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thecheckeredchaser · 4 months

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A Summer Job

Ch 10

(Chapter 11 of 11)

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Jason had enjoyed his summer more than he could have imagined. He certainly had not expected to get linked up with a girl like Rosalita. He loved going to work, and getting to be adored daily. Over the past month he had gained another 20lbs, between his newly regular saturday dinner date at Mrs. Garcia’s and his own mother completely conceding to her son’s apparent demolished metabolism. She baked more than she used to and was no longer dissuading her son from taking seconds. He would even push for thirds if he thought he could shower her in enough compliments. He had been taking an interest in cooking, learning as much as he could from both women.

Rita was competing with most invested in his gains with all their followers. It seemed to exponentially blow up. At first they had some 40 odd followers, but at over a thousand, Jason questioned if there were that many people who cared about his belly. The patreon account said they did. Rita was able to fix her car up, and thankfully got the AC taken care of, with the donations and subs.

Jason leaned against the outdoor counter, waiting for a customer to roll up. Moe came over and smiled at him. “Look who it is. King of the Summer.” Moe had been calling him that recently, after Moe noticed multiple Burger King bags, stuffed in his backseat. Jason was usually better about keeping his car clean, but Rita made the transition from the car far more pressing. He had added something about being chosen by “Queen Rita”, so Jason thought it was in good fun.

“I’m gonna miss hanging out here,” Jason admitted with a sigh.

“It’ll be boring without you. Maybe next summer, I’ll get the new girl.”

“Didn’t you date 5 girls this summer?” Moe appeared to be thinking, and then nodded in realization.

“You’re right. I didn’t do too bad. So what’s the plan with you two?” Jason was caught off guard by the question. Did they need a plan? Cole had walked over, which was surprising because he had been evading a 10 foot radius of Jason since he’d had the dick to try to say something to him.

“I guess we haven’t talked about it.” Jason looked over at Cole, and greeted him with a flick of his brows.

“What’s up? Rita breaking up with hurricane Jason yet?” Jason and Moe shared a look, which made Jason feel like he was officially in the ‘cool guys’ circle. The two had talked multiple times about Cole’s little man energy and clear jealousy.

“Why has she been sneaking you into the mop closet confessing her love for you yet,” Moe said snidely. Cole let it roll off, as he pined for Moe’s approval over his desire to ridicule Jason or cry over Rita.

Cole laughed, “I’m just saying, Jason. The Tarot cards are down. You are definitely getting fatter, the summer is ending, and you’re going back to school. She just got her own wheels too. Does she really need her big boy toy anymore?” Jason turned his brows up at him.

“I don’t know about all that,” Jason retorted.

“Which part?” Cole attempted to belittle him. Jason figured all was true except her not needing him. Moe gave a look that showed he was considering those very facts when he started the conversation.

“Rita and I are doing great. Not that it’s really any of your business,” he sneered at Cole.

“She might want to cut you loose. Maybe you’re starting to be a bad influence on her,” he said. Jason spun his head in the smaller boy's direction. He felt flames swelling behind his eyes. Moe looked crossed up about it too.

“What’s that?” he said. Cole could attempt to roast him everyday, for all the fucks Jason gave, but he wasn’t going to let him openly discuss Rita in any way.

“You’ve done it now,” Moe said, taking a step back to watch from a less messy place. Cole swallowed hard, looking nervous that this was not earning him any points with anyone. Jason pushed his chest firmly.

“I’m just saying, she looks like she’s been-,” he looked into the pits of Jason’s pupil’s and quickly looked over his shoulder at the approaching young woman. “Having a great summer,” he finished. Jason glowered at him and Cole ran off before Rita got there. Jason put an arm around her, pushing her into his body, which brought him some comfort to his disgruntled mood.

“What’s wrong with you,” she said, sensing his tightness. “Are you hungry or something?” she asked. Moe chuckled and Rita smiled, not intending to expose Jason like that.

“Nothing. I’m good.” His thumb ran over her thickening side. Chichos, she called it. She hadn’t gotten fat by any means, but maybe he finally achieved the chubby girlfriend as prophesized. Jason really enjoyed how he could pinch her little roll with his whole hand. She wasn't stuffing as much as he was, but eating irresponsibly for sure. He had no complaints. It made his blood boil to think that Cole felt justified in saying anything about his girlfriend’s body, especially with the attitude he had. Moe walked over to the objective MILF who pulled up. Jason sighed and turned to Rita.

“Nothing is never nothing Jasey.”

“Should we be talking about what’s going to happen when I go back to school?” Jason asked, rubbing his belly, realizing he was a little hungry and clocking Rita’s gaze on his hand.

“What do you mean?” she said shiftily. He looked at her a little funny, not sure what that look was about.

“I’m gonna be away. I don’t know if you're into a long distance relationship. It can be a killer, I hear.”

“Let’s figure this out later. I don’t want to stress that right now,” she said quickly. He respected her wish to table the topic, but did not stop stressing it. He was in fact more stressed than before. Rita later shared that she was going to have to skip their hang out after work, she had some non specific stuff to do. He was a little disappointed, as he was looking forward to stuffing himself as the “King of Summer” and enjoying a belly rub from her. He decided to go by himself anyway, as his hunger was not something he could freely ignore anymore. He had felt a little embarrassed when he noticed Moe was following him into the drive thru. Jason hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he was ordering at the window, and blushed when they handed him more than one bag. He pulled into the side of the parking lot. If Moe was on his way out from the window he might not even notice Jason parked. Unfortunately, Moe circled the building and pulled right up to Jason’s car and began rolling the window down.

“Great minds, huh?” Moe said, cheersing his whopper towards Jason, who returned the gesture.

“I didn’t even think you ate fast food,” Jason admitted, feeling a little uncomfortable with the quantity that sat next to him. He wasn’t going to be able to go in on the items like he’d normally do, not with Moe around.

“I’m just a regular guy,” Moe stated, like a famous person might. “I’m happy to have run into you. I was wondering how that conversation with you and Rita ended up.”

“Why, you planning your snipe?” Jason half joked.

“King? This is Maurice,” he called to him. “No. I just heard her on the phone with her mom. Sounded kind of intense.” Jason had been there, but Rita conveniently had the conversation in Spanish. The only information she gave him was that Maribel was annoying.

“What were they saying?” Jason asked, eagerly. Moe sucked on his lip a second.

“She didn’t tell you?” he hesitated. Jason shook his head. A smile snuck onto Moe’s face, which confused Jason even more.

“Listen dude. I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

“Glad for you. I had been thinking the same until you brought something up this morning.” Moe shrugged guiltily. He finished his burger and tossed the crumpled wrapper at Jason’s head.

“You gotta stress less. Just enjoy your BK buffet. Chill out and call her later.” Jason offered his least worried smile, only slightly red from his friend’s acknowledgement of his intended overindulgence. “I gotta take a girl out,” he said with a wink, and coolly pulled off, signaling peace with a careless hand.

Jason proceeded to binge eat the food sitting next to him. All throughout, he was running himself through a cycle of Rita was planning to break it off with him, followed by insistence that it couldn’t happen. Maybe they were just a summer fling. He would be so disappointed if that were the case. He was excited to tell his dormmate that he’d gotten a girlfriend over the summer. But he obviously couldn’t have more of Rita’s time than she was willing to give him. He couldn’t imagine she would let down all their fans like that. He didn’t doubt that there would be some other fat guy that could slide into his spot, probably filling it out more. Jason sighed. He wasn’t even sure what he’d do with himself without her. Would he keep gaining? He thought without Rita, fawning over him, it could get a little depressing. He continued to cram food into his mouth, even though he was getting uncomfortably full. He felt up until he was tossed out, any gains he made were for Rita. Was that too simpy? Probably. He chugged the large drink and let a massive belch grog out of him. He felt himself vibrating, and thought he had just been turned on, but he realized his phone had been ringing. It was Rita. He swallowed and picked up.

“Hey,” he said, nervous and practically too full to speak.

“You wanna come over?” she asked. He could hear her positive mood and was half put at ease. The other half of him wondered if she could truly be so cunning to be so cheery before decapitating him. He agreed and headed over.

He pulled up in front of her house and uneasily turned the engine off. “Good luck Chub,” he muttered to himself. He adjusted his shorts and t-shirt. Maybe she’d let him go just before he had to go up to a 2x. That was nice of her at least. He tried not to assume the worst, but was feeling his inner doomer resurface. Clearly she was an anomaly. He hadn’t even known girls into fat guys rolled so deep. He really thought this girl just fell into his lap and was about his body, hardcore? Not only that, her literal fetish was what he just so happened to be exploring on his own. In his life story, getting an education would be the exact demise he’d face.

He tried to shake it off. He could be wrong. Right? Maybe Rita didn’t care about distance. He could come home on the weekends. They could keep making content. He could at least reach his goal. But then he started worrying that she had tired of him. Maybe he wasn’t carrying the weight the way she’d expected, or he wasn’t reaching some unspoken mile markers and goals. He didn’t know what went on in her head sometimes. He expected she held back some of her deepest and darkest desires. He didn’t dare to start imagining those. Diving off that island made easier by Mrs. Garcia opening her door, inviting him inside. He’d assumed Rita had been inside but found she wasn’t. He had become reminded of how full his stomach already was when he saw an array of fried foods on racks, fresh out the oil.

“It is my precious Jason,” she sang, returning to her stove.

“Hey, Mrs. Garcia. How have you been?”

“Not this good all day,” she said with a wink. “I saw you pull up and knew you’d love to try some of what I’m cooking up.” Jason sighed and prepared his denial of her offer. “And I know you would never go out of your way to offend me by saying no,” she said sweetly but firmly.

“I can do super small samples. I did just eat plenty,” he shared. She fanned his protest to the side, as if someone his size couldn’t reach a state of fullness. He was willing to let the sentiment go, but made a quick face at the back of her head. “Empanadia, beef and pizza, and papas rellenas. Jason found chewing was a great way to put his stress aside. She was continuing to fry more, playing her loud music. He subtly burped under the sounds in the room, feeling super packed by the time the empanadas were gone, which the ‘dia’ implied a smaller size of which was not present. He managed to relocate the needed the room to try the newest of the items to him. He was surprised to find a mashed potato like inside, stuffed with beef and cheese. The closest thing he could compare it to was a pierogi, but that was so far off. He groaned at the greasy ball, complimenting her enthusiastically.

“You want another one,” she said boastfully planting the thought in his head. He felt like he’d be pushing the limit, and even if she didn’t know he was beyond stuffed, he was. Yet, he did want to try that again.

“Would it offend you if I took it to go. I just need some time.” He put an attending hand to his belly, trying to make it clear he was not in a state to eat it presently. He wondered if she was noticing how he was filling his shirt out more. Her sharp eyes seemed to notice.

“I will make you a container,” she said, smiling warmly.

Jason thanked her deeply and walked out with his container pushing into his gut. He prepared to open the door to Rita's apartment, but felt an earth shaking burp coming. He put his fist to his lips, and the door swung open. Rita appeared impressed by his hoggishness. Jason couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by the display. She stepped out the way and he straggled inside.

“What? They send pigs pre stuffed now?” she said, laughing and hugging him, pulling away with her hands still on his big belly. He oozed into her touch, despite his anxieties. “Let’s get you horizontal.” She ushered him upstairs, whisking the container to the kitchen and pinching at his thick butt as he slowly lumbered up. He laid down and looked over at Rita, who observed him, beyond astounded. “What happened to you, Jasey,” her words fluttered against all the worrying he’d done.

“I went to Burger King. A little crazily,” he said, meeting her eyes. She licked her lips. “Then I didn’t make it here without stopping next door first.” She grimaced on his behalf.

“Poor belly’s probably killing you,” she purred. “Kind of perfect that you’re here now though.” She started rubbing his bloated gut and pushing the gas out of him.

“I’m so stuffed,” he groaned. “Wasn’t exactly, grwaaap, the plan,” he said, with a whimper. Rita twitched. The sounds Jason made drove her wild. “I’ve been a little worried about us?” The glee on Rita’s face drained instantly.

“What do you mean ‘us’?” Rita’s hand stopped grazing his belly, and he wished it hadn’t.

“We never finished talking at work. I just have been freaking out about it.”

“Oh no. You were stress eating over that. I didn’t want to send you into a frenzy. I mean, I’d be lying if I wasn’t into the results,” she said, resuming her caress. He sighed. He was feeling so loved and cared for that he couldn’t imagine that his concerns had been rational. “I wanted to be sure everything was squared away, before I told you.”Jason stared at her curiously. What was she talking about? She lovingly kissed his belly, and momentarily shook with excitement. “I’m going!”

“Where?”

“Southern State, with you. I got accepted into their nursing program. My credits are transferring and everything.” Jason couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’re going to school with me? Like, this semester?”

“Yes Jason,” she said, swatting his chest. “What did you think was going to happen?” He shook his head not wanting to relive it.

“A bunch of dumb shit,” he said.

Rose did not miss the opportunity to give her Chub a gentle and soothing belly rub, and to share the moments with her fans in an impromptu live. Jason did not need to act, as the sounds he was making were all his natural response to Rose’s prodding fingers.

“Chub is really starting to look, act, and sound like a real pig these days.” She patted his belly, shifting out a low burp. “His belly is getting so big and extra jiggly. I could never compete,” she said, pinching her tummy. “Look how much more it hangs over.” She lifted his gut, eliciting a moan from Jason. “Did that hurt,” she checked in, concerned.

“No. It feels great. I’m absolutely packed.” A smile flashed on her face and he grinned back. “What?”

“Let’s get you up on the scale.” Jason protested, feeling like he’d just started to feel comfortably uncomfortable. But when he saw her pouting lips and the hope in her eyes, he found the energy contagious.

“Fine.” Rose ran and returned with the instrument. She was so excited she couldn’t even MC the event. She zeroed the scale and stepped back, giving his belly a little squeeze for good luck. Jason almost held his breath, not sure what to expect. It had been maybe a week or two since he had last checked. He uselessly glanced over his belly, as he was not really in the state to be maneuvering around himself like that. Instead he looked at Rose’s face, and felt himself get very excited. “What does it say?” She was kissing his lips, hard. After a brief dispensing of steam, she pulled away.

“Chub you are 277,” she announced, beaming. Jason was struck by the number. He had done it? Like it was absolutely nothing. He was surprised by how proud he felt.

“Do I look it?” he teased. Rita purred.

“You are beyond sexy chub.”

“You wouldn’t be turned on by a huge fat pig like me,” he jested.

