#lowk thinking of abandoning this account

[wh1sp3rr]

arkham knight + [2.4k wc]

🏷️ tags: sfw, hurt & comfort, angst if you squint, black fem coded reader, not proofread

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His throat burns from how much he’s screamed—ordered his troops to obey. Heart heavy and weak in his chest from its arduous pumping, full tubes of blood throughout his cut body: a gnarly gash on his upper bicep he has yet to notice once the adrenaline wears off: small yet viciously deep. Full lungs bursting to the brim of expansion from the deep, laboured breathes he takes, pants really. His mind cloudy and vision fuzzy, missing the warm image of home: you.

He owns a small apartment just along the outskirts of Gotham, most locals wouldn’t even call it that, which he actually prefers: a little distance from the brutal world of the city he once died in. He also feels reassured that it’s where you basically live now too. It was never an official agreement for you to move in, though it never needed to be. Your own little home where you could live, and eat, and sleep and cuddle and study and read and sometimes skip uni to stay in with him.

He liked that you had a normal life. That even though he enjoyed the days of you two fighting side by side as Robin and Batgirl: two teenagers hopelessly in love, soon to have almost all their firsts with each other: love each other, lose each other—even though he misses them a lot, [how he holds those memories so dearly in his heart] he’s still so grateful for finding out that you retired, and how you thought there was more to life.

He still remembers the day his stupid, utterly obedient and absolutely acquiescent troops tried to kidnap you. Scared that you had witnessed whatever atrocity it was that they had committed under the Knight’s order. Jason told them simply that he’d handle it—took you away to some lonesome park you used to visit as kids once their backs were turned marching away, heavy guns perfectly snug in their arms, and stood frozen in front of you, mouth already wobbly from how much he missed you.

It was raining. He remembers that because your mascara was smeared in the corners of your eyes, and your hair was frizzy. You were wearing a turtleneck, he remembers that too because he always thought you looked like a sexy teacher he’d have a crush on in grade school. Glasses were on as well, only helping your case. And your books! Gosh your books were getting soaked in your little tote bag, [it’s no secret how much he adores literature] it pained him.

He took his helmet off first, even though he badly wanted to touch you: cup your cheek, stroke your face. But he didn’t want to startle you because he was still a stranger to you. Not the boy whom you were madly in love with. Not yet anyway.

He didn’t even speak until his helmet was completely removed: didn’t want the Arkham Knight’s grating modulated voice to hurt your ears [too ashamed of this new identity] and you just stared. Stared into the glassy, hyper-tech screen that had dotted lights glow and blink and fade. Over and over till he pressed a button (you think) and all was revealed.

It was difficult. There was a lot of crying—too much almost, your heart had never hit your ribcage that rapidly before [it never will again], language was too insufficient to capture your emotions that talking felt obsolete.

His name though. God, his name and the way it fell from your lips. He hadn’t heard anyone say it in so long. It felt like he was born again. And when you touched his face, soft hands that his own could never compare to were cushioning the tough parts of his jaw and cheekbone.

His heart sank when you touched the ‘J’ on his cheek. Tracing it up and down, side to side, like each time you rubbed it [a magic lamp] you gained a little bit of knowledge on what had happened, what that J really meant.

“Did he do this to you?” Your voice had quivered.

He could only take your hand by his cheek in his and nod: hum a small sound and let the tears meet your palm. You sighed, a breathy one laced with heartbreak: crestfallen, and said his name in that whispery, soft almost exasperated way he always loved.

You guys eventually sheltered from the rain, clothes and armour both sleek with the precipitation, a sad hug that couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t take you with him to the base, he wouldn’t dare even think it, and he obviously couldn’t go with you anywhere no matter how badly he wanted to until he changed out of his armour. So though it killed him to be apart from you even for a mere hour, he needed to be tactful, immediately assuming protection over you, and asked you to meet him in this little diner he knew that was open round the clock in two hours.

And so you did. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, hold his hand a little bit longer [a little bit forever], smell his scent a little bit clearer away from this rain and never leave his side again. But life is unfair; life is cruel [that is its very nature] and you agreed. Somehow, you [shakily] got yourself home to your parents’ place (your body refused to take the train back to your dormitory, stayed a little longer, desperately missed your usual stop) and cried in your room for an hour straight.

You waved your parents off by saying you didn’t do well in an exam (half-truth: you didn’t do great but you weren’t upset by it) and cried even longer till you watched the clocks click, heard the church bell croak and made your way to the diner [fresher mascara failed to conceal your ballooning, soggy eyes. outfit (still simple, an all grey matching set) barely saving you, hair forcefully brushed back].

