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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

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Dandelion (A Villain Story)

You stub your toe and the mind control breaks.

Your power snaps from the shock and the hundred or so clones you’d been controlling disappear with a pop! You hold your breath as the steel they’d been carrying clangs loudly in the cavernous room. You’re the only one in this sector but that was loud. If by some miracle nobody heard that, surely your abductor will notice you’re free any moment now—

Devil Eyes doesn’t notice.

You cover your mouth with both hands, pressing so hard that your teeth creak. There’s a hysterical giggle struggling to claw its way up your throat. You’ve been shot, stabbed, and beaten, but this is what it takes to break Devil Eyes’ control? Your pinky toe throbbing after kicking a stray steel beam?

Fuck, that’s funny.

You breathe in through your nose slowly. Only when your lungs hurt worse than your toe from how much air you’re holding in them do you release your mouth. You breathe out in six quick bursts. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

You’re free.

Holy shit, you’re free! How long has it been? Six months? Eight? You know it’s not summer anymore, but Devil Eyes has had you working in the depths of his lair for weeks now and you’ve lost track of time. That’s fine though, you’re pretty sure you’re still in Arizona and there’s sunshine even in winter. Your breath hitches in your chest. The sun! Oh, the sun, you want to see the sun so bad and now you can because you’re free--

Don’t cry. Don’t make a sound. Assess. Act.

Escape.

You’re in the delivery sector. There are piles of steel everywhere you look, tossed this way and that so that it looks like a giant failed game of Jenga. Your clones were carrying the beams from the truck in the docking bay to the appropriate facilities deeper into the mountain when they disappeared. Ha! Fat chance Devil Eyes finishes construction without you around. You’re the only reason this mountain lair is even possible. It would serve him right to spend so long stealing materials only to have nobody around to do the hard work for him.

That’s why I need to escape.

Spite is what keeps you moving. The truck driver is gone. He’s a real minion of Devil Eyes, not a brainwashed one like you. That means he’s probably in the living sector enjoying the benefits of willing servitude. Benefits like soda. And beds. And those little pillow mints they give you at hotels.

Your mouth waters.

Don’t you dare go back for a pillow mint, you scold yourself. It doesn’t matter how bad you’ve been craving one, forced to set them out and never allowed to eat one. You have the chance to escape and you’re going to take it.

You climb into the cab of the truck. The driver took his keys with him, but you’re a villain. You have the engine turning over in less than five minutes, the bed of the truck detached within three, the seat and mirrors adjusted in less than one.

Ten minutes after stubbing your toe, you’re driving out of the mountain and into the deepest of Arizona nights. Nobody sounds any alarms. Nobody starts shooting at you. How could they? You were the one manning the graveyard shift in the security room. You were the one at the turrets. You were the one doing it all while Devils Eyes and his crew slept.

The stars stretch above you. You crack the windows of the truck and suck in the fresh air greedily. Your eyes burn.

Not yet, you think. Your eyes smart and you bite your lip until the lump in your throat goes away. Not yet. As a villain, you’ve always made it a point not to let your guard down until the job is done.

This job isn’t anywhere near done.

----------,

Getting into one of Hero Force’s headquarters is either the best thing to happen to a villain or the worst.

Breaking into one is a badge of honor, especially if you’re able to get away with a trophy. Information, a hostage, even a paperclip. Anything that proves you were there and they couldn’t stop you from doing whatever you wanted.

Getting taken into Headquarters is a nightmare. It means you’ve been caught and caught good. Getting taken into Headquarters means the end of a masked villain’s career. Hero Force knows who you are from that point on and, even if you escape, they’re not going to lose track of you any time soon.

You’re not sure what walking into one is. A disgrace? An act of stupidity?

You park your truck illegally and push both doors open at the same time just a little after sunrise.

“Hello,” you say to the receptionist. He’s wearing the characteristic black mask of Hero Force personnel and you wait until his brown eyes shift from his computer to you before continuing. "I’ve been held captive by the villain Devil Eyes for the last six or eight months and I’d like to talk to somebody about it.”

“Pardon?” the receptionist asks. His fingers are frozen over his keyboard. “You—pardon?”