“I think I gotta go prove a hog wrong, everyone. Catch you in the next one!” she snorted, and cut the feed, throwing the phone across the room.

She pushed him onto his back, desperate, but gentle. She lay beside him and nipped at his neck, then chest, and finally his belly. He felt himself surge with arousal. Rita began stroking his fully erect cock, nuzzling her nose into his belly and her other hand tracing the stretch marks on his side. Jason writhed under all her touches. Her fingers danced over him and he felt entirely worshiped. He couldn’t help but notice her face pushing into the top of his belly. Something about it felt amazing to him. It made him feel a little extra powerful. He shifted his weight and his lower belly was pressing firmly onto her face. He heard her moan into his soft body and felt her grip on him tighten. Where had her hand gone? She shifted her hips and he was sure she was touching herself. He was enjoying how amazing everything to stop just laying back like a fat blob. He was surely a fat lazy pig, even in the sack. That thought should not have made him hotter, but it did. Jason’s head was swarming. He was absolutely stuffed, and on the brink of finishing, with his fat obsessed girlfriend's face digging into his belly. He felt her nuzzle deeper into him and couldn’t stop his hand from grabbing the back of her head. Through gritted teeth and urgent breaths he said, “You like this fat belly so much. You’re such a dirty girl for this big pig huh?” He couldn’t stop himself from finishing onto his thigh. Rita was right behind him screaming into his flabby belly, air bubbles flubbering out from the pocket she had been in. She pulled her face out of him when her multiple orgasms had finished, gasping. Jason cleaned himself up and staggered back to her bed.

“Holy fuck,” she exclaimed.

“Right back at you,” he said, still trying to get his faculties back. She curled up to him and sighed, fully satisfied.

“Well you know what this means don’t you?” She looked at him with those large innocent but devious eyes. The same eyes that had flirted with him so persistently just months ago. The brown eyes that flashed in his mind after he dropped her off, pulling him to the drive through, just by making one comment on their first day of meeting. “Don’t eat too much.” He’d eaten beyond too much, many evenings this summer, and the damage was apparent. He’d need to go back to school shopping and was sure Rita would want to be part of that. He savored the feelings of her delicate fingers on his protruding belly, wondering if he’d ever be so light again in his life. “Hmm?” she pressed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, dreamily. “What does this mean?”

“I’m going to need a new screen name,” she said, giving him a pinch. “Chub.” As usual she was right.

“What do you think of RoselikesRolls375?” he suggested.

“We’ve got work to do,” she said with a wink.

**Author's Note**

Thank you for reading and making it this far! If you have any feedback please comment or dm me. I have some other stories I want to post, but it is work putting up these longer works. Guilty of overwriting. If there's interest , I'll post more.

#bhm wg #ffa bhm #burp kink #chubby fat bhm #wg fiction #stuffed feedee #embarrasment

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servin-up-surveys · 2 years

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survey #045

“it is being buried in wet sand, with a music box in its hand”

Your best friend gets arrested for shoplifting. Are you shocked? I'd be stunned. Would you wear uncomfortable clothes just because they were stylish? Why or why not? No. I just don't give a rat's ass about what's in fashion and what's not. I care about what's comfortable and visually appeals to me as an individual. Have you ever made fun of someone’s name? No, that's very rude. How much money do you usually get from digging in the sofa cushions? I have literally never done this. You won't get anything outta my couch, anyway. Do you truly believe that miracles exist? No. There is always a scientific explanation for how/why things happen. Would you investigate the paranormal if you had the opportunity? 150% fuck yes. I actually think I'd be quite the good investigator for a few reasons, or possibly too sensitive to it as an extreme empath, which is the type of person spirits supposedly favor communication with/through. Do crop circles fascinate you? I guess? I can't say I believe in them being anything abnormal, though, but then again I haven't looked into this topic at all. Are you familiar with the "Emo Kid Song?" I only know it includes a lyric joking about cutting oneself so I automatically don't like it. Have you joined a site just because your friend joined? Possibly? Idk. Have you tried to stay in contact with someone, but they ignored you? HAHA this was 120% Jason towards me after the breakup. I was so desperate to remain friends, and at first he tried too, but it just wasn't working. He wanted nothing to do with me. Have you ever seen a coyote in real life? Uhhh I think so? Do you have anything locked up in a vault? No. What was the best job you've ever had? I've never had a job I liked. Magenta, aqua, or coral? Coral. Would you rather be a wedding photographer or a nature photographer? NATURE. Once upon a time I wanted to be a wedding photographer because the income is fantastic, but it's just not something that's fun to me. Like, I've shot a couple weddings, and neither were fun. They were exhausting and stressful. Nature, on the other hand, is calming and exciting to take pictures of. Have you ever had an ulcer? No. Did you pull an all-nighter last night? No, but I was up very late because I couldn't fall asleep for the absolute life of me. Do you read for pleasure? Yeah. I haven't really read since I've had a laptop again, though... Are you humble? I think so. Do you like to research things? I do, yes. What is your favorite type of donut? Probably glazed. Or chocolate frosted, or cake/plain... Idk, I like donuts lmao. Peacocks or lions? Lions. I love their loyalty to one another. Which name do you like better: Jessica or Jennifer? Jessica. Have you ever looked down on someone because you thought your religious views were superior? No; I may not like religion at all, but that's not a good reason to act like I'm hot shit just because others find comfort in it. Would you rather know everything the universe has to offer, but in exchange, lose all emotions or remain the way you are now? Well that's fucking easy, hell no. Feeling is important to me. If you could live and be healthy without sleeping, eating, or drinking, which would you cut out of your life? Um... sleeping, I guess? This answer would really change with the day. Would you rather burn or freeze to death? FREEZE. Burning alive sounds so fucking excruciating. Freezing would be a lot slower, sure, but I'd still prefer it over roasting. If it meant it would solve all world hunger, war, disease, and bigotry, would you spend the rest of eternity in Hell? If Hell was actually real, I'm pretty sure I would. That's something worth sacrificing myself for. Could you live without having sex ever (again) in exchange for eternal youth? You're asking someone who absolutely doesn't want to live forever. Have you ever watched a full length pornographic movie? No, porn is absolutely not my thing. I don't wanna watch five seconds of it. The Beatles or The Rolling Stones? Stones. What was the worst nightmare you ever had? My dad doing something to me that we're not getting into. Do you think that Christians (and other religions) can believe in evolution? I don't give a shit. After a shower, do you get dressed in the bathroom or your room? I get dressed in Mom's room now that I use her bathroom to shower. Do you like stargazing? omg yes Do you wear socks to sleep? omg no but Girt does and I think he's an extraterrestrial for it like wtf that sounds SO uncomfortable. Have you ever been in prison? Hell no, let's keep it that way. Whose was the last bed you slept in, other than your own? Uhhh... my sister's, I think? Do you ever want to own a house? It'd be nice one day. How do you feel about men? I'm scared of them. Do you know any police officers? No. Do you have someone who considers you their best friend? Girt calls me his best friend. :') Do you know anyone who plays bass? No. At least, not that I know of. Have you ever been in a polygamous relationship? No. What is your main hobby? Doing stuff on the computer. Do you like art? I genuinely think it's one of the greatest joys in the world, so yes. What’s your favourite game? Silent Hill 2 and Shadow of the Colossus are where it's fuckin AT. Have you ever had a fight with your boyfriend/girlfriend’s mom or dad? No. Are you afraid of frogs? No, I love them! Who are some of your best friends? Besides Girt, Mazzy and Tez. Who’s your favorite athlete? I don't have one. Do you tend to use a ‘baby voice’ when you’re talking to pets? Duh. When was the last time you talked to one of your exes? Months ago. The last time you kissed someone, were your hands around their neck? Pretty sure no. Why did you even kiss the last person you kissed? He was about to head home. How old is the last person you kissed? He's 28 for a couple more months. Have you ever been called a tease? Yes. When is the last time you got sick from drinking too much? Never. What’s the last song you listened to? Hi I am absolutely fucking obsessed with "Spieluhr" by Rammstein sobs Are you one of those people who gets jealous of boys/girls your current bf/gf dated? No; I've never understood this. Like, why would I? They broke up over something, didn't they? Do you prefer McDonald’s or Burger King’s breakfast? I've never tried breakfast from BK. We don't really go there, period. Do you scrape the mold off bread or eat around it? LKAJL;AKSDFJLKASDJFLKAWDJEQW HELL NO I fucking hate mold to like a phobic degree. I can't touch it. Have you ever been around someone who was high? Yep. Have you ever been hit by the opposite sex? No, thank fuck. Do you think you are a good boyfriend/girlfriend? I sure try to be. Girt tells me a lot that I am, but I feel like I could be way better if I was a more capable adult. How many states have you lived in? One. If your girlfriend/boyfriend broke up with you tonight, what would you do? Don't fucking go there, I can't think of that. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years? Hm. Probably. Have you accidentally sent a text to the wrong person? omg yes Do you ever hang out with someone of the opposite sex? The only person I hang out with is the opposite sex. Do you call anyone baby? Rarely Girt. It's not my favorite term of endearment. Are you afraid of roller coasters? YES. Are you scared of snakes? Nope. Have you ever spoken to a homeless person? Probably at some point, idr. Were you ever with someone while they died? Animals, yes. It's the absolute worst. Have you ever thought about hitchhiking across the country? Definitely not. Would you still love and stay with your significant other if he or she had to have a breast or testicle removed? Duh? Doing otherwise would be incredibly shallow and a total asshole thing to do. Have you ever done something bad but you don’t regret? Yes. Do you like getting hurt? I'm not masochistic, no. [TW: SUICIDE] Have you ever thought of killing yourself? I've tried to before. Who’s the person who first comes to your mind when someone mentions “love”? Girt. Are you too forgiving? I know I am. Are you looking for a boyfriend or a girlfriend? No; I'm very happy with who I'm already dating. If you have a boyfriend/girlfriend, do you remember the day you fell for them? I sure do. Who was the last person you couldn’t take your eyes off? LOOK MAN I was listening to/watching the video to Emigrate's "You Can't Run Away" again earlier and BY GOD Richard is hard to look away from in it lmao The highlight of your week? Honestly, how excitedly Ryder ran up to hug me at his birthday party. I hadn't come with Mom to babysit like I normally do on Fridays, and he'd really wanted to see me. It means so much to me how much he loves me. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes.

#lyrics: ''spieluhr'' by rammstein #survey #surveys #random surveys #random questions

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comatose--overdose · 2 years

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OKAY SO I FOUND OUT BRUCE DOES THIS SHIT ⬇️ THANKS TO THIS POST

And you cannot convince me he doesn't use it to protect his birds when they're in danger. Something's been tossed at one of his kids? He tackles them and cocoons them up with him for safety without hesitation. You could almost call it a panic response, if you could get him to admit that he panics.

Their reactions:

Dick: "I've been doing this nearly as long as you have, remember? I could have dodged that, but I appreciate it." Or "If you wanted a hug, dad, you just had to ask."

Cass: if she's in a good mood she's okay with it. A bad mood and he gets glared at and pinched because she can handle this dad, come on.

Jason: always starts cursing and wiggling around trying to get free before begrudgingly settling down and just accepting it. Never minds it as much as he says he does. Bruce would hug you more often if you weren't allergic to admitting you want him to you silly boy (he gets cocooned a lot so Bruce can hug him anyway).

"Are you alright, son?"

"god DAMN it old man!! Let me go!!!"

"I can't yet until I know you won't be in immediate danger."

"ARRRGHHH"

"Jaylad, I'm just trying to keep you safe."

"I don't need you to--!"

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you again."

"..........." Sigh. Cue a little more wiggling and an intentional elbow to B's ribs as Jay gets comfortable. His siblings are gonna tease him mercilessly later, he just knows it.

Steph: spends the time roasting him into oblivion and annoying him in the hopes he'll stop doing it; has yet to learn that he does, in fact, value her safety and well-being over his pride. Shocking, I know.

Tim: grew up pretty touch starved so while he finds it annoying, he also doesn't complain beyond a bit of half hearted grumbling because by god he needs the hugs.

"was this really necessary?"

"yes"

"🙄"

"How did you--"

Duke: What is this??? What is happening??? Why's it dark??? Straight up blinds Bruce in surprise every time which just leads to him being cocooned longer because now Bruce has to recover before he can tell if it's safe.

"Son, your powers are incredible and we're very proud of you but please don't use them on me"

"Sorry B, my bad."

"I'll admit that's a useful startle response though."

"Right?? Some asshole at school tried to sneak up behind me as a joke and had to go to the nurse and I didn't even touch him."

"Hn."

"Uh, I mean, I don't use my powers at school at all. Ever."

Damian: gets cocoon tackled the most because baby. That's his baby, people are throwing things AT HIS BABY--! Fucking HATES it. Will straight up start gnawing on Bruce's arm if cocooned too long.

"FATHER RELEASE ME AT ONCE"

"Not until it's safe"

"I WAS TRAINED BY--"

"I don't care."

A sulking puppy for a little while that will never admit to enjoying the affection, but still, only for so long. There is a quota and once it's reached, It's like Bruce has trapped himself with a rabid raccoon.

Why are his children like this.

#bruce wayne #batman #batfam #batdad #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #dc comics

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mytimeconsumingsidehobby · 2 years

Text

I posted 756 times in 2021

26 posts created (3%)

730 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 28.1 posts.

I added 190 tags in 2021

#batman - 38 posts

#jason todd - 32 posts

#bruce wayne - 22 posts

#batfamily - 21 posts

#ao3 - 18 posts

#red hood - 13 posts

#dc - 12 posts

#loki - 12 posts

#lotr - 12 posts

#dick grayson - 10 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#plus for irl friends to interact with me on tumblr i’d have to actually talk to people which is not something i do on a frequent basis

My Top Posts in 2021

Just came across this again and it made me laugh so now I’m yeeting it into the void to ensure it’s continued existence on the internet via this hellsite (affectionate).

63 notes • Posted 2021-07-09 05:17:58 GMT

I made a uquiz full of entirely subjective questions to tell you what batkid (or friend) you are.

72 notes • Posted 2021-08-16 01:06:04 GMT

I want to see every member of the Justice League being intimidated, if not low key terrified by Batman. Including the ones he actually considers friends. Better yet, he to some extent considers all of them friends. But he’s a scary dude, alright?

Except none of the kids think so. It probably started with the first Robin absolutely roasting Batman and somehow getting an entire container of chocolate chip cookies out of it.

Now don’t get me wrong, the kids all take Batman seriously, and respect the hell out of him, but they’re not scared of him.

