#and he would probably like to look at the blood going down

[chaos-vixen]

@starry-bi-sky AAAAAA it’s 1:01am

I’m reading all the dp x dc I can find

And I want more scenes!

Like- Vlad has a business meeting in the morning, so Danny is forced to stay at this fancy ass expensive hotel (small miracle that Vlad got him his own fancy master bedroom type deal) overnight. But before that, we need to leave the party >:)

The Gala was set to end for roughly another hour, maybe hour and a half.

Danny didn’t give a shit.

So what if people parted a little when he walked back into the room. He didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t give a shit when he locked eyes with Bruce across the room. (not with the same damn subtle furrow in his brow he alway had when he was concerned but in public)

He didn’t give a shit when Vlad gave him a thinly veiled stink-eye. (Damned piece’s shite! What right- what right does that smug self serving bit-)

He didn’t give a shit when Tim found him in the bathroom trying to cover at least some of that lingering smoke smell (Didn’t give a when Tim gave him some of his cologne– that it hid the smell decently. Didn’t give’a when he told Tim that he was “Just a bit tired, head’d ou’early”. Didn’t give’a when half way through his goodbye his accent slipped with a wet voice crack. Didn’t give’s when Tim looked him with something horribly close to pity, made worse by the undertone of understanding)

Didn’t give anything (no reactions. No evergreen left for that or caring) when Vlad saddled up to him at the exit wondering just where he was going.

Did’t give a blessed thing about the one paparazzi guy touching it out to see who the first to leave was, not the final flash (heh, just one bright flash of light-) as he stepped and followed the sidewalk to where the cars where, knowing that Vlad was probably seething behind him.

Danny felt numb all the ride back in the car, up in the elevator, and down the hall to their neighboring rooms. Where Vlad, in his infinite wisdom, poked the bear.

“You know,” Vlad started, in all his slimy evilness (yes evilness- sue him, Danny’s too tired for better adjectives), “Ypu have cost me quite a bit of grief tonight, first with the cameras, then wondering off, then with this! Why, it’s like you want me to stop lending a helping hand to your parent’s funds! Or my little nudge for Jazz’s tuition?”

Danny cares. He doesn’t care about much. But Jazz?

He looks Vlad dead in those greedy, self-important eyes, his breath fogs, his rage and grief weighing the air down, thick like blood, suffocating– “You touch her, you threaten her or what she loves, and you’ll face Rath.”

Then he turns on his heel and slams the door (albeit not too hard, it’s a hotel) firmly shut.

A glance to the bed, perfectly inviting and soft. The alarm on the bedside table reads 10:37.

Whatever logic is left in his frizzled brain says that a shower would might help, but the rest says that bed is way to comfy to ignore. The only good thing to come of being forced to travel with Vlad was that the beds were usually not too bad.

Danny ends up staying up late, time slipping away (‘Why are there so many cursed metaphors?’) surfing through florist after florist for the perfect selection (Jay had always loved red—they’d joke about what color their suits would be if they where one of the richy-rich— also the zinnias where weirdly hard to find), though honestly there weren’t as many florists as there typically would be for a city as big as Gotham.

‘Probably Ivy’s fault’ he thinks tiredly, glancing at the alarm 1:07 seems to jeer from its spot on the bedside table.

With a big stretch and a groan, he decides with a mutter, “welp. ‘M already dead anyways”, rolls off his bed and heads to the balcony for a smoke.

Just as he stands, a ding sounds from his phone.

And for one, ancient’s forsaken moment, his stupid, hopeful mind thinks ‘it’s him’-

It’s squashed the the parasite it is.

Jazz, checking in, seeing if he’s alright. He flips back down on his bed, send a quick reply, how he’s turnin’ in early. He doesn’t bother trying to say that the Gala ended early- even hundreds of miles away Jazz could sniff his bs.

He also should maybe sleep. She concludes the same.

And eventually (but not peacefully, never peacefully) he drifts into the darkness.

——————————————————————————————————————

The morning is bright- because idiot tired Danny didn’t bother to close the fucking curtains.

Thankfully, Gotham isn’t exactly early riser either (smog doesn’t let much sun in until it’s bright enough to stab through the cloud coverage). This allowed a peaceful and lazy wake up all up until the Thud Thud on his door. Clock reads 8:23.

‘Never too early for the bullshit is it, dear universe?’ He thinks bitterly, dragging himself out of bed, mentally trying to prepare for whatever this could be.

There, as expected, stands Vlad, with his usual smug self standing straight with a slight smirk- until he sees an unkempt Danny, still in his suit and that smirk drops to a distasteful sneer.

With an upturned nose, “Disgraceful, anyways, I’m headed off to a business meeting elsewhere in the city. Plan leaves at 3 o’clock.”

Danny gives a slight nod, and immediately shuts the door again. That enough frootloop, especially since he hadn’t even had caffeine yet.

The promise of drugs (the legal kind) has his mind finally figuring out a course of action: shower, dress, boy flowers … then a visit to Jay. A proper visit.

So, with a list of tasks in mind, he sets off to do just that

Unbeknownst to him, a certain revenant was just waking up after not falling asleep 3 hours ago.

I desperately want to keep writing- but my shift starts at 7:00 am tomorrow and it’s already 2:24 am! Plz continue this!

also quick headcannon(s)

Danny still smokes the same cig brand Jay use to carry, the first cig he ever smoked, Jay’s brand

Jay is heartbroken at this broken echo of who he knows and loves (/pl)(present tense because angst) crumbled by grief, pit back together given hope just to have it all ripped away again

Alfred wants to see his honorary grandkid

Since Young Danny insisted on helping with dishes

Aaaand it’s now 2:30am

I’m probably screwed a wee bit. Oops!

*2:32

Childhood Friends Danny and Jason

(cw underage smoking / smoking as a form of bonding) (cw Jason thinking Danny killed himself but its only for a moment) (cw depictions of murderous intent? Danny wants to murder the Joker and he's a little descriptive about it

This is… aha. Massive. Word count check: 9k+

this has probably been done before but hey, everyone loves a good trope and I wanted to share my take on this idea. 👏👏 So, Danny Fenton and Jason Todd being childhood friends. The Fentons lived in Crime Alley for a good long while during Danny's childhood. Nobody wanted to fund their research and Jack and Maddie struggled to keep any form of work for a multitude of reasons. Jack worked in construction due to his big build and Maddie had another job elsewhere.

Danny and Jason were friends during that time, really great friends. I'm not super solid on how they met yet but I do know it involves Danny committing petty crime and Jason deciding to jump in and help when he sees Danny struggling. Danny was distrustful (as all crime alley kids ought to be) but they eventually became thick as thieves, committing petty crime together.

While it's all too easy to make Danny the weaker one of the two with Jason protecting him, I actually really like the idea that they protected each other. Growing up (essentially) on the streets means Danny forcibly had to grow a backbone unless he wanted to get trampled all over. He is just as willing to scuffle with the bigger kids as Jason is, and he and Jason regularly fought each other whenever they needed to let off steam, or just because. They were a duo, having each other's backs in tough situations.

(Sometimes the pair of them would sneak out at night and try and get a glimpse of Batman and Robin while they soared through the air. It was like a game between the two of them to see who could spot the dynamic duo first. When they were a little older, Jason would steal his dad's cigarettes and share them with Danny while they searched for Batman and Robin)

So when Danny has to move away when they're eleven years old, it's pretty safe to say that Jason didn't speak to him for a week afterwards. Nothing Danny did could persuade him to otherwise, even when Danny insisted that it wasn't his fault and that he didn't want to move away either, but he didn't have a choice in the matter.