As for Jason, he was nervous. Tense. Also shaky. His heart (just like your own) was creating music so poignant from hitting itself against his bones [too fast: it became a hum] and put his second-in-command in charge (the night was quiet, still the responsibility remained ever demanding). Boots the only part of what he wore unchanged.

He drove there. Parked his car a mile away so no one in that diner (it was empty besides the janitor and employee) could say they saw the Knight’s real face [unbearably paranoid, this car was completely different from the one the Knight drove]. Walked in the lighter, spitting rain for a short while, thinking about everything, until he arrived and his heart pounded again.

It was a long conversation. Lasted at least a few hours. And there were touches and movements and signals that were for anyone (besides the two of you: a true couple) too much to bear. The few times he made you laugh, the few times he could smile again, he realised how badly he truly needed you, realised how much easier it was to breathe with you next to him.

It killed him to ask you about the years he missed. It killed you to answer. And that’s when you confessed, came straight out with it to break a small silence, you had retired your line of work, danced around the ‘Batgirl’ title so not to give away anything too personal to the general public [now just the one employee: very sleepy, on her phone occupied].

And he was so glad you did. Glad you told him. Glad you did it. Selfishly, it meant he could sleep a little easier knowing you’re not risking your life every day and he isn’t there to protect you.

He didn’t want to talk about Bruce. You respected it. Said only one thing about how much he misses him, and how he’s never been quite the same.

But only that, just that. Jason was [is] still quite sensitive. He was holding your hand and rubbing your fingers, trilled your knuckles like a xylophone with his thumb.

And eventually after a few weeks of long talks that soon became easy banter [tears sandwiched between] he asked you to stay the night. Which turned into you staying every week or so. To every week. To Mondays and Thursdays and Fridays. A few weekends from having sex the night before. Then summer came around and you never left, and you’ve been living there ever since.

To now. Where the Arkham Knight is limping, straightens his back any time he sees a squad of his troops to not appear weak—to leaving in his sleek black trimmed car. Drives home to you. A routine now.

The soft white noise of keys jingling is what perks you up, makes your ears twitch and flick and turn like a rabbit’s, curious and alert. You were up late studying for an exam you were meant to be retaking, but your revision was foggy and holed, your bed cold without Jason beside you.

The brim of your oversized shirt was riding up as you moved, immediately relieved as to hearing the door open so slowly and gently (Jason always assumed you were asleep, though you never are. Still he doesn’t want to startle you) and his heavy combat boots fee-fie-foe-fum in.

He’s dressed in all black, tight compression shirt he’d often wear underneath his armour, keeps him warm, protects his skin. He’s already kicking his boots off, and propping them up before moving to your shared room, immediately alleviated with your elegant and graceful presence coming out through the doorway. Sweet silhouette he’d always miss.

“Hey.” You say with a soft smile, dimples creeping in ever so slightly, head leaning against the frame.

“Hey, baby.” He says, voice dropped in a low hum only you were familiar with. He honestly shocks himself from how starkly different his voice is with you in comparison to how it is when he’s the Knight. Instantly, he walks toward you, kisses you warmly and holds your forearm. “Whatchu been doin?” He asks.

You stay looking up at him [he was quite a few inches taller than you] and your eyes are blooming with love, thin ring of colour in your eyes as your pupils expand. “Just been studying. Well—trying to at least. I hardly got anything done.” You confess.

“Why? What’s been goin’ on?”

You drop your head briefly [slight shame] and walk over to your bed as you speak: “I don’t know. My head’s just…not in the game. I can’t focus without scrolling on my phone or—I don’t know—taking hour long breaks doing nothing.” You look up at him innocently from your bed, stare at all the books and pens and sticky notes splayed about. Bite your lip anxiously, not wanting to be judged.

Here you are, complaining in your perfectly comfortable setting about your incredibly privileged opportunity to even be studying at a decent university whilst your boyfriend is out fighting tooth and nail against Gotham’s worst. You sigh, try to change the topic, “Sorry, I just—“

“Don’t apologise. Why you apologising for?” He sits down next to you, carefully moving some of your notebooks out the way, bed creaking slightly as he puts his weight down firmly.

You pull your knee up to your chest, stroke your calve up and down a bit, slightly hide yourself with your arm: “Cuz it’s dumb. I’m complaining about stupid shit whilst you’re literally fighting fucking—I don’t know—Harley or some shit.” You gesture at his entire body.

“Not even. You stick with it,” he taps at your open notebook, “And I promise it’ll work out.” He guarantees.

“Easy for you to say,” you smirk, putting your leg down, let it sway like you’re on a swing, “You used to get straight As in school.”