He is Batdad™️.

At least two members of the JL had to make quick and discreet (but mostly quick) exits towards the bathrooms during a JL meeting in the last month due to the Batglare™️.

628 notes • Posted 2021-09-22 17:50:11 GMT

HC that Talia formally adopted Jason because I’m here for Good Mom!Talia. And also because I find the following scenario absolutely hilarious:

Ra’s: YOU are an absolute DISGRACE! You will NEVER…

Damian: *rolls his eyes and walks away*

Ra’s: GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE…

—————

Ra’s: My greatest triumph. My greatest failure.

Bruce: You really don’t give up, do you.

Ra’s: I will have my heir, Detective. I…

Bruce: *resumes fight*

—————

Ra’s: Join me, Detective.

Tim: No.

Ra’s:

Ra’s: Fine, you know what? I am not above begging. My protege left, my grandson abandoned me, and you are the last possibility standing between order and the inevitable chaos that will come if you…

Tim:

Ra’s: I feel like I lost you somewhere.

Tim: You think?

Ra’s: Consider this me begging then.

Tim: What could possibly be so bad? Aren’t you functionally immortal anyway?

—————

Jason: ‘Sup.

Ra’s:

Ra’s: WHO LET THE MENACE BACK IN HERE? If you think for ONE SECOND that I will let this go without heads ROLLING, you…

Jason: Ah, I missed you too.

Jason: Oh, and Mom says hi.

Ra’s:

See the full post

1930 notes • Posted 2021-07-22 14:26:55 GMT

Okay so we’ve all seen those headcanons where Batman is rumored to be dating Bruce Wayne, and that’s where he gets his funding to be Batman, etc. (an avenue of hilarity I have yet to grow bored of).

But now I want to see a universe where that is more than a rumor, and is instead generally assumed as fact.

Like, no matter what Bruce does, everyone just assumes he’s dating Batman. Nothing seems to dissuade people of that notion. Nothing.

Metropolis: Oh yes, we have this flying alien Boy Scout keeping us safe.

Fawcett City: We have a…demi-god? or something. He’s cool.

Central City: Our guy runs around stopping crime, but like, really fast.

Star City: We have a guy using a weapon that’s been obsolete for a few hundred years and we have no idea who he is, what are you talking about.

Gotham: We have Bruce Wayne’s sugar baby.

5591 notes • Posted 2021-10-17 05:48:30 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

Just to be clear, I have a side blog specifically for DC/Batman things I just occasionally post on the wrong blog and then you get this

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #batman #batkids #batfamily

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redhoodieone · 3 years

Text

Welcome Home

A/N: Hi everyone! This is an old fic that I’m re-posting for those who want to read it. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: Language and Smut.

I knew my family was different the moment I found out my adoptive father was Batman. I was just a ten-year-old girl when I snuck down the stairs at midnight for a drink of water and spotted Batman leaving a trail of blood from his study and calling out for Alfred for help. The moment our eyes locked, Bruce instantly knew that I was clearly aware of his secret. He had also confessed it was him who saved me from a shootout that my parents were involved in and that it was him, as Batman. I felt I owed Bruce my own life for saving me, and I vowed to keep my father’s secret and pray that he would return home safely every night back to me.

It didn’t help that I soon discovered my adoptive older brother Dick Grayson was Robin. Not only did I have to keep his secret as well, but it made it more impossible to not have a crush on him. I mean, Dick has such a charming personality, beautiful baby blue eyes, and a devilish smile that can make any girl crawl on her hands and knees. And that ass…

I later found myself becoming the second Robin once Dick left to assume his own identity, Nightwing. Bruce trusted me, and he saw potential in me the second I told him I couldn’t see myself being a hero forever. Perhaps he never really wanted me to be his sidekick and figured if I got it out of my system that I could resume my life as a sixteen-year-old and do normal teenager activities. As if my life was normal anyways.

But things changed as soon as I was finally embracing myself as a hero. Bruce had taken in a new kid, Jason Todd. He was a troublemaker, a rebel, and a mysterious kid, who had never even spoken to me unless he had to. I don’t think my age helped the situation either; I was a couple of years older than him and he may not have seen me as an equal. But of course, the dark haired, icy blue eyed, bad attitude boy was given the Robin title, and I was removed because of a patrol-gone-wrong situation.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Then the unthinkable happened. The second Robin was killed by the Joker. Jason Todd’s death put Bruce into a depression, and he swore he would never put another kid’s life in danger. Our father and daughter relationship broke apart before my very eyes. I spent my remaining teenage years in the mansion isolated, except for Alfred’s loving company.

I had graduated high school on time and I quickly decided to go to Gotham University to escape the Bat family. Before I moved out, I discovered Bruce had taken in another kid, Tim Drake, who was currently the new Robin. Was I hurt? Of course, I felt I was somehow replaced. Would I miss the Bat family? Maybe. Maybe not.

I did in fact wish the new younger Robin good luck. When Tim looked up at me, his light blue eyes were so innocent and frightened about me leaving him behind. I didn’t know why he would be so upset about me leaving; wouldn’t he want all of Bruce’s attention without me hanging around the mansion?

Now I��m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

As I sit in a taxi while anxiously waiting to pull up to Wayne Manor, I honestly don’t know why Bruce wants me back at home. Alfred has kept me up to date about the Bat family incidents and activities I have missed out those few years such as:

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

Tim Drake is Red Robin (does the fast food chain restaurant know about his superhero name?), and he’s currently assisting the Teen Titans when necessary while simultaneously aiding Bruce with detective work.

Damian Wayne is Bruce Wayne’s unknown biological child. I think he’s about fifteen-years-old now; from what I remember the last time I spoke to Alfred. I met Damian once, when Bruce asked me to meet him once Talia al Ghul practically dropped him off at Bruce’s doorstep. The boy was a little shit: bratty, stuck up, and insensitive. Even though he is the spitting image of Bruce, minus the different colored eyes (Bruce has blue and Damian’s are green), Damian claims he is set to take over the cowl when Bruce is either dead or done. God help us all…

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I jump in surprise once the taxi comes to a hard stop. After paying the man, I grab my duffel bag and I climb the front steps that I suddenly remember jumping off them as a kid. Alfred scolded me many times, and I still did it because being bad was fun.

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

I find the wooden front door unlocked, which is odd considering Alfred always makes sure to lock it. As a matter of fact, Alfred hasn’t greeted me like he always does when I come home. Where is Alfred?

After I unwrap my scarf, I pull my hoodie over my head to be more comfortable in the warm house. Sadly, I forgot to do laundry yesterday, so I came home in just my black yoga pants and red tank top. What would Alfred say?

I kick off my shoes and walk to the kitchen barefoot. Pulling my long hair into a ponytail, I notice a note on the counter that’s written for me. I unfold the note and stare at the nicest, well done cursive handwriting only one man can do here.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I sincerely apologize for not being there to greet you properly. Master Bruce had wanted me to take my holiday to London early, and Lord knows I can use a week to myself after stitching up countless wounds, tidying up bedrooms and Bat caves, and playing messenger between you and your father. I have a cooked roast with garlic mash potatoes in the refrigerator if you are hungry. Do heat it up and perhaps show your father and brothers how to use the microwave.

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“Welcome home, Y/N. I missed you so much,” Bruce whispers in my ear. I can feel his hot breath above my shoulder and neck. The familiar smell of his expensive cologne fills my nostrils. His large hands rub my legs and grip onto my hips very hard. “Did you miss me?”

“H-hi dad. W-what are you doing?” I ask softly, but I know it came out like a whisper. One of his hands is holding my waist, while the other caresses my abdomen. It feels strange considering Bruce is supposed to be my father, and we shouldn’t be this close or even touching each other. But a part of me wants to keep feeling his hands on me and see what he does next.

“Holding you. Smelling you. Touching you,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He breathes harder when I press my backside against his front by accident. “It appears you want this too. Am I correct, Y/N?”

His hand pulls down my yoga pants enough, so he can reach into my underwear. Bruce continues to breathe hard from his nose when his fingers find my core. His thumb rubs fast circles on my clit, while he pushes two fingers inside me. I bite my bottom lip to stop a loud moan from coming out of me, but he appears he’ll have none of that. He stops fingering me.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

Before I can beg him to keep going, he turns my face, so I can look him in those cold, pale blue eyes. “Please tell me you’re…not a virgin.” Bruce’s face is twisted in pleasure from just fingering me, but I can tell his lips are trembling and there’s a soft but pleading look in his eyes. This must hurt him as much as it’s hurting me.

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

Before I can answer, Bruce shoves the front of my body onto the counter, while he pulls down my yoga pants. My adrenaline is rushing, and I can feel myself wetting the counter from just his roughness. I can feel him unzip his pants and I can already imagine this thick, hard cock fucking me into oblivion.

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I want to turn around and watch him jack off. Hearing him pleasure himself isn’t enough. Bruce then jams two fingers back into my pussy and I whimper loudly. It has been too long since I’ve been intimate with a man. I need his cock now!

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Do I need to remind you who you are supposed to answer to?” he says seriously before adding a third finger inside me. I grip the counter and I breathe harder. I find myself rubbing my pussy on the edge of the smooth countertop for more friction, but he grabs my hips and stops me. “Now, do you want me to fuck you, Y/N, or should I leave you here, so you can dry hump the countertop alone?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

As soon as those words left my mouth, I immediately wonder if I killed the mood. Why would I call him ‘dad’ when we’re about to have hot, rough sex in the kitchen? I need to apologize. I push myself up on my elbows and I shift my head to the side to apologize. I open my mouth to speak but stop when Bruce’s eyes darkened, and he growls as he slams his thick cock inside me.

I moan louder than I have in my entire life. His cock fills me up so much that I fear I won’t be able to walk straight for the next week or two. Bruce lifts my legs up and continues to shove me against the counter with every hard thrust. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck me. The man is practically drilling into me with no kindness at all.

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

Bruce growls and rams his cock faster into me. He keeps knocking the air out from my lungs, and I can feel my body pulsating against his. I grip the countertop harder each time, and I know my knuckles are turning white and becoming numb every second. With one hand on my hips, Bruce moves his other hand up my tank top to hold my tits.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

“Excuses,” he manages to say, as he holds me up more, so he can penetrate me deeper. His cock is hitting a deeper spot in me. It must be my g-spot, because I have read about it but never actually felt it to know. I can feel myself clenching his dick tightly, and I know I’m getting closer to release. “You wanted me and your brothers to see your tits, huh?”

“Maybe,” I cry out louder than what I intended to. Fuck, what if one of my brothers hears me? They’ll really think I’m insane for fucking our father and for loving it every second. Bruce readjusts our position once more, so he can hit that spot continuously. “I-I think I’m going to cum!”

“Not yet, you better not!” Bruce growls, and drills into me harder and faster. With his powerful thrusts and the constant friction from the countertop on my clit, I know for a fact that I can’t last longer. His hands hold onto my hips while he fucks me harder than before.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

The sounds of skin on skin is louder because of my mess. I drop my head onto the counter while Bruce continues to fuck me. Before I can catch my breath, Bruce chuckles and lifts me up. “I just made you squirt. That has never happened before, has it?”

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“You’re so wet,” Bruce grunts into my ear. Breathing heavily, he lifts my hips again, so he can rub my clit with his fingers. “You’re making a mess all over my cock. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

With every rough thrust, I know Bruce won’t last. I whimper once more when my pussy clenches his dick as he fucks me through my orgasm. A few more hard thrusts, Bruce pulls out and turns me over onto my back. He jacks himself off as I watch his cum spurt out all over my stomach.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

Bruce sighs heavily, and just when I think I should try to get up and clean myself, he pulls me up and kisses me. He shoves his tongue into my mouth, and we explore each other’s mouths as if this was our last chance to. He pulls away from me and rests his forehead against mine.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You belong to me, and the Batfamily. I don’t care who wants you, because you will never give them what you have given me. Do you understand?” Bruce asks, before giving me his famous bat glare.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

I grab a paper towel and wipe Bruce’s cum off my stomach before I pull up my yoga pants. As soon as I toss the damped paper towel into the trash, I immediately notice Dick Grayson is standing there at the entrance of the kitchen staring at me with fire in his eyes.

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x reader smut #bruce wayne x y/n smut #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Note

i'm not a big fan of DC, but I have a general knowledge of it. Perhaps something to do with some some family bonding with the bat family? it doesn't have to be fluffy, but it would be nice to see that something nice is happening to this found family of people, even if it's small. good luck and may you have success and fortune in your future!

So this ended up not being a drabble. Oops. Listen, I've been wanting to write a camping-esque fic for a long time and somehow this just ended up being it. >.<

-o-o-o-o-

It is Dick's first camping trip.

He's young, bright eyed, and smiling like there's nothing to be down about even though Bruce knows they're both painfully aware it's only been a month since his world quite literally fell apart.

Bruce doesn't really know what he's doing, having not gone camping himself in what must be over a decade, but he still successfully sets up a decent tent large enough for four sleeping bags, but has more than enough room for two. Alfred is on a well deserved vacation, so there's no need to make room for a third one. It's just Bruce Wayne and his new ward Dick Grayson, alone in the wilderness with a bag of marshmallows open between the two of them and a campfire crackling in front of them. It's Dick that shows him how to roast the perfect "mallow", and that apparently involves shoving the entire marshmallow into the center of the flame and laughing maniacally until it blackens and chars. Bruce almost has a panic attack just watching Dick bring the flaming marshmallow out to his face to blow out the fire.

Bruce remembers the times he's watched people roast marshmallows in movies, and he decides holding it just above the worst of the flames until it's a golden brown is the way for him.

There's owls hooting softly around them when the moon reaches high enough to suggest maybe calling it a night. Another tell-tale sign is Dick ever so slowly leaning against his side, all bundled up in a warm oversized jacket; marshmallow, chocolate, and graham cracker residue dried to his lips and cheeks.

Bruce stares at watches for a moment, before smiling, something he thought he lost when he watched his parents die clinking back into place in his chest. Filling him with a warmth he never thought he'd ever have again.

He scoops Dick up and bundles him into his sleeping bag. Dick is out like a light, mouth open in soft snores, and Bruce frowns, a desire in him that he doesn't understand.

He pokes Dick's shoulder gently, making sure the child is asleep, and Bruce sucks in a lungful of air. Unsure and afraid. He runs his fingers through Dick's hair, lifting up his messy bangs, and slowly bends down and presses his lips against the child's forehead. He then backs quickly away, his heart pounding.

