#that he would threat like all his goon

[judas-isariot]

Harley x Ivy is the best idea DC had honestly.

[pulchrasilva]

Nobody fucking talk to me i just finished rewatching arcane and it was DEVASTATING I need to KILL

[chaos-bringer-13]

Vlad, Dan and Dani move across dimensions to Gotham because of some bad stuff happening in their own dimension. Vlad has a lot of his money with him in cash, and they quickly get themselves fake id's as father and his two children. Vlad's plan is to keep low profile, wait it out and then return. Dan and Dani don't care about Vlad's plan.

Vlad is shady, Dan and Dani are causing shenanigans, and a bunch of coincidences leads to people believing that they're some sort of mafia family.

Some idiots try to rob Dani and she blurts out "Do you know who my dad is?". Dan emerges from the shadows, sends Dani off and makes extremely specific and detailed threats of slow and painful death to the would-be robbers. He finishes the speech by adding that they would be wishing for him to do all of that if his and Dani's father found out about the robbery.

Then Dan accidentally recruits a group of goons by beating up their boss and feeling kinda responsible for the henchmen.

Then Dani steals the talons.

Dan has a fight over territory with one of the smaller rogues.

Dani steals Scarecrow's chemicals.

All the while they keep convincing people that this is all a part of some bigger plan of Masters family. First it's just a misunderstanding, then they keep doing it to annoy Vlad. Some people think that Masters is just a surname, some think that Master is a rogue's name. After a while everyone knows that there's an up-and-coming crime family.

Vlad is entirely oblivious. He doesn't know shit. He ends up making a small organisation (restaurant? car repair shop?) to hire people who keep coming to him. He's not sure why his children tell all these people that he can help but they are in trouble, so he helps. And then helps again, and again. All the places he opens look like crime fronts.

Vlad is still unaware that he's a mob boss.

Maybe at some point Dan and Dani think that Vlad figured this out (because its obvious) but doesn't say anything because the police has bugged their house or because he wants plausible deniability.

Obviously all of this ends with the Bats deciding to confront Masters. It's also the perfect moment for Danny to enter.

Here, have a shitty meme showing the moment.

Danny: I left you here fOR ONE MONTH

Vlad: It's not my fault!

Danny: I figured. Dani, if I give you a candy, will you tell me what the hell you've done?

Dani: What kind of candy?

Danny, handing out a Yellow Lantern ring: A Ring Pop.

Dani, snatching it: We accidentally started a mob family :D

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[cassscainss]

some of my favorite things about Anora in no particular order (SPOILERS BELOW):

the goons, wow what all timer movie goons. concussed guy for goon of the year

when anora beats the shit out of those goons for a fifteen minute stretch and they get increasingly more afraid of her. comedy gold, just pitch perfect comedy treading the line between should-i-be-worried-for-her and the disarming buffoonery of the goons

ivan's mom stomping on the last step of the private jet stairs. her incredible houndstooth suit. every second of her on screen.

all of them throwing the pens at the annulment woman

ivan's dad dying laughing during the annulment as anora throws all of the moms shit on the ground

every parking in new york joke from the ticket in front of the courthouse to getting towed down on brighton beach

how the entire time, nobody pulls out a weapon, not once. and yet, the threat of violence and danger still lingers in the periphery because of the deftly constructed tension of the roving camera and contextually what we don't know about this family and the broader scope of ivan's world and the looming threat of the parents. how far can she push the goons until they get violent, and yet they never really do, but baker never lets you exhale that breath.

when they walked into tatianas..... like sean does his RESEARCH

also the t.A.T.u needle drop like i screamed

also the fight over driving or walking for five minutes in the cold. the new york specificity in this movie is pinpoint accurate, down to the mundane

the ending, her having a breakdown release of everything that had happened to her and how humiliated she was, but also how she thought she had gotten out and made a fairytale of her life. how using her body was the only power she has ever had, and how that was what she defaulted to with Igor in that last scene, but it was when he wanted to kiss her that the facade of power broke down and so did she. how she had to face her own humanity, and in that moment ask herself if she wanted to kiss him, because he was giving her perhaps her first real choice in a long time, and that opened a pathway to maybe questioning whether she truly wanted any of what had happened to her. maybe in that moment she realized that her body is not as powerful as she perhaps convinced herself it was. she was far more powerless than all her bravado and will probably always be powerless in the socioeconomic systems of the world that are built up around her. how disposable she was made to feel maybe for the first time, and how she thought she had built up that bravado and detached arrogance around herself so that she would never feel that way, but the feeling still seeped through nonetheless. all of that delivered wordlessly, in silence, buried under the falling white snow that will throw a white, pristine blanket over everything as if nothing significant had happened at all.

but also like igor, i too would fall in love with her almost instantly and tbh i did. rip to Ivan, anora i am hopelessly in love with you, and i would die for you.

[new-revenant]

Joker is fully aware of the fourth wall. So he should be aware how outmatched he is along with other fic tropes, so...

Joker: OUTTA MY WAY! OUTTA MY WAY! CAN'T YOU SEE HE'S GOING TO KICK MY BUTT?! *points to Danny*

Danny: Hey there clown people, nice night we're having

Harley: So you like kicking butts, do ya little boy?

And later on

Danny: I love the clown people

Harley: How many times must I teach you this lesson, little boy?

augh, I can’t tell you how much I love this. No hate to any of the great fic writers here, but I’m more than a bit burned out on how the Joker is basically killed off all the time in dpxdc. Killing the Joker will not make Jason feel better, I’m sorry. And also I’d think the Joker would become a ghost and be 10000% more of a maniac. Anyways, enough of that, onto the ask.

The Joker takes one good look at Danny, one of the hostages, and immediately tells his men to free him. Looking at that half-ghost kid gives him the creeps. So now Danny has to stand(or sit if he wants, Joker knows people get tired ya know)in the corner that is furthest away from him, turned away so he can’t see Danny’s face.

And when the Bats come in, he barely pays attention to them, just keeps his eyes on Danny because he knows that he’s more of a threat than Batsy is. The Joker doesn’t even care about the other hostages anymore he just wants that kid gone.

Then his goons end up kidnapping Danny again and the Joker dies a bit inside. He would just shoot the dumb goons, but that stare Danny has(which looks and is completely normal)has the Joker quaking in his boots. And Danny keeps getting accidentally kidnapped, so the Joker just treats him really well, offering tea and stuff. Ugh, this would be such a good The Batman episode, just the Joker being super nice and friendly and scared of just this random guy. A random guy who turns out to be not so normal.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Everyone is sending GIF requests, so, here is mine. Hint: Jealous John? (Though I doubt this man can ever be jealous but...whatever comes to your genius brain)

Thanks!

@sweetwolfcupcake SWEEETS!!!!! I loved this prompt SO MUCH!!! You're such a genius. *kisses your head* I hope you like this! 💗💗💗

Bodyguard!John Wick x Shy!Curvy!Fem!Student!Reader

⚠warnings: threat of noncon (not John), mention of parental death

For the record, you didn’t mean to fall in love with John Wick. But he was nothing like the other goons your father had tasked with guarding you before.  Wick was tall, and handsome, and had the soulful eyes of a poet. You know he’s dangerous; he can kill a man 30 ways with a pencil (the men of your father’s Bratva will not shut up about it) but he seems so…gentle. And the thing that really proved your undoing?

That good looking bastard was bookish, and it did something inconceivable to your lit major brain. Ever your dark shadow, you spent countless late nights in the library together, and so many Saturday afternoons browsing the used bookshops, combing for treasures. He would rescue the books that looked better fit for the waste bin, taking them to repair. Maybe he was there to protect you, for your father had many unsavory enemies, but it was easy to forget when John discussed with you the finer points of the Bloomsbury Set or the themes of Anna Karenina.  

Maybe your father assigned John to you because he was one of the few gangsters around in his brigata one could trust to guard a relatively innocent young lady–that didn’t mean John was safe from you. You just couldn’t help yourself; you’d like to plead insanity, your honor, the night you finally broke and tried to kiss him, while he was helping you with your homework for Russian Lit 301. 

How stupid you felt, how utterly pathetic, when he’d very kindly dislodged you from his so soft mouth, looking at you with pity in his sad dark eyes. “You know…we can’t do this,” he told you.

Mortified, you’d fled to your room and cried, knowing you are the most ridiculous human being on the face of the earth.

What were you thinking?

You are nothing like the tall, ethereal creatures that populate the clubs where Wick frequents with your father. You are shy, and curvy, and frankly…a nerd. An old soul, your father would say fondly, but you know he is just being kind.

You’re not sure how you got it into your head, that you were going to make Wick sorry. You’ve never been one for going out, but you decide to give it a whirl, wanting to be anyone but yourself. You decide to go to the Red Circle, to hang out with the other Bratva brats who care way more about clubbing and clothes and who’s fucking who, than classes at NYU. 

At first you really hate it–but after a few shots of vodka, it’s not so bad. John has to hang back, keeping an eye on you but not interacting with your friends. He’s scary good at lurking in the shadows, but you know he’s keeping an eye on every move you make. Maybe that’s why you let Alexsei kiss you, the son of a semi-friendly loan shark who works in proximity with your father. You don’t really like him, if you’re being honest. But he’s not totally hideous–and he’s there–and John will have to watch it all. 

You and Alex start to have a thing. It’s no big deal. Something to do, on the summer break from your studies. You invite him over to watch a movie, knowing you’ll have the house to yourself. Your father is always at his office doing business, your idiotic brother is always out getting into trouble with his khuligan friends, and your mother…is dead, God rest her poor soul. 

You can tell Alex is a little drunk, when he shows up at your door. He’s very handsy, when you settle in on the couch to watch the latest mindless action flick, his pick. It’s ok, until he tries to unbutton your pants.

You have a secret. 

You’re 21, nearly graduated from university–and you’re still a virgin. 

This is not a thing you intend to give to Alexsei Plushenko. You don’t even really like the way he touches you.

“Stop, Alex.”

“Don’t be scared,” he tries to coax you. “This will be fun.”

“No,” you say. “Let’s just…”

He covers your mouth with his, shutting you up, his heavy body pinning you on the couch. “Don’t be such a stuck up bitch.” His groping fingers squeeze your breast clumsily, painfully, before fumbling with your jeans again. You try to push him off, but he’s heavy, and strong.

Suddenly, he is yanked from you like he weighs nothing at all. You hardly recognize what is happening at first, until you hear the sound of flesh striking flesh. John is on him, his iron fist meeting the younger man’s face. 

“John! Stop!” 

Wick looks up at you, meeting your eyes in a primal lock of stares–your heart drops and soars again, as you feel as though you’ve stumbled on a wolf over his kill, and the wildest thing?

You get the inkling that wolf is jealous. 

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. A beating will make some complications for your father. A death? Could mean war.

Wick punches the handsy young man one more time, his eyes never leaving yours, before hauling Alex up by the collar and frog marching him out the front door, tossing him down the concrete steps of your home.

John finds you waiting for him in the marble foyer, his eyes wild, his knuckles torn. You don’t even know what to say. 

“What did you even see in him?” he finally demands, clearly annoyed.

“He wasn’t you,” you answer without thinking.

Wick steps up to you, toe to toe, so that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. His hair has broken free from its slicked back style, tendrils in his eyes.

He’s never looked more beautiful, your savage savior.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

You shake your head, the very thought anathema to you. You are transfixed, unable to look away, unable to think. “You’re too precious to me,” you admit, and screw your eyes shut the moment you admit it, a spear of mortification piercing you from your heart to your stupid, aching, cunt.

“Milaya…” 

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said to you.

Your eyes drop to his knuckles, torn open in his defense of you. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Not to me.” You don’t know where you get the courage, to take his hand, and lead him up to your room. You can hardly believe it, that he actually follows you. In your ensuite bathroom you dab at his knuckles with a washcloth, slather him with ointment and plaster him with bandaids. You run out of sober flesh colored ones, so the last cut gets a Disney bandage, Ariel and sea-flowers decorating this severe man’s knuckles. 