When the week was over, Jason climbed through Danny's window and sat in his room, dead silent and looking upset. he didn't speak until Danny fished out a stolen pack of cigarettes from his bed and handed one to Jason.

(It was a ritual they had where if one of them was upset about something but wasn't saying anything, the other one could then hand them a cigarette -- whether it be the one they were using or a new one -- and that would be an open invitation for the person to vent. The other one who handed him the cigarette wouldn't speak until the venter handed back the cigarette. Then back and forth it would go until the cigarette was gone.)

Jason ranted about how pissed he was about Danny moving, and they promised to try and stay in touch after he leaves. Neither of them had phones, but Danny was determined to send him a letters.

Danny moves to Amity Park and it's... an adjustment, that's for sure. He's angry, grumpy, upset, and every other negative feeling under the sun. He was going to a new middle school with new people he didn't know, away from all of the people he did know and away from his best friend.

(He does however keep his word about sending letters, and mails one out to Jason at the first opportunity.)

He refuses to get along with anyone, butts heads with the teachers, is combative, rude, and openly smokes in class -- which gets him plenty of detentions and a bad reputation. He speaks in a thick Gotham street accent and wears hand-me-down clothes that are too big and baggy on him. (His parents have yet to replace any of their wardrobes as they settle into their new life, and Danny is hesitant to spend the money to get new clothes.)

He only manages to befriend Sam and Tucker because one of the football kids was bullying Tucker and Danny stepped in. It was some blond jerk named Dash and when Dash threw the first punch, Danny broke his nose. Tucker found him later that day and reluctantly thanked him for his help.

Sam and Danny do not get along for the longest time. Sam questions Danny about his upbringing, his accent, his smoking. She judges him for talking back to the teachers despite doing it herself and for ruining his lungs with cigarettes. Danny tells her to fuck off, and when she tries to judge him and Tucker for not being vegetarian, he calls her a privileged brat.

Sam doesn't even look at him for two weeks after, and Danny refuses to apologize. Tucker is caught between a rock and a hard place as his old friend and new friend are feuding with each other.

They... sort it out eventually.

Danny and Jason send each other letters near religiously. Danny complains about Amity Park, and Jason complains about how Crime Alley isn't the same without him. Danny talks about the school and what he's learned, about Sam and Tucker, and how he's been getting into the astronomy books in the library. He steals Jason a book and sends it to him.

When Jason tells Danny that he was adopted by Bruce Wayne, Danny calls bullshit. There's no fucking way Bruce Wayne would even look at Crime Alley, regardless of his charity efforts towards it. But when he checks Gotham news later that week, he's hit in the face with every single news article announcing Bruce Wayne's newest ward; Jason Todd.

Cue freaking out. Jason talks all about living in Wayne Manor and what it's like there. He says that there's a monster library in a part of the house that Bruce says he has free reign over, and that Jason can have anything to eat as long as he asks Alfred to make it and it isn't a desert, and that he has his own monster-sized room that he got to pick out himself and decorate.

(When they both get phones, the first thing either of them do is add each other's numbers.)

When Sam complains about having to go to a Wayne Gala that her parents are dragging her to one weekend, the first thing Danny asks is if he can go with. It surprises Sam and Tucker; Danny was the last person they would have thought wanted to go with. HE hates the rich even more than Sam does. Danny stands firm in his decision, and refuses to elaborate.

"Besides." He says to Sam, with whom he's begun to get along with via 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend'. "Would you rather go alone or with someone you can tolerate?"

She brings him with and convinces her parents to allow Danny to come along, citing that she'll be on her best behavior if they do. They agree, and buy Danny a suit when he says that he doesn't have one of his own.

(He discovers that he hates wearing suit jackets and ties, but vests he doesn't mind. He doesn't like that he has to comb his hair back, but he does to make Sam's parents happy. They give him a crash course in etiquette that Danny's going to forget the next day, and soon enough off they go in a private jet to Gotham)

(he does not tell Jason he's coming.)

he feels mischievous and nervous as they touch down, his stomach swirling as Sam's parents usher them to a high-profile hotel that Danny's only ever dreamed about going into. He feels largely out of place as they walk through the lobby, and falls back on old habits: square shoulders, set jaw, make yourself look like the biggest person in the room.

They get ready in the hotel room, Sam's parents primp and preen for the night incoming, and Sam is dragged into it by her mother. Danny does only what's required of him, and fiddles with the sleeves of his fresh-ironed button-down that's been tailored to his body. He's itching for a cigarette, and didn't bring any with.

Sam's dad helps him with his tie, a bout of kindness that Danny doesn't think is one. Just obligation to prevent Danny from looking like a mess. Sam pesters him again about wanting to come, and his reasons for it, and Danny keeps mum.

He's stone-faced with anxiety as they get closer to the gala, and before they leave the limousine the Mansons rented Sam links arms with him. A form of solidarity that Danny needs as he squeezes their arms together and smiles weakly at her.

The paparazzi are loud, bright, and demanding, shouting questions over questions at them like overlapping tidal waves. Danny ignores them all and focuses on the front doors instead. Sam's parents whisper at the stairs that they are to greet the Waynes first, and Danny's heart leaps to his throat.

His heart is in his ears as they drift closer, Mister Wayne is preoccupied with another rich couple, smiling that charming billionaire smile that Danny saw on every billboard in Gotham, and then some in Amity Park. Getting so close to him feels unreal.

And there by his side is the one and only Jason Todd, who isn't even trying to hide the bored look on his face as he watches Bruce interact with the other adults. He's gotten taller in the year they've been away, and healthier. His hair looks like its been cut professionally and he doesn't look as street kid skinny.

Danny's arm, hooked with Sam's, tightens up, and he resists the urge to rush forward and hug Jason. He watches Jason's eyes sweep left, away from him, and then right, towards him. The air stills for a moment as their eyes lock.

Danny grins toothily at him, lopsided and playful in nature, and sees the moment Jason processes the sight before him. His arm starts slipping out of Sam's at the same time as an ecstatic smile stretches across Jason's face.

His lopsided grin fills out on the other end. "DANNY!" Jason yells, cutting off whatever Bruce Wayne and startling everyone within earshot. There's barely a moment for Bruce to look down when Jason shoves past him and runs at Danny.

Danny yanks his arm out of Sam's, "JASON!" He yells with just as much enthusiasm, and Jason nearly topples them right over when he collides with Danny. His arms wrap around Danny's shoulders, holding onto him tightly, and they're both laughing, spinning around like tops out of joy.

"You didn't tell me you were coming!" Jason cries, sounding accusing. Danny hugs him just as tightly, and laughs when Jason pulls away momentarily to punch his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" He defends, laughing between words as their spinning comes to a stop. They're both reluctant to pull apart, but they do and clutch the sleeves of their elbows tightly. "How could my best friend be adopted by the Bruce Wayne and have me not come confirm it with my own two eyes?"

"I sent you newspaper clippings!" Jason says, narrowing his eyes while his smile betrays his face. Danny quietly notices that his Gotham street accent is faded slightly.

"Oh that's what it was?" Danny's grin turns again, edging into a smirk. He feigns innocence, "I thought that was fire kindling." He has the newspaper clippings hung on the corkboard in his room, proud beyond words about his best friend.

Jason punches him in the shoulder again, hard enough to leave a bruise. "You jackass." He says, ignoring Danny's laughter even when he's holding back his own.

There's a soft, sharp clearing of someone's throat, breaking their attentions away from each other to the one that made the noise.

Bruce Wayne was a tall man, taller than Danny expected, and he looks exactly like his billboards. If less promiscuous than his perfume ads. Danny expects him to be upset with them both for disrupting his pretty rich gala, but instead he just looks gently amused, with an arched eyebrow. Overall though, he just looks fond.

