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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

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Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

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Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

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#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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diabolichare · 5 days

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Familar Stranger

DP x DC au with a dash of dimensional travel where Danny, due to his ghostly nature, looks slightly different depending on how others perceive him.

Warning: OP has no knowledge of space other than Google and is also a non-native English speaker; proceed with caution.

Same startup kits; Danny becomes the successor to the Infinity Realm (he's a baby by both ghost and human standards, so there's a temporary council for now). Anyway, he still has some power over the ghosts, so he asks them to lessen the amount of fighting to focus on schoolwork and "princely education."

Now here's where my brainrot begins.

The Lazarus Pits, necromantic rituals, or portals of any kind that have "death" or "soul" in them tend to be connected to the Ghost Zone. However, the zone has its own defensive mechanism, so unless someone *Fentons* actively makes a gateway or has "experienced" death, it's nearly impossible to come upon the zone. A certain furry bridage in Gotham has unknowingly ticked all the checkboxes.

During a misson, one of the bats got caught in a magic situation and got transported to the Infinity Realms. They wandered around, dogding ghosts, slowly getting insane from all these damn corridors and living paintings, before they stumbled upon a seemingly random door (CW is involved; he's having a great time testing the poor bat).

Opening the door leads them to the universe. They closed the door, then opened it again. Yep, that's an entire universe complete with its own planetary systems and, oh, so pretty stars growing and dying in a blink of an eye. Another check around shows them that this is the only door so far in the endlessly long hallway. They look down (if there's even a down, for there's only infinity) and take an experimental step. The Milky Way lit up under their feet, with stars gathering around to form a twisting path to nowhere.

For the next couple of hours, days, or minutes, they made their way through the galaxies. Just when they were about to spiral into a midlife crisis, they heard... humming?

Did they finally lose it? They asked themselves before noticing a glowing figure sitting on an asteroid nearby.

"Hello?"

The figure flinched, and life paused. The blackhole by their left stopped spinning, the stars weren't twinkling, and the figure turned their head. Now it's their blood that runs cold.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Lazarus-colored orbs stared back at them with a familiar face but an unfamiliar voice. Damian tilted his head, looking at them in confusion (there's something wrong, wrong, wrong-). They blinked because, what the hell, seeing something other than a scowl on the boy's face is WeirdTM. Suddenly, that's a teenaged Jason staring at them, much closer than he(?) was before.

At this point, they realized— eyes moving over the entire regalia and the glowing crown that just appeared—they're probably in deep sh*t.

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tales-of-the-ghost-zone · 7 months

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DP x DC x DW crossover idea

Cadmus, using DNA samples of Superman and the Doctor that they’ve collected over the years, creates a Kryptonian/TimeLord clone hybrid. The clone, DNY-13, looks a lot like Superman while also having two hearts/binary vascular system. Sometime when the clone is about 4 or 5 he escapes from the lab. A portal to the infinite realms had opened up and the clone managed to wander into it without anyone noticing.

Clockwork, who’d opened the portal, was waiting on the other side for the clone. Clockwork then drops the clone off right outside the Fenton’s front door, rings the bell, and disappears. The Fenton’s find this tiny little toddler just standing on their front step and instantly fall in love with him. They bring him inside and look him over. He appears to be in perfect health, though the double heart beat is a bit odd. And he has a medical ID bracelet that declares him to be DNY-13, property of Cadmus, and the year of birth being almost thirty years in the future.

The Fenton’s decide to ignore the bracelet, cutting it off and hiding it away in one of their filing cabinets. They decide to name the tiny child, Danny, and quickly introduce him to his big sister Jazz. Danny grows up with the Fenton’s never knowing that he’s a clone hybrid of two different aliens. (Also in this au this is one of the reasons why Dani was so unstable when she was first created. Cause she was the clone of a clone that is half Kryptonian and half TimeLord. Something that Vlad didn’t know).

