#minor needle tw

[sleepis4theweak]

Oh my god this took SO LONG-

Also ignore the random switches in style, I drew all of these panels at different times... whoops...

ANYWHO- HERE IT IS!!! FINALLYYYYYYYYY <3

Beginning | Previous | Next <- coming soon! ... hopefully...

[mikufanclub]

nurse girls

[neurdogic]

my semester-long werewolf series is complete! thank you all for staying along for the ride while i made them. all images are ink and colored pencil on 15 x 22 inch multimedia paper. all titles are in the image IDs.

[aceofwhump]

Wednesday (2022)

[mintypin]

Wuz Looking trough old sketchbooks (like 2023 or something) n found this uh Inanimate insanity invitational x pony.mov drawing

TW: slight blood And weed/Drugs And Needles!!!

((zoom in for better quality!))

I think i made this when i was in my pony.mov era and surprisingly it also had an pony version of it

((zoom in for better quality!))

Honestly i was so hyped with pony.mov that made some stuff of it x object shows like this

[truths33k3r4]

( TW for blood, needles, stitches, minor surgery, vomiting- not graphic cause ewww )

CHAPTER 13 - A Prick and a Pull

Who knew a little splash of blood could completely end a conversation dead in its’ tracks?

.. Well, now Leo and Lotus did.

Leo’s face twisted into a small grimace as he quickly jolted his foot away from the slowly growing crimson puddle on the floor. After shaking off the excess blood like a cat shaking it’s paw in the snow, Leo drew his attention to Lotus’ incision. 

It wasn’t a lot of blood.. Just what happens when you have a deep cut in your body and you have nothing to stop the bleeding. A thin stream had trickled down Lotus’ leg and slowly began to drip off the side of the surgical table.

‘ I should’ve covered the incision with something.. MAN I SUCK AT THIS. ‘ Leo self- scolded himself.

The strange thing was Lotus didn’t even notice it.. Guess she got too caught up in the so-called ‘conversation ‘ between her and Leo.. If you could even call it that..

Lotus tried to turn herself over to see what it was that made Leo jolt back, but instead jolted herself as another burning sting shot up her leg in protest of the movement. 

‘ ..OK… NOT GONNA MOVE ANYMORE.. NOTED. ‘ Lotus mentally stated as she let out a slight hiss from the pain.

After Leo promptly cleaned up the small puddle and what was remaining on his foot, he brought his focus back to Lotus.

“ Ok.. I’m really sorry Lotus, but I have to stitch you up before it gets infected.. “

Lotus’ shoulders raised the smallest bit.

Leo knew she was scared.. Heck, HE WAS THE REASON she was scared. It was his mistake that brought her so much pain.. Her fear was totally valid thanks to Leo’s awful track record today. 

“ I promise- I’ll go as fast as I ca- “

“ NO, LEONARDO. “ Lotus nearly shouted. 

Leo’s eyes filled with shock at her sudden impulsive reaction to his words.. He was used to her being so.. soft spoken. Blunt, yes, but never fiery or passionate.

Lotus’ shoulders were now completely up as her head began to subtly recoil into her shell. Not completely, but enough for Leo to notice.

“ YOUR MEDICINE DOESN’T WORK. It wore off -  It’s useless. “

Lotus gulped down the lump building in her throat of dread for what she was about to say.

“ You said it will take you 2 minutes? “

Leo nodded.

Lotus paused.

‘ Am I really gonna do this?...

The medicine didn’t work.

It still really hurt. ‘

Lotus subconsciously stroked her left thigh to relieve the pain that was building once again.

‘ It’s only two minutes. 

It will be fine.

I’ve been through worse.

I’ve survived worse.

A prick, a pull, and done.

IT’S TWO MINUTES.

A PRICK, A PULL, AND DONE.

…

…. This.. is gonna SUCK EDAMAME BEANS. ‘

“ I don’t need any numbing. Just start. “

Leo’s already wide eyes somehow grew in size as he processed what Lotus said.

“ I- You- You want me to stitch your leg with NO lidocaine???? “ Leo was nearly huffing as he ran through the scenario of what it would look like for Lotus to get stitches feeling… EVERYTHING. He tried again to talk her out of it.

“ Lotus- it’s just one pinch- and then I’ll work as fast as I can!! Don’t you at least want the CHANCE of not feeling it???? Maybe if I work fast it will last long enough! “

Lotus stayed quiet, taking a minute or so assessing Leo’s option.

… But her mind was already made up.

“ No.. thank you. ‘ She spoke in a huff. “ It’s a matter of the mind here Leo. I’m not going to lie to myself thinking that your dumb meds will work when it was just PROVEN that they don’t.

I just gotta tough it out. “

Lotus curled her arms around herself attempting a self hug, as she laid her head onto the surgical table’s pillow.

“ It’s just two minutes. Do your worst.“ 

Leo’s face became flushed with agony and shame. 

Normally, the phrase “ do your worst “ is used in a sarcastic tone. A comedic context. Something two friends would say to each other whilst playing video games, or forcing the other to eat something gross at a sleep over.

But Lotus spoke with no sarcasm. There was no humor to water down the potency of her words. Nothing to make it more bearable. 

Leo’s eyes attempted to form more tears, but the wells remained dry. He pulled a small rolling stool underneath himself and turned to face Lotus’ incision.

“ .. Are you sure?.. You’re going to feel everythi-”

“ YES. DO IT. “

Lotus braced every muscle despite all the protest of her incredibly sore body.

“ NO PAIN. NO GAIN. JUST DO IT. “ She choked out through gritted teeth.

Leo let out a silent sigh as he reached over to the cupboard and pulled out a package of needles and a spool of thread. 

‘ IT’S JUST.. TWO.. MINUTES.. ‘

Lotus shut her eyes as she listened to the faint sounds of Leo opening a bottle.

The putrid fumes of rubbing alcohol filled her senses.

With everything that had happened, the horrible burning pain, the constant fight against her nightmares and memories, and the dread of what was occuring NOW.. One couldn’t blame her for what happened next. 

The growing knot in her stomach took the horrid smell as the signal to vacate its’ contents.

It began with Lotus letting out a small gag, to which Leo IMMEDIATELY dropped the bottle onto the rolling table, and reached underneath for a small basin, handing it to Lotus in a panic.

( As the oldest brother of four, he was well-versed in knowing the tell-tale signs of nausea. And.. what came up with it. )

He gently rubbed Lotus’ shell, trying his best to bring her any comfort he could. He could feel under his hand that she was shaking more harshly now. Under such bodily distress, it certainly made sense.

She was completely exhausted.

After Lotus’ stomach was squeezed empty, she placed the basin to her side and hid her face in her crossed arms.

“ I hate this.. I hate this…. “ She squeaked as she began to sob into her arms. 

‘ Why is this happening.. WHY CAN’T MY STUPID BODY DO ANYTHING RIGHT- Why- WHY AM I LIKE THIS- WHY DID IT WEAR OFF… ‘

Lotus’ mind filled with question after question. An action to which nothing responded. No answers. Nothing. 