Danny would be the first to admit that Bruce had taken in Jason as a charity case, something to fill the void after his other kid Dick Grayson finally moved out. But Danny’s a good judge of character — or he likes to assume he is — and those are not the eyes of a man who would take Jason in as a charity case. Those are the eyes of a man who actually, genuinely, cares about one Jason Todd.

The wriggly protective thing settles in his chest.

He doesn’t let go of Jason, but he does twist his smile into something a little more polite. Mister Wayne’s eyebrow arches higher, and he turns his blue-blue eyes onto Jason. “Who’s this, Jason?” He has that fancy Gotham Elite accent -- something that sounds like a mix between old transatlantic and faintly British -- that Danny's only heard in passing when he and Jason snuck up to the nicer parts of Gotham.

Jason stares at Mister Wayne, his grip on Danny tightens as his eyes flick to the other onlookers in the room. “This is Danny, B.” He says once his eyes turn back to Mister Wayne. “We grew up in Crime Alley together, he moved to Illinois last year."

Danny can see the uncomfortable expressions cross every rich person's face, murmurs sweeping across the room as soon their uncomfortable gazes turned judgmental and flinty. He's kept track of the tabloids after Jason's adoption, the ones calling him a charity case and looking down on him for being a street kid.

He inches a little closer to Jason, straightening up instinctively, as if they were back in Crime Alley and facing a pack of kids that didn't like them. He can see Sam's surprised expression from the corner of his eye -- he never told Tucker or Sam about where he grew up, although he's sure they had their suspicions.

He looks back to Mister Wayne and meets his blue-blue eyes, his smile has slowly begun to fade. Mister Wayne doesn't miss a beat however, and his smile stays plastered to his face. If anything, it gets a little softer, a little wider. "It's nice to meet you Danny -- Daniel? I'm so glad that Jason has a friend here." He holds out a hand.

Danny eyes him unsurely, and then takes his hand. "It's jus' Danny, Mister Wayne." He says, some of his old accent slipping through as he shook his hand firmly. He would have done it harder, but this was Jason's new guardian, and from Jason's letters he didn't sound too bad. "It's, uh, nice to meet you too. Jason's told me lots about you."

Mister Wayne's brows jump momentarily, he looks intrigued. He looks between Danny and Jason, and claps his hands together softly. "Well, Jay, how would you like to stay with Danny for a while, hm? I'm sure you too have a lot to catch up on."

Hope simmers in Danny's heart, and he glances to Jason to see that same hope on his face. "Really?" He asks, and Mister Wayne nods with a laugh.

"Of course! How could I keep two friends apart? Go on ahead, chum. I'll come get you when the gala ends."

And just like that, Bruce Wayne leaves Jason with Danny, diving back into a conversation with one of the rich gothamites and taking the attention with it as if he were the sun and everyone else a planet orbiting him.

Danny and Jason share grins, and throw their arms around each other with laughter. Danny is on cloud nine, pressing his nose into Jason's shoulder and breathing him in, fingers digging into the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in his jacket.

Sam demands answers when they finally, for real this time, pull apart. Why didn't he tell her that he was friends with Jason Todd!? Danny slings his arm around Jason's shoulders and keeps him close, and tells her that it was because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Sam's parents have unreadable expressions on their faces, part greed -- Danny is their in to the elusive Bruce Wayne -- and part disdain -- a Gotham street rat. Danny ignores them, they're unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

He introduces Sam to Jason, and Jason to Sam. And off they go to a corner of the room near the buffet table where they can eat and shit talk everyone else in the room in peace.

At some point in the night Sam is called back to her parents to meet some other fancy rich kids her parents want her to get along with, and Danny and Jason go off to the west end balcony to avoid anyone who may try and approach the new Gotham ward.

Danny hops up onto the balcony railing, kicking his feet as Jason pulls a cigarette pack out of his inner jacket pocket, and grins. "Don't tell Bruce," he says, handing the box to Danny first. "He's been trying to get me to quit."

"Hah!" Danny takes one just as Jason slips out a lighter. "That sounds like Jazz. She's been trying to get me to stop since we moved to Amity." Granted, she's been trying ever since she found out before they moved, but now she was even more insistent. "She hasn't found my stash yet."

At the end of the night when the Mansons are leaving and Danny has to leave with them, he walks back to Mister Wayne with Jason to tell him that he's leaving. Mister Wayne mourns his going, and tells him that he's always able to come visit.

"Any friend of Jason's is always welcome to the manor." He says with a blinding grin, pulling Jason close to his side and squeezing him tight. Jason's nose scrunches up, but he doesn't push away.

It becomes a new routine for them. The Mansons are all too happy to bring him with to the Wayne Galas (of which they start receiving more invites to due to their connection with Danny) and Danny is all too happy to spend the evening with Jason again. No matter what, they always end up on the balcony at some point in the night.

And, eventually, Danny is invited to stay at Wayne Manor either for a weekend or for a break. He jumps at the chance when winter break rolls around and his parents start their debate over Santa Claus again.

Danny and Jason stay up late into the night talking or playing video games during their sleepovers, and in the warmer nights they climb out and onto the roof to stargaze. Danny points out constellations - - things he can find in neither Gotham or Amity -- and rambles on and on about space.

There are plenty of times during the Wayne Galas that the event gets attacked by a rogue. More often than he'd like he loses Jason in the crowd, and has later stopped Robin or Batman in his panic to find him.

The first time it happened, he was in tears with terror. He grabbed onto Batman's cape, stopping the man from going back in as he babbled that his Jason Todd was still inside, that he disappeared during the chaos and he couldn't find him. Batman took his hands and calmly told him that he'd find Jason for him, and that he was sure he was okay, but he needed to calm down.

He found Jason later once everything had calmed down, and he screamed at him for disappearing during a rogue attack, if he ever did it again he'll kill him. Then he cried.

The second time it happened, Danny didn't even realize that Jason was gone until everything was already over. They'd been separated before the attack happened. He stopped Robin and Batman before they could leave, trying to keep his breathing under control as he asked again, if they had seen Jason Todd.

"That- that asshole keeps fucking ditching me when these things happen." His voice has an embarrassing wobble in it. "Please-- please tell me you've seen him, that he's alright."

Robin this time steps up to reassure him, that Jason Todd was out of the building. He got him out. "He's probably looking for you too, uhhh..."

"Danny" Danny says, and eyes him up and down. "You're the new Robin right?"

Robin stilled up, and Danny could understand it a little. He'd seen the thoughts on the new Robin online. He wasn't very popular at first. Robin nods curtly, and Batman was shuffled a little closer to him, almost protectively.

Danny grins at him. "Cool." He says, "Me and Jay used to sneak out onto the rooftops sometimes to try and spot Batman and the first Robin, we made it a game." He holds out a fistbump, "Thanks for doing what you do, man. I might not live in Gotham anymore, but I mean it. You're a living legend."

Robin looks like there's something stuck in his throat, and after a beat he returns the fistbump tentatively. "Th- uh, thanks." He stumbles out awkwardly, and then turns away, "Me and B- uh, better go."

Before Danny could even respond, Robin already had his grapple in hand and was grappling away. "You too, Batman." Danny says before Batman can follow.

When Danny sees Jason after that, and weight lifts off his chest and he hits him in the arm again. And then complains that he should have gotten Batman and Robin's autograph, it would have been epic.

By the fifth time it happens, Danny is cussing up a storm when Robin saves him, cursing out Jason and claiming that he needs to put that boy on a fucking leash. "We're a duo!" He scowls when Robin gets him outside, "I got his back, he has mine! I can't have his back when he's got no back to fucking have."