It isn’t until about five years after he becomes Phantom that he finds his old Cadmus medical ID bracelet in one of the filing cabinets in the ops center. He asks his parents about it and they finally tell him about how they found him on their doorstep when he was 4/5. Danny decides to consult Clockwork where he finds out that he was a clone created by Cadmus sometime in the future, and that Clockwork rescued him from them and gave him to the Fenton’s.

After finding this out, Danny decides to go searching for the two aliens who he was created from!

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kokoa-la · 10 months

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Prompt from @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Danny was tired of his neighbor’s bullshit. Above his head rested the well known crime lord of crime alley, Red Hood. Now, Danny used to be a vigilante, he gets it, truly, but that did not mean he forgave the other for the sheer amount of wake up calls he’s gotten. He knew he was a light sleeper, has been ever since the portal opened and since the portal was shut down by yours truly, but the amount of noise was still unacceptable. Did the guy not know he lived right below him? He knew that the building was in a rough patch, but it wasn’t deserted. He wasn’t the only one here ya’ know. By now the halfa had had enough. He had a class at 9 am tomorrow in literal physics. He needed sleep if he didn’t want to pass out in the lecture that he 100% needed for the midterms in 2 weeks. He would have gone up and complained in person if he wasn’t, you know, on the run. So he sat in his bed, grabbed earbuds, played one of his sad playlists and tried his best to sleep.

That was it, Danny was going to actually kill the Red Hood. Here Danny is, minding his own business, writing a paper for the English class he had to take for extra credits, and in storms 5 men kicking down his door with all sorts of weapons. They were in all black with hoods and bandanas covering the bottom half of their faces.

“Where’s Red Hood? We know he lives here!”

The half had had enough. Here he was, on page 2 of a 5 page paper, while on 9 shots of espresso and 3 energy drinks to make up for the lack of sleep he got last night because of the same very guy this gang is looking for. He was going to strangle this man, hands down, screw the GIW.

“I’m literally a college student trying to live off of a minimum wage salary, if all of us could be crime lords and afford an apartment without a day job, we’d all do it.”

“Where is the Red Hood?!”

The guy in the middle had yelled before pointing a gun right at Danny’s head. He sighed before standing and putting his hands above his head.

“I don’t know. He’s not here, and I don’t even think he lives in the building.”

He didn’t know why he was covering for his neighbor's ass, but he already had one foot in, so why not the rest of him?

“Don’t bullshit me! We know he lives here!”

“Are you sure it was this building, and not the one across the alley?”

Dany inched closer as the main guy looked over at the goon next to him and started arguing. By the time they looked up, Danny was right in front of the gun, merely inches away from the barrel now pointed at his chest.

“Boo.”

His eyes glowed a vibrant neon green before the lights turned off leaving the apartment in pitch black.

Red Hood cursed as he realized how careless he’d been. One of his men had informed him that they received a warning from one of their informants. Apparently, there was a new gang on the rise with the sole purpose of taking him down. Somehow they’d followed him to his apartment one night and were staging an attack right now. Luckily, it didn’t seem like they knew his civilian identity, but he didn’t know that for sure. Plus, if they broke in and he wasn’t there, he didn’t want to know what they’d do to the others inhabiting the complex.

It took him about two minutes to get there using his bike. He scaled the side of the building and got in through his window only to find his apartment exactly as he left it. Had his men lied to him? Or had the gang just not arrived yet?

Well, that’s what he thought before he heard gunshots below his feet. He scrambled down the stairs and ran to the apartment below him, taking out his gun and slowly walking towards the door. It was dead silent. It seemed that the last noise to leave the place was that one stray bullet, since then not a sound.

Hood cursed under his breath before turning the corner and moving the broken door out the way. Inside was a pile of 5 men in all black knocked unconscious with a man sitting on top of them criss crossed holding a bat with a green sticker on it in one hand while the other typed on the open laptop sitting in his lap. The vigilante didn’t even move. He lowered his gun to the floor and just stared at the scene at hand. Eventually the man looked up at him with ashy blue eyes and a tired look about them. He sighed before closing the laptop and resting his chin on the small end of the bat.

