#dark red hood x reader

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as things that go bump in the night

So what if he’s not human?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne x fem!reader

Contains: Monsterfucking. Dubcon. Unprotected piv sex in Dick’s, Jason’s, and Damian’s. Blood in Bruce’s. Somnophilia and light breeding kink in Dick’s. Knotting in Jason’s. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Tim’s. Degradation in Damian’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked. Happy Halloweekend angels!

BRUCE WAYNE 🦇

A loner. A constant shadow over Gotham. A collector of all things macabre. And now, he has his sights set on you. You’re a pretty thing, dressed in all black at a late-autumn gala, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze on you even when your back is turned.

So it’s no surprise that, when you tempt fate by rounding a corner into a deserted hallway, you are not alone.

Stepping out of the shadows, Bruce’s hand clamps around one side of your throat, leaving just one side—the side of your pulse—exposed for his lips. He kisses you there far more than he kisses your lips, nibbling and suckling the soft flesh over your pulse. Your heart beats faster and faster as your knees go weak, but his arm tightens around you.

“I have you, darling,” he husks. His skin is cold against yours, but perhaps that’s because the all-consuming presence of a man like this makes your blood run hot.

His other hand comes up to cup your flushed cheek, thumb dragging along the shape of your face as if he’s trying to memorize you.

“So warm. Such soft skin,” he murmurs, bending his head low and kissing your neck. “Such a beautiful creature.”

Something twists in your stomach when he says that—creature. An instinct tells you to run, but you quickly realize that the look in his eyes has you completely enthralled. He’s watching you with purpose, always keeping your eyes locked as if looking away from you will break the spell he has you under.

“I have to taste you,” he whispers, voice raw with a strain whose source you cannot place. He inhales deeply and lets out a low, feral noise before you feel a twinned shock of pain that makes you gasp: blood rushes to your neck and spills from your broken skin onto his waiting tongue, which greedily laps at the sweet nectar he just stole.

DICK GRAYSON 🦇

You never remember what happened the morning after your nights with your blue-eyed visitor in black, but you can’t stop the way your body aches for the mysterious stranger. At first, you thought he was a dream, but even you know that your unconscious can’t conjure up something as beautiful as him.

He wakes you by laying on top of you, pushing his hot-as-Hell flesh against yours. You didn’t go to sleep naked, but you’re naked now; your clothes are gone, but you’re covered with him, his mouth latched onto one of your nipples, one of his hands painfully squeezing the other, and his red-tipped cock already bullying its way into your slick folds. 

It hurts, but the ache is so dizzying that you can’t bring yourself to care, especially when you’re aware that you won’t remember this by morning anyway. You feel as if you’re being burned alive and made new in just the way he wants you. And that feels good, doesn’t it? Why else would you have woken up with your pussy soaking wet? 

He picks his head up just enough to watch you watch him while his tongue traces the outer edge of your areola and flicks your nipple in slow strokes, teasing it into hardness with just the tip of his tongue. He’s kneeling between your legs, and his free hand slides down to gently stroke your belly—which is when you notice that his fingers, like his cock, are tipped with blood-red skin.

Then comes his dark murmur, “Let me fill you, pretty thing. Let me give you a little gift to help you remember me.”

Your breath catches and, once again, he latches on—teeth first, this time.

At the same time, he thrusts into you, cock heavy and fire-hot, searing your skin and all but tearing you open while you keen and grasp at him, fingernails scraping down his back. His warmth is inescapable as he thrusts into you with inhuman force.

And you swear that, when he comes, filling you with his infernal seed, you catch a glimpse of a ruby glimmer in his once-blue eyes.

JASON TODD 🦇

Honestly, you handled finding out that your boyfriend is a werewolf remarkably well. But because you’re a human, he has one rule: no knotting. That is, until an October full moon has him more feral than usual, trapped in a rut that he’s powerless to fight against.

Jason has you hiked up against his chest, barely balanced on his thick thighs with your panties shoved aside. One finger is pressed firmly against your clit, the claws that come with his half-transformed state lightly grazing your sensitive skin. He’s already buried inside of you, thrusting so shallowly that he may as well be humping your innermost walls.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. His skin rages with heat while his muscles tremble, lips mouthing along any inch of your skin that he can reach. Head heavy on your shoulder, he rasps out broken sentences, each cut off by animalistic whimpers and whines. “God, fuck— I can’t— I shouldn’t— You’re—”

You have one hand tangled in his hair, thumbing the soft black-and-white fur that crawls up along his hybrid ears. His cock, impossibly thick already, stretches you even more open than you already were, and you throw your head back to let out a moan of mixed pleasure-pain.

“Fuck,” he whispers, because he feels it too. “Baby, I’m— It’s—”

“Let it,” you gasp, feeling lightheaded with the pain of Jason filling you so completely, cockhead swelling so full that he couldn’t pull out even if he wanted to. “Please, please, Jason, I need it.”

All that gets you is another guttural groan from him, a sound as close to a howl as he can make without being fully transformed. Still swelling, his cock is thick, heavy, hot—pulsing inside of you, begging to stay there, to fill you, to mark and mate with you. You can’t imagine what it must look like, but you know that the feeling is divine: this oneness, this wholeness, is something you’ve never felt before. It’s almost enough to dull how much your pussy aches.

“Jason,” you moan, tears filling your eyes.

“I know,” he soothes, trying to stay sturdy and stable for you even though his whole body is trembling. “Fuck, it— Baby, you feel so good. Such a good fucking girl, letting me mate with you. Gonna make you feel amazing, I promise.”

TIM DRAKE 🦇

“Stay still,” Tim teases, clawed fingers clamping down on your hip. “Or no rewards.”

Your back is pressed against the chilly, damp wall of the bat cave, and your clothes are shreds around your feet. You know this is all your fault, that you should have avoided the man who has only made his obsession with you painfully clear. As soon as the half-dragon spotted you—his treasure, his paramour, his little human love—he pounced. 

Half changed with pewter green scales climbing up his skin and pupils narrowed into reptilian slits, Tim wastes no time in turning your clothes into ribbons of fabric in effort to get to you.

And then he drops to his knees, burying his face in between your legs.

The forked tongue laves up and down the folds of your pussy, skirting along the outside of your sopping hole until you’re shuddering, clinging to him. His hand digs in harder, talons piercing the soft skin of your ass, scaly palm forcing your cunt against his mouth until you feel the sting of sharpened teeth against your mound.

Even though his teeth sting your pulsing flesh, even though his licks are too fast to be completely pleasurable, you feel yourself grow slick around his tongue. Your head falls back against the wall and you begin to pant, heart beating so fast that you start to feel faint, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

His forked tongue reaches impossibly deep within you. The fleshy muscle feels wrong but also so good, skin fading from soft pink to greenish-black, its texture rough and bumpy, stimulating you from more directions than you have ever felt at once. 

He licks all the way to your cervix—a thing no mere mortal man could ever do to you—greedily biting, sucking, and growling against your throbbing, abused pussy until finally you come with a pitiful, worn-out scream.

You feel his ice-cold lips pull into a smile as he breathes, “Good human. Now give me another—or three more. Maybe five.”

DAMIAN WAYNE 🦇

You go to the guardian of an ancient library for help but, poor you, the sphinx’s riddles prove too challenging for you. In accordance with the legends, you expect to be smited on the spot, or at least banished, but instead—the sphinx shifts to his human form and decides that you are his.

How lucky it is that Damian decides he likes you enough to keep you captive instead of simply killing you as punishment. How lucky it is that he is clever enough to find a use for your frail human form. How lucky it is that he doesn’t find mating with you as repulsive as he originally thought.

“At least work for it,” he drawls, stifling a yawn while he leans back on the emerald-green settee. His arms are spread, powerful shoulders and biceps making him look even bigger than he already is. No, he never touches you—that would be demeaning—but he does offer you the privilege of riding his cock until you make yourself come.

You close your eyes and drive your hips forward and down, trying to strike the spot inside you that only he can reach. No sooner than your eyes flutter closed, though, he snaps his fingers in front of you.

“Look at me, pet.” His head rests on the back of the chair, lips parted with every breath that makes his chest slowly rise and fall. His face looks warm and you wonder what it might feel like to kiss those plush lips—but you’re also coherent enough to realize that he’s measuring his breaths on purpose.

You’re getting to him. You think. You hope. Maybe if you please him, he’ll let you go. 

He shifts his hips up and you cry out, nearly losing your balance on his powerful thighs, but a warm hand suddenly cups your ass to drag you back into place. He leans forward, stomach flexing, and murmurs in your ear, “Can’t even do this without help, can you? Useless little human.”

[shallyouobeyme]

From the Outside

Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Neglected Batsib!reader (GN)

Summary: You were living your life as a stranger in the house you were supposed to call home, an outsider in a group of people who were supposed to be your family. So you do your best to keep yourself distracted from your situation and go on with your life. But just how long will you be able to keep on with that?

! Minors Do Not Interact !

Requested by @sol565

TW: Not much in this one, neglect (obviously), loss of relatives, car crash (mentioned), cancer (mentioned), swearing, coming up to Yandereness in the next chapters. I'll try to proofread and edit once I finish the whole thing.

Last night you dreamed of your family again. It was a pleasant dream, one that had you wishing to keep on dreaming even after you were woken up by your alarm. All of you were sitting at the dinner table, enjoying Alfred’s excellent cooking. The room was filled with happiness and joy, the kind of atmosphere that has you reminiscing about that day for ages. In your dream you felt so weightless, Damian was sitting opposite you as he listened to you talk about your day, an anecdote of you leading to laughter filling the room. Your mother ruffled your hair from where she was sitting beside you and as you smiled up to her you felt filled with love. Around the table, the Waynes were actively interested in the conversation and Bruce was asking you a question leading to a cheeky comment from your left side. You knew what was said, but you couldn’t understand the voice. Confused you looked to where your father should be sitting but only a distorted shadow figure looked back at you. 

It opened whatever would be most akin to a mouth and a blaring sound echoed out of it. Your eyes flew open as you slapped your bedside table to grab your phone. 7 A.M, time to get up. This dream had been haunting you for a few weeks now, the idyllic family dinner turning into an unpleasant reminder of your situation. At first, you had woken up in a cold sweat and slightly fearful from the end, but by now you had grown very accustomed to it. Just another part of your day to get through. 

You accepted to pay the mental price for the opportunity to see your mother again, if only during the nights. 

Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.

Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions. 

The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other. 

Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother. 

She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have. 

Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close. 

You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both. 

Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life. 

Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life. 

It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely. 

You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group. 

So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count. 

Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough. 

And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality. 

You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves. 

Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again. 

These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second. 

The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).

Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder. 

“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.

“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events. 

“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched. 

“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.

“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”

“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be. 

Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left. 

“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.

“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?

“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”

A/N: So, what do y'all think? Let me know in the comments or in my inbox ❤️ Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the title as well, not sure if I should change it or keep it.

[artemis32]

Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons. 

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others. 

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice. 

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves. 

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded. 

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor. 

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves. 

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once. 

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them. 

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you. 

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued. 

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you. 

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life. 

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow. 

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty. 

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready. 

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed. 

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking. 

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago. 

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.” 

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list. 

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth. 

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options. 

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you… 

No. You couldn’t go with him. 

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell. 

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study. 

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over. 

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–” 

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could. 

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering. 

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring. 