He lets you do all this, watching you intensely with those dark eyes you’re certain can see into your soul. You stand too close–and he lets you, this haunted man who watches over you day and night. Your whole life you have never wanted for anything, your father’s money buying you all your heart could possibly desire.

Until now.

You find it hard to meet his eyes, zeroing in on a spot of blood on his stark white dress shirt. 

“Y/n.” With a gentle knuckle under your chin he turns your gaze up to his again. “You are too smart, and too beautiful, to be wasting your time with a fuckboy like Alexsei Plushenko.”

The first part you already knew. The second, from this man’s lips? Your knees nearly collapse out from under you, a flood of excitement and dread coursing through your system. You almost can’t stand it–it’s like being burned alive, and your native shyness rears with a vengeance. 

You try to flee, back to the safety of your room, and your books, your imaginary lives that can’t really hurt you–but he catches your hand. His grip is not hard, but it is enough to stop you dead in your tracks. 

“Y/n…” He’s pleading with you, but you don’t understand what he’s asking you. 

“You said you don’t want me, John…” you say, still unable to meet his eyes. “So let me go.” 

He answers by pulling you against him, the solid line of his torso a brick wall beneath the hand you raise to catch yourself. But bricks are not warm, like the flesh beneath his designer clothes. You can feel the wires in your brain sizzling, the synapses simply melting down. Your heart is Chernoble waiting to happen. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You said–”

“I said, ‘We can’t.’ Not, that ‘I don’t want you.’”

You almost cannot breathe, your heart attempting to beat out of your chest, a ringing in your ears that drowns out all else. There is nothing, nothing, in this world you’ve wanted more, than to hear those words from this man. But now that he’s standing before you, against you, holding you–you cannot move. You do not know what to do. 

He solves this problem by cupping your cheek in his big hand–God, how you’ve noticed those hands–and then he is pressing his mouth to yours, gentle at first, but then…hungry. As though John Wick has been starving, for you, and it’s all you can do just to stand there and take it without melting into a puddle on the floor. His arms wrap around your back, holding you, lifting you to your tiptoes as he devours you. When at last he pulls back you are left seeing stars, struck utterly speechless with your hands on his broad shoulders. 

“Tell me to stop,” he raggedly demands, his eyes boring down into yours. 

Finally, you find your courage, meeting his stare. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper. 

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.” He kisses you again, just as hungrily as the first time, his arm an iron band around your waist and his fingers sneaking up into your hair. That’s your kryptonite: your hair, and blithely you know he can do anything and everything he wants to you now.  

Your father is a bad man, but you have not had a bad life. You have never known hunger, or true physical pain. He has protected you from the violence of his world. He has played things smart enough that not even the FBI can touch you, even though they absolutely know what he is and where your family gets its money. Despite all this, you have been dying inside, a slow, withering demise, until John Wick’s lips touched yours. He is the life-giving rain over the desert; your heart is a field of wildflowers erupting in a superbloom. 

This time, he leads you, in between kissing you, to the loveseat at the foot of your bed. He sits, and only when he tries to pull you into his lap do you resist. “John…I’m too…much,” you insist, conscious of your generous flesh and what it would be like to set that on top of him, afraid he’ll be horrified. 

However, he just scoffs at you, grabbing you up anyway and guiding you down. For a moment you are weightless–he knows how to upset a person’s balance, how to use their weight against them to put them on the floor. This time he uses it to put you on him. You’re not exactly proud of it, but the ease with which he utterly manhandles you makes your long-neglected lady parts sing with desire. 

“You are perfect, dietka,” he insists, pulling you closer with hands on your round behind, “And I am very strong.” For the first time in you can’t remember how long–he smiles at you. That beautiful half smile with a sparkle in his dark eyes that takes your breath away–you love him so much it hurts. 

This time you don’t feel so shy, about kissing him. You feel like your bones are filled with butterflies, and you both moan and giggle as you do your best to devour each other from the mouth down. Aside from an appreciative squeeze of your thighs bracketing his hips, he doesn’t try to seduce you, even though you know you absolutely would have given him anything he asked you for. He is content, just to kiss you, for this night at least, and oh. He’s good at it too. 

You decide you would burn down the world, for one more kiss from John Wick.  

Later you find yourself snuggled in your bed with John, fully clothed, your head on his shoulder as he toys with the fine hairs at the back of your neck. His touch is heaven, and with your legs twined with his it’s hard not to squirm and writhe against his muscled thigh like a horny little gremlin. 

Later, you tell yourself. It can wait for later. 

Like maybe, tomorrow. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he warns you. “If your father…” 

If your father found out, the best thing that could happen to John is getting fired. 

“I won’t let you get hurt,” you promise, kissing his bearded cheek, praying you’re telling the truth.

He chuckles at this; a deep sound you feel more than hear. “I thought that was my job?”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know.” He looks down at you with a tenderness that curls your toes. “It would be worth it, for you.” 

Your heart has suddenly decided it would like to take up residence in your throat–permanently.

“Oh, John…”  

He kisses you again, a soft brush of lips that renders you weightless. This is how you die: it’s almost too much to stand, this impossibly full feeling in your chest. Then he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You have been driving me mad, you little minx. I wanted to kill everyone who so much as looked at you in the Circle.” 

You snort at the thought–you do not understand, really, that he could absolutely do it too. 

“Not to worry. I think the library is more my speed.” He rests his head against yours with a small, contented sigh. “Mine too,” he admits. The smell of old books around you is a soothing balm to you both. 

You know small bits of his past. Morsels he has sprinkled, here and there in the conversations you have had. You know he did not have an easy childhood. You know that this life was not really his choice. Even less so than most, who move and work in the Underworld. 

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” you ask. 

He lifts an eyebrow at you. “I’m liking New York, at the moment,” he tells you with an affectionate squeeze. 

“Oh come on.” 

“Fine. I like Paris a lot.” 

“Hmm,” you answer, but what you think, is: Done.  You will have the opportunity to arrange to study abroad soon, and you think a trip away from the Tarasov territory might do you both some good.

Surely Papachka wouldn’t deprive you of your most trusted bodyguard?

[sunayyyy]

What people seem to forget is that jason should, by all means, kick Bruce's ass any time they truly fight.

You're talking about a child who could see untitled at like 8 years old. Talia al ghul saw potential in him but ultimately decided against taking him in. He survived for a while before being adopted, and even then, he had the balls to steal the tires of the batmobile and then swing at batman with a tire iron at 11. A malnourished kid, at 15, was regularly breaking adults' collar bones. This is a kid that terrorised goons with ease while being shorter than 5 feet (his death certificate stated that he was 4'11).

And this is pre death, pre training. He was in a comatose state, and his body remembered how to fight. At 17, he snuck into Titans Tower and knocked out every member in order to clear the area to fight tim. He planted a bomb under the batmobile and CHOSE not to set it off. Then you get to the murder tour in lost days, where he trained with the best, with the ultimate gial of killing batman. This teenager managed to go through the same regiment bruce went through while learning more, since he wasn't bound by a desire not to kill. He learned more techniques and forms from more people and managed to kill the best of the best.

Ra's al ghul, a centuries old man, called him a plague to earth, and he was also deemed fit for the all caste, who are experts on the soul and magic shit. He's the chosen one of a secret sector of warrior monks with magical flaming swords imbedded into his soul while being too young to drink alcohol. The all mother herself said that he'd brung death and destruction wherever he went.

Additionally, he's a strategic genius who managed to run circles around batman and his team, only revealing what he wanted to, all while taking over the underground and beefing with black mask and other kingpins.

No way in hell does he get beat by dick, or future tim, or damian. The only one who could even give him a fight is cass, and even then, she would struggle. When dick got turned into a juiced up vampire, jason stopped holding back and laid him out immediately. When he was drunk and in mouring and damian came in with the intent to fight, he still kicked his ass.

It fucking sucks that DC decided to turn him into a bitch just to prop the batfam up, this man is a THREAT, stop fucking with the powerscaling it doesn't make any sense.

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp Prompt #29

Okay! I have seen plenty of prompts on both tumblr and Ao3 to think of one of biggest misunderstandings that I could think of for Dc x Dp.

Amity Park being mistaken for a base camp for training child soldiers.

Because think of it!

Mr. Lancer's class all going to Gotham and being unphased by everything that was happening. In fact, some of them seemed even excited at the possibility of interacting with a rogue or possibly fighting them. And teacher did nothing but give them light warnings about causing too much trouble.

Of course it was thought to be big talk from outsiders who didn't know how dangerous Gotham truly was. Once they dealt with their first villain, they'd see how much trouble they really were in for.

But the thing was, they didn't.

Oh, they dealt with a criminal alright. It was the Penguin. He held up one of the museums the class was touring for some priceless item that he wanted.

Of course, Penguin thought that the group of newcomers were going to cow under the sight of the criminal and his goons. But standing there, he immediately found out of wrong he was.

The group didn't look scared. No. They looked excited at the sight of him and his goons.

A few of the teens were brimming with excitement at the sight of the criminal, though a few did look a bit disappointed. Not afraid-disappointed! He heard a few whispers of how upset that "the Joker wasn't the one to show" or "how they expected someone else to show up". Those words were enough to make his blood boil.

You know what? Screw these kids! He was going to show them that The Penguin wasn't someone you just go around and make fun of. So, he orders a few goons to put the kids in their place. Confident that once they were thrown around a bit, they'd know what kind of trouble they're in for when they come to Gotham.

But they. Don't. Get. Scared!

Not even a little bit. Not even a small flinch. He swore that he saw a few of them yawn! If the threat of roughening up wasn't going to do anything, then some action would definitely was. A goon thought this as they reached out to try and grab one of the students. Unfortunately, that student he grabbed was Valerie Gray, and she didn't take well to some stranger trying to grab her like that. Well, one shoulder throw lead to a brawl between gangsters and a bunch a teens that were touring around. And, to the horror of both the Penguin and all Gothamites watching, the teens won. All goons were seen on the floor either groaning or unconscious, the teens above them looking satisfied with their work, and their teacher on the sidelines looking irritated of the whole thing. Thankfully, the police arrived not too soon after that to arrest the goons and the penguins themselves; leaving all Gothamites confused about what just happened.

And it didn't stop there.

All over Gotham, both civilians and rogues alike would experience the oddity that would be the Amity bunch.

A barista witnessed Paulina stop a robbery with a well practiced kick in her high heels, all while the girl muttered about her morning coffee before going back to her order like nothing happened.

An old woman was saved from a mugging by a group of jocks. Though seeing as one stopped it by grabbing the mugger by the scruff of his neck, she supposed that the blond was the only one that she needed. And multiple civilians all over Gotham took note of a black haired and blue eyed kid that walked around with a goth girl and a boy with a red beanie. If he wasn't mistaken as a Wayne kid, he was causing havoc that had him on the news either way. Already the kid was caught fighting the Joker twice on purpose! As if he didn't seem crazy enough.

Strength, not scared by any of the rogues, even openly fighting the rouges? This class was continuing to grow on the "do not mess with" the longer they're in Gotham with everything they do.

And if you were to ask their teacher, he would simply sigh and say "There's so much he could do to control those hellions." It wasn't long before the Wayne family caught onto their arrival, and became immediately suspicious. A group of teens with abilities like that and fighting both rogues and goons as if they were nothing wasn't a mere coincidence. And from a place called Amity Park that's supposed to be the most "Haunted Place on Earth", there's no way something fishy going on.

Bruce, Tim, and Damian are the first to believe that they are all child soldiers of some sort. The youngest pointing out that Danny was one possibly meant to infiltrate their family for an unknown reason. The rest of the family are still cautious, but still don't know what they are here for.

Now they just had to get close enough to find out the reason the class was really here without setting off any alarms the possible assassins could have.

But they didn't take account the total weirdness they might face in infiltrating the class.

