#prompt fill: kidnapped

[luxaofhesperides]

Final hour Ghostlights request! Soulmate AU where when your soul mate dies your soul mark expands. Duke was really heartbroken at first but now his soul mark makes it really difficult to keep his secret identity hidden because he is covered in a map of the cosmos. He has to use his shadow powers almost constantly to keep all the stars hidden! And and maybe they light up like actual stars when he uses his light powers.

He meets Danny at orientation or something at GU and they brush against each other and he just lights up like a supernova, all his stars literally blazing and he's just like "YOU!" Both excited and also OH MY GOD YOU ASSHOLE.

....I rambled a bit here I'm so sorry.

The thing about soulmates is that you don’t really know who they are until they die. And even then, most people never know who their soulmate was, only that they outlived them.

Duke became one of those people when he was thirteen. 

He didn’t even notice until he went to change and saw the watercolor swirl of nebula spill out from over his heart. 

One moment, he was tired and angry, ready to sneak out of his latest foster home to search for his parents and do all the things adults have failed to do. The next, he’s collapsed on his knees, shaking, unable to breathe as he tries to rip his soulmark off of his skin. He couldn’t think past the shock and horror of realizing that his soulmate is dead and Duke didn’t even know until that moment. 

They’ll never get to meet. 

Duke had never felt so alone before. 

He spent the next few days in shock, his mind a mess of static, unable to focus. He hid away in his room, buried under the covers, and his foster parents were understanding when he whispered my soulmate’s dead. They called him out of school and brought him food and water throughout the day, gentle encouraging him to eat something every few hours. 

But disaster waits for no one, and Batman was gone, so Duke pulled himself out of his misery and hit the streets again. 

So his soulmate’s dead. So his parents are gone. So Gotham’s falling apart.

No one’s doing anything about it, so it’s up to Duke to start fixing things. It’s not like he had much to lose.

Soulmates become a bit of a taboo topic to him, after that. He speaks of them to no one, avoids all conversation about them, refuses to stay when people talk about soulmarks. He tries not to look at his soulmark at all.

And then he takes a hit to the chest and patches himself up with shaking hands. For the first time in months he looks at his soulmark again and…

Did it… grow? 

Duke prods it gently, letting out a hiss when his bruised ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the mark being right over his heart. 

But looking at it now, it branches out, swirls of galaxy and constellations reaching out along his ribcage. 

Panicked, Duke grabs for his computer and looks up soulmark growth and webmd soulmark abnormalities.

Neither give him any answers, though WebMD helpfully suggests skin cancer. 

“I’m gonna ignore this,” Duke decides, and pulls on a shirt and goes to sleep. The less he thinks about his dead soulmate, the better. 

Time passes and Duke goes from being a Robin to being the Signal, a legitimate vigilante working with Batman. It’s nice to see Gotham start to settle, things falling into place. For once, nothing is awful; Duke’s found his parents and doctors are looking for a cure for long-term exposure to Joker Gas, Batman’s taking care of Gotham with a number of other Bats, Duke is getting used to his powers and slowly making a good name for himself out on the streets. 

He keeps his focus on protecting people and getting stronger, helping solve cases with the other Bats. No one mentions soulmates, so he keeps his ever expanding soulmark a secret. 

The only problem is that it keeps growing and Duke is concerned that it’ll move to a place he can’t easily hide under his clothes. 

And he does need to hide them. The more his soulmark has grown, the more obvious it is, especially when he uses his powers and the stars on his skin light up like the Fourth of July. He knows it’s abnormal, but it’s also his soulmark and he doesn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce, poking around trying to study it. 

The grief still lingers when he looks at it, but Duke has long since grown used to it. If anything, these days he’s quietly annoyed by how far the galaxies on his skin spread out, forcing him to take tank tops and shorts out of his wardrobe. 

There’s also the tentative hope that maybe his soulmate is immortal and keeps coming back to life after they die. And they must also have terrible luck, because they just keep on dying.

Case in point: his soulmark flares and spills out onto his shoulder and wraps around his bicep. It’s not the first time he’s seen it move, but it still startles him.

“Are you serious,” Duke mutters to himself, pulling at his sleeve to adjust it and hopefully hide his soulmark. The starts are bright against his skin, and while sometimes he likes to trace them with his finger, now is not one of those times.

As pretty as it is, his soulmark is also very obvious and will cause people to realize his identity if they ever catch a glimpse of it while he’s out as Signal. 

He sighs. There’s no choice but to live out the rest of his life in hoodies and sweatshirts. 

As if to spite him, his soulmark grows once more. 

Did his soulmate just die twice in the span of five minutes? That’s concerning. 

He wishes he could meet them just so he can shake some sense into them. Maybe tell them to stop dying since it’s stressing him out so much. Maybe stick by their side to make sure they never have to die again. He’s honestly not sure what he’d do if he ever meets his soulmate, but he has to do something. This has gotten out of hand.

At least seeing his soulmark grow doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few years ago. 

Lazily, he pulls at the light around him to hide the new portions of the soulmark on his arm from sight. It takes some focus, but he can hold it up long enough for him to grab a snack from the kitchen and retreat up to his room without being questioned by anyone. He could probably even keep this shirt on for the college orientation he needs to attend later in the day if the light works well enough to keep his secrets hidden. 

He’s expecting Alfred in the kitchen when he arrives, but is greeted by Dick clapping a hand on his shoulder, right where his soulmark has claimed space. Duke falters and works to keep the light from fracturing as he returns Dick’s grin. 

“Hey man,” he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out until Friday.”

“And miss a chance to hang out with you? No way. Besides, I wanted to give you a ride to your orientation.”

“You don’t have to,” Duke starts, only for Dick to cut him off.

“I’m going to,” he says, as if it’s a threat. “It’s been too long since we get to spend time together without a mask on. Are you really going to deprive me of this?”

Duke shakes off Dick’s hand from his shoulder, walking towards the pantry to find a small snack. “I guess not. It’s going to be pretty boring for you, though. I’m just going to listen to people talk about what college is like for a few hours.”

“We could always just walk around campus afterwards. I haven’t seen it since it was rebuilt after the last time Freeze attacked it.”

“Sure, that sounds fun. Thanks for offering to drive me.” Duke pulls out a box of Poptarts hidden behind stacks of pasta boxes and pulls out a pack for himself. He opens it and isn’t at all surprised when Dick steals one right out of his hands. 

“Meet me out front in an hour then.” 

And with that, Dick leaves, his stolen Poptart in hand, and Duke is left to shake his head and shove the Poptart box back into its hiding place. He heads off to eat his own snack, making sure no one is in the hallway as he lets go of his hold on the light. Already he can feel a migraine building with the immense focus he had to use to make sure nothing looked out of place.

At least Dick didn’t notice anything was off. If he can fool Dick, he can fool anyone.

Still, just to be safe, Duke changes into something with longer sleeves before he leaves and hops into the car with Dick. 

The drive goes quickly to the tunes of ABBA, both of them singing along as they head for the GCU campus. Parking is a bit tricky, but they manage to find a spot a street away and walk towards the student union, where tables are laid out for incoming freshmen to sign in and grab a folder filled with papers meant to help them. 

He waves to Dick and heads in once he gets his folder, and grabs a seat in the auditorium that’s close to a fire exit. 

It takes another twenty minutes for the presentations to start. The lights dim and Duke panics for a brief moment before drawing the shadows over himself lightly to hide the soft glow of the star etched onto his skin. 

They start with introductions, bringing in advisors, professors, and student ambassadors. Most of it is basic information that Duke already knows, so he zones out and plays with some shadows at his feet, where no one can see the way he twists shadows together like some dark magic form of finger knitting.

For the next hour, Duke halfheartedly listens to people talk about preparing for classes and keeping on top of schoolwork and learning how to ask for help. He’s saved enough college students that he knows the gist of things, and the orientation really doesn’t give him anything helpful. 

He probably could have skipped, but he wanted a normal college experience. 

He should have known that normal means boring as hell.

As soon as the presentation ends, an advisor encourages everyone to follow the schedule tucked into their folder to give them a half day modeled after a typical student’s schedule. Of course, all the classes are nonsense just to fill up their time, made to help freshmen coming into the college by covering topics such as how to write an email and an introduction to majors and minors.

Duke already declared himself as a Human Services major, his first step into becoming a social worker like his mom was. 

Also he totally knows how to write an email, what are these advisors on about? Do they really think people his age can’t write emails? 

Yeah, he’s ditching. The main presentation is really the only part that matters in the orientation. He’s not walking out on anything he needs.

Duke files out after the rest of the crowd, carefully letting the shadows slip off of him once he’s outside again. Instead of finding the first ‘class’ he’s supposed to go to in the Modern Languages building, he wanders off to find a quiet place he can sit down and wait until Dick finds him. 

Tucked away towards the back half of the campus is a small nook full of trees, bushes, and benches. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts left in the single trash can there, it’s a popular smoking spot. 

No one’s there, so the air is clean and free of smoke, so Duke heads in, hoping to sit down.

Someone else apparently has the same idea. He hops down from one of the concrete planters that’s keeping a bush contained and nearly falls on Duke.

They both shout in surprise, then Duke is moving without thinking, reaching out to steady the startled looking guy who accidentally jumped down in front of him. 

Duke only has time to take note of how blue his eyes are before his hands wrap around the guy’s wrist and Duke feels his soulmark flare with warmth.

In the shade of the trees, the glow of each star on his skin is obvious. It’s visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His soulmark, at this point in his life, stretches across his chest, his ribs, his back, and now his shoulders and upper arms. All the stars in that watercolor galaxy are shining brightly as if the night sky has been draped across his body.

Soulmarks only react like that for one reason.

“You!” Duke shouts at his soulmate, both elated to see that he’s alive and annoyed that he made Duke’s soulmark so large. “Stop dying! Do you have any idea how much stress you’ve caused me?!”

“Oh my god,” the guy says faintly, eyes fixed on Duke’s chest where his soulmark originally rested, shining brighter and bigger than any other star, as if he’s tucked a sun into his heart. “Oh my god,” he says again, with more feeling.

“I’m so happy you’re alive, but please stop dying. It’s bad for my health.”

“I think I need to sit down?”

He does look very pale and faint. Duke tightens his grip on his soulmate’s arms and guides him to a bench, gently sitting him down.

“You’re not about to die, right?” Duke asks. “I don’t think my heart could take it if meeting me killed you somehow.”

“No, no,” his soulmate manages to say, “I’m not going to die. Um. Wow. I didn’t know my soulmark would do that? Sorry.”

“Well, it’s not like you had any way of knowing. It’s all good, man. Just please stop dying.”

His soulmate winces. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be possible. Sorry. Again.”

What does that mean, though? What does it all mean?

“Can I maybe get an explanation as to why you have to die again.”

“Mmmmm no. We just met and it’s kinda personal so. No.”

“Dude.”

Duke’s soulmate shrugs helplessly. “It really is personal! I know your my soulmate and all, so I’ll probably tell you one day, but right now I don’t even know your name.”

Oh shit. He’s right. Introductions completely slipped his mind, too busy reeling over the fact that his soulmate is here and alive. Which, honestly, would be enough to throw anyone off balance.

“Shoot,” Duke says. “Sorry. You just really caught me off guard. Hi, I’m Duke, I promise I’m more put together than that.”

