#dc villian

There’s no greeting, no accusation dressed in subtlety. Just that.

You drag your gloves off finger by finger, refusing to break eye contact. “I’m avoiding collateral damage.”

His jaw barely moves, but you catch the shift. A tightening. Disapproval. “He’s a murderer. Every second you hesitate, he spills more blood. Every time you refuse to end this, someone else pays the price.”

You slam your gloves onto the table. “And whose fault is it that he’s like this? Who left him to rot while the Joker walked away breathing?”

For a moment Bruce doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. You see it in his eyes. The fracture; the truth he doesn’t want to admit. But then it shutters away, replaced with cold iron. “That’s not what this is about.”

“The hell it isn’t.” You step forward, anger bubbling in your chest like acid. “You made him. You broke him. And now you expect me to put him in the ground because you can’t live with what you created?”

Your fists ache from clenching too hard. You’re daring him to argue, to admit, to say anything that makes the weight of Jason’s resurrection bearable, but Bruce only turns his back, cape sweeping around him like a final curtain.

Conversation over. Verdict rendered.

But not for you.

For you, the wound only goes deeper, festering in a way that won’t heal. Because every word you spit was true, and he knows it.

Your next clash with Jason is brutal. Not because you’re trying harder, but because the argument with Bruce is still burning in your veins. When your fist slams against Jason’s helmet, he stumbles, and for once his laugh isn’t fake. It's hollow.

“You're hitting harder tonight.” he says, wiping blood from his lip when he pulls the helmet off, tossing it aside with disdain.

“Batman’s orders.”

His grin is humorless, teeth bared in the dim light. “Of course it is. He’s still pulling your strings, huh? Doesn’t matter what you think. Doesn’t matter what you want. You’re just his good little soldier.”

Your throat tightens. There’s so much you want to say. That you stood up for him, that you fought for him in the Cave, that you told Bruce the truth no one else will say. That you understand. That his way, brutal as it is, feels more honest than the half-measures you’ve been taught to worship.

Instead, you just say: “You don’t make it easy to choose sides.”

For a moment, just a heartbeat, Jason’s eyes soften. You see the boy you grew up with, the one who kissed you under Gotham’s bruised sky before the world burned him alive. His mouth twitches, like he wants to say something, like he might drop the mask for just one second. Then it’s gone. His smirk snaps back into place, and he throws himself at you again.

Fist to your jaw, knife grazing your arm, your own baton cracking against his ribs. It’s a storm of blows and memories. Your lungs burn, blood drips from your lip, and your muscles ache from the weight of it all. However, the sound of boots and rough voices cuts through the chaos.

It isn’t just one villain. It’s a gang, more than a dozen Gotham thugs spilling into the warehouse, laughing like hyenas, weapons glinting under the flickering overhead light. Chains, bats, knives, pistols that probably jam every other round. Junk in the hands of junk men. But they’re hungry, greedy, and there are too many of them.

Jason’s head snaps toward them, his hair damp with sweat. Blue-green eyes gleam with fury as he straightens, every inch of him screaming violence.

“Leave,” he growls, voice low and unfiltered without the modulator of his old helmet. “This one’s mine.”

The gang just laughs. A man in a torn leather jacket swings his chain lazily and sneers, “What, the big bad Red Hood getting territorial? We’ll take both of you. Boss will pay double.”

You spit blood onto the floor and square your stance, weapon ready. “Come on then,. Let’s see who’s left standing.”

They rush all at once.

The world explodes into violence. You dive into the fray, baton cracking across a jaw, your boot driving into a stomach. Another swings a crowbar, you duck, jam your elbow into his throat, then whip around to strike a second man in the temple.

But every hit you land is answered with one in return.

A knife slashes across your side, burning like fire. A pipe slams into your face, crunching your nose and sending stars across your vision. Still, you fight, refusing to give Jason the chance to think you need saving. You drop one thug with a vicious headbutt, spin, and crack another’s kneecap with your baton.

Jason watches for a beat. You’re a whirlwind of defiance, even bleeding, even staggering. But when one of the bastards drives a blade deep into your abdomen, everything in him fractures. The thug barely has time to gloat before Jason’s on him.

“You son of a—” Jason snarls, his fist shattering the man’s jaw with a single blow. Gunfire erupts, echoing like thunder, each shot perfectly placed. Knees, shoulders, hands. Jason doesn’t kill them all, but he leaves none of them whole.