[paradiseprincesss]

dangerous woman | jonathan crane

i'm sure everyone is familiar with the album cover of "dangerous woman" and what she's wearing on it. if you don't, then i feel like the outfit and nickname won't make sense in this fic !!!

summary: you've been stealing the scarecrow's fear toxin for months, and finally, he catches you red handed.

warnings: smut, p in v, bondage, rough sex, general adult content lol, MDNI 18+ only

word count: 3.1k

masterlist

you’d been stealing the scarecrow’s fear toxin for months now — and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. 

it was profitable, okay? you would steal his supply, leaving him empty handed, and selling it at a much higher price to the criminals of gotham city. easy money, light work. simply put, you were running him out of his own business. 

jonathan was growing increasingly more frustrated with this mysterious thief that was stealing his supply — it’d been months and yet he couldn’t catch the guy. “the guy” — yes, he thought perhaps this was the work of one of the many dangerous men in gotham. 

this type of organized, deliberate crime couldn’t possibly be done by a woman working all alone — wrong. he was so wrong. this was exactly the type of crime that would be committed by a woman such as yourself. he was a psychiatrist for crying out loud, shouldn’t it be in his job description to know personality types? 

jonathan had his goons working overtime, keeping a keen eye on the drug shipments, but it was no use — you were one step ahead of jonathan every time. jonathan was ready to snap his glasses in two at this point. for someone who was trained in human behavior and complex criminal psychology, you would think he would be able to detect a pattern by now. 

tonight, you had big plans — you were going to steal his toxin from his warehouse directly.

forget shipments and hideouts, this time you were going big or going home. it was all or nothing — and right now, you wanted it all. 

your fitted, latex, corset-esque bodysuit clung to your figure as did your matching, latex thigh-high pleasers. the cherry on the top was the black bunny ears you accessorized with.

sure, it was a little risque, even bordering on kinky, but hey — it screamed dangerous woman. it was like wearing a caution sign but in the best way.

something that said: “i bite.”

dressed in your usual attire, you head to his warehouse in the dead of night. you sacrificed a prolific amount of late nights to figure out the location of this warehouse, but it would all be worth it once you were drowning in piles of cash after profiting off of his toxin. 

you’d been watching him for months — you even knew where he lived. you knew his profession, his full legal name, where he grew up, what type of food he ordered the most when he got takeout…

but what can i say? you were dedicated to your job — your morally dubious and ethically questionable job, but still a job nonetheless!

you strategically checked every entrance point of his warehouse (which, by the way, took a total of two hours of driving and twenty minutes of walking in high heels to get to!), making sure that there were no cameras or potential threats waiting outside. once you decided it was safe, you went through the back door. 

how, you ask? well, it was simple — you had a key replicated ages ago when you’d first broken into his office back at arkham asylum. in fact, you had all of his keys replicated. you know, just in case. 

stop asking why — it was for personal reasons!

after sneaking into the warehouse, you flicked on the lights and started to rummage around immediately. you came here for one thing and one thing only; fear toxin — and lots of it. you looked up at the ceiling as if some higher power up above would answer your calls. please, you thought, show me what i'm looking for.

god was your witness that night — and your prayers were answered. 

…just not in the way you thought they’d be.

as you were bent over, half hidden behind a bunch of empty crates, you were digging through piles of miscellaneous items. you were locked and loaded, so very focused on the task at hand, that you didn’t hear the front door creaking open quietly. 

jonathan heard shuffling once he entered his warehouse, the lights being turned on clearly indicated someone was here. jonathan did not panic, however — he believed that the feeling of panic and anxiety was useless to the human body. how could he make rational decisions when his mind was filled with the what if’s?

he was certain that this time, he’d caught the thief that had been stealing his toxin red handed — finally. however, as he got closer to you, he realized that you were not at all what he was imagining you to be. as he inched closer and closer, he saw two little bunny ears peeking above some empty crates.

he silently made his way around the crates, only to be met with a sight that caused his jaw to drop slightly and his cheeks to turn pink. 

you were bent over in your latex bodysuit, on your knees, rummaging through a pile of random things and the best part? you were completely oblivious to the scarecrow standing directly behind you, watching you poke your ass out as the bunny ears on your head moved every time your head did.

jonathan cleared his throat, causing you to startle. you turned around as a small gasp left your lips. once you looked up at him, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes — they were so blue. he seemed to have noticed you staring though, as he raised a brow and gave you an opportunity to explain yourself silently.

“um,” you started a little nervously, “hey?”

you mentally face palmed yourself — all you could come up with was an “um, hey?” so much for being one step ahead all the time.

“that’s quite the costume you have on," jonathan said smoothly, looking at you through the frames of his glasses. “i assume you’re the one who’s been stealing my supply?” 

you stayed silent as he loomed over you — he was tall. very tall. he was still standing above you as you sat almost obediently on the cold, concrete floor of the warehouse. empty handed at that. 

“listen, bunny,” he continued, “do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?” 

finally, you found your voice. “i do — that’s why i did it.” 

“is that right?” jonathan said, crouching down so that he was now at your level. you felt awfully immature; but it was kind of…exhilarating. to be in the presence of someone so dangerous, just like you. “you’re not what i was expecting.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head to emphasize your question. his eyes darted to your black bunny ears, then back to your face. he didn't answer your question, but instead, he reached his hand out towards you. 

hesitantly, you took a hold of it as he helped you up. “do you always go around stealing what doesn’t belong to you in outfits so…promiscuous?” he asked, eyeing your body up and down shamelessly. 

“...i’ve never done anything like this before,” you admitted shyly, watching his eyes trail along every part of you. “i get off on the thrill, mostly.” 

jonathan almost choked when he heard your response — if he wasn’t so attracted to you, he would’ve sprayed an extra concentrated dose of fear toxin in your face. he was standing so close to you now that you could smell his cologne — montblanc, if you remembered correctly. 

“maybe we could work out a deal,” he suggested, his voice low and almost…sultry. “i won’t kill you or turn you into the feds — if you give me what’s mine.” 

a feeling of sheer panic surged through your veins; you’d already sold all the drugs you seized from him. it’s not like you just could get any of it back, and now your life was on the line.

“i-i already sold the drugs—”

“not that,” he reprimanded, eyeing you down hungrily, “i think you know where i'm going with this.”

you stared at him blankly for a moment before you felt your cheeks heat up at his insinuation. he didn’t want the drugs, no — he wanted you. according to jonathan, you were his now. 

i mean, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? 

jonathan was not one to fall so easily, but once he laid his eyes on you, his heart stopped. a beautiful, young, witty woman who was also a thrill seeking, danger loving felon? you were just asking to be his. it didn’t help that you came dressed like you were a triple-x star, either.

“well, what’s it going to be, bunny?” he asked softly, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“what tough choices,” you pouted, looking up at him as you feigned distress, “i don't know what i'm going to do, jonathan.” 

he paused, his hand coming to grab your face gently. “how do you know my name?” he asked, his tone sharp. 

“i know everything about you — i've been watching you for months.” 

he was silent as his jaw clenched slightly. a tell that his calm, collected persona was about to crumble at any given moment — you had him where you wanted him. “i see,” he replied calmly, “i should have you admitted to arkham, really. something is very wrong inside of that pretty little head of yours.” 

you didn’t say anything back, but you bit your lip softly whilst looking into his impossibly blue eyes.

that, however, seemed to be the trigger that pushed jonathan over the edge, because suddenly, he had you pressed up against the cold cement walls of his warehouse. your ass was pressed up against the obvious tent in his pants as your face was met with the rough texture of the cement. 

“i’m going to test your limits,” he breathed, “a little experiment between you and i.” 

“i live for danger,” you mumbled against the wall, not letting up as he continued to threaten you. his threats were fuelling you, if anything — didn’t he hear you when you said that you got off on the thrill of things? 

“prove it, bunny,” he challenged, and you pushed away from the wall, grabbing him by the tie that hung loosely around his neck. 

holding onto it with an iron grip, you brought your lips awfully close to his as you whispered out to him. “take this off,” you instructed, “and tie me up.”

“rope bunny — i should have known.” he teased back, undoing his tie. 

roughly, he pulled your body back against his. your ass was flush against his bulge, and he bound your wrists up with his silky, red tie. “walk,” he commanded softly, guiding you into a whole separate room — a room with an old bed. 

he helped you sit on the edge of the bed before shutting the door completely, making his way back over to you. with your hands tied, you were limited in terms of mobility, but jonathan's hands were free — and he intended to make very good use of them. 

“latex,” he pointed out, reaching over to your bodysuit, “bold choice...but it looks good on you.” 

his comment caught you off guard — his tone was far too sweet for what was about to go down. his voice had you in a trance for a moment, but the feeling of him trying to maneuver your garment off of your body brought you back to reality. after a few moments of fumbling with the tight suit, he finally got you out of it. 

his lips were on yours in mere seconds, kissing you roughly as he squeezed the sides of your neck gently. he continued to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth as you both moaned into the steamy kiss. however, after a few minutes, he breathlessly pulled away and took a good look at the sight that was in front of him.

you were suddenly very aware of how exposed you were — it’s not like you wore a bra or any panties underneath your latex bodysuit. there’s nothing quite like the thrill of wearing nothing underneath to get your blood flowing…

he let out a heavy breath, looking slightly disheveled as he took in every inch of your perfect body. the way your tits sat up, the way your skin was slightly flushed, the way you were on display like an art piece at some french museum — you were a divinity.

not to mention those latex thigh-highs that you still had on — and the bunny ears, too. fuck, maybe he’d keep you like this. take a picture and frame it to really make a point of you being an art piece for his eyes only. 

suddenly, he harshly pushed you down and flipped you around on the bed so that your stomach was against the mattress.

he hoisted your hips upwards, putting you in a face down ass up position. the way he positioned you made how wet you were all the more obvious, your glistening cunt on display for him as he choked back a moan at just the sight of you this powerless.

you heard his pants being unzipped, along with the sound of his belt being undone, and his hard, thick cockhead was brushing up against your sticky folds. he pushed into your tight hole, making the both of you moan. his hands were suddenly reaching for your bound ones, gripping onto the tie as he started to fuck you mercilessly. 

“j-jon!” you squeaked out against the sheets as you felt his cock drilling into you at a brutal pace, sure to leave you sore for days to come. “s-slow down, f–uck!”

“you can take it, bunny,” he assured you lowly, continuing to ram into your tight little hole. “you’re going to fucking. take. it.”

you let out a strangled moan, feeling his cock brush up against that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. it was only a matter of time before you were creaming his cock, the angle giving him access to the deepest parts of you. you were certain that at one point, you swore you’d felt him inside of your stomach with how deep and how forcibly he was fucking your cunt. 

“is this what you — fuck —  wanted, bunny?” he groaned, giving your ass a harsh smack with one hand as the other was still gripping the tie around your wrists. “you just needed to have your tight little pussy stretched by my thick fucking cock?” 

“y-yes, fuck yes!” you whined, “i need to be filled, j-jonathan please—”

“i know,” he cooed with faux sympathy, “you’re such a needy little bunny. you get a cock in your tight fucking cunt and suddenly you’re not so tough anymore, are you?” 

his words went straight to your core, rather than your head, soaking you even further and making his cock slip in and out of you with pure ease. he was slamming himself into your dripping cunt, fucking you raw as you took him so deep that you were full on screaming his name over and over again.

“j-jonathan, fuuuck!” you wailed, letting him ruin you entirely.

this wasn’t exactly how you planned the night to go, but it was better than you’d imagined. better than you’d hoped. you couldn’t dwell on the thought for very long though, because suddenly he was pulling out of you right before you were about to come, much to your displeasure.

you whined, causing him to scoff a laugh. he flipped you over to that you were looking at him now, in missionary, before he sunk back into you. you let out a bratty whine along with a pout. your hands were still tied so you couldn’t touch him — and you were getting desperate. 

“please!” you exasperated as he fucked you stupid, “let me t-touch you, oh my god—”

jonathan watched as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and finally, he decided you’d been good enough for a reward. he reached behind your back, still balls deep inside of your warm, wet hole, and quickly undid the knot around your wrists.

and as soon as your wrists were free — you were clawing at his back. 

