#ghoul. interrupted

[gunkbaby]

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Just Alpha and Ifrit sparring. They're both shirtless, Ifrit in those fuckass tiny Ghost shorts you know which ones, Alpha in grey sweatpants, both all sweaty and all up in each other's space, grunting as they roll around. Grinning like maniac even as they sport bruises and split lips. Maybe there's a bit of blood trickling down Ifrit's face, dripping on his torso, some staining Alpha's teeth as well. Their hair messed up, tangled, sticking to the nape of their necks. Throwing each other around until they devolve into what starts as agressively shoving their tongues down each other's throat but ends up being a long, lazy making out session.

[toiletpudding]

@munchonbrows Your pookies 🫶

[lemonemlyn]

[thesunhatesme]

Do the ghouls cough up hairballs like cats and is there an assigned bin for them??

[ramblngz-of-a-lunatic]

Girlhood

[maddymoreau]

Fallout New Vegas is the gift that keeps on giving. Every day I discover something new about it.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

if im giving dracgoona two plushie babies, and clankie a kid bug swarm....

then spawdeen can have

Hank

[applejuicemania]

It's a scrapped scene of a story that I've been trying to write, but I like it too much to simply throw away. (￣▽￣;)

For context; them murder boys were sent to an AU during lunch rush by hence the Blob[tm] reject known as their boss. It is literally just a character introduction, I just didn't set the tone right.

warning; one (1) cuss word

"...Seems like a good place to start."

Bane chirped a sharp whistle, a jagged grin like a dagger wide set on his rounded skull. He stood with the arrogant confidence of a middle school teenager that has managed to obtain a kiss from someone other than his mother, with fisted-hands firm on his hips and a dramatic chin jut. What a cute, charming boy, many would suspect, and by attitude and lithe statue alone you would be correct to assume — until he would whine a petulant 'but I'm twenty-eight!' in a very grown-up manner, of course.

Bane couldn't stay long in his main-protagonist pose, his body demanded the constant movement as if it would combust if stayed still a little too long. His hands flung in a spectacular coordination, his target-esque Soul bumbling, "It's like, rush hour right now so there's a lot of folk out n' about. A lot'a negativities and whatever, so—"

Ghoul, Bane's smaller than small brother in arms, hummed in absentminded agreement, their gaze steadfast into the distance of a busy intersection. Perhaps not as boyish or overly confident as his fellow skeleton companion, they were of the tranquil, patient sort that watched for drama rather than create it. If gifted with a different appearance than the mangled, dog-torn one they bore, they would blend into the background like the weeds between the sidewalk. They swayed idly on the balls of their feet and fiddled with a fraying drawstring of their threadbare jacket, the picture of someone with an empty skull — pun fully intended.

Ghoul continued to pay no heed to Bane, who continued in his comical charade, complete with some sort of jazz hand-tap dance combo of a bizarre notion — yet the same could not be said to the third member of the trio of loitering idiots.

"Bane." Called the jolly-good murder twig, heteromantic red-blue eyelights glaring from his sockets like a 3-D glasses reject with a growing, exhausted irritation. "Bane — shut up. shut the fuck up."

Ruin was as thin as he was tall, which was very, and he would look to be an even six foot height if he found the energy to straighten his usual lazy slouch. In a way, he looked like a delusional madman that you would find under the bridge, the figurative troll that would eat you if you didn't answer his riddle. Face obscured in a constant shadow, it was uncertain if it was his magic or his too-small hood to cast the mask; it was a deterrent all the same, hidden away securely and immensely terrifying. His flat teeth gnashed and grinded, noticeable only by the crack! his jaw creaked, and really you ought to wonder if it is the irritation getting to his temper or rather the sins that constantly claw up his spine.