The eighth time it happens, Danny gets held hostage by one of the henchmen. He's become a recognizable friend of the Waynes, and when the Waynes are nowhere to be found, then the next best thing was up to offer. Danny isn't even mad this time around -- just relieved that Jason was fucking off somewhere where he couldn't get hurt.

Robin, however, seemed furious when he arrived, and broke the hostager's jaw with a single flying kick to the face. Jason found him rapidly quick soon after the situation had settled, and apologized over and over again.

Danny slings an arm around his shoulder and laughs that it was fine, Robin saved the day! His legs were shaking with the worn off adrenaline, something he tried to hide from Jason. "I'm just glad it was me instead of you, Jay." He grins. Jason looks like he swallowed a toad.

Jason stops disappearing as often after that, sticking close to Danny's side until the attack was over.

When Danny is fourteen, Jason dies, and his world unravels.

He calls the manor on a late night in April after Jason had stopped responding to his texts. Danny knew that Jason was just recently in a fight with Bruce, but he knows that Bruce loves Jason. He would know where he is, right?

When he calls, Bruce answers with a hoarse "hello?" as if he'd been crying all day, and Danny's blood turns to ice. The anxiety he'd been feeling beforehand doubles in size, and he feels himself stammering.

"Mister- uh- Mister Wayne? Um, I'm calling because Jason--" he hears Bruce inhale sharply on the other line, and his anxiety skyrockets into fear. "--hasn't been answering any of my texts and- and I'm gettin' real worried."

There's silence on the other end, and Danny feels a rock forming in his throat, gross and heavy like he was on the verge of throwing up. "Mister- Bruce? Mister B?"

There's a shaky breath, and then Bruce's voice crackles through the phone. "Um-- Jason, he, he's--" there's a sound like rustling, "he's been killed."

Danny's vision whites out with skyrocketing terror, his mind skidding to a stop. His body rapidly grows hot, and then chills, like a blacksmith striking a heated weapon. "What?"

When the phone call ends, Danny screams himself hoarse. Jazz and his parents come running into his room, his parents equipped with ghost weapons. Instead, they find Danny curled up in his bed, sobbing hoarsely.

Danny almost -- almost -- refuses to attend the funeral, nearly paralyzed with grief. Jazz coaxes him to go, to find closure if anything else, and he drags himself out of bed to go.

He feels numb the entire time. It's closed casket, so he can't even see him for one last time before Jason is buried in the ground. He's silent, and if he think he looks bad, then Bruce looks even worse, like he hadn't slept since Jason died and worse.

Danny grabs his sleeve before he leaves, and when Bruce turns to him with a dull look in his once vibrant eyes, he clings to him tightly. And cries. Bruce clings back just as tight, Danny feels tears drip into his hair.

"Who did it." Danny whispers, voice too hurt to speak any louder, when he pulls back. His fingers curl around Bruce's jacket tightly, desperately. His eyes hurt with tears. "You said he was murdered, B. Please, who did it."

Bruce looks down at him, and for the first time it really does feel like he's looking down at him. His face is blank, and his eyes close in grief. There is no answer, a silent no.

Danny's face twists up all ugly like, and he shakes Bruce's jacket. "Bruce, please. Tell me who did it."

Bruce refuses, his face full of grief.

Danny never returns to Gotham.

Prior to Jason's death and post their reunion, Danny had slowly begun to improve in school. He started caring more, he was putting in more effort, he was doing his homework and was actually enjoying class. There was the bullying from Dash and the A-Listers, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, he was ignoring them for the most part.

Come Monday after the funeral, and Danny breaks Dash's nose when he starts up with his shit. He withdrew into himself, and it was like he was back to square one again, except this time it was much worse.

Everyone knew Danny was close friends with Jason Todd. So when news of his death finally reached the ears of Amity Park, the students of Casper High School kept their distance.

That following Friday, Danny dies in the portal and comes back. A month later he becomes Phantom, the ghost-fighting ghost. the ghost Phantom wears his hazmat suit partially undone, showing a tanktop he didn't wear in death under the initial suit while the sleeves are tied around his waist. Vicious, glowing lichtenburg scars travel up his arm and neck and torso, covering half of his face while a pair of scientist-like goggles covers his eyes. He's bitter and angry, showing off his death.

Look at me, Phantom's form says, I am a dead child. Look at me look at me look at me. Mourn me. I am a dead child. LOOK AT ME. MOURN ME.

A few weeks later he enters the ghost zone and realizes that he could find Jason. And he spends a weekend scouring the ghost zone for him. He finds Gotham in the zone, and rather than finding Jason, he finds Robin.

Danny didn't know he'd died. And he flies towards him, asks him if he's seen Jason, reveals that it's him, Danny Fenton. Robin stares at him, mouth agape, and peels off his mask to reveal Jason Todd.

They both cry, and when Danny tells him how he died, Jason looks pale in the face. "You didn't- you didn't kill yourself because of me, did you?"

Danny fervently denies it. No, no. He didn't, he didn't. It was an accident. Totally unrelated. But enough about that, what the hell happened? Bruce wouldn't tell him anything at the funeral.

Jason clams up, his ghostly face losing its color, and Danny curses himself. He tells Jason that he doesn't have to tell him, he doesn't have to say anything. They sit in silence.

"It was the Joker." Jason says.

That's all Danny needs to know. He nods quietly. 'I'll kill him.' He thinks to himself, a stubborn set in his jaw. "Okay."

It had always been a plan; a thought wriggling in the back of Danny's mind ever since Bruce told him that Jason had been killed.

Not died. Killed.

Danny wanted the fucker dead the moment he realized it. He just needed to know who did it. He thinks Bruce knew it too, could probably see it in his eyes the moment Danny asked him who did it. He isn't sure if he should hate Bruce more for keeping it from him now.

They spend hours together, just soaking in each other's presence. Danny tries to take him through the ghost portal, to bring him back to the land of the living. But much like Kitty, Jason's form is tied to the zone. Danny promises to visit every day.

And he does. Or he tries to. The grief doesn't go away, but with the comfort of knowing that Jason was on the other side, Danny feels a little better. He tells Jason about being Phantom, and Jason helps train him. It feels like they're kids again and are fighting just because they want to. Its a bout of familiarity in a place that feels unfamiliar. All they need are cigarettes.

And then six months later he loses him again. Danny scours the ghost zone for him for the second time, and this time he doesn't find him.

His haunt is still in the zone though. He didn't move on. He's still here, somewhere.

Danny is convinced that Jason was in the Elsewhereness, and looks for him in between ghost fights and his social life. He visits Jason's haunt every day, knowing that Jason should be able to feel when another ghost enters his home. He does not show up.

(He never thinks that Jason came back to life, and Jason doesn't remember his time in the ghost zone)

When Danny is nineteen, Vlad Masters blackmails him into going to another Wayne Gala. Begrudgingly, Danny goes. He's taller than he used to be, having inherited his dad's monstrous height and his mom's leanness. He has piercings, some of them he got after a lost bet from Sam and Tucker, and he's given himself an undercut.

He still prefers vests over suit jackets, and he still smokes. A little less than before, he sneaks a pack into his pocket before he leaves, along with a lighter. Vlad gives him a dirty look the whole time - he knows.

"Don't give me that look." "That stuff kills, you know" "I'm already dead."

It's like deja vu when he arrives; an awful bout of deja vu, that is. The paparazzi is still as bright and loud and annoying as it always was, and they don't recognize him at all. Something he thinks of as a soft mercy up until one of the reporters asks Vlad who he is.

Vlad smiles and tugs Danny into the camera frame, "Why, this is my godson!" He crows, and shoots Danny a look that is downright smug I'm sure many of you may know him as Daniel Fenton?"