“Dude, it’s 3 am. Can you please tell your enemies to stick to acceptable invasion hours?”

Hood didn’t even know what to say. He just stood there at the door, even clocked his head sideways in confusion. The other sighed.

“I have a class at 7 am tomorrow and this paper is due like yesterday, so can you just, I don’t know? Schedule this shit? Or at least make sure they have the right apartment. I didn’t complain about the noise before, but this is ridiculous.”

Yeah, Jason couldn’t believe his eyes or ears right now. Was this man serious? He cleared his throat before finally speaking.

“Right… sorry about that? I guess? I’ll take them off your hands. No promises about the schedule though. I can’t exactly control when people try to kill me.”

He stepped forward only for the other to raise the bat at him threateningly. He still sat on the 5 men, and still was pretty far away from Hood, so why he raised the bat he didn’t know.

“Do you want them in your house or not?”

“I want you to stay right there and pay for the bullet holes in my walls.”

“You just said-”

“Oh, I know, but you agreed so readily I’m testing the waters.”

What the fuck was up with this guy, seriously.

“You know I have a gun right? I could shoot you”

“Well so did they, and look where that ended them. Gunless and knocked out.”

Touche, Jason wanted to say, but didn’t. One of the men on the ground started to move and groan, his neighbor, without breaking eye contact with him, spun the bat in his hand and hit the man dead center on the head, knocking him out once more.

Was Jason attracted to this? Maybe.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp au #danny phantom #danny fenton #jason todd #danny just wanted to finish his homework #jason todd didnt know he was gay #danny proceeded to accidentally become hoods guard dog cus hood refused to move away from danger twink #jason leaves fruit baskets #jason repairs his walls dw #danny tried to sue - jason said no #danny is a glorified glow stick #the fenton anti-creep stick shows itself once again

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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in 1 side we have Massive Angst of Talia and Bruce

on other side we have Okay normal life Clone Talia, Himbo Danny and Damian. Wait that is just Spy x family but Clone x Family.

No kidding. I can't say much for the angst between Talia and Bruce because I don't know their dynamic that well beyond that in one run they were supposedly in love with one another (and still are to some extent) but they're on such ideological opposites that it's never gonna work in the long term. And in another run Talia is just seducing Bruce (which iirc came about from post 9/11 hatred towards the middle east, and resulted in Talia's character being butchered by some asshole).

BUt on the other end we have Nasra, Danny, and Damian. Who I don't think ever really take on a traditional nuclear 'familial' dynamic since Danny and Damian agreed to both be brothers first and foremost - they're not seeking out a father-son relationship with each other, even with Danny occasionally being parental from time to time. And Nasra and Damian would still have an almost sibling-like rivalry towards each other as well (honestly I think it'd be very Tim and Damian-like), I think. That with a mix of "rivalry between little sibling and their older sibling's partner" too. Either way its def not mother-son like in the slightest, but still familial. Even if unorthodox

But either way they are still family with the additions of Sam and Tucker and Jazz! I like to imagine that Nasra and Damian both are actually pretty into art. Damian uses spray paints as his medium, however, and Nasra gets into charcoals and watercolors, and they compare different art mediums when they start tentatively getting along.

OH also unrelated but more on clone^2 but - danny in clone^2 like, killed like three guys when he was 17 because they attacked him and damian and nearly killed them both. Imagine being Bruce and finding that out

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #dp crossover #dpdc #dp dc crossover #clone^2 #dpdc crossover #dpdc au #and nasra and damian having a tim-and-damian like relationship with one another is very funny to me because DW and Talia are still pretty #mother-son with their relationship.#and then Damian meets his clone (and DW is 16 years old around the time Nasra shows up) and little Dee and Nasra both turn to each other #the moment Danny's back is turned and are basically making death threats at one another. if it wouldnt get him in trouble Dee would've #sprayed spray paint into the eyes of Nasra - that's what he does with ghosts nowadays. It's very funny to him they get so mad.#also if i was a better artist i would draw these three together. I still might but it'd probably be like. just a general look of what their #vigilante uniforms would be. plus maybe even civies if I'm feeling up to it. With an older damian because he's got that skater boy aestheti #going for him and its my favorite thing about clone damian #danny: ive killed before #bruce and the fam: wh. what. you’ve what