“I don’t know what month it is,” you say. Abruptly you realize you’re not wearing a mask. A chill shudders down your spine. Devil Eyes knows what you look like and now Hero Force does too. You are so fucked, you’re going to need to flee the country-- Think about it later. “So I don’t know how long I was brainwashed for.”

“Brainwashed?”

“By Devil Eyes,” you say. When the receptionist continues to stare at you, you shift your weight from side to side. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but is there someone higher up I could speak to?”

It turns out there is. The receptionist is only too happy to call them for you and things move very quickly after that.

They take you to the fifth floor of headquarters and into a very nice conference room. The receptionist brings you coffee, water, and a fresh change of clothes. He doesn’t bring you pillow mints when you ask but makes up for it by fishing out a crushed granola bar from the inner pocket of his blazer.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you say. Crumbs tumble from your lips and onto the oak table. “Fuck.” You lick your fingers and pick them up as best you can, scooping them into your mouth as you go.

“We’ll have something delivered,” he says, eyes skittering away from you. “It’ll probably arrive before Arctic—”

“No, it won’t.”

You twist in your seat, granola bar stuffed in your cheeks. Arctic is standing in the doorway in full costume, sans cape. Her slate grey eyes study you a moment before she steps into the room. Rag Doll, her second in command, follows silently behind. Unlike his boss, he’s half in his civvies– jeans and long-sleeved Henley that shows off the extra joints in his arms and legs. His patchwork mask does little to hide the bags under his eyes.

“Ma’am,” the receptionist says. He’s flustered in the presence of the A-rank heroes, you can see it. He sketches out a bow and then seems to think better of it, jerking ramrod straight and shuffling towards the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Arctic watches him go with one pale brow raised.

As soon as the door shuts, Rag Doll sighs. “It’s his first day.”

“He didn’t get their name, did not relay a proper history, and called me ma’am,” Arctic says in her heavy drawl. She frowns and smooths her white hair away from her face. “That’s three strikes.”

“Wait until he watches all the HR videos before you start handing out strikes.”

“He should have finished those before he was stationed at the front door.” Arctic strides around the table and takes the seat at the head without looking at you. She pulls out a notebook from her utility belt, flipping to a blank page, and then finally looks at you. “Do you need another granola bar?”

Oh. She was stalling until you could finish eating. A smile comes to your face unbidden. “I missed your southern charm, Arctic.”

Arctic drops her pen.

Rag Doll, halfway into his seat, freezes. He stares at you with wide eyes. “Virus?”

Oh yeah. You used to compliment Arctic’s Southern manners a lot before Devil Eyes got you. “Long time no see.”

“Long time—it’s been a year,” Rag Doll says incredulously.

“You look awful,” Arctic says without a bit of manners to be found.

“A year?” The room swims. Since the wallpaper kind of reminds you of bile anyway it’s no surprise what happens next. “Fuck.”

You throw up.

------------------.

“I was going on the straight and narrow,” you’re saying an hour later. You’re in a different conference room, this one on the third floor. The walls are a nice, soothing blue and there’s a vanilla air freshener plugged into the wall. “I really was.”

“You’ve been with Devil Eyes this whole time?” Rag Doll asks. He’s seated across from you, leaning forward onto his elbows. He’d stopped Arctic from putting the power suppressors on you. She agreed when he pointed out they might kill you in your fragile state. “There’s never been any indication he can hold someone that long.”

“Well, he can,” you say. You wordlessly accept the tea Arctic slides across the table. The heat of it shocks you in the best way. You drink greedily, relishing in the warmth as it slides down your throat. “And not just one person. He could hold me and five of my clones at first. Then ten. Then twenty.”

“But your clones are you,” Arctic says. She refuses to sit, standing behind Rag Doll. She crosses her arms. “It’s impressive he was able to hold you that long, but it was just you.”

“Impressive?” You laugh without humor. “I’m not exactly impressed.”

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Rag Doll says. He looks over his shoulder at Arctic and, when she nods, he continues. “It’s just that, from what we know about your powers, holding you and your clones would be the same as holding one person.”