“That was a long time ago.” He reminds, still flattered by the compliment you were insinuating.

You shrug, “It’s still you.” You hold his gaze for a few seconds before your eyes wander down and catch his seeping blood, immediately sucking your teeth in feeling a phantom pain near the same bicep area before barely touching it with your fingertips.

Jason whines a bit, so lightly that you wouldn’t have heard it had you not have been sitting right next to him as you were now. “Jesus, Jason,” you say like a nervous mother, still inspecting the deep thing.

“It’s not that bad.” He firmly states [lie]. You look up and meet his eyes, immediately acknowledging the falsehood before dropping your gaze back down to the cut.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” You say, quickly standing up.

Jason clicks his tongue and groans, he doesn’t like feeling like some sort of burden to you—especially when you shouldn’t be staying up this late.

“Don’t.” You say, glaring at him before leaving the room.

He hears the opening of the bathroom cabinet and the slight, almost out of ear shot rustling before you return, kit in hand.

“Arms up, lemme help you take your shirt off.” You instruct.

“I can take my own shirt off, Y/N.” He says, annoyed: nervous.

You sigh and brush off his petulance, “Don’t be like that, Jay.”

He sighs, out his nose, not his mouth, and apologises, “Sorry. I just hate doing this to you.”

“You’re not doing anything to me, Jason. I want to help. If I wanted to go to sleep, I would’ve been snoring away by now.” You sit down.

“But I’m not. Here,” You help him out and pull the black shirt over his head, finger where the tear is. “Gonna have to tailor this.” Immediately your attention is drawn to the wound, dried blood splatted onto his white skin, little bits of the healing process already evident. You gently press around it seeing if it’ll bleed anymore, it does.

“Fuck, that’s really bad.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only a little cut, I’ve survived worse.”

“Oh, I know you have,” You joke lightheartedly, give him eye contact when you say this and he smiles. You press again and he actively sucks his teeth in and groans. Your eyebrows crease and your mouth slips into a small frown. “I’m sorry.” You rub the skin by his cut in attempt to soothe him, small miniature circles with the pad of your thumb.

You stare at the cut, really hone in and analyse its little intricacies before coming to your conclusion based on the on-the-spot prognosis. “Jay, I think I’m gonna have to stitch this.”

He looks at you then lets his eyes drop down to the cut, “Alright. I trust you.”

You search through the first aid kit and take out a cotton pad and an antibacterial spray bottle before dosing the thick pad with it, watching its tone darken and it’s thickness disappear as it soaks and deflates. You bring your hand just above the cut and warn him, “This is gonna sting.”

He jokes, a little strained: “Do your worst.”

You can’t even smile at the joke with the concern that paints your whole face. Jay told you how much he hated being the Arkham Knight. How he admired your courage to retire and how he wants the same for himself too. His words. So why doesn’t he?

He hisses at the contact and you immediately apologise, “I’m sorry, baby. Just a little more and it’ll be over.” He nods, eyes wrinkled from how tightly shut they are. And again, a wince and a hiss from the stingy contact, hot and tinged.

You swipe your thumb over the cut, cleaning complete. “Okay, done. Good job.”

“Thanks.” He says. It makes you smile, and though you don’t look up at him, he notices this soft upturn of your lips that he quickly emulates, just sweetly content.

You take out the needle and thread. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to do this. “Now for the fun part. You ready?”

“Nah,” he casually throws.

“Okay,” you nod, a little nervous, perhaps more than he is [wrong: you were both equally scared.] You bring the sharp, glinting thing to the broken skin, just above even, and insert: pull it through and hear his little grunt. “Sorry,” you squint out of sympathy, before piercing the skin again: rinse and repeat.

As you continue to suture him, hear the odd thump of pain he sounds, you can’t help but left your mind run a million miles, eyebrows semi-permanently creased as you focus on the task at hand, but also how you hate to do this. Hate that this even has to be a thing. Why couldn’t you guys get to be normal? Normal boyfriend and girlfriend. Go to the movies, or a study date or whatever.

You notice how quiet he is, not that it was unusual, you actually enjoyed the silence but…you didn’t wanna be the one to confront the situation. Feels like you’ve done that enough times.

“Jason.” You say, [few more stitches left to go.]

“Yes?” He clearly replies.

You stay silent for a bit, let the absence of language speak for you. “You…” you start, then sigh, hone in on the final few pulls.

“What is it?” He asks, gently.

Your mouth frowns, you feel your lip quiver, the new company of tears in your eyes that you’re all too familiar with, fat drops collect and fall. He hears you sniffle and stays watching the carpet, too ashamed too face you, your tears a reminder for how he needs to quit this vigilante business asap. If not for him, at least for you.

