「 tws + notes: hey it's the part 2 to the other thing, no warnings, this is the most basic of fluffs in the world, HALF ASSED DRAFT I FOUND IN MY NOTES, varying lengths lol i'm lazy 」
「 gn!reader, platonic or romantic relationship <3 」
↳ ft. The Ones Which Haunt Me...
(aka edward nygma, harvey dent, jonathan crane, jervis tetch, waylon jones)
author's note: my EVIL FUCKING BRAINROT. and yes. that's a waitress ref in the title. what's a theater kid i've never heard of one. ever. don't look at me. enjoy!
▸ EDWARD eyes the baked good suspiciously for a moment. what, did he think you poisoned them?
"oh? for me? your admiration doesn't go unnoticed. ...i suppose i could indulge."
he's acting like this is you kneeling before him and presenting him an offering. his ass is so smug about it for no reason like... motherfucker JUST TAKE IT.
"it's... adequate. if i end up getting food poisoning, i'll be designing a trap just for you."
"you could just say thank you. y'know. like a normal person." you cross your arms, watching his expression shift slightly as he takes another bite.
edward's trying to mask how much he's enjoying the snack. "where's the fun in that?"
he ends up liking it a lot more than expected. will 100% steal a few more when ur not looking.
▸ HARVEY takes two. because. duh. asks if you ever thought of opening your own bakery — and he's not kidding, he'd definitely fund that shit. harv is just itching to steal the entire tray of treats, but harvey refrains from that. they're definitely making a request or two when you're able.
harvey wants a classic chocolate chip cookie, harv wants a rich and decadent brownie, and they're ARGUING. until, you, the perfect, lovely person that you are... introduce the concept of a brookie.
i just feel like they'd like a brookie :3
▸ JERVIS (why the fuck am i writing for him?) absolutely loves when your baked goods pair well with certain teas that he prepares. maybe don't drink what he offers though. or do??? i dont know, fuck it man, it's your life.
loves to sit around and watch you bake. sorry if you don't like company in the kitchen... you're not getting rid of this guy.
▸ JONATHAN seems a little bit disinterested at first, taking one with a little shrug and a muttered "thanks." at first, you wonder if he's just not a big fan of sweets... but he's saving it as a snack for later.
he makes toxin that make people hallucinate their biggest fears. and you make treats to... what? make people happy? the dichotomy doesn't go unnoticed, but weirdly, he appreciates you.
▸ WAYLON is SO happy the minute you tell him that you brought him food. it's been a while since he's had anything so indulgent.
he wants to take multiple, but hesitates when he reaches for another. you note the hesitation and move the tray closer.
"take as much as you want."
the green light to take more? oh, he acting like you just told him you love him. i guess making food for someone is kind of a love language.
you expect him to scarf it down, and for a moment, he really is about to — but instead, he eats it as slow as he possibly can. tries to savour it. cutie.
Knock You Up MDNI 18+
Waylon "Killer Croc" Jones x Reader
wc: 1,815
Impregnation fetishism The event of being impregnated or impregnating another person.
“You smell good ‘nough to eat.’
Not words that you want to hear at one o’clock in the morning, even tucked safe in your own home. Especially when you were asleep and safe, the chills that ran down your spine from the rough tone startling you awake. You were going to have to have a talk about phrasing or something, feeling a large hand settle on your stomach to pin you in place.
“Waylon…’
He didn’t seem to care that he’d taken about four years off your life, nuzzling his jaw against your knee, of a leg he’d draped over his shoulder you noted sleepily. That’s not where he had been when you’d passed out from a long week and maybe a bit too much to drink. Your hips shifted as he began licking up the inside of your thigh, feeling the graze of teeth despite his best efforts.
Or maybe he did it intentionally, feeling the rattle of his growl travel up your body like it was a tuning fork. The dry rasp of his scales against your other thigh kept that vibration peaked, claws skimming over skin that could so easily separate if he pressed too hard. Another nuzzle against skin slick with more than sweat, feeling the bedding beneath you bunch as he pulled you down with a sudden jerk that sent your heart thudding in your chest.
“Gonna smell better all fertilized, ready to lay.’
Wait, what? Was it better that it wasn’t a food thing? Considering the other option seemed to be another really enthusiastic round of fucking in hopes it took. You did appreciate that he’d woken you up first, heel of your foot kneading the patch of sensitive scales at the base of the back ridges. The growling intensified and you would swear it was strong enough to make your vision shake.
That was why you closed your eyes, not because your borderline too stimulated body was threatening to send you right back to unconscious. Not because the rasp of scales against your skin felt almost too good, knowing that you were going to let him in because why would you say no. Hips lifting, the angle awkward, you were rewarded by a shaky exhale as his face pressed into your stomach.
Feeling the bedding shift beneath you, you smoothed your hands down slowly, fingertips skimming along the curve of his head. The soft scratch of your nails between the ridges there must have done something, feeling the jolt of his tail swing as his body moved farther upwards. A gentle press of teeth around your breast made you writhe, fingers digging in as he bit down just this side of too far and took his sweet time licking the nipple. Alternating between circling with hard tip, and dragging soft warm and wet.
His palm cradled your hip, kneading it as his hips began rocking against blankets, soothing pressure as he shifted higher, your leg pressed against his chest as he licked the corner of his mouth. Even in the dim lighting of the room there was just so much of him, catching the gleam of his eyes and finding yourself unable to look anywhere else.
