#my gordon wear glasses shut up

[shikariiin]

Some Funky trains

[ms-nesbit]

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter II of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary: 

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3 

note: i will be primarily posting on ao3 since tumblr is not working for me lol

The taxi stopped at the bottom of the hill before the great gates at Wayne Manor.

“I’m not allowed past this point, Miss.” the driver said. “Judge’s orders.”

Y/n nodded as she removed seventy dollars from her wallet and pushed it past the slot on the bottom of the glass divider, leaving the cab and shutting its door behind her. 

Before entering the manor, y/n stuck out like a sore thumb: it wasn’t a black tie gala, but the attire was more formal than y/n was anticipating, with women wearing sumptuous dresses that complemented their bodies, and men wearing sharp suits. Y/n contemplated hailing the cab back down to return her back home, but decided against it when she locked eyes with Barbara, who was finished shaking hands with a political figure in Gotham. “Y/n!” she called, promptly walking toward y/n wearing a long, gold dress with a square neckline, and her copper hair down and flowing. “I’m so glad you can make it. I love the skirt you’re wearing!”

Y/n blushed as she looked down at her attire: a black button down tucked underneath a redwood pencil skirt. She reached out her arm for a handshake, but was taken by a hug from Barbara instead. “Thank you. You look incredible.” Y/n smiled. “Am I too late?”

Barbara shook her head. “Fashionably on time, I’ll say. Do you want me to introduce you to the criminologist? Or do you prefer a different sector of the department?” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to let y/n in on a secret. “Or do you want to meet Dick’s younger brother?”

This was the third time Barbara mentioned Dick’s brother to y/n, and although intrigued, y/n already had done her research: according to public records, Dick doesn’t technically have a brother, so who was this mystery man?

Yet y/n was hesitant, and instead wanted to meet the criminologist; after all, Gotham was a safe haven from her past, and all she wanted to do was gain speed on her career. “Let’s meet the criminologist.”

Barbara frowned, but respected y/n’s wishes, anyway, showing her to the inside of Wayne Manor. Inside, it was dimensionally transcendental - despite the exterior being over two acres, even the foyer itself was deemed bigger than y/n’s shared one bedroom flat. “So, y/n,” Barbara began, tossing her hair onto her other shoulder, “this is lead criminologist Dr. Ashanti Ludwis. Dr. Ludwis, this is y/n…”

“Y/n y/l/n, pleasure to meet you.” Y/n extended her hand to shake, which Dr. Ludwis took. “Commissioner Gordon has told me about you.”

“Yep! Y/n here is a graduate of NYU with a major in criminology, and she is eager to gain experience wherever it is needed, right, y/n?”

Y/n nodded, her hair bouncing. “Yes. I did not disclose this with Commissioner Gordon, but I did graduate with a double minor as well, and I am certified bilingual, if appropriate.”

Dr. Ludwis gave y/n an unreadable look. “Very well. If you would like to pursue this, you do know that this isn’t a fairytale, fiction-driven type of career, yes?” Her accent was thick, each word ending in an emphasis of its last sound. Y/n relished the information, nodding along as Dr. Ludwis informed her of the process. “Okay. If you would like to join my team, I do have an opening for apprenticeship; however, it is only paid at eighteen dollars an hour, and you do not have benefits until nine months, around when you will complete your examination to determine eligibility to become a member of the GPD. Is that understood?”

“Crystal clear.” Y/n nodded once, her hands folded in front of her. “If I have any questions about the apprenticeship, where should I direct them?”

“Commissioner Gordon has my contact information and will forward them to you, correct?”

“Correct, Doctor.” Barbara agreed.

“Good. Well it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss y/n, and please, enjoy the party. Do not get wrapped up in the nonsense of the elites.” She directed her eyes to a gathering of people in a group, all wearing luxury brand articles of clothing. After motioning her salutation, Dr. Ludwis disappeared back into the crowd of lavish attendees, leaving y/n with Barbara, who was chatting with a police officer.

“I need to use the restroom, if it’s okay.” y/n whispered to Barbara.

“Oh yeah, there’s plenty if you go that way.” Barbara lifted her chin in the direction of one of the hallways, dimly lit and leading off into an unknown area. Nervous, y/n made her way toward the hallway, before being promptly stopped by Dick.

“Hey, y/n, party’s this way.” he grinned warmly.

“I just have to use the restroom…” y/n trailed sheepishly.

“Oh.” Dick blinked, as if he had never heard of a woman having to use the restroom before, “Y-yeah, of course, yeah. Uh, where’s he…Alfred! Excuse me, Alfred?” Dick began searching around, straightening his posture to overlook the crowd before spotting someone. “Excuse me, Alfred, could you please show Ms. y/n to the restroom?” he pointed to y/n. “Y/n, this is Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant. He will direct you to the restroom safely, okay?” Dick patted y/n’s back before heading back to converse with Commissioner Gordon.

“Hi, Mr. Alfred, thank you.” y/n grinned as Alfred showed her away from the gala, the noise of chatter subsiding with each step.

“You can just call me Alfred, Miss. y/n, but thank you.” he replied, turning his head to meet y/n’s eyes with a friendly gaze. “Mr. Grayson thought it was best that you were directed to the lavatory, as this is your first time visiting Wayne Manor, yes?”

Y/n nodded. “That’s correct.” 

She followed Alfred past the library and near the conservatory, where a bathroom was hidden as a cabinet. Alfred pushed into the center of the panel, which disengaged the lock and opened the hidden door. “There is a button on the underside of the toilet for emergencies,” Alfred informed. “Do you need me to stay nearby, or are you able to retrace your steps?”

“I can find my way back, Sir, thank you.” y/n replied before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door, amazed at the cleanliness of the unit, its bright color scheme a stark difference from the gothic theme just on the other side of the door. She looked around the corners of the room for security cameras, and placed her finger on the mirror to determine whether or not it was a two-way mirror, watching her reflection ‘touch’ the tip of her real finger.

After ending her security check of the bathroom, y/n used it, and remained in the bathroom for a few minutes after washing her hands to calm her nerves. Y/n wasn’t used to formal outings after her departure from New York; she felt disdain toward it, and wondered if her vocational future in Gotham would revolve around such pompous activities, or if it was less frequent.

Upon leaving the bathroom (and struggling to re-secure the hideaway part of the panel), y/n  headed back up the corridor toward the commotion, but stopped at a pair of long, slim walnut doors with gold engraving similar to the walls beside them. Hoping it was a balcony, y/n quietly opened the door and stepped out, finding herself near a bronze guided ledge rail.

This was it: y/n made it outside past the noise of the elite, past the imminent danger she felt since her time in New York - it was almost as if she closed the door to it behind her, and all y/n was left with was her self and the outdoors, freedom from the pains of her youth.

She stared at the crash of the waves of water on the cliff below her, and breathed in sync with the waves: inhale, rise; exhale, crash. Y/n was encompassed by the sense of calm she felt, her guard down, completely unaware of the man now staring at her from inside the manor.

Finally, y/n let her shoulders slump, fixing her pencil skirt from any dirt or water debris collected from the cliffside. Before turning around to head back into the party, she said her goodbye to the cold night that accompanied her, wondering if it would be the last time she would hear the crashing waves.

Reaching for the door handle, y/n found that someone else already opened it for her, as her eyes met with the man’s chest, before looking up at his face. The man was staring at her with an intense gaze, impossible to detect what he was feeling about her, and it made y/n anxious.

“You know, there’s no way to get back in on your own.” He said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “I’d know - I’ve been here plenty of times.”

Opening her mouth, y/n wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t find herself to utter a single letter, let alone groups of them. “You know, a thank you would suffice.” the man added, tone almost combative, as a corner of his mouth turned up to a smirk.

It was the eyes. Y/n’s stare worked itself from the man’s red button up, to his long neck, all the way up to his chin, and the scar on his cheek, the tissue telling that the injury was clean like a blade or knife. Then, y/n’s gaze met the man’s, and she was locked in - his eyes were intense, of course, but there was the calling; the gray streaks in his irises were barbed wires, and the green was the earthy comfort he felt deep down.

Or maybe y/n was reading too much into a stranger. “Sorry, thanks. I didn’t mean to…excuse me, I must be going.” y/n focused her eyes onto the ground, avoiding eye contact with the man as she hurried past him and back up the corridor to the gathering, where she found Barbara and Dick talking together.

“Hey, Barbara, Dick, I really appreciate you two inviting me, but I think I should get going.”

“Get going?” Dick furrowed his brows. “What for? Are you okay? Something happen?”

Barbara gently placed her hand on Dick’s shoulder, stopping the ensemble of questions stumbling out of his mouth. “That’s fine, y/n. Thank you for coming. Did we forget to give you our contact info?”

“Yeah, I completely forgot about that.” y/n admitted.

Barbara reached into her clutch and pulled out a paper and pen, writing down her phone number, then Dick’s, before handing it to y/n. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. You could stop by the headquarters, but I doubt you want to be around the police that much.”

“That makes two of us.” A voice said behind y/n, slightly startling her.

[prinnamon]

breaking news! several new species of little freak just discovered insidr my mind

image description in alt text + more detailed description below the cut!

[Start ID. Several simple digital drawings of characters from Freeman's Mind-style Half-Life machinima series against a blue swirl background. The illustration is signed "Prinnamon." From top-left to bottom-right:

Barney Calhoun of Barney's Mind is depicted as a tan-skinned Black man with long black curly hair. He wears only the shirt, tie, pants, and shoes of the Black Mesa Security Force uniform. He smiles excitedly and points with his right arm at the viewer.

Adrian Shephard of Shephard's Mind is depicted as a tan-skinned man with mid-length brown hair. He wears a modified HECU uniform consisting of a dark green helmet, a black gas mask with a green visor, a light grey camo shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a black vest, black gloves and boots, and a dark green backpack. His helmet has a fruit sticker stuck on one side and a barcode sticker on the other. He sits with his hands between his legs with a calm or bored expression. The characters are cropped below the waist.

Barney and Shephard hug each other. Barney is wearing a security vest now and Shephard has his helmet off. Barney has his eyes shut tight with a big grin. Shephard looks away with a calm or bored expression.

Vincent Stark of Stark's Mind is depicted as a light-skinned Asian-American man with short black hair, a goatee, and semi-rimless rectangular glasses who looks a bit like a better-groomed Gordon Freeman. He is wearing a Mark V HEV suit. He smiles and reclines with his arm around a docile Antlion Soldier, a yellow-green insectoid alien with four legs and no visible eyes, which has one of its legs around his body.

Chell of the Chell's Mind series by CyhAnide is depicted as a brown woman with a mole on her face and another on her left hand, brown eyes, and long curly dark brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. Felix Freeman of Felix's Mind is depicted as a white man with mid-length light brown hair and a goatee and square-framed glasses. He is wearing a Mark V HEV suit. Chell carries Felix, who clings to her. Both appear shocked. Chell's mouth is agape and Felix frowns. Felix's full body is visible. Everything other than Chell's face and hands is cropped out.

Kate of Arlen's Mind is depicted as a light-skinned woman with short straight brown hair dyed blonde and partially pulled into a ponytail. She has brown eyes and her face is dotted with faint freckles. She wears square-framed glasses. She wears a Black Mesa Security Force uniform with a blue beret that has a white Black Mesa emblem instead of a helmet. She smiles and stares into space. She is magnified as though viewed through a fish-eye lens.

There are two similar but horizontally flipped drawings of Kate smiling and sitting. These doodles are so simplified that she does not have arms.

Chell, dressed in a blue and orange jester's costume and wearing white knee braces over black leggings, strikes a sassy pose. She has a speech bubble with sans-serif text that reads "Come along, sire. Let us have a giggle."

Kate lies face down on the floor with a thought bubble containing a smaller but otherwise identical drawing of her in the same pose. End ID.]

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Title: The Dark Day

Rating: NC17 (language and smut)

Summary: You and Gordon try to make breakfast, but get distracted. It's fine.

Notes: This is part two (but technically part three?) to The Dark Morning and The Dark Night.

Warnings: language, explicit oral sex

Making breakfast together was always a game of who could distract who first, one that both of you played rather well. You would divide the prep work, each of you working at opposite ends of the kitchen counter, and whichever of you could distract the other long enough to finish their portion first would get to kick back while the loser cooked and later, cleaned up the mess.

This morning was no different. After falling back asleep for a few more hours, you got up a little after twelve o’clock and decided to have breakfast despite the lunch hour. You were stirring ingredients for pancake batter into a bowl while Jim was cutting onions, breaking and whisking eggs, and grating cheese for omelets. From the corner of your eye, his head turned toward you, and you couldn’t help the smirk that began to form on your lips.

“It’s completely unfair,” he said, looking back to make two more cuts on the onion and setting the knife down. “Just so you know.”

Your smirk widened. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in my underwear before.”

You had decided, much to his chagrin as well to his delight, to cook breakfast in the very clothes you slept in — a white, ribbed tank top and black boy shorts. He was also wearing his pajamas, which while being much more modest than yours were just as effective at distracting you. Something about seeing Sergeant James Gordon, who was usually immaculate in his suit and tie, in comfortable flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt just made your mouth water. Add to that the way his hair was just messy enough to be sexy rather than funny, and you swore that you being in your underwear was merely you evening the playing field.

“True, but that doesn’t mean it has any less impact,” he replied, leaning back to get a look at how the boyshorts only covered about two-thirds of your ass. “Christ, and you look so good in them.”

He came up behind you and put his hands on either side of your hips, his finger slipping under your tank top, and his head resting on your shoulder.

“Why do you look so good?” he whispered, taking your earlobe between his teeth and kissing along your jaw. He pulled you back against him and slowly pulled your hair to one side, placing it in front of the opposite shoulder.

“You know there’s only so much of a cushion you have before I catch up to you,” you warned breathlessly, leaning back against him.

He ignored your counsel, instead dropping a kiss on the back of your neck.

“What gives you the right to look so good so early in the day?” he purred against your ear, kissing a path down the side of your neck.

You hummed, hands stopping mid-stir as your eyes fell shut. “You’re cheating,” you said in a shiver.

His answer vibrated against your pulsepoint. “You started it.”

One of his hands slipped lower, his finger sliding under the waistband of your panties, earning a gasp from you. Tipping your hips back, you brushed his bulge with your ass, smiling when he grunted against your skin. There was movement in his pants that you felt, a light brush against your ass that alerted you to the fact that he was becoming just as turned on as you were.

“How long do you think this stuff can stay out without going bad?”

“I think the FDA recommends no more than two hours at room temperature,” you answered, turning in his arms and closing the space between you. Pressing your lips against his, you pushed him away from the counter, your fingers immediately finding his soft hair.

His glasses skimmed your forehead as he pulled them off, pausing at the corner of the counter to set them down before he let you push him against the wall. His hands cradled your face as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue gently tracing the seam of your lips. As your tongues tenderly wrestled in your mouth, the two of you rolled along the wall, turning the corner into the hallway as you tugged at his shirt, bringing it up and over his head while he led you back toward the bedroom.

When your lips met again, he had caught your bottom lip between his, sucking softly as the two of you stumbled down the hall. His deft fingers slipped under your tank top, pulling it off you before he left it on the floor just outside the kitchen. Holding you against one side of the hallway, Jim dipped and took your nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply.

“Fuck!”

He hummed, biting down on the peak in the mouth. “We could do that,” he purred, kissing his way back up to your lips. “But I believe you said something about licking every inch of each other, didn’t you?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” you replied with a smirk, rolling sideways so that he was pressed against the wall instead. Giving him one last kiss, you started a path down from his neck to his chest, biting one of his nipples as you sank to your knees.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” you said with a playful smile.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, smirking down at you. His head fell back against the wall, groan rumbling in his throat as you mouthed him over his flannel pajama pants.

Following the outline of his thick bulge, you curled your fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down. You licked your lips at the sight of his cock bobbing in front of you and wrapped a hand around him, lifting it to pull his balls into your mouth one at a time. Jim groaned, his hips arching toward you as one hand threaded fingers in your hair. With the flat of your tongue, you lavved from his sac all the way up the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft until you reached the tip. You pulled his foreskin back and took the glistening head between your lips, shifting your eyes up to his face as you sucked softly.

The moment his eyes met yours, his cock gave a lurch, nearly slipping from your mouth. A gasp caught in his throat when you started to sink down his shaft, taking more and more of him into your mouth until you were relaxing your throat and letting him slip down.

“Oh God, Y/N,” he groaned, his fingers tightly curling around your hair.

Swallowing around him, you hummed and brought your free hand up to massage his balls while you slowly pulled back up, prolonging the anticipation of a proper blowjob for as long as possible. His jaw clenched, the hand in your hair tugging every few seconds, as though he was trying to keep himself from using his grip to move your head over him. Smiling around him as you reached his head, your tongue circled the v beneath his tip, earning another grunt. You swallowed the precum that oozed from his opening and began to bob over his hips. Your other hand stroked his base, smearing the saliva that your mouth left behind.

The only thing you loved more than the taste of Jim Gordon were the sounds he made while you tasted him. Deep, soft, throaty sounds that let you know just how delirious it made him when you were on your knees, worshiping his cock as though it was the last thing you would do on this earth. And coupled with the noises your mouth made as it slid up and down on his shaft, it was enough to make you come without him even needing to touch you.

It wasn’t long before his hips began to rock, his fingers once again tightening in your hair, and this time he didn’t hesitate to use his grip to guide your movements. His moans came closer together as he neared his orgasm, prompting you to double your efforts for a few more thrusts.

“I’m gonna come!” he moaned.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you took him all the way down your throat again, swallowing around him.

A harsh growl ripped from his throat as his release burst from the tip of his cock, shooting down your throat while you swallowed around him. You cast your eyes up to his face as you pulled up, keeping the suction as you slid back to his head and swallowed the last of him before you let him pop free of your lips. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. Taking him between your lips again, you sucked the head of his cock gently, drawing out his orgasm and humming anytime an aftershock made him flex in your mouth. Pressing one last kiss on the underside of his head, you stood up and smiled at him like the cat that ate the canary.

His eyes slowly opened a moment later, head tilting down to kiss you full on the mouth as he stepped out of his pants, and picked you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him as he carried you into your bedroom and carefully laid you on the bed. He kneeled on the floor in front of you, pulling down your panties and moving to settle between your thighs. With a smirk flashed up at you, he dipped his head and licked you with the flat of his tongue, sending a flurry of tickles from your center to your nipples.

You arched your back, eyes closing as you used your heel against the back of his shoulder as leverage to pull him closer. His tongue narrowed to a soft point as he began to draw indistinct patterns over your labia, sending more gentle bolts of electricity through your sex. A sharp gasp passed through your lips as he suckled your labia, his tongue gliding between them a few times before it dipped closer to your entrance.

“Jim,” you whimpered in a shudder as he traced your opening.

Pressing his face closer, he dipped his tongue inside you, getting a proper taste of your pussy. Needing more, your legs moved to plant your feet on the bed, widening your knees as you rolled your hips against him. Of everyone you had ever been with, Jim was the only one who made you feel worshiped when he used his mouth on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses over every inch of your sex, sucking every bit he could, and seeming to enjoy every minute of it. You had realized as much when one night, he had taken it upon himself to spend two hours straight playing with you with only his lips and tongue. Needless to say it had been the best two hours of your life.

“You taste so good,” he purred, finally moving up to tickle your clit with his mustache before he flicked his tongue over it. After a moment, he pulled the bud between his lips and suckled, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down against him. One of his hands left a few moments before his finger pressed against your opening, slowly sinking until he was buried deep inside you. Beginning a slow in and out pace, his free hand slid up your stomach until he reached your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between two fingers.

You moaned deeply, body squirming beneath his touch, arching your back and rocking your hips alternately. One leg draped over his shoulder again, your heel pulling him against you as he added a second finger and switched breasts. You gasped when he nipped gently on your clit and fisted the comforter beneath you, chasing the orgasm you could feel brewing just beneath the surface. The hand on your breasts slid down to press on your lower belly while the fingers inside you curled, reaching the spongy tissue on your upper wall.

“Fuck! Jim, right there! Don’t stop!” you cried, arching your back again as the tingles between your legs reached a fever pitch. Your hips lifted off the bed, trying to get closer to him as the coil inside you tightened even more. You were right… there…

A moan caught in your throat, your mouth open in a silent cry as your muscles gripped his long fingers and your orgasm spread through you like a warm glow. You held your breath, hoping that doing so would make it last just a little longer and your hips bucked wildly against his lips and tongue. Toes curling and flexing, your body slowly settled into tremors as your moans gradually softened into deep, long sighs.

Pulling out his fingers, he flattened his tongue again and licked your seam, dropping kisses and licks on your skin as he leisurely made his way up your body. His belly grazed against your pussy, sending another flurry of tingles through you as his lips pressed against yours. His half-hard cock was pressed against the underside of your ass with just enough pressure to let you know he was there.

Kisses lowering to your neck, he held you close, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper, “You look so beautiful when you lose control like that.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, you held him close as you came down from your orgasm. His mustache scratched lightly against your neck as he kissed the column of your throat.

“You are really good at eating pussy, Jim Gordon,” you said, biting your bottom lip when he chuckled against your skin.

“Think we’ve got time for a shower?” he asked, grazing your cheek with his nose affectionately.

Nodding with a smile, you lifted your head to capture his lips once more, humming contently. Rolling off of you, he pulled you up off the bed, the two of you making your way into the bathroom, where he turned on the water.

He followed you into the shower and the two of you took turns wetting your hair, when you turned to him, a smirk still firmly planted on your face as you said, “Looks like I win this time, Gordon.”

He knitted his brows. “I would call that a draw.”

You shook your head. “No way, you stopped working first, fair is fair.”

He rolled his eyes. “How about a compromise?”

You arched a brow in interest. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll cook, you clean up.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal.” Reaching for the shampoo, you began to wash your hair before you washed Jim’s. “And then maybe later we can snuggle up and watch a movie?”

“Probably much later,” he answered, rinsing his hair after you’d rinsed yours. “I fully intend to ravage you again after we eat. And again, and again, and then maybe one last time. Then you can clean up the kitchen.”

You grinned, closing the space between you to kiss his lips. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Gordon.”

[glowinghae]

meet me at midnight || c.four

[Chapter Four- Waves]

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 + OC

meet me at midnight masterlist 𝟏𝟖+, lots of various torture, trauma, angst, suffering, cheating, violent death, women not supporting women, arguments, fluff but really a lot of angst. smut of all kinds. all characters are over 18,

to be a vigilante requires only three things: a broken heart, the resources, and the will.

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! as always a gargantuan thank you to @hllokttyairhead for being an amazing support, editer and friend. truly you are my muse. pls pls pls go and follow her because that is one QUALITY blog.

 A path was forming on the floor where Esther paced back and forth, staring at the screen of her phone as she chewed on her fingernails.

“He could be fine.” Esther muttered to herself repeatedly, the red flashing vitals saying otherwise. “Fuck.”