The void remained still and steadfast; The darkness covering up any chance of answers being given.

Lotus had heard many times at the lab various people shouting out the names of deities. Usually when they accidentally dropped something, or if an experiment proved successful.

On their podcasts or tv shows there would be characters praying to a god. Asking for direction or guidance or answers.

That’s how you knew it was just a tv show. Their questions were always answered. All of their problems magically were taken away thanks to their so-called faith. Thanks to their god.

And all Lotus could sense in her mind was darkness. Unrelenting stress, fear, shame, and anxiety. 

No answers.

Just endless silence.

‘ There is no way there’s a god out there.’

She heard a snip of scissors.

Lotus’s mind was yanked back to her horrible reality in an instant.

“ Try not to brace your muscles.. It will hurt worse. “ Leo spoke to her.

Before she could react, Leo inserted the needle. 

Lotus grasped onto the sides of the surgical table with both hands, squeezing as hard as she could to somehow relinquish the pain. A quiet whimper escaped her lips.

This pain was different. With the implant removal, it was more of a sharp burn accompanied by the frigid cold of the tweezers.. 

But this.. This felt as though someone stabbed into her leg with the thin edge of an iron-tip pen. 

Over and over again. 

With each stitch came a small snap of her skin, and with each needle prick came a tightening pull of the thread. 

For once, that day, Leo’s calculations were correct. 

Lotus’ incision took about 3 stitches to fully close, coming to around 2 minutes to finish the full procedure.

But as Lotus understood quite thoroughly, PAIN SLOWS TIME.

Seconds disguised themselves as minutes and hours. It felt like an eternity as Lotus dug her hands deeper and deeper into the surgical table’s rim. 

Every time the needle pierced into her skin she let out a sharp hiss, followed by a long whimper as Leo tightened the stitch.

It was awful.

‘ IT’S JUST TWO MINUTES.. IT’S JUST TWO MINUTES..’

Leo ( for once ) kept his word with moving as fast as he could. His hands worked swiftly and smoothly as he finally snipped off the remaining strand of thread.

NOW it was over.

Hohohohooo I had FUNN with this one. :)

If you have any questions about my story, the characters, whatever, you can send me an ask! :)

To God be the glory!

Masterpost <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[godspeedviper]

Weekend Getaway - (Spencer Reid x Jonathan Crane)

𖤐 Summary: In an effort to seek out his drug of choice, dilaudid, Spencer Reid finds himself on a weekend trip to Gotham City, where he falls victim to more than just addiction. (Criminal Minds x DC crossover)

𖤐 Pairing: Spencer Reid x Jonathan Crane

𖤐 Word Count: 2,147

𖤐 Warnings: +18 Smut || Graphic description of drug usage || Dubious consent || Gun kink || Med kink

⚠️DON'T LIKE DON'T READ. BLOCK DON'T REPORT⚠️

   It would only be a short trip, just the weekend. Spencer’s local dealer had run out of product, but managed to give him a contact in nearby Gotham City with an old friend of his. It would be a 3hr train ride from his apartment in Washington DC to Gotham in New Jersey. He would rent a cheap hotel and hole himself up for the weekend to get high in peace, and be back before the team returned from their latest case, before his mandatory leave was over. No one would ever know. A simple in and out. 

Or so he thought. 

  Spencer Reid arrived in Gotham City on a Friday night to meet his dealer’s contact in the narrows, and by lunchtime on Saturday he was strung out in one of many dirty alleyways that made up the narrows. Having bit off far more than he could chew. 

“Oh you poor thing.” Cooed a voice just a few steps from where Spencer lay.

  He looked up and met a set of bright blue eyes framed by sharp glasses and wavy russet hair. The man bore a resemblance to Spencer himself. 

tall 

                        thin 

                                                Bookish

  But his eyes were wrong. They were unlike Spencer’s honeyed hazel gaze, as even in his intoxicated stupor, they glittered with golden flecks of curiosity and kindness. No, this man’s eyes were too warm, 

                                                                                                unblinking, 

                                                                               Strange.

  Spencer had seen this look many times before. It was the gaze of an unsub trying to hide his predatory nature with an ill mockery of empathy and human warmth. Yet despite the warning signs, Spencer found himself following the man through the labyrinthian streets of the Narrows under the promise of more dilaudid and some clean needles. 

The promise was kept.

The needles were sterilized.

The drug was administered. 

Now Spencer had to pay the price. 

   He awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, his senses slowly growing aware and informing him of his situation much like an old computer lazily whirring to life. First, he noticed the light, blinding before it was illuminating. Then came the cold. His skin felt icy, every hair standing on end, goosebumps prickling up to full effect.

It's too bright to be the sun in Gotham. Is it the desert? No, not warm enough. A lamp? The light is too white. Fluorescent bulb? 

  Spencer tried raising his head to get a better look at his surroundings, and that was when he felt it. 

                                                     A snag. 

       Something in the way. 

                                                                   Limiting. 

                                                                                              He was bound.

A rusty dentist chair, stretched, laid back.

                                                                 The appalling embrace of worn leather straps. 

“Good, you’re awake.” The voice had returned. It was coming from Spencer’s left side. He turned his head toward the sound only to be met with a man’s waist a mere inches away from his face, and it stepped ever closer. From this angle he could see that the voice wore clothing that would not be amiss in his own wardrobe. 

A pair of brown slacks.

A plain brown belt of faux leather.

An argyle pattern knitted vest.

A white lab coat.

It scared him. 

“It’s quite rare these days that I am capable of luring away a subject so easily. All the local bums are too vigilant, but you…” the man clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You my dear are quite the unfortunate tourist, aren’t you?” 

   Spencer’s body tensed up as the reality of his situation began to settle in. He felt a cold sweat seep out of his pores and coat his body with the unmistakable stench of fear. It was like Georgia all over again. It was like Tobias all over again. Confusion, helplessness, and the unwelcome warmth of dilaudid draining from his body, leaving behind nothing more than razor sharp terror. 

   Mustering up every bit of courage he had in him, Spencer tilted his head upwards, following the man’s torso until he met those predatory eyes once more. It was then that he saw salvation. In the crisp brilliant blue of the man’s irises lay a striking similarity which jolted Spencer’s brain into overdrive. 

He’d seen this man before. 

He knew this man. 

“Jonathan Crane…” 

Spencer’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

The man’s crystalline eyes glistened in the fluorescent light displaying his inflated ego like a set of freshly polished knives. Dangerous, but predictable in their capabilities, and Spencer knew his way around a knife. 

“It seems my reputation precedes me.” There was a hint of amusement in Crane’s voice, but his features never betrayed the definition of stoicism. “Which means you know exactly how this evening will go, and how it shall end.” 