“It’s not,” you say. You’re giving away too much information about your powers, but you don’t care. Devil Eyes needs to be stopped. “Every one of my clones is an exact replica of me. An exact autonomous replica of me. Otherwise, I’d have to be some sort of supercomputer to control them all.”

“You’re not?” Rag Doll asks. His voice is light, like it used to be during your fights. Teasing banter.

You’re not in the mood for banter.

“No,” you say shortly. “If I was, I wouldn’t have been caught.”

Rag Doll sobers. “How did that happen?”

“I was getting out of the game,” you say. You wipe the back of your mouth. The tea is sitting better than the granola bar, but you’re still feeling unsteady. You clear your throat. “I should have just disappeared, but I didn’t. I let a few of the locals know I was going to be leaving. Stupid of me. Stupider when I agreed to come to the goodbye party they were throwing.”

“Locals?” Arctic asks. Her voice is smooth and cold. “Which locals?”

You shrug. “Dreadwatt. The Ice Twins were in town back then, they said they’d stop by.” Your lip curls. “Devil Eyes.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very fun party,” Rag Doll says.

“No.” You didn’t think so either. But how do you explain that they were the only people who thought your low-level villainy meant something? Heroes and civilians just found your antics annoying. Villains found your schemes clever. “It was a way to mark the end of an era.”

“What were you going to do after?” Rag Doll asks.

Were. You can’t get mad at the past tense. You’re sitting in Hero Headquarters without a mask. Arctic has probably memorized every single one of your freckles. Even if she hasn’t, Devil Eyes knows your face. There’s no way you get to retire to an honest life now. “I was going to be a librarian.”

Rag Doll perks up. “You like to read? What genre?”

“Mostly science fiction.”

“Me too! Have you read—”

“Devil Eyes got you at the party?” Arctic interrupts. She shoots Rag Doll a chiding look and claims the seat next to him. She fixes you with her chilling gaze. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You don’t remember the moment it happened. That’s the scariest part. It took you weeks to be able to feel Devil Eyes’ control. Until then, everything still felt like your choice. “He had me start construction on his lair about a month after that. He was sure his control would hold by then.”

That makes Arctic lean forward. “His new lair? You’ve been there?”

You grin bitterly. “I’m the one who dug it out.”

“Dug it out? It’s underground?”

“Some of it.”

“Where?” Arctic flips open her notepad. “We know it’s east of the city and, judging by the truck you arrived in, it’s in the deep desert. Can you give us coordinates?”

“I’m pretty good with stars,” you say. Even now you can remember the exact position of them the moment you left the mountain. “I know exactly where it is.”

Arctic can’t hide the impatience in her voice. “Where?”

“Not so fast,” you say. You lean back, crossing your arms. Your heart pounds against your ribs. “I want a deal.”

Arctic snarls. “You don’t understand what’s at stake—”

Rag Doll puts a hand on her arm, quieting her. He smiles at you. “Now, Virus, you know—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Rag Doll blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t call me Virus,” you say. Your skin itches and you dig your nails into your arms to keep from scratching. Devil Eyes called you Virus. “I retired. I’m not Virus.”

“Then what would you like us to call you?”

Your mind scatters. “I don’t know. Not that.”

“Alright,” Rag Doll says gently. He waits a moment and, when you don’t offer up anything else, says, "You know we can't offer immunity agreements. Foresight would have to be here for that and we don’t have time for him to fly down from New York. What I can do—”

“I don’t want immunity,” you interrupt.

“You don’t?”

“You don’t?” Arctic echoes. She frowns, seemingly shaking off her impatience. “You’ll still be charged with your previous crimes, Viru—sorry. You’ll still be charged with your previous crimes.”

“That’s fine.” It’s not. You rub your arms, fingertips worrying at the half moon indents your nails bit into your skin. It’s the price you’re willing to pay to take down Devil Eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll pay for those. But I want to be there when you raid his lair. I want to be there when you catch him.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Rag Doll says immediately. He shakes his head. “Arctic and I both have mental defenses, but you don’t. We know your power and now, knowing the extent of it, we can’t risk having him turn you again. It’d be like facing an army—”

“You’ll need an army against him,” you interrupt again. You press a hand against your chest. “I know how many minions he has. I know the layout. I know the location. You need me.”