Essie stormed across the room and snatched her suit from where she’d laid it out on her bed. It took her a minute to get it on, but it felt weird to wear it in the light of day; this couldn’t wait for nightfall, though. 

Tightening her weapon’s harnesses, Esther swore under her breath. She had her blades, but her gun was missing. Dick must have taken it. This made things ten times harder.

The computer here wasn’t strong enough to make a tracker from the chip that Jason had left her, but Esther knew of one that was. As she slipped her mask over her face, Esther slid her Khopesh into its leather sheath. 

Getting to the computer system she needed wouldn’t be a problem, but getting around its guard dog might be.

…

No sound was made as She-Wolf’s feet landed on the balcony outside the expensive loft in East Gotham. The sliding door was unlocked, as Esther knew it would be.

Barbara Gordon was used to masked vigilantes using her balcony as an entrance.

Luckily it seemed that no one was home as Essie silently closed the door behind her. That was good; the last thing she needed was Babs asking a million questions. The living area looked normal, but Esther knew better. Stepping over to the vintage telephone on the bookshelf, Esther lifted the receiver off its stand and rang in the numbers 5-7-4-5-6. The moment she placed the receiver back down, the room began transforming.

The bookshelf split open, and a massive computer screen console emerged. The window curtains drew themselves shut, and the tv disappeared into the floor, replaced by an enormous display case that came from inside the wall.

The case gave Esther pause. Inside was Barbara’s old Batgirl suit. The purple and gold detailing made her smile, and she placed her hand over the glass.

“Teach me that move!” A ten-year-old Esther screeched after getting landed on her ass by Babs. Barbara moved her cape out of the way and reached out to give the girl a hand standing up. 

“I’ll teach you that move after you’ve learned to block it.” Batgirl laughed, “If you’re gonna be Bat-Girl-”

“With a hyphen!” Esther clarified, eliciting an eye roll from Babs.

“With a hyphen,” She conceded, “It’s more important you learn how to stop an attack before knowing how to start one. I will say, though, you seem to be picking this up rather quickly.”

A sad expression settled on Esther’s tired face. This had all been so easy and fun when they were kids. She could still remember the first time she donned the mask; Barbara had snapped a million pictures, squealing something about her ‘mini-me.’

So much had changed.

Esther refocused herself, rushing over to the Watchtower systems and entering Barbara’s password, ‘justinbeiber4eva!’ only to curse as she was greeted by an ‘incorrect password’ screen.

Dammit, that had been Babs password for years. There were only two attempts remaining. Esther looked down, noticing a picture framed on Barbara’s desk. 

It was of Dick, Jason, and Esther.

It was from middle school. They were all in uniforms, lined up outside the principal's office. Barbara had snapped the picture of them after Esther had thrown a glitter bomb inside the boys' bathroom with Dick and Jason inside. Essie had been mad because they had eaten the last of her cereal that morning.

Esther smirked at the picture frame, the two boys covered head to toe in glitter, angry expressions on their faces, with little Esther cackling between them. No wonder Jason switched to public school the following year. He was probably so sick of her shit.

“I changed the password.” Esther hung her head as Barbara’s voice came from behind her. When Essie turned, Babs was seated in her wheelchair, the door to her bedroom open behind her. Damn, even in a wheelchair, Babs was quiet. “It’s ‘Timstaythehelloutofmystuff12’. Damn, kids broke into it about six times in the past month.”

“Barb, I-”

“You’re not usually the one breaking in here to use my stuff; it’s still annoying, though.” Babs came to the desk and typed in her password, pushing Essie out of the way, “But I’ll admit it’s nice seeing you when you’re not absolutely wasted.”

Esther grimaced at the foggy memory of her stumbling into this very apartment a few months back. Humiliating, honestly. No wonder she hated to drink.

“Let’s just… forget about that.” She blushed. “I don’t mean to be rude, Barbara, but I’m in a bit of a crisis here-”

“I told you not to do it.” Barbara crossed her arms and stared up at her friend, “I know you were angry about Jason, and I know that my incident pushed you over the edge, but I told you not to go after Joker for me.”

“I don’t know how many times I need to say this: it wasn’t me.” The She-Wolf’s tone was impatient. “You know me, Babs, stringing people up for the world to see isn’t my M.O.”

That was true, but Barbara frowned anyway, “Once upon a time, I knew you, Essie.” Barbara said, “Before you started with this She-Wolf persona. Before you started killing people. Before you abandoned all of us.” Esther wished Barbara didn’t say all this with that heartbroken tone. Essie had never meant to cause all this suffering to Barbara and Dick. She knew it was as if they had lost two of their family members that day. “So if you’re here to get help to continue this murder crusade, you can just go.”

Pulling the chip out of her phone silently, Essie handed it to Barbara, who studied it closely before clicking into her computer. Her screens lit up with Jason’s vitals, which looked even worse than the last time Esther had checked. “No killing today. Trying to save someone. This person is important, and I don’t know where they are.”

Barbara searched Essie’s face. She did look concerned, which was weird. Babs turned her attention back to the screen, “Well, they don’t have much time by the looks of it.” She brought up some new screens, “I’m assuming you wanted to make a tracker piggybacking off the signal of the life support system? Hmm, it’s pretty weak. You probably wouldn’t have been able to do this on your own.” Her fingers raced against the keyboard, “But luckily, you’re not on your own.”

Her words hit Esther like a bag of bricks. Esther hadn’t realized how much leaving had hurt Barbara. But she was still so ready to help? “Thanks.” She said awkwardly.

“So, who is it?” Babs didn’t look away from the screen as she asked, “Must be someone you care about, but we share all the same friends. As far as I know, Dick finished up patrol and is over at the manor. Roy and Wally are in their respective cities. So who?”

“Someone…” Esther’s face lit up red, “Important.” She repeated, and Barbara flashed her a smile.

“Someone important to you?” Babs couldn’t believe this. It had been ages since Esther had even shown a little emotion over someone; other than Jason. If only she knew.

“Babs, please. They’re in bad shape.” Esther couldn’t look away from the vitals on the screen. 

Barbara glanced at them, too, “Oxygen levels are dropping. Wherever they are, the air is getting thin-”

A loud thumping and crashing sound interrupted her words, and Esther was lightning fast, drawing her blade and getting defensive, “Stay behind me.” Essie moved to protect Barbara, taking slow steps to the glass door where the sound had come from.

Watching her move, Barbara studied Esther Wayne. She was the closest thing Babs had to a little sister, and there had been a time when they were thick as thieves. Even when they both had feelings for Dick, they’d never let it come between them.

But when Jason died, everything changed. Barbara knew it wasn’t just that, though. For seventy-two days, Esther sat beside Jason and experienced unknown hells. All while never knowing that there wasn’t a single night her ‘big sister’ wasn’t out there looking for them. And then to watch Jason die the way that he did. To have Bruce show up only moments too late. 

She disagreed with Esther going out and killing criminals, but she’d be lying if she didn’t understand why Essie did it. 

Today, however, there was something different in Esther Wayne. That anger that had ruled her for the past year seemed… less hot to the touch. And there was a new confidence in her when she wore this suit. Barbara hated admitting it, but maybe Esther was never meant to be her replacement. Or at least, perhaps the Joker truly had killed the Bat-Girl; it’s just that something else had survived.

She-Wolf stood with a strength that Barbara knew all too well. It was how she’d felt being Batgirl. How she felt now being Oracle. It seemed less like a mask and more like an extension of Esther. Esther was now moving the curtain out of the way of the glass door, only to freeze. Oh shit, it must be something startling to make Esther freeze up like that.

Barbara wheeled herself over to be by Esther’s side and gasped as she saw what Esther was staring at outside the window.

The bodies Esther had left behind the dumpster a few nights earlier had been dropped from the roof of Bab’s apartment onto her balcony. The bodies were in bad shape, and half froze, but that wasn’t what concerned Esther.

It was the katanas that were impaling the bodies through their chests. Not just any katanas, either…

“Care to explain why the League of Shadows is sending you an invitation? Using my terrace?” Babs was right; this was the League’s way of leaving Esther a message. They’d been watching her, and now they wanted to talk.

Esther didn’t have fucking time for this. She needed to find Jason before it was too late. “How long before the tracker is up and running?” Esther asked.

Babs narrowed her eyes, “You know, you and your brother are more similar than you’d like to think.” She referred to Esther ignoring her questions. Bab’s wheeled herself back to her computer, “It’ll be about an hour before the program is ready. This signal is weak.” 

An hour?! Sure, it gave her time to find out what the League wanted, but Jason was running out of time. “Do whatever you can to get that time down.” Esther sighed, tinkering with the control panel on her hip that operated her suit's systems.“I’m sending you my suits comm channel; tell me when you’ve got the location.”

“Exactly like your brother.” Barbara huffed. “You better be back later to get those dead guys off my porch.”

…

There had been no note on the bodies to hint at where Esther was meant to meet the League, but that only left her assuming that the bodies themselves were the hint. She’d left them on Ninth, so that’s where she stood now.

The alleyway looked much the same, still dirty, still… alley-like. It was empty, but then again, the League would never be caught dead somewhere as nasty as this. It took Essie only a moment before she looked up and saw the swish of a cloak disappearing over the edge of the rooftop.

Using her grapple hook, Esther followed suit, and a moment later, she was standing face-to-face with Ra’s al Ghul himself.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the Demon was not it. As if her body moved without permission, Esther lowered her head to avoid looking him in the eye. What the hell? Seriously, she hadn’t planned on doing that. 

“Ra’s.” Essie acknowledged him, lifting her chin up to stare him down. He looked a little older than what Bruce typically described; it seemed he needed to take another dip into the Lazarus pit. But other than that, the dark features, the pointy cape… It all checked out.

“You’ve grown tall and beautiful, Sadiyah; you’ve become a fine warrior.” His words had a smooth, silky accent to them. 

“I got your ‘message’ where’s Jason?” Esther snarled, unsure why he’d called her that name, but it sounded weird… familiar even. 

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Ra’s took long, slow strides, circling around where Esther stood.

Her shoulders deflated, “You don’t know?” But the look in his eyes didn’t quite add up. It took Esther a second, but after a moment, she sighed heavily, “But that’s not what you said, is it?” Ra’s knew exactly where Jason was; he just wanted Essie to figure it out on her own. “This is a test.”

Ra’s gave her a charming smile, “Think of it as more of an opportunity. A challenge. I want to see what you’re made of. The time is fast approaching when you will need to be prepared.”

This was the same weird bullshit that Ra’s spewed every time he saw Esther. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. Esther had only ever seen him in pictures. Her brain felt foggy, but she shook her head to clear it and snarled, “Listen, old man, I have no interest in the stupid games you like to play with Bruce; You already cost me Jason once. I won’t let you do it again.” She drew her khopesh from its sheath and lowered her center of gravity.

Ra’s stopped in front of her and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, “You would do well to remember some respect, child.” His facial expression darkened, “Too often, you seem to forget that you only exist because of me.”

Too often? What was he talking about? Esther wasn’t sure, but her head felt like it was going to split open, “Big deal,” She squeezed her eyes open and shut, trying to see through the headache, “You defrosted me in a microwave and then left me to be poked at by doctors for the better part of a decade. It doesn’t mean I owe you anything.” Essie grunted, lifting her blade a bit higher.

“Is that how you remember it? Pity.” Ra’s had a smug smile on his face, but his expression faltered as he got a better look at her sword. “Shifrat Mumazaqa.” The Shattered Blade. “Where did you find such a weapon?”

Esther squinted in confusion, pausing to inspect her khopesh. Its blade was an onyx black, some kind of old writing etched into it. “I paid a visit to my family’s exhibit at the museum. Found this on the way out, figured it was a shame to leave a beautiful weapon to rot while ten-year-olds gawked at it.” Sometimes, late at night, Esther would notice scratches in the blade with an almost violet hue.

Ra’s studied her blade, moving in closer for a better look. “How interesting that this weapon should call to you. It’s quite ancient. I have not seen it with my own eyes in many centuries.” He reached out a hand to examine it, only for Esther to lightly smack it with the blade. A warning. “You’re not foolish enough to fight me, girl. We both know you’re not quite there yet. Perhaps soon, but not on this day.”

He was absolutely right. And she knew it. To fight Ra’s al Ghul was a death wish, but Esther felt desperate. “Just tell me where Jason is.”

“I look forward to your success.” Ra’s smirked and dropped a smoke pellet onto the ground. 

Esther reached up to turn on her mask, but he was gone by the time its lenses powered on. She switched it off as the smoke cleared, angrily sheathing her weapon and kicking at a loose shingle.

So Ra’s was testing her, and he wanted to be sure that she knew it. Why? Not to mention, Jason was working for him, shouldn’t Ra’s care a little bit whether or not he lives? He couldn’t be that confident in her abilities, could he? Ra’s hadn’t even seen Esther fight before.

Ra’s al Ghul had never bothered with Esther Wayne since placing her parents' samples into a surrogate, not since Bruce had taken her away from the clinic where she’d spent her life as nothing but a lab rat. So why was he here now? 

She didn’t really have time to think about it, though. There was too much to do. Esther flicked on the mic in her mask.

“Babs, please tell me you have good news for me.” Esther sighed into the comm link, staring at the place Ra’s had been standing a moment before.

“I got good news, bad news, and news you just won’t like.” Bab’s voice rang from inside her mask. 

“Go.” Esther huffed.

“Good news is that I got the tracker working.” Esther let out a breath of relief, thank God. “Bad news is I no longer have access to your suit's systems, so you need the physical chip.”

No. Esther didn’t have the kind of time to go back to Barbara’s apartment; Jason’s vitals looked bad the last time she’d seen them. Who knew how bad they were now.

“Babs, is there any way you could just tell me the coordinates?” But Esther knew what her answer would be.

“I could, but that’s too broad an area. It would take you too long to narrow down the exact spot. Now,” Essie could hear Oracle’s finger clicking on her keyboard, “The last bit of news is good, but don’t get mad at me.” 

An eyebrow raised from underneath Essie’s mask, “Okay.” She drew out the ‘y’ in suspicion.

“The chip is on its way to you right now. It should be arriving any minute-“

“Looking for us?” The smooth voice was all too familiar to Essie, and her shoulders slumped. A silent groan went off in her head as she turned to see Nightwing in all his glory standing behind her.

“Who’s us?” Esther growled, knowing the answer even before Robin flipped from the building above them onto the rooftop they were all now standing on. “Okay, Babs, I understand sending Dick, but why the fuck is the kid here?”

“Training.” Nightwing looked her up and down; damn, she looked hot in her She-Wolf suit.

“Train somewhere else.” Esther spat and held her hand out, “The chip now, please.” 

Tim Drake pulled the chip from his pocket and held it out to her, “Come take it from me.” He grinned. It was a challenge and not one that Esther was in the mood for right now. She had enough challenges on her plate at the moment.

Looking between the two of them, Esther’s eye twitched. Does this kid think this is a fucking joke?

“Tim,” Nightwing warned, “This might not be the time for” Too late. She-Wolf had already flipped Robin over her back and had her foot on his neck, pinning him to the ground. “You’ve got to stop letting her get in close. That’s where she does her best work.” Dick sighed. Esther kept the pressure on Tim’s neck as she snatched the chip from his fingers, adding a light smack to his face for good measure, “Okay, I think that’s enough, Essie.”

She released him and clipped the chip into the side of her mask, her visuals lighting up with a map and Jason’s vitals, all bordering her sight range. Jason’s heart rate was slowing down rapidly. When Essie saw his location, she groaned. Please, not the old Gotham South Elementary... 

“Fuck.”

“I’m assuming that means you’ve seen our other problem?” Oracle said, and Esther palmed at her forehead. “Whoever your friend is, they need to pick better friends. Black Mask has been using that abandoned school as one of his safe houses for a while now. It’s his best guarded one.”

“And it’s far away.” Esther chewed on her cheek. “They’ll be dead by the time I get there.” Tears welled up in her eyes behind her mask, but she choked them back. This wasn’t the time to get emotional; it only clouded her judgment. “And I don’t have my guns.” She glared at Dick.

Tim sat up from the ground, grunting in pain, “I can take you on Bat-Wing.”

“No.” Esther shot back, not knowing what the fuck ‘Bat-Wing’ was.

Nightwing shifted on his feet, “Essie, Babs has two dead guys at her apartment courtesy of Ra’s al Ghul, if you need help-”

“I can’t.” She was pacing again, trying to come up with some way to get to the school in time. Dick got ready to argue, and Essie relented to telling him a little bit of truth just to save some time, “He’s issued me a challenge.”

The blood rushed from Dick’s masked face. “Shit.” He muttered, running his hand through his hair.

“That is… not good.” Barbara’s voice chimed in, and Tim got to his feet, his expression somewhat confused.

“Uhh, I’m lost.” The young Robin stared between the two older vigilantes.

Nightwing clenched his jaw, “When Ra’s wants to test the measure of a man, he’ll often set up impossible situations and set them loose to see if they can find a solution. He calls them ‘challenges.’ Bruce has done more than I can count, but Essie..?” He glanced at her, “Ra’s has never extended one to Esther before. And she’s right; we can’t help her. Much.”

“Uh, why?” Tim asked, and this time Esther answered.

“He’ll kill you.” Her words sent a shiver down his spine, “The challenge has been extended to me. If I receive too much help, I fail, and we all get picked off one by one by the League of Shadows as punishment for disrespecting their traditions. ‘Tuqus Alshaytan.’ The Rite of the Demon.”

Tim’s eyebrow raised, “You seem to know a lot about that.” Esther paused. He was right. She knew little from what Bruce had told her in the past, but… She didn’t remember him telling her the challenge's name, let alone its name in Arabic. Of the languages that Esther knew, Arabic wasn’t even one. “But there’s literally no other way to get across the city in time, not in broad daylight at least.”

“He’s right.” Babs said, “Ra’s has always allotted Bruce a little help. A good assassin uses his resources. Let us help as much as we can. As long as it’s just you that goes into that school, I don’t think Ra’s will punish you. It is convenient, though, that Bruce is busy working on a missing person case. I wonder if Ra’s didn’t want him helping you.”

Dick put his hand on Esther’s arm, and for once, she didn’t flinch away, “We’re right here, Essie. Let us help.”

Esther bit her lip and then huffed, “Okay. What the fuck is this ‘Bat-Wing’ thing?”

Nightwing did a double-take, “I’m sorry what?” Was she actually agreeing to their help? They hadn’t worked together in so long. “Wow, whoever’s in that school must be important.” He said under his breath.

Tim looked shocked as well, “Uh, right, then… It’s probably better if you just… see for yourself.”

…

“Don’t you ever, ever mention this again.” Esther hissed but could barely be heard over the wind roaring past them.

Turns out the ‘Bat-Wing’ was a new toy that Bruce made. Basically, a glorified hang-glider that went very fast. Unfortunately, it was only built for one rider, so Esther was holstered like a baby against Tim’s chest.

She looked like a fucking idiot.

“Dick got enough pictures to last us a lifetime.” Tim laughed, “And you get no pity from me. Because of you, I had to take my school pictures with a broken nose.”

“Uhh, right. How’s that coming?” Esther yelled over the wind.

“Still broken, thanks.” Tim griped, making a sharp turn to the right. Esther felt her stomach in her throat, “You okay? Lookin’ a little green there. Dick gets sick on this thing too.” He was enjoying this.

“I’m fine! I’ve been flying since before you knew the quadratic formula.” Granted, that was using her old Bat-Girl cape, but it was pretty much the same. It had… just been a while.

“Oh, I know!” Tim sighed, “Dick never shuts up about it. Apparently, you and Todd ditched out on a lot of responsibilities to take midnight flights around Gotham. He’s still salty that you guys left him to deal with the Christmas Charity alone.” It disturbed Esther to hear Tim talk about Jason, the Robin he’d replaced. But she tried to remember that she was mad at Bruce about that, not Tim. “Truthfully, I’m jealous of you guys. You all have so much history… You’re a family. I know you’re mad at them, but they still miss you so much. I’ve… never really had that.”

Esther’s heart melted. Maybe this kid wasn’t as bad as she thought. “Listen, kid,” She sighed, “I’m sorry about your nose. It’s hard for me to go easy on you. I- I don’t do it to be mean... Most of the time at least. Losing the last Robin… Truthfully I don’t think anyone should be Robin anymore. But since you are… I don’t pull my punches because I know someone else won’t either.”

“I know!” Tim’s voice hinted at the possibility that he was smiling, “That’s what Barbara said. She told me not to hold it against you. They talk about you and Jason all the time. And Alfred… Well, you need to come see him. No one talks higher of you than him.”

Alfred. Esther missed him so much. What she wouldn’t give for one of his famous cookies right now. “And… Bruce?”

“Oh.” Tim took another hard right. They were getting close now. “Well, you know Bruce. Always hard to read. If anyone brings you up, he gets really quiet. I think he feels like he failed you. You and Jason. Sometimes I see him sitting at the piano, but he never plays it. But you did, didn’t you? So… I guess he thinks about you a lot.”

The piano was one of the few things that Esther had brought from the clinic with her. To this day, she never felt as peaceful as she did while playing the piano. After everything with Joker, it was the only thing that relaxed her.

But the fact that Bruce would sit there to think about her..? It was hard because Essie was so mad at Bruce. So angry at him for so much. For being too late to save Jason, leaving the Joker breathing and replacing Jason. It hurt so much. But he was her brother.

Jason wanted him dead. Esther could tell from how he’d talked about him the night before. Sometimes… Sometimes so did she. On the bad nights. The nights when she’d wake up and swear that Joker was about to start cutting her up again. On those nights, filled with terror and rage, she wished Bruce would suffer for not saving them.

But on the good nights? The nights where she’d find hidden packages on rooftops filled with medical supplies and a note asking her to come home. The nights when they’d run into each other, and she knew for a fact that he was letting her go. On those nights, Esther missed him too.

Grief and trauma were just- just so hard to process. Even with Jason back now, it didn’t erase all that had happened.

Esther could see the school quickly approaching, and she felt Tim start to bring the glider down gradually, “Hey, Tim?” She called to him, and Tim nodded in acknowledgment, “If you go into my room at the Manor, there’s an old Monopoly board under my bed. Thursdays around noon, Bruce and Dick eat lunch in the kitchen. It’s physically impossible for them to reject playing a game.”

Tim’s eyes softened, not that she could see them. He’d mentioned not feeling like he was a part of a family, and now she was giving him tips to experience it. 

Maybe Esther wasn’t as bad as he’d thought she was.

“But if you go through any of my other shit, I will literally skin you alive.”

Maybe.

…

The windows to the school were boarded over entirely, and from the outside, any passerby would assume it was abandoned.

“Should I go through the front doors?” Esther scanned the area, not seeing much to be worried about from the outside.

“Is that a joke?” Barbara laughed over the comm link. “That place is probably swarming with Black Mask’s boys.” Esther squinted, spotting a side entrance around the corner of the building. It was blocked off, but the window next to it was shattered. With a bit of maneuvering, she could probably get through.

