat it away, making him look up at her with a head tilt.

“You can’t touch me there, Michael, I’m your nurse!”

He was confused again. Why would she say that to him? He knows that.

He brushes it off and focuses back on her ass, treating it the same way he did her thighs: with experimental pokes, squishes, and smacks, but it eventually gave him a result he wasn’t expecting: a soft hum. He stops, head tilting again. Michael smacks her ass again, granting more jiggling and another hum from her.

“Alright, that’s enough. I know you’re curious but...” She shivers at the next smack, gulping thickly, “I'm your nurse, you can’t feel me up like this.”

More confusion: why does she keep saying that like he doesn’t know? 

He stands up behind her, instantly towering as he gently grabs her hips and pulls her back his cold body until his pelvis is pressed firmly against her lower back. She tilts her head back and looks up at that orange mask, waiting for him to move away, continue groping, anything but he remains still, seemingly done but when (Y/n) tries to move he holds her against him with a soft grunt. Little did she know, Michael was looking down at her with some kind of desire— a desire he felt before.

He was lost again, but this time it was combined with worry. Something about how she was looking up at him, how warm she was, how jiggly she was made his desire to kill grow... but he didn’t want to kill her. He knew he didn’t, the thought of hurting her made him mad at himself. In the end, he began groping her furiously hoping the feeling would go away.

“Mmh, Michael—”

He tunes her out, trying to focus on the warmth of her body as his big, rough, inexperienced hands roam up and down her curves, but it is torment: calming him down while still riling up his bloodlust. His hands reach around, worshipping her breasts, grasping at her tummy, caressing her thighs, and squishing her butt, all of which made more gasps and hums come out of her. He grabbed the inside of her thighs and that made her thighs part a little more as a soft moan of his name slipped out. Michael’s hands pause as he finally acknowledges the stiffness that pressing against her soft butt and making his sweats tighter.

“Oh god...” (Y/n) breathes out, palming the wall, “Did you make yourself hard?”

He tilts his head.

“Hard, y’know, horny? You never felt that before?”

He adjusts his head, hands refusing to leave your sides as he processes the fact that he isn’t feeling bloodlust, just the regular kind.

“Ugh, okay, lemme think... Does it hurt?”

A subtle nod.

“Of course it does.” She sighs shakily, trying to ignore the size of him against her crack, “Um, fuck, I’ll have to help you, won’t I? Dammit, I’ll lose my job.”

Michael’s hands tighten on her sides, lowering to her hips to pull her back again.

“Wait... they can’t really fire me, can they? They need me, right? This is the calmest you’ve ever been thanks to me.”

He hunches over (Y/n) and buries his mask in the side of her neck as he hugs her— something she’s only recently taught him how to do. She chuckles at the gesture but it’s replaced with a soft hum when he starts humping his aching erection against her ass, his hips gradually moving faster the closer he pulls her back to him. She lets out a shaky breath.

“Okay, okay, okay; I’ll help you, but you gotta be gentle and listen to everything I say, alright?”

Michael nods into her neck, the papier-mâché mask scratching between her chin and shoulder.

“It might get a little hot, you sure you wanna keep your mask on?”

Another nod.

“First, go lay back on your bed.”

His heavy body practically disappeared from the nurse’s back and when she turned she found him already laid back on his shitty mattress with his large cock twitching and trying to stand in his pants. She gulped as she made her way over, kicking off her heels and mentally preparing herself for everything: her explanation if her boss caught them, the ridicule if anyone else caught them... the fat cock practically dying to be let out. (Y/n) takes a breath as she pulls down his pants and underwear, letting all 9 inches spring free which earned a soft sigh from behind that mask.

“Holy fuck...” She whispers, her mouth-watering before she composes herself, “I mean, um, better?”

Another subtle nod. The nurse hesitantly dropped her panties to the floor and stepped out of them before climbing on the bed and straddling the behemoth’s muscular thighs, the action making her dress hiked up over her ass as she stared down at the throbbing dick standing before her pelvis. (Y/n) takes a breath and wraps her hand around the pole, stroking from the wide base to the tip, making it leak effortlessly.

“Good god, where were you hiding this shit?”

Michael tilts his head back into his pillow with a huff every time her hand passed over the leaky, sensitive tip that he was grinding against her butt, his eyes closing at the new sensation.

 

“You like that? Feels better?”

He nods, hair disheveled all over his pillow. His nurse watches his chest rise and fall with every stroke over his pulsing veins, the sight making her drip onto him as she began humping him to get her own pleasure. Michael suddenly grabs her wrist with a huff, trying to convey the message of wanting it faster but his nurse thought he was being needy and carefully moved a little higher on his body with her palms planted firmly on his clothed chest.

“Be gentle, okay?”

He was confused again but remained still to see what she was going to do since she held his cock upright. The killer’s body tensed slightly when she started to lower her cunt on him with groans through every inch until her jiggly form was somewhat seated on his lap. His eyes were wide behind the mask, watching her breasts rise and fall to the beat of her shaky breath as her tight, wet channel slid down his shaft. (Y/n) tenses, gripping his shoulders tightly to which he abruptly sits up and grabs her hips to steady her on his lap.

"Yup, like that. You're gonna just hold my hips, okay?"

He grunts lowly behind the mask and guides her the rest of the way down until her cheeks are squished against his thighs. She looked up at him, already weak from the delicious feeling of his cockhead pressing on her cervix and his pulse throbbing against her g-spot. (Y/n) shivers in an attempt to control herself enough to tell him what was next but she was caught off guard by him starting to drag her up and down his fat cock by her hips.

“Wha- how d-do you... know how to...” Her mind trails off from her body already seeking an orgasm, “Oh my god, Mike... right there...”

Hearing praise from his favorite nurse always made Michael’s heart skip a beat regardless of him never showing it but now he made sure (Y/n) could feel just how much he loved hearing her approval even if it came in the form of moans and grunts. Her whimpers and groans were suddenly accompanied by a shaky hand that reached between them and pressed to his pelvis, trying to slow his thrusts while wet, squelching echoed off the cement walls of his room.

“M-Mikey, wait, big guy. Gimme a...” She trails off, eyes rolling back, “A... a fuckin’ minute, didn’t expect you to be so... ugh, my god, yess~”

The Boogeyman stopped moving her for a moment only to grab her wrists as gently as he could and hold them behind her back with one hand while the other gripped her hip firmly before both hands worked together to resume her bounces her on his lap. She gasps out, throwing her head back and arching her back as she cums hard, her pussy spasming around him as he continues to wordlessly bounce her on his lap and fuck her through an intense, eye-crossing orgasm.

"Michael... Mikey, you're doing amazing, b-baby~"

She looks up at him, amazed and already dizzy from how steady and sure he was moving her, every drop followed by barely a huff. Not every lift from exertion, every fucking drop. He wasn't tired. Hell, he was never tired. (Y/n) clenched her fists behind her back tightly and moaned loudly with how delicious each stroke against her g-spot and hit against her cervix felt, glad she didn't have to teach him a goddamn thing.

But in the back of her mind she got the feeling that she might need to teach the Boogeyman was how to stop.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(a/n): I cut it short tbh, but lmk if yall want it longer 💙💙

[currentlyinflames]

What we have to do to survive - Sylus x gn!Reader

word count: 2.5k

Summary: Sylus comes home after a day of hunting Praedators and you see something off...

cw: violence, injury, mentions of blood, guns, reader is protective almost to an unhealthy level, theres like one suggestive sentence

a/n: written for the new event. I skipped over the patching up scene a lot im sorry im hella squeamish. this man has captivated all my senses so i must bite and write him. this is also my first fic to exceed a thousand words.

Enjoy :D

-        -           -    

You heard the glass door creak as Sylus crept back into your home. 

You never heard him walk in when you first met him but Sylus had since dropped his guard around you. Something about a “little kitten” not being a threat. You showed him just how much of a threat you could be later that night. 

You lifted your head from where it was buried in your book, not taking your eyes off it. 

“Got a moment kitten?” His deep voice called out to you. 

“Mhm, lemme finish this chapter,” You said, still deeply engrossed in your book. 

Sylus chuckled. “You’re not going to step away till you finish the whole book, right sweetie?” There was something held back in his voice, but you didn’t think too much of it. 

He came over to where you were curled up on the couch, standing behind the backrest to kiss you on the cheek. 

You turned your head, catching his lips. “Welcome home.” 

You both separated after a long moment when you caught him holding his side. You quickly got up and went around to him, scanning for any other injuries. 

“What happened? Why didn’t you say anything??” You gingerly touched the hand over the wound, he winced and you quickly pulled your hand away, keeping it hovering nearby. 

“I’m alright, kitten. It’s just a scratch.” Sylus tried to console you. 

You clicked your tongue, worry evident on your face. “You’d say that even if you were bleeding out.” 

He cupped your cheek with his free hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. He smiled softly, his crimson eyes holding your gaze, silently comforting you. 

That didn’t ease your worry as you gripped his arm, getting ready to guide him toward the bathroom with your first aid supplies. You took a breath. Panic would not help anyone right now. 

Sylus stood firm, preventing you from taking him anywhere. “I’m serious, kitten. I’ll be alright.” 

“Not if I don’t take a look. Now come with me or sit down.” 

Sylus chuckled, then winced. “You’re the boss.” 

Your hand slid from his forearm to his free hand, gently guiding him to the cabinet with the first aid kit. 

You made him sit on top of the counter, keeping his injury in front of you, feeling his eyes on you as you pulled out the supplies. 

You didn’t meet his gaze as you started working. “Now, are you gonna tell me what happened or do I need to coax it out of one of your associates.”

“No need to murder on my behalf, sweetie. It was just an incident with a Praedator, nothing too bad.” 

“But no Praedator has been strong enough to hurt you before. Are they getting stronger or are you losing your touch, honey?” You attempted to lighten the mood with your teasing but Sylus seemed pensive because of your words. 

“You’re aware of Praedator testing with frenzy enhancers, right?” 

Your brow furrowed. “Where are you going with this?” 

“You know I have enemies kitten, some of them have it out for me more than others. One of them happens to be in possession of black market frenzy enhancers.” 

“So the Praedator was sent to hunt you. And found you.” 

“They obviously didn’t succeed but they’re still a threat. I want you to keep a weapon on you at all times. Preferably one that I constructed myself with…special anti-Praedator features.” 

“You mean a gun with a taser and Praedator suppressant laced bullets-” 

“-And a second gun with normal bullets. You know me so well my dear. They’re in the top drawer of my nightstand along with my glasses, the hot ones- you know which ones.” 

You finished up the final bandages and went to put the supplies away when Sylus stopped you. “Aren’t you forgetting something sweetie?” 

“I…don’t think so?” 

He pointed to his lips. “A get-well kiss. Won’t that speed up the healing process.” 

You huffed out a laugh. “Oh my sweet, needy man.” 

You reached up to cup his face, one hand on his cheek and the other wrapped around his neck. Your lips slotted against each other perfectly, like they were made to match. His arm wound  around your waist, finding its home in the small of your back. 

You kissed him passionately, savouring the moment. And already thinking of you next move. 

- - - 

You had given Sylus a sleeping pill. A mild one to give you about 3 hours to track down the Praedator and the bastard that dared to target Sylus. 

You snuck over to his phone where he received all his missions and entered the password (“LitTlefeAtHer78%67><) to look up the details of his last job. 

Location: Southern District; near the Old Museum. 

Target: B-Class Praedator

The difficulty had obviously been fabricated. You’d fought B-Rank Praedators yourself and none of them were near Sylus’ skill level. 

The Museum was near where you and Sylus met as you saw him fight for the first time. He was injured then too but those were only a few scratches. Not a planned attack. 

You then scanned the page for any hint as to who might have sent the job. And there it was at the top: Ever. An odd codename but still a lead regardless. 

You looked over to see him sleeping peacefully in your bed. You never thought of yourself as vengeful but Sylus had changed you in many ways since you met him. 

You crept over to the bed and opened the nightstand drawer to pull out the guns he wanted you to have. It was fitting that you were using them on your first “official” job for him. 

The weight was unfamiliar yet balanced in your hands and you quickly tucked them into your holsters, eager to use them. 

You crept out of the room and through the same back door Sylus snuck in through just an hour ago. 

“I’ll be back baby,” you whispered as you looked back one last time before you left. 

Sneaking out with Sylus’ keen senses would have been the hard part of your journey if not for the sleeping pill. Now the obstacle was the time crutch and actually tracking your target from the Museum. 

If you assumed that Sylus had eliminated the treat before leaving the area, that would reduce the chances of you tracking your prey easily. You didn’t want to think that injury made Sylus sloppy but at the moment that was your best bet. 

You entered the museum on high alert, tensing as you hear a noise. A series of thumps followed. 