“But if he gains control of you again—”

“He can only control twenty of me,” you say. You’re feverish and jittery so you stand. You pound your hand against your chest. “Only twenty, so I’ll be a hundred of me. I’ll be so many that those he manages to ensnare won’t stand a chance against the rest. I can do it. I can be more than he can handle. He got the jump on me but he won’t again.”

Arctic furrows her brow. “A hundred? You can make that many clones?”

You laugh darkly. You weren’t a good villain. Your goals were always too small. Robbing a grocery store, taking over the local theater, stealing the water from the water tower. They don’t know what you can do. “I can do more than you know. I can do more than Devil Eyes knows.”

Silence fills the room as the heroes think. The air freshener sprays a new puff of vanilla.

Rag Doll clears his throat. “If we let you come—”

“Rag Doll!”

“—if ,” Rag Doll emphasizes to Arctic. To you he says, “You won’t kill anyone?”

Of course I’m going to— “No,” you say. You cross your fingers under the table. “It’s just….” You look down at the wood grain. You say in a small voice, “I had to escape alone.”

Whatever protest Arctic was about to voice dies on her lips. “There were others there?” Her gaze sharpens, a bloodhound on a scent. “Who? Where?”

Aha. You guessed right. Arctic is patient. Arctic is polite. She’s been neither of those things during this conversation. What she has been is impatient and demanding. Devil Eyes has someone Arctic cares about. Devil Eyes might even have a hero from Arctic’s team.

“I didn’t see them,” you whisper. You glance up from under your lashes to find the heroes hanging onto your every word. “But I know where he keeps them.” You bite your lip. “I—I shouldn’t have left them there. I know what it’s like being under his control. I know what he does.” You sit upright, meeting their eyes unflinchingly. “I want to save them. I’ll pay for my crimes after, I swear. I won’t run. But Devil Eyes needs to be stopped.” You let your voice crack. “Please. I need to help stop him.”

Arctic softens. “Virus—sorry. Please, is there anything else I can call you?”

Your lip trembles. “My mother called me Dandelion.”

“Dandelion,” Arctic says. “That’s lovely. Dandelion, I understand how you feel. I don’t think—”

Rag Doll stops her with a hand on her arm. “Arctic? Can we talk in the hall?”

“Of course.”

You watch the heroes leave the room. As soon as the door closes, your lip stops trembling. Your shoulders straighten. Your eyes stop glistening.

Rag Doll and Arctic will argue for ten minutes. You’re a former villain and, despite your lack of real villainy in your history, you can’t be trusted. You know Devil Eyes’ hideout, but you’re also fresh out from his control. You’re powerful, but that power can be turned against them.

But those arguments will only last ten minutes. The reality is that they don’t have a choice. You're not going to give them the location without being allowed to tag along. They don’t have time to wait for Foresight or even the Mind Squad who specialize in dealing with mental powers like Devil Eyes’. They’re heroes and the villain has one of their own. They have to act.

You settle back in your chair. They’ll agree to your terms. Your stomach twists. It’s nauseating to think about going back there. A year. Devil Eyes stole a year from you.

You hide your grin as the door opens.

“Alright. Let’s get you kitted out. You’re coming with us, Dandelion.”

You’ll be stealing a lot more from him.

Then instead of crying, maybe you’ll be laughing.

Only one way to find out.

--------

Thanks for reading! I love mind powers in the Superhero universe but they sure are a pain to write!

If you’d like to read stories like this or like others on my blog a week before I post them here, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)

Next week’s story is already up! Summary:

Sometimes, when things go very wrong, the Chosen One gets a wish. That’s where Danielle comes in. TW blood, death, violence, child death

Thanks again for reading!

#my writing #mind control #violence #librarians are crafty af #and somewhat criminal #for good reason!#my superpowers #superheroes #original short story #second person

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writingforateez · 1 month

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Summary: You get kidnapped by the man who has been stalking you.