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knullanon · 1 year

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Hey. Could you maybe write a Yandere Bruce wayne x chubby reader? Like, she is really cute and doesn't get that such a personality like him has such big feelings for her. And maybe she don't want him because she don't want to be in the media? And he is like "Babygirl, you're mine and you come with me!" and the he kidnappes her? I hope you don't mind the Babygirl but I literally life for that 🤧

I'm so sorry this took like 2 years to make 😭😭😭

words: 495

warnings: drugging, kidnapping, lmk if I missed any!

~~~

when he first sees you, he has to do a double take. literally blinks twice because he thinks he's just seeing things, but he wasn't obviously, so he had to look into you.

finds out everything about that same night. address, names, jobs, everything that he can find, he has it in a little folder just for you.

when he realized that his crush was turning into an obsession, he originally tried to ignore it but he realized that the more he ignored it the more it would bloom.

he eventually makes a plan on how to ask you out, what to order for dinner, where to go afterward, the whole night was going to be catered towards you.

but when he went to ask you... you rejected him.

originally, he thought you were joking. but after seeing your face, seeing you walk away from him...

it made him a little angry. maybe a little too much.

you didn't think anything of your rejection, simply because it's bruce wayne, he can get anyone he would ever want. you thought that he would forget about you, or that maybe it was just some joke. besides, you didn't like the fame, the media, everything was too much for you. you preferred your private lifestyle over his.

so when you woke up somewhere, that was too expensive, and definitely not your room, you thought the worst. the binds on your wrists and ankles were making you more fearful of why you were there and by whom.

and then bruce wayne shows up. all smiling and calm, compared to your frantic panic when you first woke up. he told you he was sorry for the restraints, but he didn't know how you would react.

you didn't want to be here. you wanted to go back home, back where you were safe and comfortable. but he told you that no one knew you were here, like it was some kind of comfort for you.

the first few days he couldn't really go near you without you either screaming at him or getting violent with him, but he kept going.

after a few days, if you continue to be violent and aggressive, he might give you something to calm down. nothing harsh, but just something to keep your mind off about your worries.

during this period, whether you became docile on your own or through drugging, he'll explain to you everything, how he knows you want to be kept out of the spotlight, how much he loves you, every question you have for him, every concern will be answered.

takes a very long time to get used to him, especially if he drugged you, but he wins you over. eventually.

if the rest of the family knows about you, they treat you with respect, but for the most part it's bruce who is there with you.

doesn't care about your looks or size, he'll always see you as his babygirl <3

~~~

i love you guys sm <3

#yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne imagine #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere batman #yandere batman x reader #yandere batman imagine #yandere dc #yandere dc comics imagine #yandere dc imagine #yandere dc x reader #yandere dc comics #yandere romantic #also apologies to everyone who has sent in an ask from 2021-2022 #theyre there dw but i am unmotivated 😭💀

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deanwinchesterswitch · 2 months

Text

Forever's a Long Time

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader

Summary: Rick made a mistake. Before he has a chance to fix it, he’s called away on a mission.

Warnings: Flangst; Canon divergence

Word Count: 3,523

Beta: None. I have no idea why I decided to die a warrior writer on this one, but here we are.

Author Notes: A long overdue ask and my first-ever Rick Flag fic. Once I got into the meat of this, I had a lot of fun writing it. Prompts were Rick Flag-Music-Making up

He fucked up big time.

He was supposed to meet you at the concert, but he’d run into some of his old army buddies. They’d persuaded him to join them for a drink at a nearby bar. One drink turned into two, two into three, and before he knew it, almost four hours had passed.