“Yes,” Spencer spoke up. “But you don’t know me.” He raised his brows to indicate a challenge. “You can’t dispose of me like everyone else.” 

Now the doctor’s visage gave a hint at his morbid mirth with the slightest smile cocking up on his thin face. “Hm… and why not?” His brows raised in acceptance of the challenge.

“Because it’s my job to hunt down people like you.” Spencer’s voice began to tremble. With fear or determination? He could not tell, but he persisted nonetheless. “I’m doctor Spencer Reid with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, and if you kill me… you step out of Batman’s jurisdiction…” 

The question hung in the air with a heavy silence as Crane mulled over the implications. His face never betrays his thoughts, but through Spencer’s prolific scrutiny the slightest bit of fear could be seen flashing through the crystalline blue of Crane’s predatory gaze. 

Fear.

For the first time in a long time, The Scarecrow felt fear. 

And Batman was not the cause. 

This caused his cocky smirk to morph into a malicious grin as the lightbulb of ideas went off in his head, the overhead lamp mirroring that with near comedic effect. He took a step back and turned around, leaving Spencer’s field of vision. The peculiar sound of stretched rubber was the only thing that could be heard in the decrepit space. 

Silence. 

What broke the silence was not a sound but rather a feeling. The cold feel of a damp alcohol wipe caressing bare skin. It drove Spencer’s senses into override, all his muscles tensing in anticipation of a metallic sting.

A needle?

                A scalpel? 

                                Nothing good ever followed after such an action. 

“Shh shh shhh.” Crane murmured. “Don’t tense up too much, that will only make it hurt more. “ 

    The Scarecrow chose his words carefully, seeking to instill as much fear as possible into his captive. A small needle prick hardly ever hurts, especially not to someone accustomed to shooting up hospital heroin. It is the ambiguity of the next step and the verbal emphasis on pain to come which draws out the worst of his captive’s imagination. Spencer flinched with the slightest of movements, his PTSD only amplifying the terror in his veins and the pain on his skin as Jonathan Crane wrapped a length of clinical rubber around his captive’s bicep to create a tourniquet. 

   Spencer’s fear turned into euphoria as soon as the needle point broke the skin, pushing clear dilaudid into his bloodstream. The warmth spread slowly, going up his arm and enveloping his chest

                                                                                       relaxing his neck

                                                 loosening his jaw

                                                                                      scrambling his brain.

                                                                                                                                         He sighed.

  Jonathan stood silently the entire time he was shooting Spencer up. He watched the drug take effect with a stoic fascination found only in scientists and true sociopaths. The restrained man went from looking straight out of a horror film to the picture of stupefied bliss in a matter of minutes. Jonathan let the silence linger a moment longer before interrupting it with a bang. 

Shot. 

  The sound of a revolver going off pulled Spencer out of his drug induced haze, every single one of his senses jolting awake only to be muted by the weight of the drug. His eyes grew wide, irises alight with fear, and he stared at the small pistol in the mad doctor’s right hand. Jonathan’s face remained unmoving, with his gaze fixed on Spencer. He clearly knew every inch of this grimy space as he confidently aimed and shot the weapon without regard for any of his equipment. There was no damage save for a small hole in the wall with a bullet now buried in it. 

Crane now pointed the gun directly at Spencer.

“Beg.” 

His tone of voice was shockingly apathetic and monotone. 

“W-what?” Spencer asked, his eyes glued to the weapon in front of him. 

“Beg.” 

“Please…” Spencer whimpered. “Please don’t d-” 

    His voice was suddenly stifled by a strong grip on his jaw, Jonathan crushed Spencer’s words between his forefingers and his thumb as he took a sudden leap forward. The gun was no longer in Spencer’s line of sight. Instead his entire field of vision was now occupied by the mad doctor’s frosted glare, cruel eyes once more boring into Spencer’s skin to expose him bare. 

“Not like that.” hissed Jonathan. “Not with your words.” 

   Crane pulled his right hand down, pressing the still warm barrel of the gun onto Spencer’s clothed thigh. The heat wasn’t enough to cause harm, but the stark contrast with Spencer’s cold clammy skin was enough to elicit a sudden whimper from the frightened man. Satisfied, Jonathan took a step back and he brought the gun back up between the two men, pressing the muzzle of the gun against Spencer’s plush lips. 

“Show me how much you want to live, don’t tell me.” 

The hot tip of the weapon nudged Spencer’s lips.

“Beg.” Repeated Jonathan, just as monotonous as before, and Spencer understood. 

    Slowly, carefully, Spencer parted his lips and allowed Jonathan to slide the barrel of the revolver into his mouth. The length of metal felt heavy and warm, coated in the salted taste of iron,

                                                                    blood, 

                                                                                   violence.  

   Jonathan began to thrust the weapon in and out of Spencer’s mouth, slow at first, just a few millimeters in and a few millimeters withdrawn, pushing deeper with every calculated thrust forward. The gentle movement lulled Spencer into a comforting haze of pleasure, and he drunkenly wondered if this is what it would feel like to fellate a man. He closed his eyes and gently moaned against the rod in his mouth. 

 “That’s it.” Crane let out a ragged breath. “Show me how desperate you are to live.” 

Perhaps it was the soothing effects of dilaudid, 

                                                                                                   or the adrenaline, 

                                      or the years worth of hunger 

                                                                                                     for intimacy, 

                                                                                     for love,

                                                                  for lust.

  Whichever it was, it caused Spencer to throw himself fully into the task of worshiping the threat upon his life. He dragged his tongue against the bottom of the barrel, the tip of his tongue caressing the ejector rod, and his lips pressing against the front end of the cylinder. Jonathan looked on, transfixed, his pupils blown wide with lust. He slowly pulled the gun out of Spencer’s mouth, watching as the metal emerged glossy and slick. 

   Spencer’s eyes lazily fluttered open, and he stared ahead with a dreamy half lidded gaze. He was so immersed in the pleasant delirium that he didn’t even register it when his tongue slipped out past his lips and dipped into the weapon’s hole. The taste of gunpowder residue coated the tip of his tongue,                                   

                                                                                                                                bitter, 

                                                                                                              smokey, 

                                                                                                                                and coarse. Jonathan let out a stifled moan as he watched,

                                                                                                and Spencer smiled.

  Spurred on by his captive’s cockiness, Jonathan roughly shoved the pistol back into Spencer’s mouth, burying it up to the cylinder in the other’s moist warmth. Spencer gagged, his eyes growing wide in surprise, but Jonathan made no other sudden move. After a beat, Spencer continued with his ministrations, moaning against the threat between his lips. Adrenaline continued to flow through his body making him hot and excitable. He began to salivate at the thought of the danger, the thrill of it all compounded with his drug of choice simply heightened the pleasure. He moaned and whined as his head bobbed up and down the barrel. 

                                                                         Bliss.