Trigger warnings: reader is kidnapped, soft yandere yunho, reader is tied up, reader asks him if he will rape or kill her

“Oh, you poor thing.” Your abductor cooed, patting your face with a tissue, drying your tears. “You look so pitiful when you cry. Please, won’t you smile for me, princess?”

You knew it wasn’t your imagination. This stranger popping up at places you frequently visited; the local cafe, your work, your favorite shops… It had been happening for days. At first, you had shrugged it off. There were millions of people living in the city and a person might have just been coincidentally at the same place as you. But when this man knocked on your door one day to hand you a love letter and a bouquet of flowers— you knew that you had to go to the police. You hadn't even bothered to open the letter. The only reason you had accepted the gift was because you didn’t want to risk him being angry with you. You were scared, but you felt relieved to report the situation to the police and get a restraining order. But unfortunately he snatched you one night as you were walking home.

“P-please…” You stammered in fear. The man smiled as he continued to wipe your face. “I don’t want this, please, let me go…” You whimpered, shutting your eyes out of fear.

You felt the bed shift and the weight lifted off. You heard the sound of a chair being pushed against the wall and you opened your eyes, watching as the man took a seat on the wooden chair that was now directly facing you.

“You have been saying the same thing over and over, it is starting to get boring, dear.” Yunho chuckled, glancing over at you. “Dear, I want us to be happy, together. This is your home, our home.”

You shook your head. He had tied your ankles together with tape, while your hands were tied behind your back. “What… what are you going to do to me? Are you going to… r-rape me…? Are you going to k-kill me…? Please, don't do this. I-“

Yunho stood up, his eyes widened and his mouth agape at your words. “What kind of monster do you think I am? Oh, you have hurt my heart so, I would never violate you, my love. I could never lay a hand on you, I want us to be happy...together, forever, we shall be one! That is the only way, yes, it is the only way to make us happy.” Yunho sat down next to you and placed a hand on your cheek. “I will only love you.” He whispered, before leaning in, pressing a kiss against your lips. “Always, will love you.” He murmured against your lips as he deepened the kiss. “Mine and mine only…”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez yandere #yandere yunho #yandere yunho x female reader #ateez yunho #ateez yunho x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios

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xoxiu · 11 months

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my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter five table of contents masterlist

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summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline, age gap

Yoongi laid in bed, head turned towards where Kiwo sat. She placed herself in the corner furthest from the bed in an attempt to keep distance between her and her abductor. It had been a long day, and all Yoongi wanted was to just sleep peacefully throughout the night.

Soon after Namjoon had left that morning, Kiwo tried to escape no less than seven times. It came to the point where Yoongi just let her try her best to open the door, allowing her to use up all her energy in her attempt to flee. Her will eventually died down, and she sat in front of the door, waiting for Yoongi to let her leave.

Kiwo looked tired, Yoongi noted. She rested her head against the wall, switching between staring off into the distance and closing her eyes for minutes at a time. He watched as she struggled to keep her eyes open, and how her lips were pouted as soft breaths escaped.

"You know," Yoongi broke the silence, "You can sleep on the bed. I won't hurt you."

He didn't expect a response back but heard a faint 'fuck you' coming from Kiwo's direction. He gave a short chuckle before closing his own eyes.

There was so much Yoongi needed to do now that he had Kiwo. He needed to take care of her roommate situation, as the roommate would eventually wonder and worry about where Kiwo was. Then there were her classes. Yoongi wanted her to still attend classes, but didn’t trust her to behave yet. Jungkook could always escort her to her classes- the young man barely attended his own.

Yoongi also wanted to get some gifts for Kiwo to help her settle. Some things to play with, bath and skin care things, and maybe new clothes. He wanted her to be comfortable here. That shopping trip may involve one of Yoongi’s friends watching Kiwo while he shopped, as he was certain she would not behave in a store.

His thoughts eventually turned into dreams as he fell asleep. After a while, he was awoken by the feeling of the bed shifting. Looking over, Yoongi found Kiwo laying with her back towards Yoongi near the opposite side of the bed. He gave a small smile before closing his eyes yet again.