Dick was never supposed to be his son, but pretty early on Bruce discovered how much of a lie that was.

-o-o-o-o-

It's Jason's first time camping. His second time in the mountains as well.

Dick took him skiing for his first time, but Bruce at least gets to take him for his first night out in the fresh wilderness of the Appalachian mountains. Just the two of them this time, being as Dick is still angry with him. And while that hurts, Bruce is content with spending some much needed one on one time with his newest adopted son. (Because he knows now he made a mistake keeping Dick away at arms length with the word "ward", and now it's too late to take it back. He won't make the same mistake with this one).

Jason seems more concerned with running around and climbing trees than eating marshmallows. Surprisingly, more concerned than Dick was. Though that doesn't mean he still doesn't enjoy a marshmallow here and there, especially since a new kind has come out recently that makes the marshmallows even bigger and puffier when roasted over the fire. Good for nothing but sugar. Not that Bruce minds. He can't remember the last time Jason looked so relaxed as he stands and watches Jason marvel at a waterfall they've hiked to. If it earns that kind of wide eyed unashamed smile, Bruce would gladly invest in the company making even bigger marshmallows.

Bruce finds quickly that Jason also thinks Bruce makes marshmallows wrong. He knows this because as stuck the sugary monstrosity on his roasting stick and gently held it above the fire, Jason cried out in outrage.

"You're making it wrong!" He yelled as he grabbed Bruce's arm and dragged it away from the fire. Bruce is almost afraid that he'll demonstrate how to make a proper smore by shoving the whole thing into the middle of the fire to blacken it like Dick does. He doesn't want to know what kind of mess a marshmallow this size would make on fire, but the Jason shocks him by rushing into the tent and stumbling out a moment later with a colorful bag in his hands.

Starbursts?

"Where did you get those?" Bruce asks, trying not to sound amused that Jason snuck candy with him out on the trip.

Jason snorts, opening the bag and pulling out a pink square. "I asked Alfie to get me some, because I knew you'd be uncultured in making a freaking smore."

Jason then impales the unwrapped pink starburst on the roasting stick next to Bruce's waiting marshmallow. He unwraps a yellow one and puts it on his own stick. "The red ones are gross, by the way," Jason says, sticking his stick above the fire. Bruce huffs out a small laugh and puts his stick over the fire as well.

He's not sure what he feels about the taste of roasted starburst mixing with the marshmallow, chocolate, and cracker, but Jason eats enough to gain a stomach ache.

Bruce carries him to bed too, and tucks him in, and instead of waiting for him to fall asleep, Bruce carefully pulls Jason closer to his chest, and because his arms are full of legs and arms, he kisses Jason's forehead with a layer of hair between them.

Jason doesn't pull away. Just yawns happily, and falls asleep in Bruce's arms.

Bruce decides that camping trips for Jason is definitely a thing he needs to make a regular thing. Just to see his boy look so peaceful and happy in his arms.

-o-o-o-o-

It's not Tim's first time camping. But Bruce suspects it's the first time Tim actually has fun camping, as well as his first time making smores.

Dick's here this time too, the relationship between him and Bruce held together by paperclips and string. Which is saying something, as it used to be held together by nothing at all. Bruce is just happy that he's here and that they're civil enough with each other to let Tim be a disgusting, dirty, rowdy child in the mountains for the first time in his entire life.

Tim stood at the edge of the river, but ended up being shoved in by Dick, and they both came back sopping wet and laughing.

Tim picked at the bark of a large tree, but ended up in its highest branches when Bruce lifted him over his shoulders to give him a headstart.

Tim frowned at the marshmallow bag and sticks, but ended up with a mess all over his face, pupils wide in the firelight as the sugar gave him a rush.

Bruce roastes his above the flame and Dick tries to convince Tim that sticking the entire thing into the fire is the only right way to roast a good marshmallow. When Tim looks unsure and tries both with uncertainty, Bruce takes a chance and pulls out a bag of starbursts he almost decided to leave behind.

And once Tim tries the roasted starburst s'more, the rest of the s'more actually goes forgotten as Tim decides roasted starbursts is best left left alone—he snacks on almost the entirety of the bag, and Bruce tries his best to not let the stabbing in his heart ruin the moment. He wonders how well Jason and Tim would get along if Jason... But he shakes his head, choosing instead to point out the glowing little light in the forest that isn't the stars.

It's not Tim's first time seeing fireflies. But it's his first time running through the trees with a jar, holes poked into the top to capture them.

When it gets so late that even Bruce is beginning to yawn, he corrals his oldest and unofficial youngest into the tent and frowns at how even though the packaging said it's big enough for four people, it's still quite squeezed together with two grown men and a lanky young teen.

Bruce ruffles Tim's hair, squeezed Dick's shoulder, and for once Dick doesn't flinch at his touch. Just smiles and kisses Tim's forehead. Bruce is almost tempted to copy the action, the night feeling wrong without it, but Tim has parents.

Tim isn't his son. Isn't even his ward. He hugs Tim, and finds himself hugging him tightly, only letting go when Tim voices slight confusion.

They lay down in their spots, the silence of the world being interrupted once as Tim verbally complains about Dick's feet finding themselves under his legs.

"But you're so warm, baby bird!"

The sound of Tim's laughter is something Bruce wishes he had been quick enough to record, so he could listen to it over and over and over again.

Tim's not Bruce's ward. Or son.

But it's so easy to selfishly wish he were.

-o-o-o-o-

It's not Cass's first time camping. But it's her first time camping for something other than survival. Which means it's definitely her first time making s'mores.

Taking her out to the woods is nerve-wracking in a way that it shouldn't be. She's his daughter. Officially. Legally. Not by blood. Bruce doesn't have anyone who's by blood. But she's definitely the closest thing to it in his heart. She's different from the boys. He doesn't know what to expect from her.

She doesn't go out and get all gross and muddy in the river with Tim, and she doesn't take up Dick's bet to climb to the top of the waterfall. Instead, Bruce finds her sitting nearby with a notebook in her hands, her hand scribbling away at something with a pen. She looks up at him and smiles, but closes the notebook and sets it off to the side, patting the ground next to her. He takes her up on her invitation and sits down besides her, their shoulders gently touching. He glances at the notebook, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, but she just smiles and shakes her head. He doesn't pry. She didn't grow up with a whole lot of privacy, and Bruce isn't about to take some away from her.

She sighs and leans back into the soft grass patch she found, and he lays back too, shoulders still touching. They're silent for a long time, the only noises around them being the leaves rustling and the distant sounds of Tim and Dick trying to figure out how to lash a rope around a tree near the river so they could swing into it.

Bruce finds himself, not for the first time, missing Jason more than ever. Jason is alive. He's back. But he hates Bruce and wants nothing to do with Bruce. Jason would be all over getting that rope swing to work. Bruce can practically imagine his young voice screaming in excitement as he launches himself into the water.

He forces those thoughts away, because this isn't about Jason right now. This is about the beautiful, perfect young lady laying besides him. His daughter. He looks over at her, and her eyes are closed and her lips turned up in a slight smile. Her bare toes wiggling in the breeze.

And Bruce thinks that maybe it's a good thing Cass isn't out and about causing trouble and getting dirty, because maybe to her that's not what this trip is about. Maybe it's just about showing her that she can sit back, close her eyes, and wiggle her toes in the breeze and be safe without having to feel obligated to do anything.

Because she is safe. And Bruce will never let anything hurt her.

When they roast marshmallows, she watched with amusement as Dick interrupts Bruce showing her the normal way to do it by shoving his own into the flames. She watches as Tim shows her how to carefully make a roasted starburst that isn't too stuff nor too drippy. She watches as Bruce suggests making a s'more with a starburst. And she tries them all, a frown on her lips the entire time. When no strategy seems to stick out to her, Bruce almost panics, not sure how to make the night fun and full of sugar like he wants to, but then she pops a raw marshmallow into her mouth with a curious tilt to her head, and then a chunk of raw chocolate, and then a bite of plain cracker.

She then quickly gains her own stash of untouched s'more supplies and her roasting stick goes forgotten. Bruce doesn't know what's so much better about eating the ingredients raw, but the sound of her muffled laughter behind a mouthful of marshmallow and chocolate as Dick struggles to blow out a flaming one is definitely something Bruce will not complain about or try to change.

Going to bed is a hassle. He brought two tents this time, just in case Cass wanted to sleep alone, and at first he thinks that is actually what will happen. He hugs her before they go their seperate ways, the urge to kiss her round cheeks stronger than ever, but he doesn't get the chance. Or the courage.

But he finds he didn't need to worry, because when he, Tim, and Dick are all snug in their bags, the zipper of their tent goes down and Bruce has the air knocked out of him as Cass collapses on top of him, wrapped up in a fluffy pink blanket that she bought with Barbara. Bruce finds himself grinning as he shifts to make room for her between him and the snoring Dick, careful to not nudge the half asleep Tim too much whose under his arm on the other side.

Then, when Cass is nestled in his side, she does another thing that pleasantly surprised him. She presses her lips to his temple.

And Bruce falls asleep that night not knowing what he's done to deserve Cassandra Wayne.

-o-o-o-o-

It's not Damian's first time camping. It's not his first time making s'mores. It's not even his first time having fun while camping.

Bruce was thought to be dead for almost a year, and Dick was the one who got the honor of doing those first things with Damian.

But dammit, Bruce was going to try and do this with Damian anyway, even if Damian is quiet and unsure and distrustful with Bruce.

So maybe that's why Bruce thought it was so important for it to be just him and Damian this time. Maybe this is why he didn't ask Dick how Damian liked to roast his marshmallows, or ask Alfred if he needed to bring an emergency bag of starbursts, or even considered bringing a second tent just in case Damian wanted to sleep alone.

Bruce is Damian's father. His biological one. But he doesn't feel like it.

He wants to feel like it.

He woke Damian up at the spur of the moment and coaxed the boy into the car stuffed with a weakened supply of things to get them through a surprise camping trip. Damian was too groggy in the morning to ask much questions, blinking fully awake an hour into the drive and asking with a quiet voice where they were going.

And when Bruce answered they were going to camp, Damian didn't respond with joy or excitement. Just a quiet oh that almost made Bruce pull over the car and beg Damian to let Bruce in and let him see what he's thinking.

He keeps driving, all the way until he's at the normal spot by the river and a trailhead that leads to a waterfall. Damian walks the grounds quietly as Bruce sets up the tent, his footsteps sure and curiosity lacking. He's been here before. To Bruce's perfect camping spot.

And Bruce wasn't there.

The rest of the day goes about as well as could be expected. Damian hardly says anything to Bruce, the words he does say are tense and tight, like the very thought of saying any unnecessary words to Bruce is painful. Bruce tries not to take it to heart, so he continues onward. He takes Damian hiking, he takes him to the river, and eventually they both end up at the campfire in uncomfortable silence.

Bruce watches as Damian puts the marshmallow on his stick and holds it slightly above the flames, waiting patiently for the flames to lick the white sugar golden.

Bruce sighs and risks a joke. "Finally, a son that makes s'mores normally."

He didn't expect Damian to stand up with anger in his eyes before tossing the stick down and running off into the forest. The marshmallow left forgotten as it bursts into flames in the coals.

Bruce only hesitates a second before standing up and running after his son.

Because even if he's terrified Damian wants nothing to do with him, Bruce still wants to make sure he doesn't get himself hurt in the woods.

He eventually finds Damian sitting in Cass's spot. That perfect patch of grass that's perfect for laying down in and cloud gazing. Or, this late at night, perfect for milky-way gazing.

Damian isn't looking up at the stars though. He's curled up and glaring at his feet, something suspiciously wet trailing down his cheeks.

Bruce takes in a breath, hoping bravery would enter his lungs as well, and sits down next to his son.

They're silent next to each other, for a long time, until Damian finally decides to speak up.

"You came," he says, and Bruce wants desperately to launch himself forward and wrap the boy I'm a strong embrace. "You followed me."

"I will always find you," Bruce says, and Damian sniffs.

"If... If I wasn't your kid... Would you still..."

And Bruce remembers that Damian grew up being told he was simply a tool. That he had a purpose and he was only wanted because of that purpose.

He's asking Bruce if Bruce would have still wanted him, even if their blood wasn't the same. If Bruce had no obligation to take him in and give him safety and allow him to be the second half of the dynamic duo.

Or if he would have turned the boy away.

It breaks Bruce's heart.

So he slowly reaches around Damian and pulls him closer tightly. Damian sniffles and practically launches himself into Bruce's lap, arms curling around so small that it's not a complete hug, but it's tight enough to be one of the best kinds of hugs.

"I will always want you, Damian," Bruce whispers into his hair, pressing his lips onto his forehead before he can even consider the action. "You have no need to worry. I want you more than anything in this entire world."

And they sit there, holding each other, and Bruce wonders if this is what his own parents felt for him.

And if they'd be proud of him.

Bruce carries Damian to bed after they've both let out their emotions, and even though tent is large enough to have space, he keeps Damian with him, in his arms even as he climbs into his sleeping bag.

And he's never letting go.

-o-o-o-o-

It's nowhere near Duke's first time camping, or making s'mores, or having fun, or feeling safe. But it is his first time camping with Bruce and the rest of the family.

Dick, Tim, Cass, Damian, and even Jason are all here, and Bruce won't lie and say he didn't find it amusing how intimidated Duke needlessly felt to be on a family camping trip with everyone.

It's the loudest trip Bruce had ever been apart of. The children are back to figuring out that pesky rope swing—Tim snuck a grapple hook and had the decency to look a little ashamed when Bruce noticed it—and Cass is at her normal spot with her normal notebook. Duke looks unsure and nervous, not really knowing where he fits in with all of this.

Bruce adopted most of his children when they were all young, Cass being the exception but it wasn't like she had a good experience with her last parents, so it was almost like adopting her young. But Duke is different, he's a teenager, considering college and everything. He already knows how to drive a car. He'd already had loving parents. Bruce doesn't want to step in front of that, but he still wants Duke to feel welcome and loved.

One of Bruce's favorite things in the entire world is to watch Duke slowly exit his shell that he crawls into whenever he's nervous or feeling like he's imposing. The smirk on his face that appears when Dick calls him a genius for finally being the one to figure out the rope swing. The bubbling and nervous laughter when Jason slams a hand proudly at his back when he beats the rest of the family up the waterfall in their annual race. The excited chatter when Tim shows him the best climbing tree. The relaxed posture when Cass shows him something in her notebook, and the happy smile when Cass takes his feedback in consideration. The mischievous glint in his eyes when he and Damian get into a competitive spar with pool noodles.