    Jonathan pulled the weapon back in one smooth motion, gently tapping the front sight of the gun to Spencer’s chin, and. Spencer could see his reflection in the doctor’s glassy eyes. His cheeks were flushed red, slick lips quivering with each ragged breath, and vacant mouth dripping with arousal. He was quite a sight to behold. 

“My my, that was certainly… convincing.” Jonathan gasped and set the gun down on a nearby tray. 

    The Scarecrow began the task of liberating his captor, making quick work of the leather straps that pinned the man to the surgical throne. The two stood in an awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, before Crane begrudgingly spoke up. 

“You are free to leave. However, if you were to ever find yourself…. craving…” 

“How would I contact you?”

“I have a burner phone.” 

                                                  Crane smiled.

ao3 || requests || navigation

[beesofink]

Thanks for voting on the Cassie O'pia poll! I'll finish her up when I'm motivated again :)

In the meantime, here's a spooky sketch of a concept I came up with:

What if the Green Needle Witch was real? And would spectate the Psychic 7 throughout the years? I imagine it being a kind spectator of sorts who would leave gifts for them since it found them so interesting and endearing, and would lead kids to the nearest civilization if they were lost instead of outright killing them. They prefer to be hidden away, being more interested in their bees than society.

[pxison]

Surgery + abilities HC Reiju Pt. 1

Child experimentation TW, Vomiting (minor) TW, Injections/needles TW, Medical TW, Just all around bad stuff :/ You have been warned

- As Judge’s first daughter, Reiju is the first Vinsmoke subjected to the unethical and nonconsensual surgery to remove her emotions and make her into a weapon pliable to his will.

- I don’t doubt Sora attempted to stop this from happening with the event being very traumatic to the young girl, kicking and screaming as she is dragged off to the operation room. (In this way, I can see Reiju having lingering discomfort when being in an operatory theatre even if she can’t remember the night that well as it is blocked from her mind)

- However, after such an invasive surgery, Sora was able to use all the time she could as Reiju recovered to re-teach her emotions, ultimately defeating one purpose of the surgery even after her blonde hair had began streaking pink. Over time, the light would return to Reiju’s blue eyes and seeing that was enough reason for Judge to begin isolating Sora.

- Reiju’s abilities didn’t come in until after even more consecutive tests done on her that while less traumatic and invasive, was still alarming to the little girl. It is under the guise of ‘shots’ that Reiju began developing the powers that’d make her Poison Pink one day. Diluted poison would be injected into her veins, making the girl sick as she hadn’t yet built the immunity to it. Each shot began to grow in intensity as she aged, with the poison increasing in doses and potency. I imagine at some point Reiju became aware of what was happening but could do nothing to disobey in any meaningful way.

- It is after her awareness was made known that Judge threw all pretense out of the way and simply made his daughter consume poisons directly by the cup full, never leaving until every last drop was gone. This constant exposure and awakening of her ability to both absorb and inject the toxins she took in eventually took on a pleasurable sensation like one would when stuffing themselves with food, a full feeling that disgusted her more than anything early on when she noticed the change.

- Eventually she would reach her maximum potential and even then, her sessions wouldn’t be stopped until she was well and truly driven sick from the toxins flooding her senses. Only after she’d begin to vomit would Judge allow her a break and it is after that she’d thankfully be given longer breaks between when she’d need to ‘top up’ before a long mission for Germa’s sake.

[hylianengineer]

I have the weirdest and most irrational pet peeve: why do people say syringe as though it always comes with a needle and this is a well known and indisputed fact about syringes? No. The needle usually screws onto the syringe, but the syringe is a separate part! They're not the same thing. They're just not.

[onedayillmakeanamebutnotrn]

cw/tw needles/needles in skin, decorating whumpee like a doll kinda uhh implied minor pet whump?? idk its bc of funny thoughts

whumper has like these needles that have shiny little plastic rocks on them (like a pink heart shaped plastic stone at the top of a needle) and they put that on the arms and legs of the whumpee (other spots work too) maybe some are bigger needles than others and need some pushing in imagine landing on them from a fall yea you can use them as earrings !!! you have a whumpee with animal ears?? sure!!! Put them in. whumpee has wings or a tail?? haha you arent safe either (tbh reminds me of that one cat accessory that u put on the base of ur cats tail like a ring and it puts a little gemstone on their ass so u dont see cat butt 💀 but it barely worked and just annoyed the shit outta the cat(actually would this work as whumpee humiliation??? idk up to you))

[neurdogic]

in control

[aceofwhump]

Flora whump in Fate: The Winx Saga 2x07

[spanishsenpai]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 2

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Here you go Dying Light 2 enjoyers. Have some more Aitor hurt juice. It hasn't come up yet but I've decided Aitor was meant to be shorter than everyone else. Dying Light Jesus told me it had to be this way.

A kick to the gut couldn't kill Aitor so Waltz decides maybe he has further potential.

Read it on AO3 if you'd rather! :D

“Die scum!” Aitor yelled, lunging for Waltz with a knife clenched in each fist. He only managed to get in one swipe before Waltz’s knee collided with his stomach, just under his body armor, with the force of a sledge hammer. The wind was knocked out of him, rendering him limp long enough for Waltz to grab the back of his vest, spinning him around and tossing him. He choked out a grunt as he collided with something, likely Aiden if the yelp he heard was related. 

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Faintly he processed that he was on something that was squirming underneath him and Waltz was nearby. If his body didn’t feel like it was rebooting, he would’ve had the forethought to roll off the person to give them a fighting chance.

Aiden shouting brought him back. He let out a desperate gasp as his diaphragm suddenly remembered how to work, sucking in the air he’d been starved of the past few minutes. 

As he gasped and coughed, a sickening thwack jolted him from his stupor. Boots appeared in front of his face. A raspy snarl escaped Aitor’s throat as Waltz snatched his hair to pull him up to his face. 

“Stubborn aren’t you? Just won’t die like the rest of these dogs,” Waltz practically growled, kneeling in front of him. 

Aitor’s eyes widened in rage. His shaky legs scrambled under him and around Aiden’s limp form as he aimed a punch at Waltz’s face. “Shut your fucking mou- !”

His fist was grabbed faster than he could process and then squeezed until Aitor was on the verge of screaming. He tried to jerk back as Waltz let go of his hair but the man’s grip strength was unrelenting. He could feel the bones in his hand creaking from the pressure and feared they would shatter if Waltz didn’t let go.

“Too stubborn to die. Too stupid to live. Maybe you weren’t cut out for that promotion after all.” Waltz shoved him back, tossing him backwards on the other side of Aiden’s unconscious body. “Oh well. Mistakes happen. I’ve got what I came for either way.”

His chest ached too fiercely to react quick enough as Waltz stepped over to where he’d fallen and grabbed the shoulder strap of his body armor. “What to do with you now,” he hummed, tapping some strange device against his chin.