When the dust settles, Jason’s chest is rising and falling like he’s run a marathon. His hands are bloodied, knuckles raw, but his eyes are blazing with panic as they lock on you. You’ve sunk to the floor, one hand pressed to your bleeding stomach, nose crooked and dripping red.

Jason drops to his knees beside you.

“You just had to be a hero, didn’t you?” His voice breaks, harsh and desperate, more accusation than comfort. “Couldn’t let me handle it. Couldn’t stay the hell down.”

You manage a bloody grin, teeth red. “Not really my style.”

Jason’s eyes flash, but they’re glassy, rimmed with something he doesn’t want you to see. He presses his hands against your wound, his palms warm and slick. “You’re bleeding too much. Shit, you don’t have to prove yourself to me, damn it.”

“Wasn’t about proving anything,” you rasp, wincing as his pressure sends fire through your side. “I’m not—not gonna be the one hiding behind you.”

“You think I need you to fight my battles? I just need you breathing.”

Your vision blurs at the edges. “Then you’re asking for the impossible. This is Gotham.”

“Don’t,” Jason slaps your face lightly to keep your eyes open. “Don’t you pull that fatalistic crap with me. Not you.”

The rage in his tone isn’t for you. It’s for the memory of a coffin, for the dirt that once filled his lungs, for the laughter of the clown who stole his life. He sees it all over again, and the sight of you bleeding in front of him rips the scab off wounds that never healed.

Without another word, Jason scoops you into his arms. You protest weakly, your voice a cracked whisper. “I can walk.”

You didn't understand how people couldn't tell the difference between which one of your husbands was fronting. To you, it was clear as day, even when a seamless switch happened and they played the other perfectly. You always knew. And you struggled to see how other's didn't.

Bruce was closest. Though even he struggled sometimes to differentiate the two. Or tell when they were playing the other. But he also wasn't afraid to treat them like two separate people. Because they were.

Shortly after meeting Harvey and Two-Face, you had contacted Harley to get any psychologist recommended books of Dissociate Identity Disorder and other multiple personality disorders. You weren't entirely sure which one they had, hell, you knew that they definitely didn't know which one they had, but you knew it was something and that was a start.

So learning to accommodate both of your husbands' tastes, both individually and as a unit, was something you had started doing almost immediately. For instance, you knew that Harvey preferred softer, solid colored fabrics while Two-Face preferred wild and textured fabrics. You knew Harvey preferred sitting down to have toast and a coffee with you in the morning, while Two-Face was more likely to sleep in and come stumbling out sometime around lunch time.

And it's how you knew Harvey, despite everything, was a service top and a pleasure Dom. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting you, intentionally or otherwise, and always, always put your pleasure above his; preferring to mark your soul rather than your body. Something you were sure probably had to do with him feeling guilty and "undeserving" of receiving pleasure making him low-key a masochist, but you would work through that eventually.

And how you knew Two-Face, despite agreeing with Harvey that he didn't want to hurt you (read damage or break you), was a sadist Dom. He preferred domination through forcing you to submit. Watching your innocence slowly break apart piece by piece, corrupting you with his "darkness", leaving marks for everyone to see.

And you handled them both with ease, grace, and eagerness.

-------------------------------------

"Yes Selina, I got your package. Yes, I will be...reluctantly keeping them. Though how did you know my bra size?" You questioned, setting down the box cutter as you peered into the box of, admittedly, expensive looking lingerie.

"Darling, you underestimate my abilities." Selina purrs, letting out a small laugh.

"I can't tell whether it's because you stole my bra last time we went shopping, or because you manhandled me in the dressing room." You return dryly, lifting one of the nightgowns out of the box with a smirk. Oh that was going to drive Two-Face wild if he saw you in it.

Selina howled with laughter, the sound of champagne glasses clinking coming from the other side of the phone, "The latter, I believe. I have a skill for judging the size of things with my hands."

"Selina!" She only laughed harder. "I suppose I should thank you. There is something in here for both of them, I'm sure they will enjoy the gift."

"I live to please. Though I know you'll thoroughly enjoy it too." She purred, and you could practically feel the wicked grin across her face.

Your watch buzzed, making you look down to see a text, one clearly written by Two-Face stating that they would be home later than expected, "Goodbye Selina. Enjoy your spa day. I'm sure Bruce will enjoy it more."

She snickered, "Oh he will. Ta-ta."

Picking up the nightgown again, you held it up to your frame, peering in the mirror, a wide grin splitting over your face. Yes, your husband was going to lose his mind.