Bruce finds his chest so full with warmth he almost thinks it's going to burst as eventually they all end up around the campfire with roasting sticks in everyone's hands except for Cass who has her own stash of s'more supplies. Jason and Tim fight over the bag of starbursts even though Bruce was sure he brought two. Dick laughs as Damian yells angrily about his flaming marshmallow catching Damian's on fire. Cass munches on a cracker and leans into Bruce's side. Duke sits besides them all, tongue sticking outside his mouth as he concentrates on making a marshmallow that isn't golden, but isn't completely raw.

No one bugs him on his strange "I don't want it burned at all!" comment, and they all include him in their jokes and bantering. The laughter becomes do loud that Bruce is sure the entire forest can hear them.

He relishes in it. Almost feeling like he might cry.

But he doesn't. The moon rises and be ushers the kids all towards that four person tent. It's too tiny, but nobody seems to care. Not even Jason who's only made one comment about Bruce being a billionaire who's definitely rich enough to afford a bigger tent.

Because, somehow, with or without Bruce, the family had ended up close and wanting to be close together. Dick doesn't complain as Cass lays herself on top of him. Tim only snarls a little when Jason jokingly stuffs his feet in the younger boys face. Damian crawls into Bruce's side like it's the most natural thing in the world. And Duke accepts the strong hug Bruce risks and gives him. Duke then lays down with his back against Bruce's free side and his legs on top of Jason, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

And the family all fall asleep to the sounds of nature surrounding them, and the soft snores of the people they all hold dear.

And Bruce thinks that taking in a kid who's just watched his family fall from the trapeze, a kid who tried to jack the batmobile, a kid who showed up with a camera in his hands and a demand to make him Robin, a kid who decided love and happiness was more important than the way she was taught and raised, a kid who decided he didn't want to be the weapon he was born to be, and a kid who only wanted to do good after his parents were torn away from him was without question the best thing Bruce had ever done.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation. Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine. You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary. People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend? The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window. The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window. No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway. No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot. You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms. "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.

"It’s not garbage. It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm. He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject. "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander. "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing. Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life. Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy! So keep it down in the meantime.” You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason! I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry. Looks good.” His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory. You walked backwards glaring at him as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on. You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment. It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy. You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked. He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo. You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet. The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work. Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar. Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys. On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?” you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.

You balled up the paper. “Oh you think you run my life now? Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door. He don’t know me, but he will!” You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace. A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise. You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable. You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes. All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back. He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms. Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable. His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him. You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips. “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging. “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember? Look, I got your note about recycling. I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you. My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems. Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway? Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please! Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown! I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling! Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you. He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge. Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.

You work your neck for emphasis. “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off. “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!” You taunt, sending him off with a wave. Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air. You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not. Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat. You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine. It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off. You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel. Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain. Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey! Hey!” You yelled out, waving him down. He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin. Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick. "I'm not worried about that. Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing. "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up. This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well." He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan. "My car won't start. I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?” he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded. “You literally work on this bike all the time! No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,” he said. “Apples and oranges. Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air. “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you. You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.” He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head. “Dammit! Jason!”

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place. “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.” He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you. His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you. Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help! That’s all I’m asking!”

“You don’t ask! You demand! You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.” His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together. “Oh! Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you. Well I am, so what?”

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face. He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons. So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength. His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move. His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!” You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t! This the shit I’m saying!” You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric. Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.

“I told you. You’re spoiled. I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are. Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM. You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights. Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer. You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves. I’m sick of this!” You shout at him.

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets. Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you. You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own. Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck. You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.

“I told you, I step up if you try me.” you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish. “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed. You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck. Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,” he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts. You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly. As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?” He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily. You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear. He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop! Don’t.” You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated. “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening? I told you to stop. And it would be good if you just listened, for once,” you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter. You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?” You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down. “I do. You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband. Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough. You still got some growing up to do I see,” you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall. “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him. “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath. “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…” You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp. “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up. You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member. His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper. You look up at him, massaging his balls.

“Oh God, you’re amazing. Your mouth so soft,” he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Just look at you.” He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss. He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss. You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.” You growl into his face, getting up. He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.

“You’re too impatient,” He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You exhale. “Damn right I am. The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs. “You’re this wet for me? You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders. “Maybe I just like the sex. Thought of that?”

He shrugs. “Let’s see what fits and talk later. Your pink looks real good.”

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?” You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you. You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, keep going. I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.

“That’s it baby, deeper.” You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.” Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick. Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,” you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.

“You take me so well. I knew you were tough. Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,” he says. You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure. It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.” Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips. He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…” you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight. Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty. You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress. Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying. He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.” Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you. You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor. A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you. “Oh no? I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back. “You can’t initiate ever! This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me. Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door. “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head. “Take the blanket. I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face. “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.” Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.” JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt. “Bullshit. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands. “So there’s nothing to discuss?”

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could. “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods. “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.” He smiles widely.

You groan. “Happens all the time, you aren’t special. And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.” Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door. When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still. You felt positively sore, like after a good workout. It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses, his taste. You shake your head, trying to free your mind. No way is he taking up any space in your memory. It’s over and done. You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while. Dick was not the reason, so you thought. You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!” You yell out. “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys. You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!” You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t. You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car. Problem solved.

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you. “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you? For stealing my keys?” you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them. “You left them at my place. I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation. Give them to me.” You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old. When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away. “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!” you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you. “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

#shakafic #jason momoa fic #jason momoa x reader

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we-want-mini-mini · 4 years

Text

Since I have no self restraint, I’m writing another prompt/one shot.

Essentially, normal girl Lia (or some OC) whose a big fan of DC comics and the like ends up in a weird inter dimensional accident and ends up in the DC universe (it can be a mix of canon because fuck canon, up to you).

But, where did Lia end up exactly? Fucking Gotham.

The moment she realizes this is decides: Nope. Nah. Nada. No sir-y. This is NOT happening. Fuck this. I might end dying, or, worse, BECOME A FUCKING MAIN CHARACTER IN THE BAT CLAN. NAH. HELL NO.

Lia decides that, no, she will not involve herself in the Bat Clan/Wayne’s at all. Nope. Nah. Too much drama. Too much angst. Too much fucking skin tight suits and my poor Pan heart can’t TAKE all the HOT, RIPPED hero’s like what the fuck.

Now, this can play out in a variety of ways:

Lia is, say, around the same age as one of the Batboys. It can be any of them, up to you. Now, she some how ends up in Gotham Acdemy and begrudgingly befriends them. Cue angst (especially if its Jason. Considering in canon, if Jason survives he becomes Red Robin thats all I know lmao). If Lia is friends with the second Robin, it’d bring up the deliemma of: does she tell him that he’s gonna fucking die and then come back to life. Oh and, she’s actually from an alternate world were everyone thats like a superhero/vigilante is a fictional character. Honestly, if done well, can definitely stir the feelings of the poor saps who read the moral deliemma of Lia. Now, who is Lia? Someone who doesn’t want to get involved. If she avoids Jason in the beginning, does she have doubts and wants to warn Batman of Jason impending death or not? Like, that sort of shit panic attack inducing. There’s a lot of things you guys can do to torture not only Lia, but also the readers who might be like: “TELL HIM! TELL HIMMMMM!!!” or, “fuck, even I don’t know what I’d do” and etc. There’s a lot of leeway.

They are grown, and are in college (let’s say the events of Death in The Family happened and everything surrounding Red Robin striking out to find Bruce whose lost in time). This Lia is much older, recently graduated from college and currently interns for Wayne Enterprises. See, Lia is just another intern in a global colgomerate cooperation, there’s no way she’d ever run into any of the Wayne’s. None at all. But. But. She does. Some how she becomes the Executive Assistant to Tim (he once saw how she managed an entire fucking department’s schedule even though a group of people spontaneously quit. She was able to somehow salvage that shit in under three hours. And, Tim might or might not have fallen slightly in love with her—). Lia, now, a fresh 20-something year old, is now the Executive Assistant to another 20-something year old who happened to run one of the most rich and powerful companies in the entire world holy shit. Now, we follow the adventures of Lia, whose now one of the most powerful persons in the entire company (and proxy the world, I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️). Lia, let’s say, is a fucking god at manipulating people, making connections, accounting and management, and also a Very Tired Recently Graduate of GU. She, cannot, and will not deal with the constant bullshit that the Bats pull regularly. So, Lia can either passive aggressively hint that, yeah Tim, you definitely got that broken arm from a golf accident. Oh hey, I also heard the Red Robin foughy Killer Croc and also sported a broken left arm like you! What a coincidence, right? And she’d say this with a straight face. Tim knows that she knows, and Lia knows that Tim knows and yeah. Alternatively, she could outright tell him: “look, Tim, I swear to god, if you put off another meeting without a day notice just because some gang member got the better of you.” “Wait, gang member—?” “—do NOT interrupt me. Look, I know Bruce Wayne is Batman. Not the whole, ‘Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person! The butts match!’ type of thing. I know he is Batman, you Red Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Red Hood is the weirdly alive Jason Todd, etc etc. There’s no point in feigning the fact that I don’t know. Because, I do.” They stare at eachother for a bit, and Tim falls just a little more in love. “How... Actually it’s dumb to ask you how you know, but, how long?” “Good tactic to ask me how long I’ve know instead of how I know. But, to answer your question: I’ve know since I was around...” THE FRAME FREEZES now, should Lia say 8, since, technically, she’s know since she was 8 that Bruce Wayne is Batman, considering the whole parallel universe thing. Or, does she say 18, the age in which she arrived into this world? Now, that decision can prompt many things to happen. For one, if Lia says 8, Tim is gonna be so awestruck and also be dry curious. If 18, Tim is still amazed (that she knows at all). Either answer would also illicit this response: “...you’ve known for so long, yet never told anyone?” Lia shakes her head. “You guys have a secret identity for a reason. Plus, I’m not in the business of becoming a vigilante or whatever. I’ve tried my best to steer clear of all of that, in all honesty.” “Huh. Makes sense. Wait. Then... why did you start working at WE, if you knew our identities?” Lia stares at him like he’s grown three heads. “Dude. This is WE. One of the most powerful companies out there, why wouldn’t I work here? But, the ither fact of the matter is that I didn’t expect to become your fucking Executive Assistant. Like, I couldn’t just deny the offer, my mother would’ve disowned my ass the second she heard I turned down such a prestigious position.” Lia shuddered. “Fuck, I can hear her curse me out in like, five different languages.” Let’s also say, at one point or another, Lia’s mother arrives, and say, is the most terrifying person Tim has ever met (and Tim’s faced off against Ra’s al Ghul, a functionally immortal man with a fucking army of highly trained assassin at his disposal).

Lia is tame honest to god tame compared to her mother (if her mother is like, 5’3”, that’s even more hilarious tbh). Essentially, if Lia’s older and somehow become Executive Assistant to Tim (or Bruce, because, fuck canon) it would be so god damn funny (read “The Executive Assistant To Batman” in which Tim nene became Robin but still knows the identities of the various Gotham vigilantes. Oh, and, he’s the Executive Assistant to Batman. It’s so fucking hilarious and y’all gotta check it out. It’s on AO3).

Number 2, is a lot more light hearted compared to the moral deliemma of Number 1 (as, is Lia is the same age as Robin!Jason, and knows that he’s gonna die, but she also doesn’t want to get involved with the vigilantes presents a very large problem). Number 1 is great for angst and a character study for this OC. Number 2, is a more light hearted, fun scenario (as it avoids the can of worms called “Do I Warn the Bats of Robin!Jasons impending death or not because I honestly don’t want to get involved with the Bat.”.

I, personally, would love to read Number 2 (please make Lia, or whatever OC, a god damn Tired of Your Bullshit, amazing assistant to the CEO of WE, competent af and very, Very Tired of the Bats BS, and, PR is Going To Skin Me Alive and Roast Me Over A Flame). Maybe some drama, angst sprinkled in (there’s the blatant fact that, Lia is a completely different world. One that has superhero’s, aliens, magic and so, so much more. The fact that she’s in her doppelgänger’s body could cause some dissociation/body dysphoria and that sort of stuff. It’s a great opportunity for a character study for Lia/your OC).

Regardless of you choose 1 or 2, the basic premise is:

Some rando kid (or young adult, whichever strikes your fancy) who loves to read Batman/DC in general. Ends up in some weird ass accident that lands them in the DC universe, specifically Gotham. Everything about their pervious life and the life in his world is the same (or not, up to you), only difference is that there’s an alien powered by the Sun and that cannot he injured (unless it’s by a glowing green rock). They decide, pretty early on, that they want nothing to do with the vigilantes of Gotham (which also means they have to avoid the Wayne’s and Co, which should be ways right? Right?? Gotham is really big, I’ll probably only ever see them in passing, I’ll be fine—). But, the universe said, LOL, nope. And they end up befriending the Wayne’s somehow. The rest? Up to you. If they befriend Robin!Jason they have to cope with the moral deliemma of getting involved to save his life or not. Or, maybe this is the world where Dick is still Robin. Do we save Jason early on, or not? What about Tim? Cass? Stephanie? Or, what if, they end up in a world in which Jason died and came back, Bruce came back from being lost in the time stream and Damian is now Robin.

Essentially: OC ends up in the DC universe, specifically Gotham. Decided not to ever get in involved with the Vigilantes/Wayne’s. However, the universe said nope and they become friends with one of the Bats/Waynes regardless. Now, how the fuck do they cope?

BONUS: Lia manages to avoid the Wayne’s/Vigilantes of Gotham completely. How? She ends working for LexCorp. As Lex Luthors Executive Assistant (basically the same way as she became the Executive Assistant to Tim). Now, she has to cope with the fact that she works as the Executive Assistant for Lex fucking Luthor of all people. She can hear her mother shaking her head in Disappointment™️. She hates the universe. Also, Lex Luthor is pretty open about his Evil, Bastard Schemes with Lia for whatever reason (much to Lia’s utter fucking chargin). She discreetly sends info about these Evil, Bastard, Devious plans to the Bats. Cue her realizing that, to ensure Luthor doesn’t suspect her, she’s gotta get GOOD at hacking and computer science. And get good she does. Like, her utter fucking Done-ness over Luthors Supervillain ways and her wanted to never be found out by the Bats is like taken to Infinty in the 10 dial scale. Somehow, she manages to both avoid suspicion from Luthor (cue intense moments in which Luthor is talking to her, and he’s speaking in a weird direct way that makes Lia think he found out and she mentally plans for her subsequent “death” and fleeing of the country and when Luthor finishes his sentences it just him praising her or something else innocuous. Lia felt like the sun was lifted off her shoulders.) She’s always on edge. Her hair is slowly turning grey. Luthor notices and makes a comment and Lia simply laughs while making a underhand comment about how Luthors bald so he doesn’t need to deal with greying hairs. Lia stops laughing realizing oh shit I just insulted my boss in the most underhand way. What ghe fuck. But Luthor just laughs, much to Lia’s relief. Her hair is still greying from the stress. Anyways, she inadvertently becomes a techno vigilante that can rival the famed Oracle (let’s say, for the sake of this prompt, Lia’s code name is Reaper because she was drunk and apparently in the mind of her 13 year old self when she came up with it). Reaper’s name is slowly growing, as Lia does some other stuff with her new found skills in hacking. She mostly helps the Bats by giving them crucial info on Luthors dealings and the like.