Slowly, you inched toward the sound, guns in hand, ready to strike at anything there. You hid behind a corner, peeking out to gauge what was there. 

A Praedator was chained to the wall, clearly a weaker type with how it struggled in short bursts, then gave up. 

So the B-Rank Praedator did exist, you realised. But another one was sent too.  

You stepped out from behind the corner, pistols aimed at the Praedator. It snarled back. 

“What happened here? Who sent you?” 

“I don’t work for anyone,” it hissed. “Some weird shirtless man chained me up here after killing another .” 

“And what was the other Praedator like?” 

“Stronger than the man, almost got a bite on him. Wearing a collar like a little pet too.” 

You were getting closer to the answers you wanted. “Did anyone come here after that?” 

“And what will helping you get me?” It sneered. 

“A quick and-relatively- painless death,” you said, raising your chin. “Or I can leave you here and signal some other large, higher ranked Praedator to finish the job. Maybe get some frenzy enhancers as well to really make it interesting.” 

To emphasise your point, you examined one of your guns and aimed it at its left hand, firing a warning shot but having it land in the space next to its upper arm. 

“You won’t actually shoot,” It growled. 

“Try me.” You aimed again, this time at its chest with the electrically charged bullets. You pulled the trigger. 

The bullet didn’t pierce the skin but settled on top, making the Praedator jolt from the electrical shock. 

“Ok- the Praedator was branded- there’s a research facility 3 buildings down- it came from there- that’s all I know I swear-“ 

The jolts began to slowly stop. You cocked your gun, aiming straight at its chest. “Thank you for your service.” 

You fired. 

- - - 

Most buildings in the Southern District were abandoned, meaning there was minimal security in even the previously most important buildings. 

There was nothing stopping you from casually strolling into the facility after shooting the security guard. But you decided to sneak in just in case there were other security measures taken. 

You found an open window on the ground floor and at an easy enough height to crawl through. You landed on dirtied white floors and pulled out your pistols. 

You began walking through the hallway you stumbled into when you heard voices coming from ahead. 

You ducked into the nearest open room, rushing to hide from whoever was coming. 

The voices came closer as you scanned the room, quickly looking for somewhere to hide if they tried to come in. 

The room was compact, with a large cage in the middle. There were screens on the wall that might have been used to track the vitals of the Praedator within the cage but now it was abandoned. 

The voices reached a crescendo outside the room and you held your breath, your finger hovering over the trigger in case you had to make a quick escape. Then you heard the footsteps resume and the voices faded away. 

You paused for a moment, then peeked out of the room. Two men were still standing outside your room, seemingly waiting for something. One was wearing a lab coat and the other a suit. Then the man in the lab coat whispered something to the man in the suit. You could only make out a few words: lab, target and Ever. 

That’s when you caught sight of the suited man’s id badge. It was pinned to his suit jacket and was spelled in small but clear letters: EVER. 

You had found your target. And you would make him pay. 

You had nothing against the scientist other than the fact that he might be a possible witness. You quickly looked around for a distraction. The monitors in your hiding spot were all turned off but they might be connected to another system or alarm. 

You crept over to the nearest one that was hidden from the door and held down the on button. It took a moment, but slowly flickered on. 

The lab must have been abandoned for quite some time because the monitors made use of old technology that primarily detected whether the cage was open or not. 

It indicated that all was well because the cage lock was engaged. But with just the right aim….

You pulled out your normal gun and pointed it at the ancient lock, then fired. 

The bullet struck the latch perfectly. And then the alarms went off. 

The blaring noise made you flinch, then grip your guns harder as you prepared to face Ever. 

The first scientist came in, the one that was just talking to Ever outside. He frantically looked around but before he could catch you, you smacked him upside the head with your pistol. 

Then came the man you were truly waiting for. He ran into the room and you triggered the mechanism that would shut the door. 

“Hello Ever,” You smiled, twirling one of your guns. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He was still reeling from the shock of the alarm. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Who I am isn’t important. What matters to me is that you tried to harm Sylus, and I don’t take too kindly to that.”

“What could I possibly have to do with that criminal?”

“He’s a threat to you isn’t he? Unpredictable, cunning, skilled. If he decides that you’re his next target, there’s nothing stopping him.”

“He has no reason to target me. He was simply a bug that had to be crushed.”

A warning shot rang out. 

Ever flinched. 

“I know about the frenzy enhancers. I know how you faked the mission debrief to catch Sylus alone and off guard. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t target you the same way.”

Ever eyed your gun, then met your steely gaze. “My empire will come after you. They’ll never stop.” 

You tilted your head, raising your gun to his chest. “But what is a body without its head.” Then you fired. 

It was a shame you couldn’t draw this out longer, but alas you had a time constraint. 

After making sure the bullet had done its job, you triggered the door mechanism again and went back to where you previously hid. 

You watched the panicked scientists rush in and used the chaos to sneak out. 

Your job was done, and it was time to head home. 

- - 

You broke back into your home using the back door you used to get out. 

You quietly stepped into your closet, changed into comfortable clothes, and tip-toed into the bedroom to lie next to Sylus before he woke up. 

Slowly, you crawled into bed and lay down facing him, cuddling close to bury your face into his chest. 

“Had a nice trip kitten?” His voice came from above you. 

“Shut up I’m tired,” You murmured. “When did you wake up anyway, that pill was strong.” 

“You forget I’ve trained myself against poisons, a little melatonin does nothing. But I’m sure you’ll pass out pretty quick after the field trip you’ve had tonight. Hunting down one of my worst foes? You’re a feisty one aren’t you?” 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” you mumbled into his chest. “And you kill for your job without any hesitation, why shouldn’t I do the same for you?” 

“Well that’s just what I have to do to survive in this world darling,” Sylus said. “You have a choice.” 

“What we have to do,” You amended. “We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.” 

He chuckled. “I didn’t know you’d go to such lengths for me kitten.” 

You look up and hold his gaze, unwavering. “I would do anything for you.” 

Sylus wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer, his warm breath against your ear as he kissed your temple. “It’s both cute and incredibly hot how you fight for my honour sweetie.” 

You smiled, burying your face back into his muscular pecs. “All for you darling.” 

A moment of silence passed with both of you basking in each others’ presence. Then- 

“And I must say kitten, this was probably one of the best Valentines Day presents you could’ve given me today.” 

[pinkolve]

Paging Doctor Y/N ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Summary: You find Eddie getting beat up by a group of jocks, of course you have to come to the rescue and save him.

Genre: Fluff, angst for like two seconds

CW: Fem!reader, reader carries a purse, reader has an unusual amount of things in said purse, second person point of view, mentions of fighting, blood, bruises, swearing, use of a taser, inaccurate descriptions of weed, (I don't smoke enough to know what the fuck I'm talking about), violence, reader drives a pickup truck, reader is a total bad ass because why not?, and I really hope that's it! Let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1,095

A/N: My first time writing in a second person pov, I think it's much better this way, let me know what you think! I might start writing all future fics this way. (I also write the words 'purse' and 'bag' far too many times in this, my deepest apologies.)

You walk out of Hawkins High, the cool night air nipping your skin. You wrap your jacket further around yourself as the door clicks shut behind you.

“Fucking freak!” A voice yells from next to you. You turn your head but see nothing, but there are grunts and groans emanating from somewhere. You peek around the corner, finding a group of jocks beating up another, skinnier boy.

“Let go.” He tries to fight back but a harsh punch lands in his gut. You quickly reach in your purse, grabbing hold of the light pink taser. You keep your hand in your purse, grip firm.

“Hey.” You round the corner, putting yourself in their line of sight. “Let him go.” You don’t look at the boy, just the jocks, standing your ground. You needed to show them you weren’t afraid, leave them powerless.

“Just mind your business.” He turns to punch the boy again.

“Now!” You yell louder this time. He turns back to you, eyes wide, and a vein popping in his forehead.

“Yeah,” He lets go of the guys shirt, making him lose his balance. He walks towards you creepily, until he’s close enough to touch. “And what are you gonna do about it?” He smirks, not realizing what a mistake he’s made. You quickly pull the taser from your purse and stick it to his stomach, turning it on and shocking him. He blubbers and shakes before you turn it off, making him fall to his knees.

“Hey!” One of the other jocks marches up to you, ready to defend his friend’s honor. When he’s close enough his fist pulls back. You grab it before it can hit you, moving to the side and tasing him in the neck. You pull his arm forward, making him fall to the ground.

“Anyone else want some?” You ask venomously, waving your taser in the air. The rest of the group runs over to grab their friends, dragging them away. You shake your head as you watch them scamper off. “Pussies.” You spit, before finally turning to the poor guy they were torturing. He looks up at you as he leans his back against the brick wall, needing the stability.

“Eddie?!” You yell, shoving the taser back in your purse as you run to his side. “I didn’t realize it was you! I’m so sorry, are you okay?!” You run your hands all over him, eyeing him down for any wounds that need urgent tending to.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” You look back up at his face, unconvinced. That’s when you notice a small, deep gash on his cheek.

“You have a cut right there, you aren’t fine.” You state, grabbing his forearm and pulling him along. You lead him to your beat up truck.

“It’s not a big deal!” He tries to laugh it off. You push him to sit on the cargo bed, throwing your bag next to him before you rummage through it.

“It is to me, now shut up so I can patch it up.” You say simply, pulling a first aid kit from your purse.

“You just have that in your purse?” Eddie speaks up, eyebrows furrowed. He moves to look inside, curious to find out what else you could possibly have in there.

“I have almost everything you could ever need. That’s why it’s so big, I pack it full of shit. I like to be prepared, and this whole situation proves it comes in handy.” You smile, pulling a small, travel size bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the kit.

“Got any weed in there?” Eddie laughs, expecting the answer to be ‘no’. You reach in and pull out a small metal tin with pre-rolled blunts. “Holy shit!” He grabs one and looks up at you, making sure it’s okay if he takes one. You set the tin down and grab a lighter, handing it to him, giving him wordless permission.

“My hero.” He sighs as he puffs out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah yeah.” You roll your eyes playfully. “I’m gonna clean the cut now, it’s gonna sting.” You push the cotton pad to his cheek, making him hiss. You pull it down and away, wiping any blood off. “Sorry.” Your voice is soft and sincere. You grab some neosporin and place a glob on his cut, before sticking a small bandage over it. “Good as new.” You grin wide, admiring your handiwork. You reach in your bag once again, and pull out a cherry lollipop. Eddie’s eyes widen like little kid’s.

“Holy shit, candy too!?” He snatches it from you greedily.

“For being a good patient.” You giggle, packing up your things and throwing them back in your purse.

“Thanks, sweetheart. I owe you one.” He hops down from the truck and stands in front of you.

“Why’d they gang up on you anyways?” You ask, turning back to face him after throwing your bag over your shoulder.

“I’m not even really sure.” He laughs. “It doesn’t matter.” He waves you off.

“It does matter, Eddie.” You scowl at him, making his smile fade. “Stop acting like this is no big deal, because it is!” Your voice is raising slightly.

“Woah, woah, okay!” He raises his hands in surrender. He drops the blunt and puts it out with his boot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me! It’s all these fucking assholes who think it’s okay to beat you up, just because they want to!” Your hands flail around a little, anger rising inside you.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“I do worry about you!” You almost scream. “I always worry about you, how could I not?! The guy I love is getting beaten and bruised just for existing! It makes my blood fucking boil!” You go quiet, anger still present. You look back up at Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, his face ghostly pale. “What?” You ask softly. He swallows.

“You uh…You said you ‘love me.’” He swallows again, the lump in his throat still remaining. You still, body freezing in place.

“I, well…I mean I don’t, well I do, but I didn’t-”

“Did you mean it?” He cuts you off quickly. You look at him with confusion.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Eds.” You whisper. Before you can say anything else, or even move, his lips are on yours. You let out a soft squeak of surprise before kissing him back. He pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips.

“I love you too.”

[1moreff-creator]

Imagine Project Eden's Garden Chapter 1 but the victim and killer are reversed.

Alright, I’ve imagined it. Thanks for the ask!-

Ok no, I’ll give a proper answer ‘cuz this seems like fun xD I ended up writing a lot more than I’d imagined damn.

Spoilers for P:EG CH1. CW: Murder, stabbing, manipulation, mention of hallucinogenics

I guess the first big question is how exactly we get to a position where Wolfgang actually wants to kill Eva, and presumably want to get away with it so that the trial doesn’t last only two seconds.

The option I’ll go with is to stick to canon for the most part; Wolfgang goes down to the boiler room at 8:15, and Eva ambushes him. However, in this hypothetical, Eva doesn’t manage to hit him with the rolling pin, and instead Wolfgang defends himself, stabbing her in the heart. He makes his escape, keeping the note he received about meeting in the boiler in his pocket.