“Hi Duke, I’m Danny, and I’ve apparently been traumatizing you for the past few years by making you think I keep dying.”

“Well. At least we’re thrown head first into the crazy. Best way to know if we’re be a good match.”

“You sure you can handle this? You seemed pretty frazzled a second ago.”

Duke flusters and lightly whacks Danny’s shoulder. “That’s normal! Anyone would do the same when meeting their soulmate for the first time!”

“Fair enough,” Danny laughs. “This is a totally weird request and you can absolutely say no, but… can I see?” He presses a hand against one of the glowing stars beneath this collar bone, looking up at Duke with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Duke finds it so cute that he’s willing to do anything Danny wants. 

“Here,” he says as an answer, pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit to reveal the nebula spilling onto his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Danny breathes, tracing a light finger against it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m guessing you like space?”

“Love it. I wanted to be an astronaut, but uh…. It’s never going to happen. Health problems, you know?”

“Well, I know it’s not the same, but I hope the stars you put on my body will be a good enough replacement.”

Danny cheeks turn red and he turns away, flustered. “Don’t smooth talk me right now, I’m not ready for it,” he mutters, bringing up a hand to try to hide his expression. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Duke laughs, “I’ll try to keep the flirting down to a minimum. It’s just really great to finally meet you. And I’ve been wondering, what’s your soulmark look like?”

“Oh, well…” Danny fiddles with the long sleeve of his shirt. “I had a pretty bad accident years ago that kinda affected how my soulmark looks. So if it looks weird, that’s why, okay?” He takes a deep breath, then pushes up his sleeve, holding his wrist out to Duke. 

The first thing Duke notices is the soft yellow glow, Signal yellow to be precise, running down his arm as if sunlight fills his veins. Then he sees Danny’s soulmark, a sun with rays that wrap around his wrist. And running through his soulmark are Lichtenberg scars, glowing yellow as if stealing the color from his soulmark. 

“Guess we both got super obvious soulmarks, huh? At least we kinda match, that way.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Danny agrees. 

“Man, what a day.” 

Danny looks more relaxed with him now. It’s much better than the startled, tense version of him that first sat down on the bench. Duke hopes he chooses to stay with him; he doesn’t admit this often, willingly, or to other people, but he’s a romantic at heart and has always wanted to live a happy life with his soulmate. It’s still far off in the future, but he hopes Danny feels the same way.

“So, are you ditching the orientation classes to?” Danny asks.

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going. I mean, a class on how to send emails? They can’t be serious.”

“I know, right?! I saw that and thought I was being pranked. I mean, we’re going into college. We better know how to send an email by now.”

“Since we’re both free for now, wanna grab lunch with me? It can be our first date, if you want.”

“I’d love to! And you can show me around Gotham a bit. I’m coming here for college, but I haven’t really seen the city yet. It’d be nice to explore it with someone who knows where things are.”

“Are you free for the rest of the day? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind showing you around, if you want.”

Danny smiles, radiant. “I am. I’m in your hands for the rest of the day.”

“Cool,” Duke says, trying not to think too much on that wording. It’s very suggestive, very flirtatious, and he’s looking forward to getting to know Danny more so he can start properly flirting. “Lemme just let my brother know to not wait up for me.”

He pulls out his phone and sends Dick a text that just reads: met my soulmate. going on a date now. i’ll see u back at the manor!

Then he puts his phone on silent and tucks it back into his pocket. He’ll tell Dick all about this later; for now, all his attention is on Danny. 

Soulmates get priority, even stressful ones that give him the largest soulmark he’s ever seen. 

And right now, he’s on a mission to find the best lunch spot to take his soulmate to for their first date. Everything else can come later; for now, he’s going to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Danny.

He hopes they’ve got a future together as bright as the stars in his soulmark. 

Despite it all, Duke is sure they’re going to be alright.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #dannys obv not going to be able to keep his identity as phantom hidden for long in gotham #esp since he wants to protect people and transforms to do that #and one of those times will be in front of duke to protect him from some goons trying to kidnap duke for his connections to the wayne famil #duke ends up using his powers as well leading to an identity reveal on both ends #and then the dots connect and duke yells THIS IS WHY U KEEP DYING and danny has to sheepishly apologize for how large dukes soulmark is #he does kiss all the new stars that show up on dukes skin tho so hes forgiven very quickly #(not that duke was ever mad. he's just worried) #thanks for the prompt!!

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

[jokeringcutio]

Request Fill: Tears ( Grabber x Reader )

AN: There are some Halloween-themed reader-inserts coming up in the upcoming days. Keep an eye on my account if you like my writing style.

Title: Tears Fandom: The Black Phone Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x Captured! Reader Rating: Explicit! Warnings: Kidnapped!Reader, Dub-con/Non-con, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Mocking/Cooing, use of 'Little One', Belt Whipping, Name Calling (Good Girl), Reader might have a praise kink. This is a prompt fill by one of my top supporters. If you want to show your support, you can always buy me a ko-fi.

The prompt (I also added the items you sent in your later message):

TEARS

The chilly air brushed past your legs, reminding you once again of how vulnerable you actually were. Lying there like prey, waiting for the monster to come again. You hated it, but until you figured a way out, you would have to do with all the lemons life decided to throw at you. Even if they came in the shape of a demonic stranger who hid himself behind masks and depravity.  

You had grown tired of being tied to Albert Shaw's bed, having only an old oversized t-shirt that belonged to him to preserve some of your dignity. You knew that the cloth was a lie, though. Easy access, that was all it was. His hands would roam underneath as easily as breathing.

The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into your wrists as they kept you bound and vulnerable on the soft mattress. A contrast that was as big as your kidnapper’s personality: hot and cold. Evil and kind. An icy chill swept through the room, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and making the hairs on your legs stand on end. You had felt it before, and it usually meant the front door had been opened. He’s home. The thought sent a chill down your spine. Loud barking of the dog confirmed he had indeed returned from walking their round.

You held your breath and listened for the sound of footsteps. Was he heading your way? Or would he go to the kitchen first? The soft mumbles of the man reached you and you assumed he must be talking to his dog. Perhaps you were in luck and he’d leave you alone for a little while longer. But then the door creaked open and in walked Albert, wearing only the upper part of his mask. It concealed the top of his face, but his devil's horns no longer frightened you. What did send shivers down your spine, however, was the sight of his lips and the smirk that played upon them.

He showed off his sharp canines in a grin that spelled what was to come. He wanted to touch you again.

"So, how have you been, little one? Not too scared while I was away, I hope,” Albert drawled, his words dripping with sinister intent. Little, you huffed. He seemed to like to call you that way just to establish some kind of power balance between the two of you.

You tried to keep your breathing calm, though your heart raced like a wild animal caught in a trap. Your eyes followed his every movement, trying to anticipate what he would do next.

“I suppose you can show Daddy how much you missed him,” he continued in that overly dramatic theatrical voice. He moved to the side of the bed and carelessly dropped his cardigan at the end of the bed, just out of your reach. Teasing you.

But you knew what it meant.

His chest was already bare, had been so underneath the piece of garment. He’d never fully dressed after the last round, you realized with a shock.

"Please, don't..." you whispered, but your voice wavered with fear, betraying any semblance of bravery you hoped to display.

Albert chuckled, deep and throaty, sending shudders up your spine. "Now, now, sweetheart. You know I can't resist you when you're all trussed up like this."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and retaliation, even though you knew it was futile. In this room, with Albert looming over you, there was no way out, no hope for reprieve.

As he approached you, you could see the hunger in his eyes and feel the weight of his gaze as it roamed over your body. It felt like a predator sizing up its prey, and you knew that soon enough, he would once again have his fill.

"Let's see how feisty you are tonight," Albert mused, his voice low and grating.

He approached you with a predatory grace, his hands reaching out like tendrils seeking to coil around your body. You hissed and tried to pull away as he ran his palms all over your trembling form, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from his touch.

"Still got some fight in you, huh?" Albert growled, growing impatient with your resistance. His palms slid down your naked thighs, calloused skin brushing past soft flesh. You felt his fingertips as they traced patterns down your sides, down your hips and legs, how his nails raked past your skin.

He moved his hands up and down a few times, admiring you, exploring you. He cupped your breasts underneath the shirt, tweaking your nipples between his fingertips a few times for good measure, having you bite back a moan.

A low growl escaped his throat, but you didn’t know whether it was a sound of approval or annoyance at the way you still tried to resist him. His hands ran down from your breasts, past your belly and to your hips where he got a good grip on you.

“Come on, sweet thing, open up.” His ice-blue eyes stared intently at you through the holes of the mask. His lips were curved upward in a grin full of malicious intent. You realized he wanted you to spread your legs, which you did, hesitatingly.

His one hand sneaked in between while the other pressed down on your thigh, forcing you to keep your legs spread open for him. He rubbed his thumb past your clit, little circular motions that sent jolts of pleasure down your core. You bit your lip in an attempt to keep silent. You didn’t want him to hear how he played you like an instrument, how much pleasure he sparked deep inside. But your walls slickened, so he must know. Your body never allowed you to hide its reactions.

“There,” he whispered, almost lovingly. And again. “There.”

Disgusted by the pleasure he made you feel, you tried to move your hips away from him. Just anything to relieve some of the tension you felt building up inside your core. He was working you towards an orgasm, you felt it. But you didn’t want to give him the pleasure.

Your reluctance didn’t go unnoticed, and with a sigh, he took his fingers from your clit. With a clap of his hands on his knees he pushed himself up into a standing position. Your heart pounded as he slowly removed his belt, the leather slithering against itself like a snake preparing to strike. You knew all too well how much he enjoyed using it on his victims, and fear tightened around your throat like a vice.

"Please..." you choked out, bringing your knees together to protect your precious core from his roving eyes. But your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Now, now,” Albert cooed, “Good girls deserve treats,” he said, swirling the leather band of the belt around his left hand, then pulled at the ends, showing the belt as it stood taught. You couldn’t help but feel how your eyes were drawn towards it. A clear signal that you were in trouble.

You trembled when he took a step closer towards you again. With his right hand, he let go of the belt, so the torturous item was only held in his left. But that right hand – oh. You dreaded to look at how he spread his fingers and then pushed down upon your tummy. His hand slipped lower and tapped against your knee.

“Bad girls need to be punished,” he said, huskily. “Now, open your legs again for me, sweetheart.”

You felt the pressure he gently supplied with his right hand on your knee and did as you were told, not eager to make him use force. As you lay there, trembling, you tried to think of anything but the man now looming in front of your cunt. You could feel his breath pass over your skin. Keeping your legs apart cost you real effort and you knew that he could tell you were trembling from fear. His thumb started to draw small circles on your thigh, effectively keeping your legs spread open with the comforting motion. As if it was enough to appease you.

“Ah there,” as he studied your exposed flower, wet and pulsing for his cock. “What a pretty sight, little one.”

For a moment, you glanced at him through your lashes, thinking that perhaps you had escaped the dance. Perhaps him showing off his belt had been enough; a reminder of a punishment you could have deserved if you defied him any further.

But you were mistaken.

Without a warning, he fiercely pushed your leg down with his right hand, his thumb no longer making soothing motions. Then raised the belt up into the air with his left.