There were plenty of positions you could do comfortably, it had taken some try and fail to find them, but he really enjoyed putting you on your back, feet on either side of his pectorals and just going for it. It wasn’t your favourite, a little too similar to being laid back during exams with your heels in stirrups. But the complaint only managed to bubble to the surface before popping against the press of endorphin, oxytocin, dopamine, honestly it hadn’t stood a chance.
“Look how pretty you are like this…’
Where, Waylon? There wasn’t a mirror in the place, though you preened under the praise regardless. His cloaca was dragging back and forth across your slit now, feeling a flush at how easily it did, the fluids coaxed from between labia to run down. Maybe you weren’t as adverse to the idea of being fucked full to bursting in hopes in a few months you’d be rounded with something else. Someone else. The longer you were with him the more you were learning about yourself.
Another deep inhale above you, feeling something drip down on your stomach and roll up towards your breasts. And again, his hips shifting is sharp short thrusts, the friction against your clit making you squirm, unable to get the proper leverage to really get the grind you wanted. A thunk against the wall overhead startled you, the scrape of claws through plaster as a hiss slithered through the room. A rush of fluid that just lubricated the scaled friction, head flailing back at the rattled growl made you clench around nothing. God you just wanted to be filled with something.
Learning a lot of things about yourself.
Had to be practice, not just with you, but the feel of his cock playing a game of will it won’t it was about to drive you insane. A small part of your brain tried to remind you that it was better to let him take his time, but all you could hear were the muttered praise and promises. Writhing as his hips angled, the scrape of plaster giving way as he clawed at it instead of you.
Not that you’d mind, you had great health insurance, a soft hiccup of a giggle at that thought before feeling like the wind was punched out of you as the wide cock head thrust inside with a snap that forced your body wide with little warning. Wheezing, struggling to breathe against the sudden feeling of being full, his hips began rocking before you’d adjusted. And your body couldn’t help following, feeling the hard tissue caught in the tight clench of your cunt as your body tried to pull it deeper. Or force it out, honestly you weren’t sure, a low whine managing to wriggle its way out of your throat.
“That’s my girl,’ he crooned, sounding so sweet as if he wasn’t fucking you so hard your entire body shook. “I’ll fill you so full, such a tiny thing it won’t even take long.’
An ache low in your belly as his hand settled over it and pushed down, groaning at the pressure as he pressed harder. Claws pricked skin under your breasts, his hips slamming into you, forcing the unyielding length just a little deeper until you were sure things had to resituate around it. But that was okay, he needed the room, and was going to make use of it, cupping your own breasts and tweaking the nipples. When he came you all but purred feeling each spurt, the way his cock continued to pound into you as if trying to force it deeper inside you.
And again, gushing around him and feeling a flicker of disappointment knowing that some of the fluid squeezed out of you was wasted. Not that it should have concerned you, practically crushed under his weight as he leaned further over you making it hard to breathe. Not that you cared, hands petting and stroking every bit of him you could reach as you coaxed him for just a little more.
“Yeah, I can do that, I can-’
Your ears rang as he pressed into the affectionate touches desperately, hips grinding until you felt a pop, and a low burn that was hard to worry about as he came again. Discomfort warred with the pleasure that was snapping along your synapsis like fireworks. Pain sharp and insistent tried to override the white hot heat of another orgasm ripping through you as he poured spurt after spurt deep inside you.
“Look at you…’ the groan he let you vibrated against your skin, your toes curling as he rutted harshly a few more times before his cock resheathed itself.
The sudden emptiness left you caught between relief and disappointment, his hips pressed tight against yours, the hard ridge of his cloaca rubbing against labia that was swollen and half raw. His hand smoothed over your stomach, and you wanted to squirm away from the pressure against the distended flesh. A gasp escaped you as the hurts pierced through the after glow, lightning sharp in the thick cloud of pleasure that smothered you.
A soft whimper past your clenched teeth, feeling the warmth of his breath across your cheek as he pawed at the fabric beneath you to shift it. The pain pulled a gasp from you, your back twisting as you tried to ease it. Large hands shifting you, manipulating you with the ease of a doll, feeling an ache and subtle pop as he closely forced the joint that had slipped out of socket back in.
“Went too hard.’ He mumbled, gently massaging your flesh, thigh, waist, hip, in a slow rotation that only partially fixed the problem.
Still felt bereft when he crawled off you for the bag beside the nest of blankets and pillows that had to be used for a bed considering there weren’t any you could find that could take the weight. It felt like an ember had been left to glow a little too bright for comfort low in your belly, unable to find a position that eased it. What the hell has he done in there?
Didn’t stop you from enjoying the feel of the ointment smeared over the tender areas that had been rubbed raw by his scales. He also couldn’t seem to stop petting your stomach which had a slight curve to it that hadn’t been there before, and you didn’t like that at all. Bloating was already uncomfortable, but this was yards from that, jolting when a claw lightly scraped your over sensitive clit.
“Can’t wait til you look like that permanent.’
He probably thought the croon was soothing, and it didn’t hurt, though you shoved his hand away from between your legs with a movement that was too sharp. The pills on his palm, and the bottle of water were far better received, letting him pull you close as you tried to breathe away the hurt until the pills kicked in. You’d go see a doctor later, though you weren’t sure how you were going to explain what happened. Or that you had been an enthusiastic participant.
“You’re gonna be even more beautiful.’