“I’ve got an alternative, but I’ll need help getting through the building.” Esther made her way to the window, pushing slowly on the board that covered the open frame.

“I’ve got the blueprints here!” Dick’s voice sounded through the comms, and Esther sighed.

She almost laughed at the fact that she heard Barbara sigh at the same time as her. Some things never change. “Sorry, Dick decided he wanted to ‘help’ from my end.”

“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for; I’m a delight.” Dick grumbled, “Anyways, that window goes to the old guidance counselor's office.” Dick paused, “Also, uh, Esther. I know it’s kinda weird timing and everything but um… Bruce is making me do this charity volleyball competition next month… it’s kind of lame… but you know-”

Esther heaved herself over the ledge and into the building. “If this can wait, Dick, please let it.” She grunted, and Dick went silent. The office was empty, as she expected. She left the window unblocked for a quick exit later. 

“The tracker is coming from the west end of the building. It looks like it’s in the old cafeteria.” The building was starting to fall apart. This elementary school had been shut down in the 90s, and boy, did it look it. There was a poster on the wall of cartoon children holding hands around the world, and some other ethnicities were a little too… on the nose.

“Jesus,” Esther mumbled, silently exiting the room to walk the dark hallways. Here and there, little beams of sunlight peeked through cracks in the walls.

Footsteps stomping down the hall forced She-Wolf to jam herself into one of the dark cubbies in the wall. It wasn’t the best hiding spot, but it should be dark enough for her to go unnoticed for a little bit.

“Asshole’s gonna die soon either way. He'll run out of oxygen even if we can’t get the safe open.” Two of Black Masks men pass her, pausing a few feet past her to look around, “Or bleed out. Kenny got him pretty good earlier.”

Esther’s fists balled up. She wanted to kill them and be done with it, but that didn't feel right with Barbara and Dick listening in. Today just kept getting harder and harder.

Sneaking up behind them, Esther grabbed both of their heads and smashed them together as hard as she could. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room, and Esther blinked, blood pouring from one of their heads. 

She may have overdone it.

In her defense, Essie hadn’t been pulling her punches for a while now.

“The effort was appreciated,” Barbara noted, and Esther was grateful for the acknowledgment. “Turn left up ahead.”

“Did she just murder those guys?” Tim’s voice came through the comms, and Esther inwardly groaned. Were they watching her like a sick soap opera?

Following Barbara and Dick’s instructions was easy, despite the winding hallways, the real challenge came when she peeked into the window of the cafeteria. Fuck. She ducked down quickly.

“Oracle, there’s like twenty guys in there. It looks like Black Mask put a giant safe into the old kitchen walk-in freezer. I think my guy is inside.”

“If they got into a shootout with that many guys, your friend probably locked themselves inside to try and wait them out.” Barbara sighed, “I don’t suppose you have any explosives on you?”

“I do, actually.” Esther hoisted herself on top of one of the cubbies and pushed a ceiling tile aside, jumping up and catching the ledge with her fingers before pulling herself up into the crawl space. “Problem is, if I blow the door, the pressure will melt my friend's brain.”

Crawling until she was over the cafeteria, Esther smirked, “I might have a better idea for them, though. Cover your ears.” And with that, she cracked open the ceiling tile just above where the men were using a blow torch to try and break through the vault. Esther lit her bundle of little bombs and waited precisely three and a half seconds before dropping them from the crack.

The timing was perfect. The bombs had barely touched the ground before exploding with a violent BOOM. Stronger than Esther had been expecting because it caused the ceiling tiles to give out, dropping her about 13 feet off the ground and landing her on her ass. 

“Oh, did she just eat it?” Dick asked.

“Yeah.” Barbara laughed, “But when doesn’t she?”

Esther sat up, the smoke clearing and a couple of the men stirring as well, “Shut up.” Esther groaned. She got to her feet and smacked a couple heads into the floor, knocking them out and possibly causing permanent brain damage. Whoops. One guy was definitely dead, but Esther kept that detail to herself.

“You don’t have long before someone investigates that noise,” Barbara informed her, and Esther sighed. One problem at a time, and right now, her next problem was the six-inch thick steel safe she needed to open.

“Great. Now I just need to magically know the code.” It was a digital keypad; theoretically, she could hack it to open it, but that would take time she just didn’t have. “Let’s see… Seven letters long. Password hint: your favorite movie.”

Esther blinked. Black Mask’s favorite movie? Seven letters… No. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? She started typing into the keypad.

T-H-E-M-A-S-K

The safe gears whirred and clicked from inside until the door cracked open an inch. No way.

Esther swung the door open, and ran inside, pausing as she took in the sight in front of her.

Gold. Jewels. Weapons. Gold weapons that were bejeweled. Piled as high as her knees. At the far end of the safe, on top of one of the piles, sat Red Hood, his head lulling to one side, a pool of blood soaking into the stacks of gold coins he sat on top of.

Esther made a sound almost like a whimper in the back of her throat, rushing forward and kneeling at Jason’s side. He’d been shot between the armor plates on his abdomen and his thigh. Yeah, Kenny really did get some lucky shots in.

Jason wasn’t moving.

Taking his head in Essie’s hands, she shook him softly, “Hey, hey. Come on, don’t do this to me.” She put her forehead against his, “Wake up.”

No response. 

“I still need you,” Esther whispered, tears stinging in her eyes. She couldn’t be too late. Not again.

Suddenly Jason let out a raspy cough, his body shifting slowly, and Esther nearly let out a sob of relief.

“Hey, you.” Jay was smiling under his mask. “I got you the Hana- the Hanuk- The candle stick thing.” Jason lifted the solid gold Hanukkiyah in his right hand off the ground by an inch before weakly dropping it again. Esther let out a strained laugh, letting her head fall to his chest.

“It’s a man? You’re saving a man? Who is he? Ask her how tall he is.” Esther’s ear twitched at how loud Dick was talking from Barbara’s side.

“Dick, be quiet.” Oracle sighed, “She-Wolf, Black Mask has another safe house about a mile away. If he knows you’re there, it won’t be long before reinforcements show up.”

Understood. But Jason wasn’t going anywhere in this state. Esther pulled a small black device from her belt, which, even with his mask on, Esther could tell Jason was staring at. “That’s gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

With a nod, Esther uncapped what appeared to be a lighter. Inside, however, was carbon subnitride which burned a hell of a lot hotter than the average lighter. With the push of a button, a blue-white flame lit itself, and Esther placed Jay’s hand on her thigh with her free hand, “Hold tight.”

The room filled with Jason’s strained grunting, his teeth gnashing together as Essie cauterized his wounds to slow his bleeding. His gloved fingers dug into the flesh of her leg, her heart aching; Esther had hoped never to hear him again in this kind of pain.

Once his wounds weren’t bleeding as bad, Esther hooked his arm around her shoulders, “We need to go.” Jason nodded in response, bracing himself as she lifted him up. They limped out of the safe, Esther taking Jason’s gun from his holster and holding it in her free hand.

“There’s not much ammo left.” Jay grunted, “You didn’t need to come. I was figuring it out on my own.”

“That’s what it looked like.” Esther’s snark made him roll his eyes. She moved them out of the cafeteria, “You swore up and down to me that you had this handled. I’m never listening to you again.” 

Jason could tell that even though she was relieved that he was alive, Essie was pissed at him. So he mustered all the charm he could in his condition and hit her with it, “Have I mentioned how fucking tiny your waist looks in that suit? It’s hot.”

Her face heated up, knowing he was just laying on thick, but… it was working, “That’s nice; put your tongue back in your mouth.” They were headed down the main hallway, sticking close to the walls in case Esther had to drop Jason to fight.

“Oh, these two definitely smashed.” Barbara’s voice gave away the fact that she was absolutely beaming.

“No way, this guy’s just being a creep!” Dick was panicked.

“Does Dick always make an idiot of himself in front of Esther?” Tim asked, crunching on what sounded like… popcorn? That little shit.

“No!” “Yes.”

“Es, watch out!” Jason pushed his body weight against her, and they stumbled into a side hallway just in time to miss getting shot by some men hiding behind an open door. Esther got back on her feet, helping Jay back up, when she realized that her comms had gone dead silent.

That was until Dick Grayson broke that silence.

“I’m sorry. What did he just say?”

Fuck. “Did he just call you Es? As in Esther? As in, Esther Wayne?” Dick’s voice had gone up an octave, and he was clearly freaking the fuck out.

“I’m gonna need you to bring it down about three levels, please. I can explain later.” Esther spoke through her teeth as she shifted Jason to her other shoulder.

“Is that Night-turd?” Red Hood smirked under his mask.

There was a moment of silence over her headset, and Esther knew why. Only one person had ever called Dick ‘Night-turd’. But as far as Dick Grayson knew, that person was supposed to be six feet under. But suddenly, many things were making sense; she could hear the gears moving in his head.

Surprisingly, Barbara broke the silence, “Esther, what’s… going on?” Esther’s head was spinning; in one hand, she was supporting Jason’s weight; in the other, she was shooting anything that moved, and now her comms were blowing up in her ear… She was starting to miss working alone.

“You have got to learn to keep your mouth shut,” Esther grumbled, the two lurching down the hallway until they came to a three-way intersection. Shit, which way had she come in again?

“So it is Bird-Brain.” Jason laughed. “Long-time no see, Dicky-bird.”

Barbara gasped, and Dick was in complete shock based on the moment of silence.

Tim’s voice chimed in, “Is that…?”

“It’s not possible.” Barbara sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Honestly, so was Esther, but for entirely different reasons. 

“Can he hear me?” Jason asked, not bothering to wait for an answer, “Hey, Dick? Fuck you.”

“It’s him.” Dick’s voice was deadpan.

“Everyone shut up right now, or I’m going to fucking rip someone’s throat out.” Esther exploded and everything went silent. She was extremely overwhelmed, and her head was spinning. Taking a deep breath, she re-centered herself mentally. “Barbara, which way? Now.”

“Right.” Was her only response, and it was eerily silent on their end now. Maybe it was the threat, but more than likely, it was the shock.

Esther hadn’t meant for them to find out this way, but what other options had she had?

“You’ve got Black Mask’s boys coming to the north.” Dick’s voice was cold like steel. 

“Take the main exit.” Jason coughed, blood splattering across the front of his suit from it. “To the left, up ahead.” Esther followed his instructions, freezing in her tracks as, about 10 feet ahead of them, a man the size of a minivan stepped out from one of the side rooms.

“Ooooh… fuck.” Esther and the goon made eye contact. Now, Esther was a tall girl. But damn, this man was HUGE. Her incident with Bane had already proved that she wasn’t much of a match for guys this big.

Jason glanced at her, “Shoot him.” His tone was incredulous that she hadn’t done so already.

“I can’t.” Esther muttered, setting Jason down against the side of the wall as the behemoth stepped closer to them, “There’s a child present.” Jason shot her a confused look, and she tapped the side of her mask.

“Thanks for thinking of me!” Tim squeaked over the comms. “But I think you should be more concerned about Barbara. She hasn’t blinked in like… two minutes.”

She-Wolf gave the gigantic thug a wide berth, inching circles around him in a defensive stance. The guy was missing an arm, dragging an enormous sledgehammer in the other.

“Tim! One arm, massive, giant hammer, what intel have you got for me?” Esther could see his dark eyes locked onto her, like a wolf hunting a mouse.

“I-I don’t know- Barbara and Dick are in front of the computers, and they aren’t moving.”

“Abramavici!” Jason called from behind her, “He used to work for Joker. And who the fuck is Tim?”

That’s why he looked sort of familiar. He was there the night Joker’s men took her and Jason.

“On second thought, Tim. I’m gonna put you on hold.” Esther reached up and turned off her mic. This guy wasn’t walking out of here alive. And a gun was just too easy. “Alright, Big Boy, I guess this is round two.” 

“He doesn’t speak English.” Jason grimaced through his pain. Good thing Esther hadn’t paid him any mind because it was at that exact moment that Abramavici charged at her.

He wasn’t swift, but god, was he just big. And he swung that hammer around like it didn’t weigh anything. As soon as he got total momentum, Esther ran straight towards him, sliding across the floor at the last minute to dodge his hammer. She slid right between his legs, ramming her elbow straight up as she passed underneath, making Abramavici stumble as he clutched at his private parts.

Jason clenched his teeth, not exactly feeling sorry for the guy but at least glad he wasn’t facing off with her.

Coming up on the other side of the giant, Esther scrambled to her feet. His back was now to her, and she dug her heels into the ground, bolting towards him. She veered to the side, kicking off the side of the wall and catapulting herself onto his shoulders, locking her thighs in a vice-like grip around his thick neck.

Abramavici stumbled around, shocked that she’d easily gotten on top of him. He swung his hammer fruitlessly as Esther locked her wrists together and brought her elbows down as hard as she could against his head, again and again, and again.

The man must have had an iron skull because he just took it like she was simply an annoying fly he was trying to swat away.

One enormous hand came up and grabbed her thigh, clamping down and throwing her like a towel across the room with a twist of his body. Esther rolled across the floor, absorbing the shock in her knees and elbows. 

She used the momentum of the rolls to twist herself into a kneeling position, one hand resting on the floor and the other reaching up for her blade. Anger flared up in her chest; Esther was so over this.

In one fluid movement, Esther pushed herself off the ground and unsheathed her khopesh. Abramavici was waiting for her, swinging his hammer once more. Esther felt the air shift just millimeters from her face, but her body was moving independently, entirely confident in itself and its timing.

The hammer missed by a hair.

And as soon as it was past, Esther forced her feet off the ground, kicked off of the thug’s knee, and, using the power of her speed and her legs, shot herself into the air. Her body twisted in mid-air, adding to the thrust of her dark blade before she brought it down hard and unrelenting against his neck.

There was a moment of silence as her feet hit the floor, landing in perfect position.

A moment later, a loud thwack sounded as Abramavici’s head landed beside her, rolling a few feet away.

Jason watched with a dropped jaw, “Es,” His eyebrows furrowed, “Where did you learn that move?” His tone was hesitant, and Esther herself faltered.

“I-” She didn’t know. Batman had never taught it to her, and it wasn’t one she’d learned on her own. And yet Essie’s body had just… known exactly what to do.

Esther stood up, her head rushing as the adrenaline passed. She rushed over to help Jason back up. If they didn’t have time before, they were significantly out of it now. She could hear more men running down one of the hallways.

Jason kept glancing at her as they rushed towards the exit, “That… was a League technique.”

There wasn’t time for Esther to think too hard about what he was saying as she kicked the door open, mid-day sun flooding their eyes. Gunshots sounded behind them, and Esther cursed under her breath, “It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here!” Esther let the doors slam behind her.

The daylight disoriented Jason, and his body started to shut down from his injuries. “Over there.” He pointed weakly, and Esther saw what he was referring to… his bike. Esther dragged him across the street, throwing her leg over the side of the motorcycle. “Do you even know how to drive one of these?” Jay’s voice was concerned, but Essie had a feeling it was for the bike and not for her.

“Shut up.” She growled, Jason getting on behind her, his muscular arms holding her tight around her waist. Esther couldn’t lie- it was kind of hot. Her thighs clenched together tightly at his hands gripping her hips. “Just hold on.” She mumbled, her cheeks turning pink as he rested his head against her shoulder.

Revving up the engine, Esther tore off, bullets whizzing past them. Esther zoomed down different streets, riding in silence before noticing Jay's quietness. “Hey!” She called over her shoulder. No answer. “Jason!” She yelled. Essie could feel his arms slipping from her waist.

He was unconscious. 

And just in time, two black cars pulled up on either side of her, windows cracking down and bullets blasting through the air. Esther Wayne just could not catch a break today.

Releasing one hand from the handlebars, Esther elbowed Jason in his gunshot wound, internally apologizing as he groaned loudly, arms tightening around her again. Thank god.

“Ouch.” He grumbled.

“Now would be a good time to use the gun!” Esther yelled over the wind, using the size of the motorcycle to her advantage as she wove in and out of traffic.

The Red Hood reached down her thigh and pulled his gun out, firing at the tires of the car to their right. The tires imploded, and the vehicle veered off the side of the road; into the side of a building.

Just one left. 

Esther glanced ahead, ducking her head to avoid getting shot as Jason and the other car exchanged gunfire. The light about a hundred feet up flicked red and opposite traffic began to move through it. Shit.

She thought the word too soon, groaning as an eighteen-wheeler slowed to a stop in the middle of the approaching intersection.

Jason wasn’t going to like the idea brewing in her head.

“Jay!” Essie called back to him, and his shots paused.

“A little busy here, sweetheart!” He shouted back.

She-Wolf swallowed hard and hit the throttle, the bike jolting forward suddenly, “Stop firing and just hold on!” 

Jason’s eyes went wide as he realized her plan, “No, no, no!” Too late to stop her now, Jay gripped her hips with a deathlock as Esther pushed all their weight onto one side of the bike, tipping it over and skidding them parallel with the ground as they slid underneath the belly of the semi-truck.

As soon as they were clear on the other side, Esther used all her strength to tip the motorcycle back onto its center. “Holy shit!” Jason moaned in her ear, and Esther bit down on her lip. She’d always known that adrenaline made her horny, but damn, she needed to calm down.

“You just earned a fucking lifetime ban from my bike!” Jason yelled over the wind, Esther slowing down as no other cars were in pursuit. 

Esther grinned under her mask, “That was fun!” 

She turned to the right, and Jay looked around. “Where are you going?” He asked, but he had a feeling that he knew.

“I’m sorry!” Esther sighed, “I don’t know how to fix you up, and you keep going in and out of consciousness. I gotta take you to Alfred.”

“No.” Jay tightened his grip on her; a warning. “Take me to my place,” He coughed up some more blood, “I have what I need there-”

“Jay-” Esther’s eyes flickered.

“Just do it!” Jason groaned against her, “Seventh and Twelfth.”

…

Esther pulled the bike into the alleyway, practically falling down the steps of his stoop as she held Jay against her. They stumbled into his apartment, and Esther blinked.

It was… charming. An apartment beneath a townhouse on the upper west side of Gotham, a nice neighborhood. It was small but had tall, Victorian walls and surprisingly large windows for being level with the street outside. A living area and kitchen greeted them, and Jay had clearly been renovating the space as it was half painted and plastic covered everything.

“Wow, and here I am squatting in a church.” Esther blinked before helping him to his room.

Jason was losing consciousness again, but he managed a “Door at the end of the hallway.” Before drooping weakly. 

He was going to die. Again. If she didn’t do something soon. But she was honestly out of her depth on this one. Who knew what kind of internal bleeding he had?

Esther opened the door and threw him onto the bed inside. Now, this room seemed more like Jason. Neat and tidy. Weapons decorated the walls, and a bookshelf was over his bed frame. Essie laid him up in his bed, removed his mask, and shook his shoulders, “Red. Come on, Red. I need you to tell me what to do. Where’s your stuff?”

His eyes remained shut, but Jason lifted his hand to point at a dresser across the room. Esther scrambled to it and searched the drawers, finding nothing but clothes. Until she noticed the false bottom on the lowest drawer. She pulled it up and saw a box. This had to be what Jason was talking about.

Ripping it open, two silver pendants were nestled into a velvet cushion. What the hell? Esther picked one up with shaking fingers, eyeing it closely. There was a thin ridge a third of the way down the pendant, and Esther realized it wasn’t a pendant at all. It was a vial.

Rushing to Jason’s side, Esther twisted the vial open and forced his mouth open, pouring the glowing green liquid down his throat in one fell swoop.

Esther sat back on her heels beside him, her hand on his cheek. Her breathing was labored as she studied him, waiting for any response.

Jason stirred, coughing harshly. Esther could see the pink rush back to his cheeks, and she let out a sigh of relief, “Jesus Christ.” She laughed in reprieve.

“You don’t even believe in that guy,” Jay smirked, his eyelashes fluttering as he peered up at her. He looked so lazy like he was melting into the bed. “You mind helping me out of my suit? The blood is sticky.” He grimaced, and Esther made quick work of pulling his suit from his skin.

A sickening squelch sounded as she removed the armor around his gunshot wound, but once it was gone, she stared in shock. There was no wound. Just a scar. Essie traced the mark with her fingertip. “That liquid… Was that..?”

“From the Lazarus pit? Yeah.” Jason sighed, already looking about a hundred times better. “A little souvenir I brought back from North Africa when the League returned to Gotham. I made it this long without using one, and now I’ve only got the one left.” He rubbed at his face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I promised I’d be back before you woke up.” He lifted his hand and brushed her hair away from her cheek, his eyes scanning her body as Essie worked on removing his tactical pants, “What about you, are you okay?”

Esther stifled a laugh, and she pulled his boots off, “You’re asking me if I’m okay? You were literally dying not even two minutes ago.” Her fingers were trembling as she stood up and returned with a wet rag to clean his wounds. But Jay’s eyes were lasered in on her tremors.

“When did those start?” It felt good as the warm rag gently wiped the blood from his skin.

“The shakes?” Esther asked, and he nodded. “After the Joker.” She sighed, “They come and go. How does this feel?” She was pressing lightly on his thigh, where his other bullet wound was. She was kneading her knuckles into the area, which loosened the muscles in a way the Lazarus water just couldn’t. 

Jay moaned softly, “Really nice, actually.” He stretched his leg out, sighing in contentment as she brought both hands to work into his tired muscles. Esther squirmed on the bed, swallowing hard at the noises falling from Jason’s lips as she rubbed out the tension from his thigh. “Essie,” Jason peeked an eye open, “You’re bleeding.”

Sure enough, she was. Her hip had a rose blossoming from it. One of the bullets must have grazed Essie while on the bike. “Oh, shit.” She muttered, peeling her own suit off until she was standing in her spandex shorts and sports bra. The shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, and the sports bra didn’t do her smaller-than-average breasts any favors.

Yet Jason was drinking in every inch of her with greedy eyes. 

The cut on her hip was a few inches across but, luckily, not that deep. Esther held the rag tightly against it to stop the bleeding.

Jason pushed her fingers aside and held the rag there, pushing her, so she sat on his lap. The pressure he applied to her wound was firm but tender. “You shouldn’t have had to come save me. I-” He rolled his eyes, “I was distracted, and Roman’s boys got the drop on me.”

The truth was that all night his mind had kept wandering back to his time with his girl. His girl. Even now, that sounded so delectable in his head. The way it felt to fill Esther to the brim the night before, to finally, finally, claim her as his. Yet it hadn’t been enough, and he knew from the beginning it wouldn’t be. Jason knew that the moment he tasted Essie, there’d be no quitting her.

Esther could see him getting lost in his thoughts, and she wiggled on his lap until she was comfortable, enjoying how her movements pulled him from his head. “That’s okay,” Esther bit her lip, “We all get distracted sometimes.”

Was she- Flirting with him? Jason studied her expression, how she batted her lashes at him and how her chest had turned bright red. She was. She was flirting with him.