He feels you kiss his newly sutured skin, then the way your thumb tenderly rubs back and forth, admiring your work but also caressing him, very very slightly. Painful, inside and out.

You grab a bandage and wrap it round a few times, Jason moves to accommodate, looks at you once then internally winces at the pain. Hurts more to see your sad face than a thousand stab wounds.

When you finally finish, put back the first aid kit that leaves the bathroom cabinet more often than not, you slump down next to him. Don’t even look at him when you speak, “I don’t think you understand how painful this is for me.”

“I think I do.” He says softly, looking at you. Your side profile, the way your nose looks so cute to him, and how pretty your lashes are. You pout again, try to hold back the heavy waterfall your eyes give. “C’mere.” He motions for you to sit on his lap, and you do, heavy heart anchoring you to the ground, makes your movement sluggish and slow: begrudged almost.

He smooths your hair by your ear, traces your jaw with his knuckle till he pinches your chin, tilts it up a bit, hurt by the red on your nose. “Don’t cry.” He says in a way that reminds you of your mother, or a beloved teacher at school after you hurt your knee from tripping up in the sandbox. It only makes you want to cry more, and you do, it kills him to watch your expression break into desperate heartbreak. “Oh.” He brings you into his embrace, hugs you and rubs your back, your hair, doesn’t even notice the sting from his arm.

You grab him hard, sob so innocent and kind, “I just don’t want you to die.” He kisses your neck, makes himself comfortable against you.

“I won’t.” He calmly says.

You pull back, face wet and shiny with tears. Tears that Jason wipes away, as he usually does: unfortunate routine.

“I’ll stop.” He grabs your hands, rubs your knuckles, kisses them like Prince Charming: respectful. “I promise you.”

You’re doubtful, but hold onto the little bit of hope you have left.

“I’ll go back to school or get a job, I don’t know, but I promise you, I’m done. Now can I see you smile?”

You give him a sad one, “I don’t think you mean that.” You honestly say.

He kisses you, a quick reminder of his love, “Baby, I swear. Love you too much to lie to you.”

You’re left in open-mouth surprise, give him a smile, and break into a sweet laugh. Genuine music to his ears [one of his favourite sounds, next to rain, and your moans] and you kiss him, gleefully, let that tiny hope bloom into something more, something grander, something bigger, before breaking away and hugging him tightly. “I love you, Jason.”

“I love you too.”

© WHISPER 2K24 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[gemini-queen42]

What is your headcanon With Adam parents?Since the prologue is vague there are a lot of options:both dead (plague,war,revolution,accident),abandoned him to the servants cause “yeah he’s like our plan Z In case we need him as new ruler”,abandoned him when he became a beast (didn’t hesitate to point a gun at him) or whatever “this kid was the results of my husband/wife cheating”

Hmm.. tbh I never thought about it too deeply before? Though I think I tend to lean towards him being abandoned to the servants for.. whatever reason. (Since that can world for both "he's a plan z" & "product of affair (though likely that's a secret/not publicly known)" or.. other possible reasons. Lowk maybe they just didn't wanna deal with a kid lmao)

I think the only one I dont rlly entertain headcannon-wise is them abandoning him Specifically when he became a beast. But that's mostly due to me recalling a tidbit about the curse making the world forget what's under its effects (like, yknow, there being a Giant Castle in the woods there)- though i admittedly don't recall where I got that from.

I think my main thing in regards to Adam's parents and past before the curse is that his castle is very much Not the Main Castle. Where the king & queen would live and rule from- because presumably, that'd have like, the Capital around it, right? At least some more settlement than the Woods & singular village we see as the surroundings of Adam's castle. And it seems he probably completely grew up there? Taking into account the Christmas movie and the age they show him before the curse there.

So as long as it works with that, I'm willing to entertain as personal headcannon (if it doesn't, it's fun as au stuff instead♡)- details are never solid things for me with the sorta stuff, I like exploring lol

(I forgot my earbuds at home today so thanks for giving me smthng to do on the bus ride home♡)

(Extra: I WROTE THIS ENTIRE THING AND ONLY JUST NOTICED A DAY LATER I DIDNT CLICK POST OOPS)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

USHSJSJSJA PURSUIT CHAPTER 1!!!!!!!