One day, she realizes, that, oh shit. I became the one thing swore I’d never become. What type of Shakespearean shit is my life—

If someone does the situation in which Lia/their OC becomes Luthor Executive Assistant and then inadvertently becomes a Vigilante themselves because, sure, they don’t want to get involved, but, fuck Luthor and Eat the Rich. Also, I would love it if said fic included the most stress inducing scenes were it seems like Luthor found out about Lia and the whole Reaper situation but he actually DIDN’T and Lia is here like, sweating god damn bucks while her hair slowly falls out. Please. Write this shit. It would be

✨Immaculate✨

Anyways, hope you like this prompt/one shot because I damn well enjoyed writing it!

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #357

“your magic white rabbit has left its writing on the wall / we follow like alice, and just keep diving down the hole”

Are you better at telling stories or writing them? Writing, by a long shot. What’s one song you hate, but know every word to? i'm a barbie girl in a fckn barbie woooooorld What’s your favorite magazine? I don’t read magazines. If you could be an animal for one day, which animal would you choose? Probably a house cat. Be indoors and safe, able to just nap... lol. But I'd want another cat as a friend, too! Do you prefer outdoor or indoor concerts/events? Indoors, by a mile. I get hot outside way too easily. Do you know if you were a planned child? I don't know. What’s your favorite gem? Dragon's breath opal. As an adult, do you want to live in an apartment or a house? I'd like to live in a house, especially with the pets I want. I doubt many apartment complexes would allow multiple reptiles and inverts. Do you like the stem or leafy part of the broccoli? It doesn't matter much to me, but I prefer the stem. The texture is more likeable to me. Do bats frighten you? No, I adore bats! Does Paris appeal to you? Yeah, it's a pretty place. Are you a KPOP fan? No, I've never really checked it out. How long was your longest relationship? Over three and a half years. First time you kissed the last person you kissed? We were outside roasting marshmallows one night. Do you have to really know someone to kiss them? Absolutely. I don't dish 'em out for nothing. Were you anyone’s first kiss? No. If you had to be named after one of the 50 states of America, what state would you WANT to be named after? I actually think "Nevada" would be kinda pretty as a name? Do you think morals are universal or relative to the beliefs, traditions, or practices of individuals or groups? I've wondered this for a long while, really. I lean towards it being a mix, maybe? But more towards universal, I think... with some exceptions. This answer is all over the place, I honestly don't know. Is torture ever a good option? If no, why not? If yes, when? No? I think the "why not" is obvious... You just don't. What do you think is one one of the most undervalued professions right now? Teachers, garbagemen, retail and food workers... There's a lot. Have you ever seen anyone have a heart attack? Thank Christ no. Have you personalized your answering machine/voicemail? No. Have you ever had Fiji brand water? I actually don't believe I have, though it's always looked appealing to me, haha. What’s your favorite horror movie? The Crazies and the first Silent Hill, as well as both Blair Witch Projects. What was the worst thing a friend has either done or said to you? I'd rather not even think about things the bitch said to me. Are you biracial? No. When was the last time you got mad and broke something? I've never broken something when mad. What color dress did you wear to prom? My first was maroon, second one was black. Who is the cutest baby you know? My friend has a daughter named Scarlett who is absolutely gorgeous. Have you ever thrown a rock at a window? No, because I respect people's fucking property. Has anyone ever thrown a rock at your window? No. Does your hair react well to dye, or does it damage it? It likes to not take dye at all. >.> I have only had one instance where a friend dyed it red and it stuck for months and months, but we kept it in for a couple hours, I think. My normal hairdresser says it's because my hair is really healthy and I guess rejects it. What kind of pet do you wish you had? I ramble plenty about how I want tarantulas and more reptiles, haha. I also DESPERATELY want to rescue or foster an opossum. When was the last time you were diagnosed with something? Are you concerned about anything regarding your physical or mental health at the moment? I haven't been diagnosed with anything in quite some time, I believe, but as I'm going through the process of being approved for TMS therapy for my depression, my bipolar diagnosis is being questioned, which is... strange to me. It's been acknowledged by many a doctor that I have bipolar 2, but if insurance recognizes my primary diagnosis as bipolar, they won't cover TMS because it can massively excite the mania portion of bipolarity, and therefore I can't do it because we can't manually afford it. I'm willing to take the risk by far, as I've never had issues with mania, but I can't without insurance. I'm just waiting to hear back from them... What is one blanket judgment you tend to make about people (like, you judge all people who live at home, all people who drink, etc)? Does this judgment come from a particular personal experience? I really don't know. How do you react to other people yelling or slamming doors? Is this something you ever do too? I get very scared if it's a man. I don't like anyone doing it, and my anxiety will spike regardless, I'm just terrified of angry men. Have you ever lost your cool at work or somewhere else important? What happened as a result? No. Who has the power to break you? Jason still might. I don't know. Is anyone in your family blind? My sister is legally blind in one eye. Do you believe in evolution? Yeah. I do find the concept odd, that ALL LIFE originated from one thing, but I sure ain't got a better explanation, so. What job do you think people should be paid the most for? Surgeons, maybe? I dunno, that's a big question. Were you ever held back a year in school? Did you ever skip a grade? No. Have you ever been given a hickey? Have you given one? Yeah to both. What is your least favourite thing about your full name? I have the most basic white bitch middle name in the world, lol. Do you like the age you are? Eh, I don't mind it much, but I think it'd be better to be in my early 20s versus mid 20s. I'm just always so tired now. I can't believe I used to refuse to go to sleep before 10:30. What’s your favourite kind of poptart? The chocolate sundae one. If you had to eat one type (Chinese, etc.) of food which would it be? American bc I'm not very adventurous with food at all. When did your family immigrate to wherever you live now? *shrug* Are your fingers long, or short? Long. Mom's always said I have "piano fingers." Do you play Pokemon Go? If so, what level are you and who’s your buddy? Yeah, I love it, but don't play it nearly as much as I want because I don't exactly go anywhere, lol. My bud's Charmeleon, and I'm probably like five EXP from level 28. Do you ever sit indoors and wear sunglasses or a hat? I don't own either, so. Do you know how to read animals’ behavior? I honestly think I'm very good at it. Do you like playing video games? If so, what do you usually play? Yes, but not as much as I used to. All I really play nowadays is World of Warcraft. The only working console I have is a PS2, and I haven't bought a new game in probably a couple years, but there are definitely ones I want to play, mainly on PS4. Just can't afford it right now. Have you ever viewed the moon through a telescope? No. Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? No. There's no way I could, given my tremors. Do you prefer reading books, comic books, manga/graphic novels, magazines, or the newspaper? Books. When is the last time you ate donuts? It's been months, man. I've seriously been craving a glazed one, though. Krispy Kreme sounds amaaaaaziiiiiing. Has anyone ever called you sexy? Somehow. Do you like raisins? NO NO NO NO NO. Have you ever overheard a conversation you weren’t supposed to? More than once. Do you like ants? They're genuinely extremely fascinating animals, but they're seriously annoying nevertheless. Did you like the movie Antz? I loved it as a kid. What was your favorite ice cream flavor when you were little? Chocolate. Is it still your favorite? Eh, depends on the day. By the way, what is your name? Brittany. What time zone do you live in? EST. Do you like cats? I love cats. What’s the most creepy experience you’ve ever had? One night when my mom and sister were at the beach for a dance competition, I was having trouble sleeping, and it only got worse when my dog Teddy started freaking the fuck out, barking loudly and staring intently at the foot of the bed. I was so scared that I tried to force his head to lie down, but he fought against me. I was terrified, but got up out of the bed and went into the living room to call my mom at like 3 in the damn morning, and she had to have our neighbor come over to sleep in the house with me (I was in a different room that night). You can't convince me that there wasn't paranormal shit going on. I think the house was haunted honestly, for multiple reasons. What’s the most boring game to exist? Why do you dislike it so much? Hm, I dunno. What’s the coolest place that you've ever been to? What’d you do there? Disney World was very memorable as a kid. We just went around collecting signatures, going on rides, all that fun stuff. I'll never forget fireworks at the castle. If you’re interested in having a long-term relationship with someone, do you think that waiting a certain amount of time before you first have sex is a good idea? Or does it not matter? I think it's a good idea, personally, mostly for the sake of reducing the spread of STDs. Just because you think you'll be long-term, doesn't mean you will be. Besides that, isn't there a science that sex and feelings of love are connected? Like, sex is impossible without at least some underlying emotions? I might be entirely wrong, in which case forgive me for spreading misinformation, but if that's so and things don't go as planned, you've gotten emotionally invested in someone too early and wind up getting hurt. You do you, I just don't think it's smart. Have you ever discovered something big by looking through someone’s phone, Facebook, email, etc.? No. Have you kept anything from your past relationships? (Things they left at your house, gifts, notes, etc) Do you think that’s a big deal for future relationships or not? Yeah, like plushies and little stuff like that. When it's tiny things like I just mentioned, I really don't think it matters. I think some things might be questionable to keep, but at the same time, I don't think it's really wrong to keep memories of a happy time, if the thing still brings you joy and has been emotionally disconnected from the ex? Idk. Do you have any financial regrets? Either way, what’s an example of a GOOD financial decision you’ve made? Going to and dropping out of college three fucking times. I don't know about a good financial decision seeing as I'm not even in charge of my own finances, nor really have any to begin with. Are you a believer in “signs” from the Universe about things in your life? If you are, can you think of a particular example? No. Name some things that one or both of your parents are really good at or really interested in. Mom LOVES medical stuff, like watching surgeries and stuff like that. She is also absolutely incredible with children. Dad likes sports a lot, hockey and football especially. Think of a good friend of the opposite sex (currently or in the past). Have you ever had any sort of “more than a friend” or sexual thoughts about them? If not, can you explain why? Well, we dated briefly, so... It was awkward to, but I let myself imagine sexual situations a few times to help myself understand if I really did like-like him, or if he was truly just a brother to me. Turns out, he's a bro. If someone told you that you would never achieve something and you ended up doing it, would you have any interest in finding that person and showing them? I'ma be honest, yes. I wouldn't actively seek them out, but rather just hope they somehow find out or I run into them or something. What is the most jealousy-induced thing you’ve ever done? Apparently, be the girl Juan liked instead of this girl that literally threatened to deck me. Guess what? We're friends now lmaoooo.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''white rabbit'' by egypt central

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies.

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him.

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.”

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk.

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself.

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs.

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat.

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?�� Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel! ❤️️ = I love this story!

😳 = this was hot!

💐 = thank you for sharing this

🍵 = tea spilled

🍬 = so sweet and fluffy!

🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good!

😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER

😢 = you got me right in the feels

🤯mind blown

🤬god damn cliffhanger

😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

#JayTimWeek2020 #JayTimWeek #jaytim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #DCU #batman #casefic #day 5 #detective!jason #detective!tim #psychic!jason #medium!tim #mystery #romance #drama

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desideratvms · 4 years

Text

╰☆╮[ HARRY STYLES / ARETE / ANANKE / MUSE 30 ] / [ KENNEDY KING ] is a [ TWENTY-ONE ] year old [ NEUROSCIENCE ] major. [ HE ] is known for being [ HARDWORKING & BRILLIANT ] but [ STUBBORN & SELFISH ]. when i think of them, i imagine [ PITCH BLACK COFFEE, SLANTED KNOWING SMILES, EYES ROLLED BEHIND YOUR BACK ]. and even though they’re a proud HU student now, we all have our roots. theirs run back to them being a [ MHP ( AER ) ] graduate. i asked around and it turns out they [ AREN’T ] an AOP student. in their interview, they managed to woo the admissions team by [ PRESENTING HIS PROTOTYPE OF A 3D PRINTED SPINAL DISK ]. i guess that’s all there is to know! unless…

penned by: ☆ MOON , 24 , THEY/THEM , & EST

statistics:

FULL NAME: kennedy james king. NICKNAME(S): he prefers his full name, but gets ‘ken’, ‘kenny’ and ‘king’ often. AGE: twenty-two. BIRTHDAY: november 1st. GENDER: demiboy. PRONOUNS: he/they. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual. MAJOR: neuroscience ( pre - med ). HEIGHT: 6′1". MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral evil. MBTI: ENTP HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin. TRAITS: ambitious, intelligent, disingenuous, judgmental, quick-witted, selfish, petty, passionate, outgoing, charming.

short bio blurb.

for your first few years of life, your cries are met with warm consoling arms, kisses over scraped knees and meals around the dinner table. as you grow older, the concept washes out of sight like a salty tide: slowly, then all at once. your parents draw the lines and your nannies color them in, and with time you realize you might in fact be the only kid in history who doesn’t resent them for it. not one bit.

a son of two brilliant surgeons, your life has been filled with ten-minute holidays and interrupted birthdays. as you grew to understand it, you discovered you hardly minded much. after all, you inherited your parents’ desire for medicine and excellence, and you aspire to be so busy one day, crave it, actually, so you fill your need for attention elsewhere and allot the rest of your time to achieving perfection. you’re in the stars and you know it; there’s no time to hold success against the people that drove you there.

though your family’s social circle shifted its orbit to the rich and powerful, they remain grounded as ever. for this, your ego is your best kept secret at home. mother and father would grill you for your narcissistic reputation, so you hide it when you’re back for the holidays behind big smiles and perfectly roasted turkeys. they want you to be proud, not arrogant, but it’s not your fault: you just can’t help that you’re always right.

if you fall, though, you fall far –- the kings don’t throw money at problems.

they solve them.