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–” 

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment. 

“Why is he so upset?” 

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest. 

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

[millyhelp]

It all fell Down.

Jason todd x reader

warnings: mentions of death, blood, sad jason. read at your own risk. Angst shit.

Notes: I cried writing this. good luck. and yes, I wrote a super cute smut a few hours ago and now this puddle of sadness. Maybe I should continue?

please comment.

"Stay with me, stay with me..." Jason's fingers passed over your face affectionately. Thick tears of fear left his face.

You were bleeding. Your wound was deep, a bullet hit you.

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Your wedding. Your white dress was now red across the entire length of your chest. Jason's white suit blouse was in the same situation.

You lost blood quickly.

"It's okay." Your voice was weak and you coughed. The bullet hole had pierced one of your lungs, making blood fill it.

"There's nothing okay. Just stay with me, okay?" Jason sobbed and held you tightly against him. "Don't leave me..."

"I won't. I'm with you, right there." You placed your hand on Jason’s heart. His voice was low. Your lips were turning purple. "Jay..."

"Don't talk, save your breath. Look at me, please" Jason had never cried so much in his life. "Where's the fucking help?!"

Jason shouted, his voice broken by crying. The entire Batfamily was trying hard to control the chaos that was happening. No one had understood where the attacks came from.

"Jay..." You called him again. his eyes were heavy. You knew you couldn't take it anymore. "I love you..."

"Don't! Don't say that!" Jason shook his head. Childish sobs left his lips. "Don't do this with me!"

"Kiss me..." your blood-stained hand went towards Jason's face.

Jason would deny it. But he couldn't. Inside him he knew his end was coming. He was just being selfish.

His lips kissed you with tenderness and pain. Fear. afraid to lose you

Your lips were cold. A heavy sigh left your lips. Your heart stopped.

A scream of pain left Jason's lips.

"No! No! NO!" Heavy tears were left, loud sobs and screams. "DONT LEAVE ME! No..."

Jason shook your freezing body.

"Wake up! come on! wake up!" Jason caressed your face "My love, my princess. Come on, you have to wake up. Let's get married."

Jason went into a state of delirium. He wouldn't accept it. No. The only one who loves him the way he is, the only one who wasn't afraid of him. You were just sleeping.

"You chose such a beautiful dress for me, huh?" Jason's voice was broken. The tears didn't stop falling. "I can't wait to fill our house with kids. We want three, remember?"

Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Tim and Damian had managed to stop the attack. They did not identify who sent the shooters. But that didn't matter now.

A tear left Barbara's eyes when she saw Jason kneeling on the floor with you in his arms.

Dick, Tim and Damian knelt in respect.

Little Damian let a few small tears fall. Tears that no one thought he would ever drop.

Bruce walked over to his son. He placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.

"Jason..." Jason ignored him and continued talking to you.

"Come on love, wake up. I promised to take you to London! We have to catch the plane in a few hours!"

"Jason." Bruce spoke more firmly.

"You're going to love Paris! You told me it was your dream to see that big tower! My French is terrible, by the way!"

"Jason!" It was Barbara's turn to call him.

Jason looked at her. Barbara shook her head.

Jason didn't want to believe it yet. He ignored her.

"Jason! She died!" Damian's voice was loud and tearful. Broken.

"No... not for me..."

For Jason it was just a nightmare that for him, he would wake up like every other time. But this time, it wasn't a dream.

you were gone. you died.

and Jason can't save you.

[lunarbuck]

Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)

a dark little red riding hood retelling

pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)

wc: 3.3k

summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.

warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying

a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!

beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3

my masterlist

The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village. 

After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.

The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.

As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him. 

“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.” 

You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask. 

“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.

“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.

“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.

“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.

“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet. 

“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?

“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.

Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows. 

You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.

The Wolf

Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter. 

I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me. 

Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.

When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait. 

I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.

So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait. 

And wait, and wait.

Until I hear the door creak open. 

“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt. 

“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.  

Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.

“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.

My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways. 

“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.

I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back. 

“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.

She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw. 

I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.

“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.

“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.

“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.

“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge. 

I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.

After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.

My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her. 

Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.

I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air. 

“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.

I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.

“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.

“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips. 

“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch. 

“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal. 

“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed. 

“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt. 

“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock. 

I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell. 

Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts. 

She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.

“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”

“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”

“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”

I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.

“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”

“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.

I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this. 

I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.

“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust. 

I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream. 

She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.

My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.

“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.

I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”

She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed. 

Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny. 

I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.

Just the way I like her.

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[haloswrld]

[s-sugustar]

Your heroes — 𝒟．𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 , 𝒥．𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝

🎧﹒synopsis ﹒✢﹐— Should've left her in my care, this wouldn't have happened if you did. — 𝒟．𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

🎧﹒pairings ﹒✢﹐— Yandere! Red Hood x blk!fem reader x Yandere! Nightwing

🎧﹒content warning ﹒✢﹐— dark content, drug usage, smut, dub-con, power play if you squint hard enough, impact play, spitting, choking, degradation

🎧﹒author's notes ﹒✢﹐— had this in my drafts for ages since i had been a bit skeptical about posting it but here it is.

🎧﹒wc ﹒✢﹐— 3.1k

“D’aww, look Jay. She’s drooling.” Grayson concedes, his hips pushing further and further into while his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing both sides from time to time. Jason struggled against the ropes as he watched Grayson mercilessly pound into you. The whining and tiredness in your voice had caught Grayson mid-way; stopping you from reaching your climax. “Is the baby tired?” he seethed, pulling you up by the neck to stop you from slumping over onto the bed.

Screeching in pain, the squinting of your eyes and the muffled sounds of your screams had been enough for Jason to wince. Everything was hurting and he knew that but there was nothing he could do. His limbs were like jello and his energy was gone; all because of some poison Grayson had thrown at him when he tried to stop Grayson from entering his apartment. 

“Babe, you know the rules. You go to work, and you come straight back home, y’hear me?” Jason muttered, giving you a light kiss on the lips before placing one on your forehead before putting the metal helmet on. You really wished he didn’t have to lead this type of life; you wanted him to settle down for a bit, so you begged. Every single time he bid you goodbye at 2 in the morning, you always had something to say about staying home with you.

Regardless of how you put it each time, his answer had been the same regardless. “Gotta provide for you and f’me baby. Gotham needs to be at peace once in a while.” The end part being a joke to cheer you up or in hopes of making you laugh but that never happened. Staying quiet seemed like the best option every single time after the very first time you brought it up. 

To say it in the easiest way is best. Jason is paranoid; a bit too in over his head but his paranoia comes from years of battling against Batman and the fear of the Joker finding him once again and stripping him of everything, only this time, he feared it would be you with the aches of being hit with a crowbar.

After his resurrection, Jason bulked to say the least. His confidence hadn’t been there but he was stronger than before and he knew for a certainty that he would have a better chance at protecting you than before. Hiding away in the most grimy places in Gotham was his best alternative at this point. 

After becoming Red Hood, many of the districts fell under him as he ranked up. Unfortunately, he had a run-in with the one and only Batman, and to say that it ended in the most gruesome way possible was an understatement. Oh, no one was injured gravely, but the feelings that had been pent up for years had come all undone. 

“Jason, I’m sorry.” It took three words for the young boy to fall to his knees in tears. After all that he had been through, he still cherished the man that left him to die. Oh what a pity. But alas, had it only been the Bruce and Grayson that had been in mourning? Dear God no. Had anyone think to check on Y/n, who had been Jason’s best friend? Grayson sure did. He had to be the one to keep her going after she heard the news.

The pain, the torment, the nightmares day in and out. It was a lot for Y/n to keep on going but Grayson made it better. During that time of need, Grayson stayed by your side through everything. He was your shoulder to cry on, the one who made you laugh till your stomach aches. He was your everything and all in one when Jason couldn’t have been. 

“You know I’ll never leave you right?”  Grayson questioned, he peered down at you with a sullen look in his eyes, his fingers grazing the sides of your face.You fell asleep not too long ago, your head perched on a pillow with your head resting against Grayson’s arm. He knew that you wouldn’t have answered him, you had an extremely long day and with today being the 2 year anniversary of Jason’s death casting your light down even further than it was.

Bruce hadn’t been around you much, guilt filled his heart whenever he saw you so he chose to stay away. Grayson on the other hand, he knew that you lost the one who truly understood you, who had been there through thick and thin. Although Jason meant everything to you, Grayson held a piece of your heart as a dear beloved friend. 

To say that Grayson hadn’t felt a little bad that he was a bit glad that Jason had been gone was quite the understatement. He felt some sort of joy to see the way your eyes watered and your lips quivering before you had a full-blown breakdown. The heaving and small sniffles that came from you whilst Grayson soothed you made his heart do flips.

Now, Grayson was a sadist in any form or fashion but the way you looked, so vulnerable, so heartbroken, God did it do some things to him. Maybe it won't be a breakdown next time, maybe you'll be under him squirming and squealing as thrusts his dick into you. His plan was in place, all he needed was to wait for the right moment.

Silence filled the room as you looked straight ahead of you, shock written all over your face. You couldn't move, you dearly wish you could've in this moment but how could you when the one you thought was dead stood boldly in front of you, a metal bodice surrounding his form and a metal mask in hand. "Jason?" was the only thing that fell from your lips as you drank in the boy or well man that stood before you.

Red had always been his favorite color from young; you never forgot. His eyes seemed distant; his stance wasn't as before. Rigid and hollow, many walls built for the sake of his sanity and maybe yours but in this moment, all of that crumbled when he spoke. "I came back. I came back. . . . .for you." All the love that had been shared between the two of you came rushing in like a tidal wave, breaking whatever strong force that tried to pull it back.

Grayson laid on the floor, bruised and bleeding; his mouth pooling with the taste of metal and the sight of red on the pavement. He cursed heavily before pulling himself up, his head against the nearest wall as he held his abdomen in pain. "That stupid red mask." He found his way home, easing through the open window, maybe a bounce in his step to see you.

A burning sensation rang through his jaw but that didn't stop him from calling out to you. Yet, he was met with silence. Odd. Usually you would have your arms wrapped around his torso, completely unaware of the wounds he had until a wince fell from his lips making you completely aware of his wounds before apologizing. "Hey munchkin, this isn't the time to play hide and seek with me. I'm hurt and I need your company right now."

Yet no response, again. Maybe you were asleep. With his head, he peeked into the room, quietly surveying it before slipping in ever so quietly. "Baby, stop heading from m-." "She's not hiding from you, she's gone." Nightwing sneered, wincing as he turned to face the one with a metal helmet coated in red with white lenses stared back at his broken body.

His hand balled into a fist before speaking, blood pooling in his mouth. "Where did you take her? Where the hell did you take her Red Hood?" A deep rumble emitted from his throat, his eyes squinting as he stalked towards the bigger man. Yet he didn't make it far as the barrel of a gun found refuge between his eyes, the metal was cold and hard since Red Hood pressed it harder against the skull of Nightwing.

"You come after her, I put a bullet in between your eyes, Grayson." The name fell from Jason's lips with much hatred and malice but with the built in modulator it was hard for Nightwing to understand the emotions behind what he had said. With a pregnant pause, Red Hood gave Nightwing one last look before going out through the window. Nightwing grunted in anger and in pain but stood in his place for a couple of minutes. He'll get you back, one way or another.