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten the significance of the day or where he was supposed to be. It was that he had just lost track of time. When he finally makes it to the arena, your seat is empty. He waits for a bit, hoping you’ve simply gone to get a drink or to the bathroom. After several minutes, he admits defeat, stomach muscles rippling with tension, realizing you aren’t coming back.

Breaking every speed limit to race home, he worries that this time might be the proverbial straw and you will leave. He drops his bag at the front door and hurries down the hallway to find you sitting on the end of the bed, crying. The simultaneous hit of relief and guilt makes his heart painfully clench. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims, a lump forming in his throat when you flinch hearing his voice.

“Just… leave me alone.”.

“Babe…”

“Go away!” you shout, turning away from him.

“Please, let me explain,” he begs.

“Go.” Your voice is thick and muffled, your body shaking as you sob.

Rick hesitates, wanting to go to you, fall to his knees, and beg your forgiveness, but the pain and anger in your tone is heartbreakingly clear. Any attempt to get you to listen to him now will only result in him screwing up further. He gently shuts the door behind him, making his way to the small bar in the living room.

He pours a hefty amount of scotch into a tumbler, gulping down half the contents in one go. Seconds after the smoky sweetness hits his taste buds, he turns and hefts the drink into the fireplace. “I’m a goddamn idiot,” he berates as glass shards and amber liquid reign down, sinking into cold ash.

The phone that vibrates in his pocket angers him further. He knows who’s calling before he even looks at the screen. She always has the worst possible timing. Turning to stare into the inky darkness beyond the window behind the bar, he answers the call with a fierce, “What do you want?”

Twenty minutes later, hands gripping the frame, he presses his forehead to the bedroom door …debating. He agreed to go on the mission. Honestly, he never has much of a choice with Waller, but this time, he called in—no, demanded—a favor in return. Even though she owes him, he knows he will end up paying for it in some way, but he doesn’t care if the outcome is what he’s hoping for.

The concern now is you. There are a couple of ways this will go, and he’s afraid of the worst.

While you have every right to be, you’ve never been this angry with him. If he tells you he’s leaving on a mission before things are settled between you, it could cause an even bigger fight. If he doesn’t tell you he’s leaving, the rift it causes could be irreparable.

What he’s hoping for is that by giving you some time and space, he’ll have a better chance of fixing the mess he’s made. Even though he knows that’s a chickenshit excuse he’s trying to convince himself with, he’s out of time. He has to leave.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispers. The sentiment he voices every time he leaves on assignment, except this time, he won’t hear your reply.

After experiencing your first aftermath of a full-fledged mission, you made him promise that no matter what was going on in your relationship at the time, you would always let the other know how much you loved them before he left—an effort to assuage the unspoken fear of him possibly not coming back alive.

A couple of months later, he had to leave again. You weren’t speaking to him then, angry over a stupid comment he’d made. Just as he was ready to walk out the door, you grabbed him, pulling him into a passionate kiss. When you released the death grip on his jacket, lips parting from his, you’d whispered. “Do you know how much I love you? My heart is yours …always.”

He’d stroked your hair, held your face in his hands, kissed your forehead, and said, “I’ll love you forever.”

“Forever’s a long time,” you’d teased back, trying to hide the fear he knew you felt.

Getting caught up in the moment, he’d laughed, “And that’s how long I’ll love you,” but he knew then and there that he’d never said truer words.

After that, the little exchange had become a ritual before he would leave. Today will be the first time those promises won’t be shared.

Pushing off the frame, he steals his heart and closes his mind against the feelings with a deep breath. Grabbing the bag he’d left sitting unpacked in the foyer, he quietly closes the front door, a note left propped against an empty vase on the kitchen island.

Puffy, bloodshot eyes stare back at you, and salty tear tracks stain your cheeks. You’d fallen asleep infuriated but bereft. “How could he forget?” Your dejected reflection has no reply. The only person who can supply that information is him.