A jaw cracking, teeth clacking yawn, near your ear let you know he was falling asleep. Good, you were wore out, especially after this round whatever number it was. The possessive hand over your stomach pressed lightly and you clenched your thighs together. When he fell asleep you were going to try to shower, then take a long bath. A very long bath, then make your way to the doctor. Maybe Thompkins, she seemed nice enough not to ask too many questions.
no gender specified, TW: None, No smut, (general comic versions)
Part 3 (part 1, part 2)
Characters: Killer croc, Clayface, Penguin
Killer Croc/Waylon Jones:
at first he just responds to your presence as a vigilante as like "oh okay cool". he's fairly neutral. he's a criminal and you're an opposing force. that's about it.
but when you start to humanise him by speaking to him like a human being, a person with feelings and emotions.. he feels seen.
especially if you do it to/in front of others, maybe even the GCPD when you hand him over and lecture them on treating him like a man and not an animal.. that hits him.
suddenly you're this light in his life that he doesn't mind getting hit in the face by.
actually he is the type of criminal who can be coaxed to back down from his crime.. especially if he's convinced its not worth it.. but you? you just need to turn up, and before you even cross your arms in disapproval he's out, doll.
he'll either ditch the scene, or even if he's left with no other choice but to fight you.. he wouldn't be able to.. just put the cuffs on and he'll go into custody.
genuinely has a soft spot for you. the other rogues can tease all they want. but heaven forbid one of them captures you. he'll show up, grab Riddler by the waist and squeeze him like a stress ball, before throwing you over his shoulder King Kong style and taking you to safety.
he actually fancies you so much and he's had many a moment with his head in his hands like a teenager going "oh god what is happening to me".
he wouldn't understand how you don't perceive him as a monster. expect a slow burn with getting close to him. even if he has feelings for you. he cant bear the thought of hurting you. this a beauty and the beast romance. (but better cause he stays hot hehehe)
Clayface/Basil Karlo:
he chuckles when you attempt to hit him upon first meeting. your hand gets stuck and he takes the time to study his newest rival! oh you're attractive, huh? okay he wont hit you too hard.. as a treat.
if you, like with Waylon, treat him with compassion and human decency and actually treat him like a person, he wont understand what he's feeling.
he loves moments when he can talk to you before he has to flee due to the GCPD's arrival.
expect him to transform into a person in a crowd and watch you combat crime from the side-lines. he will even morph into a civilian and get rescued/protected by you to know what its like on the other side of the experience. he falls for you, especially when you ask him if he's alright and he could just swoon with how you had held him in your arms.
He might even go the route of pretending to be batman or any of the batfam to talk to you like a person... despite how you treat him he cant quite believe you truly see him as one.
if you were to catch him out in this trick he would be defensive, manipulating his clay mass to create a massive frightening form before you.. waiting for you to show any indication of fear or disgust.
when you don't he will recoil into himself and flee from your sight, insecure and bitter. he doesn't like how he looks so why would you.. and you look. like that. perfect. almost angelic.
if you were to reassure him about seeing him as a person or telling him he's capable of rehabilitation...he would honestly consider it.. for you.
Penguin/Oswald Cobblepot
what's all this, then? who the fuck are you? genuinely just pissed he has a new little pest interfering with his plans. he finds ANYONE encroaching on his plans as an annoyance and he will dislike you.
that's all it will surmount to unless you make him aware of your interest. but please make it obvious as he genuinely doesn't think he's attractive.
think about it. he's called the penguin based on his physical features and the only people interested in him are dancers at his club or some eye candy he brings to events. both are solely attracted to his money and that's it.
so if you let him know he's like... okaayyy I see you...
he wont hit as hard. he'll try avoid one on ones with you, sending goons in as canon fodder.
he is impressed with how you carry yourself... he likes someone who he doesn't have to worry about. he knows that if you're captured by another rogue that you'll be finished with them in ten minutes tops and wont just keel over and die.
He would honestly hold a masquerade in the Iceberg Lounge in order to find you. no scheme, honestly just a party.
he would mingle with guests rather than hold up in his VIP section to find you and inform his men to keep an eye out for you. if you approach him he would probably recognise you as your mask disguises you just like it usually does.
he would take this opportunity to talk to you and lay it on the table. join him, become the king or queen of Gotham by his side... or fall.
he's one of the rogues who I genuinely believe wont reform as crime is his whole thing. he loves it. so unless you're willing to take off that silly mask and hang up that cape of yours.. there's no chance with him. you're either with him or against him.
In that case… Could I please request Killer Croc/Waylon Jones with a supringly really attractive boyfriend (like a male version Jessica Rabbit level hot, like it dosen’t even make sense for someone to be that hot) who no one understand how Waylon pulled. Waylon’s boyfriend is very sultry and alluring.
And Waylon roughly breeds his boyfriend doggy style 😇.
Thank u :)
Waylon Jones x Male reader
Headcanons
Guten Abend squad, how is everyone doing? Classes are still running at a max level, and I’m starting to think this is just how it goes. So, time to chillax with some Waylon.
Not as smutty as I would have wanted, but this honestly just built a life of its own and started running.
We see in the comics, or at least in one run, that Waylon does have game and knows how to pull somebody very attractive, so its not too surprising so could pull you. That’s what you think at least, since he’s a great guy, to you.
I imagine you two met after he left the circus, maybe you guys even left together. With Waylon being the circus’s “freakshow” and you only being there as eye candy to sell tickets. With you both being reduced to nothing but your looks, you two find solidarity with each other, and fall in love.
No one ever really took your love seriously back then, just thinking you were using Waylon for protection, since someone as pretty as you couldn’t be safe anywhere.
Insert the “seriously, what do you see in that guy?” “he makes me laugh” scene.