Aitor’s muscles tensed as he prepared to try and attack again. Waltz must have had some super human sense as, the moment Aitor jerked to lunge, Waltz gripped his shoulder strap tighter and threw him into the tunnel wall like Aitor weighed nothing more than a baseball. His back collided with the wall, head bouncing against the concrete, leaving him stunned yet again as he fell to the floor, landing on his stomach with a cry. The back of his head throbbed fiercely in time with his ribs, nausea threatening to make him sick.

“Tsk, tsk,” Waltz taunted as he stalked over. He watched the lieutenant weakly try to get back to his hands and knees as he gasped hard. Waltz kicked out, catching him in his already tender ribs. Aitor cried out, limbs collapsing under him. His body armor might as well have been a thin jacket with all the good it did against Waltz’s attacks. 

“Do you really think there’s anything you can do to me?” he asked, placing a heavy boot on the middle of Aitor’s back. “Do you think there’s anything you could do to stop me from doing what I’m doing?” Waltz chuckled darkly, “I’m far more than your feeble human body will ever be.”

Aitor’s heart was pounding. Waltz had disarmed him so quickly and plowed through his squad like they were nothing more than toddlers.

“You Peacekeepers are nothing more than a nuisance.” Waltz paused, stomping down on Aitor’s back to see if he was still awake. He grinned at the weak gasp he got in response. He could feel the laborious breaths Aitor was taking under the weight of his boot. Before all this apocalypse business, Waltz hadn't been the sociopathic type. Maybe it was the desperation of his goal or maybe it was the Volatile instincts running through him, but these days, causing pain with no end goal was much more appealing than it had ever been.

“... You… You’re a fu-...” Aitor ran out of breath before he could finish. He was dizzy even when he was only laying down. His headache was only getting worse.

“Look at you. Still fighting. It's almost endearing... Hmm, maybe I do have a use for you after all.”

Waltz took his foot off Aitor’s back, not missing the deeper breath the lieutenant took. He tucked the GRE key safely in his coat pocket before bending down and grabbing Aitor by the top and bottom of his vest. With a grunt, more from expected exertion rather than actual effort, he tossed the Peacekeeper over his shoulder. 

Aitor wheezed at the sudden shoulder to his aching ribs. He could taste blood in his mouth and dazedly wondered if he was internally bleeding or had just bitten his tongue. It took a second for him to process that Waltz was walking out of the tunnel with him over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he snarled, attempting to thrash even as his ribs screamed at him. His hands grabbed the back of Waltz’s jacket as he tried to climb over the shoulder and roll to the ground. 

Waltz just sighed at his effort and leaned forward slightly to drop the Peacekeeper on the ground. Aitor groaned in pain as his sore body once again made contact with the rough ground. 

“I should have known you might take extra convincing,” Waltz said, though it didn’t sound like he was speaking to Aitor. He walked out of Aitor’s fuzzy view but returned too fast for Aitor to even think of an escape. His world was ragged breathing and pain until Waltz knelt down next to him again and snatched his wrists in that same steel grip. There was a quiet zip of a zip tie before his hands were dropped. Waltz shuffled to his feet and did the same to his ankles, having to use two zip ties to account for Aitor’s thick boots.

“There we go. That should keep you from doing anything idiotic.”

Aitor was back on his shoulder before he could process the words. Damn his aching head. 

He hissed as they left the tunnel and the bright sun seemed to sear his eyes. He clenched them shut and then immediately regretted that as Waltz jumped. His stomach was in his throat as the jump felt more like a roller coaster. The landing was no better as the shoulder was slammed into his diaphragm, making him jolt and croak out a cry. No human should be able to jump like that. 

He managed to open his eyes and felt sick as he saw the gap Waltz must have just cleared. Even with his eyes fighting between being focused and unfocused, he could tell the gap between the two pieces of broken freeway had to be over 10 meters across.

That was all the time he had to think about it as Waltz leaped again. This time, the landing made Aitor blackout for a few minutes. When he came to, Waltz was sliding down a diagonal wall of solar panels. Aitor picked out the broken freeway in the corner of his eye. The many gaps Waltz must have jumped had made the agony in his ribs all the worse. 

Fuck, it hurt.

“I’m at the car factory,” he heard Waltz say though it sounded far away. Aitor made a half hearted attempt to squirm but it felt like even tensing his muscles took his breath away.

Waltz jumped and Aitor returned to unawareness.

The second time he woke up he was in a bare concrete room. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember how he’d gotten here. 

“Fuck,” he cursed quietly as the memories came rushing back as well as his headache.

His wrists were still zip tied together. A quick tug of his legs showed the same with them. Carefully pressing his shoulder blades back told him he was on a thin mattress. Probably not new considering the smell of it. His brow furrowed. He was going to have to sit up to learn anything else, such as if that door across from him was unlocked. 

A sharp exhale left his nose that turned to a muffled scream as he grit his teeth. Getting up involved propping himself up on one elbow and turning partially on his side. He had to take a break when he got to that point to just breathe. His ribs hurt and were making it nearly impossible to move. 

Were they broken? Probably. That would be just his luck. 

God, he was out of breath but breathing hurt even worse. Fuck Waltz. He wished he’d killed him when he’d had the chance. His heart picked up its pace as he thought about that little fight. Had he really even had a chance then?

Okay break time over. 

He hissed as he laid his palms flat on the mattress and pushed himself up, shuffling his legs to be under him. Sweat was beading around his forehead by the time he’d gotten to a sitting position, leaning heavily on the concrete wall. He panted which made him feel more lightheaded but it was the only form of breathing he could bear at the moment. God his head hurt. 

He brought shaky arms up and felt around the back of his head. Even pressing lightly he cringed as his fingers found a sore spot. His hair was sticky with half dried blood and he was sure it trailed down to his shirt collar. 

When was the last time he’d been banged up this bad? He couldn’t even remember. It felt like he’d been hunting Lucas’s killer for forever at this point. He wilted slightly; it seems he wasn’t going to get that justice they’d been hunting for after all. No time to dwell on that right now. Not when his current situation was still full of unknowns. If he could get his hands on a walkie, he could radio headquarters and hopefully get a rescue party. At the very least, someone could tell Patricia he wasn’t dead like he was sure they would assume when his squad was found.

He groaned softly. Patricia was going to kill him. This day just kept getting better and better.

It suddenly occurred to him to check his pockets. He’d been prepared to fight going into that tunnel and had brought as many weapons as he could carry. Even more important though, he’d had some combat morphine. It was rare to have but he always liked to have some on him just in case. Unfortunately, even though his body armor had been left on, his pockets were emptied. Even the small knife that had been strapped to his calf under his pants leg was gone.

Damn, guess he was continuing this the hard way.

He sucked in a breath before leaning forward to be on his hands and knees. This would be the worst part of this whole process. Gritting his teeth, he quickly hopped up, getting his feet under him. He forced himself to bite his tongue to curb a scream as his ribs were unbearably squeezed. Quickly he stood up straight, leaning against the wall again as he tried to get his breath back. His legs felt like jelly and his hands were trembling slightly. 