He’s probably covered in blood by this point, so he’d probably try to make it back to his room without seeing anyone in the hall. Let’s say he manages to do that, changes, washes off the blood, and quickly hides the bloody clothes under his bed or something (no one’s gonna check his room this time ‘cuz he’s not dead). I’ll say he left the knife at the crime scene, though, ‘cuz why not.

Now, before we move on, I have to say that this is twisting Wolfgang’s character quite a bit. I think he’d feel bad about killing Eva, though he’d try to assure himself he’s in the right because Eva tried to kill him and that makes her the irredeemable murderer and not him, or something like that.

However, I’m really not sure he’d actually try to win the trial. Maybe he’d try to convince Tozu to let it slide because it was self-defense, but we know that wouldn’t fly, and I don’t think Wolfgang would push further. However, for the sake of the hypothetical, let’s say that Wolfgang’s ambitions of greatness push him to self-preservation at all costs, so he tries to win the trial. I think that’s also fairly possible, maybe.

With that established, let’s move on to body discovery! While the gaming crew would probably look around for Eva when they notice she never came to set stuff up, the first discoverer would likely be Diana, going to the boiler at 8:45 because of the note she received. She becomes a suspect because of that, but in the trial, Damon and a few others are quick to make the others turn their attention to the crime itself before pointing fingers.

That would also include Wolfgang himself, believe it or not. While Eva was decent at being a blackened, Wolfgang would probably be even better. So, what’s his strategy?

I think Wolfgang would try to spin a narrative that paints Eva as some form of hero. Since Diana was her roommate, he could argue that Eva managed to read the letter Diana received before the day of the murder, and that she may have gone down to the boiler room to case out the scene and make sure Diana wasn’t walking into a trap. He’d argue that the presence of the battery, the hallucinogenic (which I’ll say was already in the boiler room and Eva wasn’t carrying it around to facilitate some things), the extension cord in the vent, the taser, etc., all implied the killer had a more elaborate method in mind, before Eva walked in on them and started a fight. The presence of two weapons in the crime scene reinforce the idea of a fight.

Why would Wolfgang do all this? To get emotional. If he paints Eva as a fallen hero, he can pretend to despise her killer with the same intensity as he hated the killer from the prologue trial. He’d act melancholic about Eva, pretending to regret ostracizing her now that he knew she truly cared about Diana. He’d shout about how the killer deserves death, for trying to kill someone as nice as Diana, only to then kill the person who tried to protect her. It’s a compelling narrative, that the others would love to believe for its simplicity and emotional weight. Diana especially, since she’d love to believe Eva really cared that much about her.

But why? Why would Wolfgang do this? Because he desperately needs to convince one specific person not to speak. He needs to make one specific person believe in his innocence wholeheartedly, for if this person were to ever think Wolfgang might be the killer, then their testimony could end the trial in one fell swoop.

And that person is Toshiko.

Because Toshiko saw Wolfgang leave his room at a time close to the time of death, and he said he was going to the gaming tournament. Since he never showed up there despite being very clearly alive, that immediately casts doubt as to where he actually was, and then he’s cooked.

Grace’s testimony isn’t damning on its own; Wolfgang could have been genuinely sick in the morning, only to get better later. It’s only with Toshiko’s testimony that his sickness comes into doubt, after all. As for Ingrid hearing Toshiko and Wolfgang talk, Wolfgang could say that happened in his room and that Toshiko just saw him walking past, and Toshiko would go with that based on their agreement. That’s why Toshiko’s testimony is the most important here.

So, right as the investigation starts, Wolfgang would pull Toshiko aside, and tell her not to spill the beans. He’d come up with some excuse for his lie about where he was going (maybe he’d say he wanted to meet with someone to discuss the motive, and he was worried she’d try to eavesdrop), and ask her to hear out what he had to say in the trial before telling anyone else what had happened that morning. He’d tell her that her testimony would only confuse people, because there’s no way Wolfgang’s the killer, right? So don’t say anything. And she’d oblige, because everyone loves Wolfgang! No way he’s lying!

And once he gets the story about Eva being a hero going, Toshiko would probably convince herself that Wolfgang hates the killer too much to be the blackened, and would continue to oblige with the vow of silence, for a while. This is the main purpose of Wolfgang’s narrative.

As for who Wolfgang would push as the blackened, uh. It needs to be someone without an alibi at 8:15, so while Damon (the first possibility I thought of) is more or less on the table, it’d have been risky for him to leave when Kai was still asleep. I think going for Wenona would be Wolfgang’s best bet, as he could argue her cutthroat attitude as the Ultimate Entrepreneur would make her the likeliest to kill first. I’m assuming here Wenona’s alibi doesn’t stretch to 8:15 btw, but I’m not sure we know that for certain.

However, the blackened never wins. Wolfgang’s narrative would fall apart when Damon points out a glaring issue with his story; Eva’s tablet. Although they’d have no idea where the tablet came from, the fact is, Eva had it (uh, let’s say she was already carrying it around in her pocket okay?), not the blackened. This is a problem because it means Eva had no reason to go down to the boiler room to “case the scene,” as Wolfgang would be arguing. She’d just check the cameras.

From there, Damon is quick to realize that Eva herself was probably the one planning the crime with the battery, based on the rolling pin. While I doubt he’d want to figure out the entire mechanism behind Eva’s plan, he’d at least figure that using a rolling pin to knock someone out was more likely to be part of said plan than using a knife to do literally anything. That would further imply Eva was the one with the plan, and that the killer was the one who likely acted in self-defense.

With that established, the cast comes to the conclusion that Eva must have also sent the killer a card similar to the one Diana received, where Eva threatened them based on their secrets. This narrows down the possible killers to those who had never talked to the person who received their secret; based on this, we can eliminate Toshiko, Grace, Ingrid, Jean, and possibly a few others based on what conversations happened offscreen. Adding in the already discussed alibis, the suspects start getting narrowed down.

Because of that, Toshiko speaks up, saying there’s something she’s been keeping secret, but she isn’t sure she should anymore. This is probably where the logos/pathos path split is; Damon has to convince Toshiko to speak up either through a logical argument or by appealing to her emotions. Toshiko obliges, gives her testimony of her chat with Wolfgang in the morning, and also says he told her not to tell. There’s some angst here with Toshiko presumably being very scared while saying all of this, as she is betraying Wolfgang’s trust, but we’re kinda skipping that.

The cast starts freaking out here, obviously. Some are mad at Toshiko for concealing info, Ingrid’s defending her, people are trying to steer back the trial, some are saying Wolfgang’s the killer 100%, some are trying to say he couldn’t have possibly done it, all the bullshit. Wolfgang’s now trying to gun for Damon (let’s say Kai had talked to his person about his secret so we can rule him out), claiming his alibi isn’t good enough. However, Damon defends by bringing up that he can’t have washed off fast enough after a murder at 8:15 to then pretend to go back to sleep for Kai’s awakening at 8:30, at least when taking into account travel time between boiler and his room.

With all the secrets and the alibis, slowly Wolfgang starts seeming like the only real possibility. The Argument Altercation with him starts when he claims that Eva herself had had his secret, but she had asked him to keep that conversation secret at all costs, so he was just honoring her wishes. This would rule him out as stated before, but it’s obviously a desperate gamble that would only work if Eva genuinely had his secret, or if the person who had his secret didn’t call him out on it, but it’s all he has. The Argument Altercation ends with Damon epically revealing that he’s the one that received Wolfgang’s secret, and that he absolutely never talked to him about it. The trial doesn’t last very long after that.

The cast would obviously be devastated after this, because Eva tried to kill someone and Wolfgang not only killed her, but also wanted to kill everyone else to save himself. I think Wolfgang would end up trying to tell the others not to fall in the same pit of despair as he had when he realized what killing Eva meant. He hadn’t meant to kill her, after all, and he genuinely wanted (most of) the group to stay together. This leads to Diana doing the same chameleon speech as she did in canon, though with different wording and promises. Overall, it’s hard to talk about changes past this point, as we don’t even know how canon will go, but I imagine Damon’s, Diana’s and Toshiko’s character arcs would be greatly affected because of everything that happened. Damon would get worse if the others keep idolizing Wolfgang even after that (which could genuinely happen), Diana wouldn’t be using Wolfgang as a role model so much, and god fucking knows what kind of trust issues Toshiko would develop after all that.

That’s all from me, hope it was fun. Thanks for the ask, this was a really interesting thought exercise!

[iamdarcylewis]

man why did i study to become a teacher? like i love being a teacher but the pay? the pay is shit and its so frustrating because we teachers work a lot, it's a draining job and sometimes you're just left wondering if its worth it, i love my students but that love wont pay bills and debts ): like can you imagine if they paid us by the amount of work that we do? but noooo

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLII. “2am”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce struggles to contain himself after your impromptu meeting.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, arguing/belittling

words: 5k

a/n: i love them together so much AHHH even when they’re being them…

You’d found an old deli, Mallozzi’s, on the east side of the Tricorner bridge. The word sever echoed between your eardrums like a march; it was why you hadn’t called Bruce for backup, even though you were headed to Crown Point past sundown. 

Even the taxis were superstitious; Uber and Lyft hadn’t let you hitch a ride here at this hour, and the taxi driver who did made sure to drop you off on the closest main street—a quarter mile walk to your destination. You’d charged your taser this time, and set your phone to send all emergency contacts your precise location with only two clicks. You’d worn all black to try and blend into the shadows, going so far as to don black eyeshadow, lipstick, and a thick beanie beneath a baggy hoodie. A small insignia of GU was embroidered into the breast, the only thing you’d had the money to buy at orientation two years ago. 

The hustle and bustle was overwhelming downtown, but the lack of it here was eerie. Every splash of your foot in a puddle was loud enough to startle. Fall’s chill crept in with every passing day, a reminder that you’d helped get people off these streets. It helped steel your nerves. If they had endured frigid winters and the constant threat of violence, you could handle one meetup. Especially with Batman on speed dial. 

You winced. Severing.

The afternoon floated around your thoughts as you made your way through the damp streets, interpolated with particularly destroyed buildings that made you run away with stories of how heinous the flood had been. Wiped out this entire neighborhood. Some of it looked flattened. You stepped around a massive hole in the concrete; it started in the middle of the street, its arms reaching the sidewalk on either side. Maybe a pipe had burst in the flooding. Had they truly not had the budget to fix this place up? Never before had you seen such blatant classism; one of the poorest neighborhoods blown to shreds, untouched two full years later. People here didn’t give a single shit.

It had been too easy to convince yourself to come here—the situation at Arkham had perked your ears to something awry, and the timing of this was too convenient. You’d tried responding with some questions: what is this concerning, is this to the right person? but it hadn’t gone through. Whoever wanted to meet didn’t want to risk it being traced. Which only made you curious. You also wanted to challenge the idea that this was the most dangerous area of Gotham; you couldn’t trust a damn thing this city said when they made their priorities so transparent.

Taking this anonymous meeting was also a welcome distraction from having to deliberate on Dr. Crane’s orders, which distracted you from wondering what you’d do when you got home, which distracted you from your mom, which distracted you from staring into the abyss of likely having to start your life from scratch in a small town with no friends nearby, only potholed roads and weathered church buildings to talk to. And Walter.

Which distracted you from another glaring situation: whatever the hell had happened in his shower the night before, and the potential depth of that yearning. Your mind lingered there, haunting you. Taunting you. Last night had made everything real. Clicked so much into place. Why you kept coming back, why you felt so frustratingly drawn to him. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne… 

Right. Severing.

Mallozzi’s looked like it might have been a great shop in its heyday; now, the shingles were half gone, windows busted, every corner encrusted with mold. Mildew and sawdust singed your nostrils as you entered, the glass door barely opening wide enough for you to squeeze through. A quick sweep of the room revealed you were alone. Stepping over broken glass and copious amounts of rat poop, you managed to find a single stool that hadn’t been ripped to shreds and situated there. Your heart hurt looking around, reminding you of how it felt watching mom and pop shops close up in rural Washington. The countertops had what appeared to be hand-sculpted designs on each square, color-coordinated with the faded faux awning above the destroyed registers. 

Two minutes, then five. The more time passed, the greater your inkling that following this had been a mistake. Would it have been so bad to ask Bruce to cover for you? Climb on a roof somewhere and keep lookout, just in case?

A hinge creaked ten past two. A hooded figure had wedged the door wider than you’d managed, and you thumbed your taser in your left hand. They had both hands tucked into their pockets, head down, and it was impossible to tell if they were a danger yet. Impossible to tell if this was even who you were meant to meet with. They’d given no descriptors, no street name. You opened your mouth, but they spoke first. Stating your first and last name like a bored secretary, with the voice of someone in their late twenties, maybe thirties. You nodded, apprehensive. “That’s me.”