After doing your best to clear the remnants of heartbreak from your face, you pull on one of his hoodies and make your way out of the sanctuary of the bedroom. Expecting to find him passed out on the couch or sleeping in the spare bedroom, anxiety hits when you find he’s in neither location.

Finding his note turns the fear to ire, and the vase angrily swept from the counter to shatter like your heart.

After two days of unanswered calls and texts, your emotions running the gamut of rage to heartbreak to fear, then back to anger, you finally settle on remorse. Rick left, with you angry at him. You had each promised that he would never leave without talking first.

You want to continue to be angry with him, furious that he didn’t talk to you before he went out on assignment, but concern for his safety wars with your temper. You had refused to speak to him that night, kicking him out of your shared bedroom. Knowing him the way you do, you assume he felt it best to give you space. It doesn’t make it hurt any less or diminish the fear. If something happens to him during the mission … “NO,” you shout, reprimanding yourself. “He’ll come home safe.”

You know that trying to contact Waller will only increase your frustration—she won’t give you any answers.

Clutching the pillow that still smells like him, you curl into a ball and breathe into the dark silence of the room, “My heart is yours,” crying yourself to sleep for the third night in a row.

With still no word from Rick the following morning, you know you need a distraction, or you will have a nervous breakdown. After calling work to tell them you are taking the week off—you want to be here when he comes home—you decide to clean the house. Having seen the broken glass in the fireplace, you opt to clean that as well, making a thorough mess of yourself and your clothes.

Shutting off the hair dryer, you step out of the bathroom in clean, comfy leggings and one of Rick’s sweatshirts, feeling refreshed and a little less stressed, until the doorbell rings.

As you race to the entryway, your mind immediately latches onto the worst thought. You stop cold, hand hovering over the doorknob, picturing the uniformed men on the other side waiting to deliver that blow to your heart. “No, no, no,” you breathe, “it’s not that. It can’t be that.” You’d know before anyone told you. You would have felt it.

With a deep breath, you turn the knob and yank the door open, startling the person holding a huge arrangement of flowers.

“Oh, hello!” the young man exclaims, handing you the flowers, calling, “Have a good day,” as he rushes back to his delivery van.

Stunned by the size of the bouquet and the swiftness of the whole interaction, your belated “Thank you” is uttered to the rear of the vehicle as it pulls away from the curb.

Luckily, the flowers came in a vase as you’d broken the only one you had large enough to hold them. You shuffle into the kitchen, your nose buried in the fragrant bouquet, smiling as you think about Rick explaining to the florist exactly which flowers to include. Every stem was a species of flower you loved or held a special meaning for the two of you, and each blossom was your favorite color, accented by tiny white petals and greenery.

Setting the arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table, you grab the small envelope nestled in the blooms and sit as you open it. A laugh strangled by a sob catches in your throat at seeing Rick’s handwriting, I’ll love you forever, on the tiny card within.

The relief at knowing he’s alive tamps down the heartache and frustration still simmering within you. Flipping the card between your fingers, you find another message on the back. Pack a bag. A car will arrive in thirty. Glancing at the clock on the stove, you realize you have a little over twenty minutes if you go from the time the flowers arrived.

Jumping up from the chair, you race down the hallway. Yes, the two of you need to talk through what happened the other night, but excitement at seeing him pushes all other emotions aside. Tugging a small suitcase from your closet shelf, you laugh, realizing you have no idea where you’re going or what kind of weather you should pack for.

A peek at the clock on your nightstand tells you that you’re down to fifteen minutes. After quickly changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a top, you toss a few basics into the luggage, hurling curses at the framed picture of him on your dresser for not giving you more time. Shoving your toiletries, passport, and wallet in the bag, you zip it closed and take a look around the room. You’re out of time, so you hope you have what you need, and if not, then you guess you’ll buy it when you get wherever you’re going.

With comfortable footwear in one hand, you roll your bag to the foyer. The doorbell rings just as you drop the shoes to the floor to slip them on. A smartly dressed woman is on the other side, holding a small bouquet of purple calla lilies.