He was up though. He just had to stay that way. Once his legs were locked up enough to keep him up, he tested just how tightly zip tied his ankles were. At the very least, he had just enough room to slowly shuffle to the door. Not a great situation for his ego but at least he could move.

The room wasn’t very big and yet as he got closer to the rusty metal door he could hear more voices and footsteps. He couldn’t make out words but the speech patterns were enough to tell him he was surrounded by Renegades. Had to be. No one else talked in such a screechy way.

His vision swam occasionally, forcing him to stay leaning partially on the wall as he shuffled. His little hopping maneuver had done no favors for his head. The single bright light above him was also adding to the pounding pulsing through his temples. He’d kill for some aspirin right now. 

His hand brushed against the peeling red paint of the door. He tried not to get his hopes up but as he turned the handle and was met with resistance, he growled. The chance had been slim at best but testing the door had been his only plan. He was pretty incapable at the moment and with nothing else to occupy his mind, the pain came rushing to replace it. 

Suddenly he desperately needed to sit down. His hands came down to gently press against his stomach. Regret flooded through him instantly as that nearly had him dropping to the floor to throw up. Holy hell. How was he moving right now?

Shit he needed to sit. Falling on the concrete would not help his situation. Just as he’d turned to go back to the mattress in the far corner, the latch on the door jangled and clicked as it was unlocked. Aitor stumbled back, nearly falling anyway as he tripped slightly over the zip ties. 

He grimaced and scowled as he carefully cradled his ribs while Waltz strolled into the room. 

Waltz seemed agitated but as he saw Aitor up and moving, he smirked, “Welcome back. I was worried I’d regret my choice but I’m glad you’re making it worth my while.”

It pissed Aitor off that the man didn’t even feel the need to close the door. “Shut your fu-” he began to croak out, surprising himself a little that his voice was so raspy.

Waltz interrupted him though, striding towards him, “Now, now. Have a seat.” Before Aitor could tell him where to go and how to get there, Waltz was grabbing his shoulder strap and dragging him over to the mattress. A flash of comparing himself to a scruffed cat flew to the forefront of his mind, filling him with rage. The feeling was only maximized by the fact that the toes of his boots were barely brushing the floor.

Aitor’s curse was cut off as he was dropped on the mattress. Not even the comfiest mattress would have made the fall bearable. Aitor coughed, but refused to freeze up this time. A choked snarl escaped him as he kicked out as hard as he could. Waltz didn’t react to the hard kick to the shin other than to tilt his head slightly at him. 

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “I’d say this was a good choice. You will make an excellent test subject. Seeing that you survive the process, I already have your first mission in mind.”

“Wh… What the fuck are you…” he gasped, glaring at Waltz as he turned back on his back. “... talking about?” He hated how his words slurred. With the way his vision was swimming though, it was a miracle he was still awake.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Waltz crowed, kneeling down in front of him. His eyes bore into Aitor’s, looking for something. Aitor glared back.

“You’ll hang for this,” Aitor spat. “When they find my squad and my body is missing-”

“Nothing will happen.” Waltz leaned forward, hand reaching out towards Aitor’s face. Aitor snarled and attempted to slap Waltz’s hand away. A terrible sense of deja vu washed over him though as Waltz snatched his hands, overpowering him easily and pulling them down. Aitor wasn’t cowed though and tried to fight back anyway, raising his leg to kick again, especially spurred on by how close Waltz’s face was. Before he could even draw his legs back to strike, Waltz gripped his fingers and squeezed.

“Fuck!” Aitor snapped, arm jerking back as though he could escape Waltz’s hold.

Waltz seemed uninterested in this, simply using his other hand to grab Aitor’s jaw and hold his head still. The lieutenant’s nostrils flared in barely concealed pain. He swallowed thickly, fighting to keep from actually screaming as Waltz’s grip tightened every few seconds until he could feel his heartbeat pounding through the compressed veins in his fingers. 

Finally, he seemed satisfied and released Aitor’s jaw. “Do you truly think you are irreplaceable? Nobody is coming for you. They don't care about you. You are mine to do with as I see fit.” Waltz grinned, face morphing into something a little terrifying with the dark veins crawling up his cheeks. “How exciting.”

Waltz let go of him and stood, striding to the door. He stopped in the doorframe, not even turning back to his prisoner as he said, “Sit tight. We’ll be moving to a more permanent location soon.” The door slammed close as Aitor was forming an insult in his mind. 

“Fucker,” was all he came up with.

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble

Hit me Hard and Soft

Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.

Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader

Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.

General masterlist

He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.

— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.

— Strawberry pie… As always…

It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.

— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.

He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.

He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.

And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.

You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.

You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.

Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.

Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.

Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.

Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.

You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.

They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.

Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??

Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.

Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.

Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.

You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.

It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.

Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.

There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.

Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.

One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.

You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.

You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.

Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.

You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.

When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.

Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.

You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.

Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.

With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.

Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.

He's pointing a gun at him.

You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.

And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.

You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.

A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.

You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.

The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.

Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.

— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.

— You would have done the same, Drake.

— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.

— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.

— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.

— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.

— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.

— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.

Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.

— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.

Bruce turned around, looking at them.

— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.

— Yes, father.

Dick looked back a Bruce.

— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.

— … What do you all think?

— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.

Tim piped up.

— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.

— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.

— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.

— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.

It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.

— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.

— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.

— We will think about that when you're in the clear.

— But-

— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.

Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.

— … It's just to make sure…

Comment, like and reblog 🥰

DC Taglist:

@wandalfnation @vadersassistant @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @hxsun4 @silverklaus @toast-on-dandelioms @bluewillbon @ladyel1x1r3l0p3r

[lordprettyflackotara]

decode || ticci toby

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: face fucking, bear death?, reader is extremely oblivious/naive

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It had been ten days. Ten long agonizing days since you had seen him.

You had been wondering in the forest. Aimlessly of course, searching for some connection with nature you could never quite obtain. Civilization was a couple of miles away, sticks crunching beneath your boots. You had heard what sounded like footsteps behind you. Normally you weren’t a paranoid person, but the consistent sound made you constantly glance over your shoulder. This distraction led you to what seemed to be the end, a grizzly bear rising on two legs to glare down at you. Unknowingly you had stumbled upon it feasting, blood covering its snout and a deer carcass behind it. The corpse was long forgotten, its beady eyes centered on you.

All safety measures you had been taught went out of the window. Every bit of flight or fight completely vacant in your mind as you stared up in fear. The bear could practically smell the terror dripping off of you. You began to walk backwards, doubting your ability to outrun a bear. It was then you tripped, an overgrown tree root causing you to land on your ass. You gasped as the bear towered over you, a low growl sending shivers down your spine. You were sure that was the end, your heart pounding in your chest. That was before an axe went flying into the bears neck, the blood splattering across your face.