If looks could kill, Vlad would be ash. Danny isn't quite sure why he still agreed to this -- blackmail or no. He felt itchy being in Gotham; jumpy. He's never forgotten his vow to kill the Joker, in fact it was something he still desperately wants.

But the threat of Rath, the name he chose for his evil future self, haunts him just as much as his murderous intent. If he kills the Joker, would he stop?

Danny's almost afraid of what he'll do if he ever lays eyes on the Joker in person. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from wrapping his hands around that stupid clown's neck and watching the light leave his eyes.

He pushes the thoughts to the side, and smiles lopsidedly as cameras and microphones flood his face, reporters yelling over themselves as they clamor to get a shot of the old Wayne family friend.

Danny turns and walks inside without answering a single question, flexing his fingers in and out of fists. Vlad gracefully hurries after him, and Danny can hear his glare burning into his back.

"You told me to come," Danny hisses to him once he's beside him, meeting Vlad's gaze piercingly, "not that I should play nice."

"Don't embarrass me, Daniel." Vlad hisses back, trying to look the upmost calm as eyes turn onto them. "I'll make you regret it."

"You embarrass yourself, fruitloop." Danny shoots back, walking away before Vlad could get a retort in. He sees Bruce Wayne on the other side of the room.

His heart seizes with nostalgia. He hasn't seen Bruce since Jason's funeral, hasn't spoken to him either. He doesn't know how to feel about him, but he'd been keeping tabs on Bruce both as himself and as Batman.

Danny's feet carry him forwards before he can think about it, silently weaving between the throng of rich people vying for his attention. It's only when he gets closer does he see the little shadow clinging to his side: Damian Wayne.

The newest little bird, Danny realizes, and stifles a smile at the surly expression on Damian's face as two older women coo over him. He reminded him of Sam, who had long since stopped coming to these things the moment she was able to.

The feeling of eyes on him turns Danny's attention away from Damian, and instead finds them back on Bruce's, who stares at him with a little furrow between his brows. As if he recognized him, but he wasn't sure from there.

Danny grins crookedly the moment he's within earshot. "Mister B!" He exclaims, slipping into what remained of his Gotham street accent. Recognition flashed in Bruce's eyes, and the man smiled widely. "Long time no see, old man."

"Danny," Bruce says, his name breathing out like relief. He slips between the crowd surrounding him -- who are now watching Danny -- and pulls Danny into a close hug. "It's good to see you again."

Danny hesitates for a moment -- he wasn't expecting Bruce to hug him -- and returns the gesture. "It's good to see you too, Bruce." He admits. Bruce was still using the same cologne that he did when Danny was a kid. He blinks heavily.

He pulls away quickly, clapping Bruce lightly on the shoulder as Damian quickly latches onto his father's side again. Damian glares daggers at him, fingers digging into Bruce's pantlegs like a possessive little kid.

He made Danny's ghost sense tingle in the back of his throat, creeping up slowly like a spider before stopping suddenly before it reached his mouth. It hummed, and then disappeared.

Danny smothered a frown. Since when did Batman work with ectoplasm? “This must be Damian." He says to Bruce, and holds out a hand to Damian -- he doesn't crouch, he had a feeling that Damian would be less than appreciative if he did that. "You've really expanded the nest since the last time I saw you."

Damian's eyes narrow at him. Bruce laughs lightly, "Ah yes, Tim is around here somewhere. I'm sure you'll see him soon."

"Father," Damian says, his voice layered with an accent. He glares up at Danny with piercing green eyes. "How do you know this man?" He sounds distrustful, Danny respects that and drops his hand.

"This is Danny Fenton." Bruce says, and Danny lets him introduce him. "He was Jason's friend."

An expression similar to bewilderment flashes briefly over Damian's face, and he eyes Danny in disbelief. "Todd had friends?"

Oh. So that's how he wanted to be. Bruce had a little elitist on his hands. Danny's smile drops like a deadweight, and any lingering endearment he had hardens like ice in his chest, fury slowly taking its place like a flickering candlelight. "It's not polite to speak ill of the dead, Mister Wayne." He says coldly, his voice made of chips of ice.

Damian blinks, the disbelief disappearing from his face. The closest thing to a recoil Danny thinks he's going to get. He doesn't care. No one speaks about his best friend that way.

"I grew up with Jason, actually." He continues, breathing in slow and deep, trying to keep the ghostly possessive-protective-rage under control. "I was his best friend."

He turns, almost robotically, towards Bruce, and tries not to look so angry. "I'm going to go find Tim, Mister B." He says, and tries to offer up a weak smile for the man. It comes out as a grimace instead.

"And..." he pauses, flicks his eyes towards Damian, and then looks at Bruce. "I'll... try and keep in contact, B. Tell Dick I said hi, alright? I'll see you in a little bit."

Bruce nods, looking vaguely disappointed and sighing slow through his nose. Danny walks away as Bruce turns to address his youngest, and doesn't bother listening in on what he has to say.

He does, eventually, find Tim Drake. He spots him in a crowd instantly - it's hard not to, and he makes his way over to him. He's not sure Tim Drake would recognize him, Bruce didn't at first and Danny had been around him constantly.

Except Tim Drake does recognize him, much to Danny's surprise. They lock eyes and Tim immediately makes his way over to him. "Danny Fenton!" He says and stops in front of him, "What a surprise, we weren't expecting you tonight."

"Tim Drake," Danny replies, smiling a little as his earlier hurt begins to fade away. "I'm surprised you know me."

"There are pictures of you in the manor with Jason." Tim explains, stuffing his hands into his pockets with an easy-going smile. "It's hard not to know you."

"It’s hard not to know you too,” Danny retorts, a sly smile slowly spreading across his face. “Although you’re a lot taller than you used to be, when you were lurking around Bruce and Jason and I.”

Ohhh Danny recognizes him alright. One part due to all the news articles and tabloids on him after he was adopted by Bruce, and the other part because he remembers the little shadow lurking near plants pots and table legs that used to follow him and Jason around at galas just like these.

Knowing that Jason was Robin, he wonders if Jason knew he was there too.

The effect is immediate: Tim’s eyes grow comically large, and a red tint glows at the tip of his ears as he shrinks back like a turtle trying to hide into its shell. “You— you noticed that!?” He hisses.

“I did!” Danny grins, large and wide, stifling a laugh as the red tint spreads over Tim’s cheeks and nose. He looks mortified. Danny coos. “Aww, I thought it was adorable that Jason had a little shadow. I’m sure he would have loved you if you had just come over and said hi. He had a big soft spot for kids.”

Tim snorts and it— it almost sounds derisive? “Sure he would.” He looks sad, and the mirth in Danny’s chest shrivels up like a flower without light. The smile fades from his face, and all that’s left is a strange, staunch reminder that Danny and Bruce weren’t the only ones that probably mourned.

He touches Tim’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to look as apologetic as he feels. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m sorry, I miss him too.” Like a fucking limb he missed him.

There’s something that flickers in Tim’s eyes, passing through too fast for Danny to realize what it is. He assumes its gratefulness, because Tim relaxes a little and offers him a weak little smile. “I wish I had talked to him.”

Danny sees an out and takes it, he forces out a short laugh, grinning widely. “I can tell you all about him if you’d like,” he offers, “I told Mister B I’d keep in touch anyways. I’ve missed him and Alfred quite a lot in the last few years.”

“Not Dick?”

“That dipstick wasn’t around often enough for me to form any sort of emotional attachment to him.” Danny says in a half-complaining tone, placing his hands on his hips. “Although I did like his puns.”

Tim snickers, “I’ll tell him you said that then. Nobody likes his puns.”

“Go on ahead,” Danny grins, laughter swirling in his chest and making his core thrum with warmth. Damn, he’s missed this family. “I stand by my decision. Puns are funny.”