“Hello,” you say, slightly stunned by yet more flowers. Apprehension settles in that he’s trying to compensate for something, hoping to soften a blow not yet delivered.

She greets you with a nod and a smile, “Good morning,” and hands you the flowers as she reaches for your luggage. “Let me get your bag for you.”

“Oh, sure.” You lock the door as she wheels the suitcase toward a large SUV. Asking reveals no destination other than the airport, where upon arrival, you are ushered onto a private plane …alone.

Rick is not aboard, but he seems to have ensured that the crew pampers you, and you wonder how he made this all happen and worry about what it will cost him with Waller. He may have some favors owed to him, but you’re pretty sure nothing of this caliber—another item to add to your growing list of questions.

Your final destination seems to be an off-limits topic. Either the crew genuinely doesn’t know or has been warned not to tell. So you decide to do the only thing you can do—relax and enjoy the luxury, sipping your favorite drink and nibbling on the fresh fruit, cheese, and chocolates from the platter set in front of you.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep and are startled when the flight attendant taps your shoulder to let you know you’ll be landing in twenty. Looking at the time on your phone, you find it’s late afternoon and in a completely different time zone. A peek out the window reveals nothing but clear azure water below. Anticipation and anxiety kick your pulse up. Excitement at finally seeing him mixes with latent anger, so you take a few calming breaths.

Another car awaits you as you exit the plane onto a small landing strip, but still no Rick. You’re heart plummets, and your gut churns. What if this is some elaborate hoax? What if you are being kidnapped and will be held hostage as leverage against Rick? The logical side of your brain knows that the thought is a bit far-fetched, but you dig in your heels anyway.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask the driver waiting for you. “Where’s Rick?”

“I am not at liberty to say, Miss.” You have received the same rehearsed reply from everyone you’ve asked.

Fisting your hands, you widen your stance as Rick taught you, tone demanding as you shout, “I am not going any further until you tell me where I am and where Rick is!”

The man is imposing, a mountain of muscle, so you have to give him credit when he doesn’t laugh, even though a corner of his mouth quirks up. He does stare you down, though, gauging your demeanor for a long moment. “Cute.” With a nod and a wink, he reaches for your suitcase sitting next to you on the tarmac, putting it in the vehicle as he chuckles, “Nice form, though. Flag teach you that?”

Sighing in defeat at the amusement spreading over his features, you unfurl your fists and huff, “At least tell me where we are.”

“Private island.” Opening the front passenger door, he gestures inside. “Now, get in. He’s waiting.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stomp over to the vehicle and climb in. Thankfully, the drive is short as your companion seems to be the strong, silent type—not offering any other information, no matter how annoying you make yourself.

Helping you out of the Jeep, he sets your bag beside you and points to a tree-lined path. “Through there,” are his vague, gruffly given directions before he hops back in the vehicle and speeds off down the road.

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on tipping you,” you yell at the taillights, grumbling as you drag your suitcase behind you, “Gonna file a complaint with customer service is what I’m gonna do.”

Rounding a curve in the path, your eyebrows shoot up as your eyes bulge. “WOW!” Before you is a large stone facade villa. A wood plank veranda seemingly wraps around the entire building, surrounded by palm trees and lush vegetation. Rick still hasn’t made an appearance, and your ire starts to overshadow the peacefulness of your surroundings. Once inside the open-air foyer, you spin in place, taking in the clean lines and understated beauty of the place.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur, staring at the intricately detailed design.

“I agree.”

You spin to face the direction his husky voice came from and drop your gaze from the inlaid teak ceiling to find him leaning against the doorjamb of what appears to be a bedroom. His hair is damp, and a towel slung low on his hips.

“I meant you, by the way.” Pushing himself upright with a shoulder, he smiles. “You’re earlier than I expected, but damn, you’re a sight.” Uncrossing his arms, he opens them wide. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,’ you state, fighting the emotions to keep the tremor from your voice when you catch sight of the large bruise now visible on his left side.