Your savior, an odd lanky man with goggles and face mask ran over to the bear, yanking the thrown axe out of its neck. You were surprised at how fast the animal fell over, its breath ragged and shallow. You blinked, the brunette man turning to you, his skin a grayish white you couldn’t quite make sense of. From the color of his skin you’d assume he was deathly ill, yet he seemed more in shape than you. His appearance was frightening and unsettling. He should’ve scared you, especially after just slaughtering a full grown grizzly bear. Yet his presence put you at ease. He stepped over the fallen animal, standing over you. He extended his hand, his palms covered in soiled bandages. Hesitantly you accepted it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. You tried to see his eyes, the reflective bright orange goggles staring down at you. He was far taller than you, your head forced to tilt upwards to look at him. “Thank you,” You say softly. The forest seemed to fall silent, the only sound audible the bear slowly bleeding out.

“Go home.”

His voice was jagged and rough, causing your eyebrows to raise. You wiped yourself off, the pine needles that had attached themselves to your jeans falling to the forest floor. “Can I at least know your name?” You asked. The brunette seemed hesitant, before slinging his axe over his shoulder.

“Toby.”

After that he glanced over his shoulder, as if he heard something you couldn’t. “Go home kid,” He huffed, jumping over the bears corpse and running in the opposite direction. You listened to his request, turning around and heading straight back the way you came.

Ten days. It had been ten days since Toby had saved you, your mysterious savior haunting your dreams. You had dreams of him saving you repeatedly. Those dreams were short lived, followed by nightmares that caused you to wake up screaming. In some he would attack you with the axe, in others he would feed you to the bear. You feared and craved him all at the same time. This lead to you making irrational decisions. You called out of work regularly, spending all of your time in the forest. You felt like you were going insane. After you had washed the blood off of your face, you had no evidence he ever truly existed. Were you going crazy? You couldn’t be. Your determination to prove your sanity led to you back in the forest once more.

You were searching for him. Searching for evidence he ever existed. Originally you had searched for the bears corpse, only to find it gone. You swore you could’ve recalled the exact spot, even finding the exact overgrown root of the tree that caused you to trip. Yet there was no corpse. No sign of anything at all. You found yourself in the same spot again, searching the pine needles that covered the forest floor. There had to be something. A bear that size surely couldn’t evaporate into thin air over ten days. You’d still be able to find its skeleton or dried blood. The circle of life was fast, but not fast enough to make a creature that large disappear. You kneeled down to the ground, pushing a pile of the pine needles aside. You frowned in disappointment when you found nothing but dirt. It was then a chill ran down your spine, the eerie feeling of being watched causing your body to tense. Hesitantly you stood up, looking around.

“Hello?”

Your voice seemed to echo through out the endless trees, the wind causing leafs to fall from the highest branches. It was only then Toby revealed himself, dressed in the same dirt covered attire he wore when you last saw him. “W-why do you keep c-coming back here?” Toby questioned. His tone was harsh, causing you to flinch. You felt overjoyed at the sight of him, his presence alone proving to you he was real. But his tone was chilling, his words dripping with a deeper meaning then you realized. “I keep having dreams about you. I don’t understand it, but you’ve left a mark on me somehow,” You admitted. Your words hardly meant sense to you, yet they seemed to register for Toby. He rounded the tree he was standing behind, approaching you. “Y-you should’ve just forgotten a-about me,” He said coldly. You were stunned, noting he now had two axes, both tucked onto holsters. “How could I? It’s not everyday a guy slaughters a bear for you,” You argued. Toby seemed frustrated, his shoulders tensing.

“I’m not your everyday j-jo. I c-can’t wine and d-dine you. I’m not like every o-o-other pussy you’ve ever let fuck you,” He spat. You glared at him. Your dreams meant something, you knew they did. They had to. “My dreams mean something don’t they? That’s why you’re trying to scare me off!” You said accusingly. Toby approached you, towering over you. His pace was aggressive, causing you to step backwards against a large tree. You felt the bark scrape at your jacket, swallowing at Toby caged you against the wood. “You d-don’t know what y-you’re getting into k-kid,” Toby snarled. You shook your head. “You won’t hurt me. I know you won’t. I don’t care. There’s something drawing me to you. I can’t ignore it,” You confessed. You bit your lower lip, causing Toby to tilt his head to the side. You could tell he was thinking, his mind racing as he stared down at you.

“How s-strange. I can’t tell if your i-i-infatuation is caused by boss n-not,” He mused. He lifted his hand, gently brushing the side of your face. His hands were dirty, yet his finger tips grazed your skin as if you were made of glass. You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, Toby suddenly leaning away. “I-I’ll come back for you,” He decided. He turned away, causing you to follow behind him. You grabbed his arm, Toby stopping dead in his tracks. “Where will we meet? Here?” You asked. Toby looked over his shoulder at you. You wished you could see his facial expression, his words seemingly cold and calculated. “No. Never c-come back h-h-here. I’ll find you,” He ordered. He shrugged your grip off of him, beginning to stalk away. “Oh and while you’re at it kid, i-it’s in your best interest to f-find a way to repay me,” Toby said flatly, before disappearing once again.

Your simple conversation played on repeat in your head. Looping round and round. Who was his boss? How could his ‘boss’ cause the dreams? The nightmares? The infatuation? You stared up blankly at the ceiling at night, your inability to sleep resulting in your job threatening to fire you from calling out so much. Everything seemed to be crumbling around you and you didn’t understand why. It was a night like the rest of them, your eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling. You had managed to count every spec, your eyes becoming crossed. You had stared for so long you swore you were beginning to see shapes and patterns. Maybe you were hallucinating. Maybe you were going insane. Could surviving a grizzly bear attack drive you mad? Or maybe you didn’t survive at all. Maybe you were dead and this was some weird purgatory. Maybe Toby didn’t exist at all and your mind made him up to avoid processing the extreme trauma. Maybe-

Your thoughts were disrupted by a knock on your window, the sound causing you to jump. Scrambling to throw off the covers you jumped out of bed, rubbing your eyes before yanking your curtains open. Toby gave you a simple wave, his axe slung over his shoulder. You opened the window, watching him climb inside. “I have a front door you know,” You said. You watched him shut the window, yanking the curtains shut. “D-draws too m-much attention. B-besides, this won’t take long,” Toby said. He dropped his axe down on the floor, shoving his goggles on top of his head. His chocolate eyes met yours, staring down at you. “I need you t-to know you don’t want this, I-I need you to be afraid of me,” He growled. You didn’t understand, slowly taking a step backwards. “Why?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Toby followed you slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. “I-i’m not the good guy. All of these b-b-bullshit fantasies you’ve cooked up-p are wrong,” He spat. You felt your face turn red, your eyes widening. How did he know-

“I’m n-not your savior. In e-every other scenario, i’m the bear,” He growled. There was something about his voice, his eyes, the way he stood over you. You hated how attracted to him you were in this moment. “I don’t believe you. You won’t hurt me,” You whispered. In a swift motion his fingers were wrapped around your throat, your back colliding with the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your hands flying to his wrist. He glared down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

Toby didn’t have it in himself to kill you. He was in deep enough shit with The Operator already, just by saving you. Proxies were designed to be ghost. They operated entirely by invisibility. They were never there. They never left any trances of their presence or work. Toby had a small solo mission, one that didn’t require Masky or Hoodie monitoring him. His mistake was traveling through the forest on foot, just trying to make it back to the mansion as swiftly as possible. He had noticed you way before the grizzly bear. You were quite pretty. Plump lips, soft eyes, gorgeous skin. Toby couldn’t help but allow himself a rare pleasure just for a brief moment. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been around a girl that wasn’t a designated target. In all fairness, Toby hadn’t seen the grizzly either. He was too focused on you and your beauty, his survival skills temporarily subsided. When you ran into the bear he didn’t have time to think, only to act. He felt an odd urge to protect you. Whether or not The Operator would forgive him for acting on this urge was a different story.