"Sugar, you know I love you too much but I can't let you out. I'm sorry." Jason reasoned, it had been almost a year since he scooped you up from Grayson and you loved every bit of it but you felt caged. You couldn't leave the apartment, orders of Jason Todd. Sure, he had his reasons, but you wanted out. No, you needed to get out.

Seeing the same four walls day in and day out started to make you lose your mind and you couldn't afford to do that right now: not to Jason anyways. He had been through too much for you to act out and start whining over not being able to leave the house. Maybe it was for the best. Just like what Grayson used to say.

Grayson, Richard Grayson or well Dick as he wished you to call him. Boy was he some character. His worrisome state and his constant clinginess had been enough for you. You knew he meant well but sometimes you felt if there had been some sort of kick he was getting out of this.

You knew he meant well but sometimes you could feel something more sinister and darker, something he wasn't saying or well doing. Shaking your head from such perilous thoughts, you switched through channels trying to find some that would catch your attention.

A few hours later, you fell into sleepy state, your eyes shutting but blinking back to life to stay focused on the movie that had been playing. What did seem to catch your attention was the loud thunk that echoed from a room in the corridor. You sat up looking towards the hallway patiently waiting for Jason to appear.

Glancing over at the digital clock that showed 2:14 a.m. in bright red colors, it was around this time that Jason would normally get home but seeing that he didn't appear yet, you went to investigate. You peered into the training room, calling out to him. but you saw nothing, the only other room there had been the one both you and Jason slept in, so you headed there. You pushed open the door, a curious look upon your face when you saw that he hadn't been in there either, maybe something fell.

Now, you weren't one to be paranoid, but you felt goosebumps rise against your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck rising. You were being watched. At times like this, you wish Jason had trained you in some sort of hand-to-hand combat, something you could fight with, but he left you helpless, like a doll without blemishes, perched in a high place just to look pretty and keep up appearances. So caught up in the pretenses of the happy life you lived and the one you longed for, you weren't able to sense the light steps that followed behind you so in esseence, you were an easy target.

Yelping in pain, you grabbed the side of your head from the place where you had been hit and at the same time, you turned to see the culprit, but instead of meeting a face, your eyes met the hard plywood within the apartment; splotches of black covering your sight. Soon enough, you were out cold and left in the hands of the culprit.

A sheer gasp fell from your lips as some strong force from behind. Wrapping their dominant hand around your waist and one hand gripped against your mouth. You tried to scream and hit them at the same time but all failed when the perpetrator tightened their grip on your waist and squeezed the flesh of your jaw, nails and the fabric on their hands digging into your skin.

"C'mon sweetheart, don't be like that to poor little Grayson." Your eyes widen in fear when a voice you could never forget sounded from behind you, but you weren't so shaken by the fact that Grayson had been pounding you whilst you slept but the fact that Jason had been tied to a chair, eyes wide open and staring right at you.

Brusies of all shapes and colors decorated his skin, more so the black eye that was starting to form. It was only then that you realized he had been gagged with some sort of sheer material from what you could see.

Then you saw the watery look in his eyes, was it because of the bruises, maybe so. That had been your first guess since it couldn't possibly be that he was crying, was he? With the little energy you had left, you twisted and turned your arm to loosen the grip that had been around it before you snatched it away, reaching towards Jason with a soft wail leaving your lips as you tried to reach him.

Alas, but Grayson had been attentive. Although caught up in filling you up with his cum and making sure Jason knew you were his, he pulled back your wrist, a tighter grip than before, wrenching it back in the same position, not caring if he had hurt you in the moment.

"You pull away from me again and I will break both your arms, understand?" Fear enveloped your entire body, but you still nodded, not wanting to anger the man any further. Maybe it had been your body that made you fall into the deep end. Panting at the surge of pleasure that flew through you as Grayson thrusted against your hips; the slick fabric rubbing against your skin every time he moved. The grip on your hips maybe have been tight but it felt good, really good. You weren't the only one who felt good in this moment though, the sane yet needy body that had been ravishing you from behind felt the shift in your stance.

Your arch deepened and your moans and whines felt more eased than strained; you were finally started to like it and that made Grayson excited. Yet on the other hand, Jason was furious; fingers deeply caved into his palms, he wouldn't be surprised if they were bleeding and his teeth clashed to the point where his jaw started to hurt. He shook against the restraints, pulling and twisting to find some sort of release.

His teeth snapping into one of your soiled panties, which he only learned that it was when Grayson had pointed it out when you were still passed out. The sweat shined in the moon light, beads of it dripping from his eyebrow. He felt hot and squeamish, he needed to get out of these restraints. Groaning at the rope that restricted his wrists, the roughness from it, bruising his wrists. The discomfort from the tactical pants he wore; not only from the ropes that sat around his ankles but also from inside of them.

The pushing against the fabric, a bit too tight for his liking. God, he felt disgusted with himself, but the sight of you was so appealing, he needed more; needed to feel you, feel inside you. The deep hollowness within his stomach stated enough, it was detrimental but addicting.

He hated the way Grayson corrupted you, pushing you into unknown waters, hazy of all things around you. He wanted to keep you safe, away from the dangers of this world, safe and wrapped in his arms. He was pulled from his thoughts when Grayson started to mumble, murmuring words into your ear. Jason didn't even realize that you were awake; eyes wide and staring right at him.

Was it shock or fear? Normally, with his enhanced hearing, he would have been able to hear every word that Grayson whispered to you and maybe he would've been able to break out from the ropes if his advanced strength and agility was still there but whatever Grayson had in that syringe caused his energy to deplete and his limbs to feel gummy.

Back to present moment where Grayson had your back arched and head pushed down in the mattress, Jason watched as you wiggle and squirm but every time that you did, you received a harsh slap to your thigh, causing you to whine in protest. Grayson had pulled out from his daze and looked towards Jason with a large smile, canines pointed and sharp, ready to strike and pierce.

He saw the mischievous glint in his eyes; that meant he was up to absolutely no good. "God Y/n, your blood smells divine. I don't understand why Jason hasn't sunken his teeth into you yet." As Grayson spoke, Jason's eyes widen in fear, head shaking vigorously, trying to signal to Grayson not to do it but by the smile etched on his face, he knew his attempts were futile.

Your screams were muffled by Grayson's hand as he sunk his teeth into your exposed neck, gripping your neck as he pulled it further to the side for more access. The man in restraints screamed, begged Grayson to stop but his screams were muffled by the now soaking wet fabric that invaded his mouth. His chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, eyes blown wide and bright in red as he heard your screams dying down and head lolling to the side, indicating that you had passed out from too much of your blood being taken.

"Oh no, poor baby all tuckered out." Grayson taunted, dropping your limp body back onto the bed as he pulled out of you; not caring enough to clean you up or wrap you in a soft cotton cloth. The older man got up from the bed, grabbing his escrima sticks before walking over to the chair that Jason had been tied to. With a pat on the shoulder, Grayson left Jason tied to the chair with nothing else but to stare at your unconscious body in the moonlight.

Tears cascading down his face not just from sadness of not being able to protect but from anger that the one person he trusted defiled the one person that kept him going. Once Jason was out of the ropes, he'd clean you and keep you warm but after his eyes were dead set on Richard 'Dick' Grayson and destroying everything he stood for. This meant war.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Tear You Apart Masterlist✨

A/N: Hi, guys 🥰 Wanted to update you that I decided there will be more parts to this story. The one shot inspired me to continue on with Joel and reader’s story and also introduce how they met and came to be in this trope. I’ve really enjoyed exploring dark Joel and the themes of his grief and loss. It really plays a huge part in his walk. I hope you enjoy!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💙

Prequel

Drabble: Engulf Me In Flames

Part 1: You’re Mine

Part 2: Into the Dark Forest You Go (Coming Soon!)

Summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you into the forest?

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: dark! Joel, slight degradation, light choking, dom! Joel, unprotected p in v, control, manipulation, feelings, Joel has soft moments, oral giving and receiving, cum play, dirty talk, angst, outbreak! Joel, Jackson Joel, little red riding hood theme, wolf! Joel, desire, lust

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓈𝓁𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 ⎹ 𝓓.𝓖. & 𝓙.𝓣.

fandom dc / neon moon au masterlist / @dollsdc-library

featuring vampire!jason todd x human!reader ( f! ) x vampire!dick grayson

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning this is a dark fic, do not read if nonconsensual content triggers you! blood kink ( there’s so much blood lol ), fear kink, choking, nonconsensual feeding ( at first ), dacryphilia, glamoring/mind control kink, dubcon smut, fingering, threesome, spit kink, dp ( vaginal + anal ), overstimulation, ahegao, creampie, and cum marking

summary who knew a knock on your door could turn your life so upside down?

word count 6k / one shot

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

thanks so much @sinisterlysiv for the commission! ❤️

commission info & contact

the banging on your front door startles you awake.

with a strangled yelp, you sit up straight, and stare through your open bedroom door into the darkness of the hallway. listening. another furious beating of fists against your door. at first, you thought it might be the cops, the pattern similar for a moment, before you realize it’s a pair of fists— two at once, pounding against the barrier; a desperate plea.

growing up in Gotham should’ve made you more suspicious of middle of the night visitors so desperate for you to open the door that they’re trying to batter it down, but you couldn’t help but wonder: what if it was someone who needed help? what if someone innocent was on the other side of that door, being chased by one of the city’s many threats and you didn’t answer it? could you live with the guilt if you opened the door tomorrow morning to find a body on the step?

you frown, concerned, and pull yourself out of bed. the pounding was ceaseless as you escape the dim bedroom in a flurry, your sleepy apparel, an oversized Gotham Academy tee, belonged to an ex boyfriend from high school, but it had always fit you like a dress, and fluttered about your thighs as you hurry through the hall. only when you’ve flicked the switch at the end of the hall, the small living room flooding with light, that you hear the voice on the other side of the door. calling your name.

“I—I need your help, please… Open up…”

“Jason?” you whispered under your breath, practically ripping the chain lock. it swings wildly against the door as you flip the deadlock and wrench the door open. “Jason—“ your heart practically stops at the sight before you. bloodied fist prints painted the other side of the door, and your friend was covered in it. you could smell it before anything else, thick and metallic in the air, and you nearly want to gag, but you haven’t the time to react before Jason is collapsing— crumbling towards the floor like a house of cards in a thunderstorm. “Jay!” you cry out, scrambling to catch him, wrapping both arms around his midsection. “Jay? What happened? Are you okay?” you demanded, trying to pull him into the apartment. you can feel just how soaked with blood he is; his dark shirt saturated; it’s in his hair, drying on his face, and he’s leaving bloody boot prints on the floor as his legs go slack and his feet drag against it. he’s so heavy, much heavier than he looks. you’re unable to haul him in by yourself, and you huff, “Jay, can you walk? Can you come inside? Help me, please! You’re too… too heavy…”

somehow, he finds the strength, his sticky hands finding your shoulders and his boots pushing into the floor to assist in propelling him into the room. with a yelp, you stumble back. you’ve no choice but to slide to the floor when his muscles give out again, trying to soften his fall by guiding him towards the couch, his back hits the edge and he lets out a weak grunt.