They pulled up a stool you’d avoided, too encrusted in dirt that looked very much like poop, but the stranger dusted it off with the back of their hand and sat. Their hood was cinched tight. You could make out tanned skin in the light from the smoggy moon that danced off the puddles, but that was it. 

“You need to leave Gotham.” It wasn’t said like a threat, but it registered like one. You almost heard it in Bruce’s voice, and for a millisecond you considered if he’d set this up. Sent someone to unsettle you, convince you to leave. Maybe he’d figured you’d be more eager to listen to a stranger than the billionaire vigilante who definitely didn’t have ulterior motives for getting you out of his hair. 

“Why?” Wanting them to think you weren’t easily intimidated, you kept measured. Bruce may have been able to x-ray vision through your chest to see your pounding heart, but…

“If you don’t leave now, you’ll get yourself killed.” A shrill noise of air pulling into cold lungs, a small puff of air exploding between you. “Housing people in Point put a target on your back.” Another breath, increasingly shallow. Like being in here was a trigger. 

“Associating with Bruce Wayne was enough to save you for now, but do not count on it. If you can even trust him.”

As great your desire to follow the Bruce of it all, you narrowed your focus. Claiming to foresee your imminent death was quite the opener. “How do you know I’m a target?”

The stranger shuffled in their seat, teeth beginning to chatter. “Everyone who tries to clean up the city is. Especially young women.” 

“W—”

Their voice was firmer, stronger now. “Listen to me. Crawling around Arkham, City Hall, Bruce Wayne, Oz Cobb. You take one wrong step and you’re cooked.” You noted a subtle gleam in their eyes as they lingered on your sweatshirt.

“Why would they care about hurting me?”

“You’re sticking your nose in their shit.” Their voice was caustic now, frustrated that you weren’t rolling over and following orders. “Look what happened to the mayor. The task force she set up discovered the DA was funneling money to Arkham, yet the facilities remained unchanged. Next thing you know.” The stranger took their hands out of their pockets and slapped them against their thighs. “They all end up there.”

“What do you mean ‘they all’?”

“That’s precisely what’ll get you killed. Stop asking questions.”

Your voice rose without conscious awareness. “If something like this is going on in the city,”

“It is, and you aren’t able to stop it.” The stranger stood up to leave, and you mirrored them. 

“I could use my connections at G—”

“You don’t think we’ve tried that?” They whipped their head around so fast they gripped the crumbling countertop for balance. “You see any other young buck journalists out here? You stick your nose in shit, you’re gonna get shit. I left after my apartment got hit. Never looked back.”

“You were a journalist here in Gotham?” No wonder they’re giving me a warning. 

“And now I hide in bushes all day so they don’t remember I’m alive.”

You knew it was pushing it, but adrenaline was coursing through your veins. “Who is ‘they’?”

“Bye.”

“So other journalists have been killed here?”

“I might be the only one who hasn’t.”

Dr. Vry probably wanted to know about something like this; something to help protect the journalism students, maybe some leads into who had gone missing and when. She seemed so desperate for people to join the program, and this could explain the low numbers for the major. Their refrain echoed: ‘you don’t think we’ve tried that?’ “Why hasn’t this been picked up?”

“It’s Gotham. People die here.” They said it like a recycled political headline. “Especially if they’re tuities.” They gestured to your sweatshirt and the taser in your hand, clues you were only here for the scholarship. “Go back to wherever the hell you came from. And hope that’s far enough.”

“This is why you didn’t want me to bring anyone.”

“If you speak of this, I’m fucking dead. We both are, so I guess that’s some good stakes.” The stranger was halfway to the exit, your thoughts swimming.

You grasped for any drop you could squeeze out of them, certain you’d never cross paths again. “Do you know the names of the other journalists?”

“No.”

They couldn’t leave you with nothing. Make vague, disparaging comments about leaving, then drop you into the pit. Your frustration bled out. “Sounds like you do, but you don’t want to tell me.” 

They turned around, slowly this time. “Yeah.” Their chuckle was dry and humorless. “You’re as good as dead.” You swallowed hard, and they heaved a hissing sigh. “I know you think you’re doing good, but you are nothing but a pebble at the bottom of that goddamn river.” 

Your heart sank.

“You want to do something good? Stay alive, and go make the world a better place somewhere else. They’ll knock you out like a straw house.” The stranger turned around, yanked the doorhandle, and slipped into the night.

You didn’t stay long. The wind cut through your hoodie, and it was a brutal endeavor being alone in such an environment after what you’d just heard. Thankfully you’d written the number of the taxi service who’d driven you, but they wouldn’t answer. After enough phone calls, perusing Scypher to see if tragedy had stricken the city, you decided you’d have to walk until an Uber could meet you on a main street. On this side of town that would take a half hour, minimum. 

You slunk through the alleyways with dim lighting, avoiding ones as dark as the pits of hell. Something about them felt familiar; if they’d been part of the group offered housing, why hadn’t they taken it? Were they completely alone, unable to live with someone under a different name? If their life now was relegated to hiding in shrubs, they probably wouldn’t mind hiding in a warm apartment. Funneling money to Arkham? Lashing out at journalists for looking into it? City Hall, Bruce Wayne, Oz Cobb? Who the hell is Oz Cobb?

A noise down the alleyway scared you into turning around. A few streets over you saw a flickering streetlight, and set off toward it. You struggled to keep your thoughts clear, the decision of whether or not to leave Gotham sitting like a rock. Was it futile to chase this? Had they tried talking to Dr. Vry? Now the president of GU, she had more sway. Who else was locked up in Arkham? Bella Reál had been scrambling to get out. No one cared. The abruptness of Dr. Crane’s covering of the window, his thinly-veiled threats. Severing. 

At his next prescription pickup. A week and a half away. Maybe you could poke around for a week, and if you didn’t find anything you would leave. Maybe you’d still leave, and send any tips over to Bruce for Batman to work through. Point him in some direction, a parting gift, a lead he didn’t have to work himself to the bone to find. Something to make his life a little bit easier.

But what if they did kill you? Would they leave you alone after leaving the city, thinking you were no longer a threat? Would that open things up, now farther away from Bruce Wayne’s reach? Was that article the only reason you were alive right now? Would they hit you after the hype died down? Once you began to fret over if they’d tapped your internet service, you reminded yourself you were wandering alone around dark, ghoulish streets in Gotham City. This wasn’t the place to mull anything over. 

Chasing the streetlights left you unsure of where led to a main road. All the brick looked the same, the monotonous crumby concrete under your feet giving no sense of direction. Intermittent shouts and clanging metal frightened you more than it should have. You were weak. Too soft. Used to leaving cars unlocked on the road for a quick trip. Never carrying a bike lock. Finding yourself in a city where any publicly parked car would be smashed by morning. 

Severing. Your thumb hovered over Bruce’s contact, and your stomach somersaulted. Creeping butterflies, heat rising to your cheeks. For a second the air didn’t hurt your lungs and the darkness wasn’t scary. Childlike crush. Somehow bright and innocent despite the tangle of lies it was covered in. 

You put your phone to your ear. You knew better than to keep wandering; at least no one had seen you yet, noticed you as a target. Mar and Rai didn’t have cars; he was your only ticket out.

“Hey. Everything alright?” He didn’t open by saying your name—like he’d come to expect talking to you. Too enamored by the sound of his voice, the words didn’t fall out of you. Only a few hours apart felt too long. How the hell were you going to leave next week?

He said your name now, a worried edge to his voice. “You okay?”

“Are you busy?”

He paused.

What did you mean by that? He leaned back in the seat of the Batmobile, deliberating. The armor of his suit crunched against it, a noise he was so used to it didn’t register. Half past two in the morning. You didn’t sound distressed. Maybe you’d had a nightmare? Calmed yourself down a bit before calling? 

“What do you need?” He bit back a million questions when you asked for a ride out of Crown Point. He’d wanted you to stay on the line, but you assured him of your safety, though he wasn’t at all convinced. His phone pinged with your location share, and he rushed like every word of yours had been spoken in code. 

He found you at the end of a dark alleyway, one that barely fit the Batmobile with enough space to open the passenger door. It crunched open, not used to being utilized, and you thunked into the seat. He scanned you for injury as you buckled in—nothing. Now persuaded of your safety, chills peppered his skin remembering how you’d caressed him the last time you were in here.

The cabin glowed with a pink and purple haze when you entered. Felt his shoulder pads dig in. The restriction of the belt and his taut leather gloves. The sound of the world shutting off around him. Alongside this crush (he withheld a visible cringe), worry bloomed. He drove under a streetlight and noticed black makeup adorning your face. Black hoodie, black pants. You’d wanted to blend in. 

His hands tightened around the wheel, bracing himself for something terrible. Had you been threatened? Coerced into something? Fell into some shady deal? “What are you doing in Point this late?”

He felt your hesitation like a brick of cement. If you hadn’t been up to something, you would’ve shot back with a defense before he’d finished his sentence. Was this related to how you’d acted over lunch? Withdrawn, sullen? 

“Following a lead.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched your lips purse into a thin line. You had more to say. He didn’t like the feeling inching between you, widening the gap. 

If you wanted to tell him what lead, you would have. What was of greater concern was if you were safe. Though he didn’t think you’d be particularly honest. “At two in the morning?” That didn’t come out right. Neither had his tone; it was verging on scolding. He reigned it in when you turned to look out the window. “I need to know if you’re in danger.”

“Need to know.”

His eyes narrowed, your scoff hitting him like a punch. Where was this coming from? “I can help.” His patience was wearing thin as anxiety bit at him. 

“You are. By giving me a ride home.” You turned your head even further away. Your tone was clipped. He slowed to a stop, his intuition screaming at him. At least he hoped it was logic and sense, not some twisting of this newfound infatuation. 

You looked at him like you were ready to jump from the car, angry, when he faced you. Your shoulders slumped when he met your gaze. He wondered if you could sense how nervous he was. How worried he was. How gutting it was to feel like you weren’t being honest with him. 

“If you’re in any sort of danger, I want to know.” He swallowed, and you looked away. Again. Shit, you were, weren’t you? Why else would you be in this part of town right now? He moved closer, as if it would help you hear him. As if the only problem was you couldn’t make out his words. “Please.” 

“Stop.” You squeezed your eyes shut and wrung your hands in your lap. He thought his heart might give out. “It’s nothing.”

Your cuticles were shredded, your skin flushing light with the force of your grip. Did you want to speak, but felt like you couldn’t? “Did they say not to tell anyone?”

Your lashes fluttered. He leaned closer, wishing he could take off the cowl, but he hadn’t spent enough time in Point lately to know if any security cameras still recorded out here. Your face would be shrouded enough from the shadow he kept you in as he drove close to the alley walls. He softened his voice to make up for the harsh lines and bullet marks in his armor. He didn’t want to intimidate right now. “You can tell me anything. No matter what they told you.”

You were continuously looking back with rose colored glasses at the snarky, mean-spirited man he used to be. How roughly he used to handle you, like he didn’t care if you broke into a million pieces. Nice Bruce, kind Bruce, caring Bruce was impossible to dismiss. How little could you give him where he’d be satisfied? What would make the wheels of this car start turning? He looked stressed and frayed. You couldn’t put any more on him. “A journalism thing. One of the people I think we offered housing, just talked about it.” 

As usual, nothing slipped by him, undeterred by your contrived nonchalance. Why did you have to get in cahoots with the single most focused, discerning person in existence? “This was the only time you both had available?”

“They didn’t want to meet during the day.”

“Who were they?”

“They didn’t want to reveal their identity.”

His brow furrowed, voice raising a few decibels. “You didn’t know who they were before coming to Crown Point alone in the middle of the night?”

“This is starting to sound like a lecture.” Your taser fell from your side onto the ground, and he flexed his jaw. You tensed, bracing for an argument. “I came prepared, okay?”

His tone kept restrained. For now. “What if they’d had a gun? What if they’d brought others?”

“They didn’t.”

“What exactly did you talk about?” 

It was hard not to lie again. It was hard not to tell the truth. Hard being in the car with him. “It’s private.” 

“Are you meeting with them again?”

“No.”

“If you do something like this in the future, let me know beforehand.”

Won’t have to worry about that for very long. Little did Bruce know, you’d be out of his hair before the end of the month. Maybe he’d throw a party. Christen the halls of Wayne Tower with the aimless whimsy of the public getting a peek into his world. 

He bristled at your laugh. You weren’t taking this seriously, and it was imperative that you did. Painfully so. “Will you?”

“Please, I want to get home. I’m tired.”

Begrudgingly, with a plan to bring it up later, he released the brake and started downtown. You drove in silence through back alleys and the occasional tunnel until your guilt got too big. Watching his hands tighten and loosen around the wheel, his blinking speed up. He deserved something.