To the ominous glare thrown his way, Bane was nonplussed. Nonchalant, cool as a cucumber as you could say. As if in mockery, he paused a moment, empty sockets staring blankly dead ahead and body frozen statuesque — but, well, "Anyways! I think it'll be real cool if we—"

The tallest skeleton huffed and shrunk a bit further into his shoulders, biting back a groan of annoyance. His fuzzy-gloved hands digged further into his basketball short's pockets, searching for refuge or maybe better, a knife. Ruin thought he might've succeeded in collecting the latter and might've indulged on an impulse, if not for the quiet tug.

At the end of Ruin's jacket sleeve, bunched at his elbow crook, Ghoul looked up with a knowing, unblinking eye. From the angle, Ruin could see the vivid gleam of their swollen, determination-red eye escaping the fist-sized hole at the top of their skull, shimmering from the spider-webbing cracks. The implications of it halted Ruin, treating the flare of light as a warning, because if he didn't — the consequences would be worse than the pleasure.

With a benign, comforting pat, Ghoul redirected their long stare elsewhere, and with the gaze removed, Ruin released a breath he didn’t know he held. Misshapen, burnt and gnawed and torn apart, hands rose, redirecting the attention of Ghoul’s compadres enough for him to sign a message: [y’all. start mission, now. is twelve noon.]

[gunkbaby]

Girl whose only defining personality trait is ‘Big Shuu Tsukiyama Fan!!!!’

[knifeslidez]

god i need a new job

[fvntasmic]

seafoam-colored eyes shoot her a familiar glare, followed by, of course, a smart-ass reply. dark eyes roll in response; it's no surprise that a slight bitterness follows even with their small talk. though it's not the same bitterness they usually associate themselves with, there's a lightness to it. "I didn't know you could read, mads." madeline teases. she wonders if it's the worn-out copy of The Great Gatsby he keeps with him or if something new piques his interest. before she could even ask, madison broke her thought. "the girl next door?" madeline repeated, raising a brow in his direction. "and what exactly does sound like the girl next door to you?"

"my god, you're right. - you're interrupting ghouling hour, madeline." he shoots her a glare over the brim of his coffee cup as it meets his lips to take another sip. he then placed the cup back on the counter, propping up against it himself with arms crossing against his chest. he thought it was rather odd that they could have a small talk conversation, apart from their usual bitterness. "nothing more than finishing up a novel i've been reading." he shrugs his shoulders in return. "i'm curious - a night in doesn't sound like the girl next door to me." he smirks at that.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances

Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.

Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)

DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)

Word Count: 4.8k

Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.

Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.

He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.

This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.

He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.

He recognizes that voice.

Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”

Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.

Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?

You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”

“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”

He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.

It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.

He is never getting back his security deposit.

You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”

Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.

Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.

Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.

As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”

Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.

To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”

“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”

Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.

“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.

There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.

It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.

Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.

Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.

His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.

Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.

Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach

He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.

You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.

Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”

You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.

Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.

After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.

“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”

“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”

Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”

You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”

Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.

The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.

Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.

The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.

He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.

Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.

“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.

Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.

And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.

It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.

“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.

You shrug. “Running late.”

Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.

And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.

“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.

“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”

You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”

You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.

You and Robin share a guilty look.

Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.

It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.

“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”

Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”

You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”

“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.

“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.

You look up and wave.

Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…

As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.

You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.

It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.

“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”

“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.

In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.

Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.

Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.

Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.

He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.

“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.

He groans. Drops to one knee.

Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.

That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.

He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.

The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.

Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.

Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.

The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”

Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.

Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.

Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.

Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.

But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.

You don’t listen. You just drive.

Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.

Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.

“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.

“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.

He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.

Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.

The Pit surges.

After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.

Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.

His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.

“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”

The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—

Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”

“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.

He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.

“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”

“They’re not.”

“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.

Something clicks behind them.

Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.

Robin lets out a low cry.

Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.

Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”

Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.

Robin freezes.

“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.

Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.

Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.

Now you’re breathing and alive.

It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.

Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”

“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?

You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”

Oh.

“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.

“Which is technically true—”

“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.

“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.

The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."

Jason bristles with indignation.

Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."

"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."

"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"

"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.

"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.

It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.

When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."

All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."

You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."

Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"

"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"

Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."

"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."

"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.

Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.

Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"

Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.

"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."

Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"

Your face flushes and you look away.

It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."

"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"

You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.

He definitely will.

"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."

Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.

Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see with Jason in the future. My requests are open!

[ramblngz-of-a-lunatic]

[dollwrites]

WAAAAAAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT! You write Tokyo ghoul???? I NEED to be aware when you open requests again, I crave anything with my favorite Uta 😍🥰 I don’t see enough of him and I think you’d write him really really well!!!

ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴜᴛᴀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮��𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!ghoul!reader, oral fixation ( fingers ), masturbation ( her! ), reader’s nonverbal, very very subtle pet play ( just the vibes i feel ), finger sucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ intermission [ oral fixation ]

“Gently,” Uta reminded you, without so much as looking up from his work. with his right hand steadily swirling obsidian spirals over his newest creation, his left had been outstretched for you, willowy digits tracing the shape of your parted lips before slipping past the threshold, only to be welcomed by your eager tongue. upon tasting the pads of his fingertips, you have the sudden urge to clamp your lips down around the extremities, to suck on them, and relish the flavor of your lover, but you heed his warning and simply stroke each digit from knuckle to nail with your tongue, mouth hanging agape.

“Still quite a feral, little thing, but mind those teeth this time.” his pointer finger twisted slightly, to tap against the shape of your canines, and test their sharp edges, but you had no real intention of biting him. of course, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t do it by accident— which has happened before. you get a little too eager, a little too excited, and you snap your jaws shut like a hungry pup.

usually, you would grip his wrist with both hands, a silent plea not to take the taste of his fingers from your mouth, but right now yours were busy, too. they had both been occupied beneath the loose fabric of the oversized nightshirt you wore, one palming your breast, squeezing and pinching at your own nipple, whilst the other was shoved hastily into your panties, strumming your greedy pussy. you had become accustomed to Uta’s doting ever since he took you in; his constant touching on you, his affectionate lips and tongue seeking out your most sensitive parts, but when he worked you were utterly neglected.

so, you would find yourself in such a position, panting like a happy bitch on your knees at his feet, sucking and licking on his fingers as you tried to mimic the pleasure he could give you with your own hands. your skill paled in comparison to his, but it was all you could do to keep from interrupting him.

Uta knows this, which is why there’s a subtle tickle of pride in the way his lips creeped up, even as his crimson gaze remains fixed on the mask before him, at every sound you make. every heavy breath, every moan of his name. he knows that you’re needy, that your desperate for him, and he knows that to make you wait was probably a cruel punishment for a sweet, but ravenous little thing like you.

“Naughty, messy little girl.” he offers in a soothing tone, feeling webs of sticky drool tether his fingers to your tongue as you lick and suck on each one. the excess dribbles down your chin, either soaking into the fabric of your shirt or leaving a small puddle on the floor between your knees. “You can pet and pet that pretty pussy of yours, but you still can’t make yourself cum like I can, hm?” there’s a hint of arrogance in his soft chuckle, but it’s one well warranted. you shake your head, your tongue too busy to answer by forming words— drawing loops against the base of each finger, allowing the tips to reach deep into your mouth as they could, nearly gagging you as they prodded at your gullet. you rubbed your own fingers against your clit faster, pressing harder until you were squirming on your knees, scooting right up to his leg to press your whole body into it. your own, deep ruby stare flickered up to him, piercing… begging.