You instantly knew where he wanted to strike.

No. Anywhere but there.

"Tell me you want this," Albert demanded, his left hand still up in the air. You could see the leather of the belt glisten teasingly, challenging you to defy. His knuckles had turned white, the leather straps were circled around them just once. His gaze locked on yours, unrelenting and unforgiving.

"Say it."

You couldn't bring yourself to utter the words, your defiance sparking something dark within him. With a sadistic grin, he struck down. A loud snap and an instant jolt of pain as he deliberately smacked it against your pussy. The pain seared through you, and you couldn't hold back your cries and tears.

"Say it," he ordered, his tone callous and cold. "Tell me you like it." He raised the belt again like a whip and panic seized through you. You struggled against your bonds anew and would have closed your legs if he would have so much as allowed it.

The words didn’t come out fast enough, and so he hit again. Your hands curled into fists and your back arched. The tears welled up in your eyes as an awful cry escaped your lips. Your pussy burned.

“You sweet little thing,” you heard the man coo, mockingly. That demon, you thought, as you tried to look at him through the tears in your eyes.

He fell silent and for a moment, simply stared at you. Just as you were starting to wonder why, a grin twisted his lips. “I love it when you cry,” his voice was low and husky, dripping with arousal. This whole thing got him turned on, you realized with a start. He derived pleasure from your pain. The bastard.

“But you know what?” he asked, voice sultry. You didn’t want to know. Your pussy still hurt and you did not think you could stand another blow. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks, you could taste them. “I love it even more when you take my cock,” Albert said, voice dangerously low.

“Now, I will ask you again,” the warning was clear. “Do you like what I am giving you?” He raised the belt once more, igniting fear deep inside of you. You wiggled against the bounds again but felt his burning hand upon your thigh, reminding you he had no scruples in hitting you once more.

"Y-yes," you gasped out, the humiliation burning as hot as the pain. "I like it."

He watched you, the mask hiding his true expression. But you could feel the anger behind it.

“Daddy,” he sounded furious. The calm kind of furious that made you know not to make any missteps again. “I like it, Daddy,” he said, waiting for you to repeat the words.

His eyes gleamed with depraved satisfaction. The belt was still raised dangerously beside his head. The hand he had on your leg, pushing them wide apart, pressed even harder, betraying his anger.

You bit your lip, your shame and self-loathing warring with your desperation to end the torment. You could try and struggle all you want, but you knew you could not break free. That this man had you. All of you. And he would take all that he craved. Finally, you gave in, whispering the word that sealed your submission.

"I like it, Daddy..."

The belt lowered., but you did not draw a sigh of relief. It was too early for that. Your pussy stung from the hideous slaps he’d given it. And yet, your core felt slick. As if your body actually wanted it. As if he was telling you to say what your body already betrayed. That you wanted it. Him. More.

As if he could read your mind, you heard his low voice grumble. “Tell me you want more,” the low command made you want to curl up into a ball and hide your vulnerable flower from his wicked belt.

“I need more,” you said, a breathless whisper as you finally dared to raise your gaze and look at him fully. He stood there, sweating, panting, obviously aroused. The tent in his pants gave it away.

“Need it,” he sounded pleasantly surprised by your choice of words. Then he dangled the belt towards your pussy, having the leather dip against your slick pussy lips. “Need my cock in there?”

You squeezed your eyes shut in shame and swallowed. A silent nod was your first reply, but you could tell by the way he pushed the belt against your slick core that it wasn’t enough. And so you opened your eyes again to caught his staring, waiting.

“I need your cock,” you said, chest heaving up and down rapidly. “Daddy.”

A pensive hum, voice dripping with lace and sin. “I thought so.”

With your eyes squeezed shut, you could feel it. First, he dipped forth. A warm, wet tongue licked the tears from your cheek.

Then, a low hum.

“Delicious, little one.”

The words made you flinch, though you tried to hide it.

The rough leather edge as it tapped gently against your clit. He was dangling the belt in front of your pussy, letting the leather slip past your sensitive slit, forcing a moan from your lips.

A low laugh escaped him, then he suddenly grew silent.

"Enough," Albert finally whispered, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he lowered the belt. The torment ceased, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

He moved closer, cradling your head in his strong hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful, but it was the obscenities that escaped his lips that made you feel small and defenseless.

"Such a pathetic little thing," he sneered. "You're nothing without me, you know that?"

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but you couldn't turn away from his piercing gaze. You tried not to look down at how he palmed his own hard cock through his pants while breathing heavily. You knew he was right, and it shattered what little dignity you had left.

“Fuck, those pretty tears of yours,” he murmured. You’d forgotten he liked it when you cried, and threw him an angry glare.

His laughter was cold and unforgiving as he undid his fly, exposing his hardened length. He looked down at you with predatory eyes, taking in your bound form, the bruises and welts that marked your skin. The tears in your eyes.

You saw him close his eyes for a short moment, throat bobbing as he swallowed, then opened his eyes again and let out a shivering breath. He studied you while he took his cock in his hand and though you tried not to look down at him preparing himself, you couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of his hard throbbing shaft. The skin was already purple, the veins angrily popping out, the head leaking in anticipation. You’d seen him hard before, but never like this.

"Please," you choked out, hoping against hope that some shred of mercy remained within him. But deep down, you knew better.

"Still begging, are you?" he taunted. "You never learn."

"Please don't..." Your voice cracked, fear making it impossible to speak more than a whisper.

"Too late for that," Albert growled, positioning himself between your legs. “In case you’d forget,” here he hesitated, letting the tip of his shaft brush threateningly past your entrance. “You’re mine.”

And then, despite your pleas for him to stop, his hips moved forward and he buried his cock deep inside - another act of dominance, another reminder of his control over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the humiliation, the utter degradation. But there was no escaping it, not when he held you so completely in his grasp.

You whimpered as you trembled underneath him, feeling how his length dipped deep inside, how all his ridges and veins stroked your walls and stole your slick. It was just one thrust to bury himself to the hilt and establish his dominance. But as he slowly moved out, you felt it: all of him. It felt ridiculously good. He was hot, warm, rigid, unyielding. His hips moved fiercely against yours, working his way back into your throbbing pussy.

You felt his teeth as he grinned against your neck while his grip on you tightened.

"Oh, that is so good, little one," he breathed against your ear as he thrust into you, each movement calculated to remind you of your place in his world.

He was ravishing you like a man starved. You could feel it, the passion with which he moved his hips against yours and how the head of his shaft battered your insides without mercy, spurting pre-cum along the way.  He slipped from your core way too easily, the way now lubed with a mixture of your combined juices. He let out a laugh, making you flinch for his lips were still near your ear.

“You’re so, so wet,” he breathed, the puff of air sending goosebumps to form on your skin. You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he slid in and out of you smoothly, lubing your walls, hitting a spot inside that made your pussy quiver around his hard cock. At first, when he took you, the pain threatened to consume you, each thrust like a burning dagger inside your already bruised and battered body. But as he moved within you, something began to change – the fear and disgust that had been your constant companions began to ebb away, replaced by a twisted kind of pleasure.

"Fuck... why does it feel so..." he gasped out, and you had to agree. You were unable to comprehend the sensations coursing through you. The agony was still there, but it was being overtaken by waves of ecstasy that left you breathless and wanting more.

Without a warning, your walls started to clamp down hard, milking his cock hard and eager, drawing a loud moan from your lips that you were too late to withhold. Your fingers curled above your head, your whole body twisted in the throes of desire.  

And above you, thrusting still, your masked captor grinned down at you. A droplet of sweat fell from his head upon your half-clad chest – the shirt had ridden up to reveal your breasts.

“That’s it,” the words were vague, blocked out by the bliss of your orgasm. You felt how his fingers dug deeper into your skin, how his length kept battering your overly sensitive walls as he worked himself towards his own. His thrusts became erratic, and just when you thought you could take it no more, he slammed inside of you hard and buried himself deep. You felt the pulsing of his shaft and the hot warmth that filled you deep inside your tummy.

You caught your breath, body sensitive around his twitching cock. That’s when you heard it, the whispered words near your ear. You felt Cheshire grin against your neck and felt how the edge of the mask pressed painfully against your cheek.

"You were made for this," Albert hissed, his fingers biting into your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. "You were born to be my good girl, weren’t you?"

His words should have repulsed you, sickened you to your core. Instead, they ignited a spark deep within. Yes, you thought. You felt like you were. Your body was thrumming pleasantly, the afterglow of the orgasm making you feel dozy and warm and – not yourself.

"I know," you admitted, your voice barely audible through your tears. You weren’t quite certain if you said it just to please him and save yourself from his ire any longer. You were too tired at this point to fight. "Daddy."

"Good girl," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows, cock still softening inside your core. His words echoed hauntingly through your mind. You were born to be my good girl. You were made for this.  

You glanced up at him to meet his blue eyes, cold and hungry and devious. They rested upon you, piercing you, making you feel as small as he always wanted to make you believe that you were. You could see the darkness swirl within them. Something that you couldn’t name. He wasn’t done yet?

“Tell me what you are," he commanded, his voice low and dark, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

"I'm... I'm yours, Daddy," you whispered, feeling his softening cock twitch at your answer. “I am your good girl.”

"Damn right, you are," he growled. And then, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn't just shifted beneath you, he leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle now. And before you could fully process what was happening, he slid down beside you on the bed, cock slipping out of your core with a squishy sound, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was almost – almost – comforting.

You felt Albert's fingertips tracing the delicate skin of your bare arms, feather-light touches that sent shivers down your spine. His breath caressed your ear as he whispered words you'd never expected to hear from him.

"Such a beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "Look at how well you take what I give you."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sweet words and gentle touches somehow more terrifying than the violence that had come before. But there was something intoxicating about it too, a heady mixture of fear and desire that made it impossible to look away.

"Tell me you love it," he demanded, his fingers tightening around your arm. "Tell me you need it just as much as I do."

"I-I love it," you stuttered, feeling a flush of shame rise in your cheeks. "I need it, Daddy."

"Good girl," he purred, his grip on your arm relaxing as his lips brushed against your neck. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming; your world narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on your skin, the warm breath tickling your ear.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Kiss me."

He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your submission. "As you wish," he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a passionate kiss.

It was a kiss unlike any other, a maelstrom of raw emotion that left you reeling, desperate for more even as you knew you should be pushing him away. But in that moment, wrapped up in Albert's warmth and the sweet lies he whispered into your ear, you couldn't help but feel comforted and loved.

And so you let yourself fall deeper into the darkness, knowing full well that there would be no return.

~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) In the days running up to Halloween, I will be posting a few Halloween-themed reader inserts. Some are smutty, some are dark, some or sugary sweet.

#albert shaw #albert shaw x reader #the grabber x reader #black phone 2022 #black phone reader insert #older man x younger woman #kidnapped!reader #grabber x you #black phone grabber fanfiction #grabber x reader #prompt fill #request fill #reader x villain

[whump-allthe-way]

whumper that thinks of themselves as a teacher, a mentor; whumpee is just their assistant. they film everything they do, present it as a lesson, instructing their students as they drag the blade against their assistant. maybe their brow is creased in concentration, or perhaps they’re chipper and talkative as they go through some of the biology; the reason whumpee screams so loud is because they’re burning such a sensitive area.

perhaps your whumpee is unable to die, or they heal and regenerate over and over again, their torment never ending. whumper shows their students the most vile and agonising ways to torture someone, thinking themselves innocent as they do.