“Let’s get a photo then.” Tim says with a hand already fishing in his pocket for his phone. “He’ll be devastated to know that you were here and he didn’t get to see you.”

“Sure.” And Danny sidles on next to Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders — and making a noise of surprise when his arm was able to fit comfortably — as if he was just resting it on a counter.

He totally forgot how tall he was compared to Tim. Forgot that he’d been looking down the entire time they’d been talking. “Why’d I get my dad’s height.” He complains, and bends his knees as Tim raises the phone with the front-facing camera on.

Tim snickers under his breath, and takes the picture while they’re both smiling wide. Danny immediately stands up, and peers over Tim’s shoulders to look at the picture.

It’s a good one, with the fringe of Danny’s curls falling slightly over his left eye and making the dimple on his right cheek more prominent. He could see the barely-there smattering of freckles he had across his nose, the ones that became more prominent when the sun was out. His smile was lopsided, Danny’s favorite kind of smile.

He whistles lowly, “That’s a good one,” he says aloud, and smiles impishly at Tim when he looks at him. “You should send that one, I look hot in it.”

Tim snorts, his ears reddening as he looks down at his phone. “Yeah sure, no problem.” He says quickly, and Danny looks away when he pulls up the messenger app. He’s never felt comfortable looking over people’s shoulders when they were on their phone.

“I’m gonna go take a smoke break.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and curls his fingers around the box and lighter inside. “I’ll—“

“Be on the west-end balcony.” Tim finishes, the red in his ears darkening as he glances up from his phone to smile embarrassedly. “I know.”

Danny snorts, “Okay.” His voice is thick with amusement. “Let me know how Dipstick reacts, alright?” He backs up slowly, awaiting Tim’s response. Tim merely waves a hand at him, a weak gesture of “yeah yeah” that makes Danny grin before he flips around and marches towards his favorite smoking balcony.

———————

(Tim pulls up the family group chat and loads the selfie into the text bar. His face feels warm with embarrassment even as his thumbs fly across the screen.

Tim: look who i found at the latest charity gala :) [image]

Hee awaits eagerly a response, and finds he doesn’t have to wait long. Dick’s thought bubble appears on screen, then Cass’s — of which it only exists for a moment before disappearing.

Dick: holy shit, is that who i think it is?

Tim responds quickly, and his message sends.

Tim: yep. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks your jokes are funny.

Dick: they are funny

Tim rolls his eyes and thinks for a moment, really thinks. He weighs his pros and cons. And then his fingers fly across the screen again.

Tim: hey Jason are you not gonna say anything?

There’s no response for all of thirty seconds — of which it stretches on to an uncomfortably long minute — and then Jason’s thought bubble appears.

Jason: what do i have to say to a bunch of idiots blowing up my phone in the middle of patrol?

Tim: harsh. do you recognize the guy in the photo?

Jason’s response is instant. Too fast for him to have actually looked at the photo itself. He’s just trying to spite Tim then. Tim doesn’t care, he has the upper hand here

Jason: no and I don’t care, i have patrol

Tim knows he didn’t look at the photo, and yet he can’t help stifle a shit-eating smile and feign innocence

Tim: really? You and Danny used to be so close, color me surprised

His teeth dig into his lower lip, he doesn’t need to in order to hide a smile. But it gives him something to do. Jason is worryingly silent for a long, long time, and Tim can almost imagine him staring long and hard at the selfie. Tim knows he will be later.

Finally, Jason’s text bubble shows up. It exists for a long time, before finally Tim’s phone buzzes with his message alert.

Jason: that’s danny?

Tim feels all too gleeful. Smugness swirling in his chest like kicked up sand as he types his response: yep! Apparently he showed up today, although I’m not sure with who since I don’t see Miss Manson around here.

Damian: Father says to get off your phone, Drake. We are at a Gala and your behavior is most unbecoming

Tim: can it demon spawn, I was just telling Jason that his friend Danny is here

Damian: He can’t be too important if he doesn’t even know Todd is alive

Tim: how would you know that?

Damian: When Father introduced him as Todd’s friend, I expressed my surprise that Todd even had friends, considering how unpleasant he can be. Fenton became quite cross with me after that and quickly excused himself thereafter

Dick: you said what!? Damian that’s not okay

Damian: Father made that quite clear after Fenton left in a huff. My mistake for thinking that Todd had told his ‘supposed best friend’ that he was alive.

Dick: he didn’t even tell us we were alive at first

Damian: He did eventually, didn’t he? Clearly Todd doesn’t seem to care too much about Fenton if he hasn’t even informed him of his being alive at this point.

Jason’s thought bubble quickly pops up, and then dissipates, then pops up again. Tim quickly pockets his phone before he can see Jason’s response. He doesn’t feel smug anymore, just uncomfortable.)

———————

Stepping out onto the west-end balcony feels like a blast from the past. A painful one at that. Danny’s fingers dig into his cigarette pack, and he pulls it out with a sense of bittersweet familiarity.

It feels like a lifetime ago that he once stood here with Jason. The package clunks dully as his fingers scrape against the side, and he fishes a cigarette out of the box before stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Quite the night isn’t it.” He says to nothing, to ghosts of the past, to himself. He turns and sits on the railing, sticking his legs out like a tripping hazard while Gotham’s hot city wind blows through the air.

He looks up and only sees the ugly pollution yellow sky looking down at him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to him. He loves the stars and yet when faced with a smog that covers it, he feels more at home.

Danny’s fingers find the lighter, and with a few clicks a small open flame appears in existence. There’s a poem here, he can feel it. But he feels too tired to find it.

The cigarette lights, and the lighter dies in response. Returning back to his coffin-like pocket until he needs to use it again. He pulls a leg up, resting his chin on his knee with a heavy, tired sigh.

He soaks in the sounds around him. The ugly city warmth nips at his jaw. The music inside is muffled by the force of two glass doors and walls on all four sides, and Danny can hear late night traffic coming by on the road nearby. It’s a special kind of ambience you can only find on the west end balcony.

Half a decade ago, Danny had played a part with that ambience with Jason. Now it was just him, and Jason was nowhere to be found. It left a hopeless kind of feeling in his chest. An all-suffocating kind of fear that filled him head to toe with an intensity only ghosts could have.

His body winds up like a spring, and Danny holds his breath. When he exhales two minutes later, the spring stutters and jolts, and his body relaxes with a tremble.

He misses Jason. He misses Jason.

Ghosts are emotional creatures. They feel it from their crown to their soles. And emotional wounds never really heal. They scab over and fester, waiting to be picked at again and again so it can bleed as fresh as it did when it first opened.

Danny’s grief is never going to go away, he thinks. It’s clung to him like a parasite; shaped him and molded him. The wound was too close to him when he died, and now it will stay with him forever.

He opens his eyes when his ghost sense tingles, a heavy feeling in his throat that is neither nicotine nor grief. It’s just like Damian’s, but stronger. Potent. Older. It reaches the top of Danny’s throat and sits at the base of his tongue, like a hand about to suffocate him.

He looks up, cigarette hanging off his lips, and the Red Hood drops down beside him. He stands in the same spot Jason once did, and that alone makes the ghostly core in Danny seize possessively.

Don’t you dare stand where he stood, it hisses, coiling around his lungs like smog. Danny grits his teeth and feels his ghost sense evaporate. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, and nicotine smoke pours out like a cheap version of his ghost sense.

“Red Hood.” He says plainly, his free hand coiling and uncoiling like cat’s claws against the railing. “A surprise to see you here.”

Danny knows through process of elimination who most of the Gotham vigilantes are: Dick is Nightwing, Bruce is Batman, Tim is Red Robin, Damian is Robin, and Cass is Orphan. There are a few who he doesn’t know, however. Like Batgirl and Red Hood.