Kiwo sat cross legged on the bed as Yoongi brought a tray of food into the bedroom. He placed it on the bed in front of Kiwo, and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

The girl looked at the food wearily- she wasn’t sure if the food was safe, and was fighting her hunger in order to remain stubborn and safe. It wasn’t until Yoongi grabbed one of the pastries that Kiwo deemed the food as safe.

The two ate silently. Kiwo’s eyes shifted back and forth from the food to Yoongi. He looked very intimidating, but Kiwo couldn’t help but also find it attractive. While she wouldn’t admit it at the time, she developed a small crush on the older man when they first met at the cafe. A small part of her wondered whether or not this was fate.

Kiwo never really got any attention from boys. Romantically, at least. She had plenty of friends that were boys when she was younger, but never felt romantically interested in anybody. Yoongi was one of her first crushes, sans celebrities and fictional characters.

‘No,’ Kiwo told herself mentally, ‘He hurt you and kidnapped you.’ Still, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the older blonde.

Yoongi caught Kiwo’s stare and gave a small smile. Her mouth was slightly parted as she was deep in thought.

“Kiwo.”

Her trance was broken as she blinked repeatedly and looked down into her lap with a blush. Yoongi had caught her staring at him, that was just embarrassing.

“We have some things to discuss. Mainly about uni and your classes.” Yoongi cleared his throat, indicating that he wanted a response. Kiwo nodded her head, and Yoongi figured for now he would accept the disrespectful response.

“I’ll let you go to your classes Monday if you want to, but you’ll be escorted by Jungkook. Do you remember him?” Another nod.

“And, with your dormitory situation, I’ll have people pack up your things and tell your roommate you’ve moved out.”

Kiwo looked at Yoongi with a look of shock and rage.

”I’m not staying here! I want to go to my own room!” Kiwo shouted, crossing her arms in defiance.

“This is not up for debate, Kiwo.” Yoongi stared at Kiwo with a stern look in his eyes, and Kiwo immediately lowered her gaze. “Speaking of your attitude, I feel like it’s a good time to discuss rules.”

”I’m not six, you don’t own me, and I don’t need rules.” Kiwo spoke with pure disgust. Yoongi ignored her statement and continued on.

”The biggest one is no attitude. I feel like we’ll be struggling with that one a bit. Next, you’ll refer to me as either Sir or Daddy-“

”WHAT!?” Kiwo stammered out, face in a full blush. She would never call someone ‘Daddy’ for she would be too embarrassed and just feel weird. It just brings a whole new, unwanted dynamic into everything.

“…Continuing on. You’ll never leave my sight for now, and you need to ask permission to go to the bathroom, eat, drink, and go or do anything else.”

Kiwo didn't response, and just stared at Yoongi with wide eyes and her mouth opened wide. All of this was absolutely ridiculous. She didn’t choose to be here, why should she have to follow any rules?

”Is that clear, Kiwo?”

Kiwo panicked and pushed Yoongi off the bed. Her eyes met his enraged ones, and Kiwo prepared for the worst.

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #mafia au #bts little space #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #vminhope #namjin #my house of stone your ivy grows

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cetaceans-pls · 6 months

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Not sure if this is an idea (or if it’s too late to submit ideas) but your Cool Bruce flirting with and flustering Jason for once was pretty fun! We’ve seen Bruce in King Tide be rescued by his hell hound of a boyfriend, what if the tables were reversed? (in any case love how you write our favourite middle aged struggling bat and his interpersonal relationships! Also adore how you write him and Damian together!)

never too late to ride the Cool Boy Bruce Wayne train!! this one's going to be a sequel to ram ventilation bc truly TRULY i'm so unwell over alpha!jason/beta!bruce :')

Jason remembers back in The Old Days, when life stretched long and sweet ahead of him and nights were filled with magic and butter yellow capes flapping by his knees in the wind, one singularly miserable experience of getting kidnapped by some shitheads who'd seen a kid wandering around a bookstore in too-nice shoes and gone a-ha!