Stopppppo WHERES MY COUSIN BAROU I wish I had one irl brooooo im not crying everytime I read the alivd moments im reminded they’re short lived goodBYEEEE ok but SO HYPED FOR NEXT CHAPTER houndours pokeball heating up was such a nice detail too!!! Also AWEWWEE when she pops out of her pokeball so cute it’s giving gyarados the way that people are like “wtf get your dog” “it don’t bite” “YES IT DO” but anyways wait also why am I lowk in my feels about leaving the gogoat behind…the govt should just give it as a free mount bro

ALSO SHABSHSH Barou and reader finding the houndour siblings separated from the pack and with one injured and Barou telling the houndour to meet him again for the potion but also to fight with him I’m not sobbing

Anyways I LOVED the flashback PURSUIT FLASHBACK SUPREMACY can’t wait to see a certain bird man next chapter

- Karasu anon

PURSUIT CHAPTER ONE YESSSS omg no because whenever i’m writing barou i’m just like yeah it makes so much sense why reader spends YEARS looking for him and waiting for him to come back 😭 if someone loved me that much i’d fr never give up on them either

i���ve been trying to add in little details like that!! as well as behaviors from different animals that the pokémon are based on just to give it a more realistic and immersive feel as well as to give the pokémon more personality?? like i hope it came through but barou’s houndour is much gruffer/more protective/warier than reader’s houndour (not unlike their respective trainers) as well there isn’t really any canon backing for psychic types hating dark types but imo it was a fun inclusion HAHA that’s also why the espurr and grumpig were constantly side-eyeing reader!! she always had houndour with her and they didn’t like the energy even before houndour was released LMAO it’s fun coming up with random stuff (such as the on-account stuff in the pokémart) and expanding on lore to make the world feel richer

DHJKFLSKDJ that’s literally reader’s entire team if you think about it 😭 none of them live up to their reputations except aegislash and kind of hydreigon?? although hydreigon is also rlly sweet w reader it’s just kinda emotional and throws tantrums a lot (gyarados learns ice beam specifically so that it can use it on hydreigon when it’s being annoying HAHA) so it’s not fiercely evil or malevolent or anything just a bit of a sensitive which given that reader rescued it from the pokémon abuse ring as a baby deino is understandable 🥹 aegislash is the only one that’s like genuinely just problematic but because it respects reader (and her houndoom + hydreigon) it behaves itself…other than that though like houndoom and gyarados especially are just big puppies with hearts of gold despite how villainous they may appear

DID YOU NOTICE READER FOUND THE HOUNDOOMINITES??? that’s what houndour has on her collar hehe although ofc nobody but aiku (and barou but he’s #dead) knows what it is so it’ll be irrelevant for quite a few arcs but i wanted to drop it in now so that people aren’t like “why’d you just make it up when you needed it” or whatever like now it’s been referenced and is a chekhov’s gun that’ll be brought up later

OMG GOGOAT stop i loved the gogoat too bruh this is all mr mikage’s fault (somehow) maybe after becoming champion reader returns to coumarine city and demands they give her the gogoat and it lives the rest of its live being spoiled with the rest of the nagi family’s pokémon instead of having to walk dumbass kids to and from school (i think it would be besties with nagi’s arcanine given that arcanine was supposed to have that job before failing out of the training and being given to nagi…also his whimsicott because #grasstypebond)

BAROU AND HIS HOUNDOUR HAVE ME CRYING also you know what that implies right…when barou caught his houndour his sister didn’t run away/rejoin her family she stayed in coumarine until barou caught her for reader as well 😭 she refused to abandon her brother 😭 just like reader 😭 refused to abandon 😭 barou 😭

AHH DID YOU NOTICE I REFERENCED DADDY KARASU??? as in tabito and yayoi’s actual literal father not a freaky nickname for OUR karasu SDKFHSLKDJ anyways he’s the gym leader at shalour in the flashback (since yayoi still has to go on her journey with barou and isagi and prove herself/build her team before she can inherit the gym) and barou mentions him at one point!! hehe i felt so intelligent writing that line because if you don’t know who’s about to pull up and what his lore is it’s literally meaningless but when you DO know you’re like KARASU MENTIONED 😯⁉️

[lunarlilee]

I'm so sorry for being this person but is your pj×hp fic abandoned?

hiii! it's no issue at all! part of me can't believe that it's been years i think i started it when i was like in middle school and now im halfway through college ;-;

on a more serious note no its not abandoned i will finish all the stories on my ao3 account if its the last thing i do i just need something to retrigger the pjoxhp interest bc tbh its been put off by jk rowlings increasingly transphobic behavior over the years

even on the internet where its lowk anonymous im terrified of being percieved on what feels like such a big scale (i checked on it the other day and holy shit 100k hits is kinda nuts) so my radio silence is just nerves im not confident like that dont worry the show will continue!