If we go with the verse where Waylon was in Halys circus, then the only ones that seemed to have some version of acceptance of your love was the Grayson’s. it was one of the reasons you two left the circus, having a strong feeling of what had truly happened to them and who caused it.
After leaving the circus, you couldn’t live in the sewers like Waylon. This meant you got an apartment, in the beginning in crime alley since it was cheapest.
You may have been so beautiful it would drive people mad, but you also had a head on your shoulders. So, in the end you set up a legitimate business, maybe you even become something akin to a designer. Mainly because your lover is so big, there’s no other way to get him clothes.
And maybe during your time in crime alley, you stumble upon a scrawny kid who, though he may act tough, still has a light in him. And maybe that kid ends up being batman’s second robin, who remembers how kind you were to him and everyone around you, so he doesn’t go as hard against Waylon.
The past you have with the Grayson’s also means that Dick takes it easier on Waylon, and they even settle down and talk at times. You’ll regularly find the two former robins hanging around your art studio, even years later when they aren’t robin anymore.
Your lover goes to Arkham, a lot. But you never hate him or even argue with him. You’ll just pull up to Arkham in your most beautiful outfit during visitors’ hours and hold Waylon’s hand as you two act like a new married couple, even if it’s been twenty at this point.
And it may have been twenty years, but you just seem to have become more handsome with age, aging like fine expensive wine. You don’t become shrewd or corrupted by the world around you, instead you stay kind and patient. You’re still in Gotham though, so you’ll turn violent if you have too.
No one really believes that Waylon purrs, until you show up and he becomes as meek as a kitten, ready to roll in your manicured hand.
Its no secret that you, one of the most famous designers around, and Killer Croc, are together. But its just such a normal part of everyday life now, that no one really questions it. your works never been dirty, you help those around you, and lift up poor and struggling artists whenever you can. So, what if your husband is tearing up the road trying to bite Batman to bits.
Theres a viral video in Gotham of you stepping out during one of Waylon’s rampages, and just scolding him, wagging a finger in his face and still looking so unbelievably gorgeous as you do so.
And yes, of course your design trademark is crocodile scales, or anything along those lines. You’ll never use real crocodile skin, but you do use the print or shape.
After all this time, people don’t fear Waylon as much as they probably should, all thanks to you. Its kinda hard to fear a guy when you know his boyfriend is unofficially titled the most beautiful man in Gotham, who’s also as giving and kind as the Waynes, whilst being more involved in the nitty gritty, since you still live in Crime Alley.
Someone has threatened Waylon with telling on him to you at least once too, which doesn’t stop him, but it does cause him to freeze and get an “oh shit” expression, long enough for people to run to safety.
Being one of the most skilled fashionistas around also means you have met the Waynes on multiple occasions.
The shared past with Dick and the circus, and Jason, though you don’t remember him as vividly, means you get called on more than most.
As you measure them out and start making designs, conversations flow, and Damian most likely ends up bluntly just asking you why in the world you decided to pair up with Killer Croc of all people.
You correct him in your answer, referring to your husband as Waylon, and then you just start waxing the poetics. Of your shared past, of the deep unshakable love you both share, and how under all his struggles, Waylon truly is an amazing man.
You’ve never confirmed that Dick was Robin, even though it was very obvious. Its not your place to judge how he, or his family, deal with their trauma or whatever they have going on. Your lover swims through the sewers, you can’t really say anything.
A few passing comments are made though, obviously. You tell the Waynes to “take it easy next time they see Waylon, wont you?” with one of your heart shaking winks before you saunter out, ready to start putting together your latest design.
Its kind of an accepted, not really a secret, secret. Its never put into words, and they know that you know, and you know that they know you know. Nothing ends up happening with it though, outside of you making some jokes and judging their hero outfits.
With age you’ve become less sultry and alluring, at least in the way the public can point out as obviously as before. You have simply mastered your field, and know just how to play people around you if you need too.
Though, you didn’t really learn to master it for the public. It’s mainly just for Waylon, so you like to see how his nostrils flare, and when he starts chuffing in the back of his throat when you saunter around in nothing but a silk robe.
The bats know that the first place Waylon goes when he gets out of Arkham is to you. But…they also all know to wait at least a day or two before they come for him. To allow you to spend some time together, but also because most of them have caught of glimpse of you… reunions…
Bruce wont admit it, but he’s at least impressed with you being able to take two of them at the same time, even after all these years. He might note down your many skills somewhere… just in case.
Reunions with Waylon are typically a hot and steamy affair. Or well, as hot and steamy as a guy whose as cold as a reptile can get. There are days where either of you may not be up for it, and then its just cuddles and having some nice domestic time together before he’s taken back to Arkham again.
But when it does get hot, then you are very happy you own the entire building. Waylon can get quite loud, but never as loud as he still makes you even after all these years.
Sure, you’ve learned to handle it more after all this time, but it still makes you squeal when Waylon fits both his shafts inside you at the same time, lifting and moving you around like a doll.
Where Waylon may be rough and violent in every other part of his life, Waylon is slower and much more careful in the bedroom. He doesn’t want to lose his senses and hurt you on accident. You have some very faded bite and claw scars on your body, back from when you first got together, and Waylon likes to remind himself of that.
Sometimes you do want him to be rougher about it, so you pull all the skills you’ve gained over the years. And Waylon is but a man, even with the scales and all, so he can’t resist you for very long. It always ends up with you writhing, face in the pillow that’s stained with your tears and drool or pleasure, as Waylon growls and snarls behind you, his big, clawed hands moving you back and forth with ease.