Alfred couldn't have been much further than the other side of the store making polite conversation with the cashier, but he'd been picked up and spirited out back to an alley quicker than he could scream. He'd gone soft by that point, gotten used to living in the lap of luxury, and the instinct to bite and fight and spit and scream had come in too late, had kicked in when he'd been stuffed into the boot of a nondescript sedan.

He'd thrown up, he's pretty sure, weeping with a terror that he hadn't felt in a lifetime (about 8 months), sure that he was going to be killed and he was going to be missed and that's so so so much worse (who's going to take care of Alfred? And Bruce?) than when it was just him and it was just dying.

Afterwards, he'll find out that between abduction and recovery he was maybe missing for 25 minutes, though it had felt like a lifetime in that dark quiet little box (must've been an omen). Between the little tracker Jason has in all his shoes and half his socks and Bruce who'd been driving down to come meet them for lunch, the solution had come with the car screeching to a screaming halt, horns blasting and a lot of yelling. Jason couldn't tell what was going on, could just hear glass breaking and a fever pitch of screaming and his nose started running (even harder) because everyone's letting out every scent under the sun during whatever scuffle was going on in the front of the car.

He'd maybe thrown up a little more at that point, before the car boot had been wrenched open and there was Bruce, roiling in anger you usually couldn't scent on him even in the middle of a horrific fight, blood and glass embedded in his fist, shirt still foppishly unbuttoned that little bit too low down his chest.

"Hi Jason," he'd said, voice hoarse like he'd forgotten how talk for just a little bit, had forgotten how to be a human when he'd gone Crazy Mode, pulling out in front of the abductors' car before breaking the driver side window with keys clenched tight between fingers, foregoing any flashy moves to set his teeth on the man's throat and bite him unconscious.

Jason'll find all that out afterwards. In that moment, despite Bruce and his bloodied face and his bloodied hands and his bloody scent, Jason had wept then leapt into Bruce's arms, had felt so burnt up that someone had come that he'd forgotten to be a human too, crying and crying and pressing his face hard as he could against where Bruce's scent is rapidly going from hot bleached anger to barely-there warmth, the memory of warm bread you'd enjoyed just an hour before with a love of your life.

That's probably when he'd fallen, even if he hadn't known. Get you a man that'll punch a window out for you, that'll attempt to rip someone's throat out for you, that'll pick you up in amongst blood and wreckage and love you and love you and love you.

Here's hoping for a repeat performance, Jason thinks, shifting a little bit to try and get comfortable. It is, luckily, much less scary, because he's died before and everyone survived that incident, including himself.

By this point, the kidnappers could taunt him with a gun to his head and go boyo there're fates worse than death and all Jason would say is brother I'll give you a literal million dollars if you can name a single thing worse that I haven't already experienced.

So, no, the emotional stakes aren't as high today as they were way back then. It's just been a good long while since he was last properly abducted; he's just feeling nostalgic.

Besides, it's good for, like, enrichment purposes. Jason got picked up as easy prey because he's the no-name Alpha that netted the hottest commodity in the entirety of the Eastern seaboard, so the ties around his wrist aren't terribly professional both the kidnappers have already accidentally had their real names said out loud while manhandling him into the back of an SUV (though in all fairness the world is pretty full of Jeremies and Matthews). He could get up and go, but while nowadays he's opposed to trackers in his shoes he's still got them in half his socks, and today was a tracker-sock kind of day (they're the wooliest ones to hide the bug and it's been chilly, hey). He knows that once the time's come and the time's gone for his little plov dinner date with Bruce at the Turkmenistani restaurant over by 12th and Circuit, the hunting party's gonna come.

Bat's been getting some type of vicious again lately, after the situation with them little kiddies getting maimed working graveyard shifts with heavy machinery, and to be fair so had Jason, but the Red Hood's precision-designed to enact violence on evil-doers while Bruce... well. He built himself up for violence, sure, can mete it out really well when push comes to shove, but Bruce isn't made from violence, doesn't have that streak to him that, hysterically, most of his kids really really do. So Jason's taken it upon himself to act as a distraction for when B's gotten wound up too tight, and excuse to play-act violence so he can go back to what he's meant to be (some guy dressed as a tiny fuzzy mammal running around in the dark trying desperately to make sure kids and former-kids are okay).