“That’s quite alright, I like being the only one that can tame you,” he offers, retracting his digits from your mouth. you let out a soft, disgruntled huff, attempting to follow them, to pull them back in, and worship them again with your tongue, but he doesn’t allow it. they travel downwards, and you watch as strings of saliva sever and drip from them and your own lips. grabbing the fabric of your nightshirt, he gives it a tug, pulling you upright, balancing tall on your knees, so that he can reach between your thighs without bending too far away from his mask in progress. your head swims, and you let out a little whimper as slick, svelte pads push your own away and tap against your puffy button, teasing you further, assessing your sticky sex. Uta lets out a soft, fond sigh, “There she is. Throbbing and swollen for me.” your tongue flicks and rolls impatiently just behind the seal of your couplet, desperate to be occupied, too, so your own fingers pry beyond the barrier created by your lips, leaving the scent and taste of your own cunt on them. you suck on them, purring in pure ecstasy at the sensation of Uta teasing your clit. it wasn’t enough to make you cum, but it was plenty to keep you right on the edge you’d led yourself to, so as not to sully your hard work with a ruined orgasm.

“But you’ll have to occupy yourself for a bit longer, little thing.” he said, resolved, gently pulling his hand back, sitting upright in his seat again. you whine, and -to keep from losing that built up tension- slam yourself down against his foot, grinding your damp panty-clad pussy against his shoe as you lean against his leg. he gives the top of your head an affectionate pat, before he immersing himself in his art. “I’m still busy, you know.”

[bountydroid]

Darlin’

pt 2

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (right now there is nothing romantic, maybe in the future I am undecided.)

Description: After being captured by some cowboys, reader ends up in front of a ghoul and fearing for her life.

Notes: This is awful I apologize in advance. Please let me know what you think. This is just setting it up for the real story.

I sighed as I stumbled behind my captors. I am not even sure how you ended up in this situation. One day I woke up next to my fire surrounded by three cowboys, smiling menacing at me. Next thing I know my hands are tied and I am being forced to follow them everywhere. I heard them talking about a "last bounty" and rolled my eyes. I know their type, there is never really a last bounty.

It was night-time as we made our way to the graveyard, I was so tense you shuffled stiffly behind their leader as he tugged on the rope connecting the two of you.

"He's the best bounty hunter there is." Their leader rambles on. To be honest, I wasn't listening.

"How do we know which grave?" One of his companions asked.

"Well, Slim we look for the fresh one." He responded. "Dom Pedro has our friend dug up once a year. Cuts some pieces off and then puts him right back in the ground."

"That's awful," I mumble.

The four of us stop in front of the graveyard and see a cross with two bags of Rad-X hung above it. "Bingo." Their leader says.

"Shit." Slim replies. "You are telling me the supreme badass we're looking for is a godforsaken mutant?"

"Are you really going to let out a ghoul?" I asked, exasperated by the whole ordeal.

"Have some respec'!" Their leader interrupted. "That is your prospective coworker you's talking about Slim. And our ticket to a big payoff. And you -" He said turning around to me, "You's better keep your mouth shut. Who knows what he does with little girls like you? I imagine we will let him do whatever he likes." He growled.

"I thought you said you knew this guy?" His other companion asked.

"I said I knew of him. My pop worked with him once." He shrugged.

"Your pop?" His companion asked breathlessly. "How long's this asshole been moulderin' in the ground?"

"How do we know he's not feral?" Slim asked, obviously afraid.

"That is why we brought our little friend." Their leader said as he pulled out a cage with a chicken in it from behind his poncho. "A feral ghoul can't abide a chicken. If he goes for her, we kill him."

"Just like that?" I asked dryly. I knew this band of idiots barely stood a chance, and that this was likely where I would die.

"Shut up," Slim said before he grabbed a shovel and started to big. "Should make the bitch dig." He said turning to his friend who just laughed in response.

Some time later they finally had dug up the coffin. It was surrounded by chains, obviously keeping something strong within. I couldn't help the chill that ran up my spine. I looked over at the chicken tied to a stake and couldn't help but wonder, am I bait too? Is that why they brought me here?

The three of them watched with bated breath as they opened the coffin from afar, but I couldn't stand to watch and just kept staring down at the chicken at my feet. Their leader gave the rope tied to the coffin one last tug and it finally swung open.