“Oh, my God.” you exhale, sitting back on your knees. simply getting him inside had you panting, but now that you were sitting in front of him in the light, you could see why. he was hardly sitting up, his head lolling against the side of the couch, eyes rolling back in his skull with his bloody lips parted, jaw slack. “Hey, hey, Jay,” you mumble, grabbing his face with both palms. you could feel the blood like drying glue sticking to your hands, but you tried to ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach and shake him back to consciousness, “wake up. Come on, look at me, open your eyes and look at me!” he groans, lids flittering, and you can tell he’s trying. finally, his clear eyes try to focus on you, but they seem different than the last time you’d seen them. or maybe you were simply remembering them wrong; you hadn’t seen Jason in five years, perhaps you’d simply forgotten that they were so translucent that they seemed to glow… then again, when have you ever seen anyone’s eyes glowing like this? “Talk to me,” you plead, pushing his damp, dark tendrils back from his face, “how can I help?”

“Thirsty.” he croaked, and you thought maybe he was looking past you, over your shoulder towards the kitchen. “I’m thirsty.”

“Where are you hurt, what happ—“

“Thirsty!” Jason barked, effectively starting your heart like a furious engine. he’d never yelled at you before. one, blood slicked hand reaches for you.

you nod, taking it and carefully setting it down. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back. Just… try not to move too much, okay?” you get to your feet, hurrying towards the kitchen, and you don’t notice the way his fist clenches at his side. grabbing a glass from the cupboard, you hurry to the faucet and fill it, trying not to watch the water ripple from your shaking hand. the blood smeared against the glass as you gripped it, so instead, you avert your gaze back towards the living room. you can only see his legs, splayed out. please be okay, you prayed silently, please be okay.

finally, when the water reaches the brim of the glass, you turn it off and spin on your heels, about to sprint from the kitchen when you catch your reflection in the refrigerator. the silver heavily distorts your countenance, but you can still see the crimson blurs, massive and ugly splotches of blood from your shoulders to your bare knees. you pause, staring into the reflection in horror, but looking down at yourself. it wasn’t any less shocking than in the reflection, seeing your night shirt streaked in what you suspected to be your friend’s blood. but you couldn’t linger there, you couldn’t fall apart because he still needed your help.

“Okay, here we go.” you whisper, hoping to soothe him as you kneel by his side again, one hand coming up to cradle the nape of his neck and urge him to sit up as you bring the glass to his lips. “Drink. It’s okay.” you feel a soft tickle of relief brought about when you watch him take in water, lips smearing ruby over the rim of the glass. he took a large gulp into his mouth, and you wanted to exhale. that was, until he choked on it. “Easy!” you pull him up straighter, concerned.

but Jason was gagging, sputtering and spitting water all over the floor as he floundered. with a powerful swat, he knocks the glass from your hand and it explodes when it makes contact with the floor, shattering by your knees. you jump, recoiling from him as he pulls himself to his knees and doubles over. both palms smack against the wooden panels of the floor as he coughs water up on to it. you stare in horror, unsure of how to help.

“J— Jay…” you mutter, watching him close, and inch closer, “where are you hurt? Can you show me?” he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t pull away when you peel his soaking shirt upwards, examining his back for any injuries. with your fingertips, you prod carefully at his skin. it’s freezing, so cold that you’re in shock that he’s even still alive, but you can’t seem to find a single break in his skin, not a single bullet wound or gash from a blade. your hand careens his waist, feeling on his stomach until your fingertips brush a patch of rough flesh, and he flinches. one of his fists flees to grasp your wrist as he falls back on to his butt and inches backwards.

“No.” he grimaces, shaking his head, but his grip tightens around your wrist, so you scoot closer, wincing.

“I need to see,” you reply, looking up at him, “I need to know how bad it is.” but it’s almost as if Jason is looking through you, as if his vision is unfocused, his eyeline streamlined to your neck instead of your countenance. his hand is vice tight and squeezing so hard you fear your wrist might snap, and he’s drawing you closer, just staring. “Jason…” you gulp back a whimper, eyes widening, “that hurts…”

and then, strangely enough, it’s as if he snaps out of a trance. his fingers uncurl from around your wrist and he lays back, averting his eyes. you take a moment to rub the soreness out of your wrist with your other hand before you look back at him, seemingly docile for now, and you swallow around the lump in your throat, leaning closer. this time, both of your hands reach out for him, holding on to the hem of his shirt and gently push it upwards over his abdomen. what you see there sends your mind reeling.

a hideous Y incision from his abdomen up to the start of his neck.

an autopsy scar.

only, somethings wrong. the wound has already healed; the pale scar tissue is much too rough to be fresh, even. so, this scar had to be a few years old, at least. you stare, equal parts perplexed and horrified, sitting back on your buttocks with one, blood stained hand clasping over your mouth. you feel like crying, or screaming, or vomiting. maybe all three.

just, what the hell had happened to Jason since you’d last seen him?

“Of all the places for you to hide, you picked the most obvious.” a familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, pulling you back to the gruesome reality before you, and your head snaps up to see the figure leaned against the door jamb. “You really are desperate, aren’t you, J?” you didn’t have time to try and decipher what he meant. you didn’t care to.

“Dick?” you ask, hopefulness returning. Jason’s adoptive older brother had his arms crossed over his broad chest, but his pitiful gaze was almost a mockery of sympathy. “W— what’s wrong with him?” you asked, looking back to Jason, who was groaning as he lays back against the floor.

Dick quirks a brow, watching Jason writhe. “He’s dying.” he replied, jarringly flippant.

“What?” you snap, voice breaking over the realization that he must be right. Jason was freezing, he couldn’t keep anything down, and he could hardly hold the weight of his own body up. “No…” you sit up on your knees, reaching out to pet his icy forehead, but he turns away from you with an incoherent moan. you look back to Dick, biting down on your lip, “there’s nothing we can do?”

“Well, there is something.” Dick purrs, shifting his weight as he stands up straighter, willowy digits curling around the door frame. he glares into the doorway, staring you down like a lion stalking a very clueless gazelle. “I can help him.”

“Really?”

Dick nods, “Of course. Do you want my help?”

“Y—“ you gasp, peering down at Jason. he’s grabbed your nightshirt with both hands. “Jay?”

“Don’t…” his voice is hardly audible, and you have to hunch forward, getting as close to his lips as possible.

“What?”

Dick’s jaw tightened, gripping the doorframe tighter, he calls your name in a chilling, singsong voice. “You’re wasting time. And my brother is dying in your arms. Say it.” he urged, crystalline gems sparkling.

you frown, confused, looking from Jason to Dick and back again. you wished Jason was strong enough to finish his thought, but he couldn’t even keep his eyes from rolling back behind his lids. “Yes,” you said, finally, looking up at Dick with wet eyes, “please come help him.”

a low and wicked rumbling vibrates within Dick’s throat as he quirks a brow, and his fingers dig deeper into the frame, splintering wood from the sheer force. he then swaggers inside with a pleased sigh. “What a good girl you are.” he crooned, traipsing closer; his lips were stretched into a demonic grin, “Very, very stupid, but a good girl nonetheless.”

you blink, confused, watching his legs— they’re eye level to you as he encircles you. “What are you—“

“No wonder baby brother likes you so much,” reaching forward, his fist wraps around your neck, pulling you to your feet with a strangled choke. you stumble backwards, both hands coming up to claw at his wrist when he yanks you back against his solid chest, “he wouldn’t feed with me because he was holding out. Saving himself for his pretty, little high school crush.”

feed? you squirm, grunting as you try to wiggle free of his grip, but he’s so much stronger than you, escape is impossible. “Let go!”

Dick chuckles, lips caressing your jaw as he speaks, “I won’t lie, Jay, I’m surprised you were able to resist this one. I bet you can hear her heart from all the way over there, can’t you?” his fingers dig into your vulnerable flesh, squeezing your windpipe until you gag, and he plants a soft kiss against your cheek, “Listen to how fast it’s thumping!” he exclaims, giddy, “Like a little drum.” pressing his cheek to smush against yours, he coos out a taunt, “Are you scared when I squeeze your fragile neck?”

you nod, gulping swallows of air that burn against your windpipe when they’re caught by his fist.

“Leave her… out of this…” it’s Jason who speaks, now, struggling to push himself off the floor. he slipslides in blood and water puddles around him. “Leave her alone.”

“Jason, he—“ you start to call for him, but Dick’s other hand clamps tight over your mouth, and he shushes you.

“Shh,” he hisses against your face, before he looks to his adoptive brother, “leave her out of it? Oh, no, Jason, you’re the one that involved her. The second you showed up at her doorstep.” you can feel one forefinger drag against your throat, the pad surprisingly soft and chilly over your pulse point. “You didn’t come here just to starve to death on her living room floor, did you? You were going to fuck her, feed off her, hell, maybe even turn her, weren’t you?”

feed off you?

turn you?

your eyes widen, pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. but they’re shaping into a realization that you didn’t think was possible. you stare at your friend, who’d gotten to his knees, now, but that’s where he stayed— slouching on his knees in front of your trembling legs. his eyes glide over your bare skin, stained with blood that didn’t belong to you. you knew now it didn’t belong to him, either. they linger there, on your thighs, his eyes glowing dim like before.

“Yeah.” was all Jason says in return.

your whole world feels as if it’s been flipped on its head.

Dick’s laughing with wicked amusement, holding his palm tight to your mouth to muffle your squealing, “You won’t take any of my playthings because you want your own, is that it?” another kiss to your cheek and Dick’s hand slides from your mouth down over your body, menacing and slow.

“Please, don’t kill me!” you cry out; it’s the first thought to reach your lips as you squirm and push against him.

“I’m not going to kill you, silly girl. At least, not yet.”

“Dick.” Jason warns, baring unusually sharpened teeth. fangs.

his brother groped at you as his hand travels south, before he gathers the night shirt in his fist and pulls it up, exposing your quivering thighs and cotton panties. your legs snap together, and you whimper, humiliated. “Go ahead, Jay,” he urges, “bite her.”

Jason stares at the exposed flesh, clean and soft, and you could practically see his mouth watering as he inches closer. “N—no…” you whine, kicking at him. you feel a bare foot connect with his chest, but it doesn’t do anything to hold him back.

“Uh uh,” Dick mumbled, giving your beck a squeeze, “you kick again and I’ll snap this pretty neck of yours.” you freeze, croaking out a weak whine of submission. “Good girl. You wanted me to help Jason, didn’t you?”

with tears welling up in your eyes, you nod as best you can, and his grip on your neck loosens, just enough for you to be able to breathe again.

“Then, stand still and let him have you.”

meanwhile, Jason has grabbed hold of your legs and pried them apart, pressing his knees between your feet to keep them spread open so he can force his way between them, nuzzling his face into your thigh.

“Jason, please…” you choke out, shuddering when his frozen lips press to the warmth of your thigh. you can already feel the sharp edge of his fangs dragging along the supple flesh, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it, and a pathetically helpless yelp erupts from your lips when they sink in, with absolutely no resistance from your silken skin. you want to scream and kick, do anything you can to get him off of you, but you know Dick will make good on his promise to kill you, so you sob softly, watching through bleary eyes as your childhood friend starts to pull blood from you up to the surface of the pin prick wounds. it bubbles up in thick globs to soak his lips, and the sound of his slurping makes your head spin. “Jay…”

“I’m getting a bit jealous here, baby doll,” Dick croons, releasing your throat in exchange for a tight fist at the crown of your head, tilting it to one side to expose your sore throat to him, “watching how much he’s savoring the taste of your blood, hearing you moan for him like the perfect, little pet. Makes me want a taste, myself…”

“N—no, please, don’t…” it was hard to keep still with the tip of Jason’s nose bumping against your panties as he moaned, gurgling and dribbling your blood over his chin and on to little droplets on the floor. as much as you don’t want it to, the pain feels almost euphoric, and your body juts forward to stimulate your swelling clit against his nose bridge.

you’d hoped neither have noticed, but both seem to react. Jason grunting as he pushes his face flush against the damp patch in your panties, latching on to a fresh locale to drink from, breaking new skin, both hands come up to dig his cruel fingers into your bloody thighs.