You were sitting by the fire, hours later, when the door slammed open, bouncing off the carefully placed rubber fixtures that kept the wall from being damaged; legs curled underneath you, a mug of hot tea in hand, reading by the light from the fireplace. You didn't even look up from your pages as he moved through the house, going through the semi-usual motions of a barely maintained routine.

It wasn't until he groaned, that you looked up, "Fuck, doll. You're killin' me. Pretty thing like you, sittin' here waitin' for me, dressed like that? You tryin' to get my attention or are you a regular dirty little slut, waitin' for just anybody to walk in and claim that sweet body?"

You flushed slightly as he stalked toward you, reaching out to grip your face, forcing you to look up at him as he raised a brow, "Was waiting for you, sir."

A familiar dark look settled over his eyes, his grip tightening, "You're a good girl, aren't you? You're my little doll, wrapped up in a pretty package for me to unwrap. You'll let me won't you?"

It was a rhetorical question, and you knew it, but you answered anyway, "Yes sir."

His grin widened and the mug shattered as it hit the ground. You didn't even squeal when he grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder unceremoniously, and stalked towards the bedroom. That was the only—well not the only, but the most important—rule the three of you had. Sex only happened in the bedroom. Because otherwise Harvey would have a panic attack.

It was easier to clean you up, spoil you, and take care of you after your first few rounds with Two-Face, or to fix you up when you were all done, if you were in the bedroom.

He threw you, literally, across the room onto the bed, causing it to creak and whine as you hit it and bounced. His hand wrapping around your ankle to pull you towards the edge of the bed, the softness of the Egyptian cotton (seriously Bruce, we don't need $1500 sheets) felt rough as you were dragged across them.

His hands were on you immediately, feeling up the lace, "I wonder which doll I'll have tonight. My mischievous kit? My obedient puppy? My demanding kitten?" He paused, taking in your expressions as he gripped your sides, his fingers tightening around your waist, "My playful little bunny?" He said it with such a knowing tone, that you almost flinch when he slapped you. "Answer me. Which doll do I have tonight? Or will I have to find out myself?"

Your cheek stung, your arousal growing exponentially, "B-bunny, sir."

His grin turned feral, his grip bruising, "Great, I do so love my bunny."

You whimpered as he smacked you again, gripping your face to draw you into a messy kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and hardness. Raw and filled with all of the arousal you both felt.

He released your face, pulling back to admire the nightgown. You looked so so innocent in it, and he was struggling with the urge to simply push it up and utterly destroy you until Harvey had to pick up the pieces. His hands gripped and roamed, holding tight and digging into the smooth planes of flesh in ways that had you gasping.

His nails digging into the pudge of your hips, and you whined as they broke skin, only a few drips of blood pooling beneath his fingertips, but it had your eyes rolling back as you arched, "Please sir, please don't tease."

He scowled, releasing your hip just long enough to smack you hard enough your eyes watered, before his nails were digging into your hips again, "I didn't ask what you wanted, bunny. So lay there, like a good doll and be silent." Nodding vehemently, you bit your lip, blinking back the few tears that had slipped free, making him nod once.

With almost manic glee, he dug his nails in deeper, dragging them down your thighs. Moans spilling from your lips as jagged nails tore thin lines open on your legs, barely more than cat scratches, but enough to make your blood race.

"Fuck, love seein' my bunny all marked up and dripping for me. Pretty little lines running down your thighs, can't wait to see you covered in more." Two-Face groaned, leaning down, burying his face in your inner thigh. Taking a deep breath, he ran his tongue along the bleeding cuts, nearly moaning at the taste as his grip on you tightened.

You already knew you were going to be covered in bruises and marks by morning, and you would be feeling them both for days, if Two-Face's eagerness to see you bleed before even getting his cock in you.

He ran his tongue over the bleeding marks once more as his hands traveled up, slipping underneath the fabric of your nightgown to feel your skin and he growled, pulling back to look at you, "Oh bunny. There's more for me to unwrap, isn't there?"

A look, like he wanted to simply tear off the nightgown—simply tear it in two—passed over his face before he shook his head, rolling his jaw and began to peel it off you. The pink white lace nightgown tossed over his shoulder blindly, revealing the matching set underneath.

His eyes turning dangerous as observed the fabric. If he thought you looked innocent before? This was bordering on down right sinful and it made equally sinful thoughts fill his mind.

"If you don't take that off, in the next 30 seconds, I will cut it off." The threat loomed, and you hesitated just a hair too long, secretly wanting to see that, making him smirk.