A ghoul stumbles out of the coffin, groaning and coughing and cracking his bones. He obviously hadn't been let out in a long time. I couldn't help but feel bad for him. If he truly wasn't feral, then there was a person in there.

"Well well well." The ghoul finally spoke. "Why is this an Amish production of The Count of Monte Cristo or… just the weirdest circle jerk i've ever been invited to?"

I couldn't help the snort that escaped my mouth. His attention was then brought to me as I stood mostly hidden behind the leader of the gang.

After a brief silence, the leader started laughing as well, obviously trying to diffuse the tension. "Welcome back. I'm Honcho. Now you don't even know us-"

"No." The ghoul interrupted. "I do not." His gaze then moved down to the chicken. He slowly approached as he licked his lips in anticipation.

The four of us moved back in fear as he picked up the chicken.

"Does that count?" Slim asked. "Should I shoot him?"

"Would you shut the fuck up," Honcho responded. "We-uh, we got a proposition for you." He said as he moved his attention back to the ghoul. "A bounty came down. A huge one. Enough to be a last score for me and whoever's with me. Yeah. Now, somebody made a run from the enclave." He said pulling out a sketch of the bounty and his furry friend.

"Now what makes you think I'd give a good goddamn about that?" The ghoul asked, obviously not interested in the bounty.

It ain't where he's running from I figured you'd be interested in." Honcho said confidently. "It's where he's running to. That witch Moldaver in California. That's where you from ain't it?" He smiled. "Originally I mean."

The ghoul stared him down for a moment. "Now, what the fuck would you know about where I'm from?"

I tried to swallow but my throat was so dry from fear that it was painful. I slowly took a step back from Honcho. I could feel that this was going to go bad quick.

"Well that don't sound like gratitude, do it, boys? Honcho responded with a sour tone in his voice. "How about we put you right back in that hole so Dom Pedro can have his fun with you for the next thirty years?"

The ghoul smirked as he looked between the 3 cowboys, amused with Honcho's confidence. "Well, I'll tell you what boys, whenever somebody says they're doing one last job, that usually means their heart's not in it. Probably never was." He said as he kneeled back down to the chicken. "But for me? Well, I do this shit for the love of the game."

It was barely a second before he had his lasso around Honcho, easily pulling him off his feet and throwing him across the graveyard. I stumbled behind him a couple of feet before the rope he was holding came loose and I fell to the ground. I stayed down and covered my head as I heard gunshots and the two boys falling to the ground. I slowly looked up at the ghoul who was staring down at me with a blank expression before turning his attention back to Honcho.

"You are right, friend, about one thing. This right here? Was your last job." The ghoul said while aiming his gun at the cowboy. "My paycheck wasn't quite what you expected, but, well you know what they say. Us cowpokes.."

"Wait! The girl! I brought her for you! Thought you might be hungry." Honcho mumbled around the rope in his mouth. I was barely able to understand him, but it looked like the ghoul did.

He stopped and turned around to look at me again. I stared back at him in horror, still on my stomach in the mud. "Well, that's no way to treat a lady." He smiled threateningly before turning back to his target, shooting the rope holding up his coffin, and watched as it dragged Honcho into the ground. "Us cowpokes, we take it as it comes." He finished.

Without a word he picked up his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and walked right past me.

I don't know what came over me at that moment, but I knew that I didn't want to be left alone. "Wait!" I said before I even knew what I was doing.

He stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around to look at me.

"I'll die out here on my own," I whispered. "I could lead you to the bounty. There is information that the idiots didn't share with you. I could help."

At this, he turned to look at me and crouched in front of my kneeling body. "I know exactly where I am going darlin'." He responded. "I don't need your help."

"But I do!" I said as I gave him the best puppy dog eyes I could muster as I held up my still-bound wrists.

He scoffed before looking up at the sky. "No." He said before getting up and walking away.