Toby was permitted to see you one final time, to finish the job. Masky and Hoodie had removed the bear corpse and any signs of Toby’s presence. Proxies weren’t allowed to leave evidence or witnesses. The Operator would’ve been mildly satisfied with allowing you to believe you were going insane. The supernatural being stayed lurking in your thoughts, sprinkling fear through out your persistent dreams. He turned them into night terrors. Toby felt guilty, knowing that your sanity would eventually turn into mush. He monitored you closely, watching you return to the forest. He feared The Operator’s influence was only encouraging you to continue your investigation. Toby knew he had to put a stop to it. For your future would become far more tarnished if you continued to anger The Operator. So he took it upon himself to attempt to fix the situation. What he hadn’t accounted for was your faith. You had raw uncensored faith in him. Toby couldn’t quite understand why. He needed to scare you away. Your interest in him needed to fade away from your memory.

Yet it didn’t, your eyes widened as you stared up at him in awe. Your lips were parted, your heart pounding as he squeezed your neck. He shoved his knee in between your legs, a small gasp escaping your lips. He blinked, confused at the erotic sound. “I-is this how you w-wanted to repay me?” Toby asked. The idea made his head spin. The idea that something as pure and innocent as you would want him. Your face was turning a darker shade of red, your tongue tied. He loosened his grip on your throat, watching as you gulped large amounts of oxygen. “P-please,” You sputtered, gulping. Toby’s pupils blew with lust, his hand falling from your throat. All of this time he wanted to scare you, yet you were willing to let him fuck you? “You’re not scared of me?” Toby asked hesitantly, You nodded, refusing to break eye contact. “Good k-keep that in mind,” He ordered. He shoved his face mask aside, quickly pressing his lips against yours. He ignored the burning embarrassment that radiated off of him as he kissed you. His eyes were screwed shut, while yours were wide open.

He knew you were staring at the gash that sat on his cheek. The sight alone was scarring, nevertheless unforgettable. You could see his teeth, the skin around the wound healed and scared over. You wanted to ask questions, but his eager hands grabbing your forearms distracted you. The man before you looked deathly ill and had somehow survived losing a major part of his face. His kisses were hot and heavy, desperate to regain your focus on him and only him. Not his imperfections he kept hidden from the outside world. He couldn’t remember the last time he had kissed anyone, the mint from your tongue dancing across his tastebuds. As he inhaled through his nose deeply he recognized how good you smelled. When’s the last time he had ever smelled anything besides dirt and blood? Toby pulled away, his cheeks a light tint of pink as he stared down at you. You looked so cute and flustered. The man before you was enchanting, a supernatural creature you knew you couldn’t understand. All of that mystery only made you want him more. You sank to your knees slowly, keeping eye contact with the man before you.

Toby wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Doing this, allowing this with you was wrong.

It didn’t matter how much Toby wanted this to happen. It was wrong. The Operator would skin him alive if he knew the devious acts he was committing. He was supposed to be killing you, not watch you unzip his pants with those stupid big eyes of yours. But Toby couldn’t help but feel selfish. He had never felt so possessive before, so desperate to keep something all to himself. But with you, he absolutely did. He did everything for everyone else. For The Operator. For Masky and Hoodie. He hardly ever did anything for himself. As a proxy you’re meant to be a vessel, a working part in a moving machine. You’re apart of a unit, not an individual with wants or desires. Yet without thinking twice he broke away from that mold, by saving you from the bear. The brunette decided that he deserved one thing and that one thing was you.

You shoved his boxers and pants to the floor, his hard cock presenting itself in front of you. The sight of salivating, your lips wrapping around his tip. Toby’s hand found its way to your hair, tangling itself in your roots. “F-fuck just like that,” He groaned, subtly pulling you towards him. You whimpered as you began to bob your head up and down his shaft, the man in front of you borderline shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Meanwhile you were a mess, your thighs attempting to rub together to create some friction while you sucked his cock. You felt your nipples harden under your shirt, your eyes struggling to stay open. His large hand on the back of your head guided you to go faster, his tip scraping the back of your throat. “My f-fucking fuck!” Toby groaned. You were so perfect. So pretty and usable. And better yet? You were all his. His hips began to snap faster into your mouth, his cock now face fucking you. You gagged on his shaft, his girth far larger than you had anticipated for.

You gripped at his thighs, saliva trailing down the sides of your mouth as he abused your throat. “Such a good fleshlight,” Toby moaned. You felt tears begin to flood your waterline, your jaw forced to go slack. Toby’s thrust were relentless, the brunette obsessed with chasing his high. “A-awe you look so adorable drooling on my c-cock,” Toby cooed mockingly, relishing in the sight of the fresh tears dripping down your cheeks. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his fingers yanking at the roots of your hair. You moaned around his shaft, the vibrations enough to send him over the edge. He thrust inside of your throat one final time, his seed spilling down your throat. Satisfied, he watched as you struggled to swallow his load. You gagged as he pulled out of your mouth, watching you gulp down oxygen as you wiped the saliva from the sides of your mouth. Toby knelt down in front of you, cupping your cheek with his large hand. He wiped away one of your tears with his thumb, leaning in to kiss you. Just as his lips were about to graze yours, the overwhelming sound of static flooded his head.

He cursed as he leaned away, his hands gripping his head. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked. Toby shook his head. “Boss is calling, gotta go,” He said dryly. He began to redress himself, rising to his feet. You awkwardly joined him, wetness dampening your panties between your thighs. “What about me?” You asked softly. Toby hadn’t considered your needs, his eyes widening as he turned back to look at you. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess. Your lips were red and plump from his abuse, your thighs rubbing together as you stood in front of him. Toby unsurely tucked some stray hairs behind your ear, pulling his mask over his nose. “Dont wait up for me, but i’ll be back,” He said. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, tangoing with the devil that was beckoning him. He felt a brief moment of sympathy, noting the sadness in your eyes. He shoved his goggles over his eyes, throwing himself into the night. You watched him go, leaving you to decode everything that just happened.