“fuck,” jonathan groaned, feeling your hands pawing at him.

his hand suddenly reached down, playing with your clit as you mewled out incoherent babbles and pleas. he continued to press his fingers against your bundle of nerves, bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more as he plowed you. 

your cunt was dripping with your arousal, you’d never been so wet in your life. you felt the knot in your stomach tighten as you were close to coming, and jonathan moaned as he felt your cunt flutter around his thick cock. “close?” he asked breathlessly, and you just nodded — unable to speak as your orgasm washed over you in a blur.

“thaaaat’s it,” he growled, “pretty baby.” 

you whined, looking to the side as you came down from your high, but he continued to ram himself deeper and deeper into your cunt. you reached for his biceps, clinging onto them for dear life as his cock stretched your walls right open. 

“i’m about to come, fuck!” he groaned. “should i come inside? i think i will — you like the thrill, right bunny?” 

before you could protest, he was spilling his warm, thick cum into your abused little cunt. you were on birth control but you hadn’t taken your pills in days — so you were going to have to figure this out later, after the reality of what could happen would set in. he was right though; you did love a good thrill. something to get your adrenaline pumping and your blood rushing. 

you were a fear addict, and he was the supplier of fear — you were freakishly perfect for each other in all the worst ways. 

after both his and your endorphin levels gradually calmed down, he pulled out and watched the mixture of his sticky, white cum and your arousal drip out of you.

“you know, i could use someone like you to help me distribute my toxin — i'd pay you more than whatever you're making now.” he said after a minute, and your head shot up.

of course — his version of pillowtalk was bringing up business. he seemed to read your thoughts unnervingly well though, because before you could say anything, he was talking once more.

“we’d make a good team, don’t you think? since you’re my girl now and all.” he teased.

“am i?” you teased back, placing a kiss on his plush lips. “hm, i don’t see the harm — i'm game if you are.”

“that’s my girl.” he said softly, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “i’m curious though, out of all the people in gotham — what made you want to steal from me?”

“what can i say?” you whispered, “somethin’ bout you makes me wanna do things that i shouldn’t.” 

@girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

@kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@abprill @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Please Please Please - Rafe Cameron Short Story (Part 3 of 6)

+18 Minor DNI

Older MobDealer!Rafe x Female Reader

⭐️ republished ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

Part 1 Part 2

2798 words

Warnings contain spoilers: blood, domestic assault, cheating, swearing, name-calling, gaslighting, threats, and mentions of killing partner, kissing, general violence, gun violence, heavy petting, mild smut warning

Loosely based on the song and music video Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter 💕

✨”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”✨

Sexual content in pink if you want to avoid that

Reader’s POV:

“Fuck, I missed my girl,” Tony groans as he nuzzles into your neck, his stout cologne doing nothing but turning your stomach. “You gonna wait up for me tonight, babydoll? I promise I won’t be gone too long this time—just a quick meeting.” His fingers scrap along your jaw, capturing your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. You wince in shame and disgust. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he even see what he did to me? It doesn’t matter.

“Of course, I’ll wait for you.”

”Oh, and wear that little set you were wearin’ the night before I left. I’ve been thinking about it since.”

You purse your lips, forcing them into a tight smile. “Of course, Tony,” you subsist, your voice cracking slightly, making him shift his stance, looking down at you concerned.

”You alright, honey?” He questions as he moves even closer.

“Mhmm… You press the utterance past your lips. “You just got here. I don’t want you to leave,” you lie.

He looks back at you lovingly, matching your pout, rubbing his rough thumb along your bottom lip. “I never wanna leave you, princess.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

You wait by the phone nervously, standing by for a call from Rafe. Nothing yet. An hour passed when he said they would meet. Maybe they’re just gonna talk. Maybe Rafe has enough muscle to scare Tony.

No. There’s no way they’re both coming out alive…

Your eyes fill with tears, thinking about Rafe alone in this. Maybe he brought someone with him, his goons, just like Tony would surely do. Barry? He hasn’t mentioned anyone else in his corner.

BEEP.

Your phone lights up, making your stomach fall. You look down at the screen. Unknown. A burner phone… Either Tony or Rafe. Light floods your bay window, filling with light the dark kitchen. Is the deal done? What if Tony took care of Rafe and stole his phone, following the chain of messages between him and me, putting together all the pieces?

You skitter into the kitchen, catching a large knife out of the butcher block, holding it at your side for protection. Snagging your phone off the counter, you creep toward the window, peering outside, but it’s far too dark to see.

CLICK.

You lift the phone to your ear, listening to your uneven breathing in the playback as you linger for the caller on the other line to say something.

“C’mon, princess. Let’s get outta here.”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

“I don’t know, Rafe,” you whisper shakily, your delicate voice vying with the music pouring out of The Country Club. Rafe reaches behind his back, it adjusting himself; the tilt of his large body just slightly in front of yours, giving you a glance of his GLOCK 19.

”Rafe-“

”Don’t worry,” he stops you, looking into your eyes with a requisition to remain calm. “You know I’ll take care of you. Yeah?”

”Yeah,” you answer as the two of you slip into the entryway. Rafe’s large hand clutches yours tighter as you move quickly through the thick crowd to the back. He lowers his head, and you follow suit, catching the door as a stripper struts onto the main floor just as you did before.

The noise around you plunges to a muffled roar, leaving the two of you alone in the dark hallway. Sweat gathers on your palms; heart, racing. Your knees wobble, ankles weak in your heels as the two of you step closer toward the door. Rafe reaches for it, and you go for him, wrapping your hand around his bicep. His eyes fall to yours, softening as he sees the apprehension in your eyes.

“Please, baby. Just - Just please let’s go,” you plead. He tightens his strong jaw, shaking his head ‘no.’ “Please…” You whimper weakly. Rafe wraps his arm around you, pulling you away from the door, caging you against the wall, looking out before turning his attention to you.

“If I don’t come out, you gotta leave.”

“Leave? Why? I don’t want to leave you,” you panic.

”And have you struck in the crossfire? I don’t think so. You’re only here ‘cause I need you close. I need to be able to grab you after I handle shit so we can hide out together. I don’t trust anyone to keep you safe but me.” You nod up at him, waiting for further direction. “Need you to go somewhere safe; somewhere close-”

”The champagne room-” You interject.

”Yeah - Yeah. That’s perfect, baby,” he breathes as he brushes your cheek with his thumb, demanding your eye contact, knowing his presence is the only thing keeping you from a full-on panic attack. “I told you I’d take care of you. I meant that. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. Rafe grabs your palm, resting them on your trembling hand. “I bought you a Penthouse in Charleston, and a car to take you wherever you want to go.”

You look down at the triple set, a gold house key, a Mercedes fob, and a third silver key with a palm tree etched in the metal. “That G-Wagon we took here is all yours, princess. If you open the mirror, you’ll find the address of your new place and a credit card. There’s a burner phone in the center council. Those contacts will make sure you’re taken care of and protected. And, if for some reason you’re not, and if anything happens—I’m talkin’ anything, and you feel unsafe, this key is for my hideaway in Nassau. Text my sister Wheezie, she’ll tell you where I hid the address. Okay?”

“You - You… Shit. You didn’t have to do that… Why did you do that for me, Rafe?” You panic. “That’s too much. That’s-”

“Stop, baby,” he soothes as he brushes your tears off your cheeks with his rough thumbs. “I needed to do this. I need you. Alright? You can thank me later. I’m fuckin’ counting on it,” he chuckles weakly. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that since our phone call-”

“Please just think this through,” you whimper. “We can start over anywhere. Just me and you. We can go to your hideaway tonight.”

”It’s not gonna be me and you if he’s around, baby.” The muscles in his jaw tighten, tears glistening on his waterline that hadn’t been there a moment before as he leans in closer, letting his cheek rest against yours. Rafe’s lips brush against your warm skin, making you melt into him. “Men like me take what we want, and we don’t take ’no’ for an answer. He’s not gonna stop ‘til I make him. No one fucks with my girl.”

He pulls away slightly, searching for your eyes. You look up at him, hating yourself for not fighting harder, but there’s nothing you can say to stop him. The only thing you’re doing is getting in his head, adding further emotion to an already emotional situation. If he is going to come out alive, he needs to focus. You look up at him and nod. “It’s just a conversation,” you whisper.

“Only a conversation,” he breathes as he reaches behind his back, double-checking his piece. You grab him by his shirt, pressing a hard kiss on his lips like it might be your last time. Rafe separates slightly, ghosting his lips over yours before kissing you again, taking control of the situation—the perfect kiss, exactly what you needed; deep and passionate yet gentle enough to feel more.

His lips pull away from yours, leaving you chasing him. “Pretty girl…” He mumbles, with a gentle grit in his voice. “This isn’t my first time. Aight? I know how to handle business, I know how to use my gun, m’not afraid to get shit done,” he assures, resting his forehead against yours.

“Red wine,” you whisper, fighting off tears as you rest your hands on his toned chest.

“What now?” He chuckles before kissing your forehead.

“That’s what I want. I wanna share a bottle of red wine with you tonight-”

“On our date?” He asks happily.

“On our date.

“She’s confident now. Huh? I needed that, princess. I’ll buy you a bottle of whatever you’d like, and we can share some dessert. Yeah?” He asks as he cups your cheeks in his large hands, kissing your nose, then your lips. “I love dessert.”

You giggle weakly, right on the verge of tears. “You can have whatever you’d like after this, baby.”

”Whatever I’d like?” He breathes between kisses. “You know what I’d love. Don’t you?”

“I do. I’d love that too.

“My girl,” he smiles. “Now let me handle business. Aight? I’ll be right out.”

“Okay.” You quickly catch a tear on your finger, brushing it away on your dress. Rafe turns toward the door, taking a deep breath. He lifts his fist, banging on the large wooden entry.

“Come in.”

”Stop,” you gasp, pressing your hand against the door. Rafe looks down at you frustrated; your talk apparently not enough to let him do what he needs to do without more pushback. “Just stop for a moment.” You whisper. “That’s not Tony.” Rafe’s eyes narrow, shifting from you toward the door and back to you, watching you as you lean in, pressing your ear against it. You shut your eyes, doing your best to focus on the conversation behind it.

“What are they saying?” Rafe whispers.

You lift. your finger to your lips, quieting him. “Shh, baby… Just-”

”Who the fuck else would it be?” A man grunts.

”Why the hell isn’t he comin’ in then? It’s gotta be one of Tony’s sluts,” a second adds. It’s always ‘yes sir,’ or ‘no sir,’ whenever Tony’s in the room. None of these men would ever have the balls to call Tony his first name to his face.

”Then open the goddamn door and find out what they want.”

”Nobody’s been back here all night. It’s him. We got specific orders. Kill him, take her home. We fuck this up, we’re gone.”

“Next knock, we handle it.”

”Can you hear what they’re sayin’,” Rafe asks, the pull of his voice making it impossible for you to compartmentalize him and the other conversation together in your fear-muddled mind. You bury your face in your trembling hands, finding yourself in a seemingly hopeless situation, trying to remain strong.

“Rafe - I… He’s not in there,” you whimper. “It’s a setup. Kill you. Take me.” The gravity of the situation has the opposite effect on Rafe. Those exact words sending him into a fit of rage instead of a fit of terror.

“So, he’s a woman beater and a pussy. Huh?” He chuckles darkly, pulling his gun out from behind his back. “Fuck, I’m gonna love killin’ him.” You look at Rafe, hearing those words fall so easily from his mouth. There’s no question that it’s not just lip service. He can’t wait. He’s looking forward to it. “Can you pretend to be a dancer? Just call for Tony? Throw him off?” You nod obediently. “You ready?” Rafe asks. You step toward the door and look up at him, tears wetting your cheeks. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, princess. It’s all going to be okay. Five minutes tops. Give it five minutes. If I don’t make it out. Leave. Please. Don’t look for me. If I’m alright, I’ll find you. And if not… just know that I love you.”

You stare back at him in disbelief. It’s hard to wrap your head around an instant connection with someone and even more challenging to convince yourself that love at first sight exists, but there’s no denying you feel it, too. “I love you, Rafe.”