“Oh,” Jason raised an eyebrow, “You mean like how distracted you were on my bike?” He smirked, remembering how she’d pushed up against him when he wrapped his arms around her waist and how her facial expression lagged when he groaned in her ear. Esther looked away in embarrassment, and Jay snatched her chin in his hand, “You thought I didn’t notice?”

He forced Esther to look at him, enjoying the way her chest was suddenly rising and falling rapidly. Jason moved to sit up, but Esther put her hands on her chest and pushed him back down, “No.” She said firmly, her bottom lip jutted out in an enticing pout. “I wanna help you relax.” Essie’s fingers traced the edge of Jay’s black boxers, and Jason felt himself twitch from underneath the soft fabric.

Esther palmed at Jay's growing erection through the thin cotton, causing Jason to exhale softly. Sometimes this still didn’t feel real. Esther Wayne wanted Jason Todd. It was inexplicable, and yet, as she freed his cock from its fabric prison, she was looking at him like she wanted to devour him.

She snaked her body downward, resting between his thighs. Jay’s massive thighs made her look small, and as she took his dick in her hands and licked a stripe from base to tip, those thighs tightened and flexed. Jay was so fucking hard right now. His hand tangled in her hair, trying and failing to hold it back for her.

Gentle kisses were placed along his shaft, followed by her sweetly licking at his swollen and throbbing head. She lapped at the slit there, tasting that salty bead of pre-cum that had escaped. “O-oh God.” Jason groaned, his hips pushing himself against her lips, desperate to feel them close around him.

“He’s not here right now.” Esther smirked, swirling her tongue around his pulsing red tip, “Just me.” And without wasting another second, Esther pushed his fat cock past her lips and down her throat, letting her mouth pool with spit before pulling back off of him, a line of saliva connecting her mouth and his cock together.

Holy shit. Jason couldn’t look away from her; she didn’t even look ashamed of the spit line; instead, she just let more drip off her tongue and down his shaft. “Fuck, you’re a messy girl.” He breathed, so fucking transfixed by her. 

Esther nodded, never breaking eye contact as she relaxed her jaw and went back to sloppily sucking his dick. Her pace was achingly slow, her fingers wrapped around his base and matching time with her ministrations. Essie’s spit dripped down over her fingers, only making her movements more messy and wet.

The sounds coming from her mouth and fingers were unholy. God, Esther was so messy, and Jason fucking loved it. His grip in her hair tightened, and he forced her to take the entirety of his cock; causing her to choke around it. “You like sucking my cock?” Jay asked, holding her still with his dick halfway down her esophagus.

Esther’s eyes started to water, her face becoming pudgy and pink, but she nodded anyway, “Mhrgm.” Essie garbled, laying her tongue flat against him, and she bobbed her head up and down a little faster.

“Oh, holy fuck, you do.” Jason breathed heavily, using his grip on her nape to guide her movements, trying not to cum at the sight of her hot tears falling against his lower stomach. 

He just knew she was giving him all she had, and it was more than enough. Jason could see her nipples through her sports bra, and he fought the urge to rip through her clothes again. Jason held her head steady suddenly, caressing her cheek for only a moment before rutting his hips up fast and hard.

If she was going to give it all to him, Jay would take it all from her. Jason fucked himself roughly into her mouth, relishing the warm, wet sensation around his shaft. She looked so perfect, getting fucked into like this. “You take me so well, baby. You do such a good job taking this cock.” He growled, his hips moving at an almost rabid rate at this point.

And Essie fucking loved every second of this, her thighs clenching together tightly at the sight of Jason turning animalist above her. She was soaking wet at the sight of him. And those praises tumbling from his mouth? Esther would do anything just to hear those words said so sweetly yet carnally again. 

Esther looked up at Jay through her lazy, fucked out eyes, moving her fingers to caress his balls. Jason couldn’t look away from her; she looked like a goddamn wet dream of his. “O-Oh shit-” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly as Esther hummed around his shaft, the vibrations sending him to another fucking planet, “Oh baby, you keep doing that, and I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth.”

There was literally no fucking thing she wanted more.

Pushing her hair back from her face, Esther swallowed down more of Jay, more than she thought was possible. As he bottomed out inside her throat, Essie gave him big innocent eyes, and that was it for Jason, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna cum. I-I’m g- I’m gonna-” He panted multiple times, fucking into her mouth at a crazed, uneven pace before pulling out just enough to coat her lips and gaping mouth with his hot load of salty cum. His stomach twitched and seized as he squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth hanging open as he moaned loudly.

Esther swallowed it down, licking at her lips and savoring the taste of Jason on her tongue. He opened his eyes in time to watch her clean his cock off with her lips, and Jason seriously considered fucking her into the next week.

Once he was all clean, Esther wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, grinning up at Jason, who was still breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. Jay pulled her by her hair until she was eye-level with him before bringing her in for a lazy, slopping kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, and he growled from the back of his throat.

Pulling herself from the kiss, Esther placed a tender peck on Jay’s forehead, “I’m gonna go get a drink.” She bolted off of him, Jay sighing in contentment as he slipped his softening cock back into his boxers.

Oh god, that was so much better than he’d ever imagined it. Even now, as he could hear her rustling in his kitchen, his body was like jello, as if he had no bones in his entire body.

When Esther returned, she had two glasses of water in her hands. Jason eagerly took one and gulped it down, not remembering the last time he had drank some water. “Thanks.” He placed the glass on the side table before hooking his arms around Essie’s waist and pulling her onto the bed, cradling her in his arms. Jason littered kisses all over her face, which screwed up in mock sourness. “Oh, don’t act like you hate me now,” Jay teased, “Not after you left me face fuck you like a little slut.”

Esther’s face heated up, and she laughed aloud, smacking Jason in the arm, “Asshole.” Jay yawned heavily, his eyes struggling to stay open. Esther brushed his cheek with her thumb, “But an asshole that needs to sleep.”

Jason huffed, “No, I need to follow up on some leads. Can you bring me my laptop from the office?” He yawned again, and Esther gave him a guilty look.

“See,” She scratched his scalp soothingly, “I thought you might say that….”

Red squinted at her suspiciously, “What..?”

“You need to rest.” Essie pouted, “No if, and’s, or but’s… So I maybe crushed up like six of your melatonins and put it in your drink.” She said it so fast that Jason almost didn’t catch any of it, but he still managed to decipher her words and groaned.

“Es, those are prescription strength.” His eyelids felt so, so heavy. And wow, had his pillows always been so comfy?

“I know.” Esther bit the inside of her cheek, “Sorry.”

She slowly got off Jason, his eyes closing a moment later. Esther threw a blanket over the top of Jay and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Stubborn little bitch.” Jason mumbled before dozing off into a deep, drug-induced, but well-needed sleep.

…

The shower pressure in this apartment was heavenly.

Esther hadn’t had a proper shower in ages. At least not one where she wasn’t nervous that a nun would hear her and call the cops.

So its high pressure and warm, soothing water felt amazing against her skin. As if all the tension in her body was melting from her skin and swirling down the drain. She missed this, having a space of her own to deflate. At the beginning of striking out on her own, Esther had tried renting multiple times, but each time Bruce would show up to try and ‘talk some sense into her.' Even when she tried using fake names. So going entirely off the grid was the only option he’d left her with.

And this place really took Essie by surprise. It was… genuinely stunning. A model of old Gotham architecture that looked like Jay was renovating to have a touch of modernism. But why? Seemed like a weird hobby to have in between working for the League of Shadows.

Coming out of the shower, her bare feet shivered at the cool touch of tile beneath her. Her eyes caught on the drain in the middle of the black and cream patterned tile… Okay, now that made sense. She could picture Jay washing down the blood from his exploits.

She wrapped a towel around her battered, bruised, and scarred body before walking back into Jason’s room. Jason was sprawled out across his dark comforter, snoring quietly. The sight made her smile. Safe and sound. Before walking to his closet, Esther paused at his bookshelf. Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Wuthering Heights… Twelfth Night. That one caught her eye. Jason loved the regency era but hated Shakespeare. Twelfth Night was Esther’s favorite. 

Thumbing at its spine, Esther pulled the hardcover from the shelf and flipped through the pages to find countless notes in sloppy black ink. One particular part was underlined and caught her eye…

“Make me a willow cabin at your gate,

And call upon my soul within the house;

Write loyal cantons of contemned love

And sing them loud even in the dead of night;.”

Esther’s heart thumped in her chest. Of all the lines, he liked that one. Shaking her head and trying to hide the meek smile on her lips, Essie put the book back on its shelf before walking to the closet and picking out an old gray t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants.

As she dropped her towel, Esther caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her body looked… broken. But the part Esther hated most, that made it hard to look at her reflection was the three gashes across her stomach. 

Esther typically covered them with makeup, high-waisted pants… or just any way she could. Those three gashes were from day fifty-six with the Joker… The day he invited Victor Zsasz to come and play…

Shivers ran down her spine, and Esther quickly slipped the oversized shirt over her head. If it was out of sight, it was out of mind. The sweatpants hung loosely around her hips, but that’s how she liked it anyway.

A sound made her freeze. Clinking was coming from outside of the room. Like… Someone was in the kitchen. Esther snatched a gun from Jason’s nightstand. She slowly eased the bedroom door open, slipping around the corner, and unclicked the safety as she pressed herself against the wall that separated the hallway from the kitchen.

More shuffling could be heard, and Esther recognized a distinct chopping sound. Someone was definitely in there, and they were… cooking?

“I know you’re there, alsaghir.” Little one. Esther’s eye twitched, wondering again why she could understand that word. And why that silky, smooth voice sounded just so… recognizable. 

Esther peeked around the corner to find a strange sight.

Talia al Ghul cutting up vegetables in Jason's kitchen.

“I brought ingredients for tabbouleh.” Talia was achingly stunning, her clothing accenting her otherworldly beauty. Her voice was dripping honey, “You loved it when I would make this for you.”

Esther approached slowly, lowering her gun, “I- We’ve never met before.” She squinted, and Esther was greeted with the same splitting headache from earlier in the day.

“Are you sure of that, alsaghir?” Talia’s soft brown hair fell perfectly around her oval face, her skin like moonlight. No wonder Bruce had a soft spot for her. “My father sends his congratulations on completing your rite. The first of many to come. Although he would ask that in the future you accept no help from your… comrades.”

Leaning against the wall, Esther studied Talia. “That’s… nice of you to deliver the message.” And also highly inconvenient for Talia to come all this way. “I hope it wasn’t a long drive.” She raised an eyebrow, and Talia laughed at her attempt at small talk.

“Jason is doing well then?” Talia asked, turning her back to check on the flatbread she was warming on the stovetop. Esther couldn’t lie. It smelled heavenly. But something in Talia’s tone caused her eyes to narrow.

“He’s resting.” She answered simply. “Why are you here, Talia? You didn’t come all this way to check on Jason and me. One of your handmaidens could have done that for you.”

Removing the flatbread from the heat, Talia turned back to Esther and placed the fluffy carb onto a plate at the small table. “Sit.” She instructed, and Esther felt the urge to obey for some reason. Slowly, she sat at the place that Talia had prepared for her, taking a sip of the water that had been placed there.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed a significant lack in your memories by now.” Talia raised an eyebrow at Esther, and Essie blinked. How did she-? “Probably starting from the moment my father met with you this morning. Things you can’t remember, things you shouldn’t know but do… Perhaps even a change in your fighting skills.”

What the hell was going on here? How could Talia possibly know what was going on in her head today?

“Jason begged my father to leave you out of his plans, but as I’m sure you know, the Demon is not easily swayed by the demands of others.” Talia chopped some parsley into fine pieces, “So tell me, Sadiyah, what do you remember of your childhood?”

There was that name again, so foreign, yet… it didn’t feel wrong to answer to it. “Stop calling me that.” Essie’s eye twitched again, but her voice was much more timid than usual. 

“Why wouldn’t I use the name given to you at birth?” Talia tossed all the chopped ingredients together, “But I suppose I should be more understanding. It’s not like you remember.”

Her words made Essie’s head pound, “What… are you talking about?” Esther rubbed at her temple.

“You have had something stolen from you, Sadiyah, and you don’t even know it.” Talia placed the bowl of food in front of Esther before squeezing a lemon over the top, “Do you truly believe that my father would have created something like you- something with so much potential and then just left you in the care of strange doctors? Eat.”

The food did look fantastic, and Esther was starving. She eyed Talia; Esther used the soft, warm bread to scoop up some of the salad(?) that Talia had made. The moment it hit her tongue, her head panged like it was going to split open. She had tasted this before; Esther knew it. But she also had no memory of it. “You’re saying… Ra’s has my memories?” She choked out, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

A flash of an image crossed her mind, Talia al Ghul sitting criss-cross in front of her, swords laid out between them, as they both ate from bowls containing food that looked a lot like what sat in front of Esther right now.

“Ahh,” Talia hummed, “I knew you’d remember this. You would have eaten my tabbouleh every day had I permitted.” She leaned against the kitchen counter, “And not necessarily. He stole them, yes, but he never truly took them from you.” Esther continued to eat (What could she say, it was really good), “They live inside you yet. Just… locked away. And all you need is the key.”

A sigh escaped Esther’s lips, “A key, I’m guessing, that you have?”

“An astute observation, Sadiyah.” Each time Talia used that name, Esther winced. “Yes, I have what you need to remember….”

The older woman trailed off, and Esther rolled her eyes, “And you want something in return?”

Talia placed the dirty dishes in the sink before she turned once more to give Esther a sly smile, “You need not concern yourself. It’s an easy task. I simply need you to deliver something for me to your brother.”

“Deliver what?” Esther’s eyes narrowed once more, wondering if it was a weapon, a message, or some weird sex thing. All three of those sounded annoying at best to deal with.

“Aidkhul!” Talia called over her shoulder, and Jason’s front door opened. A small frame entered the room, covered in a heavy cloak with snowflakes decorating the dark fabric.

The figure removed its hood, and Esther’s jaw tightened. Perhaps a child would not have been so shocking, but it was the child’s face that astonished her- the boy child couldn’t have been older than eight years old, and yet he looked exactly like…

“Sadiyah, this is my son. The rightful heir to the Demon.” Talia put her arm around the boy, whose eyes were examining Esther like she was his prey. Esther met him with the same calculative stare.

“Damian.”

.

.

.

tags: @niphredil-14 @honeybee54321 @princesscumdump444

[girlkisser13]

pink pony club

"god, what have you done?" "you're a pink pony girl" "and you dance at the club" "oh, mama, i'm just having fun" "on the stage in my heels" "it's where i belong, down at the pink pony club"

pairings: cowboy!dick grayson x city girl!reader

warnings/tags: none. tooth rotting fluff.

summary: "save a horse, ride a cowboy."

the vibrant neon lights of gotham city flickered overhead as you stepped out of the cab and onto the cracked sidewalk. your heels clicked against the pavement, the sound foreign in this gritty city, so different from the polished streets of metropolis. you tugged at the hem of your dress, already feeling slightly out of place in the leather-jacketed crowd milling about outside the bar. a few people glanced your way, curiosity in their eyes, but you paid them no mind. after all, you were here for one reason— barbara gordon.

"relax," barbara said, looping her arm through yours as she walked you toward the entrance of the club. "you look like you're about to bolt. it's not that bad."

"i feel like i just stepped onto the set of some western horror movie," you replied with a nervous laugh. "my mom would kill me if she knew i was in a place like this."

barbara smirked, "your mom doesn't need to know. besides, it's called the pink pony club. how bad can it be?"

you glanced up at the sign flashing in a garish shade of pink. "the pink pony club? really?"

she shrugged. "it's an old gotham staple. trust me, by the end of the night, you'll be glad i brought you here. come on, you’re always so uptight. it’s time you loosened up a little. city girls can be fun, too."

you sighed but followed her inside, the door swinging shut behind you with a dull thud. the interior was dimly lit, the kind of place that seemed to thrive on shadow and secrets. music thrummed from every corner, the beat heavy and slow, and the scent of whiskey hung thick in the air. your heels sank slightly into the sticky floor, but you did your best to ignore it. you tugged at the collar of your jacket, feeling slightly claustrophobic in the dim room, surrounded by locals dressed in leather, denim, and boots.

barbara gave you a reassuring smile. "trust me, this is going to be fun."

you weren't so sure, but before you could say anything, your gaze was drawn across the room to a man standing at the bar. tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a black cowboy hat tipped low over his face, he cut an impressive figure. his shirt was buttoned down to reveal just a hint of his toned chest, and his jeans hung low on his hips, completed with a heavy belt buckle and boots that looked worn from years of use.

he caught your stare and tilted his head up slightly, giving you a full view of his face. dark hair curled out from beneath his hat, and his blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. he looked like trouble. the kind of trouble your mother warned you about back in metropolis.

"two drinks," the bartender said, sliding a couple of glasses across the bar toward you. you blinked, confused.

"excuse me?"

"from the gentleman over there." the bartender nodded toward the man you had just been staring at. he raised his glass to you in a silent toast, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn he smiled, just the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.

you turned to barbara, who had been watching the whole exchange with a smirk. "who is that?"

barbara glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. "oh, him? that’s dick grayson."

"dick?" you couldn’t help but laugh. "are you serious? his name’s really dick?"

barbara’s laughter was louder this time, and she leaned in conspiratorially. "that’s what they call him. well, his name’s richard, but no one calls him that. you’ll see."

you rolled your eyes and took a hesitant sip of the drink he sent over, the alcohol warming your throat as you swallowed. barbara nudged you with her elbow, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "come on, let’s dance. i’ll show you how we do things here in gotham."

before you could protest, she grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. the music was louder now, the bass reverberating through your chest as barbara moved easily to the rhythm, swaying her hips with a confidence that made you feel like a fish out of water. you tried to keep up, but the heels you wore weren’t exactly made for this kind of dancing.

still, you were having fun. the energy of the crowd was contagious, and as you let the music guide your movements, you caught sight of the cowboy again. he was watching you— intently, as if you were the only person in the room. the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine, though you couldn't decide if it was from excitement or nerves.

barbara leaned in close to you, her breath hot against your ear. "looks like someone’s interested."

"i’m not here for that," you muttered, though your eyes still drifted to the man in the cowboy hat. there was something about him, something that made your heart race in a way you didn’t expect.

as if on cue, the man pushed off from the bar and made his way toward you. he moved with an easy confidence, his long strides parting the crowd effortlessly. he stopped in front of you and tipped his hat, his smile slow and charming. "mind if i cut in?"

you exchanged a glance with barbara, who gave you an encouraging nod. with a small shrug, you stepped back, allowing him to take your hand. his grip was firm but gentle as he pulled you closer, his other hand settling at the small of your back. up close, he was even more handsome than you’d realized, his eyes a striking shade of blue, and his smile— it was almost too perfect.

"you’re a good dancer," he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a subtle southern accent. "you dance like you’ve been here before."

you rolled your eyes. "i think you’ve got the wrong girl. i’m just visiting. and i’m definitely not a dancer."

"oh? you could’ve fooled me," he teased, his voice thick with amusement.

you let out a short laugh, feeling a little more comfortable now. "i doubt that."

"i didn’t catch your name," he said, still leading you across the floor with surprising grace for someone dressed like a cowboy. "and i would’ve remembered a pretty face like yours."

you rolled your eyes again, though this time it was more playful than dismissive. "i’m y/n. and is your name really dick?"

his smile widened as he chuckled. "my legal name is richard, but you can call me whatever you want, darlin'."

you tried to hide your smirk but failed. "that’s very generous of you, dick."

he tipped his hat to you, his grin never faltering. "what brings a city girl like you to gotham, anyhow? ain’t often we get visitors from the big, shiny metropolis."

you glanced over at barbara, who was dancing with someone else now, laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world. "i’m visiting my best friend. barbara gordon."

at the mention of barbara’s name, dick’s eyes lit up with recognition. "ah, babs. now that explains it," he said, glancing you up and down. his gaze lingered briefly on your heels, and he gave you a charming grin. "gotta say, though, the way you’re movin’ out here, it’s like you were born for this place. like you belong here."

you laughed softly and shook your head. "yeah, no. gotham is about as far from my world as it gets."

dick’s smile widened. "maybe. but the way you’re dancin’, it sure don’t seem that way." his hand tightened just slightly on your waist, a teasing glint in his eyes. "you ever thought about stickin' around? there's more to gotham than just this club."

"oh, really? and what exactly does gotham have that metropolis doesn’t?" you asked, playing along.

his grin turned mischievous as he leaned in just a little closer, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "me," he said, his voice low and smooth, full of confidence.

you let out a surprised laugh, rolling your eyes. "of course you’d say that."

before you could fire back with anything else, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a card. "tell you what," he said, handing it to you, "how about you come by my family’s ranch? we’ll save some horses together."

you glanced down at it. printed on it in elegant lettering was:

wayne ranch

1007 mountain rd.

and, in smaller, bolder letters at the bottom:

"save a horse, ride a cowboy."

you couldn’t help but laugh. "seriously? this is your business card?"

he winked at you. "it gets the point across. so what do you say? you come by, we’ll save some horses together." his grin was shameless, his southern drawl thick with playful charm. "i’ll introduce you to my brothers, too."

"your brothers?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "how many of you are there?"

he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "enough to keep things interestin’. you’d have fun, trust me." the song was nearing its end, and dick gently let go of your waist, tipping his hat as he took a step back. "i hope to see you there, darlin'."

before you could respond, the music stopped, and dick flashed you one last smile before walking away, disappearing into the crowd. you were left standing on the dance floor, the card still in your hand.

barbara, having watched the entire exchange, snatched the card from you the moment dick was out of sight. she read the slogan and burst into laughter. "save a horse, ride a cowboy? i can’t believe he actually gave you this!"

you shrugged, though you couldn’t fight back your own smile. "there’s no way i can go. my mom would never let me visit some ranch with a guy i just met.

barbara gave you a look. "is your mom the fun police now?"

"she just wouldn’t understand," you replied, feeling your old reservations bubbling up again. "i mean, seriously, it’s gotham. and a ranch?"

barbara looped her arm through yours with a wicked grin. "oh, we’re definitely going. you can tell your mom you’re ‘saving horses.’ it’ll be fun, i promise."

despite your protests, you had a feeling barbara wasn’t going to take no for an answer. and, honestly? you weren’t sure you wanted to say no. not after meeting dick grayson.

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Midge nurses a beat-up and grumpy Lenny back to health. Maybe post-Carnegie? Anyway, hurray for sexual tension.

(I forgot this one! I love this one!)

It happens so fast.

She jumps back when the window shatters. There's a thump, and then Lenny Bruce is laying at her feet, covered in cuts, one eye swollen shut, bottom lip cracked and bleeding.

"What the hell, Lenny!"

He smiles up at her, dazed, making his lip bleed even more. "Hello. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Oh, my god," she says, panicked an kneels down to check him over, and he bats her hands away. "Stop fussing, I'm fine."

"You're a shit show," she accuses, helping him to his feet.

He teeters and almost falls over and she catches him. "Whoa. Okay, Mister. You're coming with me."