#whumper starting their lesson by explaining what’s going to happen #filling whumpee with dread and terror #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #whump #kidnapped whumpee #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump writing #whumper #torture #whump torture #torture whump #torture tw #kidnap whump #whumpee #whump scenes

[alectoperdita]

Hmmm, I expanded on that Monsters Halloween ficlet, but now I'm wondering if less was actually more/better. 🤔

#fic: Two monsters walk into the club #my wips #i guess technically it's been a productive weekend between this and finishing the kidnapping prompt fill ficlet #thus it must be time to overthink!

[babybatscreationsv2]

maaaaaybe some starker with stockholm syndrome? or kidnapping/stalking?

I was in a kidnapping/stalking mood I guess

Then Peter started to see Tony everywhere.

Warnings: little bit of blood, violence, possessive behavior, kidnapping, stalking

It started like a fairytale. They met by chance at a work event. Peter was just an apprentice and Tony was, well Tony Stark. They swapped numbers and did a little flirting. They talked off and on. Tony gifted him the money to fix his car when it broke down. They went on a few dates.

He panicked when he realized what was happening, but even after turning off the location on his phone Tony kept tracking him somehow. It was a Stark Phone after all, he would have access to all of his private information. Even if it was unethical.

He tried to break things off gently, but Tony scared him. A small part of him liked the attention. He had never felt so wanted. It was so unhealthy though and the things he said were so possessive.

When Tony refused to let Peter break up with him, he took drastic measures. He left his cell phone in his apartment. Taking only cash, he left everything he owned behind. Tony couldn't find him if he went off grid.

If only he had remembered his car's GPS.

He was on a dark, empty, road when the car behind him flashed his lights. Peter looked around. He didn't notice anything wrong. Why were they flashing him? Was it safe to pull over so late at night?

They flashed again. There was a small gas station up ahead. Maybe it would be safe to pull over there. Then he could find out what the problem was.

He pulled in and car behind him pulled beside him. Peter was already out of the car before he realized. That was Tony's car. He was too shocked to move. He grabbed the door handle only as Tony got out, but the car beeped as it locked. Tony held up the spare key fob.

"Peter," he said calmly. "Where are you going so late?"

"I was just going to visit family."

"You never mentioned this to me." He started to come around the car. Peter backed away.

"Please... Tony. I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Why would you leave without your cell phone, Peter? That's not safe. What if you got into trouble." He kept coming, closer and closer. He moved slowly, eyes locked on Peter's terrified face.

"I just wanted to disconnect."

"From what? Me?"

"N-no, not you-"

"Don't lie to me!" he screamed.

Peter turned and bolted at the sound. Tony was faster. His weight pushed him down onto the hard asphalt. His arms scraped up to the elbows.

Peter squirmed and kicked. He tried to pulled himself free. It was close, he was almost there. Then Tony pulled him backward, flipped him onto his back, and punched him square in the face. He saw stars. It took a second for the pain to really register. His face felt wet. He was bleeding.

"You're coming home with me, Peter. You're never leaving me again. You'll only ever go where I tell you to, if I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Please Tony-"

He raised his fist and Peter flinched. Tony shushed him. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. You're gonna be so good for me. And I'm going to take special care of you." He pet Peter's hair as he trembled. "We'll never be apart again."

#starker #marvel #prompt fill #dark fic #kidnapping

[justplainwhump]

Cornered

This is for @whumptober day 5 (blood loss) and day 2 (cornered). 

It’s set in a dystopian, slightly post-apocalyptic world, where few people are gifted with powers - and some of these powers are considered very valuable.

(Tabitha was created for an RP, but she deserved her own world, too. And Fred? I know nothing about them, but if this goes on, I guess we’ll at least learn how they will deal with pain...)

Content: dystopian setting, gun mention, implied stabbing, blood loss, kidnapping, team dynamics.

The warehouse downhill from them is shrouded in darkness. Still, Fred is squinting their eyes to make out something, maybe the beam of a lonely flashlight, maybe the shape of one of their team members, gun in hand, ducking into the building. 

It's the third place they are searching to find Eli and Sunshine. It makes no sense that they've been taken. Not like this, like an organized abduction. There's no intel these two have, there hasn't been any demand for ransom or blackmail - whatever that should be for, it's not that their ragtag group possess anything of value anyway. All they do is survive, day to day, and they'll do it together.

Together. Always. That's why they're here, deep in enemy territory. It's why five of them are fighting their way through this ware house, and it's why the other two of them are sitting here, the mechanic and the healer, perched up on the still warm hood of a parked car, huddling under a shared blanket. As far as Fred understands, Tabitha could keep them warm with a thought alone, but this would still burn up energy, either theirs or Tabitha's, and both of them need it. 

If their friends live, Tabitha can heal them. It's simple as that.

"We should be in-" Tabitha begins, once again, but Fred stops her with two fingers to her mouth.

"Shhh. We are where we need to be. You can't be in the fight. You're the most important person on our team."

Tabitha shifts, and Fred knows that under the blanket she's fiddling for her knife. It's something she often does, just feel if it's there, run her fingers over the smooth handle with a melancholic fondness that makes them all wonder what this knife actually means to her. Nobody ever asked. They've been working together for months now, they know each other's shower routines and favorite foods, the sounds of their steps at day and their sobs at night, when everybody pretends they don't hear. 

Still, their past lives have remained shrouded in mystery. Safer that way. They'd all agreed.

"I didn't ask for this," Tabitha says flatly. She not talking about being sat outside in this very moment, Fred guesses. And they're right. "I'm a fighter. These powers. Healing. It's for soft people. I'm not soft."

"These days, who is?" Fred wraps the blanket closer around them and looks over at the woman, the tattoos wrapped around her neck, a stark contrast of black ink against moonlit ink. Tabitha's jaw is clenched into a hard line. "Softness is a luxury none of us can afford."

The radio crackles to life next to them, and Tabitha grabs it, pulling it closer to their ears. "We've…" Lana's voice is hard to read through the static, and for another second, Fred remains frozen in dread. "We've got them."

A relieved sigh escapes their throat, and they feel Tabitha relax next to them. "Roger. Do you need medical attention?"

"No. No guards here, no fight. El and Star - malnourished, but fine. All good."

"No fight," Tabitha whispers, letting the radio sink down. "I don't… I don't actually think that's good."

"Why?" Fred asks.

Something rustles in the bushes behind the car. 

Tabitha is on her feet already, knife up, facing the woods. Light flashes up, right into her face, her eyes suddenly golden, her skin purely white. Before they can make sense of it, another beam of blinding light hits Fred. Something clicks, and they've heard that noise often enough to make the hairs in the back of their neck stand up. Guns. Several.

"Because it means we were out for something else," a cool voice replies. "Put that knife down, love. You're right. We might not be here for your friends, that warehouse is still rigged. Your call, if I blow it up."

Fred squints against the light, trying to turn their head towards the speaker. "What…?"

"My boss needs a healer. And for all I'm seeing here, his bargaining position is way better than yours, wouldn't you agree?"

A sharp inhale to their side, a hissed “Fuck you”, followed by the soft noise of metal on concrete, and the light leaves Fred's face. The world around them is still white. 

"Good girl, Tabitha" their captor says smugly. "Keep that up, and when we're back at base, I might let you heal your friend."

Her friend? But Lana has said - "I thought, they were-"  

Fred can make out a shape in front of them, before a strange hand is on their neck, hot breath on their face. A sharp punch in their abdomen. It feels cold. Cold, then hot. Warm liquid is seeping over their hands as they reach down.

"Fred!" Tabitha yells. There are noises of a struggle, a soft thud, a groan. It sounds muffled, far away. Everything does.

Their hands are sticky and wet.

Fred blinks, confused. 

Hands close around their shoulders, hoist them into a car. Not the one they came with, that's all they know, as it roars to life with soft vibrations. Tabitha's voice is fading out, along with all the other sounds. 

While the world goes silent, their vision comes back. 

The first color Fred sees is red.

Pain is red, they think. Pain is red, and it's almost pretty.

#whump #whumptober #whumptober2022 #tabitha #fred #stabbing #kidnapping #abduction #prompt fill

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

Better Listener

A/N: I apparently started this at some point, or had intended to start this, and then forgot about it until I was organizing my documents😅. Anyway, thank you to @some-messed-up-writing-for-you for this awesome prompt! Prompt is in blue 😊

Warnings: injury, medical scenario, referenced violence/past violence, reference to past torture, blood reference, stabbing reference, taken hostage, restraints, emergency surgery and medical treatment, the author pretending to be a doctor, near death experience, almost dying, threat of torture, implied threats, profanity

My masterlist

Villain prowled the streets with the keen eyes of a predator. There was no plan. Acting on a whim was completely new to them, as they usually spent weeks, if not months, meticulously planning their heists, but tonight, tonight they had no plan. Right Hand was on a sabbatical of sorts and that left Villain without a sounding board and their most trusted henchman.

It’d been three weeks, and Villain still hadn’t the slightest clue what they were doing. All of their planning had been put on pause because Right Hand had taken a vacation from villainy, and to what? Take care of their kids because Lover was…

Villain wracked their brain but couldn’t remember what Right Hand had said about their spouse. Was it a car accident? An illness? Any guess was Villain’s best guess at this point. For all they knew Right Hand’s spouse was an astronaut or something and needed to go on a very important space mission to save the earth from an alien invasion or something critical like that.

It was one of Villain’s many faults, not listening. Well, no. They listened, they just didn’t remember things well because very rarely did they find the things they heard mattered in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t really matter why Right Hand had needed the time off, only that they weren’t around to poke holes and fine tune Villain’s grandiose plans.

And that’s how they found themselves wandering the city streets aimlessly for the last two and a half weeks. They’d wrapped up their latest heist without Right Hand—and by that, Villain meant they’d all narrowly escaped the clutches of justice because as it turned out, Villain needed their second-in-command more than they knew. Without them, the whole heist had been a disaster from before they even broke into the vault. Right Hand was like a Villain to English-English to Villain translator. Without Right Hand, Villain couldn’t communicate a damn thing to their other henchpeople. It was like Villain thought and spoke in a code unknown to most people, but somehow Right Hand had managed to crack it and understand it.

If only they could say the same for the rest of their henchmen.

But they had to maintain their presence at the very least, or else someone might come along and think them weak and try to usurp them. Villain just couldn’t have that. So they sent everyone packing on their own vacations…except Thief.

Thief had been dealt with after their insubordination at the last heist. Villain still hadn’t managed to get the blood stains out of their suit, or the cheap carpeting of the basement. They were due for a new area rug any way.

Rounding the corner into an alley, Villain was just about ready to ascend to the rooftops to make their way home for the night when a pair of limp, outstretched legs made their eyes spark.

Inching closer without a sound, Villain examined the shadows of the grimy alleyway and the slumped figure passed out amongst the rubble. A slow smirk spread across their face like melted butter in a hot pan.

“This is depressing.” Villain deadpanned, staring at their abandoned nemesis bleeding out in the middle of the dirty alleyway.

If Hero had still been conscious, they would have certainly grumbled out an annoying remark. And they most definitely wouldn’t have let Villain pick them up and carry them away.