“That’s all I need to know,” he whispers. He wraps his body in yours, burying himself in your neck and breathing deeply. Rafe kisses your neck, cheeks, forehead, and lips, lingering momentarily. You feel his lips tremble against you, his shaky breathing letting you know that he may not be as confident as the face he’s putting on for you, but the last thing he needs is more doubt.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the champagne room on the main floor, back-right, red curtain.”

“Five minutes,” he adds sternly. You separate slightly, walking toward the office door; rapping on it several times. “Tony, it’s Serena. I have a cash drop,” you call, holding onto Rafe’s hand for dear life. He kisses your head before nodding toward the main floor.

You run away, just as he asked, listening as the office door opens. Light floods the hallways, illuminating Rafe as you watch him draw his gun. He aims, quickly firing three shots inside, making you cover your mouth, muffling your scream as he rushes inside.

You sprint toward the door, throwing it open; clipping toward the champagne room fast. You look both ways, turning the plaque from empty, to occupied. It’s an out-of-body experience as you peer out the crack in the curtain into the club, everything visibly unchanged as the bass continues to thump, strippers climbing and sliding down the poles as if you’re not cowering in the corner, and there’s not a gunfight going just down the hall.

Your thoughts start to consume you, the idea that that could have been the last conversation the two of you would have ever shared, the depth of his love even after such a short time, his deep-seated need to keep you safe, the idea of not getting to share a life with him after.

You slide your fingers along your swollen cheeks, sniffling and wiping your tears. “C’mon, Rafe,” you blubber as you look down at your watch, seven minutes since he went in—two minutes longer than you vowed to stay. You feel torn; listen to him and leave or stay and wait. If he doesn’t make it out, I don’t want to either…

Your stomach flips; heart skipping as the curtain is pulled back. Rafe. You stand up from the booth, running into his arms before he can even set down his gun. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him toward your lips, needing him close. He rests his firearm on the table, giving you his full attention as his large hands paw at your body. Your kiss is desperate, rushed, and hungry. Your tongues reeling, teeth clashing, tugging hair; your hands everywhere. You pull away, panting for air, taking the deepest breath you have all night. “I was so worried. I-”

“Baby, I’m alright. I’m okay,” he comforts as your kisses soften, the two of you falling on a smoother tempo.

“What happened?” You whisper, lips flowing close.

“You were right… He wasn’t there.”

“Did you-“

“Kill anybody?” He asks, voice hoarse with adrenaline. “Yeah, baby. I killed ‘em all.”

“Shit,” you stammer, looking over his shoulder into the club, the guests and girls none the wiser. No heavy hitters in Tony’s crew were taken out. No one who truly mattered to his operation, just warm bodies set out to handle the boss’s dirty work - goons that got taken out in the crossfire.

It was them or us.

I still have him.

“Sit,” you whisper

Rafe smiles along your lips, lifting you into his strong arms. “Yes, ma’am…”

You reach for the top button of his shirt, pinching it between your fingers, tugging it open, working to the next as your eyes lift to his. Rafe sits down, setting you on top of him. You sink the rest of the way down, straddling his lap, grinding with the tempo of your kiss and the beat.

“I want you so fucking bad, sweetheart,” he mumbles between kisses. You can feel his want pressed against your delicate lace panties, your dress hiked up around your hips, pussy pulsing at the sound of his voice and the weight of his words.

"I need you, Rafe,” you groan. He chuckles lustily against your lips, groping your ass with his large hands.

"Oh, Yeah? Fuck, princess,” he hums as his eyes follow your hands, working lower and lower, exposing more and more skin as you pull open each button. Your lips press against the column of his neck kissing and sucking his hot skin. “Thankin’ me already, baby?”

You look at his opened button-down, dirtied with small splatters of blood. Rafe lip his bottom busted lip; in the heat of the moment, unnoticed ‘til now. His hair is a mess, hanging loose in front of his darkened eyes. He brushes his bangs off his face, smiling at you that has you physically aching for him. “There’s not enough time in the night to thank you…”

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

Part 4

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[chiscribbs]

[***NOTE: Leo's design here is no longer accurate, link to the updated version.]

I know there are already a lot of "the brothers are separated at a young age and raised by different people" AUs floating around, so this isn't especially original, but- I've yet to see one with this particular parent-child arrangement, so...

Here’s some rough concept art for what I’m calling the “Grown Apart AU”  Which I've also been affectionately referring to as the "Everyone's a Disney Protagonist" AU for quite some time... you'll see why.

Here’s the gist: Basically, Splinter is only able to save Mikey and Leo from the lab explosion - Raph is immediately picked up by Huginn and Muninn and handed back over to Draxum; Donnie is lost mid-escape and later found by Big Mama's goons, who show up for Lou but bring Don back with them instead when Lou is nowhere to be found.

Details of each turtles’ upbringings (as well as how/when they meet April) below the cut:  

RAPH

Draxum raised Raph to be everything he originally intended the turtles to be: a ruthless, obedient super soldier whose sole purpose in life is to protect the Yokai by eliminating the human threat. Draxum taught him to hate humankind and trained him up to be virtually undefeatable in battle. However...because Draxum isn't the most attentive parent, most of the caretaking for Raph was actually provided by Huginn and Muninn. And the two little well-meaning gargoyles - mostly unintentionally and outside of their master's knowledge - wound up nurturing a much softer and friendlier side to their supposedly bloodthirsty warrior-in-the-making. As a result, Raph has essentially been living a double-life under Draxum’s ownership; playing the part of a perfect soldier for his father/general, who he's determined not to disappoint, and only feeling free to be himself when he's alone (or with H&M.)

Raph has always known that there were supposed to be other mutants like himself but grew up believing that he's the only one who survived the experiment, making him the only one left in existence (until Draxum’s oozesquitos create more, that is). Even though he had H&M to keep him company, being an only child could still be pretty lonely sometimes, so Raph would often imagine what having brothers - other mutants like himself that he could have grown up alongside - would have been like.

Raph is the only one of the turtles that knows his human DNA comes from Lou Jitsu - just like Draxum, though, he has no idea that Splinter is actually Lou Jitsu.

DONNIE

Donnie had a posh and cushy upbringing in Big Mama's hotel - she raised him as her own son(unaware that he’s actually Lou’s)/apprentice and uses his technological talents to aid her multiple businesses: he supplies new weapons and battlegrounds for the Battle Nexus, as well as automated assistants and security for her hotel, and even pitches in with her more off-the-record dealings that last one being without Donnie’s knowledge. Big Mama's kept him pretty much wrapped around her little finger; praising him for his intelligence and usefulness whenever he does a good job or makes her nice things. When he hasn’t, however, she’s a less-than-affectionate mother. Donnie will do absolutely anything it takes to impress and earn approval from her.

Donnie is largely sheltered and knows very little about the world outside of the hotel - especially the human world, about which most of his knowledge comes from what he finds on the internet. He doesn't even know that he's a mutant, believing himself to be just some uncommon type of yokai, since that's all he knows. He’s not allowed to fraternize freely with the hotel guests and has a somewhat contentious relationship with Big Mama’s assistant, whom he’s always viewed as competition for her affection. The closest thing he's had to a friend is S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, whom Donnie built to have someone to talk to (besides Big Mama's boring, no-nonsense henchmen).

Don finally met April when he was about 11 yrs old; he secretly sent one of his spy bots out to explore the human city and she intercepted it. The two have been best friends and stayed in-touch with each other online ever since - April being unaware that Donnie isn't human.

Donnie knows of Lou Jitsu purely because he was Big Mama’s favorite champion in the history of the Battle Nexus - he idolizes him, having watched recordings of many of his fights, and dreams of one day fighting in the Battle Nexus himself (if Big Mama would allow that).

Leo & Mikey

Leo and Mikey were still rescued by Lou/Splinter and brought up in the NY sewers. Splinter felt extremely guilty for not managing to save the other two baby turtles and, for the first few years following the incident, spent much of his time searching for them. Once Leo was old enough, Splinter would start leaving him and Mikey in the Lair while he searched. He eventually gave up his search, presuming them both dead or lost for good, and resigned to keeping the remaining two as safe as possible - teaching them how to defend themselves and warning them never to leave the sewers unless he was with them.

Leo and Mikey were inseparable as kids - they would do everything together, refusing to even sleep in separate rooms until they were too big to fit in one bed anymore. Leo took his job as Mikey's big brother very seriously and always tried his best to protect him, even when they were simply playing games with each other. As they got older, though, the two brothers began to drift apart - Leo started to feel a little smothered; craving more freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted, without the older sibling responsibilities hanging over him 24/7. And Mikey started feeling like he couldn't go/do anything without his brother's judgement or approval, resenting the idea that he needed constant protection.

Finally, when he was about 13, Leo secretly snuck out of the lair one night to check out the city by himself and get a little taste of independence. After that one trip, it quickly became a habit and he soon began making regular “secret” trips into the city.

Somewhere along the way, his innocent quests for freedom and fun grew into opportunities to stir up some trouble - Leo eventually met and became involved with a group of yokai teens with whom he would pull pranks and play jokes on the city's human occupants (harmless ones...usually. They just enjoy causing a little mischief.)

Mikey, having to figure out other ways to keep himself occupied since his brother is usually by himself or busy with his new friends, has picked up a multitude of different skills and hobbies, trying absolutely everything he can get his hands on. His main hobby is spray-painting, which he uses to spruce any wall he can find with his own personal touch. By the time he's 13, much of underground New York has been covered by his handiwork.  Mikey eventually finds out about Leo’s secret outings and follows him when he leaves one night - the two end up meeting April, who's never seen mutants before (having only talked to Donnie online and not seen his face) and promptly freaks out before realizing they're not dangerous. The three soon become friends, too, and April starts making plans to introduce the boys to Donnie - knowing he could use more friends besides S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and herself.

The four brothers' fates finally collide with one another when an escapee from Draxum's lab - Mayhem - shows up out of the blue and catapults Mikey and Leo to the Hidden City, where they have an unexpected reunion with their eldest brother.

[curryalley]

I need Clint Barton to meet Dick Grayson.

I need Clint to roll into a SHIELD ops assignment meeting having absolutely not read the briefing materials before the meeting. I need Phil Coulson to explain that there has been a serious threat against the life of Dick Grayson. Wayne Corp is about to announce some new initiatives. Intelligence confirms a criminal syndicate plans to kidnap Dick Grayson to force Bruce Wayne to call off the plans. SHIELD needs Wayne Corp to go through with it (and kidnapped sons of billionaires are always a headache) so Clint, we've created an identity for you as a Wayne Corp employee to keep an on things.

And Clint has to be like, "Yeah that won't work."

The analysts immediately take offense. "It's an airtight identity, you've done worse undercover work than babysitting a billionaire's kid."

Clint interrupts. "I can't pretend to be someone else around Dick Grayson. I know him. Me. Clint Barton. We were friends when we were kids."

Everyone at the meeting is losing it and Clint stares at them all. "How many circus kids do you think there are? Haley's and Carson's didn't tour together but our paths crossed in the offseason."

That explains why during his afternoon walk home, Dick Grayson comes across his childhood friend, Clint Barton, wearing jeans and a purple tank top, juggling and doing tricks for cash on the street. SHIELD has adjusted Clint Barton's identity so he's down on his luck, busking for spare change because it's hard to get a job when you're a deaf former circus performer with barely a GED.

Of course Dick wants to help and they reconnect. Dick asks Clint to perform at a Wayne gala. The same gala where the goons attempt to grab Dick Grayson. Dick keeps trying to slip out and change into Nightwing but? Somehow? Clint is always behind him? They're both trying to fight off the goons, still in their civvies, each trying to rescue each other while also not giving away their secret idecities,

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I used to be a cop. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Would you believe me if I said bar fights?"

When it's all over, there's some disagreement about who is walking who home but Clint insists since Dick was almost kidnapped. Clint gets into his Hawkeye gear and plans to spend the night watching Dick's building for trouble when he sees Nightwing go swinging away from it.

Naturally he follows. Nightwing is meeting with the bats to report on the kidnapping attempt when there's a wild bit of confusion and mistaken identity as one of the bats slams Hawkeye to the ground and demands to know why he's following Nightwing.