Resting on this gentle thought, Jason briefly worms his way out of his ties to tug a sock that's running too low, before rebinding himself. He'd fuck around on his phone, but he's pretty sure a bright screen would be a giveaway even for abductors this low-level, so he unfocuses a little and instead delves into a oft-visited fantasy (him and Bruce cosplaying as average men in an average relationship warmly arguing over the cost of a bottle of good olive oil before going home to get nasty-disgusting on a 2nd-hand full-size mattress that has seen plenty of nasty-disgusting action).

He gets to a hot point where the olive oil's being used for undue purposes, scent starting to bloom a little, fresh cedar log on a smouldering fire, when the van he's in screeches to a halt and there is So Much Screaming.

Jason didn't really have time to brace for impact and will likely come out of it with a pretty bruised shoulder. Yeowch, he goes on the inside of his head, before once again slipping out of his restraints to take a look at what the hell's going on, how they could've gotten into a traffic accident going at a crawl in Gotham's snarling after-work congestion.

He sits up and leans forward just in time to see a bloody fist smash through the window while Jeremy screams at a pitch that's been unfamiliar since puberty hit. The glass doesn't shatter, but that makes it a little worse when the fist withdraws and most of a sheet of cracked window goes with it, violence ringed in glittering glass.

Matty the driver is also screaming like a choir boy, shrieks like a warbler on steroids when Jeremy gets hauled out of his seat and out through the window like he's been sucked into a Black Hole, spaghettified, when it's just Bruce in a downright demure turtleneck with most of a plate of glass hanging 'round by his elbow. Bruce isn't growling, doesn't have the throat for it, isn't raising his hackles, doesn't have the neck for it, doesn't even seem to be feeling very much at all while Jerry-boy screams and weeps and screams and weeps.

Bruce seems almost delicately unbothered as he picks Jeremy up like a ragdoll and bites down on his throat with teeth that should be too blunt for this, holding down just long enough for the man to pass out and go limp in his arms. Bruce spits out a mouth full of blood before setting the man down gently in the scattering of glass on the ground. Jason looks on and he knows he reeks at this point, knows he's salivating and he's growling and his hackles are up because he's built for it and he's hot for it, and takes a short moment to think that maybe he's underestimated, a little bit, Bruce's instinctive capacity for violence.

Bruce doesn't pay him any mind, because there's still a Threat here, still Matty in the driver's side, but this is in fact a non-issue because when Bruce starts reaching for Matthew, doesn't even bother to pull the door open because he doesn't need more than the space of a car window to deal a reckoning, well. Matty yells like his blood's curdling in his veins, and then he passes out, a complete cessation of terrified Alpha scent.

Then and only then does Bruce turn to look to the back, face looking almost serene but for another man's blood limning his mouth. "Hi, Jason," he says a little hoarsely, like he'd forgotten how to be a regular person for a little bit there. "I found you," he says a little messily, like he's re-finding what it means to be a lot human and his heart's crawling out his throat. "Are you hurt?"

Quite despite himself, Jason finds himself with tears burning his eyes out. "I'm good," he says, voice like sandpaper-on-sandpaper violence. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"Always," Bruce says with the hot-hearted grim confidence of a man who has bare-knuckle punched his way through car windows repeatedly to get to Jason and will keep on doing so for the rest of his natural life.

Jason can barely stifle a shudder. "Sorry I missed our date."

Bruce shrugs. "I got takeout in the car," he says mildly, tugging the backdoor open to help Jason out. The 'car' in question is one of Bruce's jaguars, an expensive black, with the bonnet crumpled wildly on account of having smashed into the front right side of the kidnapper's SUV. He sees Jason looking at the destruction, and just smiles like a madman. "Don't worry, I put it in the backseat."

"Baby," Jason says, shudders racing after each other up-down his back as he thinks distantly of defiled second-hand mattresses, "I think we got better plans for the backseat than that.

#whale writing #brujay #can u believe it #writing cool!bruce is actually a thing i can actually do and actually enjoy #writing these fuckin losers is a great act of self-care if i really think about it #whale replies #hope u enjoy this anon!

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