“Don’t?” Dick repeats, mocking, as he lets go of your shirt to push his hand under the waistband of your panties instead. you cry out in surprise, two svelte fingers rubbing your slit, teasing your slick. “You’re fucking soaking,” he teases, his fangs nicking your throat, just enough to draw a single drop of blood to the surface, which he swipes away with his tongue, “you don’t need to be ashamed that you like it, a good bloodslut always does.” savoring the taste of your blood on his tongue, he groans, hooking his fingers into you like an anchor, before he bites down, fangs gliding as easily as they may softened butter.

the tears have broken the barrier of your ducts and streak your cheeks, one hand holding on to his wrist when he starts to pump his fingers deep inside, and the other trying to push Jason’s head from between your legs. the only problem is that Jason had already taken so much of your blood that you felt woozy, and your strength was all but diminished, so you can do little to fight the supernatural monsters off. with the two of them pulling from you, you can’t help but sag back against Dick’s chest, whimpering in forced submission. warm, liquid rubies dribble down over your clavicle and soak into the neckline of your nightshirt, and you can hear him moaning and slurping in your ear.

you moan, unable to hold it back, when his digit tips curl to brush against your sweet spot. it’s getting harder and harder to try and ignore how good his skilled fingers feel, spreading you open, prodding deep. your knees feel like jelly; you know you’ll collapse when you cum.

Jason has pulled away, panting and lapping at the blood on his lips, but his hands have found the waistband of your ruined panties, and are working them down your thighs, his practically snarling with desire when you’re exposed; Dick’s fingers refuse to stop, even when your back arches. the younger of the two finds his strength, and pulls himself to his feet, ripping at his clothes until he’s completely bare in front of you, face drenched in your blood, muscles rippling and cock throbbing and hard. the visage is horrifying and beautiful, as are his gleaming eyes when he grabs your face, pulling you in for a sloppy, sticky kiss. you whimper, trying to turn away— all you can taste is blood. your blood. Jason calls your name, thick with lust, and pulls your face back towards him. “Look at me.” he sounds desperate again, but there’s an edge in his voice; an authoritative tear. you obey, wet eyelashes sticking together when your gaze flickers up towards him, and instantaneously, you’re trapped in his stare, mesmerized. “Kiss me.” he demands, and you’re too compelled to submit that your mind goes completely and utterly blank.

what did he do to you?

all you want is to obey, to please him.

leaning forward, you kiss at his lips, slurping on the blood and smearing it over your own face. Jason seems pleased enough, hands pulling at your nightshirt to rip it apart until it hangs in pitiful shreds at your sides, and his palms envelop your breasts. he kneads, roughly, before his head dips, tongue hanging out from his mouth to catch a stream of blood leaking from the seal of Dick’s lips on the wound on your neck. “You’re so fucking sweet. Just like sugar.”

“Sweeter than sugar.” Dick chimes in, clearly having had his fill of your blood, too, he presses bloody kisses over the wound, “And I’d bet it’s not just her blood. Little whore is about to cum, I can feel her cunt squeezing my fingers.” as if to prove his point, those wicked fingers stuffed inside of your cunt jackhammer against you until you feel as if you’re about to explode.

you mewl, dazed, and pull back to rest the crown of your head against Dick’s clavicle. coming undone has never felt as intense as it does right now, with Jason watching Dick finger fuck you so mercilessly that your body convulses against the rough treatment. you close your eyes tight, breath coming in furious, little puffs, toes curling. you whine in ecstasy, hips rocking until the orgasm takes hold of you and renders you completely incapacitated. your nails dig into Dick’s wrist, but even as you claw at him, he doesn’t even budge. “Look at her go!” he chortles, “That was a big one, wasn’t it?” nuzzling his nose against your ear he kisses along your lobe, and you shiver, nodding with your eyes still closed. “Hope we didn’t break you already,” he mutters, pulling his sticky fingers free, giving your sensitive core a couple of cruel spanks with his palm. you jerk under each one, unable to catch your breath to make any substantial noise except for pathetic wheezing.

your lids weigh a thousand pounds at least, making it damn near impossible to open them, until you feel Jason lifting your legs, your feet rising from the floor. “She’s not broken yet,” Jason says, hooking your limp legs over his hips as he pulls you to his chest. Dick allows it, releasing you into his brother’s arms, and you fall forward against him. “Just a little bit cumdrunk, a little bit drained.” his strong hands then careen to support your ass as he spreads you open, suspended in his arms, to spear your folds with the head of his cock. you both moan in unison, his much stronger. your hands push against his shoulders, much too sensitive to take his entirety, but he isn’t giving you a choice as he thrusts upwards and pushes your body down simultaneously, filling you hilt-deep with one buck of his hips. “Fuck,” he growls, baring his blood-stained fangs, “she’s already clenching like crazy.” you can feel it, too, the way your walls spasm against the girthy intruder, refusing to open up any more than he’s willing to force you to.

“Sounds like you need to stretch her out,” Dick was saying, and even in your dazed state, you could practically hear the grin on his face, “unless, you’d rather I do it for you.” he offers, “I’ll ruin her, break in that tight, little pussy so you can just slide right in.”

“Fuck you,” Jason barks, pushing your body upwards so that he nearly slips from your body and then bringing you down on to him harder than before, as if he were making a point to his older brother; he was perfectly capable of snapping you in two if he so desired. “I’ll break her myself.”

“Jay… son…” you moaned, his name broken into weak syllables as you bounce, helplessly impaled on his cock. you couldn’t think of anything but how intense the sensation of his brutal fucking was. he practically slammed you down to his base each time he rutted, and the position does absolutely nothing to keep his thick tip from kissing your cervix.

your climax comes in a matter of moments, much quicker than the first and much more intense. your arms fall, limp, and dangle at your sides; you can do nothing but slump forward, squeal into his chest, and enjoy the feeling of being completely and utterly decimated.

“The little thing has already gone completely dumb on your cock.” Dick snickers, pressing himself to your back. you feel nothing but icy skin and realize that he’s stripped himself down, too. you bite down on your lip to muffle a moan of anticipation. “Absolutely fucking pathetic.”

would they take you together?

you hated how badly you wanted to feel them both inside of you.

Dick grabs you by the hair again, pulling your head back like a rag doll, and out of the corner of your teary eyes, you can see his bloody, evil grin. “Open up, baby doll.” you do, your jaw hanging slack, and he shoves three fingers into your mouth. you wince at first, especially when he forces them to the back of your throat, and you gargle out a tiny sound of discomfort. drool covers his fingers and dribbles out from both corners of your mouth. “Attagirl, go ahead and be a sloppy, little slut, because you’re going to want to give me plenty of lube to fuck that little asshole.” wrenching his hand free, you spit more on to his fingers and his palm when presented with it, before he drops it to envelop his cock, slathering it in your saliva and giving it a couple of furious pumps.

when he guides the tip of his manhood to your ring, you lurch forward with a nervous whine, but free hand flees to grip your shoulder, twisting you back and pulling you back towards him. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?” he teases. even Jason has slowed to a slow, shallow thrust to let his elder join in. Dick smears you with his tip before he worms his way inside, grunting with impish delight when you groan. “That’s a tight fit, isn’t it, baby doll?” he sneers against your cheek, tongue sliding out to flick at your drying tears on the apple of your cheek. once he’s snugly inside, his other hand grips one of your arms at the elbow, keeping a tight grip on the opposite shoulder, and falls into a ruthless rhythm in seconds. you nod, squinting, back arching now that you’re sandwiched between them, your moans turning more shrill and hoarse with each thrust. “You’re going to have to get used to it, because I’m going to fuck your ass every single day just to hear these pretty, little screams.”

Jason has started pounding against you, too, moaning under his breath as his head dips so he can litter your jiggling breasts with bites. you were much too overstimulated to know what you were even screaming for anymore. was it how good he felt, his protruding veins rubbing against your sensitive inner walls, or was it because of his fangs cutting into your skin, leaving a peppering of stinging, paired pricks. or maybe it was Dick, who was slamming into you from behind with so much ferocity that you were certain your body couldn’t take it— you were going to simply break in half of the brothers kept up this rough treatment.

even still, you felt a familiar bubbling in your belly. you couldn’t believe it. you were going to cum again.

Jason is the first to notice, both hands sliding up to dig his fingers into your hips until he leaves paling imprints in your flesh, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses in pleasure, “keep tightening up for me, baby, gonna make me cum in this little, fucking vice of a pussy—!”

“I—I can’t!” you beg; surely the next orgasm would shatter you, and your poor, hazy mind would fracture, “I can’t take— another— please…”

“We don’t care.” Dick growls in your ear, and you shudder at just how devilish he sounds, voice ripe with pleasure, “You’ll cum as many times as we want you to. Scream, cry, beg all you want, but you belong to us, now.” you whine, hands trembling, the symphony of sensations sending you over the edge just as Dick said you would, and you beg for mercy the entire time. mercy that neither of them had for you. “That’s more like it.”

your fervent, needy clenching had clearly pushed Jason to his own orgasm, because he was calling your name amidst the most animalistic of grunting, burying himself as deep as he could go until you could feel the shape of him against your lower belly, and he released. what was meant to be warm and comforting filled your belly with ice, but you couldn’t help but enjoy the way his arousal dropped out of you when he pulls free, glazing your bloody thighs. then, he drops your legs and steps awake. you felt hollowed out, and you want to double over and grip your belly, but Dick wouldn’t let you, even as Jason stumbled back and fell on to the couch, his cock twitching, lain over his thigh and shiny with his and your essences, cocktailed. you expected he might pant, if he needed to breathe, but instead, those clear glowing eyes watched you be destroyed by another.

even Jason at his roughest was no contest to how Dick was breaking you in. you practically dangled off of his cock, somewhere between conscious and not, as he drove himself into you mercilessly for several more minutes, moaning the most vulgar expletives you’d ever heard.

what’s worse?

you were still wet.

you were trembling and weak, eyes unable to stay open, and you looked as if you’d been attacked by a battalion of spiders by the fang wounds that littered your poor frame, you leaked cum, and you couldn’t form a coherent sentence anymore, but you were still so aroused; so tickled that his relentless plowing was more than torture. it felt incredible. you still mewled with your mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes rolled back. and Dick loved every moment of it. “Just one, little slumber party, and she’s already braindead.” he snorts, grabbing both of your shoulders to hold you in place as he pounds away, “You picked an easy one, Jay.”

“She’s a good girl,” Jason replied, husky, as he leans forward, staring into your eyes, “my good girl.”