Clint's lying there partially stunned at being nearly splattered by one of the robins or something when Nightwing leans over him.

"Clint?"

"Hey, Dick."

Clint and Dick were already friends but that's the story of how Hawkeye meets Nightwing.

(In the sequel, Clint turns up outside Dick's apartment months later. He's wearing multiple bandages, drinking a coffee with the name on the cup horribly misspelled with a K and holding Lucky's leash. He looks at Dick and says, "The Tracksuit Mafia has moved to Bludhaven, you got any plans tonight?")

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Below is why I think these bots would be fun to see;

-Knockout would become a famous model and Breakdown would be his bodyguard. I just think it would be funny to see Knockout caught up in a rogue attack and go absolutely apeshit on some poor goon that accidentally stained his 5 000 dollar designer jacket. Breakdown has to pull him of the poor man like "Babe, babe, it's ok, we'll get you a new jacket. How about a nice new suit too? That sound good?" Meanwhile the goon is fucking traumatized.

-Wreck Gar sees that Gotham is covered in trash and makes it his own personal mission to collect all of it and create his own trash kingdom. Gotham's streets have never been cleaner.

-I just want to see Kup train the batfam. And act old with Alfred. Perhaps save one of the vigilantes after they get captured, using nothing but his holoform, a bottle of liquor, a stun gun and guerilla tactics.

-You look me in the eyes and tell me Tarantulas wouldn't fit right in in Gotham. His freaky ass belongs there. He would sneak into Arkham to observe the patients, just for fun. Maybe terrorize them a little. "Doctor, the spider talks to me!" "Sure pal, of course it does. Did you take your medicine today?"

-Thundercracker becomes a best selling author in Gotham by writing about his experiences in the war (everyone thinks its just a very detailed fictional world). Jason gets absolutely hooked on the series and meets him one day while Thundercracker is out walking Buster. Jason promptly nerds out.

-Just full on pandemonium with the Scavengers. Krok tries to organize them so they can find a way back home but these idiots keep going on side quests. They were supposed to steal some Wayne tech? Sorry, Misfire got caught up in a riddle contest with the Riddler and Spinister is having a BBQ with Solomon Grundy.

-Airachnid becomes a serial killer/hitman in Gotham and quickly earns a reputation as a brutal and efficient killer. Not really that funny but a lot of potential for drama. She sets her eyes on her newest hit; Bruce Wayne.

-Swindle is fucking living life in Gotham, selling repurposed cybertronian tech to rogues. Not even necessarily weapons, just random pieces of regular cybertronian tools, like bottle cap openers that get repurposed into actual weapons by the criminals. Well, now he's on the batfam's watch list and has go into hiding.

-Ok, listen, First Aid is a freak. A well meaning freak but a freak nonetheless. So when he finds a vigilante bleeding out in an alleyway, of course he's gonna help them! But not before taking a picture of their wound and sampling their blood. Not for nefarious purposes! He just thinks it's interesting. But now the batfam tries he's going to try and clone them.

-All the rogues and vigilantes of Gotham band together to stop Shockwave. He's just trying to make his way home but his experiments and casual disregard for human life makes him such a threat that even sworn enemies have to put their differences aside if they want to survive.

-Predaking befriends Cass and she doesn't tell the batfam cause this is her alien friend and they've already got their own (Batman&Superman, Nightwing&Starfire, Red Hood&Bizarro, Red Robin&Super Boy, Robin&the other Super Boy etc.). Of course Robin eventually finds out and he's so mad cause that's a robot/alien/dragon! She can't just keep him to herself! That's so selfish of her! Meanwhile, Predaking is like "Where the fuck am I?"

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part Three

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

There are all sorts of hazards inside a Prisoner of War camp - guards, disease, injury, infection. One that none of you were banking on was the weather itself. Despite it all, and a severe lack of time to linger in one another's presence, you still find yourself growing ever closer to a certain Major.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Disease, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, Kissing, SS Officers, Depictions of Nazi Atrocities Against Russian Soldiers, Threats, Fear, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6337

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

April 21, 1945

Despite heeding your request and allowing others to bear the body of the late Freddy Simms, the boy whose name he learned only after his death, from the hospital to the corner of the camp where other bodies were also awaiting transport to the graveyard, Bucky still found himself tremendously sore the next morning. If not for roll call, he would have much preferred to remain on his makeshift sleeping palette tucked beneath the eaves of a fully occupied tent only half-protected from the elements. As it was, the resident goons needed him upright and counted, and so, with no shortage of grunting and grimacing, he had forced himself up and into line.

Considering the overwhelming population present, it was a wonder the guards did not just spend all day counting the prisoners to satisfy their twice daily checks. A few mouthfuls of broth later and Bucky had just lain back down to rest before it seemed like he was having to repeat the arduous process all over again. It had taken another day of rest to recover from his overexertion, but when he awoke this morning, things seemed a little less torturous. The warmth in the sunshine certainly helped, and he felt energized enough to accompany the delivery of the hot loaves of dense, black bread to the hospital. As his eyes scanned the rows of cots in the tent and then the clapboard building, he barely concealed his frown as you seemed nowhere to be found.

“Major, would you mind taking this pail of bandages out back for me? The Nurse seemed to miss them when she collected the laundry this morning.” There was a knowing tone to Chalmers’ request that made him swallow sheepishly, his ears heating up slightly, but he quickly nodded.

Grabbing the rather light pail with the hand of his uninjured side, he walked down the hallway to drop off a loaf of bread in your sparse quarters, brows furrowing at the lack of windows therein, before continuing out the back door. The sight of you crouched beside a basin, sleeves rolled up as you scrubbed at the sudsy rags with a large pot of bandages boiling away on a small fire nearby was so utterly domestic, Bucky could not help but let his mind wander. To imagine you in a kinder place doing something so very mundane without the fear of being shot or starved to death. That was where you ought to be – not here trying to scrub blood and other filth out of tattered cotton under the thumb of SS goons.

Bucky swallowed painfully as you paused a moment to smooth some errant strands of hair from your face and he was able to fully see the painful scars on your left arm. Scars that he had previously caught small glimpses of, despite your best efforts to hide them from him, but the full extent of them made his skin ache in sympathy. That explained why your nightmares featured fire.

Your sharp inhale, swiftly following by the sound of your boot impacting the pail behind you, pulled him from his reverie. Sent his eyes flying back up to see your horrified expression. You were frantically tugging down the rolls of your sleeve as you backed away from him, gait horribly off balance due to the obstacle you had encountered, and he was both afraid you would fall over and that he had offended you. Dropping his own pail, Bucky once again found himself chasing after you across the small, mud-filled yard behind the hospital, sliding his arms around you to haul you tight against his chest.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It just looks like it hurt a lot.” He murmured into your hair, hating the way your entire body was rigid and stiff against him.

There was an agonizing, drawn-out silence where the ambient sounds of the camp bled into the intimate moment until finally some of the tension melted from you.

Sniffing indignantly, you muttered against his chest, “it did. Well not at first, I was too busy trying to get out of the damn plane and take my surgical tech with me. But after…” He felt your head bob in a nod against him and he pressed a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades.

“He make it?” Bucky whispered, immediately feeling guilty for prying, but he could not take back the words now.

“Fitz? Yeah, he’s here – helps out at the hospital once a week…” You leaned back in his arms to look at him with dewy eyes, that wicked grin tugging at your lips and the depth of his longing to kiss you took his breath away. “Don’t see him quite as often as certain prisoners, though.” You teased, making him grin warmly in response.

“Maybe I’m still a patient in a way, angelfish. Maybe you’re still healing me.” He had meant to parry your jest with one of his own, but instead all that had come out was a vulnerable truth, and you both stood there, eyeing one another intensely before Bucky felt your arms, previously trapped against his chest, slide around him properly.

The way you pulled him closer should have felt comforting, reassuring, but instead all it resulted in was a lightning bolt of pain ripping through his back and he was barely able to smother the resulting hiss. You pulled back quickly, fairly ripping yourself from his arms as you frowned at him with your hands on your hips.

“John Egan you are still very injured.” You chided, gripping his shoulders to maneuver and guide him back to the stairs before forcing him down to sit on the edge of them.

“Like it when you say my full name, angelfish. Middle name’s Clarence if you want to really give it all you got.” He smirked up at you incorrigibly and you huffed in what he hoped was a mix of fondness with that obvious infuriation.

“Don’t think I won’t add that to my arsenal Major. Now you stay right there, that way I know you’re not off getting yourself into more trouble.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He grinned, loathe to admit it aloud, but it really did feel better to be sitting down.

Nodding sharply, you grabbed his abandoned pail of bandages to add them to the pot of water, fanning the flames of your small fire until they burned hotter to boil off anything infectious, before returning to your bucket of rags. You continued to scrub at them, casting scrutinizing glances his way every so often before transferring them to a rinse bucket.

“Did you really meet the Pope?” Bucky suddenly asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since he had heard you speak the words to the Simms boy.

“Yes, I did.” You nodded, wringing out the clean rags one at a time before draping them across your ersatz clothesline. “The whole squadron did.”

“You were in Italy then…” He mused quietly and you nodded with a quiet hum of agreement, the pair of you swapping information without giving too much away to anyone who might be listening in. “Well I definitely did not meet the King.”

Your sudden peal of laughter had him both grinning and bristling defensively.

“That far-fetched an idea, hmm, angelfish?” He raised an eyebrow demandingly and your hand pressed against your lips, trying to smother giggles you seemed to be unable to stop. “Alright, alright… If I wasn’t stuck on these steps on your orders.” He threatened playfully, basking in the way that only made you throw your head back and laugh harder.

God, you did not belong in this place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You apologized as he huffed, coming over to tousle his hair fondly.

It took all his willpower not to press up into your touch like some demanding housecat. Slinging an arm around your waist, he pulled you down to sit on his broad thigh.

“Think all this hard work is making you hysterical, angelfish, take a load off.”

“Bucky…” You murmured, reluctantly holding your full weight off him until he forced your hips down fully.

“Rest dammit, isn’t that what you’re always tell me to do?”

“But you’re actually injured…”

“So were you. They let you rest when this was fresh?” He asked softly, fingertips trailing across the abnormally smooth yet ridged surface of your burned and healed flesh.

Bucky could feel you twitching slightly in his arms, obviously not entirely certain how you felt about his touch on your scar and so he shifted to lace his fingers through yours instead.

“There were too many people to help.” You sighed. “Still are, I–”

“Just sit another minute. Can’t save ‘em all if you’re too tired to stand up.”

Your fingers closed around his as you exhaled shakily, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “I do want to save them all…and it’s never enough.”

“I know.” He whispered squeezing your side, lips brushing against your forehead.

The sound of voices caught his attention then – voices growing louder, growing closer. You leapt from his lap, and he reluctantly released you, assuming a casual posture as you grabbed a long stick to pull sterilized bandages from the pot and dump them into the sudsy water for scrubbing. Two guards rounded the corner, immediately barking at him.

“What are you doing back here?!”

“Hospital staff only, get out of here now.”

“Major Chalmers asked me to assist the Nurse, you can confirm it with him.” Bucky replied with a shrug, watching your eyes widen with curiosity.

“We will go confirm with him together, up.” The first guard spoke again, and Bucky rose stiffly, nodding to you before they led him inside.

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

As you awoke the next morning to the sound of rain hammering against the roof, you were filled with relief that you had managed to wash and dry all of the laundry yesterday. It was still waiting in its baskets to be folded, but it would hold until your next free moment. Forcing yourself to feel satisfied with a few slices of the loaf of that black bread that had appeared in your room – you held your suspicions that Bucky may have played a role in its arrival – you dressed and emerged as your door was unlocked, blinking in surprise as Fitzgibbons entered the hospital along with Chalmers and Menzies.

You had honestly lost track of the days, a serious risk in the camp, and the fact that it was now Sunday, his shift and your day of rest, had completely slipped your mind. As a medically trained Sergeant, it was well within Chalmers’ rights to order Fitzgibbons to work in the hospital more often, but an early clash of personalities between Menzies and your surgical technician meant that his presence was only requested on a more limited basis.