A switchblade was in his hands before you could blink, making you hiss as the blade sliced not only the fabric from your chest, but made a clean, thin line down your sternum. The pain blossoming into pleasure as he tore the fabric away, letting your chest bounce as his head ducked between your breasts, lapping at the blood.

Moans fell from your lips as his teeth grazed the wound, not quite biting but close enough, as he sucked the blood from the cut until it dried up. Your fingers threading in his hair, tugging on the strands as you arched into his mouth.

"Gods bunny, you taste divine." He growled, all too happy to slice at the side wings, twin slices appearing making you keen and hips buck.

Blood dribbled down your hips, staining the sheets below as he stared down at your body hungrily, "Let's hope you're really my bunny tonight. Because I'm not stopping until I've seen you bounce."

You howled as he slammed into you with no warning, giving you no time to prepare or anticipate as he began to hammer into you. One hand tight around your waist, holding your hips in place as the other trailed the knife blade over your breasts.

Your eyes rolled back, arching off the bed as your hands grasped desperately at the sheets for purchase. Tears streaming down your face as pain and pleasure blurred together in a blinding cloud of feeling that had your every nerve on fire.

"That's it bunny. Fuckin' take my cock!" Two-Face snarled, snapping his hips as he adjusted his angle, pushing your knees into your chest, burying himself deeper as he repeatedly attacked your cervix.

"Ah! Ah...ha...ngh...!" Mindless moans poured out of you as he burned every brain cell, every last thought from your mind, leaving nothing but feeling and arousal behind.

"Aw, what's the matter, bunny?" He sneered, slamming the switchblade into the (already knife nicked) headboard, allowing him to grip your hips tightly, fucking you back onto him, "Don't tell me I've already fucked all those pretty little thoughts out of that nasty head of yours. My stupid little bunny. A little dick and she's already dumb and gushing."

It was like the bastard was psychic. Your orgasm slamming into you, violently knocking the breath from your lungs as you screamed. Though he didn't care, choosing instead to pull out, if only to flip you onto your hands and knees and plow right back in on the same thrust.

Tears streaming down your face as he wrapped his hand in your hair like a leash, yanking your head back, forcing you to balance on your fingertips. Your mouth falling open with endless filthy noises that nearly masked the wet slapping that echoed through the room.

*smack*

You cried out as he slapped your ass, leaving a large red hand print firmly in the skin. *smack* *smack*

"I don't fuckin' hear counting." He snapped, yanking your hair harder, fiery heat enveloping your scalp.

*smack*

"O...o...o..." You squeezed your eyes shut, as you stuttered, the word on the tip of your tongue but it was like your tongue was paralyzed, unable to do anything but release filthy, wonton noises,

*smack*

"Aw, I really did fuck you dumb, didn't I, bunny? Fuck, I bet you don't even remember your own fuckin' name, let alone how to count." He mocked, stilling his hips long enough to release your hair, wrapping his hand around your throat, pulling you back against his chest, slamming his hips back into you. "Don't think I'm done with you yet, bunny. I still want to see you bounce."

You trembled and clawed at his forearm as you rocked back on him, drool slowly dripping down your jaw as your mouth fell open once more, head falling back against his shoulder.

He pulled your hips down as he snapped up, burying himself deep as filled you, growling as he buried his teeth in your neck. Screaming, your whole body trembled as tremors wracked through every inch of you.

You blinked blindly, black spots dancing in your vision, feeling him adjust your position once more until he was the one laying back on the pillows, his hands on your waist the only thing keeping you from tumbling into his chest.

"Bounce."

It was a simply order, or rather, an order that should have been simple. But your limbs, your whole body felt like jello. Your legs burning as you braced your weight on his abdomen, blindly following his orders to bounce. Legs trembling as you moved painfully slow, trying your best to lift yourself up and whining when you slammed back down.

You were sensitive but not quite to overstimulation. Two-Face never let you go until you had cum on his cock at least 3 times, and depending on if Harvey was leading or following, you'd cum at least twice more.

"I fuckin' said, bounce." Two-Face's hands tightened around your waist as he practically took over, forcing you to begin bouncing at a proper speed. His eyes fixed on your breasts as they bounced in time with your movements.

Weak mellows left you, eyes squeezed shut and fingers digging into Two-Face's abs as you trembled with each bounce. Neither of you were going to last long. If you were coherent enough, you would have seen the slight flicker in his eye as his grip softened slightly. Harvey was watching, letting you to have your fun, but close enough to the surface for a seamless switch when you were done. There to catch you when you inevitably fell.

"T...F..." You slurred, barely forming the thought of words.