"You have a fancy Valentine's date. You're wearing red."

"It was a terrible date that my mother set me up with, now come on."

"No."

"Lenny."

"I don't need you to scrape me off another sidewalk," he grumbles, but keeps holding onto her.

She huffs and calls them a cab.

*****

"Hold still."

"I didn't ask you to do this, you know," he complains as he sits on the couch in her living room.

Midge is dabbing his cuts as gently as she can, a bottle of peroxide next to her to clean them out, and he winces and whines and grumbles the whole way through.

She gets to a particularly nasty cut on his arm and he yelp and bats at her again.

"Stop!"

"Lenny! If wouldn't hurt so much if you'd just sit still!"

He glowers at her and sits back, finally settling a little.

"Thank you," she breathes out, getting back to work.

She tries not to think about the last time she touched him. Settled in his arms in that very blue room. She tries to push those thoughts away.

"I saw you on Gordon Ford," he mumbles sullenly. "You were very good."

"Thank you," she nods as she keeps working, taking out some bandaids and bandages to patch him up. "And...Thank you. For...yelling at me. I needed it."

He nods. "I know. And you're welcome."

"You don't have to be so smug."

"I got thrown through a window for you tonight, believe me, I do not feel smug," he grates out.

Midge looks confused. "For me?"

His head slumps forward. "I may have...defended your honor at the bar tonight."

Her eyebrows raise. "Oh, really."

"Some asshole was speculating about what might be under your very pretty dresses, and whether or not it was worth it to have a look. And also how his dick would feel in your mouth."

Midge flushes a little, feeling a little uncomfortable at a stranger voicing those things. "And you..."

"Told him to shut his mouth," Lenny explains.

"And he..."

"Punched me through the window."

She can't help herself from giving him an adoring look. "That was very brave of you."

"I'm a terrible fighter," Lenny confesses. "I'm tall but I'm useless at fisticuffs."

"The important thing is you tried," Midge tells him as she keeps patching him up. She presses a down paper towel to his lips to mop up some of the blood gently. "It was very brave."

He huffs and looks at her. "We haven't talked."

"I know."

"I...I meant to call," he tells her. "I did."

Midge takes a breath. "I didn't know where I could reach you."

"Through the glass window," Lenny jokes.

"I'll remember that for next time."

"So...you had a terrible Valentine's date?" he asks, gazing at her a little more softly now.

Midge sighs as she inspects a cut on his forehead. "His name was Isaac. He was very handsome...until he started picking his nose, hoping I wouldn't notice."

"Your mother mad at your or something?"

"Desperate to unload this guy," Midge explains. "I went on the date for her. Just to get him out of his mother's house for Valentine's Day. Otherwise, I would have stayed here. Went to bed early."

"That's a shame," Lenny says, his voice a little deeper as he watches her.

"Oh, no you don't."

"What?"

"You don't get to turn on the sexy voice and the intense gaze after almost three of months of total silence."

"Hey, I was grievously injured defending your honor, don't I deserve a little credit?"

Midge laughs softly and leans in, kissing his cheek. "My hero."

When she pulls away, he's gazing at her again, but this time a little more vulnerably.

"I've missed you," he says quietly. "And I'm sorry I didn't reach out."

She takes a breath and nods. "I missed you too. Fight over?"

Lenny nods. "Fight over."

She winds up with her hand on his face, gently caressing one of his cuts, and he leans in, kissing her gently, pulling away quickly.

"Ow. Stings."

Midge laughs and kisses his nose instead.

[lfthinkerwrites]

(I'm sorry, but that lingerie post and the art by ritzy-biscuit were living in my brain until I could get this out.)

Tuesday, February 14th. Nashton escaped from Arkham 24 hours ago. City Hall's on lockdown. Mayor Real and District Attorney Dent are in secured, undisclosed locations. Nashton's apartment is under 24-hour police surveillance, but he's smart enough not to go back there. Gordon and I have monitored the rataalda website, but there have been no traces of him. Gordon wonders if Nashton might have skipped town, but I doubt it. He's obsessed with me. Even when I've gone to Arkham on unrelated matters, he finds an excuse to watch me through the glass, to try to speak with me. I'm meeting with Gordon tonight to pick up where we left off. The longer Nashton's in the wind, the more of a danger he poses to Gotham's people.

Bruce had noticed the Batsignal lighting the sky on the drive into the city. When he got to the meeting place, however, Gordon's car wasn't there. Bruce remembered the last time that had happened, over a year ago now. There's been no word or trace of Selina since she left after the flood. This is someone else. As he got out of the car, Bruce readied his gauntlet.

As he suspected, Nashton was standing by the signal, back in his green coat. His face was gaunter than it was when he'd been arrested, but he still had that gleam in his eyes as he watched Bruce approach him. "I wish I'd been able to get my mask," he said. "You had my apartment under watch though, and no one seems to carry them anywhere anymore. Can't imagine why."

Bruce stopped an inch away from Nashton. He ignored how the criminal's face flushed pink. "What have you done?"

Nashton giggled. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Bruce repeated. "You expect me to believe that? Why did you break out of Arkham?"

"Well, if you're not going to take the time to see me, I thought I'd come to see you." Nashton's eyes narrowed behind the large glasses. "We still have unfinished business, Batman." He swiftly unbuttoned his coat and Bruce took a step back, expecting a bomb. What he saw instead, however, he never could have prepared for.

Nashton dropped his coat to the ground to reveal he wasn't wearing proper clothing underneath, but instead lacy black women's lingerie. Bruce felt his brain nearly shut down as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Nashton bent down to pull his boots off and Bruce swallowed at how snugly the black panties fit him and oh god, every time he saw this man again, he'd have this mental image burning in his brain, was that the point of this-

He almost hadn't noticed Nashton creep into his personal space, taking one of his gloved hands and pressing it against the bra. His skin is cold to the touch, but Bruce feels like he's on fire, oh God, what is even happening, Alfred never went over this contingency with him during training! "Riddle me this," Nashton purrs. "Is that a Batarang in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Bruce stands still, not sure whether to punch him, push him, or...something else.

An expletive drew both men's attention to the elevator door. Gordon was standing there, his gun drawn, a look of horror on his face. He looked from Nashton to Bruce, to Nashton again, and shook his head. "You know what? I don't even want to know, man."

An hour later, Alfred Pennyworth was watching the news report the Riddler's recapture with no small amount of relief. He went down to what he'd dubbed 'the Batcave' and saw Bruce had arrived home. He was pulling off his cowl as Alfred approached. "I saw the news," Alfred said. "Congratulations."

"Yeah," Bruce answered. It was then that Alfred noticed how red his face was. He frowned. Nashton wasn't any kind of physical threat. Why did Bruce look so exhausted? Before he could ask, the young man pushed past him. "I need a shower. A cold shower."

Twenty minutes later, Alfred was bringing a plate of heated up leftovers from the night before when he heard the soulful sounds of Kurt Cobain from Bruce's room. I'm so horny, that's okay, My will is good, Yeah, yeah yeah...He shut his eyes. It was going to be one of those nights.

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 1 (6-13): Truth serum | Damian Wayne Protection Squad™ | Best friends to lovers

Note: Rushed. I'm sure it's still the 13th somewhere.

Warnings: kidnapping, nonconsensual drugging, needles.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick wakes to the taste of blood on his tongue.

Thankfully, after slowly moving his tongue around, it's just because he bit the inside of his cheek sometime between when he was knocked out and when he woke up. His head pounds like a war-drum with his heart as he tries to get ahold of his situation. Without opening his eyes, he assess his arms are restrained behind his back and he's sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair. His legs are also tied to the chair, keeping him from running.

The suit he wears feels suffocating, proof that—once again—him wearing Batman's cowl isn't some sort of sick joke. However, his shoulders are a bit lighter suggesting his cape has been taken. Not that he'll mourn it.

His cowl is on. He silently curses himself for not checking that first. It would be the first thing Bruce checked.

He always prioritized the identity. The mission. Secrecy before safety, Gotham before everything else. Not injuries, not friends, not family, partners-

Dick's eyes fly open, reminding him of the real thing he should have checked for first.

"Robin," he gasps out loud, looking wildly around the room and tugging on the ropes holding his back to the chair.

The room is dark and small, the walls made of cinder bricks that have water mold where it connects to the cement floor. In front of him is a metal table with a black, palm sized box placed on top. Dick ignores that for now and looks to his side, only relaxing when he finds Damian to his right, tied similarly to another chair with his chin to his chest. Only unconscious, Dick notes as he watches his stomach rise and fall.

However, anxiety flutters in his gut when he sees there's a dried trail of blood running down the side of his head.

"Robin," he tries again, knowing at the back of his head that Bruce would be telling him to be quiet. Check for cameras. Look for an escape route. Don't let them know you're awake until you have a plan-

Dick shakes his head. Damian could have a concussion, and that takes priority. Dick could have one as well, considering how badly his head hurts, but Damian is only ten years old and Dick knows better than anyone the lingering effects injuries could have when you're a child.

He presses his feet to the ground and pushes, attempting to slide closer to his protege. He does nothing more than jolt in place. There's not enough leverage.

However, it seems the sound of the metal scraping against the ground is enough to wake up the boy. He comes to with a small groan and a pain laced crease between his brow.

"Robin," Dick repeats a third time. He can do nothing but sit as Damian blinks slowly behind his mask; his shoulders tensing as he too notices the restraints.

Damian opens his mouth, but before any words could leave there's a loud clang. The door in front of Dick and Damian, on the other side of the table, swings open.

In walks three men; two are unfamiliar, but the third Dick recognizes from the case files he and Damian got from Gordon about a week ago. Jonas Gibbs. Known arms dealer and smuggler. He's made his moves in Gotham these past few weeks, getting the police and public nervous about shootings with illegal guns. Batman and Robin had finally pinned down the date, time, and location of his next shipment and intended to take him down then, but he was smart and had hired help from various mercenaries that Dick could confidently bet used to be in the military before they were dishonorably discharged.

The way they moved, worked, and attacked was too strategic and planned. It was only a matter of time before one got a lucky hit on Damian; a blow with the butt of their rifle across the kid's forehead. The barrel of the rifle pointed down at Damian's unconscious body was all it took for Dick to raise his hands in surrender.

And now they're here, in some damp old room. Tied to chairs. A table placed in front of them with a mysterious box set on top of it.

"Perfect timing," Gibbs says, grinning. The two other men, clearly mercs, stand on either side of him as he drags up a chair and sits on the other side of the table. "I was almost afraid we'd have to dump water to get you up."

"What do you want?" Dick growls. He must want something. He hasn't taken off the cowl… or at least he hasn't tried to get through the various traps to pull it off. It means he must need something that an identity reveal wouldn't give him.

"I'm glad you asked, Batman," Gibbs says, a grin spreading on his face. He looks to one of his goons and they immediately pull a small camera out from a bag they had around their shoulder. He points it at Dick.

Dick gets a bad feeling about all of this.

"I want you to tell your real name for the camera."

Dick glares. "Are you serious?"

"Very. One of my men has second degree burns thanks to that cowl of yours electrifying him. So, I decided I'll let you go without any more harm. You tell me your names, and I'll let you go. Won't even show the video to anyone. Well," he smirkes, "unless you get in my way."

Dick clenches his jaw. Besides him, Damian mumbles something.

"I'm going to give you to the count of three," Gibbs says, unphased. "Otherwise it will get unpleasant."

His eyes drift to the black box, signifying it's mysterious importance. Dick doesn't let it scare him. He's not going to let this low life criminal blackmail him... put him and his family in danger. He'll take whatever will be thrown at him until he can work out a way to escape.

Gibbs counts down, and he reaches zero uninterrupted.

"Well," Gibbs says, unsurprised. "The hard way then. Gag him."

The grunts move like clockwork, and before Dick knows it his face is being grabbed and held in place while the other shoves a rag into his mouth and wraps a layer of tape around his face to hold it there.

"Batman..." he hears Damian mumble as the grunts back up. He sounds out of it. In pain. Dick can only hope that the hit he took to his head isn't too serious.

Gibbs retakes his attention, however, when he reaches forward and presses a hatch on the side of the black box, flicking it open on spring-loaded hinges. What's inside makes Dick's stomach drop. A needle and a glass vial filled with a yellow tinted liquid lays neatly inside. One of the grunts lifts the needle and the vial to begin filling it up.

"Do you know what this is?" Gibbs asks as the liquid fills the syringe. "I've yet to test it on anyone, but word is from the man I bought it from... It forces the truth out of you." The grunts finishes filling the syringe and flicks the bubbles. "Truth serum."

Dick has no doubt that the serum will work. He only wonders why he's threatening with it while he's gagged.

When the grunt walks around the table to Damian, he doesn't wonder anymore.

He can only tug on his restraints as the grunt grabs Damian's arm to aim the needle. Damian, for his effort, attempts to pull away, but the weakness of his head injury and his restraints do nothing to stop the needle from entering the inside of his elbow.

"You could have done this the easy way, Batman," Gibbs says. Dick watches as the syringe is pressed down, pushing the liquid into Damian's body. "I never like getting children involved."

Damian squeezes his jaw shut and turns his head away from the needle in his arm. It only takes a moment before the grunt pulls the empty syringe out before returning to standing besides his leader. A bead of blood appears where the needle left Damian's skin, but the boy doesn't move.

The air feels solid. Dick can hardly breathe as he tries to conceal his panic. He wants nothing more than to get out of these restraints and punch Gibbs and his men into next year, but he can't reach anything useful to do so. All he can do is watch Damian sit stock still as drugs spread through his veins.

A minute passes as Gibbs sits there in smug silence. Then, when a few more moments pass, he speaks.

"Robin," he says. Damian flinches, but doesn't look his way. His jaw still clenched. The goon with the camera points it right at Damian. "Why don't we start with something easy? What's your favorite animal?"

Damian curls his fingers behind his back and keeps his jaw grinding shut.

"Tight lipped huh?" Gibbs chuckles. He doesn't look surprised. Or worried. "Don't worry, I was assured that once it's fully in your system, it will hurt more to say nothing. What's your favorite animal, Robin?"

Damian says nothing, but he looks ridged. Tense.

"You look uncomfortable, Robin. Do you feel it in your head? I promise it will get better when you stop resisting. Let's try something different while we wait. Are you from Gotham?"

Damian's knuckles must be white under his gloves.

"How about your favorite color? Is it blue?"

Damian breathes a shaky breath through his nose, and Dick's heart breaks. He works harder to find a weakness in his restraints.

"My, your resilience is admirable. Were you trained on this?" Gibbs asks. Damian remains stubborn, but Gibbs still doesn't look worried. "Who were you trained by?"

"The best," Damian whimpers, cutting himself off with a growl and shutting his jaw. Gibbs smiles.

"What's your favorite animal?"

Damian shakes his head, a frustrated cry caught in his throat.

This continues, Gibbs finding victory in the one slip and pressing with everything he's got. Dick doesn't know how long Damian can last like this, and he doesn't want to find out. With every passing second, Dick knows it's only a matter of time before Damian's lips loosen. No amount of training can beat a good concussion and drugs designed to make your lips loose.

"What grade are you? Do you have any friends?"

After each question, Dick can see more and more discomfort in Damian's position. He's beginning to fidget and whimper and Dick's... Dick's had enough.

"What's your favorite color, Robin?"

"Green," Damian says with strangled gasp, sounding horrified with himself.

Gibbs smirks like a predator, knowing he's finally won.

"What's your real name?"

Yeah. Dick's had enough. With a hard tug, the ropes around his wrists finally snap against where he's been rubbing at them with his gauntlets. Gibbs and his men can barely react before Dick's upon them, cutting away the rest of the ropes with a batarang from his belt. He makes quick work of them in their shock, knocking them out and leaving them on the floor in unconscious piles.

He almost bends to put cable ties on their arms and legs, but he hears a tight whimper behind him. The moment after, he's rushing over to Damian to undo the ropes.

"Are you okay?" Dick asks, cutting through the bonds.

Damian shakes his head. Dick almost kicks himself.

"It's okay," he quickly says. "No one can hear. Let it out."

He's almost afraid Damian will force himself to remain silent, but to his relief and heartache, Damian opens his mouth and lets out a heaving sob. "It hurts- it hurts-"

Dick finally undoes the ropes, then he pulls his kid in close to his chest. "Get it out," he soothes, rubbing Damian's back.

"Dogs-" Damian starts, dissolving into quick rambling breaths. Every question he had been asked begins to be answered. Dick holds him close and lets him get it out with his tears. Silently, he sends a message to Gordon to pick up Gibbs and his men, then he messages Alfred to get the med-bay and lab ready. Soon enough, Damian is silent except for pain laced gasps, he holds tight to Dick's chest as Dick lifts him up and stuffs the vial with extra serum into his belt.

"I got you," he says as Damian continues to cry all the way to the batmobile. "I got you."

[granolabird]

Hope for Better Days

Post 2x09. I figured we didn’t get much Hournite content this EP so I made my own :) This follows Beth going to visit Rick at the jail just before the storm starts after she gets off the phone with Courtney. Just some good ol Angst/Fluff content. Sure Rick is in jail but I can still make him kinda-sorta happy. Ish.

Warnings: N/A

Taglist: @hournites @bethchapelsbonnet 

If you’d like to be added to my weekly Hournite fic tag list feel free to ask :) .

“Has Rick called?” Beth finds herself asking as soon as she gets the chance.

Courtney called her to help devise a plan on what to do about Eclipso. It’s a valid mindset, one that Beth is trying very hard to reciprocate but she just can’t. She can’t stop thinking about Rick, alone and cold in his jail cell. The storm that’s hitting today is supposed to be really bad, there might even be a tornado. And sure Beth’s safe at home. So is Courtney, and Yolanda too, but Rick? He’s in a jail cell, which is probably one of the least safe places he could be. 

“No, he hasn’t called. Yolanda still hasn’t answered my calls either.” Courtney snaps Beth from her train of thought.

“Oh. Okay.”

Beth isn’t sure what else to say. Courtney seems to ignore her disappointment and continues to prattle on about how to use the staff and the goggles together to beat Eclipso. Beth tries to listen, she really does. What Courtney is saying is important, but Rick keeps flitting across her mind. She can’t help but worry about him. She looks out her window at the storm, wondering how long until it unleashed itself. Would there be enough time to go visit Rick? The police station wasn’t that far, and he should still have his twenty minutes of visitation time, nobody had gone to see him today. Beth could go see him.

“Beth?” Courtney seems to have asked a question that Beth has absolutely not heard.

“Sorry, can you say that again?”

Courtney sighs, but repeats her question; “You said Eclipso presented himself as a child?” “A child version of Bruce Gordon, yeah.” 

“Well then it’ll be…”

Courtney’s voice fades into obscurity as Beth spots her Dad’s car pulling into the driveway. He’s home early, this is too perfect. If she can convince him to drive her to go see Rick, then she’ll be good to go. It’s a foolproof plan, probably.

“Sorry Courtney, my dad just got home. I have to go.” Beth manages to get her words in between Courtney’s seemingly endless rambling.

“Oh, yeah of course. I’ll call you later, okay?” There’s a hint of disappointment to Courtney’s voice that makes Beth feel a little bad about the whole situation, but she really has to go see Rick.

“Yeah! For sure!” And with that she hangs up, sliding her phone into her bag. 

She’s still wearing her goggles, and spends a moment debating whether it’s safe to take them off or not. She resolves to put them in her bag just in case, not wanting to endure another questioning from her father regarding her wearing her ‘swimming goggles’ everywhere. Then she grabs her bag, pulls on a sweater and races down the stairs to see her Father.

“Dad! You’re home early!” Beth tries to put as much enthusiasm into her voice as possible, and judging on the smile her dad flashes her way her tactics are working.

“Yeah, work was worried about the weather so they sent everyone home early.” He’s already taking off his jacket and hanging it up. 

Once he gets his shoes off and sits down on the couch Beth knows he won't be moving. She has to act quickly. She steadies herself, shaking off any worries before she asks to go visit Rick. The worst he can say is no is all she keeps telling herself in a (failing) attempt to keep herself calm.

“So, dad.”

“What is it sweetie?” He’s halfway through unlacing one of his dress shoes.

“I was wondering if we could go visit Rick? You know, before the storm starts. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” She’s rushing her words, but her Dad seems to understand what she says perfectly well as he gets up and looks at her with some concern.

“Beth, it’s about to start raining any minute now. Don’t you think he can wait?”

“His hearing got cancelled today. I just think he could use someone to talk to, you know? The station isn’t that far away, I could walk there if you don’t feel like driving me-”

“Absolutely not. You’ll get soaked. I’ll drive you, but we have to be quick.”

Beth mentally jumps for joy, but she doesn’t vocalize her excitement, just offers her Father a smile.

“Thanks Dad!” 

Beth leans against the window as the car rolls down the street, her eyes scanning the dark clouds in the sky as they go. The drive to the police station seems to stretch on forever, especially with her Dad asking questions near-constantly. They’re just around the corner when her Dad asks,

“What is it with you and Rick anyway?”

“What?”

“Sorry, I mean, you two just seem close… You’d tell me if you had a boyfriend right? Your Mother and I would be so happy to hear that you-”

“Dad! No, it’s not like that! We… We're best friends, that’s it. He doesn’t really have anyone else, so I have to be there for him.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

The rest of the ride is silent.

Beth doesn’t tell her dad that she wishes her and Rick were more than best friends. It doesn’t feel like the right time to admit it. She doubts there ever will be a right time to admit it, but this would definitely be one of the absolute worst times. Her dad would never shut up about it. Not that that was a bad thing, Beth could talk about Rick and how much she cared about him for hours. But with her Dad? It doesn’t feel right. She continues scanning the clouds and fiddling with one of the straps on her bag while dwelling on thoughts of her relationship to Rick all the way to the police station parking lot.

Rick is slumped in his cell, leaning against the wall as he sits on his cot. This place is hell, but at least he doesn’t have to deal with Matt. That’s an upside. The downside is the fact that he rarely gets to see his friends, especially Beth. Beth. His mind lingers on her name a moment too long, and he has to shake his head in an attempt to dispel any thoughts of her. He’s found it best not to think about her unless she’s visiting him. Every time he does it feels like his soul is ripping in two, a deep ache in his chest that he can’t dispel, so he finds it better to not think about her altogether. As he sits now, staring at the blank ceiling of his cell, Rick hears footsteps approaching down the hall. Probably just a guard going for an hourly checkup. The steps however, stop in front of his cell, and Rick turns his head to see an Officer waiting at the door.

“There’s a visitor here for you Mr. Harris”

Rick cringes at the name, but forces himself not to say anything about it. He’d rather not start any kerfuffle. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be a bad storm out there? Why the hell is someone visiting me?” Rick wonders aloud and the Officer shrugs.

“Not my business. I just gotta get you to the phones, the faster the better. I have a break in ten.” The Officer sounds exhausted, and Rick can’t help but feel himself sympathizing.