It’s fine, he doesn’t need to know. Danny of all people understands the importance of a secret identity.

Red Hood doesn’t say anything, just stares at him as if he’s a deer in headlights. His body all tensed up like he isn’t sure what to do now that he’s here in front of Danny. Like he wasn’t expecting Danny to be here at all.

Danny’s brows furrow. “Sorry, am I in your spot?” He asks, and begins to push off the railing. “I didn’t think vigilantes used the Wayne Hall west-end balcony, I can leave if you want.”

He’s already begun to move towards the door.

The Red Hood lurches in his spot, “No!” He yells, and Danny stops in place with raising eyebrows. Red Hood’s fingers cringe, and he straightens up.

He’s shorter than Danny, he notes. Which isn’t much of revelation. Everyone is shorter than Danny.

“No,” Red Hood repeats, sounding sturdier than before, “No. You’re fine. I’m just stopping here for a quick rest before resuming patrol.”

…Danny doesn’t question it. It’s none of his business about other vigilantes and their practices. He shrugs and breathes out more smoke, “Alright.” He says, and walks back over to the railing to sit on it. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

The Red Hood nods, and a silence falls over them. Danny doesn’t care enough to make it feel uncomfortable, but the Red Hood seems unsettled by something. Lost in thought. He leans his back against the railing similar to Danny, and then switches a few seconds later to a new pose.

He does it again, and again, and again. Until finally he flips over and leans his stomach against the railing, arms resting against it. It is starkly like what Jason used to do, and Danny stares at him long and hard.

He frowns. And says nothing.

When Danny’s cigarette is nothing more than a butt of nicotine, he crushes it in his hand and watches the ash flutter down to the ground. The heat stings his hand, but its nothing his ghostly healing can’t fix.

The Red Hood is already holding out another one when Danny’s hand drifts to his pocket for the box.

Danny stares at him, sudden wariness opening up like floodgates that sit at the bottom of his stomach.

His frown deepens, his eyes flicker up and down at Red Hood. His hands hover over his pocket. “I have my own.” He says, and watches subtly as the Red Hood hides a wilt. As if he’d been expecting Danny to take it.

“Alright.” The Red Hood says, trying to sound unbothered. He retracts the cigarette away from Danny, quiet all the way. He’s looking away.

Danny plucks the cigarette out of his hand, startling the Hood enough that Red snaps back to look at him. Danny yanks his lighter from his pocket. “I won’t say no to a free cigarette.” He says, slightly muffled with the stick between his teeth. It lights.

Silence falls over them again, and when one minute stretches into five, whatever hope that had been digging into the shoulders of Red Hood finally pulls away and leaves him slumping subtly.

‘A ciggie for your thoughts?’ Nine year old Jason Todd whispers one night with an impish grin, holding up a cigarette pinched between his two fingers. ‘I stole it from my old man. He won’t even notice its gone.’

Danny is halfway through it when he speaks. “The Joker killed my best friend.” He says, and watches from the corner of his eye as the Red Hood flinches. Is he startled by Danny speaking, or startled by the bluntness of him starting?

“He beat him to death.” Danny continues, staring stone-faced away from Red Hood. His grief claws up his lungs and burrows into his heart again. His fingers dig into the railing. “He beat my best friend to death.”

The Red Hood is silent, his body as still as the grave. Silence stretches out between them both, and like he’d been thinking, the Hood finally speaks: “How do you know?”

He’s not holding the cigarette, he broke his and Jason’s rule. Danny bounces the stick between his fingers. “His ghost told me.” He says, taking a trembling breath. “His ghost told me so, before he disappeared.”

The Red Hood says nothing, and Danny gathers his thoughts. The ones that had been buried deep next to his core, shoved down ever since Danny learned of Rath and a terrible future where a world is destroyed by one ghost’s hands.

Danny has never said it out loud before. His face scrunches up briefly, and then smooths out when his eyes squeeze shut. “I’m going to kill him, Red Hood.” He murmurs when he opens his eyes, turning his face toward the vigilante. The sound is sucked out of the air.

The Red Hood stares at him, but he doesn’t say a word. Danny pushes on, teeth grinding into teeth as he flips his silvery scarred hand back and forth. Palm up, palm down. “It’s why I haven’t been back to Gotham in a while.” He admits, voice still quiet. “If I see the Joker I will kill him, and I won’t feel bad for it.”

“Not today though,” he says, and closes his hand, “today I’m here on a favor to Vlad Masters. Then after this I’ll go visit my friend. I need to apologize for not seeing his grave in a while. I’ll have to stop by a florist to see if they have any zinnias. Jay likes those.”

He takes out the cigarette in his mouth and breathes out one last cloud of smoke. And then he crushes the cigarette stick under his foot and walks back inside.

[marsmaximoff]

🏛️ emperor caracalla ; headcanons ⋆₊𐕣˚𖤐 ݁｡☽

content warning: fem!reader. mentions of blood, killing and sickness, cheating, possessiveness, toxicity. idk if there’s anything else.

word count: 0.7k

author’s note: first time writing headcanons, so constructive criticism is welcomed. and english is my third language so please bear with me. i apologize for any mistake 🙏🏻 also, i’m unlocking a new obsession, so i needed to write for caracalla asap. i’m gonna write for other fred characters too because that man has me down bad. that’s it! enjoyyy! <3

emperor caracalla is a menace with an insane duality and you know that better than anyone

we have 1) mad ruler with an insatiable thirst for blood

you ALWAYS go to the games

he demands wants you there with him

(not like you have much choice being married to him)

but still, he loves to know you’re there. mostly because he actually enjoys sharing his passion and spending time with you. buuut, also because he REALLY likes to show you off. (you love seeing him all giggly clapping and yelling tho)

and let me tell you, he takes every opportunity to do so. to remind everyone that you’re his. and to brag in front of his pretty much unmarried brother.

i’m talking hand rubbing your thigh when sitting by his side (he does it absentmindedly, it’s genuinely cute), arm around your waist during feasts, sitting on his lap when watching combats, theatre or any sort of entertainment and a ton of PDA.

both of them are possessive, but he is more subtle, not as straightforward

regarding Geta, you two have an… odd relationship. he’s thankful there’s someone else to deal with his brother’s madness. but he’s suspicious of your intentions. tho jealous.

some would even say not only of the marriage itself…

caracalla knows, and absolutely feeds on it. he finally has something that belongs to him and only him

god forbid someone doesn’t get it

Dondus has grown to adore you. you’re like his other parent -he’s adopted you as such.

squeaks at you and happily climbs your arm to rest on your shoulder

loves using your braids as little ladders

and snuggling against your neck too

he’s just so cute can u tell i love him :3

anyways

and 2) sappy child

he follows you around like a puppy

you hate it when he gets overwhelmed, he tends to hide and isolate himself

you end up acting like his mother

gets insecure of his real face and keeps it from you

needs a lot of reassurance

the guards always look for you when he has an outburst

your touch and presence are the only things that ground him

LOVES LOVES LOVES cuddling

clings to you like he needs you to breathe

good luck waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom 💀

play with his hair and he’s GONE

big on pet names

to you is always “my love” “my dear” “my darling” “my wife” “my empress”

emphasis on the “my”

everything’s fine with him but “sweet boy” makes him melt

and obviously “my emperor” cause it makes him feel powerful

and compliments too

spoils and pampers the shit out of you

jewels, clothes, animals, entertainers, you name it

absolutely whipped

loves kissing

now, it can’t all be a fairytale 😞

sometimes you feel like he loves Dondus more than you

and it seems that some men being forced to kill each other brings him more happiness than you ever could

he can switch from sad to angry in a matter of seconds and sometimes his sudden change of tone and expressions startles you

🚩 🚩🚩

being married to a sick man is hard

many palace servants and guards feel bad for you

paranoid

thinks you don’t love him anymore and are going to leave him quite often

obsessive

if you say something that feels ‘off’ to him get ready for an intense interrogation

possessive and extremely jealous

cause why the fuck where you laughing with some random man?

he’d threaten to kill him and would probably get rough with you

hates other people touching you

gets violent

has hurt you before during one of his fits

regrets it afterwards but has a hard time apologizing

would probably be unfaithful. i know, i hate it too 🥲

over all i think he wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, like it could be way worse

and i say he could genuinely love you, it just wouldn’t be the healthiest of loves

but you can try to fix him girl ✨✨

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[mindmelter]

Hollow Justice

It all started when I was passing by a group of logistic workers during my lunch break from the office. They were loud, obnoxious, and unfortunately, also ridiculously hot.