He always feels a bit guilty about it afterwards, especially seeing how much you leak all over the sheets. Expect to find yourself being pampered and loved on for the next couple of days. Even the bats seem to leave you to it, most likely having heard your cries. You get a feeling the people in the next building heard them too. But you honestly don’t care anymore.
You may have Waylon, and many others, wrapped around your finger, but so does Waylon with you. And neither of you really seem to mind anymore.
Waylon Jones(Killer Croc)xF!Reader
Rating: M
Word Count: 4.3K
Tags: monsterfucking, size kink, PiV, oral (f!receiving), reader implied death, implied cannibalism (it's killer croc guys), rough fucking, dead dove, don't eat
Notes: Just a little something for Halloween! Inspired by scenes from Dracula, The Shape of Water, and the mermaid scenes from Pirates of the Caribbean 4. Written kinda fast.
READER EXPERIENCES HARM.
DO NOT LIKE THEN DO NOT READ.
Show me where the delicate stops...
You spent weeks walking by the same storm drain on that lonely street.
It started when you tripped.
The bag slung over your shoulder fell and the contents spilled. You grabbed everything except a book that slid into the storm drain. Your shoulders slumped as you heard the fateful “plop” of it falling into the waters running beneath Gotham City.
You stood up straight and turned to walk away but did a double take.
The book was back on the street, placed just beyond the entrance of the storm drain, though it was soaking wet now.
You had heard stories of what was down there…
So you frequented this spot.
You tested out some theories. At first you brought some food from a local diner and set it out in front of the storm drain where only pitch black darkness peered back at you. You watched, but it was only when your back was turned that the burger in the basket was gone. The fries and drink untouched.
Then you brought steaks and set the cuts there. They also disappeared when you turned your back. But then you saved up some money, made an odd request to the butcher for larger cuts of meat, preferably something with bones. Making sure no one was watching, you set the hunk of meat wrapped in brown butcher paper in front of the storm drain, but before it could even touch the damp ground, a massive clawed hand reached out to snatch it from you.
He definitely was down there.
So now, after weeks of bringing him food, you wanted to bring other things and get a closer look.
Though it was a stupid idea, you found a maintenance access to this part of the street. It looks like no one has used it in awhile. The metal door creaks with age as you open it. The weight of the door makes it close on its own and you carefully venture down the wet worn concrete steps armed with a raincoat and a flashlight.
The sewers of Gotham are a labyrinth and truly are another city all on their own. You have your phone to help guide you, but you lose signal and become lost. Rats scurry by, water drips, and the water flowing through the passageways echo off the walls.
“Lost, little bird?” a voice rumbles in the dark with a sinister rasp.
You turn this way and that, unable to pinpoint the source. “Hello??”
The voice echoes ominously off the walls of the sewers. “Little bird has lost her way,” it almost sings.
You muster your courage.
“No, I…I just…wanted to bring you some things,” you say out loud in no direction in particular.
Quiet.
“Hello?” You try again. “You’re Waylon, right? Waylon Jones? I’m-”
The sound of claws scraping the concrete of a creature on all fours, something dragging along, then a fierce and terrible snarl and suddenly he’s in front of you, mouth agape, hissing, saliva dripping from his teeth. His mouth snaps inches from your face, almost taking it. You fall back onto your bottom with a scream.
“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOUR NAME IS.”
The flashlight you’re holding shakes as he stands before you. Fear grips you as he stretches to his full height. He’s at least seven, no, eight, probably nine feet tall. His skin is scaly and a deep green color. His eyes are a menacing yellow and his mouth….
His face is a cross between human and reptile though the latter clearly is more prominent. His mouth is bigger than a human's, wider, too, and teeth stick out past his lips. He has claws and a tail behind him. He’s incredibly massive and only dressed in some worn out slacks. Suspenders hang down by his hips though they’re faded and tattered.
He’s broad and wide and looks down at you.
Slowly, you stand and move your free hand to your shoulder bag. You dig around and produce a book.
“I….brought one for you-” you start to say but he interrupts with a snarl.
“I don’t want that.”
Now he circles you.
“Better get out of here, little bird,” he hisses. “Before I change my mind about letting you leave.”
The look in his eye is primal. This was stupid. You debate on standing your ground, but there’s a split second where you see he lunges at you. You bolt down the wet walkway of the sewers, trying not to slip as you round the corners. And then you hear him cackle behind you and he starts counting down. He’s giving you a head start. How sick.
“Five!”
You keep running, legs pumping furiously to try and find anything familiar to recognize your way back.
“Four!”
Was it right or left here? Oh God. None of this looks familiar. Your phone! Keep running until you get a signal, that’ll help. The more bars you have the closer you’ll be to the maintenance door!
“Two!”
This is a game to him. Does he really mean to eat you? He doesn’t actually eat people does he?
A horrid shrieking gasp escapes you as you run into a pile of bones. Femurs, ribcages, and skulls litter the walkway. Rats traverse through the bones and you don’t even hear Waylon say one. There’s a loud splash indicating he’s in the water now.
You keep running, knocking a skull into the water with a thick “plunk”. One bar. Two. Almost there. Three! Then four and-
You slip.
Your phone falls into the river of water running through the sewers.
You can go right or left and you only have enough time for one choice before he catches you so you hope and pray it’s the right one. You go left just as you hear him emerge from the water.
“ONE!”