He really just wishes he could fall asleep, and wake up to find all of this was a dream. It won’t happen of course, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. Sometimes he wonders if all this is one giant illusion done by Eclipso, if he’s still stuck in that hellish landscape. But nobody would visit him if he were still in Eclipso’s hellscape. He’s not sure if it’s reassuring to know he’s not still there, or awful to know he’s actually trapped in jail. It’s a lose-lose situation, really.

When Rick sees Beth waiting on the other side of the glass to see him, his heart does a flip. He spots her Dad standing awkwardly in the corner, and makes a mental note not to say anything too personal, and not to mention the JSA. All inhibitions leave his mind as soon as he sits across from Beth and picks up the phone, however. 

“Beth, what are you doing here?” He tries to keep his voice steady but he can't help the relief that he feels encompassing his entire body.

“Visiting you, obviously!” Beth smiles, and Rick swears he’s going to melt on the spot. Nothing but a puddle of love-struck Rick Tyler left on the chair. The Officer would have to mop him up to get him back to his cell. 

“I thought there was a storm out there? Shouldn’t you be at home preparing?”

Beth shrugs as if that’s the least of her worries, which it really shouldn’t be, but she doesn’t seem to share that sentiment.

“It hasn’t started yet. I figured I’d come check on you before it got too bad.” As if on cue the police station is shaken by a peel of thunder that makes Rick wince and the lights flicker. 

“You don’t need to check on me Beth, I’m doing fine.”

“I don’t care if I don’t need to check on you Rick. I want to. I want to make sure you’re okay, and not freezing, and well fed, and as happy as you can be given the conditions. I just… I just want you to be okay.”

Rick can’t help but smile at this, wishing more than anything to reach through the barrier separating him and Beth so that he could hug her. She’s too kind. Too good for Rick. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve her. Frankly, he probably doesn’t deserve her. And yet here she is. Making sure he’s okay. 

“Thanks, Beth. I’m doing okay. I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be alright.” This doesn’t seem to reassure Beth at all, but it’s all he can offer.

“You’re in jail, Rick. Of course I’m going to worry about you. There’s not really much else I can do.” Beth looks so serious, so distraught, and Rick hates himself for causing her so much stress. 

“I guess you’re right. But try not to worry too much, okay? I don’t want to stress you out. The thought of me stressing you out stresses me out.” He half-laughs, and butterflies fill his stomach as he sees Beth laugh with him. 

It’s a small laugh but it’s enough.

“Alright, I’ll try, I promise.” Beth agrees.

The conversation lulls into small talk about Courtney and how she’s doing, and how Yolanda still hasn’t called back. Nothing too consequential, but Rick likes it that way. Makes his life seem more normal if only for a moment. It reminds him of all the days spent with Beth in her living room or in the Pit Stop just rambling about nothing and everything. Enjoying each other’s company, because they had nobody else to talk to. Because they were made to talk to one another. Those are the days Rick misses the most. He just wants to go back in time to tell himself to enjoy those moments more, to take in everything Beth is saying, to tell Beth everything he’s feeling. Because right now it’s looking like he may never get the chance again. He wants more than anything to have that chance again.

The lights flicker once more, and that seems to spook the Officer enough that he puts a hand on Rick’s shoulder, gesturing for him to get up.

“It’s only been ten minutes.” Rick growls, and the Officer taps his watch idly in response.

“Twelve minutes actually. I’m sorry, really, I just want to get you back to your cell before things get worse. It’d be best your friend here goes home too, I don’t think anyone should be driving in this weather. Car accidents kill so many people every year, you wouldn’t believe it!”

Both Rick and Beth wince at that statement, and Beth shoots him a sympathetic look. Rick swallows down any malicious retort, knowing the Officer only has good intentions, deciding to respond with a nod. 

“I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” Beth reassures him as Rick starts preparing to leave, and he smiles at her softly. “Yeah, of course. Get home safely, okay?” “Of course I will. Sit in your cell safely, okay?”

Rick can’t help but laugh at that as he nods, blinking tears from his eyes.

“I always do.”

And then he’s hanging up the phone and being escorted down the hallway. He throws one last glance back at Beth as he goes, but she’s already talking to her Dad, so she doesn’t notice his longing stare as he’s carted away.

The walk back to Rick’s cell is relatively silent. Most of the other cells are empty, save for a few sleeping drunks in some of the holding cells. Blue Valley isn’t particularly known for it’s non-supervillain related crime. It is a small town after all, so Rick’s incident was quite the exception. As they reach his cell, and Rick steps inside, the Officer finally speaks up.

“You know, that girl really must care a lot about you to come all the way out here to see you in this weather. You’ve caught yourself a good one there Mr. Harris.” 

Rick gives a breathy laugh as he walks into the cell, sitting down on his cot. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” And he does. Beth is like no other girl he’s ever met, and for that he will forever be grateful. She’ll always be there for him, and he knows that as long as he’s alive he will always be there for her. 

He hopes it will stay that way forever. 

And a few blocks away, driving home in the pouring rain, she hopes for the same thing.

[scaryscarecrows]

I'd Crawl on Broken Glass to be the One That Laughs Last

Gotham’s gone straight to Hell in a handbasket. Scarecrow’s dead, which is no loss, but Bruce is missing, Arkham blew up for reasons unknown, and the Arkham Knight’s Militia is still in control. Oh, sure, there’s a fair chunk of them in lockup, but they’ve been getting steadily more riled as the days wear on (three days since the Asylum, their boss has to be dead, who’s in charge now?), and the tanks are still running patrols, the bombs are still in the road, and there are checkpoints and watchtowers everywhere.

Jim thinks they’re waiting for something. There’s been no assault, not like he thought there might be. The street thugs and any uncaptured Rogues are still allowed to run wild, though the watchtowers have been spotted taking shots at something big flying around out there. Honestly, they’re even leaving the police alone, for the most part...but they will still shoot at the cars if they get too close. It’s like they’re on babysitting duty or something until the Knight gets back. It’s unsettling.

He’s out doing a little exploration-he doubts they’ve killed Batman, or they’d be gone, but Bruce still isn’t around-when something drops onto the roof of his car. He hits the brakes, tires screeching, and narrowly avoids sliding into a tank crossing the road.

Breathe.

Jim has no time to go for his gun before the driver’s side door gets ripped open by what Jim can only describe as the Hulk. The man outside is only a little smaller than Bane*. There’s a rocket launcher on his back and Jim’s sure he’s not the one that landed on the car, because the car would be a pancake.

He’s proven right a second later when the polar opposite of the giant jumps down. That said, this guy might be tiny, but he moves like he knows half a dozen ways to kill you. The cherry on the disaster sundae? Both of them are wearing army fatigues.

Militia. Shit.

“Boys,” he says, already planning on how to get that rocket launcher from the big one, “don’t be stupid.”

The little one doesn’t say anything. The big one laughs and before Jim can move, he’s been pulled out of the car.

“Boss wants to see ya.”

So they have a boss. Who. Who is it? One of their own? Riddler? Penguin? Goddamn Deathstroke? Who is his new problem?

“No.”

“Sorry.” The man does sound mostly sorry. “Not really askin’. C’mon.”

Jim tries to slam his elbow into the man’s collarbone. He doesn’t even really get to move before the little guy grabs his arm and wrenches it behind his back. Not hard enough to dislocate it, but hard enough to be a warning.

“We don’t want to have to hurt you, Commissioner,” the big man says. “We’re just picking you up.”

“Go to Hell.”

A gun presses against his back. Fine. He’ll go. But he won’t like it.

* * *

He’s disarmed, bundled into an APC, and blindfolded. After way too many sharp turns and double-backs, he’s...somewhere in the underside of the city. He’s thinking over near Drescher.

Wherever it is, he’s pulled out of the APC, taken inside somewhere, and handed off to new hands. When the blindfold comes off, his kidnappers are nowhere to be seen.

The men in charge of him now (and only for now, give him time…) are less...unnerving...than the other two. One is wearing the white uniform of a medic, and the other is having a snack. Cashews? Cashews.

The medic is a man on a mission. Jim doesn’t even manage to get out a, ‘you’ll be sorry’ before the man’s turning on his heel, jaw working furiously, and snapping, “Come on.”

“Where are we going.”

“Boss wants to see you, won’t listen to reason. This way.”

He stalks off and the snacker chuckles.

“Cashew?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” They follow the medic down a crumbling hallway. “They didn’t scare you too much, did they?”

“What’s with the good-cop-bad-cop routine?” he demands. “Is your friend up there gonna come back and threaten to carve my face off?”

The man just laughs.

“Probably, but he does that to everyone.”

“Sometime today!”

Huh.

Jim thinks they might be in the old mall. Scarecrow had been driving that way when something had happened, and, well, if Jim were going to have an evil base of operations, this would be a good one. Lot of ways in and out, nobody ever comes down here anymore-too dangerous-and it’s big, big enough to hold tanks and soldiers and whatever else these boys have. When they round a corner, he sees a familiar logo and decides that yes, that’s where they are. Hm.

They round another corner and end up in the back of the building. Jim’s not sure what this was, but there’s a corridor lined with doors. The medic stops in front of one and turns, hands clasped behind his back.

“Twenty minutes and no more,” he snarls at Jim. “You’re lucky you get that many minutes. You try anything, you might live to regret it. Might. You tire him out, out you go, I don’t care if it’s been two minutes. Don’t touch shit, don’t knock shit down, don’t--”

“I think he’s got the picture,” his other escort soothes. “Don’t terrorize him.”

“Humph. With the amount of work I had to put in to keep his dumb ass alive, I’m entitled to terrorize people.”

“Still.”

“And I’ll tell you something else. You lay a finger, one solitary finger on him, you so much as breathe too hard--”

“There won’t be anything left to bury,” the other man says, smiles with all his teeth. “Here you go, Commissioner.”

“Twenty. Minutes.”

And then he’s shoved into a room with--and good God, how--the Arkham Knight.

The Knight is lying in bed. He looks the worse for wear, but Jim can’t quite muster up pity for him. This...this is his fault. Gotham, Bruce, Barbara…

He swallows down the rage. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because the Knight’s not alone. Jim supposes they wouldn’t just leave him unattended, not with those injuries, but still.

The Knight doesn’t seem to notice Jim. He’s certainly not looking at him. He’s looking at the laptop the other man has. Right now, at this exact second, he looks like a sick kid, wan and tired, eyes fluttering like he’s fighting to stay awake. But he’s not. Robin or not, he’s...the Knight’s not that boy anymore. Robin wouldn’t have done this, any of this. Robin’s dead.

“Sir.” The other man here isn’t wearing a uniform, he’s wearing jeans and a raggedy flannel that hangs open over some sort of band shirt. But his bearing is still that of a soldier’s, and the rifle leaning against the wall by his chair is top-of-the-line. “Gordon’s here.”

“Hrm?”

“Remember? You wanted to see him.” The Knight blinks a few times, heavy and confused, and tries to lever himself up before his companion reaches over to pin his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

More confused silence. Now that he’s moved his head, Jim can see his pupils are blown wide. That’s not a surprise. He’s pretty sure he was in Arkham when it came down, and he hadn’t looked well before that.

Serves him right, he thinks, remembering the cuts on Barbara’s cheeks and chin. Serves the bastard right.

He keeps his mouth shut. The laptop has been closed and set aside, and the rifle is now in its owner’s lap. It’s casual enough, but the threat’s there all the same: you’ll go through me to get to him.

He wonders, a bit, what drives these men. He doesn’t really care, but he wonders a little all the same. Even the ones in the cells have been resolute that ‘the boss’ will get them out, that he’s got everything in hand, just you wait and see.

...in their defense, Jim had thought he had to be dead, and yet here he is. So.

“S’right,” the Knight finally breathes. He sounds terrible, and Jim suddenly matches the purple swelling on his throat to handprints. That scares him. Not out of pity or sympathy, but because what little he’s seen of the man says he can handle himself. Whoever did that… “S’right.”

“You up for it?”

He’d better be. Jim was kidnapped off the street for this.

“Yes.” Good. “Glad to see you’re unharmed.”

No thanks to you, Jim doesn’t snap, resolutely ignores the memory of the Knight holding up his hands and telling Scarecrow, voice painfully earnest, to take him and let Jim and his men and Robin leave in one piece. He settles for a curt nod, can’t quite muster up a, wish I could say the same.

The Knight pulls in a painful-sounding breath and drops his head to the side.

“Bring up the footage for Commissioner Gordon, would you?”

“Yessir.” The laptop returns, balanced delicately over the rifle. Jim doesn’t know if he wants to know what’s going on. “Hang on...give it a sec to load…”

The Knight moves and visibly bites back a wince, but the new angle means that Jim can see the full extent of the bruising on his neck.

“There we go--you okay, boss?”

“Ribs,” he breathes. “They don’t like it when people zipline into them.”

What.

“Need me to call--”

“No.” He swallows hard and beckons Jim closer. “M’fine. Just sore. And stiff.” He clears his throat, grimacing. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount.”

“M’just not used to being still this long--”

“Deal,” his friend says sharply. The Knight just grins, but that annoys the other guy. “Did you miss the flatline bit?”

“Technically?”

“I--never mind.” He makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Never mind...okay, all set.”

He turns the laptop around and Jim hesitates before perching on the very edge of the bed. Nothing terrible happens to him.

“This is footage from my helmet. How it kept going after that level of trauma, I’ll never know, but my IT department managed to recover it remotely.”

The footage picks up in a dark area, abandoned sewer network or something, probably, and it’s glitchy and stuttery.

Bruce has been caught on camera before, but not like this. This is...savage, animalistic. He comes out of nowhere, dodging gunfire and seemingly oblivious to the shouts of surprise, and moves in via a flying kick to the camera itself, which goes white and static-y for a second. A few of them come up behind him and suffer backhands and powerful kicks for their troubles, and then Bruce fills up the frame, shoulders positioned like he’s got his arms out and...and...

He looks at the Knight, looks at the bruises around his neck, and looks back at the screen in time to see Bruce going down and being dragged backwards.

“He do this to you?”

The look the man gives him is so reminiscent of the little boy Jim remembers that it makes his head spin. It screams, I know you’re not really that stupid...right?

“Well, I didn’t do it to myself.”

“--okay, sir, I’m just gonna…”

The helmet moves and Jim spots the medic from earlier before it gets set on the ground, facing Bruce. Bruce is chained to a pipe, seemingly unconscious.

“Don’t talk, just nod. Can you breathe okay?”

There’s an obvious cut--they don’t want to share it all, apparently--and then Bruce stirs and starts...giggling. Jim knows that giggle.

“What the hell.”

The Knight shudders and burrows under his blankets.

“It’s complicated. We’re reasonably sure he’s been eliminated, or at the very least contained, but--” A hand moves, presumably indicating himself. “I made it out. He might have, too.”

His friend closes his laptop and sets it aside.

“We’ve got teams sweeping Arkham’s grounds to the best of our ability,” he says. “Unfortunately, we are not a rescue team and as such are not fully equipped to handle the more unstable areas. That said, given the police department’s...track record...we would very much prefer that your men stay out of our way until we either find the individual formerly known as the Batman, or definitively confirm his demise. We’re hoping that at the very least, any injuries he may have sustained slowed him down, but we can’t prove that, given the lack of video footage for the incident.”

“It’s our understanding that Batman has, at least for the time being, lost his fight against the effects of J.” The Knight swallows. “Of Joker’s blood. I attempted to contain him--”

“Contain, my ass,” his friend grumbles. The Knight ignores him.

“I attempted to contain him,” he says again, “via...ah…”

“He blew up the goddamn asylum with himself and Batman inside,” comes the sharp interjection. “In case you managed to miss that.”

Jim had not managed to miss that, thank you very much.

“I noticed,” he says dryly. The Knight huffs a painful-sounding laugh and falls silent.

There’s. There’s a lot Jim wants to say. The Knight was Robin, and Joker killed him (and made sure they all knew it, that tape, good God, he’d sent it to everyone and Jim remembers Dove bursting into tears when she tried to tell him), but he’s not dead now, and look at what he’s done.

Much as he’d like to demand answers--or at least bring half of that up--he won’t. He doubts the man with the laptop will react well; now that he really looks, the man’s tense, clearly poised to move if he has to.

Jim can probably take him. He absolutely can’t take the others that will come at the commotion.

There’s a small dinging sound, and silence, and then an urgent, “Sir. Sir.”

“Hrm?”

“We got something.”

The Knight blinks a few times before half-surging up and demanding, “Let’s go, let’s go, then, help me up--”

“Chair or Trent?”

“Neither--”

“Chair or Trent.”

“Chair,” he grumbles after a second. “But I can walk on my own--”

“Yeah, but if the doc sees you, he’ll be mad. Here it is.”

Jim moves, semi-prepared to offer to help but not really wanting to, but they must have a system, because the Knight’s in the chair with a blanket in short order.

“I feel like a cheap Bond villain,” he’s complaining now. “One that rolls down a ramp into an electrified pool or something.”

“Maybe next time, you’ll consider your life choices, sir.”

“They weren’t supposed to come back to haunt me!”

“I know, sir.”

“Christ...what do we have.”

Should he…? Sure, apparently.

What a day. He needs a drink. A good strong one.

“My understanding is it’s better seen than explained, sir. No body, I don’t think.”

“Fantastic...the bastard’ll survive anything.”

Jim privately thinks the same applies to him, but he doesn’t share that thought. He doubts it will go over well.

The computer room isn’t crammed full of people. There’s one guy on the monitors and another one-one of the ones from before, actually, the one with the cashews-lounging in a chair next to him, drinking a Coke.

“What’s going on, you said something turned up--” He doesn’t quite hide a shiver, but when the other people in the room zero in on him, he shakes his head and insists, “M’fine.”

“Boss, I can link this to a laptop if you’re s’posed to be in bed--”

“M’fine. Pull up the footage.”

“You’re not gonna like it,” monitor-guy says, spinning around and wheeling over to make room. “Looks like he got out, same as you.”

“Seriously?”

“Would I joke when it mattered, sir? Here, look. See this?” He makes the screen bigger. “That look familiar to you?”

It certainly looks familiar to Jim. Bruce’s cowl is difficult to mistake, and there it is, crumpled in the rubble. It’s singed, and one of the ears is broken, but it is Bruce’s cowl.

“Damn,” the Knight breathes, and...Jim doesn’t like admitting it, not after tonight, but...he looks so young. A scared little boy, that’s all. “That’s not good.”

“What do we do, sir?”

“We don’t even know for sure if he’s out.” The Knight’s friend leans over the chair to get a better look at the monitor. “Maybe he tried getting out and died, we don’t--”

“I made it out,” the Knight says quietly.

There’s a wave of annoyed grumbling that includes at least one, ‘self-sacrificing dumbass’ and a, ‘in spite of your best efforts’. Jim has to wonder about that one. He can’t muster up that much sympathy, but he does wonder.

The Knight just sighs and adjusts his blanket around his shoulders.

“Fair. Anyways, seeing as I found a way out, it’s not unlikely that he’s done the same, barring the. The possibility of an instant death. I suspect we wound up in a pocket, though, so.”

“You didn’t notice anything on your way out?” Jim demands. “Was he right with you?”

“I was--”

“Concussed and bleeding to death,” a new voice snaps. “And in no shape to be walking, let alone note-taking. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Briefing the--”

“Literally anybody else can do that.” The angry voice belongs to the medic from before. “You don’t seem to understand what ‘flatline’ means, sir, or maybe you’ve just got a death wish, but tough fucking titty, said the kitty, you’re not dying on my watch. Say bye-bye to the commissioner, you’re going back to bed and staying there or on God, I’ll put you in a coma and keep you there until you don’t have so much as a bruise. Do I make myself clear?”

Jim expects argument. None of the Robins ever let Batman boss them around to that extent, and he knows damn well that if he’d backtalked his superiors like that, he’d be in, frankly, deep shit. But the Knight just sighs.

“He’s been here long enough, anyway.” Long enough for what? “Keep your men out of our way, Commissioner. No offense, but Batman existed for a reason. You can’t handle him.”

Jim bristles.

“Can’t handle--”

“You know it’s true,” he snaps, and straightens up, turns to the man with the cashews. “Call everyone back.” All of a sudden that’s no longer a little boy playing Soldiers. That’s the man that crippled Gotham within hours. “I want everyone off the streets and back at base, now. Do not engage under any circumstances.”

“Yessir.”

“Get into the street cameras,” he continues. “If a rat comes out of a sewer, I want to see it. I want whatever drones we have left out and searching, but leave the car alone. That hasn’t worked so far and I’m not losing more--”

He must breathe wrong, because he suddenly starts coughing, harsh, violent whoops from down in his chest.

“Get him back to bed,” the medic orders once the coughs cease. “Or he’ll be Snow White and believe you me, nobody is getting in here to kiss him awake.”

“Jones--”

“We can handle this, sir. We’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“But--”

“You trained us for this, remember? We’re professionals.”

The Knight falls silent, one hand still pressed against his ribs, and finally melts back into his chair.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Bye, commish.”

He doesn’t recognize the men that take him back. The streets are empty, though, barring the patrolling drones, and they make it back to the GCPD unscathed.

Unfortunately, Jim returns to, quite frankly, a disaster. The officers on duty are tied up, and the militia cells are empty. Not a man left. He’s just freeing Cash when the broadcast screen crackles and the Knight appears on it, face serious.

“I mean it, Commissioner,” he says. “Keep out of the way, or I’ll put you in a cell instead.”

“You--”

“Tell Bullock hey for me, would ya?” He leans forward. “Stay safe.”

Click.

THE END

*I’m figuring Bane is bigger than the Giant Mooks because his boss fight consists of you jumping on him to slash his Venom tubes AND because he can and will run you over, while Giant Mooks of any affiliation are not rideable and don’t run.

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were

inspired by conan gray’s “heather”

warnings: stepsibling incest (not yet but that’s the whole premise), underage masturbation, underage sex, angst. peter’s like 16 and a half, Tony’s almost 18

word count: 2.2k

summary: peter’s in love with his big brother. no biggie. (spoiler alert: it’s a big deal)

(A/N: okay this has been living in my head rent free for over a month. i've written more, but it's not fully fleshed out yet. 

i figured i would post this and see if anyone is interested in reading it before i put a bunch more effort in lmao. this is filth. most of the angst comes later lololol (and more filth).

i hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think / if you'd like to read more!

- bloo)

PART ONE

Peter stands at his locker, desperately trying to blend in and remain unseen as he switches out his English textbook for Physics. The school year is basically over, given that it’s the last week of May but he’s still not comfortable in the junior-senior hallway. He’s always been the youngest (and therefore smallest) kid in most of his classes, given that he’s been in the ‘gifted & talented’ track since middle school. (He’s on track to graduate next year, taking his last few mandatory classes and completing an internship for additional credit.) This year, Peter feels even smaller than usual; maybe because most of the seniors are already eighteen, while as a sophomore, he isn’t even seventeen. He doesn’t have many friends this year, because of it. Ned moved away last summer because his dad got a new job, and, well, he’d never really needed more than Ned before. 