“Do you know anything about someone named Oz Cobb?”

The car slammed to a halt; the seatbelt clicked hard into place, shoving you back into the seat. “Is that who you met with?”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Is that who you met with?”

His tone scared you. Jagged and deep, like shards of glass. “Jesus fuck, no!” 

“How do you know him?” His eyes were cast in shadow, his face a blob of black leather. Gone was the tentative, concerned Bruce—maybe you liked when he handled you gently. The rosy glasses were falling off your face. Who the hell was Oz to have him act like this?

“I don’t.”

“Have you ever spoken with him outside of City Hall?”

City Hall? You never spoke to anyone there.

“Have you?”

Interrogative. No longer was this a conversation between allies. The car cramped under the weight of his gravelly tone, his armor coming off far more aggressive. You wouldn’t let him know that. “Just drive.”

“Absolutely not.” He wasn’t leaving until you understood. Your frustration was a small price to pay for making you understand that your life would be at risk, that Oz was dangerous, that keeping things like this from him was a death sentence. 

“So you’re stranding me here?”

He made his voice stronger, feeling it begin to shake. “Don’t ever go near him.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I said don’t ever go near him.” He felt nauseous. And faint. Intrusive images of you lying with a bullet through your skull made his vision go in and out. Made him nervous to look at you, though he still did.

“You don’t control me.”

“Promise me you’ll never go near him.” His pulse raced in his ears.

“I can do whatever the hell I want.” If he didn’t drop it this second… His tone was venomous when he next spoke. 

“He’ll kill you.”

You rolled your eyes wide enough for him to see. Now you could see him, his eyes flashing, then narrowing, his mouth tensing into a snarl. “A lot of things could.”

“Promise me.” 

Sounded like a threat. You looked around, pretending to be bored, your blood boiling over as you began to feel like a hostage.

He was on the brink of a panic attack. “Promise me, goddammit!”

You gasped out your response, shocked his voice had risen to such a yell. “Don’t talk to me like that, what the fuck?”

“You’re telling me to let you hold a loaded gun to your head and pull the trigger.”

“Take me home.”

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“Fuck off.”

A wheeze squeezed from his constricted throat. Yeah, he was about to pass out. “If you don’t want me to track you,”

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Are you planning to meet with him?”

You stared at your lap. You. Still. Weren’t. Listening. 

“Answer me.”

Your nose turned up at him. “Your intimidation is less effective when you know it’s just you under that fucking suit.”

“You need to know how serious this is.”

“Take. Me. Home.” The steadiness of your voice was fading as helplessness crept in. You turned to look out the window. 

You started hashing at your cuticles. His voice was softer, though marginally. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“You need to listen, please—”

“TAKE ME HOME.”

Bruce reached out to touch your elbow, but you yanked your arm away so fast your wrist slapped against the glass. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not accepting any apology until I’m back.” 

The silence breathed for a few seconds, interrupted eventually by the clicking of gears. After a few streets you recognized the turns, the knot in your stomach loosening. The whiplash of twenty-four hours ago put a lump in your throat. 

A few minutes later he pulled into the signature alleyway. You hustled to unbuckle, the sound of small clinking rattling your ears. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed he was shivering.

“I’m sorry, everything I say is coming out wrong,” his voice was weak and bruised. 

“You don’t own me.” You unclicked the buckle. 

“I know.” A humorless laugh fell from his lips, and you stiffened. He shook his head like he hadn’t meant for it to occur. “That’s the thing, I know I don’t. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

He took off his cowl, sighing as he held it in his lap. A football field of distance sat between you, and he felt it like a hot branding iron. “I’m sorry for not taking you home when you asked.”

Tears stung your eyes. “Don’t ever act like that again.”

Bruce’s face contorted with pain as he watched you bite your cheek and blink back tears. He nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. I was way out of line.”

You resumed fiddling with your hands. A light patter of rain dusted the windshield and echoed off the metal roofing. You didn’t know what to say to him. Each time you thought you were past something, it circled back.

“I won’t track you. I already said I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You’re fucking mean.” It blurted out of you with a pitiful sob, and you angrily wiped at the hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “I don’t even know who the fuck he is.”

It was agony knowing he’d made you cry. It bled into his inflection, this frail, bleeding desperation. “It won’t happen again. I was, I was scared, his pockets are in the courts, I can’t get him—”

“So you scared me?”

He froze. “I scared you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You wiped your cheeks with your forearm and popped open the door. 

“It matters a lot.”

You didn’t leave, but you didn’t speak. The two and a half block walk was more intimidating than ever, exaggerating the empty staleness of sitting in his car. 

“He’s the one person in this city I can’t save you from.”

“You don’t need to save me.”

You got out, saying a curt goodnight, and walked south down the alley. Hopefully no one would harass you at this hour. Hopefully getting home so late would mean the hot water would be plentiful. Hopefully you had a snack in the freezer you could eat in the shower, while you sat on the floor and deliberated if your life was worth staying, or leaving. 

Crunches of gravel alerted you to Bruce’s presence. Mussed hair and splotchy black eye paint sweat in a fade halfway down his cheeks. He hadn’t put the cowl back on, his identity on full display for anyone with the thought to look behind them on the sidewalk of the main road. It shocked you out of your melancholy. “What are you doing?”

He looked… uncomfortable, but earnest. His jaw twitched on every syllable. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I mean it. I’m really sorry.” His eyes bored into you, then trailed to the small pools in your tear troughs. “I don’t want to make you feel like this.”

You tore your eyes away from his. You might’ve drowned otherwise. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

When you got home you scrubbed your makeup off in the shower, buzzing from the constant state of whiplash Bruce kept you chained to. Reactive, and, belligerent, and, apologetic, and intense. He couldn’t fucking talk to you like that. Like you were a petulant child. He was the petulant one. He was so, fucking… aggravating!

He sat in the car for the next hour, unmoving. Half of him felt silly. Pushing off patrol over an argument. The other half was in excruciating pain. He didn’t give you enough credit for what you had endured, and what you had done. It wasn’t like you ran into Point shouting at the top of your lungs, pointing a spotlight at yourself with your full name and address on display. Wasn’t like you didn’t know Gotham was dangerous. Probably still had remnants of the bruise on your thigh. 

He cut the night short. He couldn’t concentrate with the thought of you miserable in your apartment. His head spun. Maybe he was going soft. Being self-indulgent and unreasonable. Cutting patrol short in a city of millions over one person? This was why he kept at a distance. Public service was supposed to be egalitarian; creating any sort of hierarchy was unacceptable. Yet there you remained, and here he was at Wayne Tower with the moon still high in the sky.

He’d never, ever speak to you that way again. 

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do Part 27

Wc:3213 Masterpost CW: Hospitalization, discussions of temporary character deaths

The hospital was pure chaos. Reporters were at the door, police were at the reporters to stay back, and the Waynes were pacing.

None of them had wanted to be left behind, not with this, so as soon as those who had been playing hero changed, they all headed for the hospital. Bruce had met them in a waiting room that had been cleared out for their use. There were benefits to having a wing named after one’s father.

“Clear,” Babs said as she and Tim finished typing on the tablets that they had brought from WE. “CTV cameras will just loop past this room.”

“There are no bugs. I’ve activated scramblers for parabolic mics or anything, not that they should be able to get to us in here anyways,” Tim said.

“What happened?” Steph asked, looking to Bruce.

Bruce looked to Dick. The rest of the eyes followed.

Dick sighed.

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

“I believe we are past that, Richard,” Damian snapped.

“Why don’t you start with a debrief of tonight,” Bruce coached.

“I was almost in suit when Babs came over the comms, telling us they took Danny. I started to look for suspicious vehicles given the time frame. I wasn’t successful at spotting anything before the…” Dick was really glad that Jason was back with Danny and not here listening to this. “…before the trap went off. I saw one of the buildings go dark.

"Cass joined me. We took out the henchmen at the van and leading into the building. Based on intel, I headed straight for the basement. The place was flooded an inch or two deep. They broke the sprinkler valve, I believe. Danny was tied to a metal chair bolted in the middle of the room. A wire had been tapped into the circuit breaker and was at Danny’s feet. His shoes were off.”

Dick swallowed hard and let his arms drop to his side. That urge to punch something was still there. He flexed his hands and then purposefully relaxed them.

“I was sure he was dead, but when I called out his name he moved. I made sure the circuit breaker was off, disconnected the wire, and went to him. He was…” Dick snorted, shaking his head. “He was making jokes. He was conscious but not fully lucid. Confusion, slurred words, panic. He didn’t want to be taken to the hospital. He thought they would cut him open if ‘they knew’. I was able to convince him to come by saying we’d get Leslie and that we’d protect him.”

Damian scoffed. “Of course we will.”

“Case?” Cass signed, face scrunched up in question.

“And asked Alfred to bring a case, one that Jason put in the Cave that Danny gave him,” Dick confirmed.

“What’s in it?” Tim asked.

Dick just shook his head.

“He’s a Meta, isn’t he?” Duke asked. The question was quiet, but it felt loud in the tense air of the waiting room. He wasn’t staring at the ground rather than any of them. “Something new. Maybe something dangerous or, worse, something useful. It’s why he’s afraid they’ll cut him open.”

Steph cussed and turned to punch the wall only to be stopped by Tim.

“Is he?” Tim asked.

It seemed like there was no getting out of this question. “’Close enough’ was the way it was put when I stumbled in on… the secret.”

“Are his powers electricity based?” Babs asked. “Is that how he survived?”

Dick laughed. The bitter sound made a few of the others flinch or grimace.

“No, opposite, really. He’s weak to it. I think they only got him because they used tasers and it really knocks him out.” I’m so sorry, Danny, Dick thought. “Danny… Danny’s been electrocuted before when he was a kid. It killed him, however briefly. Really… I’m not sure if it didn’t actually kill him again tonight.”

This time Tim didn’t stop Stephanie from punching the wall.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Dr. Thompkins said as she peeled off her gloves.

Danny just glared at the IV in his hand that had been carefully tapped down and put under a mesh glove.

“It’s like she doesn’t trust me,” Danny whispered loudly to Jason.

“She’s right not to,” Jason said.

Danny pouted at him.

“Fish,” Jason said with a wet chuckle. He ran his hand through Danny’s hair again, which seemed to soothe him. “You said loudly and repeatedly that you were going to go out the window as soon as she stopped watching you or if she took your blood or if she put the IV in.”

“She did take it,” Danny whined.

“I did,” Leslie said, “and I also promised you no one else would get a hold of your blood and I meant it. I need a baseline for you though. It’s my job now to make sure that you’re well.”

“And no clones,” Danny said.

“And no clones,” Leslie said.

She shot Jason a look who just shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know enough about what went down with that to answer her questions.

Leslie gave up with a sigh. “You really went and found someone who fit right in with the family craziness I see.”

“Nah, Doc, he goes above and beyond.”

“Well… that should make for an interesting file.”

Danny flinched at that, hard enough for Leslie to notice and stop what she was doing.

“Danny, listen to me,” Leslie said. She waited until Danny met her eyes to continue. “No one else will see the file. It’s encrypted by Oracle, Batman’s tech person, and that’s understating them. I need to keep a file so that I can treat you and keep you healthy, that’s all.”

“No experiments,” Danny croaked.

Jason wanted to punch someone again.

“No experiments,” Leslie promised.

Danny gave a little nod, turned away from her, and all but climbed into Jason’s lap.

“Make sure he doesn’t pull that IV out,” Leslie ordered and went back to making her notes.

Not long after Jason had gotten him and Danny settled into the hospital bed, there was a knock at the door. Jason’s hand went immediately to the scalpel that Leslie had generously pretended not to notice Jason palming earlier. It didn’t matter that it was a knock Jason recognized, he wasn’t taking any chances with Danny right then.

Jason only relaxed when Dick had stepped fully through the door alone.

“Hey Danny, how are you doing?”

“Leslie took my blood.”

“Yeah, she does that,” Dick said. He was smiling, words cheerful, but Jason could see the cracks in his brother’s facade. “Alfred is going to be here in just a moment with the case. Can I send him in when he arrives? Or I can bring it myself? Or any of us. We’re all out there.”

Danny turned his head enough to be able to peer at Dick with one eye. “You’re worried.”

“Yeah, little fish, we’re all pretty worried. We care about you,” Dick said gently.

Jason resisted the urge to kiss Danny’s pout away as he shifted his gaze from Dick to Leslie.

“Can they come in?” Danny asked.

Leslie pursed her lips. “Only for a half hour. After that, it’s only Jason and one other allowed at a time and that’s only because I want Jason to try to get some rest too. Whoever else is in here is on a minimum two hour shift so not to wake you up every five minutes.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dick chirped.