Sobbing with fright you turn the corner and don’t see the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
This can’t be happening! This can’t be- light. Some light filters in. Your line of sight follows it and sees the storm drain. There’s a rusty ladder on the wall. Without thinking you run for it, climbing quickly to reach the top.
“Come here, little bird!”
He’s right behind you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins and you skip the last couple of rungs to grab onto the mouth of the storm drain and pull yourself up. The muscles in your arms strain as they hold your weight and pull. You try to swing your leg up to get leverage, but it slips due to the rain outside. You try again. And again. Your grip is getting weak, your arms tired. The last bit of strength you have goes into this next try. You shout as your leg swings up and successfully catches the mouth of the drain.
“I can smell you!”
You push and throw yourself out and onto the street just as his claws try to grab hold of you. You hear the “shink!” as they hit the concrete and the dreaded drag against the asphalt as they retreat.
Two yellow eyes look at you from the dark and there’s a soft low rumbling snarl before they disappear.
Days later…
You stand at the mouth of the drain again. In front of you is your phone.
It’s cracked and wet, but it’s there. A sign.
You return to the sewer…
Back through the maintenance access and down into the depths. You walk for a few minutes then hear that raspy voice again.
“I smell you, little bird.”
You call out into the darkness, shining your flashlight around to find him. “You brought my phone back?”
“You dropped it.”
“You scared me!”
“And you came back,” he purrs.
“I did.”
“Why?”
Why did you come back? To say thank you? Why were you drawn to him? Fascinated with him? Or was it because you found someone just as lonely as you?
“Because…you’re down here alone,” you say, a little softly. “And I’m up there…also alone.”
You don’t have to turn around to know he’s behind you. You can hear his hot and wet breath blowing your hair. With slow steps, you turn around to see him.
“What did you bring me?” His index claw hooks around the strap of your bag over your shoulder and he takes it off of you.
He turns it over and dumps out the contents; some books, boxes of candy, and movies?
“What’s this?” He asks while holding a small black box with a lens.
“A…A projector. For the movies,” you explain. “Figured you probably haven’t seen anything in awhile.” You pick up a book that fell and inside are some photos from around Gotham. “I brought some pictures, too.”
You wait for a response, but he’s quiet except for the soft contemplative hum he lets out.
“You gave me back my book and my phone and…I want to give something back to you,” you say.
So your next weeks are spent going back and forth from your home to the sewer to spend time with Waylon. You watch movies on the damp walls of the sewer, you watch videos on your phone, and take pictures of Gotham to show to him later. You use a polaroid camera so he can keep them. You bring him cuts of meat still and you read to him.
You find him to be deeply misunderstood and isolated and it mirrors yourself.
You find yourself falling for him, this monster beneath the city.
So, one night, you offer dinner for the two of you, something nice. Maybe romantic. You spend all day moving items in through the maintenance door; a table, tablecloth, some food packed into a container for yourself and in a backpack you have some scraps from the butcher. There’s a few goat heads, some whole chickens, and fish as well. It wasn’t cheap and it isn’t light, but you get all of the things down there.
There’s a corner of the sewers that Waylon keeps to where only a lonely bulb dimly illuminates the area beneath it. Some old tattered blankets and clothes serve as a bed though it’s more like a nest. He sits there and watches you set the table with the tablecloth. You light some candles and unfold a chair for yourself and serve your plate and place the food for him on the opposite side of the table. There’s even a bottle of wine.
“All dressed up, aren’t you, little bird?” He hums.
Oh, yes. You were. It’s a simple dress, nothing fancy, but you wanted to look nice. For him. You even did your hair and makeup a little bit, too.
“It’s nothing, just…wanted to…” your voice trails off.
“Wanted to…? Impress me?” He grins and bares his teeth.
“Maybe. A little.”
“Little bird has a crush.” He lets the last word drag with a long hiss at the end. “On a monster.”
Your feet move forward on their own. “No,” you say. “You’re not. Not to me.”
“What does the little bird see in me, hm?” He asks, leaning down to get a closer look at you. “I could crush you in between my fingers, tear the flesh off your bones and use them to pick my teeth.”
“But you haven’t,” you quip.
“I almost did-”
“But you didn’t. I think you just wanted to scare me. And you did, but I’m here now. I’m-” You pause. Should you say it? “I’m not afraid of you now. You won’t hurt me.”
He hums thoughtfully. “You sound sure.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
He chuckles at your spunk. “Clever bird.”
Slowly and carefully you raise a hand up to his face. His yellow eyes lock with yours and he lowers himself to a squatting position to come to your level.
You’ve yet to touch him and you want to show him you’re not afraid of him, that you really do care about him, that you could be gentle with him. A small step forward and you extend your hand further until you touch what would be the nose of a human, but is instead partly the snout of a reptile. His skin is rough as your fingers gently roam over his scales. A huff of breath comes out of his nostrils making you flinch for a moment. But he lets you touch him.
After a moment, his attention turns to the table. You sit in the chair you’ve set out for yourself and eat the food you’ve prepped and he gingerly picks up one of the goat heads and pops the whole thing into his mouth. The skull crushes and shatters, his jaws coming down like a hydraulic press. You keep your head down as he eats the rest of the ....delicacies that you’ve brought him. You pour yourself some wine and offer the bottle to him. His claws clink against the glass as he takes it in between two fingers. He tips his head back and pours out the bottle into his mouth. His serpent-like tongue licks around his teeth and lips.
After dinner, you sit in front of Waylon and show him some pictures you’ve taken. You show some local shops you’ve visited, some events that took place around the city, and some scenic shots. He brings his head down close to your shoulder as you try to explain the photos. Your voice shakes a little and he notices.