"No, no, no, bunny. No need for thoughts. Just fuckin bounce." He groans, his eyes shut and head tipped back against the pillows as your pussy convulsed, tightening around him like a vice. He lasted maybe another thrust before letting out a low keen and stuffing your pretty cunt once more.

You bounced blindly, your whole body shaking as you tried to keep going, to be a good girl and bounce like the bunny you were; not even noticing the seamless switch between Two-Face and Harvey until he spoke.

Harvey gently grasped your hips, stilling your actions, "Shh, it's okay sweetheart you don't need to bounce anymore." He cooed, holding you tightly as he rolled the two of you over. Laying you among the pillows, he carefully slipped out of you, his eyes tracing over your body, taking inventory of the wounds caused by Two-Face that he would have to patch up.

Guilt flickered over his face seeing half a dozen cuts on your skin, forming bruises littering your hips, throat and ass, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. We- Two-Face went a little hard on you, didn't he?"

"Mmm... my fault." You mumble, taking a few deep breaths, letting the fuzzy haze over your mind slowly fade. "I teased him. You know how he gets when I dress up."

He let out a few chuckles, but the guilt remained, his hands gently brushing over the cuts, feeling for how deep they were, "I wish he went easier on you. I don't like seeing you hurt by m-our hands."

"You didn't hurt me." You reassured softly, "It doesn't even hurt that bad. Just a small ache. Feels good."

He hummed, not making a comment. You knew he often internalized a lot of the guilt for Two-Face's actions. He believed he was just as responsible for any wrong-doings because they shared a body, but it wasn't true.

"Let me take care of you?" He murmurs quietly, brushing his fingers over the cuts once more, an almost worshipful look crossing his face.

He dug in the bed side table when you nodded, pulling out some cleansing wipes and waterproof bandages. He took his time, gently cleaning each of the no-longer bleeding cuts. His touch was light, unlike the heavy hand of Two-Face, taking great care in making sure he didn't accidentally hurt you again.

With the bandages in place, his eyes lingered on the bruises around your neck. Dipping his head, your own fell back as he peppered small kisses over the bruises. You moaned softly, settling back against the plush pillows, tipping your head further back to give him more space, which he took advantage of happily.

His hand came up to cup your face, stroking you cheek softly as he nipped your neck, trailing his kisses lower. His touch was worshipful as he moved slowly down your body, covering every square inch of skin, undamaged or otherwise, in kisses full of affection and regret.

You mellowed quietly as he kissed a long your breasts, pressing open mouthed kisses to your nipples that had you arching into his touch, "Shh, just let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything else but lay there."

He continued moving down, until he settled between your thighs, nuzzling into the soft flesh, "Gods, you're so beautiful sweetheart. You took everything Two-Face gave you perfectly." He was rambling, and you could tell, as your legs fell open, that he was stuck in a confession spiral that wouldn't end until you were cumming on his tongue. "Fuck, you deserve someone better than us. You deserve the world. You deserve everything. So much more than we can give you."

Moans spilled from your lips with the first lick. It was hesitant, careful, as if you were made of glass. But he broke after the first taste. Burying his face in your cunt, determined, that if he couldn't be perfect for you (which he was, you'd argue that for eternity) that the least he could do was make you feel good.

He devoured you with fervor, ignoring or perhaps favoring, the taste of his spunk on his tongue as he didn't flinch for a second. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you flush against his face and unable to wiggle away. His tongue moving over your core, cleaning up every drop of cum, his and yours as his nose continued to brush your clit.

"F-fuck, Harv... shit..." You whined, fingers threading in his hair, as if it was the only thing keeping you on Earth.

"I know sweetheart, I know. It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. Just fall apart for me. I'll pick up the pieces. I always do." He purred, nuzzling against your cunt, burying his tongue in you.

You rocked against his face, at least you tried too, squealing when he sucked on your clit. Your face screwed up tight as you pushed down, holding his face in place as you came on his tongue.

He continued to run his tongue over you, cleaning up the mess you made until you were scrambling to try and push his face away, the familiar burn of overstimulation aching through you.

"There you go, sweetheart. Doesn't that feel better? Fuck, you deserve it. I wish I could stay between your legs. Worship you like you deserve, for eternity." He mumbled, crawling back up your body to kiss you softly. "Do you want a bath or just cuddles? I can run one for you."

"Mmm..." You buried your face in his chest, wrapping you arms around his waist, holding him tightly, making him smile and chuckle softly.

"Cuddles it is."

// tags

@variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @reveries-daydream