“Don’t get greedy.” Dick warns, though the muscles in his jaw tense. he pulsates within you, and you know he must be close. “This little bloodslut is ours. Isn’t that right, baby?” one of his hands glides upwards, snatching a fistful of your hair to pull your head up, holding it steady.

you nod, breathless, your entire body rippling from the force of his fucking. “Y— yes—!”

your humiliating, hardly coherent shriek of a response must’ve shredded what was left of Dick’s composure, because he howls in pleasure, pummeling your abused body a couple more times before he shoves you off of him. with a soft thud and a raspy yelp, you hit the floor and roll over on to your back, quivering, and Dick stands over you, fucking his own fist like a man possessed. he moans, eyes closing and head tilting back, and streamers of his release paint your marked chest, mixing with the drying blood and spit. “See?” he croons, after he’s done with his masterpiece, and squats down to grab your face, his thumb and forefinger hollowing your cheeks as he turns you to face Jason on the couch, “Ours.”

you blink, slow, but your eyes are too glassy to truly focus on either of them, your body completely spent. if Dick wasn’t holding you up by your cheeks, you wouldn’t collapsed on the floor, and most likely drifted into a much needed rest.

“What do we do with her?” Jason asks, uncertain, but watching you close.

Dick laughs, as if Jason had asked the obvious. “We pack her up like a pretty, cum covered sack lunch and take her with us. Come on, tell me you don’t want to see your little toy waiting for you on her knees, fuckholes wet and ready, back at the manor every night?” he lets go of you, allowing you to fall back, chest heaving, body twitching.

“I… I want to go,” you babble, weakly, “I want to go with you…”

“You must truly be fucked completely brainless to want to go home with two bloodthirsty vampires whose only use for you is fucking and eating you whenever we want.” Jason snapped, getting to his feet, he stomps over, a slow and devious smirk playing at the corners of his lips. maybe Dick was rubbing off on him. “Then again, I could get used to seeing you like this. Completely fucking ruined.”

you stare up to both of them, and a simper of your own tickles your cheeks.

you were actually excited.

[cvlutos]

"NOTHING GOOD HAPPENS AFTER DARK"

RIDDLE R. v LEONA K. [MALE!READER]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND x RED RIDING HOOD [CROSSOVER]

WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT | YANDERE | VIOLENCE | PREDATOR n’ PREY | HUNTING | BLOOD | SUGGESTIVE | IMPLIED MURDER | PERSECTIVE JUMPS | SPECIES DISCRIMINATION | ETC | BE CAUTIOUS, BELOVED

T.MANOR: TRYING A NEW LAYOUT AND WRITING STYLE. ALSO, THIS IS PRETTY MESSY WRITING SO BE AWARE

| PART TWO |

| FEM!VER | GN!VER |

EVERY Tuesday, exactly at noon, does the stone clock tower chime. Without delay, you hear the sound of trumpets, the marching of hooves, as the golden gates of the palace open. Wide and big, as the card soldiers, in perfect position, march upon horses of black and white, wearing that of red with swords attached to their hips and spears within their hands. Preparing for the Queen’s weekly hunt. The crowd cheers, waves banners, as they yell sayings of good luck.

The cobblestone path is tight, crowded with people, big and small, infants to the elderly, all in hopes of seeing the benevolent Queen off. Even if this same celebration will happen next week as well. In seeing him in all his grandeur. Something you’d “sadly” miss, with your woven basket tight in hand, warm and heavy from the fresh baked delights, all from the Clover bakery. You shimmy through the tight crowd, moving in the opposite direction and were, quite frankly, in the way, even as you walk along the side house and store walls. You mummer ‘excuse me’ and apologize as you go, giving sheepish grins to those who spared you a glance.

You would rather be at home, yet you promised your mother you would go. You promised to go to the bakery, to buy your grandmother’s favorite treats and sweets and deliver them to her. She lives just outside the town and in the center of the thick woods, just on the other side in a small cottage in the middle of the northern woods. A journey you’ve made countless times, and on less crowded days. Yet today, your mother was extra worried, extra concerned for your grandmother’s well being. Even if you promised, you’d go first thing in the morning tomorrow. Yet she forced you anyway. Well, guilt-tripped you into going.

‘What if she’s already dead? Hm? What would you do then?’

Return home? Tell the authorities? Cry? Yet the look on her face told you she didn’t want any back talk, so you gave in and left.

You forced yourself further down the path, spotting the familiar opening that you’ve always taken. The town you live in is surrounded by a large stone wall. Tall and thick, with only one way out of the village, and one way in. Yet this impenetrable wall has a hole, fairly big, that anyone could fit their largest ox. So you had no trouble merely crawling or walking through. The alley that led to your secret path was uncrowded, as if waiting for you and you alone.

You shimmy forward, pushing past local residents. Some allowed room for you, having noticed you, others merely rolled their eyes. You pop your head past the road barricade, searching the long stone road. The card soldiers were far. Far away to where you could make it without interrupting them, or them even noticing you. You step over the thick string, glancing one more time, before you make haste. Darting onto the clear, wide road. Ignoring shouts and gasps as you make your way to the alley. Stopping to catch your breath, you turn around. Some of the crowd are merely laughing you off, others completely ignoring, some glared at you disappointedly, yet none made a move to call the guards on you. Your eyes scan the road. You hadn’t dropped anything, and if you did, you’re sure no one would even notice.

Slightly proud of yourself, you continue on, moving past the eccentric alley system, moving quickly past houses and shops, jogging towards the large wall.

You’d be fine.

══════ ♡ ══════

“HALT.”

The crowd becomes silent, and everything pauses. A send off has never once stopped. The Red Queen, golden crown glinting in the sun, his hand raised high. His horse stands still, the same confident and demanding energy as his owner, bows his head, as the Queen flows off the saddle. Heels clicking against the stone road. He walks forward, taking exactly five precise steps, before crouching, leather gloved fingers swiping along the stone. How he saw just a small thing, no one will ever know. The squished remains of strawberry cream cheese tart, a small delight. He rubs the cream between his fingers before rising just as quickly, holding out his hand for a napkin. It appears within a second. He turns on his heel, glaring eyes scouring the crowd, before landing on an older man.

“You! Who ran across here!?”

“Uh! I have no clue, your—your majesty.” He gives an embarrassed, clumsy bow, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. “Then you tell me?” The Queen looks at another, a young woman, who automatically stiffens her posture, face paling.

“A-a man! A young man. With—with a wooden basket and red cape.” The crowd nods along eagerly.

“In which direction?”

Multiple hands point towards the alley, all in fear to face the Queen’s wrath. With a single snap, five card soldiers appear by his side. “Search for the one with a red hood. Such disrespect shall not be tolerated.” There’s a chorus of ‘yes! your majesty.’ Yet not a soul moving til the Queen re-asummed his position upon his horse. “We will resume! While in search of this Red Hood!” His voice is thunderous, and as if nothing happened, everything returns to normal.

══════ ♡ ══════

The leaves crunch beneath your feet. As you continue your long trek, the path is winding and bumpy, covered in wild leaves and branches, the cobblestone hidden beneath the foliage. The basket sways within your hand as you walk and wander along the familiar path. The cool breeze flutters your crimson cloak, and you pull the hood to cover your head and protect your ears. Wishing to have worn pants instead of trying to be cute with your red shorts and white knee-length socks.

The Queendom is never cold, unless the Queen desires cold weather.

It always remains at the perfect temperature, always a warm summer breeze and a perfect summer day. And as you venture deeper into the woods and further away from the Queendom, the cobblestone path slowly crumbles and slowly turns to dirt. You stop at the threshold, glancing behind you. Something about today seems different.

You hope it’ll be a good day.

You venture into the woods.

══════ ♡ ══════

“Ruggie. I’m heading out. Ill be back.”

He lets out a low yawn, stretching his muscles as he walked towards the cave entrance, not giving Ruggie, his right hand, a chance to respond, leaving the hyena beastman to do whatever it is he’s doing. He pushes past the thick vines of the cave, leaving the warmth of the cave and giving a shallow nod to a young wolf beastman who currently was guarding the large camp, with the others like him. “Ill be back before dawn.”

“It’s noon? And the Queen and his guard is hunting today. Far from us, but still. Are you sur—” The lazy king gives a short wave, swatting away the beastman’s concerns, stifling another yawn, leisurely wiping tired tears from his eyes, while the wolf opened his mouth to speak.

“Jack!” The duo looks towards the urgent voices. Two young beastmen, a young tiger and an older bear, both you jogged frantically, seemingly having to run across the majority of the temporary camp. They slow to a stop, giving a quick bow to their pride leader before turning to Jack.

“The Queen’s Knights. Theres five of them! Theyre asking for you presence!”

“Of course. I’m on my way. Leona.” Jack turns to their sleepy leader, only to find the place where he stood empty. He’s brows furrow, before quickly giving up and motioning for the two to lead the way.

The Queendom of Roses and the Pride of Kingscholar. While the Queen occupies the Northern woods, the Kingscholar current occupies the East portion. Over months of arguments and fights, the Kingscholar Pride has been slowly forced to the outskirts and south, while the Queendom slowly takes over the North and East.

Jack and the two beastmen run side by side, running towards the end of the camp, coming across the five poised card guards. They all sit on white pristine horses, not moving an ounce as Jack slows and straightens out his white button-up shirt. “Where is Leona Kingscholar? We shall only speak to one of authority.” The voice is muffled by his thick metal helmet, clasping to his reins and swords.

“He’s away. What you need can be spoken back to him.” Jack crosses his arm, keeping a scowl upon his lips as the knight scoffs.

“I shouldn’t expect more from your kind,” Jack clicks his tongue but doesn’t speak, letting the knight continue, “There’s a human boy in red. He has ruined the Queen’s sendoff and thus must receive punishment. If you find him, you know best to hand him over immediately.”

“I have no such obligations.”

“Right—” You can hear the confidence in his voice, as he shifts the reins, getting ready to move, “It’s only best to consume your meat fresh. I hope you don’t get red fabric between your fangs, wolf.”Jack gives a low growl as the horse becomes spooked, rushing over, earning a yelp from the knight and gasps from the other silent four. They watch the group ride off into the forest, before letting out a huff.

“Jack. What should we do?”

The tiger beastman speaks first, which earns a thoughtful sigh from the wolf beastman. “Nothing. I’m sure Leona will find the boy before we do. Continue as you were.” Jack turns on his heels, rolling his shoulders as both boys shout and eager ‘yes’. This camp is only temporary until they reach the eastern mountain’s summit, and beyond that will be the savannas once you cross the mountains. Something Leona has been avoiding for the longest time.

══════ ♡ ══════

The farther you walk, the darker the woods get. Yet the twisting and winding path doesn’t lead you astray, a path in which you’re acquainted with. And as the trees grow closer and the leaves block the sun, it feels colder, as luminescent mushrooms and flowers that grow alongside the path glow in hints of blue and yellows, give you little light, while pollen that glows a soft purple flutters through the air. It’s absolutely enchanting, with towering thick trees and small sections which sunlight peeks through, highlighting the vibrant green plants and bushes. You hum softly, playing different games as you walk, occasionally eating one of your grandmother’s snacks.

“Youre quite far.”

You screech, nearly jumping out of your skin at the new presence of a voice. You look around and see no one. Your heart pounds against your ribcage. After a few moments, you left out a huff, slowly calming yourself.

“Especially during the Tyrant’s Hunt,” There’s a low chuckle that sends shudders down your spine and you look around frantically, “He might very well mistake you for a deer.” A rock zooms past your head, barely missing you and striking the tree behind you. Your body stiffens.