“Nervous, little bird?” He purrs.
“No, I just-”
“I can smell you, you know,” he says in a much softer voice. His tongue comes out to gently lick at the light sheen of sweat on your neck and you shudder.
You had hoped that the heat between your legs wouldn’t be detectable, but he noticed. And with your nerves, you started to sweat and a rumble sounds off throughout him as he tastes the salt on his tongue.
“Can smell your heat,” he growls into your ear.
You set down the pictures and stand. “N-No, I just-”
“Just dressed like a pretty bird for me and were…what? Hoping something might happen? What might it be?” He teases you and softly cackles.
You try to walk away but his hand takes your wrist and pulls you back to be flush against him. He’s so tall, you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. You open your mouth to speak, but stop short. Your face is level with his waist and you look down to where his belt rests and…
His cock visibly strains against his pants.
“What does the little bird want?” Waylon asks with a husky voice.
You gulp. He must be huge under there, but you want it. You want him.
“You,” you say softly. You look back up at him. “I want you, Waylon.”
He lifts you in one arm, your bottom resting in the crook of his bicep and he brings you up to his level. You wonder what kissing him might be like. His jaws part slightly as you hold his face in your hands. You expected the smell of death like when you first met him, but he smells like the wine he’s drunk. You place soft and tender kisses around his mouth, but his muzzle nudges you, most of his lips are gone and in their place are thick teeth designed for crushing. They press against your lips and pry your mouth open. His tongue slips inside of your mouth, thick, hot, and wet. He cradles the back of your head and pushes his tongue further into your mouth, exploring and tasting you. Your lips wrap around the muscle and reciprocate the kiss. A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he feels your smaller tongue against his.
And then he pushes further into your mouth, further down your throat. You softly suck and pull back. That gets him to moan though it sounds more creature than human. You do it again, sucking and licking his tongue while it deepthroats you.
The hand not holding you comes up to your chest. His hand is so massive it nearly encompasses you. He lets his thumb massage your breasts, his claw softly scraping your skin and catching your dress.
Beneath his touch your nipples harden fast and your arch into his thumb. Your throat relaxes, you open your jaw as far as you can and take his tongue like it was his length.
Waylon pulls back and the slits in his eyes dilate as he looks at you.
“I’ll hurt you,” he grumbles.
“I can take it,” you reply.
He carries you over to his makeshift bed and he lays you down, his claws tear off your dress and lightly scrape your skin, breaking it and making you wince. There’s a small pile of bones close by, but the presence of death is concealed when his tongue begins to lick all over your body as his claws remove the rest of your clothes, leaving you naked.
His massive hands grab your ankles and pry them apart. He lowers his head to inhale your arousal. You swear his eyes shift from a glowing yellow to a dark gold.
“You smell so sweet,” he says with low rasp.
His tongue licks from the bottom of your cunt to the top, the tip circling your clit. The pressure makes you squirm, but he holds your ankles tight to keep you from moving. You come once, twice, and the third time is when he lets his tongue fuck you. It slithers between your lips, stretching you open, lathering itself with your juices. His hot breath washes over you as he maneuvers his tongue back and forth. You come again and he lets out the most animalistic growl you’ve ever heard. His tongue moves in a frenzy now, licking all over your cunt and thighs, catching every last drop of your essence. His teeth scrape against your skin every so often, but it’s when you call his name that he stops.
“Let me see you,” you plead.
He releases your ankles and stands up to his full height.
You come up onto your knees and your hands find the buckle to his belt holding his trousers up. You undo the large latch and open his fly. His hand gently guides his large cock out and you sit back to admire it while he removes his pants the rest of the way. He’s impossibly huge and girthy, but you’re certain you can take him.
His clawed hand pumps his length and you watch the pre-cum form at the head, it drips down his shaft and over his hand.
His hands stop to adjust your position. He lays you down and shifts some of the tattered blankets under your lower back so that you’re propped up. He drops to his knees in front of you and prods his cock at your entrance. You can feel his pre-cum dripping all over your lips as his head threatens to stretch you further.
“Ready for me to fuck you, little bird?” He groans.
“Yes! Yes!”
You prop yourself up on your elbows and he lets out a thunderous roar as he pushes into you. You let out a loud cry that bounces off the walls of the sewers and blends in with the sound of the rushing water close by. He pushes in as far as he can before he has to stop. He’s about halfway and your hands fist the fabrics beneath you as he pulls back. His cock is ridged like the rest of him so every push and pull has you a flustered mess. He languidly thrusts into you, only going so far. He gets you wet enough to push in a little further each time, but when he’s a third of the way down you feel him bottom out and tears prick at your eyes.
Waylon leans over you and lets out a soft hiss. “I know, little bird, I know,” he coos. “You can take it. Just a little more.” He throws his head back and pushes further still as he groans. “Let me break you.”
Somehow he manages to fit his entire cock inside of you. It’s a tight fit and when you lift yourself up to look at the scene, you can see a slight bulge above your sex. He can see it, too and he brings his hand over it and presses down before he proceeds to fuck you. He forces his cock to drag along your tight walls, the ridges of his thick length catching your most sensitive spot, hitting it over and over again.
He has you going over the edge again, your body shaking beneath him. His free hand plants over your head so he can drive himself deeper and harder.
“Does my little bird like this?” He asks, his tongue coming to lick neck and face. “Does she like getting fucked by my cock like this?” His words have some bite to it as he says that.