“Morning Ma’am. Brought you a book to try and keep you off your feet.” He held out a battered paperback and you shook your head with a fond sigh as you accepted the copy of The Great Gatsby.

“Thank you, Fitz…sure you boys don’t need any help today?”

“You can help us by taking the day off as intended, Nurse.” Chalmers replied in a tone that brooked no argument and you nodded, retreating to your room to sit at the small table to crack open the book curiously.

The selection of reading material in the Red Cross library in camp was limited, dated. This book had been published twenty years ago, and you had a feeling you might have read it before, but it was hopefully going to keep you relaxed and your mind off the dozens of tasks you felt like you ought to be doing instead. Despite your predilection to turn inward and get caught up in an overwhelming sea of introspection, the story proved engaging enough to lose yourself in until a knock on the door jamb startled you.

“Mail call.” One of Bucky’s friends stood there, the blond with the gold teeth, grinning. He had a box tucked beneath his arm.

Confusion bloomed unabated across your face as you had not once received a piece of mail since you had been taken prisoner in January. No one had.

“I didn’t think that we were getting mail…” You slid a piece of scrap paper into the book to save your place.

“We’re not, Hambone, stop confusing angelfish.” Bucky appeared over his friend’s shoulder and snagged the box out from under his arm. “It’s those Red Cross boxes we thought we might get.”

“Man, I just wanted to say it once, still a kind of mail.” He grumbled as he strode back down the hall.

Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he set the box down on your table. “Sorry if he got your hopes up.”

Laughing dryly, you set your book down to pry open the already portioned box – each package meant for two servicemen. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned not to expect anything here.”

Spotting the can of powdered milk you held it out to him. “You take this.”

“Angelfish, why are you giving me your rations?” Bucky eyed you suspiciously and you raised an eyebrow in response.

“You’re healing bones and I’m not?”

“At least take half, put it in one of your old cans…”

Glaring at him a moment, you relented with a sigh, unable to deny the fact that it would be nice to have some to add to the bitter coffee. Digging through the remnants of your last box, you found the empty can from the allotment of powdered milk that had arrived in February and began decanting half of the fresh supply.

“You haven’t gotten a single letter? Not even your parents?” He asked quietly, leaning against the door frame.

Swallowing tightly, you slid the metal lid back into place on the cannister, shaking your head. “Figure things must be pretty bad if they can’t get the mail through. Not that I got a lot of mail before but…” You shrugged and held out the powdered milk to him. “Pretty sure it’s got a hole so use it quick.”

Stepping forward to take it carefully, Bucky’s eyes traced over your face curiously. “No handsome fella desperate for your scented stationery, angelfish? I find that hard to believe.”

You could not help but roll your eyes with a sarcastic noise. “Fellas don’t want girls like me, Bucky. They want some pretty thing waiting back home with the time to write pages long letters in looping cursive and those saucy acronyms and pretty spritzes of perfume. Not girls who spent so much time making a living they forgot to make a life.” Your eyes dropped to study the cans of corned beef, of ham, the fresh box of crackers, and small block of American cheese in your ration box. “I’m sure you’ve got a beautiful girl waiting stateside. Sweet and kind and not a whisp of a scar on her. Doesn’t know the sound of jackboots on floorboards or how to use a parachute or what it looks like when the life leaves someone’s eyes. That’s the kind of girl a man like you deserves, Bucky. To completely forget this nightmare even happened. Not this beat up, grungy, girl who wouldn’t even remember which fork to use at the dinner table–”

You barely registered the press of his lips against yours at first, mouth fumbling against his as you continued your litany of reasons why you were utterly unsuitable for him until at last you became fully aware of his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his kiss growing firmer until you stilled against him. An exhale sighed its way through your nose as the tension seeped from your bones, melting against his tantalizingly firm and broad chest. With a noise of deep reluctance, you forced yourself back, licking your lips slightly.

“You could get yourself in serious trouble doing things like that John…”

“Long as it’s not in trouble with you, angelfish.” He murmured fondly, tracing his fingertips along the curves of your ears before slowly pulling them back, tracing your jaw as he went, your nerve endings shimmering in the wake of his touch. “I just couldn’t bear to hear another word of that horseshit.”

A smirk tugged lazily at your lips, the tender flesh of them still humming slightly. “So if I spout nonsense, I get kissed, is that how this arrangement works?”

He exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “You can just ask, too. No need for all the absurd self-deprecations. Because the ‘fellas’ you speak of are idiots. You are a damn treasure, angelfish. Anyone who can’t see it isn’t worth your time.”

Feeling moisture gathering at your lash line, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him in to lay a firm kiss of appreciation on his lips, briefly glimpsing his look of surprise before your mouths collided. Mindful of his ribs, you slid your other hand to his hair, holding him close as his arms encircled your waist.

“I like this ‘arrangement.’” He breathed against your mouth when the pair of you were forced to come up for air.

“Mmmm. Well you’d better get out of here before someone comes looking for you.” You muttered, not making a move to release him.

“Absolutely.” He replied, only pulling you closer into him.

“Bucky…” You sighed, tone not nearly admonishing enough.

“Thirty more seconds.” He whispered.

The unmistakable and aforementioned sound of jackboots scraping across hardwood echoed down the hall and you started to shove at him. “Goon, goon!” You hissed and he back pedaled quickly to the threshold of the room, cradling the powdered milk under his arm.

“I tried reading that book, didn’t really understand the green light business.”

Chest heaving, you furrowed your brows, watching him gesture sharply to the paperback on the table beside your ration box and you inhaled in recognition.

“I think it’s some kind of metaphor in futility?” You blurted out, a long-lost lecture on the novel suddenly flooding back to your rescue as a guard strode past him down the hall, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah, got enough of that in my real life.” Bucky huffed with easy nonchalance before shrugging. “Well, see you around, Nurse.”

“Thank you again, Major.” You nodded, desperately trying to even out your shaky breaths as Bucky disappeared down the hall and the guard continued out the back door, sending you slumping into your chair in relief.

Your trembling fingers traced the tiny smile that curled at your lips, not at all certain what had just transpired, but things between yourself and Bucky had definitely changed.

What most certainly did not change was the weather. The deluge persisted through the night and into the next day, Chalmers and Menzies arriving mud-splattered and damp after being released from their combines. The humidity was of absolutely no help to Desmond Brown, an infantryman from Pennsylvania who had been battling pneumonia for nigh on a week now. Dusty, as he was affectionately known, only seemed to grow weaker, and you were quite dismayed to note a bluish tinge to his fingernails and around his lips today.

“Won’t be long now.” Menzies uttered as you made your rounds and you nodded silently. “Doubt we have anything to prop him up and make him more comfortable?”

Scouring the hospital with your gaze, you shook your head with a frown. “I’ll move his cot against the wall and try to prop him against it – not the best but better than…” You left the fact that he surely felt as though he was drowning in his own fluids unspoken.

Menzies was smart enough to understand and nodded firmly. “Try and sit with him as much as you can today.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded and the pair of you parted ways to put your various treatment plans into action.

Pushing the cot flush against the wall, even with its occupant still in place, was not terribly difficult. Malnourishment and illness had devoured much of Dusty’s muscle mass, though you did need a moment to catch your breath and recover, given that you too were three months into your POW diet. What proved hardest was keeping the man propped upright. Any time you would leave his side to check on another patient or help one of the surgeons with a task, you would find him slumped to the side or slid down into what he deliriously claimed was a more comfortable position.

Most concerning of all, a soft rattle had taken up residence in the back of his throat, audible with each exhale. It was worryingly known as the ‘death rattle’ and usually signalled the end was not far off. Fetching a cool cloth, you settled him into the most comfortable yet still propped-up position you could manage with a combination of his pillow and blanket and the wall before laying the cloth across his fevered forehead. Dusty blinked his glassy hazel eyes at you once, then twice, before his eyelids fell shut for the last time. His labored, rattled breathing continued on for a remarkable duration, and all the while you sat at his bedside, cradling his hand in yours.

You tried to remember sweet things to talk about – spring and its flowers, family dinners, Hershey bars from his native Pennsylvania, anything at all so he would know he was not alone. The men in the adjacent beds grew quiet, the only sound the insistent rain striking the roof and the fading breaths of your patient until even those were gone too. Confirming Dusty had passed by checking his pulse, you shifted his body to lay flat on the cot and covered him with the blanket, standing with a start to find Bucky leaning against the wall, soaked to the skin, watching quietly.

“You know where his friends are bunking?” He asked in a hushed voice, and you nodded, fishing out his chart to find the number of his combine, providing it softly. “I’ll tell ‘em.”

“Thank you, Major Egan.” You nodded, looking quickly as Menzies arrived to note the time of death as you glanced back at another meaningless loss, wondering when it could all just be over.

Bucky’s knuckles brushed against yours gently and you offered him the ghost of a smile before Chalmers was calling for you. “Try and stay dry, this is perfect trench foot weather.” You gave him a meaningful look, willing him to not become another tally on the death sheet, another hole in the POW graveyard.

Bucky nodded sharply in return. “Doin’ my best, angelfish.”

“Good.” You breathed before rushing off to try and keep someone else alive.

Another night, followed by another day of incessant rain, had the yard outside resembling a sea of mud. It kept everyone trapped indoors, even the prisoners who had been sleeping outside found their fellow men making room wedged between sleeping palettes lest people get swept away in the night. There was no meeting Bucky out back whilst doing laundry, nor any excuse to sneak off to quiet corners for a moment of privacy. There was simply too much to do and so all you were able to share, when he and his compatriots delivered another allotment of black bread that day, was an intense look of yearning before duty pulled you away once more.

The state of the tent had been weighing on your mind as it sagged lower and lower beneath the three-day onslaught of water, and it was no surprise when the canvas gave way the morning of the 25th, a mighty sound of rending fabric echoing through the space. A deluge of frigid, accumulated rainwater poured down onto the three men who had the misfortune of being positioned below the gaping tear, its ragged ends flapping in the breeze. Grabbing some towels of rough cotton, you were rushing along the slickened wooden floor to try and move them, dry them off, when the entire corner of the tent lurched and collapsed with a groan and further cries of distress.

“Help!!” Was all you had the mental capacity to yell in the face of the sight before you, hoping to summon Menzies and Chalmers.

To your immense surprise and relief, a flood of men began to pour in from the yard, most likely summoned by the sight of the collapse, but also perhaps your scream. As the lot of you began to unearth men from beneath the debris, you recognized Bucky’s friend with the gold teeth – Hambone, he had called him – as well as the brunette who had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt over ‘angel face.’

“Where should we put ‘em, angelfish?” Bucky’s voice broke through the cacophony from behind you and you turned back to him quickly, wondering when he had arrived.

“In the hall, towards my room.” You thought quickly on your feet, the very last available space in the hospital coming to mind.

With over half of the tent still intact, you worked with the group of volunteers to reinforce the structure that remained standing and ensure the men resting there were all right. Mercifully, the rain slowed for the first time in days, before stopping altogether. Barricading off the collapsed portion of the tent with the sodden, unusable cots, you turned to take stock of the rest of the patients, pleased to find them resting as comfortably as possible. You were drenched and filthy, but that was a secondary concern. Squelching your way inside, you gnawed on your lip to see a total of eight patients now sheltered in the hall with no bedding to speak of.

The feel of a towel being draped over your shoulders jerked your head to the right to see Bucky roughly rubbing at his dripping curls with a towel of his own.

“I am once again in your debt, Major Egan.” You sniffed, wringing out your shirt slightly into the rough cotton.

“Don’t mention it. I’m guessing the only beds you have for them are out there in Lake Moosburg?”

A small, incredulous snort escaped you despite your ragged state and he huffed an exhausted laugh in reply. Shaking your head with a sigh, you furrowed your brows. “We’ve got nothing but a few more towels, and an abundance of dirty rags and bandages…It stopped raining though.” You tagged on the tiniest piece of good news and lifted your knuckles to rap against the wooden wall for good luck, to help it hold, grinning fondly as he practically mirrored the motion.