“And tell them to keep it calm,” Leslie called after Dick as he slipped back out the door. She sighed and shook her head before focusing back on Danny. “Now, there will be nurses who come in.”

“Noooo,” Danny whined.

“Yes,” Leslie said. “They’ll just be taking your blood pressure, which they’ll know to expect to be low, and changing out your saline and pain medication. I’ll be back in the morning myself to check on your burns. Everyone who steps foot in this room will be approved by Bruce and I. Someone from the family will be with you the whole time, you’ll be safe in every way.”

Danny’s pout deepened before he sighed heavily and seemed to deflate. “Fine.”

“Thank you, Danny. Now please try to rest after the group leaves, both of you.”

“Sure, Doc,” Jason answered and sent her a smile. He’d have to do something to help her clinic out soon, she really went above and beyond for them tonight. He managed to get Danny turned around so that his boyfriend wasn’t buried face first into his pecs before his family invaded.

It seemed like everyone was really trying to listen to Leslie and they all filed in orderly and tucked themselves onto the couch and chairs and each other. Bruce and Alfred stayed standing.

“Hi guys,” Danny said with a wobbly smile.

Some of the family flinched at how ruined Danny’s voice sounded. The flinches weren’t obvious to be noticed by anyone by a Bat, except maybe for Duke’s, but they still happened and Jason noticed. They all looked wrecked, really, in various ways. One would almost think they had been the ones kidnapped and murdered tonight.

It was Jason’s turn to flinch at his own thoughts. Greedily, he soothed himself by pressing a kiss to Danny’s temple.

“Hi Danny,” Duke said back. “How are you?”

“You know, feeling a little extra crispy,” he joked.

The room seemed to lose all the air for a moment before Tim groaned. “God, there are two of them now. No wonder you’re dating Jason, you have the same morbid sense of humor.”

The tension in the room broke and Barbie even laughed. (They all ignored how the laugh was a little too tinged with hysteria to be truly happy.)

Alfred cleared his throat and stepped forward. “The case, Master Jason.”

“Ooh, is that…” Danny asked, zeroing in on the case.

“Yep,” Jason confirmed, popping the ‘p’.

Danny held out his arms, making grabby hands at the case. Alfred raised a brow, looking to Jason for permission, before he moved forward and handed over the case. Jason rested his hand on the lid before Danny could open it.

“So,” Jason started. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “no one freak out, okay? What’s in the case isn’t what it looks like. And… and we’ll explain?”

He wasn’t sure if they would.

He wasn’t sure if they could afford not to.

“We’ll explain,” Danny confirmed.

“Okay, Jay-lad,” Bruce agreed, though Jason could tell he didn’t know what he was agreeing to, other than trusting his son.

Jason took a breath and removed his hand. Danny flipped the lid open. It was innocuous at first, a simple black padded case. Then Danny plucked out one of the glowing, Lazarus green ectoshots and the stances of several Bats shifted.

“That is—” Damian started.

“Nope,” Jason interrupted.

“Jay—” Bruce rumbled.

“I’m sure,” Jason said. He glanced at Cass. “Really.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Tim asked, sounding a little strangled.

“Drink it,” Danny answered.

“Drink it?!”

Danny’s nose wrinkled. “Does everyone in this room have issues with that— what did you call it— Pit water?”

“Pit water or Lazarus water,” Jason said. He calmly ran his fingers through Danny’s hair as he made sure to not have a reaction to the ectoshots. Danny needed to drink them, he couldn’t have any of it spilled from misplaced panic. “And a lot of us, yeah. It’s… been a thing. My situation didn’t help any.”

Tim frowned at the vial, clearly itching to get his hands on it. “If that’s not Lazarus water, what is it?”

“Ectoplasm,” Danny sing songed and then just downed the vial to the wince of the room. A shudder ran through his body before he slumped bonelessly against Jason.

Jason plucked the empty vial from Danny’s limp fingers, pressed a kiss to his temple, and put it back in the case. “From best we can think without getting our hands on Lazarus water, they’re a bit related, but ectoplasm is a pure source where as whatever Lazarus water is, it’s fucked up. Beyond that, I think…”

Jason sighed and buried his face in the top of Danny’s head. He didn’t know how to explain the next part to his family. He didn’t know how to tell them he was still, at least a little, dead. He didn’t want to hurt them like that.

“Ectoplasm isn’t a miracle cure, not like it sounds they use Lazarus water for,” Danny said around a jaw cracking yawn. “Doesn’t work for normal people.”

“Does it work for you because you’re a meta?” Duke asked. The sympathy in his voice was hard to hear.

Danny’s laugh wasn’t any easier to hear. “Nope! I mean, like, sure how you count Superman as a meta I’m a meta, I guess. More a different species.”

Steph made an incredulous noise. “You’re an alien?”

“I wish,” Danny snickered. “I’m dead.”

“That is not funny, Nightingale,” Damian snapped.

Jason peered up at his bristling little brother. Demon brat really was already attached to Danny. “He’s not trying to be funny, Dami. Danny is half dead or, rather, half ghost.”

“Okay, which of your parents fucked a ghost?”

“Miss Stephanie,” Alfred chastised.

“Sorry Alfie,” Stephanie mumbled under Danny’s snickering.

At least having almost died (again) tonight saved Danny from being admonished too.

“Ancient, no, my parents hate ghosts,” Danny said.

“But you’re half ghost,” Babs pointed out, gently.

“Yeah. And there’s a reason that I changed my last name and don’t talk to them anymore, not that they know,” Danny said. He stretched out his arms, arching like a cat. Clearly the ectoshot was starting to have an effect. “No, I’m half dead ‘cause I died and then didn’t.”

“You’ve died before, Danny?” Bruce asked, voice carefully gentle in that way he used only when talking to his kids or those who were basically family through his kids.

“Yeah,” Danny sighed. “It was, um, don’t like talking about it. It’s a ghost thing. But my parents built a portal to the ghost’s realm to try and study them. It didn’t work, not at first. I stepped in it, tripped, hit the on button and bam… ten thousand volts of electricity later and I’m dead.”

Tim and Cass both reached out to stop Steph from moving.

“Thing is, the portal turned on,” Danny continued. “So I also got pure ectoplasm shot right through me. It brought me back, kinda. I’m a halfa; half ghost and half human. Half dead and half alive.”

“You’ve died by electricity before,” Bruce said into the silence of the room.

“Probably died again to it tonight,” Danny said with a casualness that had Jason tightening his arms around Danny. Danny just giggled. “But like I told Dick, I’m immune now.”

“You know,” Barbie said. She narrowed her eyes as Danny shrugged before she glanced to Dick. “And you knew.”

Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Little wing?”

“Go ahead, Dick. I’m pretty sure you’ve connected all the dots now,” Jason said. Maybe it would be easier, no, smoother if Dick explained it. He was better at hiding his anger.

Though by the way Dick had to shift on his feet, maybe not. “I… I think I have. Then you’re…?”

Jason nodded.

“Fuck!” Dick twisted and paced to the door and back again.

“Master Richard!”

“Don’t be so harsh, Alfie,” Jason said. He couldn’t make Dick be the one to tell them; that had been a selfish hope. “Dick just put two and two together that if the ectoshots only help Danny because he’s dead—”

“Part dead,” Danny chimed in brightly.

“—then that means I’m still part dead too.”

“Jay-lad?” Bruce prompted after a tense moment, voice rough.

Jason just smiled sadly. “The Pits healed me. It sorta… filled in the cracks, but it couldn’t fix that whatever brought me back didn’t bring all of me back… or couldn’t bring all of me back. I think that’s part of why the Pits had such a hold on me. Not that it’s an excuse, but just… whatever. Point is, I’m a halfa too, even if I’m still healing enough to be a proper one.”

The family practically curled around each other in grief. Dick tucked Damian against his side. Tim slumped into Steph and Cass. Steph reached out to squeeze Bab’s hand. Bruce took an aborted step towards them. Even Alfred raised a hand to his mouth.

“I’m alright,” Jason assured them.

“You’re still dead!” Dick snapped.

“I’m half alive, that’s more than I was before,” Jason pointed out.

Dick hunched into himself at that, prompting Damian to give Dick an awkward looking hug.

“What all does that mean, being a halfa?” Bruce asked. He held up a hand as he paused and took a measured breath. “I don’t mean that as an interrogation. Right now, what’s important for us to know to make sure you’re both healthy? Or is there anything that we should avoid doing?”

Jason snorted. He appreciated the clarification, the attempt at being gentle, he did, but, “I know you want to know more than that.”

Bruce smiled, though the expression was more mocking himself than anything. “Of course I do. You know me, chum, I don’t do good with only pieces of information, but right now I’m not the important one. I can deal with some… unease so that we can focus on you and Danny.”

“Danny should drink at least another ectoshot in a bit. They help us heal as halfas. Dick knows because there was an incident where I got stabbed. Danny sensed my distress and showed up to give me an ectoshot. I had called Dick already. Which means Danny also knows about everything.”

“Danny sensed your distress?” Tim asked.

“It’s a ghost thing,” Jason said with a shrug, unsure how to really explain it. “It comes from ghosts having cores which are sort of their central organ.”

“You core?” Cass asked, clearly struggling to verbalize right then with how her nose wrinkled.

“I do. Or, I’m getting more of one. Because the Pits put me back together badly I was really messed up.”

“It’s coming in well,” Danny said sleepily. He yawned wildly (a little too widely) and turned to bury his face into Jason’s chest. “Pretty lava core too. It’s good to have close for healing. It’s warm and lovely.”

Jason snorted and kissed the top of Danny’s head. “Go to sleep if you can. You’ll need lots of rest.”

Danny huffed a mumbled protest, but Jason could tell that Danny was fading fast.

“We’ll talk more later, Jay-lad,” Bruce said as he finally let himself come close to help Danny and Jason better settle into the hospital bed to sleep.

“Yeah,” Jason said as he fought his own yawn as the head of the bed lowered. “Have to have Danny show you his ghost form, it’s really something.”

Tim echoed ‘ghost form’ quietly in the background as Alfred murmured something to the group.

“Do you want myself or Dick here for the first shift?” Bruce asked.

“Stay?” Jason asked. His eyes dropped closed as his dad ran a hand through his hair.

“Always.”

---

AN: a very tired taaaaaada. They got the bulk of the explanation! Though still things to learn and talk about. I was going to put in more bits, but this felt full the way it was! Next chapter more answers, more questions, and someone shows up.

I no longer tag people but you can subscribe on the masterpost.

[angel-of-the-moons]

The Arm of a God (And Other Things)

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You take a week-long hiking trip alone, despite the warnings at the lodge from experienced hikers.

But were you truly alone?

No. Never.

The bears and mountain lions were the least of your concerns. In fact...

They never were to begin with.

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, PiV sex, unprotected sex, size difference, reader is a size queen, needy(?)Khonshu, creampie, ngl it's a lot like the dude's a god and like 9 feet tall I refuse to believe every part of his anatomy isn't proportionate to the rest of him, like he has a breeding kink?? God of fertility hellooooooo

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @gingersforeverbox @manque-damour @nikkivenomized

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"Look, kid, no offense but..." The older man replied to you, his thick, bushy eyebrows pinched with concern for your well-being, "It's dangerous out there if you're alone. And compared to a bear, you're a small snack."

You smile at the old man, briefly taking in his far more rugged appearance. He looked every part of a human grizzly bear; large, imposing, muscular. He could probably take an actual grizzly bear in a bare-knuckle fight and come out even. He was an experienced hiker, a man born for the wilderness.

His concern for you was sweet. Compared to him, you were a tiny porcelain teacup; clean, and fragile. Sure you looked that way, but you trusted yourself and your abilities.

You looked small... but you weren't helpless. And you never had to worry in any of your travels.

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm covered." You chuckle sweetly, tapping the pendant around your neck. It was a small stone, scribbled with some sort of symbols, a crescent moon featured most prominently.

He squinted his green eyes at the necklace. He obviously couldn't understand what they said, but he understood it was some sort of religious object.

"Look kid, god can only do so much if a brown bear raids your camp in the middle o' the night." He says, clicking his teeth.

"Trust me. I got my bear spray, a good taser, a machete..." You begin listing off your protective items, some of which were bullshit. Most of your items in your pack were food and other important supplies.

He seemed impressed once you were done, stroking his thick beard approvingly. "All right, I s'pose. But since you've checked in here, there's a policy you tune into the lodge's frequency so if anything happens, we can come get ya."

To show how serious you took his advice--even if it wasn't needed--you pulled out your radio. It had about a 30 kilometer radius. An expensive purchase, to be sure, but a nice one. You tune it to the frequency he tells you and look at him as you clip it back to your pack securely.

"Anything else?" You chirp.

"Nope... Just... Be careful. The weather can get kinda crazy further up the mountain." He grunts.