“Yes!” You shout. “I do, Waylon, I do!”
“I want everyone on the streets above us to hear you scream for me. Want them to hear how good of a slut my little bird is.”
He sits back up on his haunches and both of his hands grab your hips and guide your body in time with his thrusts. He uses you like a toy, a sleeve. He’s able to bring both thumbs around to press the top of your sex again to make your cunt squeeze tighter around him, to make you feel every ridge of him catch on your walls. His hands and claws clench around you and cut into your skin. Your sweat mixes with traces of blood and this seems to turn him on further as he piledrives his cock into your tight cunt.
Your hands hold onto his arms and brace yourself as he uses your body. He breathes in sharply and growls. “Have to come,” he huffs. “Don’t move, little bird. Gonna fill you up.”
And fill you he does. Your cunt fills with his hot seed and he gives a few lazy thrusts into you, coating your walls with it. His load is thick and massive as you feel it leak out of you while he milks himself.
When he’s done, he lets you go, leaving you feeling empty.
“W-Waylon..” you call out weakly to him.
He’s by your side, curling next to you and cradling you in his arms and with his tail.
“I’m here, little bird,” he breathes.
You bury yourself in his embrace, his warmth comforting you from the abuse your body has endured.
Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s looking at you with that hungry look in his eyes.
“I…I should get home,” you say sitting up. “It must be morning now?”
“Night still.”
“Oh.”
You lean forward and kiss him. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?”
His arms tense around you.
“Waylon?”
He doesn’t budge.
“Waylon, I-”
“Would you stay here? With me?” He asks quietly. He nuzzles his face into you. “My little bird…could stay with me…forever. Hm?”
You smile. Stay with him? You’d love to. The surface has never given you anything and he’s down here. The logistics of it will work itself out, but you beam with happiness.
“I would love to.”
So, you go home, pack some bags, and return to the maintenance access, ready to live your life with him. You set your carry-on and backpack next to where his makeshift bed is, but…
Waylon isn’t around.
“Waylon?” You call out. “I’m here!”
Silence save for some droplets of water.
Finally, he answers from the depths of the sewers.
“Come here, little bird,” he purrs lovingly.
You approach the sound of his voice.
“This way.”
A left turn then a right turn and another left.
“Closer…”
“Waylon, where are you?” You ask, a little amused at his game.
“Here.”
The water is an intersection and you stand on the corner of the walkway. In the middle of the water is Waylon. His head is barely above the dark water, two yellow eyes looking up at you.
“Why are you in there?” you giggle. “I brought all my stuff. I can’t wait to show you my record player-”
“Happy to hear it,” he says, his gaze unwavering with that dark gold hue.
Silence.
“Well, get out and help me get back. You know I don’t know my way around here like you do.” You smile. “I also wore this.” You give a small spin in your pale green sundress. “Thought you might like it.”
“Lovely.”
He still doesn’t move.
There’s an eerie aura in the air and you feel it slowly weigh down on you.
He speaks. “Come with me,” he says. “I’ll take you back to….our home.”
The way he says it has your heart warm.
“Oh, Waylon,” you sigh lovingly. “I’m so happy to be here with you.” But he’s acting odd. Why is he in the water? You try to coax him out. “I’m no good at swimming though and the water-”
“Is fine.”
Silence.
“I’ll carry you.”
You remain quiet.
He hasn’t moved. The water doesn’t move either. Something isn’t quite right.
“Have to swim to stay with me.”
You suppose he has a point.With careful steps you approach the edge of the walkway. He still doesn’t move and it’s now that you realize he hasn’t even blinked.
“Well, come closer,” you say.
“Sit.”
You hesitate, but you sit on the edge of the walkway. The water is dark and only reflects the dim light from the old bulbs sparsely scattered throughout the sewer system.
“Give me your hand. I’ll carry you.”
The surface hasn’t been kind to you, but he has. Love and a longing for acceptance compel you. Your time with him has built trust, right? He trusts you and….and you trust him. You stretch out your arm towards him.
His hand slowly comes out of the water and takes your smaller one in his.
No one could hear the thrashing of the water or see the bubbles floating up from the depths of the black river that runs through the sewers, but some days later they would find floating in the Gotham Bay a pale green sundress…
Deep within the winding paths of Robinson Park, the noises of the local wildlife were dwindling down as the sun wound its way back beneath the horizon line. To your side, Waylon trots along the path with his hood down, the secluded spot offering you both a little privacy from the judgemental looks of others.
A snapping branch forces your head to swing around as something truly lovely comes into sight.
Wrapping a hand around three of Waylon's thick fingers, you tug at the scaled skin gently as you snatch up his attention.
"Look! Waylon! Look at that!"
The deer is beautiful in its majesty, the long and twisted antlers sitting atop its head like a crown as it stares the both of you down before bolting back into the flora.
"Aww man! I would have loved to have seen that a bit closer up. Deer are so cute, did you see it?"
Peering back around, you follow Waylon's gaze and it falls to your outstretched hand, still holding on to his fingers like they were a lifeline.
"Oh." Embarrassment flushes through your system as a mild panic sets in that you may have overstepped the mark. "Sorry."
Loosing your grip slightly, your breath catches in your throat as his hand shifts to dwarf yours as he allows your palm to rest against his own.
"Don't say sorry, 's nice." He mumbles, the words throaty and raw as he sniffs the air. "And the deer ain't too far off. We could follow it."
Perking up even as the flush deepens across your upper body, an enthusiastic nod dips your head as you allow him to lead the way through the thicket.