“Hey Pete-squeak,” comes a voice from behind, making him jump. Rolling his eyes, Peter pivots slightly to face the newcomer. The infestation of butterflies that he's been harboring for the past few months begins to flutter immediately, tickling the walls of his stomach as his cheeks flush lightly.

The voice belongs to a tall (or, well, taller than Peter, anyway), ridiculously handsome boy with dark hair and dark eyes, walking towards Peter with his hands in his pockets. The cheeky smirk on his face is all but permanent, but the small, genuine smile it slips into is something that Peter holds close to his chest, something that is typically reserved for him.  

Tony, his older brother, is pretty much Peter's favorite person in the world. Technically, he’s Peter’s step brother. Maria, his mom, and Peter’s dad Richard got married when Peter was a year old and Tony was almost three. They’d essentially spent their whole lives together; neither of them could really remember anything before. They’ve always been close, but that’s changed a little bit this year.

“Hey Tony,” Peter chirps, reaching back into his locker to grab his physics binder. He tries to act natural, even though he feels anything but. His heart’s going a mile a minute inside his rib cage. He feels a little ridiculous, he has for the past few months. Swallowing, he manages to sound relatively calm. “You read the last 2 chapters of Beowulf, right? Mrs. Herrera gave us a pop quiz last period.” 

The older teen groans. Closing his eyes, he throws his head back, a metallic thunk sounding as it collides with the locker he’s leaning back on. “Fucking hell. The final paper is due in like four fucking days! Is that not enough?” It’s quiet for a moment as Tony pauses before he opens one eye, cutting it to look at Peter. “What were the answers?” 

Peter snorts in response, shutting his locker. “Not happening, T.”  He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and lets the left side of his body rest against the cool metal. Three minutes til the bell rings, and Mr. Riley’s class is right across the hall. So he’s essentially got three minutes to indulge himself and the fuzzy warmth that’s running through his veins. He loves any time he gets to spend with Tony. “You’re lucky I told you at all, be grateful.” 

Tony wrinkles his nose at him. “Rude,” he scoffs in mock offense. “I know you can remember them,” comes his teasing accusation. (And he’s right. Peter can recall the entirety of the quiz, but he’s still not going to enable Tony.) Then he pauses and raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. “Is that my sweatshirt?” The garment in question is a worn and slightly faded black Led Zeppelin USA 1977 crewneck sweatshirt. Peter’s wearing it over a charcoal and white check button-up. The sweatshirt is one of Tony’s favorite pieces of clothing, he wears it all the time (hence why Peter...borrowed it...without asking).

Having mentally prepared himself to be questioned at some point, Peter’s reply is already on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, it ended up in my laundry and once I put it on it was too cozy to take off. And it looks good with these jeans and the button-up. And my boots. Trying out a new look,” he finishes, smiling as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Tony often teased him about the thick, clear-but-slightly-pink frames, but Peter hadn’t wanted glasses at all (he doesn’t need any more reasons to be teased, thank you), but he likes these. They make him look cute, more feminine. More like someone Tony could want. 

“You’re right,” Tony smiles. One of his hands comes up to playfully ruffle at Peter’s russet hair. “Looks great on you, kid.” There’s warm affection in his voice. 

Peter feels his cheeks go hot again, and he wills the flush to go away. He can’t take compliments from Tony, now- they make him ache and preen simultaneously. He knows that Tony doesn’t mean it the way he wants. Peter knows that Tony would never speak to him again if he knew what was really going on inside his little brother’s head. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

Speaking of stomachs. “Hey,” he starts as he fingers through the papers in his physics binder, attempting to find the problem set that’s due today. “Did you ever catch up on Hell’s Kitchen? I’ve been rewatching episodes trying to wait for you, but you’re taking too long. You saw the episode where Gordon-” Peter’s heart falls to his stomach and he abruptly stops speaking when he looks up to notice that Tony isn’t looking at him anymore, barely seems to be listening. 

It falls completely out of his ass when he sees just what, just who, has stolen his attention. 

“Sorry, Pete, gotta go,” Tony mutters once he realizes that Peter’s stopped talking, shooting him a hasty smile and shoving off the navy metal. He skirts past Peter, a slight skip in his step as he makes his way down the hallway. 

Peter's swallows and clenches his jaw as he watches his brother walk straight to her, the bane of his existence. The reason he and Tony don’t spend as much time together anymore. The object of Tony’s affections. Pepper. She's...everything Peter wishes he could be, honestly. Tall, somehow a perfect mix of skinny & curvy, bright blue eyes, long strawberry-blonde hair. She's perfect. And not only in looks; she's also ridiculously smart. If Tony wasn’t valedictorian, she surely would be. She even volunteers at the local soup kitchen every weekend, and Peter’s pretty sure she reads to dogs at the animal shelter once a month. He hates that Pepper is so nice; he hates that he can't hate her without hating himself for it. 

As if he didn't have enough self-loathing already.

***

Peter exits the bathroom that connects his bedroom with Tony’s after gently flicking the lock on his brother’s door to disengage it, the soft ‘snick’ ridiculously loud in the quiet of the house. He’s the only one home; Mom and Dad are at some sort of event for Dad’s law firm, and Tony went to a party at Rhodey’s house. (Tony had insisted that Peter was invited, but he had to know that the younger would never go- why would he want to be surrounded by drunk, horny, belligerent teenagers? The last thing he wanted to see was Tony and- )

There’s a dark gray towel loosely wrapped around his waist, so loose he has to clutch it in his hand to keep it from falling. He closes his own bathroom door behind him and drops the towel, digging through his underwear drawer to pull out a random pair of plaid boxers. 

After sliding them on, the brunette takes a deep breath and lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head. He tries to consciously relax his muscles, the tension of the day not having melted away during his shower like he had hoped. Time for Plan B. It’s never let him down before. Peter reaches for his phone and unlocks it before swiping through his apps to open Spotify. The sound of “Dazed and Confused” fills the air through his speakers, and he sets it to repeat on a loop. It’s a little fucked up, the way he’s conditioned himself to respond to this song, but- Peter knows the whole thing is fucked up; he’s fucked up. 

Closing his eyes, he does the only thing he’s been capable of for months: he thinks of his older brother. 

He’s growing fond of the new facial hair Tony’s trying out; he wonders how it would feel against his skin. Which areas would be the most sensitive to its touch? His thighs? His neck? Peter’s head tilts back and to the side as he imagines wet, warm lips and the scratch of stubble. Just the thought, the phantom sensation, makes a soft mewl leave his mouth. It’s a little ridiculous how easy he can get himself going, when he thinks of Tony’s touch, of his body. Of his love. In his boxers, his cock shifts against his thigh as it begins to fill out. 

The sensual, plucky bassline and wailing guitars of the song drag along, and so does Peter’s breathing as he brings a hand up to pinch at one of his nipples. He imagines the way Tony would tease him until he was whining, begging for release. He supposes it wouldn’t be dissimilar to his older brother’s typical manner of playfully taunting him. Maybe Tony would pin him down like he did when they were younger, climb on top of him and hold him there with the muscles he’s gained from boxing in the garage. The opportunities he’s had to see the older teen breathing heavy, shirtless and glistening with sweat, would be forever ingrained in his mind. The mental image sends more blood rushing south and his dick throbs as it quickly reaches full hardness, drawing a gasp from his mouth. 

Peter takes himself in hand, studying the details of his cock. He knows he’s not huge, but he’s at least on the larger side of average. It’s flushed a deep, mauve-y pink, and he traces the line of a vein on the side with the tip of his pinkie. A shiver shoots down his spine. He wonders how similar it is to Tony’s. Is he circumcised like Peter is? Is he bigger? Longer, thicker even? Sure, he’s seen him naked before, when they were younger changing or in the bath, but that stopped around the time Tony was seven or eight. 

(Tony and Peter had come home from school one day, and Peter’s head had been reeling over what he heard some older girls saying on the bus. He’d decided to ask Tony about it. His big brother knew everything. ...Mom & Dad caught them kissing in their bedroom. That was the end of bathing together, and Tony got his own room, too. Peter never forgot about the way his big brother’s lips felt against his own.) 

A bead of precum oozes out of his tip and Peter rubs his thumb over it, smearing the liquid over his cockhead. Robert Plant’s voice moans over the speaker and Peter echoes the sound as he slowly strokes himself with a loose grip, his hole tightening around nothing. Biting his lip, he hesitates before slipping his left pointer finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it sloppily. Once it’s wet, he reaches down and gently presses the pad of his finger against the tightly furled muscle between his cheeks. His breath hitches as the sensation; he’s only touched himself down here a couple of times before. 

The tip of his finger begins to breach his opening and a whine leaves Peter’s mouth. It stings a bit so he tries to relax, muscles fluttering, making a mental note to grab some lube next time he goes to the drugstore. He wants to be able to stretch himself out more, to imagine Tony’s fingers, Tony’s cock, splitting him open and stuffing him full. Fuck-

Tightening his grip on the base of his cock, Peter grits his teeth and grunts softly as he pulls his finger from his ass. He can’t cum yet- he’s not done. He reaches under his pillow, pulling out the balled-up t-shirt that’s taken up residence there. The black fabric has faded in some spots, and the Black Sabbath logo is cracked and worn; it’s one of Tony’s favorite shirts. Peter brings the soft cloth up to his nose, fumbling with it to find the area with the strongest smell. There are hints of Tony’s Old Spice deodorant mixed with a scent that’s distinctly Tony, a warm, masculine musk that has saliva pooling in Peter’s mouth. Delirious, fucking his hand to the beat, he wishes he had dug a little further in the hamper, pulled out a pair of Tony’s briefs. 

That’s the thought that does him in. Peter cums into his fist, gasping his brother’s name, the sound getting muddled in the maelstrom of guitar and drums. Thick ropes of jizz splatter on his stomach and chest, entire abdomen heaving with his breaths. 

He wipes the mess up with Tony’s t-shirt before tucking the fabric back under his pillow for safe keeping.

to be continued???

[dornish-queen]

Pedro Pascal - La Vanguardia

With Javier Peña's mustache as his hallmark, the 'Narcos' and 'Game of Thrones' actor is filming in Budapest with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

Pascal, cultured, seductive and reflective, repeats as Loewe's ambassador for its Solo Mercurio perfume and is a model for 'Magazine Lifestyle'

SYLVIA MARTI   12/13/2020 06:00

 Casual striped jacket, tousled hair, exquisite punctuality, and a room in Budapest. There is something about this man, generous in smiles and answers, great talkative, attractive without clichés. Pedro Pascal, 45 years old and face success. He shot The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León, who apparently encouraged the show a lot; We see him without seeing him in the Star Wars universe as a galactic bounty hunter in The Mandalorian and he is Maxwell Lord, the eighties villain of Wonder Woman 1984 , perhaps the only blockbuster that, if nothing goes wrong, will make us happy Christmas.

Session in Budapest The Chilean actor shoots 'The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent' in the Hungarian capital with Nicolas Cage and Paco León

(full article and photos under the cut)

Chilean by birth, his family left the country fleeing the Pinochet dictatorship when he was a baby. Brief passage through Denmark and new life in San Antonio (Texas). Normal when speaking in your mother tongue some words in English slip through. Think before answering a question without losing spontaneity or being afraid of silence. An art. 

There is still Javier Peña's mustache, which catapulted him to fame from Narcos , and you can recognize that little point of joyous irony of Prince Oberyn Martell, who almost ended the Mountain in Game of Thrones . Two roles that have opened doors that he has managed to keep safe from slamming doors and have allowed him to skip the toll of stereotyped roles. Today Pascal, well trained in theater and loved by the cameras, can do whatever he wants. Even dedicating a Saturday to star in a fashion shoot and speak exclusively for Lifetsyle Magazine .

"Nobody knows me but everyone thinks they know me," he said when he debuted as the face of Solo Loewe perfume. Introduce yourself with four words.”

I do not define myself only by them, but I am contradictory, faithful, loyal, sensitive and, at times, a bit geek.

What would surprise me about you if you knew him better?

That although I live life and enjoy family, friends and social connections a lot, I have a lonely point. I like having my space and the option of staying a day at home in a relaxed and cocoon plan .

“Even though I live life and really enjoy family, friends and social connections, I have a lonely point.”

With Covid-19, many of us are already a little tired of staying at home ...

Yes, now that I don't have much choice to go out, I'm afraid of not being able to go back to the theater, to a party, to a dinner with many people ... I really regret those times that, instead of going out, I stayed at home.

Which character has left the most impression on you?

I miss Peña, from Narcos . It was my first leading role, the first time I had time to develop the character, create his energy, his style ... They gave me a lot of freedom to shape it, even if it was based on a real person. I was able to work on it, make it my own, create the tone, invent and deepen.

Do you easily get rid of them when filming is over?

When I was younger I was very clear that they had to be left at work, that the character had to be separated from the person. I thought that with age it would get easier and easier but, surprisingly, the opposite happens to me: it gets harder and harder. Energy cannot always be organized the way we would like and I have to admit that I take some of my characters home with me.

Have you incorporated any of their phrases into your life?

Maxwell Lord has a very attractive in Wonder Woman 1984 : "Everything is fine, but it could be better."

Very eighties. Like the one Gordon Gekko said on Wall Street (1987): "If you want a friend, buy yourself a dog." Have we advanced or are we already for the fourth pet?

We have come a long way. I am very inspired by young people, their strength to face in an original way that win, win and win system that reached a monstrous level in the eighties. Today's young people go deeper into the need to respect a planet in which we all live together and the obligation to take care of it.

“Young people inspire me, they deepen the need to respect a planet and the obligation to care for it.”

I see you optimistic ...

I am a realistic and hard-working optimist. My first impression is that the glass is half empty, I have to find arguments to see it half full.

Is it true that you drew the comic strips to interact with them as a method to immerse yourself in your character in 'Wonder Woman 1984'?

I made a book with images from the eighties and sixties, comic book drawings, papers, erasers, colored pencils, markers and vignettes to better understand what it was to be a man of that decade, how his attitude was forged ... It was a way to focus to live up to what Patty (Jenkins, the director) asked for, which was a lot, and not lose sight of it. I'm a horrible cartoonist, but I had to do something practical to study, understand, and develop the character.

What does a script or a role have to have to get their attention?

Sense of humor. Even if it is a drama, a hero, a villain ... Humor immediately hooks me.

A good shield to go through life ...

The best. It is the most important thing to survive.

Do you remember the last time you laughed out loud?

Paco León immediately came to mind. When he's on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot. The entire production loves it. It has made filming more fun.

“When Paco León is on set, here in Budapest, we are all happier and we laugh a lot”

 What fascinates you most about the Star Wars universe?

Nostalgia, the huge audience it has, the ability to reach so many people. It reflects our childlike imagination without limits. Create more and more worlds with all kinds of people and species. He is capable of casting the universe

What is your definition of success?

Have a healthy relationship with yourself. Nothing matters if you don't love yourself.

What would you have done if you had not succeeded as an actor? Did you have a plan B?

No. Perhaps the only thing that could have been useful to others is acting as a literature teacher, as a counselor or advisor for people who need help ... I am a bit of a therapist with my friends. And it must work, because they come back. I have a lot of common sense.

What is elegance to you? Has your relationship with Loewe influenced the way you dress?

In that of elegance I am a student, I am learning. I wear what is comfortable but I also have very finite taste and, when motivated, I really like to express myself with style. And when it comes to style, Loewe is on top of everything.

Something material that would save from a fire.

A book. I always have one on hand. Now I am rereading The Magic Mountain , by Thomas Mann. Literature is one of my passions. It is an extension of life. The problem would be to choose only one, there are so many! My identity is made by inspirations from authors, actors, dancers, the art world, the sea ... There is no self without the influence of all the things that inspire me.

“The sea is what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.”

The sea…

It's what I like the most in life. I have respect, curiosity and love for him on a religious level.

If he gets lost, I know where to look for him.

On a boat in the middle of the sea, on an island, on the beach in Chile ... Everything related to water. One of the first smells I remember, although I don't know if it's too attractive, is the chlorine in the pool.

What is your fastest way to disconnect?

Losing your mobile phone. I fell down the stairs in Dubrovnik and at first it was like, "Oh noooo." But then I thought, "Well, a week without him." I had a certain feeling of liberation. Not having to be aware of e-mails, messages ... I find it very strong that people communicate even through a direct message from Instagram. I refuse.

Now that you quote them, how are you getting along with the networks? (He has 1.5 million followers on Intagram)

I am quite active, I use it when I have a good time, but also to express myself and to give my opinion.

“I will say goodbye to the year with a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me well but the collective suffering and fear this year….”

What is your favorite word?

Oxymoron. I like its meaning and its sound

Who would you like to shut up, as you did in the first Loewe Solo ad?

Personally, I would love to shut up that heavy, bad voice, the imp that we all have in our heads. That it's nice to have him and that, and I know he will never go away, but it would be nice if he shut up sometimes. Collectively I think we would all like to shut up one person.

Trump?

I suppose.

What have you learned from this rare year?

That you cannot live without human contact. For me the deep and simple connections with my friends and family is the only thing that matters.

How will you fire him?

With a kiss and raising the middle finger. He has treated me very well but the collective suffering and fear this year….

*article translated with google chrome. Source of article*

[scribbles97]

Mending Bridges

FINALLY found my writing mojo again! Not sure where it's been other than hiding under a rock somewhere... and it is back in style with some rather mean John fic.

@gumnut-logic thank you for poking the muse with me <3

John hadn’t really wanted to go back, but Eos was persistent as ever and always seemed to know just how to persuade him. It shouldn’t have really surprised him, she was born of his mind, and all Tracy’s were just as stubborn.

Which was perhaps what made going back quite so hard.

When it came to his family he knew no bridges were really burned. Charred maybe, definitely missing a few struts, but never truly beyond repair.

At least so he hoped.

Some brothers were more forgiving than others.

Virgil had been the obvious person to reach out to. The peacemaker, the one that had been the last to give up on John himself. He had hardly even needed to ask forgiveness, had barely admitted how screwed up his plan had been before his heavy-lifting brother had insisted it was forgotten.

His invite home had been quick to follow but he knew that more apologies were needed before he would dare consider the trip.

Tears had flowed as he had met his father’s eye across the hologram, unsure of what to expect of a father so hardened by life but so deep rooted in a belief that family was everything.

A belief that John had shut out so hard and fast out of fear and hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Had been the first thing to pass his lips, something in his chest shattering at the realisation of just how much he had missed his father’s reassurance, grown man or no.

There hadn’t been anger in the grey-blue of his father’s eyes. That had been what John had expected. What kind of son upped and left just years after bringing their father home? He had been sure there would be scorn, after everything the family had fought for he had been the one to simply walk away.

“Are you well, son?”

It had sounded wrong, and John knew better than to blame the connection. The crack in his fathers voice had been nothing to do with static, nor had the glassiness in his eyes.

Assurances that he was as well as he could be had seemed to be enough for his father to ask if he was returning to the Island. Though from the look in his eye, John had been sure it was a plea rather than a question.

It had felt almost as shameful as leaving had done to ask for a ride.

Not that Dad had minded in the slightest. He had seemed more than willing to offer the lift personally, and it wasn’t until after he had hung up that John realised just what a relief that it had been.

Even for an introvert, he knew he had been away from his family for too long.

Looking back, he realised that he had needed them in that time more than ever.

Perhaps Eos had been right, his stubbornness had done him more harm than good.

Her point was only further proven when his father had arrived and John had collapsed into tears at the realisation of just how long it had been. Apologies had fallen unbidden from his lips as Dad had pulled him into his chest with assurances much softer than John thought he deserved.

“John?”

He hadn’t expected the voice, and his father had looked only slightly apologetic at the appearance of his youngest brother in the doorway.

His baby brother that was no longer a kid.

No longer a kid, but still showed fear as if he was.

Guilt had turned his chest to ice.

Alan had immediately melted it.

His kid brother always had been quick to forgive.

And always destined to outgrow his big brothers, John had quickly realised as they had walked down to the waiting car.

Gordon had called on the way to the airport, his own apology quick from his lips. Rescues came first, but that hadn’t meant he didn’t care.

Out of all of them, John had expected him to understand the most. Gordon was the one that had been the closest, the only one that truly had to face the reality of losing the most important thing in his life.

A quiet look across the comm had confirmed it. There didn’t need to be any apologies, his sea loving brother probably would have done something just as rash.

***

The cavernous hangar seemed smaller than he remembered, but the cool of the shade it provided was as welcome as ever. The smell of paint and hydraulics was familiar, one of the last memories he had had on the Island before he had left and one he had clung to with everything he had had.

Two was missing, as was Four in her tank. One and Three sat proud as they always had done, their colours just slightly off from what he had pictured in his head. He caught his gaze lingering a moment too long before he registered just what he was looking at in one of the darker corners of the gantry.

It was impossible to ignore the swelling in his throat as his eyes focussed on the clear fresh white of the number five painted on to one of the docking clamps.

He would never go up there again.

“Son.” Dad’s voice was soft as a warm hand caught his shoulder.

The shiver that ran through him was nothing to do with the temperature of the hangar.

“I’m fine.” He nodded, “Where’s Scott?”

“Lounge.” Dad murmured, “Are you sure you--”

“Yeah,” He cut him off, knowing it was a lie to both of them, “I need to do this first.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he butted heads with his oldest brother, in the back of his mind he doubted it would be the last.

The other pair hung back as he made his way along the familiar halls up to the lounge. Part of him felt wrong, like an intruder that wasn’t meant to be there. It had been far too long, and even then he knew now he had never been home as much as he should have been.

None of it had changed though, not the colour of the paint on the walls, nor the solid wood flooring at his feet. The pictures in the hallways of the residential areas were the same as they always had been. He had stumbled slightly at the entrance to the longe, catching himself at the sight of his own portrait still amongst that of his brothers in a uniform he would never wear again.

Scott was sat at the desk. Dad’s desk.

It was always Dad’s desk, even if Scott spent more time there than anyone.

Some things never changed.

“You’re back.”

He hadn’t expected him to speak first, though had been equally unsure as to what to say. There hadn’t been anything more to say to his big brother, not after John had ignored all the pleas for him to come home.

Where Alan forgave easily, Scott bore a grudge.

Especially when it came to family.

“I’m sorry.” He started, unsure what else there was to say.

“Sorry.” Scott scoffed, shaking his head as he sat back in the leather of the seat, “Like that fixes everything, huh?”

“No.” John agreed softly, knowing full well that apologies all round didn’t change what he had done.

He was back though, and very much in need of the family he had abandoned.

“Scott I know--”

“No!” Scott slammed his hands onto the wood of the desk, standing as he did with a glare as cold as ice, “You have no idea John.”

It was from years of experience handling his big brother that John knew better than to interrupt.