You turn, giving a playful salute as you do, dragging deep into your lungs the air of the mountains after a fresh morning rain.

You weren't afraid for what the night brought. Not at all. But you knew that you've never had to be afraid when the moon rose.

Not when you had faith.

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You'd made good progress, only having to stop and rest a few times throughout the day, free-climbing a few boulders here and there, and to check your map. Your destination was an old burnt-down mansion that was destroyed in a bad storm sometime in the 1920s. So, over a hundred years ago.

Nobody really knew about them or bothered to find them because they were so far off the beaten path, but you marked your trail to find your way back. If you even got lost in the first place.

The first time you found out about this place was a small article written by a backpacker who explored forgotten ruins on YouTube. Yeah, they aren't as exciting as climbing a pyramid down in South America, but to you they were. You adored finding them and exploring them, touching pieces of recent history that were forgotten far quicker than ruins from thousands of years ago.

And when you found them, you tossed your pack down and did a happy little dance; they were amazing! The walls were made of river stone, joined by concrete and held up merely by their own sturdy construction. Some of the walls had fallen due to time, but you could easily make out a few old windows and doorways. Every inch of the ruins was covered in moss, shrubbery, and old and young trees embracing what was left.

You'd even climbed an old stairway you found in the back for fun; it may have led to the worker's lodgings, or.... hell maybe just another entrance to the second floor.

But now, the sun was gone, and you'd set up camp in the middle of the ruins, where a small pond had formed thanks to a depression in the ground. Perhaps the remains of a basement or cellar that had caved in due to the fire and passage of time.

Your fire crackled as you let your water purifier do it's job, your clean water dripping into your canteen with a steady "drip, drip, drip".

You finished off your pre-packaged meal--a nice packet of spaghetti and meatballs with some extra protein powder thrown in--and was now letting it settle, laying on your plush sleeping bag as you stared at the night sky, the moon fat as it hung from the stars; your fingers brushing and caressing the small pendant around your neck.

"I am not surprised to find you in a place like this." A heavy voice echoed off the stone walls.

You sat up on your elbows and lifted your gaze, smiling as you spot him--a large, lithe figure perched casually on the ruins, the light of the moon illuminating the eerie bird skull in place of his head.

"You know how much I love doing this." You remind him.

"Yes, I know." His voice said softly, his body moving in a blur. In a moment, he was standing above you.

You crossed your arms behind your head and grinned up at him. "It's been a month... Having fun with your Moon Guy?"

"My Moon Knight." He corrects, moving to sit next to you, laying his staff down on the remnants of the stone floor, little bits of grass and foliage peeking through the crags.

"Yeah, yeah." You snort, turning to roll on your side to grin at him again, resting your head in the palm of your hand.

"So... Read on the internet about some crazy shit going down in Egypt. And... It felt like you were gone. What happened with that?"

"Ammit and her cult. My Moon Knight and Taweret's Avatar stopped her. My Fist killed her Avatar." He said slowly. "And for meddling with the heavens... The Ennead imprisoned me, briefly."

You sat up fully, shocked by this news. "What? H-how... Why did--"

His fingers brush your lips to silence you, the touch feather light but enough to cease your speaking.

"It is settled, now. Don't worry." He says to you gently, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his warm palm heating your skin while his thumb brushes your cheek.

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning at him. "Damn you, old man... Don't worry me like that again, or I'll kill you."

"Of course. I wouldn't dare incur your wrath." He chuckled.

"Damn straight you won't." You sigh; his hand moved down your throat to encircle you, flattening on your upper back to pull you against him so you were astride in his lap.

You slowly slide your hands up his bandaged chest, feeling his heat bleed through your skin and warm you to your core. Your fingers toy with the large crescent moon fixed to his chest, brushing his flowing robes off to the sides.

"You are a force of nature," He hums, his other hand sliding down to completely encapsulate your ass and pull you tighter against him.

"One I have come to appreciate far more after my imprisonment."

You chuckle and watch as the strips of linen as soft as a moth's wing fall away into wisps of mist, leaving his almost searing hot skin bare to your touch.

His skin was a lifeless monochrome, ashen color, but it wasn't lacking in life at all, far from it. You could feel his godly heart thump in his chest, feel his muscles twitch as you touched him.

And already, you could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, swelling and twitching as it came to life as well.

It felt like his arousal flooded into you, spreading through your core and riling you up. You could already feel yourself soaking through your underwear, a dark stain soaking through your pants.

Sometimes you wished he could come to you at home; or in a motel room at least, so you can wear something nice for him, some lingerie or...

His fingers brushed your lips once again and he tapped them twice, signaling for you to open.

You obey silently, letting the soft pads of his index and middle finger part your jaws, caressing the muscle of your tongue, your eyes locking with his own eyeless gaze.

A rumble comes from him, and he groans as you roll your hips against his erection, the want and heat almost burning you inside and out.

One of your hands shoves down to undo your belt and unbutton your pants, and Khonshu withdraws his fingers from your mouth and almost dizzingly fast, his hand was shoved into your underwear, toying with your swollen clit.

You moan softly, your own small hands gripping at the gold collar on him for stability as one of his large fingers dips into your tight hole.

He grinds his palm into your clit as his finger curled and pressed against that overly sensitive spot on the walls of your cunt.

"Tight..." Khonshu growled, his other hand rolling your hips in time with his other hand. "You need to relax for me, love."

"T-Trying..." You pant, feeling the cool texture of his smooth dry beak caress against the blazing heat of your cheek.

"Hmmmh." He sighed and retracted his hands from you. "Get undressed. I need you to lie back."

You scramble off of his lap, watching his throbbing length bob eagerly as you peel your clothes off of you, lying back on your sleeping bag, spreading your legs for him to see every inch of you that was ready and waiting for him.

He had been gone for a month, and you knew on some nights, even when he wasn't there with you physically, you knew he would watch as you'd touch yourself to thoughts of him. No mortal man could ever compare to the love and carnal touch of a god, and he always felt a pang of guilt when he had to leave you for whatever duties he had.

But your reunions always ended this way, heat, lust and sheer want for companionship. You had started praying to him when you felt other religions didn't do it for you, finding that you being the wanderer that you were, would find more solace in prayer to a god who protected those like you.

And you certainly didn't expect to catch his eye, let alone capture his heart the way that you had.

His hand rests on your knee, thumb caressing the bones beneath the skin as he leans over you. He couldn't kiss you, but you always made sure that was never a problem, even now, as you tipped your head to place a soft kiss to the smooth side of his beak.

"Fuck--" You groaned, dropping your head back onto your travel pillow when his other hand rediscovered its place against your weeping sex, his thumb rolling small circles over your engorged clit while his other two fingers glide over your entrance; the muscles fluttering in anticipation of what was to come.

You squirm with impatience as each swipe of his fingers only serves to ignite a hotter flame burning low in your loins.

"Khonshu." You breathed.

When you said his name like that, it was always sweeter than any offering or prayer he has received. More uplifting than knowing his works uproots evil to protect the innocent, more delicious than watching Ammit and Harrow die at the end of Jake's gun.

"Just a bit more." He tightly reprimands, his other hand squeezing your knee to remind you to relax.

"You're such a damn tease." You whine, wiping one of your hands down your face, biting your lip and gripping your hair as his fingers inch slowly into your tight, hot hole.

Another deep, rumbling groan comes from him as he feels your body grip him like he was your reason for breathing; dragging, squeezing, pleading for him to just take you already....

But he wouldn't--couldn't--until your body had adjusted enough for this to be pleasurable for you as much as him. He was larger than a human man, and he knew your body was fragile compared to his.

Of course, he always felt smug and prideful when he acknowledged the fact he probably ruined you for any mortal man you may decide to bed one day. Because, honestly, now.

What mortal man can compare to a god in both love and in the bedroom?

You arched your hips up off the ground with a moan, whimpering out his name when his fingers curled upwards. But by bit he could feel your muscles ease up around him, your sweet body becoming slick and welcoming.

Sometimes he would get so mesmerized in how your body reacted just to his fingers that he neglected his cock entirely in focus on you.

He could feel your gummy walls press down on his fingers, fluttering around him as he pumped and curled them inside of you, fingering you open so you could take him fully.

He said your name so softly that it crackled like dry leaves on the wind, and you had to lazily drag your eyes open to look at him, the moon and stars shining above and behind him.

He was beautiful, in his own macabre sort of way...

Oh, if the Ennead knew he was fucking you, you both would probably be in heaps of trouble. But you always figured "bring it on" because you had some choice words for those bastards if you ever had the chance to meet them.

But those were thoughts for later, right now you were focused on your impending orgasm as his fingers scissored inside of you, pushing you closer and closer to that peak so when he pushed inside of you with his cock you wouldn't hurt (or bleed, as that has happened before when the two of you got overzealous).

And of course, right as you were about to cum, your whole body electrified to the point you actually thought you saw sparks in your peripheral vision... Khonshu pulled his fingers free of your wanting body.

You practically sobbed in frustration as your climax was taken from you so abruptly. It was a favorite thing of his to do to you; edging you like he does. But you knew it was for more selfish reasons than anything else.

He leaned over you, bracing his body on his forearms as he gently brushed your head with his beak--his closest approximation of a kiss--and you felt something warm and wet drip onto your belly.

Sparing a glance down, you pant softly as you watch the faintly glowing fluid drip from the tip of his cock; the very tip of it flushed the tiniest shade of pink on his otherwise colorless body. Maybe once upon a time his skin was a different color, but in his exile, it has become so dull.

"Are you ready." He grits out. More a statement than a question, really, as he knew your answer beforehand. But it was important to him that you never had any reservations.

He would not take without first receiving consent from you, without giving.

He was not Set, after all.

"Please." You breathe, reaching out to touch his cock, fingers brushing along the silky soft skin, smearing the precum over the tip with your thumb; earning a delicious groan from him.

He grunts softly, nodding as he lets you guide his weeping cock through your slick folds and to your hole.

It was always breath-stealing, the moment he pushed into you, his thick girth spearing you open and filling you so full you swore he was buried in your guts.

You kept your hand low, feeling him as he slowly slid further inside of you, a hiss coming from him. You were relaxed now, yes... but still so tight because of your comparative sizes that it knocked him off kilter; your heat enveloping him so welcomingly as though he was coming home again.

"K-Khonshu!" You hiccuped, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt him fill you.

Khonshu's leg moves, pushing your thigh and nudging your legs open for him further; the both of you making low breathy sounds as your body squeezed him instinctively at the action.

"I'm... going to move, now." He snarls, reaching down to caress your thigh as he pulls back, your body desperately clinging to him, begging him to stay inside.

Your nails claw at his arms as you grit your teeth, sweat beading your brow as you feel him slide out inch by torturous inch before rolling his hips back into yours, filling you up almost as quickly as he pulled away.

"Oh--oh--" You whine, barely able to speak or form coherent thoughts as Khonshu starts arching his back and rolling his hips at the right angle to make your brain turn to mush.

The first time he had you, you thought you actually died. He had you ride his fingers until you couldn't move, and then he had you pinned, still thrusting his hand inside of you, coaxing and caressing your muscles to allow him entrance.

You did bleed, of course, because of his size. You'd had human bed partners, yes, but none compared to him in any way. You'd probably never be able to look at a human cock again and get as excited as you did when Khonshu teased you.

Oh, how strange it was... Gods often looked down at mortals because of their fallacies, not unlike their own in some ways... But lifetimes ago, the Old Gods of Egypt kept close relationships with their mortal followers. Of course... None had gone so far as to lay with them like Khonshu had done with you.

You'd tried to tease him, the first time you got intimate, that you were his first.

That's when he proved to you that just because you were his first human, didn't mean you were his first bedroom partner.

The way he made love to you was ethereal, almost entirely unreal. It was so good that sometimes you thought you'd dreamt it.

"Khonshu, I'm..." You moan, lifting your hips off of the ground to meet his thrusts as they picked up speed.

Khonshu watched you, his eyeless gaze boring holes into you as he studied your face, as beautiful as the most detailed works of art in human history as you came undone around him, soaking his skin as your body pushes every wave of your climax out.

His pace faltered, and he collapsed back onto his forearms as your legs locked around him, digging into the taut muscles of his glutes as your orgasm nearly knocked him senseless for a moment.

He gripped your sleeping bag tight in one hand as his pace quickened, desperate to taste his own release that threatened to swell up inside of him.

"Almost." He says, his voice wavering.

"Do it." You moan loudly, dragging your nails down his back desperately.

"Hrr--you--" He moaned back, his other hand moving back to grip your thigh so tightly you'd be feeling the bruises for days onward, even in his absence.

"Please."

"You... are... always... so... greedy." He snaps out with each thrust of his hips, the sinful sound of skin slapping skin and your cries filling the ruins.