Now they only had to figure out what to do with the grievously injured hero in their arms, and what they were going to do about their situation.

What would Right Hand tell them to do?

Villain didn’t know, but their mind spun with the possibilities. They could keep Hero, if only to get them out of their way. They could figure out who did this to their nemesis, but why bother? What did Villain stand to gain from picking fights with other villains—or was it another hero? Either way, it was a fight Right Hand would surely say they didn’t need and wouldn’t benefit from in the end.

Villain supposed they could figure that all out after they’d tended to Hero. Maybe they could use them for information, or as a bargaining chip against the Agency. That seemed like the best scenario, Villain mused as they set the Hero down on the gurney in their base’s operation room. Hero let out a low groan that broke off just as it passed their parted lips. Turning away, Villain thoroughly washed their hands and donned their surgical gown. A pair of gloves and a mask were next as Villain still found themselves wondering just what to do with Hero. Their options would be limited if Hero were to die, and if they died here, in their custody? Villain couldn’t imagine the fight that would threaten their doorstep. It was better to save them, if only for a time.

The criminal eyed Hero and their gaunt features as they wheeled over a metal tray to set their instruments on. They looked so small and frail in their current state. It nearly twisted the cavity in Villain’s chest where their heart should be.

Nearly, but not quite.

Focusing their attention on the rest of Hero and not their pallid face, Villain gently straightened their limbs and assessed them for more injuries than the stab wounds littering their torso. It was the most exposure and vulnerability that Villain had ever seen in Hero. The entire front of their supersuit was drenched with their blood—or at least Villain assumed it was Hero’s blood and not that of their assailant.

Swallowing, Villain found a lump in their throat as they went to restrain Hero to the gurney. Taking up the surgical scissors, Villain began to cut away what they needed of Hero’s supersuit so they could patch them up.

All irrelevant thoughts fled the moment Villain began to tend to Hero’s wounds. By the time they were done, they’d decided it was a good thing for Hero that they’d been the one to find them and not someone like Vigilante—who was utterly useless when it came to things like this—or Supervillain themselves.

Yes, Hero was very lucky, and Villain would make sure that they knew it.

Hero woke with a hazy start. All at once, their consciousness slammed into them, but their body took a moment to catch up to their whirling mind. But when it did, Hero found they couldn’t move. Blinking, Hero glanced around the darkened room. The only light came from a dimmed nightlight plugged into an outlet on the opposite wall. There were no windows.

Panting, Hero turned their head to the side and glanced at their arm. Someone had restrained them to a gurney, lovingly tucked warm blankets around them, and by all means had given the room the pretense of a hospital.

Hero fell limp against the thin mattress of the gurney. Not a hero, then. Maybe Medic, the caped community’s freelance and fickle medical professional, but they were usually around when their patients came to.

Maybe they’d only stepped out for a moment? But no, Hero reasoned with themselves, that wouldn’t explain the restraints. Medic had a thing about that. Only used them during operation or when someone first came in and was fighting them in their delirium. Post-surgery was a different matter entirely, especially since most people—usually villains—left before Medic even gave them the all-clear.

Whoever had taken them, didn’t have the same feelings about restraints as Medic. And that could only mean one thing: they’d been taken.

But who? Where?

Hero wracked their brain. What was the last thing they remembered?

Shutting their eyes, Hero’s brow furrowed. They’d been fighting—and losing. But they’d gotten away, bleeding heavily and weakening with every step.

The alley.

They’d made it to the alley between Best Pizzeria and Fusion Dining on 7th.

A disputed territory between Villain and Mob Boss.

Hero groaned. Neither outcome suited them. Maybe Medic had had a change of heart about restraints. Maybe Hero had fought them pretty badly, and they’d made an exception for post-op.

Light footsteps sounded out in the hallway. They stopped just outside of Hero’s door. All too soon, the hinges squeaked piteously. Hero picked their head off the pillow and watched as the their captor came into view. Bright light spilled into the room from the hallway, outlining the figure entering the room in a harsh shadow that hid them from Hero.

“Hello, Hero,” Villain drawled.

Hero let their head fall back on the pillow. Maybe they would’ve been better off with Mob Boss and their crew. At least they weren’t annoying.

“Go away, I’m still asleep.”

“Are you?” Villain quirked their eyebrow, twisting their lip in a smirk.

“Yes.”

“I see,” they said with an amused lilt to their voice. “Then I suppose you don’t want to hear the price for bringing you back from the brink of death?”

Hero’s eyes narrowed, watching them closely. “I wasn’t almost dead.”

Villain shrugged, bobbing their head from side to side in a show of considering Hero’s statement. “You lost a lot of blood, had seven stab wounds, and passed out in an alley, never once waking on the journey here. I’d say you were pretty much on death’s door. But thanks to me,” they paused, smirking down at Hero as they braced themselves on the gurney’s foot board. “You’re very much alive.”

“What do you want, Villain?” Hero huffed, flexing their hands when their exaggerated breath jarred the stiffness of their torso and the stitches Villain has so graciously given them. “Want me to heal so you can do with me as you please without someone else’s handiwork to compete against?”

“I did take an oath to do no harm—”

“And threw it out the window.” Hero rolled their eyes. “Imagine the money you could’ve earned if you hadn’t given up on medicine. You’d be loaded!”

“That’s what everyone thinks.” Villain grit their teeth. “Truth is, you don’t make much unless you play the game with the bureaucracy and the hours are shit and people are shit and the whole thing is just such shit toward people who just want to do good.”

“So you decided to become a villain? That makes sense,” Hero said, their voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Pays better than being a hero,” Villain snapped, “I still need to eat, and honestly? I would’ve rather stuck with medicine at that point. Same bullshit and politics.”

Hero went silent. Villain wasn’t necessarily wrong about that. Shit hours, shit pay, and a cronyism-based bureaucracy that made Hero’s temper flare every time they saw heroes like Leader get promoted over heroes like Superhero all because they kissed the right asses and Superhero refused to play the game.

“See, you know I’m right,” Villain laughed. “How is that justice, hm?”

“It’s not perfect, but becoming part of the problem isn’t a solution either,” Hero said quietly, resigned to the fact that not only was Villain right, but things would never be resolved so long as people were…well, people. That was the problem with society, Hero realized. Society was like an equation that didn’t quite come out the way it should because of human error. They supposed the human error, in most cases, was selfishness and greed. Hero shrugged the realization away. Now wasn’t the time for a philosophical epiphany. “What do you want, Villain? Company because Right Hand left?”

Villain’s smirk soured. “Two things, Hero, Right Hand didn’t leave and secondly, it’s none of your business what my people are doing outside of the mask, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Hero muttered, watching as Villain strode around the bed and took stock of the monitor they’d hooked Hero up to before they sat in the bedside chair.

Clasping their hands together in their lap, Villain stretched their legs out casually. Hero was forced to turn their head to the side if they wanted to keep the criminal in their line of sight. By all means, Villain exuded control. Hero supposed a butterfly would’ve held the same menacing and smug control given their current circumstances restrained to the gurney too.

“Here’s the deal, Hero,” Villain started, “you are mine.”

Hero began to sputter, a sharp retort on their tongue and fire in their blood, but the look Villain shot them made them reconsider. Rarely had Villain ever actually appeared to threatening toward them, but in this moment between the dim light of the nightlight and the deadly calm over their features, Hero found themselves swallowing against the growing lump in their throat with apprehension.

“I’m ransoming you to the Agency, and until they comply, you’ll be my hostage,” Villain continued in Hero’s silence. “You have my word that you’ll be treated well until then. Any questions?”

Hero remained silent for a heartbeat. Villain had been pretty clear with their intentions, and Hero supposed they’d just have to take their word about their safety for the time being. Finally, Hero turned their head away to stare up at the plain ceiling, if only to avoid Villain’s piercing gaze. “Just one: what am I worth?”

“To the Agency or to me?”

“You know damn well what I meant,” Hero nearly snarled.

Villain tsked them. “And here I was going to uncuff you, but if you insist on being hostile toward me, they’ll have to stay on.”

“Go to hell,” Hero spat. Despite their words, the fight in their blood fizzled out. There was no point. Villain had set their mind on their plan. “Next time I almost bleed out, just let me. ‘s not worth it on my end. Or,” Hero licked their lips, “call Right Hand before you do anything. Let them talk some sense into you, for god’s sake.”

The chair groaned as Villain stood, their shoes scuffing the floor as they gravitated toward Hero’s bedside. With a snort, Villain said, “Is it that obvious that Right Hand is integral to my operation?”

Hero cocked their head. “You’re willing to admit that?”

Villain hummed, reaching for Hero’s hand and deftly undoing the cuff. “Apparently I get caught up in the details of things and can’t clearly communicate my goals.”

“As your hostage, I feel like it’s my duty to tell you that’s a bunch of bullshit,” Hero said as Villain moved to the other side of the bed and undid the second cuff. “It was quite clear to me that I wasn’t making it out of here unless you got what you wanted from the Agency or someone came to rescue me.”

“Would you like a job then? I need to replace Thief.” Villain leaned against the side railing of the gurney.

“Hell no, not if I have to put up with you every day,” Hero declared without hesitation.

“That’s fair,” Villain sighed, glancing toward the door. “You should rest. Can’t rile up the Agency by sending you back to them just as badly as how I found you. That’s a fight I don’t care for at the moment.”

“Whatever,” Hero said, rearranging the blankets around themselves now that they had free range of their arms and could burrow their hands in the soft material.

Villain rolled their eyes. “It’s a wonder you’re a hero with that attitude of yours,” they said as they turned toward the door and made to leave. They paused before they opened the door and glanced back at the watchful hero. “To me, you’re worth the Agency’s classified documents on Supervillain. We’ll see what you’re worth to them.”

Hero arched their brow. “That’s all? Pft, I would’ve asked for more. I’m worth at least Supervillain’s, Vigilante’s, and yours, if not a few hero files, too. Now I see why you need Right Hand. They’re the real mastermind.”

“Good thing I haven’t made my demands yet,” Villain smirked, pulling open the door. Stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind them, they added, “Sleep well, Hero.”

“You’re such an ass!” Hero called after them, utterly humiliated.

Maybe Villain was more of a mastermind than they’d given them credit for.

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #my writing #writeblr #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippet #prompt fill #tw medical scenario #tw blood #tw near death #tw surgery #tw stabbing #tw stab wound #tw implied past torture #tw kidnapping #tw hostage #not a prompt #not a pr0mpt #NOT A PROMPT #not sure why I included 'not a prompt' three different ways but whatever

[collapse-and-comfort]

Ue ue ue- can I Please ask for hurt/comfort between!! A whumpee who's been missing for a few years, and a caretaker who's their parent?

It's okay if you don't wanna write this btw! I love your work

From @lighthousewhump

Yoooo, @lighthousewhump! I've finally filled this prompt after about a century and a half! I hope you enjoy! 🛌 🌅🥣

(CW: Allusions to kidnapping)

Frank finished wrapping up the extension cord and began walking to the backyard shed. The figure he saw out of the corner of his eye stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was a hallucination. 

Had to be. 