“Small mercies. I’ll see if I can convince some of the others to part with their blankets in the name of the unwell. I’ll be back, angelfish.”

“You’re a good man, John Clarence Egan.” You murmured tenderly.

Bucky froze, eyeing you intently, unmoving. Not even breathing for nearly a minute before he exhaled heavily. “Suppose you did warn me you’d weaponize my full name, angelfish…” He rasped, fingers wrapping around your wrist to squeeze in a subtle but emotive gesture, his thumb stroking across the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, making you shiver.

“Sorry.” You whispered, having not anticipated the heaviness of the blow it would land, but Bucky quickly shook his head.

“I look forward to you almost killing me again, soon.” He smirked and squeezed one last time before releasing his grip on you to head outside, sloshing his way around the camp to scrounge up enough bedding to keep the displaced patients comfortable.

A variety of guards and their officers came to inspect the damage throughout the day, Lieutenant Colonel Clark making his presence felt as he appeared on Bucky’s heels and immediately demanded the tent be repaired to provide appropriate care for the men.

The next morning dawned sunny for the first time since the 21st, but the cheer brought by the change of the weather was significantly dampened by the appearance of the skeletal figures of Russian labourers. You had glimpsed them from time to time through the barbed wire of the fence behind the hospital, ghoulish figures forced to work in the kitchens, on camp maintenance and repairs, and burying the dead, but you had never been this close to them before. Clearly summoned to complete the repairs on the corner of the hospital tent, they moved in a slow shuffle, clothing barely more than limp rags around their spindly frames. Rumor had it they did not even receive Red Cross ration boxes, subsisting solely on the scraps provided by the SS camp administrators.

Your heart ached at the sight, and you longed to smuggle them food or something of comfort, but they were, at all times, surrounded by a ring of guards to keep them separate. To keep them apart from the rest of the POWs. Casting sympathetic glances their way, you collected the rest of the cots and bedding they unearthed from beneath the partial collapse and shifted it all outside to dry out in the sunshine, noting the increased presence of guards kept Bucky and his compatriots from dropping by.

You assumed the same would be true throughout the 27th as well, however, shortly after the sun reached its zenith, you straightened from a patient’s bedside to see him leading in an unfamiliar face, the shorter man cradling a bloody hand to his chest.

“McLeod here sliced himself good on one of the ration tins.”

“Sorry to trouble you, Ma’am, it just won’t seem to stop bleeding.” The Scottish brogue tumbling from McLeod’s lips matched his shock of red hair impeccably, even if it was a bit difficult to decipher.

“Take a seat right here and we’ll take a look.” You smiled and gestured to one of the freshly dried cots, wedged between other patients at it awaited the completion of its normal resting place.

As you perched on the edge of the cot beside him, setting a pile of bandages in your lap, you noted Bucky eyeing the crowd of SS guards and their waif-like labourers hard at work in the corner of the tent. Gathering McLeod’s injured hand in yours, you gently dabbed at the blood pooling in his palm, nodding as the depth of his cut was revealed.

“Think you might need some stitches here, let me fetch the surgeon.” You smiled reassuringly, pressing a wad of bandages over the wound, coaxing him to apply pressure to it before approaching Chalmers who was working just a few beds away from the construction zone.

The clatter of tools striking the wooden floor caught your attention before the frail body of a workman collapsed to the ground. Acting on instinct, you surged forward to check on him, a professional hazard when on duty in a hospital. The nearest guard, not quite so tall as the others and thereby twice as mean to make up for it, barked at you sharply.

“Get back, schwester.”

He gave you little warning before the butt of his rifle cracked against your shoulder, making you lurch back in pain and chastisement. The cramped quarters combined with the mud-slickened floorboards to send you sprawling backwards onto your hip, mortified, but as you immediately tried to scramble back up to your feet, a wall of humanity was in your way.

“She’s just tryna do her job, keep your shirt on.” You recognized Bucky’s terse growl first, followed by Chalmer’s British accent, made all the crisper in his annoyance.

“You would strike a woman who is only trying to help an unwell man?!”

Sliding backward across the slimy wood, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you on your feet, lass.” McLeod grasped your elbow with his uninjured hand and hoisted you up despite the way your boots seemed reluctant to find purchase on the ground, holding you steady until you nodded that you were, in fact, stable.

“Nein!” The guard shouted back through the men who had formed a barricade between you. “No help!”

Frowning deeply you balled your fists to see the Russian POW laying in the mud, unaided, unacknowledged by any of the guards or his fellow labourers.

“Nurse, go get cleaned up.” Chalmers’ orders snapped your eyes to his face, and you swallowed tightly before turning on your heel, making your way to the utility room to fetch some water.

You could vaguely hear the surgeon arguing for the man’s life as you transitioned from the tent into the main hospital building, but you narrowed your focus to carefully stepping over the men sheltering in the hallway. To trying not to cry at the meaninglessness of it all. Stopping at your room to grab your wash basin, you looked yourself over in the mirror, sighing as you were thankfully not as mud stained as Chalmers’ order led you to believe. Bucky’s reflection as he peered into the room made you turn sharply to face him, gulping back tears as there were patients just steps away.

“You hurt?” He asked softly, seizing your hands.

You shook your head quickly. “Just a little bruised, but I’ll live.”

Bucky tugged on your hands to pull you against him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “You’d better.”

Burrowing your face into his neck, you could only muster a nod in reply, clinging to him, careful not to hurt him, until you felt able to take more than just the tiniest sips of air for breaths. As the crushing weight lifted from your chest, you lifted your head to look at him apologetically. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, angelfish, you were just trying to help that poor man.” He sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead. You felt one of his hands leave your back and heard him huff a laugh. “You might want to change your shirt though, your back’s covered in mud.”

Tensing, you craned your neck to look over your shoulder, muttering bitterly. “So that’s what Major Chalmers meant…”

“I’ll get you some fresh water and make myself scarce, too many goons watching.”

Nodding softly, you passed him the basin, hoping the construction would be done soon and things could go back to their bleak yet relative normalcy. As if hearing your wishes for the first time in months, the universe actually conspired to have the repairs to the hospital tent completed that evening, all eight patients returned to the cots in the corner, the hallway cleared. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier that night as you settled them down for sleep, awaking to yet another gloriously sunny day and finally the chance to catch up on the overwhelming backload of laundry.

Setting your water to boil out back and prepping your wash basins, you returned to the hospital to collect the pails of rags and used bandages, smiling warmly as you found Chalmers in conversation with Bucky about one of the American patients. He sent you a friendly nod without breaking his concentration and you bent down to grab the pail that rested between the central desk and the cot where one of the medium-term residents, Pete Thompson from Ohio, was recovering quite well.

“Nurse, you gotta be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He gushed, as he was prone to do, fluttering his long, dark eyelashes.

The young man had lain it on pretty thick since the moment he had arrived several weeks ago, before traversing a brutal course of bronchitis, which he was thankfully coming out the other side of.

“Oh come off it, Thompson.” You laughed warmly. “You boys are so desperate for female company, I’m sure you would propose to Eleanor Roosevelt if she had the misfortune of crossing your paths in this place.”

The guffaw your joke earned had you grinning brightly in return, and you made sure he was comfortable before turning to grab the last couple buckets, blinking to find them in Bucky’s hands.

“This all of ‘em?” He raised an eyebrow and you nodded, leading him out the back way to set your load down in the nearly dry yard.

You hard barely turned around when his lips were crashing into yours, hands gripping your elbows, kissing you breathless.

“Wha…” You tilted your head at him, stunned, when he finally pulled back.

“That’s for slandering our First Lady but also diminishing yourself. Couldn’t just kiss you right there in front of everyone though, angelfish. Specially not that soldier boy getting fresh with you. Had to wait ‘till we were alone.” He smirked and pressed his lips against the tip of your nose, making you giggle airily.

“John Clarence Egan, never change.” You sighed dreamily.

His chest rumbled softly before his lips surged forward, already parted, to take advantage of your surprise and slide his tongue along yours hungrily. In retrospect, his ‘attack’ may have been well warranted, give your twice use of his full name. It was also not unwelcome, making you cling to his shoulders and whimper down his throat as he seemed to taste every inch of your mouth. The way the hair dusting his upper lip brushed against your face threatened to undo your knees, your head swimming with lack of oxygen and emotion until the sharp snap of the door’s hinges had Bucky wrenching back from you.

Pressing your lips together to take greedy breaths through your nostrils, you watched Menzies moodily deliver a missed bucket of rags, eyeing the pair of you suspiciously.

“Best move along Major, we have guests inspecting the handiwork of our unfortunate neighbours.”

Bucky nodded to him firmly, sucking in a deep breath as though to muster a reply. “Thanks for the heads up, Captain. See you around, angelfish.”

He tipped his imaginary cap to you, and you nodded in return, watching him disappear around the side of the building, heart hammering beneath your sternum, before lurching back to focus on the task at hand. To say that your thoughts stayed to him often throughout the course of the day would be an understatement.

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

Read Part Four

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8

[brucewaynehater101]

How the Bats argue against Jason's murder in fics

Now, Jason's murders vary in fics on a spectrum. There's murderous killing even common goons up to only those folks who are repeat, violent offenders that are not able to be contained/do their time (whether due to a corrupt system or them escaping).

We are gonna chat about the second one [in simple terms, Jason being particular and only killing the really evil bastards].

Side note, this is neither arguing for or against Jason's methods. This addresses how Jason may relinquish killing in fics in a more realistic manner than simply because he was told to or he wants to make amends

I've seen the Bats arguing shit like:

"Murder is wrong"

"This is not how we operate"

"We are not judge, jury, and executioner"

"This makes you a villain/evil/a murderer"

These arguments, frankly, are shit. This should not convince Jason to stop. Red Hood is killing from a logical-based moral standpoint (by neutralizing the threat permanently, he is saving inevitable future victims). Jason believes his option is frowned upon, but ultimately the right path. It's a "I'm doing what's necessary even if it damns me" mindset.

Arguing it's wrong will simply make him scoff or laugh. He knows the Bats don't like it, and he know they find it morally reprehensible. He still finds his actions to be necessary.

Jason isn't a child that needs to be told "right" and "wrong." He simply has a different moral code. Instead, these arguments in a fic serve as a reflection on the Bat that makes those statements.

This is not a diss to anyone's religion, but a similar comparison is to folks who base their moral code on holy texts and then try to tell other people what's "right" or "wrong" based on what their scripture says. If the other person doesn't have the same religion, you simply can not make moral arguments based on texts they don't believe in... Cause that writing has no weight to them. You would need to argue why something is "wrong" without resorting to: because [] says so.

By only declaring it as wrong, all that Bat is doing is showcasing their inability to communicate/be morally flexible. They are showing an unwillingness to acknowledge Jason's points or try to engage in counterpoints to convince him. These arguments usually predate the Bats trying to force Jason to stop killing instead of allowing him to make the choice for himself.

That is a perfectly fantastic fic idea to explore, but this wouldn't persuade Jason to change his ways. In fact, it may make him dig his heels into his methods more.

For arguments to sway Jason's opinion on how to pursue justice:

There is no oversight for Jason's murders

Cops enforce with killing (regardless of how you feel about the truth of this statement, Jason would hate this comparison)

Killing takes away chances for reformation

The threat of death causes false confessions/fear-based responses

Unclear standards on killing leads to innocents fearing Red Hood and not feeling safe

Escalation can occur (especially in fucking Gotham) when people feel their lives are threatened

Killing takes a mental strain and is thus harmful to Jason

Death is permanent and they can't suffer

There is no remedy for human error if they are dead

I'm sure there's more, but these are starting points to stop Jason's murders or ween him off of it [such as requiring Babs or Tim or Dick or Steph or the Outlaws or fucking Alfred to double check Jason's work before the execution].

Once again, I am not claiming any of these reasons are "correct" or that Jason's way is "incorrect." This is how a certain dynamic may be influenced by various conversation paths