your desire for greatness burns bright in your belly and your affinity for it has a habit of taking over the more tender parts of your heart. you’re not cruel, just destined, and nothing puts you on your toes faster than a threat, so you remove them. poll ten people and seven might think you brutal in your ambition, but all is fair in love, war and the pursuit of knowledge.

you’re focused but more romantic than what meets the eye. while chocolates and flowers aren’t your forte, but loyalty and dedication are. there’s no better lover than one who has a habit of sinking its teeth into anything they love, and you’re a dog whose never given up a bone in his life.

your softer inner workings are there underneath and you’re not ashamed, not at all, they’ll bring you the other piece of the puzzle one day. someone to help you hold that trophy high above your head and someone to smile while they do. vulnerability doesn’t set you back; it propels you, but you’re still skating around how to equip it just right. you’re prone to using words like fire to mask your ego, and communication fizzles out by a stinging touch.

now, you turn your head toward the future. the snap of latex gloves and the slice of a scalpel. the desire to invent, to perform, to heal – anything along the way is a blip, a moment, but nothing that can’t be solved when you refuse to stop. your fate is in your hands.

background breakdown.

kennedy king is the son of two famous surgeons: dr. amanda peele-king ( mostly known as dr. peele ) and dr. jason king. both have made several advancements in their fields, dr. peele herself working on innovative tools to advance laparoscopic surgery as a general surgeon, and dr. king as a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon.

although his parents were absent more often than not due to their demanding work lives, kennedy knew from a young age that he wanted to follow in their footsteps. raised mostly by various nannies over the years, kennedy was bothered when he was younger when his parents didn’t make it to every recital; however, this was mostly erased as he grew old enough to understand their occupations.

it was love at first sight when kennedy visited the hospital. maybe not the bloody surgery part, but medicine in general, the intense need to know about the body. why it worked the way it did. he was absolutely fascinated. the time he did spend with his parents was used to soak up all the knowledge he could, and they never minded much. it gave them common ground to love the same thing, much unlike his older brother that didn’t have the same drive and passion for medicine the way he did.

the kings were glad to have one son that wanted to follow in their footsteps, and so even if there’s a large distance between them at times, kennedy has always had a fairly good relationship with his parents, even if that comes with immense pressure

personality breakdown.

to say he’s a perfectionist is an understatement. he simply refuses to go into a field and be the flop of the family, so his pursuit of knowledge is pretty unparalleled. he takes his studies seriously, and doesn’t really relate to the college life of skipping 8ams to nurse hangovers.

not that he doesn’t have them -– but we love a man that perseveres.

wish i had his confidence of just assuming everything’s going to go his way. his label means force or necessity, and that’s because kennedy has a way of making things working in his favor with pure force. ‘kennedy, aren’t you worried you’ll fail?’ ‘no.’ ‘how?i’ ‘because i won’t let myself. duh’

although he doesn’t have the softest personality due to the lack of being hugged as a child, kennedy, at his core, isn’t entirely evil. he’s capable of caring about people and does. he’s a passionate person, and that can translate to love and loyalty for the right people. he doesn’t half-ass anything, so when he commits it’s on.

still, the boy has quite an ego. for him to think something is good enough to commit to takes a bit. he’s got particular taste, never backs down from a fight, and almost annoyingly always thinks he’s right. his ambition can sometimes blind him to the point of selfishness at times, even if his heart is in the right place.

he’s got his good qualities, though! for someone he loves, he’s there. he’s quite dependent when he wants to be, and he’s smart as anything. if you need help getting out of a jam, his brain is basically hardwired to know how to land on his feet.

kennedy is very organized and put together. never catch a wrinkle, even on his plain t-shirts. he shows his love through helping: he’s more likely to help you clean your dorm or organize your study notes for your test than deliver a monologue on his love for you, but it counts! you just need to know what to look for.

a brat but sometimes a lovable brat.

wanted connections.

a best friend. kennedy grew up without serious parental figures, so i’d love a childhood best friend with him that accepts him for his serious personality flaws. he would be hella ride or die for this person, which he isn’t for much of anyone else, so that means quite a bit! someone to keep him grounded, call him out on his bullshit, but not completely destroy his ego.

exes. honestly, kennedy can be quite the petty man. i can envision a lot of ugly breakups in his past OR we can plot some exes on good terms! he’s not totally emotionally stunted, can be quite a good boyf when he wants to be, but also a complete nightmare too. any gender feel free to apply!

hookups. self-explanatory. college life. the nature of their relationship will be entirely dependent on the muses and their dynamic, but kennedy isn’t always the nicest to his casual flings depending on their dynamic. some friends with benefits could work, though, for positive casual connections.

enemies. okay, look at this bratty bitch. there is no way he doesn’t have some, if not many, enemies. he has a temper and doesn’t like to be told no, so if you ever wanna verbally spat it out, feel free. he won’t swing, tho. those are surgeon’s hands, baby.

hate-to-love friendship. someone dopey or complete unambitious that somehow kennedy still loves despite them being total opposites. he doesn’t get why they don’t do their assignments, or why they fall asleep drunk in the bathtub twice a week, but he really can’t deny that they amuse him and he cares about them.

#hatchet:intro

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redhoodieone · 5 years

Text

Welcome Home

This is technically my first smut. I feel like since I always requests smuts, I figured I should give one back to Tumblr and for those who always make my fantasies come true.

Warnings: Major Smut.

Stupid Harley Quinn and her baseball bat. Who knew one hit to my knee could bench me for two months (Alfred added an additional five months of rest).

Now I’m twenty-one-years-old, and I’m still a student at Gotham University. Alfred had just called and informed me Bruce wants me back home.

Dick Grayson becoming a womanizer (I saw it coming) and how he’s juggling working as a police officer and Nightwing. He’s still the favorite and golden child in Bruce’s eyes.

Jason Todd is back from the dead, and he’s currently operating his own team: Red Hood and the Outlaws (who knew he was leadership material underneath that thick skull of his?).

But I still can’t figure out why I am needed back home. Is Alfred sick? Is Bruce dying after fighting all these years? Is it one of my brothers?

I scoff loudly, and I jump down the five steps that would have given Alfred a heart attack. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.

Dear Lady Y/N,

I dearly love you and the boys,

Love Alfred Pennyworth

P.S.

Look into the highest cabinet above the refrigerator, and you will discover a jar of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies just for you.

I grin widely, and before I can turn around and find the cookies, I’m stuck between the counter and a tall, hard body behind me. I freeze.

“You better be loud, or I won’t let you cum, Y/N.”

“I-I’m not,” I confess, and wonder if he would change his mind if I said I was.

“Who was it with?” Bruce demands. He kisses along my shoulder to my neck before he bites on my soft spot. I hiss in pain and I grind into him again.

“Josh Mitchell. I was sixteen,” I answer harshly.

“Was he any good?”

“No, no he wasn’t good at all!” I cry out.

“Good, I’m actually relieved to hear that,” Bruce says, as he starts to stroke himself. “Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I growl louder, while my nails scratch the counter top. “YES! Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dad!”

“Oh fuck! You’re so fucking tight. So wet and so hot,” Bruce groans out. With each thrust, I can feel he wants to let go and fuck me like he owns me.

“Go ahead, Dad. Fuck me. Fuck me like I’m yours and only yours,” I tempt him playfully.

“No bra? You’re a bad girl,” Bruce says in between panting.

“I forgot to do laundry,” I choke out.

I become a moaning mess. I can feel my mouth drop open because I feel liquid coming out from my core. Did I just squirt? What the hell is happening to me?

“No, that was my first time,” I answer breathlessly. He kisses my neck.

“I’m your bad girl,” I moan out, as I can feel another orgasm threatening to take over my body.

“Fuck yes, you are!” Bruce groans, and continues to shove his cock into my soaking wet pussy.

Just seeing his hard, veiny thick cock before me turns me on once more. I lick my lips at how the tip of his dick glistens with his cum.

“I understand, and I promise,” I swear before he kisses me once more.

“Good, now go wash up,” Bruce instructs before he helps me off the counter.

Yeah it’s my first smut...so I’m sorry if it sucks. (Pun intended)

#batfamily #bruce wayne #smut #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut

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zombiesbecrazy · 5 years

Text

Every Day Like This One

Summary: Four times Jason Todd had the very best birthday

AO3

Jason didn’t care what the other kids at school said. Pink wasn’t a girl colour and even if it was, it didn’t matter because strawberry was the very best flavour of ice cream.

This was the fancy stuff too. Not the one dollar cone that you could get at McDonald’s or the bucket that they could get at the corner store when it was on sale that was bright neon in colour either. Those were both good, but they weren’t this. No, this was the pale pink that had the chunks of actual strawberries in it and was soft enough to scoop perfectly, and cold enough to maintain its shape for just a little bit longer before starting to melt into a delicious pool of creamy milk at the bottom of the cone.

This was the cone of perfect strawberry ice cream that he and his mom had walked twelve blocks south into another neighbourhood to find. Jason had peered into the display case with wonder, looking at all the flavours to choose from in wonder. If someone didn’t already know their favourite flavour, how could they possibly choose?

He knew it was silly to get excited by something as simple as ice cream, even at nine, but he knew that the grin on his face was enormous when he accepted the cone from the man on the other side of the counter, eyes growing larger as he held it in his hands, waiting for his mom to pay for it. This was a five dollar ice cream and it was all for him. It was even in a sprinkled waffle cone. She got a small strawberry cup for herself as well, nowhere near as big, but still as tasty. She led him to one of the tables in the corner of the small shop and they sat in silence, watching the people walk by outside. He was careful not to let any drips fall from the cone and onto the table, not wanting to let any of it go to waste, and to savour every last drop.

Cones were always a race against time, trying to finish it before it melted from the heat of his hands, but taking the time to enjoy it. Before too long, his hands were empty, sticky from the cone. He turned back to smile at his mom, who surprised him by pushing her small bowl of ice cream across the table at him. She hadn’t eaten any of it. Instead she had stuck a small white candle in it, small flame flickering.

“Happy Birthday, Jason.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and blew out the candle.

He wished every day could be like this one.

***

Rich people were weird. Jason had decided this long before he had moved in with Bruce, but living in the manor had solidified it. For weeks Bruce had been asking him what he wanted to do for his birthday. Was there a tradition that he wanted to do? Did he want to go on a trip? Was there any specific presents that he wanted?

When Jason had said that he wanted to camping in the backyard, Bruce had blinked at him for a few seconds in confusion.

“Are you sure you don’t want to camp anywhere more exciting, Jay? We could go to one of the parks.”

“Nope. Backyard is good.”

“We always camp in the backyard. We camped out there last week.”

“I like it,” he said before quickly adding, “Can we make the fancy s’mores?”

“You are turning 15 and the most exciting thing that you want to do is put peanut butter cups on graham crackers and marshmallows in the backyard? The backyard that is on the other side of this wall?”

“Yep.”

“Alright. Backyard camping it is,” laughed Bruce softly. “With the fancy s’mores.”

Growing up in the city, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity to see the stars. Despite being so dark, there were too many lights in Gotham, clouds too low and the stars mostly stayed hidden. Out in Bristol though, the houses were few and far between and the stars were out in abundance. He loved lying on his back, staring up at them on nights when the city was quiet and patrol had been cut short. It was extra nice when his belly was full of fire roasted weenies, s’mores and Alfred’s chocolate gateau.

“Jay.” He lifted his head to look at Bruce, still sitting by the fire, light of the flames reflecting in his eyes. “Present time.”

“I told you I didn’t want anything.”

“And I didn’t get you anything.” He pulled two parcels out of his backpack beside him. “Alfred did. And Dick.” Jason highly doubted that Dick got him a present and assumed the Alfred had forged his name, but the small card on the packaging wasn’t actuallyfor Jason which peaked his interest. It was for Robin, from Nightwing.

Tearing off the wrapping, he turned the gift over in his hands carefully before looking at Bruce. “Nunchucks?” Bruce looked almost as surprised as Jason was. He held out his hand and Jason passed them to him. Bruce turned them over carefully in his hands and examined them closely before handing them back.

“Those look like authentic hand crafted nunchaku.”

“Can you teach me? How to use them properly?”

“I can, but Dick would be a better teacher for those, which may be the point of that gift.” Jason raised an eyebrow and Bruce’s lips quirked up, almost in a smile but not quite. It was the same look Batman got when Robin did something impressive in the field. “I’m competent with them. He is an expert.”

Jason looked down at the sticks again, thoughts whirling around in his brain. What did it mean? “He doesn’t even like me.”

“He doesn’t not like you. He’s angry with me and there is a difference.” This time Bruce did smile, and he reached over to give Jason’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I think this might be a sign that he might like to get to know you better.”

Jason’s hands started to shake the more that he thought about it, and he quickly put the nunchucks to the side and started to unwrap the second gift just to cover up the reaction.

Alfred’s card gave nothing away, simply wishing Jason a happy birthday in perfect cursive. The box was small and flat and when the wrapping was removed it, the box was velvet. Jason opened the box and immediately closed it again, which made Bruce stare at him strangely. Jason swallowed, and opened the box slower, prepared for what was inside.

“It’s a pocket watch.” Jason whispered. He had never seen one before he had moved to the manor. Not until he had seen Alfred remove it from the pocket of his waistcoat to check the time and he had been transfixed with the idea. He lifted it out of the box carefully and held it up, engraving catching his eye in the light. “It has my initials on it.”

J.P.T.W

“Looks like we may have a matching pair. Alfred got me one as well when I was 17.” Bruce leaned back to look at the stars. “He said that every proper young man needed a proper watch. It’s a Pennyworth family tradition.”

“I can’t accept this, Bruce. It’s too much.” How could he accept something this extravagant? People like him didn’t have pocket watches. People like him barely had regular watches.

“It’s a gift. Do you really want to try and give it back to Alfred?”

Jason ran his thumb over for cool silver casing, feeling the engraving and committing it to memory. “No.” He placed the watch back into the velvet box, and closed it carefully, before putting it carefully into his bag for safekeeping. Being Robin was one thing. Being included as Wayne was something harder. Jason didn’t know how to process Alfred’s apparently inclusion of him into being a Pennyworth.

“Hey.” Bruce held out another s’more that he had somehow managed to put a candle in, held in place by an extra marshmallow. How long had Jason been sitting and thinking about the watch if he hadn’t known Bruce was making another fancy s’more. “Happy Birthday, Jaylad.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and blew out the candle.

He wished every day could be like this one.

***

This entire situation was fucking insane.

Over his two lifetimes, Jason had seen a lot of things. Done a lot of things; good and bad. Continued to defy the odds and expectations. Not once had he ever imagine this; never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to be in space. And not just Watchtower space.