“Can you not speak?” It’s taunting and drawn out and you shiver as if ghost hands caress your body.

“What do you want—?”

“Now that is the question,” The voice lets out a low hum, and you hear the shuffling of plants, “I am quite hungry.”

You get a horrible feeling, and nearly trip, as something, or a someone, bolts through the thicket. A lion beastman. Before you can react, nails digging into your shoulders, and the new weight forces you to fall back, and momentum pushes you and him to roll over yourselves. Until you’re once again on your back, with the air from your lungs. Your eyes fly open, staring into amused deep emerald green eyes. You wince at the feelings of nails digging into your shoulders, close to breaking your skin and making you bleed, but he doesn’t. Only giving you the sensation of nails breaking skin. Your heels dig into the earth as you desperately try to regain your breath.

“Oh… Dont look like that. You act like I’m going to eat you. Well,” His hands move from your shoulders, letting you crawl backwards and away as he rested on the balls of his feet, forearms resting on his thighs as he tilts his head to the side. Eyes trailing you up and down, staring at the expansion of your bare thighs and legs, a low whistle slipping past his lips. “I might. In a more human way.” A shiver rolls down your spine as you use your cape to cover your legs. He visibly looks displeased as he looks at your face.

“Little Red Riding Hood on the run from the Queen.” He hums and youre eyes widen as you stagger to your feet.

“What? I didn’t do anything?!”

“Doesn’t seem that way,” his tail flicks lazily, his finger drawing in the dirt in clear boredom, “you somehow made the little tyrant mad.” He stands and you step away, he makes no move toward you. Green eyes gazing around the forest before stopping and landing on the path, in the direction in which you came. You follow his gaze and when you look back, the lion beastman is extremely close, his nose brushing against yours. You jump away and he rests a hand on his hips, while the other holds out your forgotten basket.

“I would get going little red. Unless you want to be headless.”

You take your basket and glanced the path, you could hear the pounding of hooves. You grimace before turning around, sharing one more glance at the beastman before darting down the path, back onto the road to grandmother’s house.

══════ ♡ ══════

There’s six. Six horses, five knights, one tyrant.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, kicking up dirt and letting out a yawn, he was pretty hungry. Maybe you’d and your grandmother might make a good snack after he’s done here. He counts the seconds before the Tyrant comes into view, an ever-permanent scowl upon his youthful face. He’s pristine and upon seeing Leona, he ordered his soldiers to stop and with ease slides off his horse and marches 10 steps before glaring at the Lion Beastman.

“Queen’s rules dictate that youre not allowed within the northern forest on Tuesday afternoons. In all honesty, I should send you and your pride further east for such disrespect of the Queens’s rules.” His words are venomous, speaking precisely that has his knights flinching even if the words weren’t for them.

“It’s Tuesday? I had no idea. Oops.” Using his pinky finger, he cleans out his ear with a bored expression, earning a harder glare as the Queen struggles to remain calm.

“No matter. Do what you want. I have more pressing matters.” He holds out his hand, and immediately, a parchment scroll is placed within his hands. The Queendom of Roses has always been the most efficient and quick. Undoing the rolled parchment and holding up the paper, your face was drawn most beautifully, a perfect reflection almost.

“Pretty isn’t he.” Leona furrows his brows, watching the Tyrant marvel at the photo, his nose scrunches in disgust.

“What are you on, Riddle?” Gasps and quick inhales come from the knights, yet the Queen doesn’t seem to mind, only few can call him by his name.

“If you must know. He disturbed my send off, and I assumed he was some ruffian. But to now see a drawing of him. He is quite cute and I am in need of a King,” He tilts her head with a gleeful grin, that seemed misplaced and lovesick, “Though I will have to break him in, make him more obedient. But I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

“You truly are sick.” Riddle face morphs from love-struck to angry, rolling up the parchment delicately, before clearing his throat.

“I suggest you go. Unless—” A arrow shoots past Riddle’s head and grazes the fullness of Leona’s cheek before striking the tree behind him. Green eyes widen a mere fraction, and the tyrant beholds the tiniest smile. The card soldiers werent mere decoration, yet they arent that smart either. One of them must be a skilled huntsman.

“You know what I am capable of. I hate to have to make you my target instead.”

The leader of his pride rolls his shoulders lazily, with his thumb wiping away the blood on his cheek. “Absolutely. Id hate to make you angry. Know if you’ll excuse me, this lion is quite hungry.” And without another word, the lion stalks into the unknown of the woods.

══════ ♡ ══════

The path to grandmother’s house seems a lot longer than it usually does. Usually you’d be at her tiny cottage within an hour or two, yet it feels like days since you entered the woods and encountered the lion beastman. As if the forest was alive, living, breathing. As if the path beneath you were snakes whose bodies twisted and turned, knocking you off your feet.

You land with a hard thud, shaking your head. The forest is darker than before. How long has it been? You know the path and you know it well yet; you search your surroundings lazily, feeling as if you were submerged in thick oil, and the word seemed muffled. You spot vibrant red mushrooms that seemed to inflate before releasing a thick white gas. Hallucinations. They’re carnivorous mushrooms, but they’re never active during the day, nor on the path. Theyre new. As if purposely planted, but that’s ridiculous.

And it couldn’t possibly be night.

No.

You struggle to your feet, gripping the basket and meandering.

Walking.

Walking.

Walking.

Walking.

Walking.

Walking.

Walking.

Until a beacon.

Off to the side of the path, nestled in between two large trees, if you walked further down the path you’ll come across the small cottage village, with her golden porch light, was your grandmother’s house. With her stone walls and wooden roof were covered in moss and mushrooms, while her red painted door was visible. You pick up your pace, stumbling occasionally as you reach her rickety wooden porch, a wide grin upon your lips as you knock on the old door.

“Grandma!” You call through the wood, yet no reply. You grab the gold doorknob, turning it and slowly pushing the door inside, letting yourself in.

It’s the same as you remember, with the fireplace on, with fresh logs. There was no collection of dust, and the couch looked recently sat on. Her throw blanket and decor pillows were out of place. You close the door behind you, slipping off your shoes, and placed the basket on the dining room table. While undoing the strings of your cape and calling out to your grandma. You move deeper into her home, before reaching her bedroom. You knock.

“Oh, darling! I’m feeling quite sick, but come in. Come in.” Her voice sounds the same, and your tense shoulders drop, as a smile spreads across your face as you open the door. Only to find her bed empty and made, with the window wide open. You step further into the room, looking around, before you hear a soft click and you spin around, only to find the lion beastman from before. He isn’t looking at you, but instead squeezing a small bird.

“Mimic birds are quite useful. Able to mimic to the voice of anyone and anything once they hear it.” He releases the bird, and it frantically flies out the window. You step back. “You—My grandma!” You suck in a panicked breath and the man only shrugs. Striding his way towards you, his hand moving faster than you could comprehend to grab your face and squeeze your cheeks.

“What do you think—” His free arm slides around your waist and forces your close, you try to push him away, “I did. Maybe I ate her. Gobbled her up like a big bad wolf,” He faux pouts before clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes in personal annoyance, “Or lion, that fits better doesn’t it.” He shakes your head aggressively, speaking like a mother would to a child when they’re fussy,

“Maybe ill eat you up. Wouldn’t you just like that—” He lets you break away with a laugh, watching your glare, and he tilts his head and eyes moving out the window.

You can hear horses.

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[filthycagedsoul]

snitches naughty girls get stitches (coming SOON) ~ PREVIEW ~

part 1: damned if you do, damned if you don’t

pairing: dark!jason todd x new gf!reader

warnings: 18+ EYES ONLY, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, noncon/dubcon, smut, bdsm dynamics/punishment, manipulation, degradation, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, vaginal fingering, forced deepthroating, slight daddy kink, orgasm denial, panic attack, violence, choking, mentions of blood, mentions of murdering criminals, mentions of drugs/drug use, knife kink, gun kink, drowning kink, bondage, spanking, biting and marking

plot: You love your boyfriend with all your heart and soul, but things go wrong when you discover he isn’t the man you think he is. When you come across evidence that he’s the ruthless outlaw vigilante: Red Hood, it doesn’t take him long to realize you know the truth. And in this case, the truth doesn’t set you free.

i’ve been wanting to write a VERY dark red hood/jason todd for a long time and the new gotham knights game kicked my ass in gear. please reblog and comment if you can!!

“Jay, babe, please…” The vice around your throat tightens as the blood and last bits of your last meal fight for dominance against your tears. You choke out, snot and blood dripping along your cracked lips and into your mouth. “Please let me go.”

The silence is deafening. Your bones shakes. The chain around your swollen ankle and the buckles on the leather cuffs wrists rattle. The pounding in the back of your head blossoms as does the knot in your now empty stomach.

With a move that's second nature, Jason un-cocks his gun, shifts the safety back on, holsters it in a quick fluid motion. The outlaw's gloved hand brushes under your nose, wiping away the crimson stream and a few drops of your fear with it. He slowly cocks his head to the side, his eyes piercing you through his red helmet as he reaches behind his back. Through blurry vision you almost miss the contraption he's holding up until you hear the clink. You instinctively freeze at the sound and you almost vomit at his cold command. "Open.

[morverenmaybewrites]

More dark fantasy! Gotham

Part 1

Monster hunter! Jason Todd? Monster hunter! Jason Todd.

[lonelydaydreamsalways]

You, Me, and The Space In Between- Arkham! Verse Jason Todd x female reader?? Oc?? Self insert?? Idk

Authors note!! Thank you guys for all the support you’ve given me, I hope you guys like this ! let me know if I should make this into a series or not!! Also I’m writing the character as female bc I know how to write female characters more than males.

Let me know if you see any grammar or spelling errors!

As always, I don’t own any of the characters in dc!

Enjoy my loves!!

Warnings:

honestly almost cried writing this but it’s so cute!!

Tag list : @cherryinsalemverse @skypperlegacy @poisonblessedwithbeauty @thesandsofelsweyr

Let me know down below if I missed anyone or if you want to be tagged! ❤️

Jason stops, and drops to a crouch next to an all too familiar gargoyle. It’s cracked in places, old and new, and Jason sees how time has withered away at the statue.

Below him, the bustling city continues, blissfully unaware of the future in store. Above, GCPD blimps float out of reach.

It’s just like he remembers.

Goosebumps rise on his arm, feeling a familiar tickle appear. Jason hurries, flipping the armor plating backwards. To watch, as her elegant cursive manifests itself.

It’s a special feature to the Arkham Knight suit he added. An idea which became ingrained in his head so long ago.

Cold feather like strokes bring him back to reality.

Strawberries

Blackberries

Apples

Lemons

Words materialize across his skin. He makes out the first few words. Recognization flashes across his face.

She’s writing a grocery list.

A grin stretches across his face at the mundane task. Reading off the groceries, Jason unconsciously memorizes items which are heavily underlined.

A gloved thumb softly glides over her penmanship.

“Angel…” He whispers to himself, pursing his lips together,” Wait for me, just for a little bit longer.”

Numbers quickly appear soon after. Some are immediately crossed out, replaced by a bigger number. Eventually, when she’s done adding it all up, he leaves the panel as is.

He stares at his arm, incredulously.

For over a year, she wrote to him. Everyday, without fail. Of course, he couldn’t tell when she wrote him, whether it was morning, noon, or night. But, that didn’t matter to him. His days didn’t revolve around the sun or the sky anymore. His life began to revolve around her.