There was no way Sunnie was standing at the end of the sidewalk. It was some mental aberration brought about by the late evening light, or his own weariness. The air was still and a little cool, but not so much that it was uncomfortable; the sky was still tinged with pink just after sunset. Just like the evening Frank had first felt the dread of their Sunnie’s absence. Sunnie had just finished their college degree when they’d disappeared. 

Been taken, Frank amended. 

Frank blinked, but the image of their child remained. The extension cord fell from Frank’s hand. It was Sunnie. A little older, their hair a little longer. Deep, dark circles under their eyes. But not different enough that it could have been anyone other than Sunnie. A wave of heat crashed over Frank. His heart pounded.

No sound came out when he mouthed Sunnie’s name. Frank approached them slowly, like he did in every dream he ever had when Sunnie appeared in them. This seemed too crushingly real, though. 

“Sunnie?” Frank said, finding his voice. 

When was the last time he’d said their name aloud?

Sunnie didn’t react. They eyed Frank, then the house as though they were unsure if they were in the right place. They were favoring their left leg.  

Don’t disappear, Frank thought as he drew within an arm’s length. Don’t go away. Don’t let this be a dream. Not this time.

He placed a palm on Sunnie’s face and swept a thumb over their cheek. Their skin was smooth and warm. Real. Rather than the broader questions that had haunted Frank for the past few years, the questions that crowded his mind were the same ones he’d asked himself when the worry and heartsickness had first sunken in. 

Are you hungry? Are you cold? Are you hurt? 

He scarcely registered the sting of tears in his eyes.  

“Sunnie?” Frank asked again as he put a shaking hand on the curve of their shoulder. They were really there. 

“Dad?” Sunnie said as their knees buckled. 

Frank caught them under the arms and held them to his chest as he knelt on the ground. He forgot to breathe as his mind raced. He wanted to curl himself around his child and shut out the world. But collapsing in the front lawn with his kid who had been absent for nearly three years was not something he was prepared to explain. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispered, as much to himself as to Sunnie as he held them closer. “Gonna take care of you, kiddo.” 

Frank moved an arm under the backs of Sunnie’s knees and lifted them. If he strained any muscles, he didn’t notice. He carried Sunnie into the house. He bypassed Sunnie’s room. (That door had been shut for so long.) Rather, he took them to his own room and laid them on his bed. 

“I…” Frank was unsure what to say. Sunnie looked up at him listlessly as he swept the hair out of their face. “Do you need a doctor?”

Sunnie’s lower lip trembled.

“No,” they whispered, then swallowed. “I’m just so tired.” 

Sunnie was a stranger in that moment. They weren't a kid asking for just ten more minutes of sleep. Frank had to trust that they knew what they needed. They’d made it this far on their own. Frank wondered just how far that was.

“Okay,” Frank said as he nodded dumbly. Distantly, he wondered if he was in shock. “Whatever you need.”

Sunnie nodded; their eyes were already growing heavy. 

Frank watched Sunnie sleep and when his knees started to ache, he pulled his recliner to the bedside and sat and watched Sunnie breathe during their depthless sleep. Frank refused to shut his own eyes. If he woke to the realization this was all a dream, he wouldn’t recover. 

Frank watched when, late the next morning, Sunnie’s eyes drifted open. When they saw Frank, they jolted upward.

“Hey,” Frank said. “It’s just me. I’m here.”

When they saw Frank, really saw him, their body relaxed, but there was no relief in their gaze. They remained silent as they looked around the room. Frank knew - he just knew - Sunnie was trying to convince themself they were really home. He was still trying to convince himself Sunnie was really there.

Slowly, Sunnie sat up and stood. Frank followed suit, but Sunnie excused themself with a nod and went into the master bathroom. There was more silence, and even after Frank heard the shower spray come on, he worried about what Sunnie was doing. Did they need help? What could he do? 

Frank opted to make himself useful. He let himself into Sunnie’s room and found clothes that would hopefully still fit. Would they still like them? They were musty from disuse. Frank put them in the dryer and he watched as they tumbled around and around. 

The shower stayed on a while longer, and after the spray shut off, it was almost another half an hour before Sunnie emerged, wrapped tightly in a towel, their hair damp and mussed. Other than Sunnie’s limp, Frank could see no overt expressions of pain. Sunnie looked in his direction, their gaze settling somewhere on the wall behind him. He couldn’t bear the weight of the silence between them.

“There’s some clothes on the bed for you,” Frank said as he inclined his head in that direction. Sunnie looked down at them. Their face was unreadable; they mouthed the words thank you, but stayed where they were. “I hope they’re okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll just give you some privacy.”

Slowly, Frank began to leave the room, but turned back around. Sunnie hadn’t moved. 

“Do…is there anything you need?” Frank ignored the need he heard in his own voice. He needed to help, needed to know Sunnie was okay. He needed to know what had happened, why Sunnie had been taken from him, even though he understood - profoundly so - that the knowledge might be worse. He settled for pleading silently for Sunnie to let him help. 

Sunnie looked down and shook their head, but then seemed to remember they had a voice.

“No,” they said. 

Sunnie looked at Frank as though they expected to be contradicted, or perhaps even reprimanded, and that cut through Frank. 

“O-okay,” Frank said. He took one step back, then another. He understood that he had to. “Okay. I’ll make some lunch. Come out and have some when you’re ready. If you want.”

Frank had gotten in the habit of taking his meals in the den, but he prepared a modest meal and set it out in the dining room. He didn’t wait long for Sunnie to join him, but they paused in the entryway, looking at an empty chair and then at Frank. Whatever internal conflict they were experiencing, they resolved it quickly and sat in the seat across from Frank. 

They ate in silence. Frank tried not to stare; even looking at Sunnie somehow felt like an intrusion, and as Sunnie chewed joylessly and methodically, they didn't make eye contact. They stared down at their empty plate when they had swallowed their last bite. (The plate’s design had been chosen before Sunnie had been born.)

“You want more?”

Sunnie shook their head and took a sip of their water. When they answered, their voice was apologetic and barely above a hopeless whisper. 

“Can I go back to sleep?”

Frank tamped down on the vehemence in his chest, and made sure his words were gentle and earnest.

“You can do whatever you want or need to do, Sunnie. You're safe, and I'm not going anywhere.” 

Sunnie nodded and continued to stare downward. They looked too tired to care whether or not they could trust Frank’s sentiment. They stood, pushed their chair back to where it had been, and reached for their plate.

“I got it,” Frank said. “Go get some rest.”

Sunnie straightened and looked at Frank before giving him a miniscule nod and leaving the dining room. Frank followed as far as the hallway and watched Sunnie disappear into the master bedroom. Frank opened his mouth to say that Sunnie was welcome to sleep in their own room, in their own bed, but his mouth snapped shut. Everything Sunnie used to be was in their room; they didn’t need a reminder of all the ways they’d changed. Frank didn’t suppose he’d want that reminder either. 

Frank cleared what little lunch mess had accumulated. He cleaned. He paced. He sat. He dozed. Late into the evening his stomach growled, but he did nothing to remedy that. He begged his mind to stop, just stop. It was asking too many questions, spinning too many scenarios. The time would come when knowledge of Sunnie’s reappearance would extend beyond the two of them and that thought alone made something tighten in his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone disentangling him from whatever wonderful reality he found themself in. 

Be grateful, you asshole, he told himself. 

Frank cried himself to sleep.

The sky was just getting gray when he stirred, and as his world came back into focus he realized something - no, someone - had woke him. He jolted upward and half-stumbled his way to the master bedroom. Sunnie was gone.

Nonononono.

With no direction in mind, he tore room to room until he found Sunnie in the kitchen, staring out the door’s window, their fingertips resting on the doorknob. 

Panic spiked through Frank. He had to keep himself from rushing over and wrapping his arms around Sunnie and dragging them away from the door. How would that seem? Frank couldn’t become another captor, not even for the smallest sliver of time. 

“Sunnie?”

Sunnie’s hand fell away from the door and turned to look at Frank, really looked at him. The deep hurt behind their eyes solidified them as more than a phantasm for maybe the first time.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Oh, kiddo, no. Frank thought as he took a couple more steps toward Sunnie. What could you possibly have to be sorry for?

“I…I should have fought harder. When they took me. I’m sorry. I would have come back sooner if I could have.”

Frank stood there, mind spinning and heart aching.

“And I know you need answers, I do, but, but I…I can’t.” Sunnie dropped their gaze and shook their head. “Not yet.” 

“Sunnie, Sunnie, Sunnie,” Frank said as he carefully wrapped them in his arms. “You’re here. You’re here and that’s all that matters, okay?”

Sunnie nodded against his shoulder. 

“You never need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Another nod, this one accompanied by a tiny sob. 

Frank meant it. He really did, but there was a restless, keening thing within him that was becoming less and less afraid to have that knowledge, but he vowed never to press Sunnie for it. 

Sunnie returned Frank’s hug and patted his shoulder. Something unspoken and deeply ingrained told Frank to let go, and he did. 

Sunnie looked at him. Their smile, faint but entirely present, touched their eyes; there were tears there, but Sunnie sniffed and brushed them away before they could fall. They sat down at the table and so did Frank. 

As the sun rose, Frank made breakfast

#replies #prompt fills #lighthousewhump #comfort #kidnapping #gender neutral whumpee #released into the wild #I've just started using names for characters but keeping the characters themselves pretty vague #I think that's how I'll proceed from here on out #I hope you see this lighthouse whump because I can't seem to find you!

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary. 

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over. 

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up. 

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people. 

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good. 

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule. 

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls. 

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again. 

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence. 

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored. 

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts. 

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him. 

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret. 

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground. 

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone. 

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own. 

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back. 

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this. 

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull. 

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve. 

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him. 

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone. 

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something. 

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met. 

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition. 

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers. 

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set. 

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

.

.

.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across. 

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member. 

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family. 

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door. 

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom. 

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them. 

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating. 

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever. 

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter. 

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again. 

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents. 

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start. 

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #theyre just so casual in this fic #duke gets kidnaps. nbd tbh. saved by a glowing flying guy. nbd. duke clocks dannys identity instantly. nbd. #theyre just chilling. no time to freak out they on a mission to get milkshakes!! #sam is cackling once they leave and people start trying to figure out who they were and how audacious they were in leaving like that #lots of people ask bruce abt duke and his actions. the other siblings are trying so hard to get info abt danny from sam but shes not cracki #dick asks jason to follow them and get info bc this milkshake date is now an urgent mission. jason blocks him. #damian and sam do bond over animal rights and environmentalism later tho. they just share protesting tips and best ways to cause a scene #once again peppering in ocs bc i love making ocs #(<-says the girl literally writing an original superhero novel bc she cant stop making ocs. as if this is news to anyone) #thanks for the prompt!!!

[jokeringcutio]

Menstruation Kink – Grabber x Captured!Reader (Explicit SMUT, Read ALL WARNINGS)

@susiesterling-17 I wasn't sure if you wanted a sweet fic with Grabber taking good care of Reader, or if you wanted perverted smut. I wrote the latter. But if you meant the first, let me know and I'll write you a more innocent and sweet comfort fic as well ;)

Menstruation Kink – Grabber x Captured!Reader

You awoke with a start, the cold air in the basement chilling your bones as you shivered uncontrollably. A sharp pain tore through your lower abdomen, making you wince. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you tried to make sense of the situation. But then, realization dawned on you as you felt the wetness cold and sticky between your legs.