Space Space. With unknown constellations and planets surrounding him, in a spaceship, trying to outrace a bunch of little green men, none of whom were actually green or little or possibly even men, who were definitely trying to kill them because the three of them had maybe taken something that didn’t legally belong to them.

Jason wasn’t sure if Finder’s Keepers, Loser’s Weepers was a saying on other planets, but they couldn’t exactly stop to ask without their ship being blown to tiny pieces.

To be fair, the Tamaranean crystal Roy had pocketed didn’t technically belong to the Roglodites either, so Jason wasn’t sure why they were so mad about it. It’s not like they were using it for anything anyway, and with Kori on board, they had more of a claim to it.

At least that was the logic he was sticking to.

Any now they found themselves being chased by two larger ships that were firing at them, fortunately with not great aim, but they were being gained on.

“Starfire! Does this ship have a warp drive?” shouted Roy over the alarms that the ship was sounding around them.

“I do not know what you are talking about!”

“Warp drive! You know! To go super-fast and jump to a faraway place where these jerks can’t find us?”

“That is not a real thing, Roy,” snapped Kori, eyes focused on the panels in front of her. “And you should not have stolen the crystal.”

“All sci fi movies have them! Your ship has to have one!” Roy shot back. “And it’s your people’s crystal! It should be with you.”

“You are believing human science fiction entertainment over my knowledge of my own ship and how space travel works?”

“Don’t answer that,” Jason slapped his hand over Roy’s mouth to stop the words in their tracks. “and stop mansplaining how space works to Kori.” His hand was suddenly wet and he pulled it away quickly. “Gross! Did you just lick me?”

“Maybe.”

“Can the two of you stop being children and do something useful?” Kori flipped some switches that seemed to up their speed, but not enough to lose the ships behind them. “Even if warp drives were real, how would they help? If I had a warp drive, they would have a warp drive and we wouldn’t get any farther away. Ridiculous.”

“Would an asteroid field help?” Jason pointed to something on the screen in front of them that they were quickly approaching. “Your ship is smaller than theirs. Maybe we could sneak through where they can’t fit?”

Kori bit her lip as she looked at the monitors. “It may be our only chance.” The field was large, but the debris looked small and close together. It would be tough even for the most experienced of pilots. Jason was glad he wasn’t the one flying. “Roy, take the back weapons in case any manage to follow and buckle up.”

“We are in space, running from angry aliens. How will buckling up help?” said Roy as he strapped himself, Jason taking the seat next to him and doing the same.

“It will keep you in your chair. Now be quiet!”

It was astounding how quickly things could go from ‘holy crap we are going to die’ to ‘how on earth did we pull that off’ when Kori managed to get them through the field with minimal damage to the ship, and Jason had been right; the other ships were too large to chance following them through and they were in the clear.

“Kori, you are my hero.”

“Was I not already?”

“Yeah, but that solidified you into the top spot for eternity.” Jason slumped back into his chair, closing his eyes as he felt the tension drain from his body. “Thank you for not letting me die again on my birthday.”

“Jason Todd.”

“Yeah?”

“You did not tell us that it was your birthday.” Kori sounded upset that she hadn’t known. Jason felt a little bad because he knew how much she liked to celebrate the people in her life.

“Oh. Well, it is.” He cracked his eyes open a little and smiled at her “I’m 21. Or 20 if you don’t count the year I was dead, but personally I go by year of birth.” He closed his eyes again, and heard Roy shuffling around in the one of the cabinets beneath the consol. He may have drifted off to sleep until he was jerked away by the sound of a cup being put down beside him. Roy had placed a suspicious looking glass beside him, amber liquid reflecting off the lights of the control panel.

“What is that?”

“Whiskey.”

“And why is it on the ship?” He didn’t want to make it sound like an accusation, but as far as he and Kori were aware, there wasn’t any alcohol on the ship.

“Maybe don’t ask too many questions about that today.”

“Roy.”

“Don’t. Not today.” He nudged the glass closer to him. “It’s for you. You’re legal.”

“Very little of what I do is legal.”

“Shut up and have your drink. This too.” Roy placed a chocolate chip cookie in front of him with large wax candle on top, almost double in radius of the cookie.

“No flame?”

“Not in space, dingus,” said Roy, but Kori leaned around him from behind with a lighter and lit the candle. Roy spun around and glared at her. “What? You don’t have a warp drive but you can have open flame? That is ridiculous.”

“Why would there be candles on board if we could not use them?”

“I hate space.”

Jason grinned, laughing at his two best friends arguing about space, after being chased by aliens and totally not dying. “I don’t know. I think it’s pretty cool.”

Two pairs of arms wrapped around him. “Happy Birthday, Jay.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and blew out the candle.

He wished every day could be like this one.

***

Except for the summer thunderstorm hammering away outside his apartment, it had been a quiet day and Jason had quite enjoyed having the time for himself. Power had been knocked out on his block, but it was nothing that a few candles around the living room couldn’t fix, as he curled up on his couch with a well worn copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide, two fingers of whiskey on the table beside him and a bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap, listening to the rain as it pelted against the window.

He was overdressed for what seemed like a relaxing afternoon in, with his deep burgundy waistcoat and Tom Ford suit, but he was killing time before his ride got there to pick him up for what he had been told was charity benefit at the manor, but what in reality was a surprise birthday party that Dick had ‘accidentally-but-on-purpose’ spilled the beans on knowing that Jason didn’t typically react well to having people jump out of him in the dark, no matter how much he cared about the people doing the surprising.

If someone had asked him as a child what his 25th birthday would be like, he wouldn’t have had an answer. It wouldn’t have been a black tie dinner with his friends and family at Bruce Wayne’s house, that was for sure. There had been a time, many times, when he would have thought that seeing 25 would have been impossible, but here he was. Quarter of a century old. He had taken the rocky road to get there, but he couldn’t be happier.

His thoughts were interrupted by a honk down on the street, and Jason double checked the time before sliding the pocket watch back into his waistcoat. He slipped his jacket on, knowing that it was Tim waiting for him, punctual as always. He carefully blew out each of the candles, before picking up his glass and bowl and leaving them in the kitchen sink.

Jason paused beside his front down after putting his shoes on and gazed around his apartment one last time. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and blew out the final candle by his door, leaving his apartment in darkness, only light coming in through the windows.

He wished every day could be like this one.

#Jason Todd #Catherine Todd #Bruce Wayne #Roy Harper #koriand'r #Happy birthday jason todd #Jason deserves only good things so this is all fluff.

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trashyslashers · 5 years

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Could you do some slashers (up to you which ones) that kill the abusive husband/boyfriend of the future s/o because they saw how that trash bag abused the s/o and their child? From then on the killer visits the small family regularly, at first just to check up, without them knowing and then more often because he really adores s/o and their child? Killer finally becomes part of the small family?

So… I was originally going to do Bubba and Jason, but because of how long Jason’s came out to be I decided to just do his because otherwise this would be incredibly lengthy.

Under a read more for obvious reasons. this is like unnecessarily long im sorry

Urban legend or not, anyone who had any sort of brain knew that setting foot on the grounds of the camp was a surefire way to piss Jason off. Whether it was because he sought revenge on every living being ever and he could only get it if they were close enough or because he felt the camp was his own personal stomping ground that no one else had the right to touch, Jason was never merciful in his killings and the rumors and stories about what goes on up there kept people away for the most part. So why you took yourself and your child up there made no sense and you realized was borderline suicidal, if the gossip proved to be true.

Truth be told, you had no idea where else to go. Your partner was absolutely adamant on making sure you didn’t spend time with anyone else, not even family, so your next line of action: “Camping.” They, for whatever reason, didn’t protest as you threw some clothes in a bag, a tent in the car, your child in the backseat, and sped off down the street. Things at home had been quiet, the calm before the inevitable storm, and you figured your partner probably wanted a break from you as well. Whatever their reasoning for not pitching a fit about your request, you were relieved, albeit a bit tense. It wasn’t unusual for them to change their mind not too long after letting you do something, but you hoped that not telling them which specific campsite you were going to would deter them from looking for you.

It was mid autumn and to your pleasure no one else seemed to be at the camp. Your child, your son, was making friends with some fish in one of the small creeks that ran throughout the camp - you told him not to go near the lake, as he wasn’t a good swimmer - and you sat alone, in one of the shabby cabins that was hidden further back on the grounds. Your arms ached, your partner always seeming to grab ahold of them harshly whenever they were giving you an earful, and it resulted in your current yellow-brownish bruises that littered your upper arms.

Things were alright, for the day and a half you were there for. It gave you and your son some bonding time, something that was rare to come by as you worked and he had school, but dread was festering in the back of your mind as you knew eventually you had to go back. You’d only brought a few food items, camping foods picked up from a small market which you were running low on, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t slightly unnerved by the strange noises you’d been hearing at night. You brushed it off as a deer, or maybe even a bear, wandering by and looking for scraps of food, but the footsteps you heard circling your cabin as night were making you increasingly paranoid.

You were cleaning up after dinner, which was just sausages you roasted and some miscellaneous canned foods you heat up for you and your son, when you heard it. The slam of a car door echoing through the trees, making your heart fall into the pit of your stomach. It was dark out, no other soul around for miles, and you could only pray that it was either another camper, or your partner whom you hoped was calm.

You were wrong as it wasn’t either - in a way. It was your partner, but they were the furthest thing from calm. Far from calm was an understatement, they were absolutely livid. Foul words and harsh exclamations were thrown your way - asking why you had been gone for so long, what the hell you were doing with the kid in the middle of the woods, why you didn’t tell them where you were going, names and words you’d never repeat and the like.

You, and more importantly your child, were terrified to say the least. All three of you were shut up in your cabin, your partner’s rage growing in intensity as you too argued. The arguing was mostly from their side as you were trying to diffuse the situation for the sake of your son, and it showed no sign of calming down any time soon. You tried to defend yourself, explaining you were only planning on staying away for a few days, you wanted to spend time with your son, and so on but they weren’t having it and things were escalating. The calm had ended long ago, the eye of the hurricane passed, and this was the storm.

You’d ushered your child into the small bathroom in the back of the cabin so he didn’t have to be around the fight, and you thanked your lucky stars for that. You rose your hands in attempt to get them to back up which proved to be a huge mistake as they lunged forward, taking hold of your left write in a vice like grip before yanking you forward, their palm making contact with your cheek, a sharp sting spreading throughout your face as you found your voice in time to just shout “Stop!”

The shove to the floor shook you, but not as much as the sudden kicking in of the cabin’s rotting door. You nearly wet yourself when getting a look at who did it - a hulking man donning a discolored hockey mask, but your eyes were fixated on the rusting machete held in his right hand. Your partner, who was just as confused and flabbergasted as you were, approached the man, their voice raising in volume as they asked who the hell they were, what they were doing, and demanded that they leave because it was family time, the hiss in their voice and their choice of words making you sick to your stomach.

Your voice croaked, a plea for help directed towards the strange man, but your partner was having none of it as he reached down to yank you up by your wrist, telling you to shut it and stop talking, a threat beginning to fall from his mouth but a sound - a wet splitting sound - interrupting him. You were about to ask what happened, but before you could even open your mouth, the body of your partner lurched forward, crumpling on the ground with a sick groan. Wedged in the back of their head was a machete, lodged right in the middle, splitting it down the middle.

Of course, you screamed. You screamed and cried until your voice was hoarse and your face was hot. Not even out of sadness for your partner, but of fear, confusion, loss. You just saw someone - the person you had a child with - killed right in front of your eyes, the same person who had spent the last 7 or so years tormenting, neglecting, and abusing you. Not only that, but the person who killed them was, to put it lightly, petrifying. 6’6 at least, covered in blood, clutching a machete half the length of your body. You didn’t even watch where he went as you got up and sprinted to the bathroom your son was in, slamming the door shut and locking it, shoving any shelf or box you could up against it.

You had no idea how long you sat huddled in the tub with your son. You were trapped, there were no windows in the bathroom, and your only hope was the man had left. It felt like hours, agonizing hours of fear and anxiety, had passed before you had the courage to even stand up. You told your son to stay put as you crept from the tub towards the door, pushing aside anything you blocked it with. The door creaked as you opened it, the sound almost making you jump out of your skin. You braced yourself for the worst.

The man was gone. The body was gone. The only sign anything had even happened was the shattered door and a light trail of blood streaked right across the splintery floor, but besides that, nothing. You wiped up the blood, dumping the towel in the fire, swept the door bits away, and called it a night with your son.

The next few days were a wreck. Your son was either in shock or incredibly apathetic to the death of a parent, but he seemed like he was doing alright. You had no idea where to go from there. You both felt safe and unsafe staying there - the man never came back. You drove you and your son home and back, getting more belongings from home before settling back in a cabin - a different cabin.

A few days progressed and you caught glimpses here and there of the man who killed your partner. Lingering in the bushes, just out of sight, a shadow passing by the window at night… you no longer felt afraid. The closest he got to you or your son was when your son had wandered close by to the lake, the man was standing in the bushes as if he were just keeping a watchful eye on him. Over time, you felt safe with him.

He approached you one day, more specifically you and your son. You arm found its way around your son, a bit unsure of what the man’s intentions were, your eyes fixated on his hand - the hand that was holding the machete before was now holding… was that a teddy bear? It was dwarfed by the size of his hand, but it was undoubtedly a teddy bear. He tentatively extended his arm towards your son, offering the toy to him. He absolutely towered over you. Your son found the bear in his hands, the man still looming over the two of you. Then it clicked. This was Jason Voorhees - the boy stuck in a man’s body, the boy who drowned in the lake as a child, the man who slaughtered anyone who came into his land - the man who killed your partner to save you and your son.

You three grew closer over time. You did have to go home on occasion - you were questioned by the police briefly about the disappearance of your partner - but your past abuse wasn’t completely a secret so they took your word when you said they just ran off one day. You borderline lived at the camp now, Jason seemed fine with it. He’d linger around the cabin, on occasion you’d wake up to him just… watching you and your son sleep. Your son seemed fond of him, often trying to talk to him about children’s stuff to which Jason seemed to enjoy as he’d sit next to him and nod his head along as your son rambled on about whatever.

You felt safe with Jason. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You couldn’t help but wonder why he helped you in the way he did - maybe it was solely because of your son, maybe he was more empathetic than the rumors said, maybe it was just random. Regardless of his reason, you were incredibly grateful.

#tw: abuse #request #slasher imagines #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #jason voorhees #tried to keep this gender neutral

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