Or, what was left of it, anyway.

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed, and lines appeared on his forehead.

I wonder what she wrote… What she managed to sprawl across her arms, day after day…Was it the same thing everyday? Or something new? How did she not give up on me?

Not once, did Jason Todd ever write back. And, still, she writes to him. Refusing to give up on him when everyone else has.

Jason scoffs, thinking back to his miniscule tenure as a Robin. When random writing and doodles ran wildly among his forearm for him to see.

He ignored them.

He refused to write back.

Jason would wring that fuckers neck If he could.

The adoption had just went through. Training hardly begun when the writing first appeared. Needless to say, Jason kept it to himself. Who knew if Bruce would keep him on this path, if he learned he had a soulmate out there, somewhere, waiting for him.

Jason wasn’t willing to risk that.

Sure, it was extremely comforting to know he wasn’t destined to be alone. But, that wasn’t the universes choice to make. It was his, and his alone.

The universe thought otherwise.

In the beginning, her writing vexed him. The day her writing first showed, Jason was sitting in the Wayne manor kitchen, mid bowl of cereal.

Dropping his spoon, Jason nearly choked. Jason clutched at his forearm, feeling the cool sensation of cursive letters materialize on his skin.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there

-William S.

Jason quit squirming. His heart began to pound, and he squinted his eyes.

No way…Jason thought to himself. Is this…what I think it is? A… A soulmate writing? What does that even mean? Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great l-

“Master Todd!”

“ Sorry!” Jason yelped, clutching his arm close,” I uh… I just missed my mouth, i uh… I’ll pick it up.”

Giving Jason a curious glance, Alfred sighed before going back to his newspaper.

“See to it that you do, Master Todd.”

That night, Jason searched the manors library to find the source of the quote. Coincidentally, it’s also where he found his passion for Shakespeare, Austen, and many other famous authors.

Days and nights passed before he got used to the little writings which would appear. Even longer, to ignore the urge to squirm around at the ticklish sensation. Constantly, Jason would fumble during training, drop a book he was reading, or clutch his arm and squirm like he was about to piss his pants.

Jason’s pretty sure Alfred had an idea as to what was going on. If he did, though, he didn’t say a word about it to him. Life continued as normal.

Until it didn’t anymore.

After that fateful night, which sealed his fate for over a year, Jason didn’t have the luxury to read what she wrote. Her writing stayed, safe, and painfully unread, under the weakened armor of his Robin uniform.

Honestly, the more he thinks about it, it’s a god damn miracle the psychopathic clown never found out. If he had…She would have been beyond fucked. There wouldn’t even have been a damn thing he could have done about it.

Joker wouldn’t have had just a Robin in his clutch, but a little birdie’s soulmate as well.

The clown would have had a fucking field day.

Clutching the skin of his left forearm, he raises both arms to his chest. He attempts to swallow spit. Borderline hyperventilating, he curls in on himself at the thoughts, feelings, and memories of it all.

He could only close his swollen eyes, to revel in the cold, almost ticklish feeling of her handwriting ghost across his skin. Inside, his heart warmed at her devotion.

The only times he would ever smile throughout his hell in Arkham.

A sigh of relief escapes his pale, chapped lips. In his his bloody, sleep deprived state, he could cry.

The only working bright fluorescent light in the room would cast an almost angelic glow around her. Light hovered atop her wavy brown hair, forming an almost halo.

He could never make out her face, always just a blur to him. That didn’t matter, though. Deep in his bones, Jason just knew it was her.

“You’re here…” Jason whispered, swallowing painfully.

“ I’m always with you, silly.”

The gentle teasing couldn’t help but escape her voice. Jason let out a faint smile at her words

“ I know, I know…” Jason agrees weakly.

“That looks like it hurts. It wasn’t there last time I was here…” She says to him.

His angel reaches her hand to his cheek, and Jason accepts, collapsing in her hand. His cheek, covered in blood, and an all too recent brand mark. The smell of burnt skin clouds the room, and flies are buzzing all around him. The brand, already turned black, with bits of damaged nerves dangling from his cheek. Yellow pus slowly oozes it’s way out.

Jason surrenders himself to her.

“Why don’t you ever write me?” She questions him softly, as butterfly kisses continue down his forearm.

He feels the familiar tingle, resisting the urge to twitch. Faintly, he smiles at her.

“You know I would if I could, Angel.” He barely says to her at last.

“ I don’t,” she starts, a teasing tone taking over her voice,” You never wrote me before…” She trails off, pouting.

“ I know, Angel,” He shudders out, writhing around pathetically in his wheelchair,” Why don’t you tell me what you’re writing?” He begs her.

She giggles at him, kneeling before him. Her wavy hair spills across his thighs and trail down the sides of his wheelchair. Gentle fingers trail up his thigh closest to her, carefully avoiding any bloody barbed wire.

“Now why would I do that?” She answers coyly.

“Because,” Jason starts, sucking in a breath,” Because I should have wrote to you before. And now…Now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.”

“I wonder,” She starts, tilting her head to the side,” If one soul mate dies, and the other remains, will writing still show on the dead soul mate?”

Jason doesn’t respond, retreating to the murky depths of his mind.

His Angel lets out a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, that was really depressing to think about.”

The fluttering on his forearm stops, then starts again on his other one.

“ What do you want me to write?” She finally questions him, leaning her cheek against his thighs.

Jason lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Anything,” He whines to her, closing his eyes,“Everything.”

Jason keeps his eyes shut, waiting for a response.

“Angel?” He pleads desperately.

Only when the warm, fluttering sensation leaves his forearm do they fly open. He looks to his arm, begging for the ghostly touch of her.

“Angel?” Jason questions, jerking his head in all directions he can,” Where’d you go?”

Silence is his only response.

“Don’t do this to me, too!”He bites his lip, resisting the urge to cry.

“Angel? Please! Please don’t leave me in here alone!”Jason weakly cries out, attempting to raise his hoarse voice.

“Angel?” He quietly begs.

The fluorescent light above him flickers, and cockroaches scatter across the floor beneath him as his only response.

Authors note!

The quote used in the fic was by William Shakespeare, but I don’t remember which work of his.

It turned out shorter than I wanted but oh well. I really liked the idea of him hallucinating about her

Thanks for reading!❤️❤️

[millyhelp]

Back to you.

OKAY. I had this idea while I was washing dishes. Just tell me if I should write this or not! (Just a preread to see if at least one person will like this)

warnings: angst, fluff and a bit of stalk

Back to you masterlist.

Dating a Robin was magical. Him showing up at your window at night and running around the mansion to hide from an angry Alfred about having his cookies stolen was just incredible. But no one told you that you would lose your boyfriend one day.

The risk was always clear and you were aware of the danger that Jason was in, but you had never imagined that the Joker would kidnap and kill him.

When Bruce told you it was like losing a part of you. Half of your soul ripped out and killed prematurely.

You cried for weeks. You fainted when you saw his body in that coffin. The love of your life was dead.

You spent months in deep grief and depression. You thought about giving up and even killing the joker, but how could you? she was just another ordinary civilian.

Two, three years passed. You entered therapy and had asked Bruce for help. You wanted to set up an NGO, with the name Jason, of course. You wanted to help the children and teenagers who suffered on the streets of crime alley just like Jason suffered.

Bruce agreed and gave you all the financial support you needed.

Jason Peter Todd Association for children and teenagers in need. That was the name you said with pride and love.

Over time, this helped you try to get over Jason's death. Seeing the smiles on those children's faces made you smile again.

It was already the fourth year since Jason's death. You always visited Jason's grave to lay flowers. It was a tradition to go to his grave on weekends and sit down to read a Jane Austen or Shakespeare classic.

In the fifth year you had already expanded the NGO. It was already in other poor parts of the city.

And suddenly, more donations began to appear, and much higher than Bruce's. It scared you and made you curious. They were all always in Red Hood's name.

Some time later, crime decreased and the sale of drugs to children was no longer happening. In the news the name Red Hood was always mentioned.

He was the new Prince of Crime. For you, it doesn't matter, he's helping children and protecting them from crime.

But things were getting strange. Flowers appeared on the doorstep of you apartment, boxes with classic limited edition books and chocolates (your favorites), and all with the same signature. RedHood.

This was scaring you. Who is this guy? And why you?

[slut4thebroken]

Should I make a dark!jason x innocent!reader tag list? Or no… Cause there are probably five or more fics in the works, two of which are almost ready to be posted. But idk if the ppl who commented on specific posts like the corruption kink one vs the rough oral one want to be tagged on all of them ? Idk I guess just comment if you want me to tag you on this collection

[nocturne-pisces]

You should write a dark Jason "Thick Ass Thighs" Todd as the Arkham Knight. I went down with the DC ship long ago, so it only seems appropriate that you should do the same. 🖤💙🖤

he was a secret obsession until you sent me this shit, asshole.

wc: no idea

Dark!ArkhamKnight!JasonTodd x Reader

His fluorescent helmet is raised, the ice blue of his eyes and his face the only thing exposed other than the length of him buried inside you.

“Jason, please, I can’t-“ you whimper, your wrists straining where they’re tied crudely behind your back.

“You can and you will,” he replies coolly, one hand holding you upright, the other holding a .45mm to your ribs.

You’ve already come twice, riding him just like he likes, with your legs spread pornographically wide over the thick muscle of his thighs. You’re not sure how much longer you can go before your legs give out, but you know that once you do he’ll just flip you and use you like a fuck toy until you’re raw and overstimulated.

The threat of the firearm pressed against your skin conjures stamina you didn’t know you had, and when you feel the barrel trace down your middle and right to the apex of your thighs, your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

“Fuck, you keep squeezin’ me like that and I won’t last long.” His hips buck uncontrollably, your sensitive clit catching cold metal and grinding against it. You cry out, another orgasm approaching quickly, the edge of your vision fuzzing over, when he stops.

Your breath catches when you feel the gun press into the soft underside of your chin, your eyes opening wide and looking down at his smug smile. “I know you want to come again, sweetheart. Beg me for it.”

Your jaw locks, the humiliation of being naked and tied and straddling his cock, being made to come twice, and now being forced to beg for it finally wearing at your will to survive. You keep your mouth shut, even though your eyes water with the implications of what consequences that’ll get you.

“Not so talkative now?” Jason is mocking you, knows that you’re right on the edge of pure bliss, and that you hate it; hate him for making you feel this good against your will. He pulls back the hammer on his gun and you crack- tears spilling over and onto the red and black of his tactical gear.

“Please! Please cum inside me Jason, please.” He lets you fold into his chest, his breath hot on your neck while you sob.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. I’ll give it you, sweetheart.” His pace becomes frantic, your moans muffled by his shoulder as he sets his gun down and strokes at your clit. “C’mon, give me one more. Milk this fat cock.” The hand that was keeping you steady anchors on the back of your neck, shoving you back down every time he thrusts up, brushing spots inside of you that even you couldn’t reach.

Your toes curl, stomach going taut as you gush around him, his amused chuckle puffing air against your ear. “See? I knew you could do it,” he says, right before he buries himself impossibly deep and lets himself go with a groan. He lets you lay against him for a moment, the both of you catching your breath before he throws you sideways on the couch and puts himself away.

“Now, I gotta go deal with a fucking bat problem, but when I get back that pretty little ass is mine.”

i hate you so much, steph.