"Is--Is it really being greedy if you--you want to--want--" Your voice breaks apart as he angles his hips up, his cock throbbing and twitching inside of you as he pumps you full, the sensation of being so utterly stuffed enough to push you into your second orgasm, forcing out globs of his glowing seed around his cock as he fucks you through both your orgasms, riding our your highs together in a blissful, mind-numbing spiral.

You were vaguely aware when he pulled his cock free of your body, barely grasping at the threads of consciousness as he looked down at you, his thumb pressing into your lower belly as he watched his divine seed drip from you.

He half wondered, if maybe you would get pregnant. Wondered what kind of child you would bear. A demi-god, surely, but what kind? In his pantheon, the children of their parents rarely shared the same aspects. Save for some overlapping connectivities, that is...

He could almost see your belly swell, nice and round... And felt something tug deep within his chest, a drive to see if this little thought bubble could burst--to see if his imagination would be a reality and bear fruit.

But, of course... His mind was dragged to the forefront of reality when your shaky little hand caressed the skull that was his head, your eyes drowsy and satiated as you smiled up at him, your god, your protector.

Your lover.

As he laid next to you, he curled your body with his and watched as the last embers of your fire burned away, leaving you only haloed in the soft, silver rays of his moon.

He couldn't believe he ever found you

[munsonsmixtapes]

bucky x flirty! or like unhinged chaotic! reader, maybe him thinking she doesn’t like him she’s just a flirt, or him falling for how totally backwards she is

I love this request! This is 100% inspired by that one scene in the Thunderbolts trailer where he's on the motorcycle because I've been thinking about it a lot.

cw: reader gets hit on by a creepy guy and he gets aggressive

You almost stumble and fall onto the concrete outside of the club you were just thrown out of as the man who you were thrown out with tries to help you to your feet.

"Don't touch me," you push him away before retrieving your taser from you purse. You've never used it, but you've watched countless videos on it and now seems like as good of a time as any.

You point the taser at him, but that doesn't seem to scare him like you thought it would and he just steps closer. This is the whole reason why the both of you got kicked out of the club, so you're not sure why he's trying again.

He had been getting a little too handsy and wouldn't stop when you had asked him to, so why's it your fault that you had punched him? That had just been self defense at that point. And because he couldn't accept the consequences of his own actions, he had tried to punch you back, but you moved out of the way before he could and he had ended up punching the poor girl behind you so things got a little rowdy after that and because the two of you had caused it, you were asked to leave.

So there you are, on the street with a creep because you assured your friends who had driven you there that they could stay when they insisted on coming with you. All you have is your phone, your ID, a little cash, a pen, and a tube of lip gloss, so you don't have enough for a cab or even an uber to take you home. You suppose you could take the bus, but the last late night one was already gone.

And then, as if an answer to your prayers, you watch a motorcycle stop right in front of you as he waits for the light a few feet away to turn green. You usually didn't do things like this, but you're desperate. You're not thinking clearly even though you were only able to have a few sips of the drink you had ordered before you had been asked to leave.

Bucky turns towards you and gives you a nod as if to acknowledge you, but he can't help notice how uneasy how you must feel, squeezing the device in your hand so hard that he's convinced that you're going to break it. He then turns to the man who's standing next to you and he now understands why you're so anxious.

He's a creep to say the least and the way he's looking at you makes Bucky's stomach drop. He wants to step in to help, but he knows he he shouldn't. It's none of his business and he promised himself he would keep to himself from now on.

But the man lunges towards you and Bucky is about to step in, but just his luck, the light turns green and he's forced to drive off, leaving you behind to get a black eye or possibly worse. His stomach is in knots now and he can't just let that vile man get away with hurting you so before he can stop himself, he's doing a U-turn and somehow is able to weave through traffic before pulling up right beside you, putting the bike in park before he gets off of it, making a beeline for you.

The man has you by the arms now, yelling in your face at how much of a bitch your are and you're face is turned away from him, your eyes shut tight, still holding onto your taser for dear life.

"May I see that?" Bucky asks and your eyes open before handing the weapon to him without a second thought.

Buck then turns to the man who's still yelling at you, ready to wring his neck. But he hold his hand out for the man to shake, making sure to hold out the metal one so he doesn't have to actually touch the man.

"Hey, how ya doin", I'm Bucky," he says with a smile and the man goes to shake his hand, his smile matching Bucky's.

"Oh, I'm-"

"Oh, I wasn't asking," Buck cuts him off then brings the taser up to his neck, pressing the button on the side of it as he does so. The man quickly drops to the ground, convulsing in reaction to the taser and Bucky takes you by the hand, the two of you hurrying to his motorcycle.

"You're my hero," you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and he has to turn away to hide his blush. Women have never been so forward with him, he usually purposely turns them off because none of them would understand who he is, well, who he is now.

He gets on the bike without a word and you follow him, wrapping your arms tight around his waist and he's caught off guard by how forward you've been with him despite him being a total stranger.

Bucky starts up the bike and tries not to squirm when you rest your head against his back like it's something you've done so many times before. After passing a few lights, he manages to get the balls to ask you for your address and when you tell him, he's surprised to find that it's not far from where he lives. Just great.

You snuggle against him for the rest of the ride and Bucky wants nothing more than to jump out of his own skin. He always had a hard time letting people in, but especially after everything that happened with Hydra. He finds himself having a hard time trusting anyone he didn't know before everything and that includes you even though you seem really sweet.

The bike pulls into your driveway and you get off of it, fixing your clothes and hair after you do so. And just when Bucky thinks you're going to leave, you do two things that catch him off guard. First, you take a pen from your purse and scribble down your phone number and then, before he can ask what you're doing, you lean in and press another kiss to his cheek, this one lingering.

Bucky is wondering what your soft lips would feel like on his, but he immediately shakes the thought away, not letting himself go down that road. You pull away before he's ready and throw the pen back in your purse before looking at him again.

"Thank you again-what was your name?"

"Bucky," he replies and hates how his heart leaps when you smile.

"Bucky," you repeat and god does he love the way that sounds coming out of your mouth.

God, you're pretty, and all Bucky can think about is pulling you into his arms, kissing you until you're both gasping for air. But he doesn't. He can't. So he just lets you go, knowing that he's immediately going to scrub your number off of his hand and do what he can to remove your lip gloss from his cheek. He wants to forget this night and how good you make him feel because there is no way in hell he's going to see or hear from you again. He's going to make sure of it.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

If you had to make a list of the worst things the Joker did to Jason from greatest to least, what would it be?In your stories and in the cannon

Besides the torture in the stories you have published, what else do you have in mind?

*cracks knuckles* Thank you anon~ this is gonna be fun 😈

Canon:

The brand

The photo (and all the other photos of Batman & Robin taped to the walls of his torture chamber)

All of the manipulation regarding Batman (reminding him how he was thrown away and replaced, having inmates dressed as Batman beat him, being waterboarded and shocked with a car battery until he believed Batman branded him instead of Joker)

The rest isn't in a particular order, just listing the tortures for ✨funsies✨!

Waterboarded, ankle broken, teeth knocked out, beaten with a crowbar, bound with barbed wire, suspended from the ceiling by his wrists for hours at a time, forced to eat maggot-infested food, shocked with cattle prods and car batteries, beaten by other inmates, face cut with knives, shot in the chest, drugged, held captive in the basement of Arkham Asylum for over a year.

My Arkhamverse:

⚠️ cw: all kinds of torture

Smashed his balls with a hammer

Fondled him

Shot him in the head instead of the chest (the bullet only grazes him but it still leaves him with chronic migraines and tinnitus)

Drilled holes through his palms and thighs

Yanked his teeth out

Yanked his fingernails out

Doused his left hand with acid

Burned his arms and legs with a blowtorch

Treated him like a dog: forced him to wear a collar, bark, eat dog food out of dog bowls, walk on all fours

Nailed his hands to the table with a nailgun

The ankle he broke when Jay first arrived? Joker broke it at least 7 more times

Treated his torso like a canvas, carving into his flesh: HAHAHA across his ribs, the Robin logo from his suit over his right breast, the Arkham Asylum logo into his belly

Cut the skin on his back and the soles of his feet into ribbons with a scalpel

Had him caned

Spanked him with a paddle

Burned him with cigarettes, including the empty gaps in his gums where teeth once sat

Shocked him with a taser

Forced him to strip naked, kept him naked for days and weeks at a time

Starved him

[kill4luvina]

“Christmas Nights”

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Plug!Armin x Black!Reader

CW - SMUT, Unprotected sex, Not proof read. (Prob more but Im not sure)

Summary - Armin had a problem with work and thought he wouldn't be able to come and celebrate Christmas with you, but your boyfriend made it work just for you <3 how? it doesn't matter just know he made it work.

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“Sing it to the moon, set it free You're the angel on the top of my tree Sing it to the spirit above Sing your heart out with all of your love”

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You'd laugh as you witnessed the funniest scene of your boyfriend struggling to balance his phone and some bags. "Gimme a second mamas, let me just get this stuff in the car." He'd say chuckling as he slipped you into his pocket, making you softly smile. You were so madly in love with boy it wasn't even funny.

"Armin, are you sure you wont be able to make it today?" You'd ask, you whole mood completely changing as soon as you remembered. It was the 25th of December, aka Christmas and he wouldn't be able to spend it with you due to some type of work. It made you upset but there was nothing you could do about it.

"I can't, I'm sorry mamas.. You know if I could be there I would..." He'd say as he propped his phone up in the car. Eye's softening as soon as he noticed your eyes started tearing up. "Don't cry, I promise I'll make it up to you.." he'd say, slightly panicking at the sight of you. "Alright.." Your voice would crack as tears started to flow down your brown cheeks.

"My heart.. don't cry please.." He'd say trying his best to make you feel better but just failing even more because you started crying more. "I'll talk to you later..." You'd say in complete tears hanging up on him before he could reply. You'd shut you phone off completely as you snuggled into your bed and started crying even more until you fell asleep.

You'd wake up too the door bell being spammed mad times, slightly annoyed you'd check the time. "11:43.. who the fuck.." You'd ask confused, as you grabbed your taser making your way down the stairs. You'd peak out the door, your taster dropping out of your hand in complete shock. You'd open your door only to be met face to face with bright blue eyes.

Your boyfriend was at your door step, at 11 pm with a load tun of gift. He had the prettiest smile on his face as his braces made it even cuter. His hair catching the soft snow that was falling, designer bags all around him along along with a big teddy bear and money flower bouquet in his hands. Poor boy was probably freezing as you just stared at him not even knowing what to say.

You'd jump into his arms giving him a deep hug not caring for the presents but rather he showed up. After being outside you door, in barely nothin for the span of 5 seconds you quickly jumped back inside telling him to come in as you helped bring everything the brought inside.

You'd shower him in kisses, saying thank you before every kiss as he just smiled loving the attention he was getting. "I love you so muchhh!" You'd exclaim as you cuddled into him from above, his hands resting on your ass as he gave you a kiss. "I love you more.." he'd say before giving you another kiss.

You'd slowly bring your body up, and idea coming to mind as your hands wandered his body. "Can I show you how much I love you?" You'd ask, as he nodded in response watching you turn your body around. Now in reverse cowgirl, you'd move your bottom half back your ass now in his face as you worked on getting his pants off.

Before you knew it, you were riding his face as you sucked his dick. Pleasure drowning the both of you as moans vibrated through the two of you. You'd quickly pull away as soon as you felt he was getting close, pulling yourself up as you turned back around. Now facing him, you'd bring yourself up before slowly lowering back down.

Slowly splitting yourself open on him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you tightly held onto his black T-shirt. "So tight-" he'd groan as he head fell back in pleasure. Soon, you were bouncing on his dick almost drooling from how good it was. You loved this man so much you swore if he let you tonight you'd let him give you a child.

Armin loved you too, so much to the point where he'd kill for you if he really needed too and tonight showed that, because later you'd find out he really did do that to be here with you that night.

"Armiiinnn!!" You'd moan as soon as you felt him start to fuck up into you, taking control of the situation as he started to guide you. He'd bring his body up before pushing you down to now leave the both of you in missionary as he slowly started fucking you. Giving you deep long strokes as he kissed you, telling you how much he loved you and how he'd do anything for you.

He'd slowly start speed up when he'd hear you start whining, you were too fucked out to even understand what he was saying let along care at that moment. Your boyfriend would fuck you into an orgasm and he came right after you. Pulling out before hand, leaving you a sticky mess as he gave you a soft kiss.

"Merry Christmas My Love.."

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“The wise men followed the star, The way I followed my heart And it led me to a miracle Don't you buy me nothing 'Cause I am feeling one thing, your lips on my lips That's a merry, merry Christmas”

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