As you get closer, your eyes take stock of his other injuries—the bruised cheek, the cut on his temple almost hidden in his hairline, the split in his bottom lip—reminding you of how dangerous his missions can be. It makes you suspicious of how close you came to losing him this time. “How close?”

He tilts his head with a slight shrug. “Too close,” adding quickly, “but I’m here and only slightly damaged.” He knows better than to try and sugarcoat it because it only makes you angrier, but he still always tries to deflect from the seriousness of any injuries.

Everything you’ve been feeling the past few days converges, driving you to swing your hand up and slap him hard when you’re within reach. Tears immediately well in your eyes, and your chest heaves with each intake of breath.

Rick drops his arms and flexes his jaw. He knows you. He knows how badly he hurt you, how scared you were when you couldn’t reach him, how angry you are for him leaving without talking to you first. His gaze never wavers from yours, but he doesn’t move, seemingly waiting for an onslaught of rage-fueled words or another hit.

But you can’t—the relief of seeing him alive and standing in front of you crests and consumes all other emotions. You bury your face in his chest and wrap your arms around him as you release all your feelings with your tears.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he rasps, cocooning you in his embrace. “So sorry.”

When you’ve calmed enough to look at him, you slip your hands around his neck and pull him down for a kiss, feeling the tension ease from him when you press up on your toes to get closer. When you pull away, he thumbs the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I-”

“No,” you shake your head, letting him know you don’t want to get into it right now. He nods in understanding and gives you a sexy little smirk as he spins the two of you around, backing you into the room.

“So, we have this place to ourselves for the rest of the week.” He grabs something off the small table next to the door, and the room is filled with the low, sultry tune of one of your favorite songs. Next, the lights dim, and candlelit shadows dance on the walls as the sun sinks lower.

“Smooth, Flag.” You gasp when he spins you away from him and giggle when he twirls you back into his embrace. “Very smooth.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he dances the two of you around the room, getting lost in the music, his scent, and the feeling of his skin against yours. Talking can wait until tomorrow. Forgiveness will be found. Tonight, you just want to feel. You’re about to tell him exactly that when he breaks the silence first.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it right now, but-”

“Then shut up.” Your tone is mostly teasing, but he stills, tracing the line of your jaw before gently tilting your head up.

“I want to make it up to you.” He steps back, slipping his hands under your shirt, and you don’t resist when he pushes it up and off your body. Large hands smooth down your sides, fingers deftly undoing your jeans, working them down your legs until you can kick free of them. “Show you how sorry I am.”

“Then show me,” you pout.

He runs a finger under your bra strap before hooking it around the elastic and tugging the fabric off your shoulder. “I think you’re still a little overdressed, darlin’.” He slips the other strap off your shoulder, kissing along your clavicle.

Reaching behind your back, you unclasp the bra and let it fall to the floor. You don’t realize how close you are to the bed until he pushes a thigh between your legs and leans forward, falling with you onto the mattress. He lands on a forearm to keep from crushing you but grips your wrist with his free hand, pushing it above your head.

A salacious smile follows a sweet kiss to your forehead right before he nips your chin. Sliding over your body, he kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your belly button, the scruff on his chin tickling your flesh. Before he can go further, you grip the nape of his neck and tug.

The twinkle in his adoring gaze when he rests his chin on your stomach momentarily steals the words from your lips. Breath hitches as you ghost a finger near the cut at his temple, tears well as the pads of your fingers gently glide over his bruised cheek, lips tremble when your thumb drifts lightly over his damaged lip. He releases your wrist, entwining his fingers with yours, and you find your voice again.

“I’ll love you forever,” you manage to breathe.

He arches a brow, a silent inquiry for stealing his line, but replies with a smile, “Forever’s a long time.”

You smile in return, squeezing his hand. “And that’s how long I’ll love you.”

@princessmisery666

#dw's witch writes #rick flag x female reader #dc universe #021424

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