You had gotten your period while being held captive by the Grabber.

"Oh no," you muttered under your breath, fear creeping up your spine. Blood stained the dirty mattress beneath you, creating an unsettling sight. You’d completely missed the start of it, had awoken only when it was already too late.

Panic set in as you attempted to clean up the mess with what little resources you had at your disposal. You scooped with your hands, then tried to flip the dingy old mattress over, but your cramps prevented you from doing that.

"Please, not now," you whispered, desperation tinging your voice.

Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the dirt and grime that clung to your skin. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless in this dank prison. The heavy flow showed no signs of stopping, and you could feel the blood soaking through your clothes.

"Fuck... what do I do?" you muttered, your mind racing with possibilities and outcomes.

Your breathing quickened, each inhale and exhale echoing through the cold, dark space. Time seemed to slow down as you fought to maintain some semblance of control over your body and the situation. But deep down, you knew that it was a losing battle.

"God, please help me," you prayed, your voice barely audible.

You couldn't escape the feeling of dread that gripped your heart, squeezing it tighter and tighter until you felt like you couldn't breathe. The blood-stained mattress was a grim reminder of your captivity, and your thoughts wandered to the mysterious man who kept you here - the Grabber. He wouldn’t be happy, you thought, having seen how easily he was angered.

The basement seemed to close in on you, the darkness pressing against your skin like a suffocating blanket. You shuddered, the air in the basement cold and damp. The pain in your lower abdomen grew more insistent, a cruel reminder of your body's betrayal. You had to do something to clean up this mess.

Dragging yourself from the bloodied mattress, you made your way toward the corner of the room and looked behind it, where you spotted the toilet paper next to the grimy old toilet. It was a small mercy, but one you'd cling to.

"It’s not enough," you whispered, as your fingers trembled while unraveling a length of toilet paper.

Taking deep breaths, you began wiping away the blood, trying not to gag at the scent of copper and mildew that filled the air. Your eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for anything you could use to help your predicament. That's when they landed on the old rugs, dirty and frayed.

"Better than nothing," you muttered, as you grabbed a rug and instantly flinched and doubled over. The pain in your stomach was too bad, and for a moment you feared you’d start to vomit too. But luckily, you managed to keep the bile down that rose within your throat, and you took a few deep breaths before you decided you were in no condition to move the heavy rug right now.

“Damn it all,” you muttered, limping your way back to the mattress to lie down for a moment. Standing there, bleeding all over the floor, would not help your cause. And as you lay upon the bed you moved your hands to press against your abdomen, wishing the pain away.

With tears in your eyes, you grunted. “Please, please, please,” you silently begged. You longed for escape, for freedom, but deep down, you knew that it was all in vain. You gave in, if only for a moment, and closed your eyes.

You would try and flip the mattress as soon as the pain became less. It would have to do.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs echoed through the basement, making your heart pound with terror. You knew it was him. The Grabber. The man who had taken away your freedom and tormented you for his pleasure. Albert had cleverly kept his name hidden from you, so you knew this man by no other name than the one the media had given him.

"Please... don't let him come down here now," you begged, knowing that there was no one to hear your pleas. The door opened to reveal your captor. His mask covered his face, showing only his chilling blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck," he growled, eyes widening at the sight of the bloody room. He looked around, confusion and anger fighting for dominance in his gaze. "What the hell happened here?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

He must think you’d been trying to murder yourself, you realized with a start,

"Please," your voice cracked, "it's not what it looks like." You could feel your legs trembling beneath you, fear making your words shaky and weak. You bravely tried to sit up, but the cramps made it ten times harder.

His eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of deception. Then, realization dawned on him, and the fury in his gaze softened, if only slightly. "You're on your period, aren't you?" he asked, his tone holding a mix of disgust and pity.

"Y-yes," you stammered, tears threatening to spill over as you lowered your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

Fear clawed at your insides as you watched Albert's reaction shift, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and sadistic pleasure, and you knew that something much worse than his anger was brewing.

"Please," you whispered, your voice shaking with terror, "please, don't..."

"Quiet," he commanded, stalking towards you like a predator closing in on its prey. The way his gaze roved over the gruesome scene with that twisted arousal only heightened your fear, lending an edge of desperation to your words.

"Please, I...I'll do anything," you stammered, tears streaming down your face as he loomed over you, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers grazed your trembling arm, sending sparks of panic racing through you.

"Anything?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low and laced with menace. "You'll do anything to make up for this filthy mess, won't you? Because you know the consequences if you don't."

"Y-yes," you choked out, barely able to breathe under the weight of his oppressive presence. "Please, just...just tell me what to do."

Albert leaned in close, the lips of the mask brushing against your ear as he whispered his demands. Your heart hammered in your chest, each word sinking into you like a knife, shredding any hope that you might have clung to.

"Good girl," he breathed, stepping back and eyeing you with that chilling mix of lust and cruelty. "Now, let's see just how far you're willing to go to earn my mercy."

"Strip," Albert commanded, the single word slicing through the air like a blade. Your heart raced, blood pounding in your ears as you hesitated, frozen by the cruel order.

"Please... don't make me..." you whispered, pleading once more for mercy that you knew wouldn't come. In response, he merely chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with a sadistic desire that left you trembling.

"All right then," he murmured, stepping closer until his body towered over yours, casting a menacing shadow. You shuddered under his gaze, feeling both terrified and strangely captivated by the dominant figure before you. His rough hands gripped your clothes, ripping them away with swift, forceful movements, leaving your vulnerable form exposed to his hungry eyes.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice a guttural purr that sent chills down your spine. "So fucking pathetic, so desperate for my approval. It's almost endearing." As he spoke, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of arousal stirring within you, mingling with a fear that threatened to consume you whole.

You wanted to scream, to cry out for someone to save you from this nightmare, but you knew it was pointless. There was no one to hear you, no one to rescue you from the monster who held your very life in his hands. And as much as you hated to admit it, there was a part of you that didn't want to be saved, that craved the twisted dance of pain and pleasure that Albert inflicted upon you.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to look away from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, a hurricane of fear and desire that left you breathless and aching for the touch you dreaded.

"Quiet," he snapped, his fingers digging into your flesh as he forced your body to bend to his will. "You'll take what I give you, and you'll be grateful for it." The harshness of his words only served to heighten the storm raging inside you, a perverse mix of dread and longing that threatened to tear you apart.

"Please," you repeated, your voice barely audible as tears streamed down your cheeks. You knew that there would be no mercy, no reprieve from the torment he inflicted, but still, you couldn't help but beg for some semblance of compassion in his brutal touch.

"Pathetic," he sneered, his grip tightening as he continued to strip away the last remnants of your clothes. And as you stood there, naked and trembling beneath his cruel gaze, you couldn't help but wonder how you had come to this point, how you had become so entwined with the very man who should have been your worst nightmare.

The moment you were exposed to his gaze, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and strange excitement. Albert's fingers trailed down your body, a shiver following each touch, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The sheer intensity of his stare weighed on you, yet something within you longed for his touch.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, and you obeyed without hesitation, lying back on the blood-stained mattress. The cold, damp fabric pressed against your bare skin, heightening your vulnerability. Your eyes darted around the dimly lit basement, seeking an escape that didn't exist.

"Spread your legs," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a tremor through your core. You hesitated, but ultimately complied, feeling the fear mingling with a shameful arousal as you bared yourself to him.

"Good girl," he praised, and those words made your stomach twist with both repulsion and an odd sense of gratification. He approached the edge of the mattress, unzipping his pants and releasing his throbbing erection. His eyes darkened, locked onto yours with a predatory hunger.

He positioned himself between your quivering thighs, gripping your hips with bruising force. "Ready or not," he warned, a sinister smirk playing on his lips behind the mask. He didn’t need to remove it for you to know it was there. The glint in his eyes betrayed it all. And then, without further ado, he thrust into you, a guttural groan escaping his throat as he filled you completely.

Your walls stretched with a quelch. Blood coated his cock as he slowly pulled out again, glancing down to admire the mess you had made of him. “Hmm, looks good,” you heard him say, a low but pleased grunt. And then he was inside of you again, stretching you without mercy.

"Ah, please!" you cried out, the initial pain quickly giving way to a searing pleasure that threatened to consume you as he shallowly thrust inside of you. Then deeper and harder, slowly picking up a pace. You tried to claw at him, tried to breathe, as his thrusts became more forceful. Each powerful stroke sent shivers down your spine and left you gasping for breath, your entire being focused on the sensation of Albert inside you.

"Look at me," he demanded, his grip tightening on your hips as he continued to pound into you with relentless ferocity. You met his gaze, your eyes brimming with tears, but unable to look away from the man who held your life in his hands.

"Such a good, obedient girl," he whispered, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. Your heart clenched at the praise, even as your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight back against the twisted pleasure that coursed through your veins.

"Please... I can't..." you whimpered, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensations, both physical and emotional. But Albert merely chuckled.

"Too bad," he murmured behind the mask. Without a warning, he pulled back. You gasped, stared up at him, and waited for what was to come next. And as you expected, he thrust inside of you hard, hitting you deep, bruising the entrance to your womb with his hard cock. The force of the impact sent stars dancing across your vision, and you couldn't help but moan, your body surrendering to the brutal rhythm he set.

"Take it all," he growled, and something within you snapped, leaving you utterly at his mercy, embracing the pain and pleasure that threatened to engulf you whole.

Your body ached. Albert's thrusts slowed and his grip on you tightened possessively. He was going to come, you realized with a shock. And so were you.

Warmth flooded your insides as Albert came with a groan. Your walls pulsed around him as you cried out. The moment seemed to last forever, with him resting his head against you, his hips still against your own, his cock pulsing and your pussy milking. Once he was done he slipped out, cock leaving a trace of mixed juices down your thigh. You didn’t care about it much. You knew there’d be blood, and the mattress was already stained beyond repair.

"Grabber..." you whispered, though you couldn't be sure why. Were you pleading for mercy? Begging for understanding? Or was it simply an acknowledgment of the twisted bond that had formed between you and this man who held you captive?

"Shh," he murmured, nuzzling against your neck as if to soothe your frayed nerves. But his touch only served to heighten your inner turmoil, your heart clenching with a mixture of fear, desire, and shame.

"Please... let me go," you managed to say, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew they were futile, nothing more but a desperate plea for a freedom that seemed further out of reach with each passing moment.

"Never," Albert growled, the possessiveness in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. "You're mine now, my sweet little captive."

The thought sent a sickening jolt of arousal through you, even as your mind screamed in denial. How could you crave such darkness? How could you find comfort in the very thing that brought you so much pain?

"Please... I don't want this," you whimpered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. But Albert only chuckled, his mask cold against your ear.

"Your body says otherwise," he taunted, fingers tracing a path up your trembling thigh, eliciting a gasp from your lips. "Such a good girl, always so responsive to my touch."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you completely broken, even as your body betrayed you time and time again.

"Please," you whispered, desperation lacing your voice. "Have mercy."

"Mercy?" Albert mused, his grip on you not relenting as he considered the word. "You don't understand, do you? I'm showing you mercy right now. I could have ended your life so many times, but I chose to keep you here instead. To possess you in every way possible."