“You were dying.” Scott continued, holding his gaze as he spoke every bit of venom in his voice hitting hard, “I was watching you die from a thousand miles away and you wouldn’t let us do anything to help. You didn’t answer our calls, our texts. Eos wouldn’t even tell us what the hell was going on. For all we knew you could have been dead.”

All along John had known that was the crux of the matter. He knew just what he had done and how wrong it had been of him, even if he had had his reasons at the time.

He dropped his gaze as Scott’s voice softened to a disgusted whisper, “How could you shut us all out like that? Did you not think we would want to help?”

Of course he knew they would have wanted to help, they were his family, his brothers, helping was what they did.

“That was the problem.”

It was barely a whisper, but he knew Scott would hear.

His big brother always heard everything they had to say.

“What?”

“You all wanted to help.” He looked back up, finding his voice with his confidence, “I couldn’t do anything for myself. I’d gone from living practically alone to being constantly surrounded, I was losing everything Scott and I was being suffocated by it all.”

Wrapping his arms around himself in the only form of comfort he had known for so long, he looked out to the sea. The scene beyond the windows was one he knew so well, one he had longed for but not dared to return to.

“Everyone was trying to help, but I couldn’t help anyone. I’d lost my job, my home, my place. I was fighting a battle I thought I was going to lose. So I thought it would hurt less if I just left.”

He could see Scott’s reflection in the glass, could see big brother watching him leant over the desk.

“I’m sorry now that I did.” He continued, not trusting himself to look back, “I know that doesn’t change it, or make it okay. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

The silence was long and painful. John could feel his stomach twisting tighter with every moment that passed until he was forced to glance over at Scott.

Big brother's shoulders had fallen, his entire face dropper from the steel that had been there just minutes earlier.

“We would have been there for you.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to push you further away.”

“You didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you just ask for some time to yourself?”

He didn’t dare admit the truth, that he had asked but it hadn’t been heard - that his family had been so determined to make things better they had lost sight of what he had needed.

“He did, Scott.”

Both looked around at their father’s entrance.

John straightened, looking back to Scott to gauge his reaction to a truth he had been too afraid to admit.

“We just didn’t listen.”

Scott’s head whipped back to John, the single question in his eyes.

He could only nod in confirmation.

Hands clenched against the wood of the desk as Scott straightened his stance, gaze fixed on John as he shook his head slowly.

“And you’re here, asking us to forgive you?”

John shrugged, “You were all just doing what we always did… helping.”

“Yeah.” Scott scoffed with another shake of his head, “In all the wrong ways. Jeeze, John I...”

He stepped around the desk as he trailed off, crossing the space in two short steps.

“Are you okay?”

The lump in his throat had swollen again as his brother’s hand had made contact, his stomach rolling in a mix of so many emotions he wasn’t sure he could keep up. For all he had once protested against his brother’s displays of affection, it was something he had gone too long without.

“Remission.” He nodded, swallowing hard as his voice cracked, “I’m good.”

Arms that had been a safe haven since Mom had died wrapped around him, pulling him in to a familiar warmth that he so needed.

“For a genius you are such an idiot.”

He scoffed against Scott’s shoulder, “That makes two of us big brother.”

Across the room, Jeff Tracy smiled at his two boys, nodding in satisfaction and making a mental reminder to thank Eos later for getting John back where he belonged.

[holylulusworld]

Sammy

Summary: Only one person gets to call Sam, Sammy – right?

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker

Warnings: light smut, mentions of oral (female receiving), language, mentions of blood, mentions of characters death

You hate the way Dean acts around that new hunter. Since John is gone Dean is out for blood. Sadly, Gordon Walker offers blood - a huge amount of blood.

Proudly he tells you he killed his sister when she got turned. Your stomach churns whilst your hunter instinct tells you to get away from that man. He’s trouble, dangerous even, you just know it.

Tense you meet Sam’s eyes, a mirror of your emotions. He crosses his arms over his wide chest, not liking the way Dean bonds with that cruel killer. Unbeknownst of your doubts Dean seems to be in his element, talking about the latest hunt with Gordon.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” Gordon muses, meeting your eyes but you look away, not liking the hunter.

“You all right, Sammy?” Dean watches his brother's face, hating Sam doesn’t seem to like their new hunting partner.

“Peachy, Dean. Everything is just great,” you can hear the venom in Sam’s voice.

“You should relax a bit, Sammy,” Gordon tries to flash a smile but it comes out wolfish and you shudder, liking him even less. You don’t know why you do not like him. He got the job done. Fast. Deadly. Precise.

When you hunt with other partners, you never had the feeling you need to watch your back. Neither Rufus nor Bobby ever gave you that much bad vibes.

Sam dips his head, jerking it toward his elder brother. “He's the only one who gets to call me that,” your stomach drops hearing Sam’s doesn’t like hearing anyone else but his brother calls him by his nickname, “and I can imagine better things to relax than decapitations,” Sam blushes, glancing at you but you didn’t catch his words or the way his eyes roamed your body.

“You can be a hunter and like it. Nothing wrong with having fun with your job,” the hunter raises his glass, glancing at you. “Right, Y/N?”

“I did not become a hunter to have fun, Mr. Walker. I did become a hunter as a pack of werewolves ripped my family and best friend apart,” you get up slamming the bottle of beer you were nursing onto the table. “I do not love my job or have fun killing monsters and risking my life. I do it as this is the way to pay those bastards back who ruined my life. Excuse me if you using unnecessary violence and cruelty doesn’t float my boat,” you turn to leave, storm off without looking back.

“I’ll talk to her,” Sam gives his brother a disapproving look. “She ain’t wrong, Dean. Before I kill the mood too, I’ll go back and take care of our friend.”

“Y/N, wait,” Sam slings his arm around your shoulders, pressing you to his chest. “I am sorry that guy is an ass.”

“I saw it in his eyes, he loved killing those vamps, Sam. I mean, I do it too but only to save people and prevent others from getting hurt or killed,” you look up at Sam, giving him a sad smile. “We shouldn't work with him again.”

“I’ll call Ellen and Bobby, dig out some information when we are back at the motel,” Sam presses his forehead against yours, humming when you sigh his name.

“Great idea, Sam,” it’s the first time you did not use his nickname, and Sam wonders if you are mad at him too. “I can have a shower meanwhile, wash the bad feeling of my body.”

“What did Bobby and Ellen say?” Sam gulps watching you walk out of the shower in a towel. You need to repeat your question and snap your fingers in front of Sam’s face until he finally realizes you talked to him. “Sam?”

“Didn’t reach Bobby, guess he’s on a hunt too,” nodding you sit onto the bed to search for clean clothes, failing epically. “Ellen, I do not know her well but I don’t think she would lie to me,” you nod again, still rummaging in your bag.

“Do you have a clean shirt for me, Sam?” you snicker when Sam nods, eyes glued to your exposed legs. “Sam? Sam, did you hear me?”

“Yeah…sure,” his eyes drift toward your chest, imagining to run his tongue over your nipples he tugs at his suddenly too-tight pants. “I’ll give it to you.”

“Great,” jumping up you hold out your hand, wondering why Sam’s eyes are glued to your legs. He seems to be lost in thoughts before you can watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “The shirt?”

“Ellen, she said Gordon Walker means trouble,” whilst Sam gets up to hand you one of his clean shirts you drop the towel, revealing you are only in your panties.

Even though you have your back toward Sam you can feel his gaze on you. “So my instinct was right. I sensed that guy is dangerous.”

“Dangerous, right,” you shiver feeling Sam’s fingertips slide over your exposed back. “So dangerous and beautiful.” His lips press soft kisses along your shoulder, and you melt against the hunter.

The shirt in your hands drops to the floor feeling his hands slide over your stomach to hold you against his chest. “Why don’t you call me Sammy anymore,” Sam’s voice is not boyish any longer. There is an edge in it letting your panties dampen. “I like it when you call me Sammy.”

“You said,” Sam slips his hand into your panties and you lean your head against his body, “only Dean can call you Sammy.”

“I wanted to rile that asshole up, baby,” his fingers toy with your clit while you melt into Sam’s body. “Now I want you to be good and spread wider to let me make you feel good.”

“Sammy,” voice trembling you follow Sam’s order, spread your legs to let him run his fingers along your slick folds. “Please…”

Dean didn’t come back to the motel room and you thanked whoever is up there for that or he would’ve witnessed you scream Sam’s nickname in different octaves.

Right now, he has you spread out, legs pushed up to your chest to go even deeper.

Sweat runs out of every pore of your body, your voice became hoarse half an hour ago whilst he was between your thighs, but Sam is still going at it.

His shaggy hair glued to his forehead, a dirty grin on his lips he pushes deeper into you with every thrust.

You cannot look away, can’t break eye contact as it seems the boy you once knew is gone, replaced by a wild man claiming your body.

“You feel so good around me, Y/N,” Sam angles his hips, gives you quick and hard thrusts to push you violently over the edge.

Shuddering you listen to the squelching sound of his dick sliding into your body, praying this is not a one time thing to Sam.

“Sammy,” whining you slip one hand between your legs, pressing hard down your clit to make sure the next thrust sends you over the edge. “I love…oh-my god…”

“There you go, baby…”

“So…” Dean glances at you on Sam’s bed, wearing only his brother’s shirt while Sam looks like he got caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. “Did she calm?”

“I found a way to take the edge off,” Sam smirks now, striding toward his bed.

Chest puffed he sits onto the bed, pride in his eyes. He gently runs his large hand up and down your back, pressing a soft mumble of his name out of you.

“A way,” watching you snuggle into Sam’s side when he lies next to you Dean rolls his eyes. “You can’t just have sex with our hunting partner.”

“She’s my girl, not our hunting partner,” now Sam wraps his arms protectively around you. “I deserve something good in my life, Dean. She’s my light in this endless darkness we try to escape…”

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@fallen-wolf22

@sister-winchesters99

@mogaruke

@the-is13

@helloitsmeamie203

@sandlee44

@strayrosesbloom

@notyourtypicalrose

@thewinchesterco

@marvelfansworld

@hobby27

@gh0stgurl

@jay-and-dean

@voltage-my2dlove

@h-o-l-l-i

@chonisberonica

@wittysunflower

@supernaturalenchanted

@shikshinkwon

@yolobloggers

@hhiggs

@laxe-from-outer-space

@ilovefanfic86

@linki-locks11

@eggingamazinglove

@trumpettay

@fandom-imagines1

@waywardbaby

@straycuties9

@drakelover78

@stuckys-whore

@zxph-yr

@i-love-superhero

@ten-tenya-iida

@deepmuffinspymaker

@katsav17

@heyitscam99

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@neii3n

@exo-nova

@cocklesbelli

@echoesofpassion

@shatteredabby

@deanmonandnegansbitch

@sea040561

@lemondropirwin

@lonewolf471

@wronglanemendes

@juniorhuntersam

@helpmeluci

@goodgodimaweirdperson

@shadowkat-83

@alltimesamantha

@officialmarvelwhore

@miraclesoflove

@maniacproffesor

@hollymac79

@kayla-2000

@gracefultrenchcoat494

@babygirls-fav

@spnwoman

@amiquette

@stormchasingchick32

@geekofmanyforms

@jessica-marsh09

@spnficgirl

@shut-themoonscone

@thequeenreaders

@countrygal17a

@atomicfandombomb

@kteelou

@soryuwifeyxx

@defenderrosetyler

@shortwinchester

@maybesomedaygayyyy

@sixth-seance

@sabascio

@that-place-called-middle-earth

@bunnybaby89

@pandabiiissh

@maddiedott

@lilulo-12

@theoneandonlymelol

@mblaqgi

@justsomedreaming

@cassiopeia-barrow

@its-the-timey-wimey-winchesters

@mscarter213

@jo-like-josette

@mep6811

@prettydeaneyes

@rvgrsbrns

@deanwanddamons

@tearsforhan

@waywardbabie

@certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel

@belovedcherry

@amandamdiehl

@emaanjffri

@sycochick

@abeautifuldiaster124

@matsumama

@rynabarnesrogers-reading

@homeorbust

@emoryhemsworth

@lunaticgurly

@xxlikeheavenxx​

@spnbaby-67​

@wonderlandfandomkingdom​

@heartislubbingdubbing​

@kitkatd7​

@doctor-hp-mcu​

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

Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13​

@thevelvetseries​

@rintheemolion​

@train-wrecc​

[selene-tempest]

Mud bath.

"Erm..." Selene blinked, not really knowing what to say.

"I know."

"It's just that..."

"I said I know!"

"There's just so much..."

"I get it!"

"That's gonna take some scrubbing."

"I'm aware of that fact," Kayo's curt reply held a definite tone of warning.

Selene couldn't blame her, not really. She was covered from head to toe in mud, the dirt clinging to her skin, soaked into her hair and Selene was pretty sure she'd heard the sound of squelching whenever the other woman moved.

"Do you need any he-"

"I've got it, thanks." Kayo turned her back, walking stiffly from the hangar to the adjoined showers, knowing that Grandma would pitch a fit if any of them traipsed mud up to the main house.

Dismissed, Selene gave up the battle, knowing that Kayo, more than anyone, had moments where she just wanted to be left alone.

-x-

"Anyone seen Kay?" Virgil asked later that night when they were all in the lounge, spread out across the sofas in what Jeff called Sloth mode. Nothing was moving them short of an emergency call, which they all desperately hoped wouldn't happen.

"Not since we got back," Gordon answered. "She said she was pretty tired, maybe she went straight to bed?"

"Without eating?" Selene's inbuilt need to care for those around her pinged into life.

"I'm sure she'll get something if she's hungry," Gordon shrugged, not taking his eyes off the show on the holoscreen.

"Don't be mean," Selene swiped at his shoulder. "How would you like it if you got back and no one fed you?"

"It happens all the time," he protested.

"Not while I'm here," she said firmly. "I'm going to go and check on her."

"Your funeral."

It took her very little time to rustle up some left over mac and cheese and she took it, along with a glass of milk, up to Kayo's room.

She knocked on the door but got no answer.

"Come on, open up, I've brought you some food."

"I'm not hungry," floated through the door.

"Don't give me that shit, you haven't eaten since breakfast."

Nothing.

"It's mac and cheese," she wheedled.

Selene heard a sigh of defeat, followed by shuffling footsteps coming closer to the door.

"I'm warning you now," Kayo said through gritted teeth, "you'd better not laugh."

Selene frowned. What was there to laugh about?

"Promise me."

"Erm... OK, I promise not to laugh."

The door opened slowly, just enough for Selene to squeeze through, slamming shut behind her the moment she was inside the room.

"Where shall I put this..." Selene trailed off, catching sight of Kayo for the first time. "Oh lawd."

"Don't. Laugh."

"I wasn't going to!" Selene slid the tray of food onto the bedside table and turned to get a closer look.

"Yeah, right. I know how it looks, I've looked in the mirror."

"I honestly wasn't going to," Selene assured her. And she hadn't been. Her poor friend didn't need teasing, she needed help. Badly.

Her hair, that beautiful, thick, naturally shiny hair that Selene secretly lusted after but couldn't get without a mountain of products, looked like shit. There, she said it, even if it was just in her own head. It was fluffed up beyond all recognition, a mass of tangles and frizz the likes of which Selene had never seen.

"I'm sorry, I gotta ask..."

Kayo folded her arms, tapping her foot, daring Selene to say something shitty.

"How the hell did that happen?"

"I don't know," Kayo huffed. "I know my ponytail got loose from my helmet, that's never good because it gets all tangled then. Then the band snapped and it was a lost cause."

Selene nodded, she'd had a similar experience with her hair coming out of the back of her jacket while riding on the back of her Dad's motorbike and it had taken her and her mum the best part of an evening and two washes to get it untangled again.

"I've washed it three times, blow dried it and broken a brush on it but it's just made it worse."

"What type of conditioner did you use?"

"The one I always do, the one in the locker room and then mine up here. That one that Grandma buys in bulk."

Selene's eyes widened in horror as her friend described the torment she had just admitted to putting her hair through.

"Generic conditioner? You used generic conditioner? The same shit that Alan uses? That conditioner? And then you tried to brush it out?"

Kayo shrugged.

"What are you, a savage?"

"What else would I do to get tangles out?"

"Oh my gods," Selene clasped her hands over her heart and swayed dramatically. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. How? How could you think that would be OK?"

"It's always been OK every other time."

"No! No don't you dare dismiss it and pretend that you didn't just commit a cardinal hair sin!"

Kayo shrugged again.

Selene pointed at Kayo then the tray of food. "You, you're going to eat that while I go and get some emergency supplies, and then we're going to fix this mess!"

Selene didn't give Kayo a chance to respond, she just swept out of the room, having delivered her orders which she expected to be obeyed. Kayo wanted to argue but knew it was a pointless waste of energy. Her hair felt like straw, she was grumpy and now that the enticing scent of cheesy pasta was permeating the room, she realised she was hungry too.

By the time Selene returned, arms ladened with so many bottles Kayo was sure she had just robbed a salon, she had eaten all of the food, drank half the milk and could admit that she actually felt a bit better.

"Right," Selene declared, dumping her load on the bed and sorting through it. "This is a moisturing shampoo, it's my favourite, the one that Scott keeps stealing. We're going to wash your hair with this and then we're going to slap on this deep conditioning mask and leave it for the full half hour before rinsing."

"Half an hour?" Selene had never heard Kayo sound so shocked.

"Yep, while wearing this." Selene produced something that looked like deflated balloon that had mated with a wedding bouquet.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a swimming cap, ignore the flowers, it'll keep the conditioner in place and create warmth to help it soak in, we'll cover it with a towel, you won't see it."

It took some persuading, but soon Kayo was back with soaking wet hair. Selene helped her to smother her locks in an insane amount of the hair mask and wrestled it into the swimming cap then wrapped her whole head in a towel.

"I feel ridiculous."

"Ypu look it too, but beauty is pain and it'll be worth it in the end."

"I know at least six different ways to kill you without you making a sound, they will never find your body."

"But you wouldn't do that to me, would you? Because then you'd be combing that shit out on your own."

The witch spoke the truth.

"Urghhh," Kayo groaned, refusing to admit defeat but knowing she had to. "This is going to take forever."

"Nah, it won't, don't sweat it. We'll have a girly night. Look, I bought face masks and chocolate too, it'll be great."

There was protests, but Selene quickly bulldozed through them like she always did, going so far as to launch herself at the other woman and sit on her when she tried to escape to lock herself in the bathroom, holding her down while she scrubbed at her face with a cleansing wipe and then painted on the mask. Ignoring her outraged screeching as she flailed her arms in a defensive attack.

The door opened at one point, Gordon and Alan sticking their heads in to make sure everything was OK. In their house screaming was never ignored. They took one look at Selene straddling Kayo, holding a dripping brush between her teeth while Kayo tried to push her hands away, both girls faces smeared in bright green face mud, and backed right out again. Selene didn't blame them.

Kayo looked at Selene, her eyes narrowing as if she were about to shove her onto the floor, but then her lips curved in a smile and she started to laugh.

They both collapsed into manic giggling, unable to stop. The looks on the boys faces ahd been priceless, as had theirs when they had turned to look at the door, pausing in the middle of their fighting.

"Thats going to be all around the island in the next ten minutes," Kayo howled.

"Oh gods, yes. They're never going to let this be forgotten," Selene wheezed, easing up on her friend and rolling sideways to get off her.

By the time their hysterics had subsided Selene gave Kayo permission to wash out her hair.

Over the course of the next two hours Selene smothered Kayo's hair in detangler and painstakingly combed through the now thankfully not so tangled mass, working in tiny sections at a time, from the tip to the roots until she could run the comb smoothly through her hair.

As they worked, with Kayo sat on the floor in front of the bed and Selene perched on the edge behind her, they fell into an easy chatter, sharing the chocolate Selene had brought with her and catching up.

If anyone asked, Selene would say she was closest to the boys, and most definitely Scott, but she counted Kayo as a close friend just the same.

At first meeting the two women had decided that they had very little in common, although they had banded together, two girls in a sea of testosterone that was Tracy Island and had become close pretty quickly.

Selene was more of a girly girl, finding enjoyment in putting on makeup, dressing up in nice clothes and watching weepy movies. Whereas Kayo was a tougher nut. She didn't really like dresses and considered makeup to be a waste of time, but they had worked hard to find a common ground.

Kayo had been used to being the lone girl (apart from Grandma) on the island and Selene often wondered if her mother dying young and her moving to the island where she had had to hold her own with what amounted to a chattering pack of wild monkeys, had stopped her from exploring her feminine side a bit more.

Kayo was great for so many things, she and Selene often spent their workout time together and had found they both shared a curious fascination for real crime documentaries, especially those of a more historical nature like Ted Bundy, The Yorkshire Ripper and the Night Stalker, it was interesting to try to figure out how today's modern technologies could have helped with the cases.

They would be found by John, wide awake in the small hours of the morning, camped out in the lounge with blankets and unhealthy snacks that Kayo would never admit to actually eating, engaged in some debate or other, sharing theories on unsolved cases or giving their opinions on one's that had already been solved.

No, their Kayo could never be described as girly but she was awesome just the same.

As Selene worked Kayo regaled her was the story of the whole sorry rescue from start to finish, starting with the flooding and finishing with all of then wallowing around in knee high muck, slopping around, falling over and basically having a less than relaxing mud bath.

The boys had had it easy, they just needed a quick shower and change of clothes, but Kayo had not been so lucky.

But the time all the tangles were out of her hair and Selene had dried it with the hairdryer she'd borrowed from Virgil's room, both girls were laughing again and with each sweep of the brush through her friends hair Selene felt her tense shoulder relaxing, simply enjoying the feel of someone looking after her for once.

Kayo didn't like being looked after, where the boys were always happy to accept any and all attention, especially if it came in the form of food, hugs or tv buddies, Kayo was more reserved and less likely to seek out company when she felt tired or moody. Selene made a mental note to force her company on her friend more often.

"There, all done," Selene announced, running her fingers through it one more time just because it felt so soft and shiny now that it had had some TLC.

"It actually feels amazing," Kayo admitted, stroke a strand between finger and thumb.

"That's because your heathen head has finally been nourished with something decent."

Kayo ignored that dig as Selene started to gather up her products, leaving some on the bedside table for Kayo to keep.

"There, that wasn't too horrendous was it?"

"So you say," Kayo huffed, but there was just a tiny hint of a smile on her face.

"So you wouldn't want to make this a monthly thing then?"

Kayo rolled her eyes. "Obviously not."

Selene shrugged, turning to pick up her things.

"But, I consider you my friend so, you know, hanging out once a month wouldn't be that much of a chore, but only because you want to."

"Oh, of course," Selene agreed, trying not to laugh.

"So, what now?" Kayo asked, reluctant to admit that it had actually been quite a fun night that she wasn't really ready to end yet.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. "Wash off this stuff," she pointed to the mask that had long since dried into a flaking, crusty mess, "and then shove the boys off the couch so we can watch the next episode of 'Crimes of Passion, the 80s years'?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

Big thanks to @myladykayo for the picture prompt. Not sure what this turned into but I went with it.