His words sent a fresh wave of terror through you, even as some dark part of your soul clung desperately to the fragile connection that existed between you. You wanted to hate him, to loathe every fiber of his being. And yet, there was an undeniable allure to the power he wielded over you.

"Please..." you breathed, your vision blurring as tears threatened to spill over. He paused for a moment, his eyes studying your face with unnerving intensity.

"Rest," he said finally, his tone softening ever so slightly. "We'll talk more later."

And so, with no other choice, you lay spent and exhausted in Albert's arms. As your eyelids grew heavy and sleep began to claim you, your mind swirled with a mix of pleasure, shame, and a growing sense of entrapment. Were you ever going to get out of here? ~ Fin ~

#submission #anon answered #prompt fill #grabber x reader #grabber x you #menstruation kink #kidnapped reader #slasher x reader #albert shaw x reader #reader x albert shaw

[samisadeangirl]

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 3447

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Challenge:  Bro Bone Bang

Round 1 Prompt Fill:  In the faerie realm

Rating: Explicit

Summary:   Fairies kidnapped his brother three years ago, but tonight Sam is going to get Dean back, no matter what it takes--even if that involves "claiming" him in Oberon's own bed . . .

This is my second prompt fill for Round 1 of @brobonebang​‘s challenge!

#fan fiction #bro bone bang #round 1: locations #prompt fill #wincest #dean/sam #the epic love story of sam and dean #my otp #kidnapped by fairies #sam to the rescue #bottom dean #my writing

[mkarchin713]

DC x DP Prompt: Sticky Note

Poor sleep deprived Danny has been kidnapped by the Joker.

In the goons defense they thought only Tim Drake would fall for the old “hey kid you wanna have some Death Wish Coffee, just hop into our scary murder van” trick.

Joker was not exactly happy his goons grabbed the wrong black haired, blue eyed, sleep deprived college aged kid.

After shooting one of his goons Joker had calmed down enough to accept this was a lemons and lemonade situation.

He had the plexiglass tubes set up to fill with acid at a moments notice and his other goons were on their way with Red Robin. He could make whole “choose who dies, your bird or your lovers kid” ploy workout even if he used a random civilian. He just puts a blindfold and mouth gag on the civilian and look, instant Tim Drake.

Joker had to admit to Curly’s corpse that at least he kidnapped a Tim Drake lookalike who was so out of it already they didn’t even need to drug or threaten him. All the kid did was mumble something about fruitloops and fell asleep in the tube.

Now all Joker had to do was wait for Red Robin to get here.

…

Everything had been going so smoothly.

The brats were in the tubes, the live stream was up and running, and Batsy looked ready to tear his head off.

Unfortunately Harry just had to interrupt his monologue. Apparently there was a problem with “Tim Drakes” tube.

It was empty.

…. It was Empty!!?!

Well not entirely empty.

On the inside of the tube was a little green sticky note

I got bored so I left 😜

He got bored!?

Joker had bored him!?

Joker would not take this lying down.

He would find that kid and show him just how exciting he could be.

Right after Batman stopped punching him.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #the joker #sleep deprived Danny #Danny has made a new enemy out of Joker

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Supernatural Harem

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

A/N: This idea was inspired by a Reddit prompt.

Ever since you were little, you’ve always attracted unwanted attention from supernatural creatures. You were like a magnet, a special enigma that only certain entities were aware of. Werewolves would try to take you to their dens, sirens would always try to lull you towards the sea with their voices, fairies would try to guide you to their forbidden forests. The list could go on and on.

Mythological creatures thought to be made up scary bedtime stories would always line up outside your door. It didn’t matter how old you were. Childhood memories consisted of these monsters trying to kidnap and force an adoption upon you. Teenage/adult years consisted of marriage proposals and courtship. No matter where you were, there was always a stalker up your trail following you.

Having friends was basically impossible. Every interaction you’ve had with another person has always ended up badly for them. Whether they be mutilated beyond recognition or become a seeping liquid you knew better then to go out and make friends. Thankfully, you’re family was never harmed by this ordeal and you moved as far away from them as possible to keep them safe.

Currently, you have a dilemma on your hands and right now it’s because of a certain Naga.

“Do you like my skin?” He asked in a tense voice. As he stands before you with his long serpent tail wagging through the air like a dog.

“It’s very pretty” You knew better than this. You felt like an absolute fool for picking up his shedded skin. Honestly, you should have just ignore it and went on with your day as if nothing was there.

“I’m so happy you think that way. If you like it that much let’s get married and I can give you as much as your pretty little heart desires. I’m so happy I decided to approach you. It took me months of prepping and working my skin to make sure that it shined brightly when it came off”

“It’s happening again,” you thought. Interactions like this happen on a daily basis. It would be strange not to see one marriage proposal a day from these guys. No matter what you did or how much you changed your appearance, these guys would always come back with eyes filled with love. Everyone of those supernatural creatures had their own unique version of courting and expressing their love.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think I’m ready for marriage”

“You don’t have to be, as long as you come back with me I’ll make sure to treat you right and absolutely worship you. Being in your presence and being the only thing to brace your eyes is enough for me.

“I need some time to think about this, my emotions are still unclear”

“I understand this concern of yours and shall agree to give some time to ponder about this. However, I shall be coming back within a month's time and if you are still unsure I will take you back with me whether you like it or not” The naga states as slithers out of your yard and back into the forest.

The day just started and you were already exhausted. It honestly did not matter if he came back or not because, as said before, at least one supernatural creature was at your side. When he comes back, there would most likely be a bloodthirsty fight between two entities and you were sure as hell not going to get in the way by stopping the fight.

Well, there’s no use in moping around might as well just go back inside to make dinner for yourself. Walking towards your kitchen you go to pick up some food but before you could everything in your house was being knocked over.

“Seriously, again?!” You were honestly getting so sick of this. Your ghost admirer seemed to have barged into your home and was making a mess of it.

“If you’re going to stay here you might as well help me cook dinner” Honestly, the audacity of this man has you appalled. Out of all your obsessive admirers, the ghosts were definitely the most annoying. Every single day they always barge into your home and there’s nothing you can do about it because they can quite literally go through your walls.

“I’ll do it but only if you call me husband” he says lovingly as he starts to make his form appear visible to your eyes.

“Please, husband” And just like that, ingredients start to fly through the air. Hey, I mean who are you to deny free labor. If they're always going to make an appearance in your life might as well just make them useful.

After dinner, you decided to take a long needed bubble bath. Sometimes you wonder what life would be like if you were just a normal and average person. It didn’t really even matter anyways, it’s not like those wishes would ever become a reality.

Moving your way out of the bathroom you start to make your way to bed. As you lay there your eyes begin to droop and sleep begin to succumb to you.

It would have been a peaceful scene had it not been for the vampire staring at you through your window…

Pt.2

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere harem #yandere scenarios #yandere supernatural #gn reader

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 26

Robins look of utter rage fills Danny with adrenaline as he puts the petal to the metal to escape the stabby birds vengeance.

Danny wasn't too worried, after all the car he stole was the Batmobile and he was pretty sure Boy Wonder couldn't hurt the car without being grounded or something.

Whatever. He didn't really even plan to keep the car anyway.

He just needed a way to get them to Amity. Sam and a few other kids had gone missing after she lead a protest against the GIW over the anyi-ecto acts and thier treatment of ghosts and Tucker disappeared a few days later after he got back hacked while trying to find where they took her.

Danny wasn't stupid enough to go in as either Fenton or Ancients forbid, Phantom so he needed help. Unfortunately his track record for asking for help usually ended with him being talked over, talked down to, ridiculed, ignored, ect. So naturally he had to take things into his own hands as usual.

Thus stealing the Batmobile and doing the metaphorical equivalent or hitting a bat flavored hornets nest with a stick and hoping he doesn't die the rest of the way.

He is from the Midwest and this situation was awkward enough to activate his hospitality instincts so he offers to take music requests over the com lines (much to Red Robins bafflement). They of course have noticed a lack of Oracles involvement by this point and Danny informs them of his heavily modified Amazon fire stick and that he used it to not only knock Oracle out of the game -mostly to keep her from hacking into the batmobile and giving him a one way ticket to juvie- but also give him what was pretty much an hologram version of an instruction booklet for the fancy car hes driving.

Yeah, he doesn't know any of the bypass or security codes, but now he doesn't have to wonder that all the buttons do...and if they'll eject him.

Eventually they make it out of Gotham, the bats are miffed and tired. The sun is coming up and the fuzzy fighters break off to return to thier city.

They're likely going to use the trackers in the vehicle to find it once Danny parks so they don't end up chasing him all over the continent.

Good. All according to plan.

Except he waits a day after returning to Amity and hiding the car.

Then two.

Then four pass by without so much as a wing beat.

After five days Danny decides he can't wait anymore and goes back to Gotham to steal more bat themed items. That jet looked rather nice...

In the meantime the bats are flummoxed as to why they can't find this kid

Turns out large amounts of ecto radiation renders most tracking useless. Who knew?

Eventually Danny has a whole collection of expensive bat things and he, on the verge of a breakdown, drives back to Gotham in the GAV (bear in mind hes 14 and has no license throughout all of this) uses the GAV to kidnap Bruce Wayne. He apologizes profusely but explains the situation and that he really needs Batmans help but he seems to be refusing to get involved. So naturally he has to kidnap his sugar daddy to force his hand.

#halloween prompts #prompts #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfiction prompts #batman #barbara gordon #oracle #tim drake #red robin #yum #damian wayne #robin #danny is probably either gonna have to kidnap someone or properly communicate and hes not sure which is worse #during the chase: #one of the bats: Jason is never gonna let us forget this #danny: *noticing most of the male bats are here and only Red Hood and Signal are missing* #danny: Wait is Jason Signal or Red Hood? #bats who didnt know Danny could hear them before this: *horrified silence*

[impyssadobsessions]

DPxDC Prompt/Idea Sibling Rivalry

OK The Fentons got contracted by a mysterious Mr. J for some "ghost" hunting tech. At first the Fentons buy into it, until Mr. J keeps asking for stranger and stranger edits to the machinery. Before Danny could figure out why- his Parents were in the mist of dropping the contract and heading back to Amity- When Mr. J or more known as the Joker kidnaps Fenton kids to put pressure on the parents to complete their work. Even for more amusement, he's broadcasting the hostage situation to all of Gotham, and Fentons have until the kids end up killing each other to finish his devices and added bonus capture batman. Fentons end up working with the bats while Danny wakes up in a huge sealed cage. His sister tied up behind him. Joker using his gas to fill up the room to cause the two to fight each other. Only thing is.. it doesn't work on Danny or at least all it did was make him dizzy and woozy for a moment. Jazz isn't so lucky. So Now Danny has to fight off his sister, while trying not to reveal his half-ghost status.. ON TOP of trying to think of how to escape and keep his sister from hurting herself. Joker keeps being more and more amuse, dropping the cage down into a cage arena and adding weapons as an audience of his thugs crowd around shouting and chanting.

#danny fenton #dp x dc #jazz fenton #dpxdc #dcxdp #joker #maddie fenton #jack fenton #batman #danny phantom #THE WHOLE FAMILY THIS TIME #dp crossover #dc crossover #dpxdc prompt #impyelam