Our office received a new shipment of supplies that day, so the logistics team was busy unloading the deliveries into the warehouse.

One of them—a tall, Brazilian, bearded guy in a reflective vest—caught my eye immediately. But then I heard them mocking a young, shy, office guy who had just walked past. Their words hit like knives, and the shy guy’s face turned red as he quickened his pace.

I knew him from work. We never spoke to each other because we were from different departments, but he seemed like a nice guy.

"Look at that white collar faggot, even his walk is gay" The bearded logistic worker mocked while loading a heavy box into the cart.

"I think he was looking at your ass dude!" His coworker laughed.

"I will teach him to keep his eyes to himself next time!"

Something in me snapped. I wasn’t just going to let that slide. So, I followed the shy guy and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual but flirty. “I think you’re cute. Can I get your number?”

He blinked at me, wide-eyed, as if I’d just asked him to marry me. “Me?” he asked, almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Yes, you,” I said, smiling. He hesitated, but after a second, he pulled out his phone and we shared numbers. He looked so surprised like no one had ever hit on him before, and honestly, that just made me angrier at those jerks.

Number secured, I turned on my heels and went back to the group of homophobic workers. They were still laughing, still making my blood boil. I focused on the Brazilian guy—he was the worst of the bunch. Lucky for me, he broke off from the group and headed into the bathroom. Perfect.

I followed him in, keeping quiet as he used the urinals. Once the coast was clear, I made my move. From my pocket, I pulled out a syringe filled with my special bodysuit serum. As he turned to wash his hands, I jabbed it right into his neck. He gasped, and his body started to convulse as the serum took effect. Within seconds, he was deflating on the floor, his muscles, skin, and bones disintegrating away until all that was left was an empty husk—that handsome and tall blue collar worker turned into nothing more than a hollow bodysuit.

I dragged the limp bodysuit into the stall and took a moment to admire it. I lifted his head by the hair. His head was stretched down by the weight of his beard, making him slack-jawed, and his eyes were now just empty holes.

"Not so smug now, are you? I will show you who is a faggot," I mocked him.

I stepped into the suit, feeling his skin stretch and seal around me like a suit. Within seconds, I was him. His voice, his scent, his muscles—they were all mine.

I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick mirror selfie, and sent it to the shy guy's number with a message: *“I’m sorry for being such a prick to you earlier. I only act like that in front of my friends because I’m a closeted gay guy. Can't let them know I'm just a cock hungry whore. Please come and meet me in the bathroom. I will let you fuck my ass as an apology.”*

Then, I waited. As I waited sitting in the toilet, I played with my new thick, hard, brown cock. I would stroke it, and sometimes slap it, watching it bounce. I wondered about how many times he used it to fuck women, probably a lot... I then grabbed his ID badge that was on his neck.

Name: Thiago Henrique da Silva / Date of Birth: March 15, 1998 / Age: 26 / License Class: Class A (Allows him to operate heavy machinery)

I chuckled and then went back to play with Thiago's thick cock. After half an hour, I was starting to wonder if the guy would really show up when I heard the bathroom door creak open. I peeked through the stall door and saw him—nervous but intrigued. I opened the door and called him in.

He hesitated for a second, but the bulge in his pants said everything I needed to know. He slowly stepped in and locked the door. I could tell he was still not sure if the logistic worker was serious or if he was just about to prank him. I needed to show him that there was nothing for him to worry about.

So I kneeled in front of him and pulled down his pants. His hard throbbing cock sprang free and I wrapped the shaft with the worker's big calloused hand. I slapped his cock against Thiago's handsome face and winked at him in a flirty way. His face was priceless, he was shocked that a hot manly stud like Thiago was acting like a slut. I soon wrapped my new thick lips around his shaft and gave him a blowjob that would make him remember it for the rest of his life.

I suddenly felt his hands around my head and he started to facefuck me roughly, so rough that the mask started to slip off. Thiago's face became misplaced over my real face. It was a sight that would make the gay office worker run away and have nightmares forever.

Luckily, he had his eyes closed at the time, so I quickly fixed the bodysuit's mask, placing it where it should be.

After blowing him for some time, I stood up and pulled down my uniform pants, offering him Thiago's tight ass to fuck. It wasn't my first time being fucked, but the man I was wearing was still a virgin, so the office guy had to take some time to loosen the bodysuit's asshole. Once he was sure it was loose enough, he fucked Thiago like he was his personal bitch.

The boy might not be the best looking, but he sure knew how to fuck.

And me? I moaned, grunted, and played the part of the closeted homophobic blue-collar worker who couldn’t get enough of cock. When it was over and he finished inside me, he straightened his clothes, kissed me, and whispered, “That was amazing. I forgive you,” Then, he left, looking happier than ever.

As for the bodysuit, I didn’t need it anymore. I pulled it off and threw it into the toilet. I then grabbed a new syringe, injected the bodysuit with it, and watched as what was left of Thiago dissolved into black goo. I flushed the goo down the toilet and threw his uniform in the trash bin, but kept his ID badge for some reason...

I washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom with a smirk on my face, just as my lunch break was ending—justice had been served on my plate.

[vengefultakeover]

Yes, Doctor

I tapped my foot as I waited for the doctor to come in and see me. I had just gone through the normal procedures with the nurse, checking my weight, taking my blood pressure, the works. I was nervous to get the results of my last test after a scare with my platelet count. I had gone down a long spiral of online searches and pushing myself towards an anxiety attack I would probably had not come back from. The phone call to schedule an appointment was normal, unable to detect anything in the voice on the other end.

"You will be just fine." She said before hanging up. Maybe I should have been worried.

"Hello there, how are you doing today?" He was holding the clipboard like a shield. Bad sign. You would think they would try to make me as comfortable as possiblle to break the bad news.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked, wincing as he sat down next to me.

"Nothing at all - we just wanted to go over some of the results with you to talk about a healthier future." He said with a smile that melted away my worries. The moment I returned the smiled I saw something clear out of the corner of my eye. I snapped my head towards it and could make out a head poking through the wall.

"What the fuck?" My jaw dropped as I looked at it and when the doctor looked back at the apparition peeking in through the cinderblocks he looked back at me with a confused face.

"Are you alright?" He asked, reaching out.

"You can see me?" The head said. I nodded. What else was I supposed to do.

"I think maybe we should get you psychologically evaluated." The doctor said, writing something down. The specter emerged from the wall with a glowing aura and he quickly rushed the doctor. He dropped his clipboard shield and pen sword and gasped as the ghost slid his fingers between his lips and pulled his mouth open. With a gag, the ghost shoved his head into his mouth while I stared in awe with the sounds of slurping filling the room. My cock twitched as the tight scrub pants tightened and the doctor's bulge appeared. Inch by inch the ghost filled up the doctor's body, his neck bulging and his eyes tearing up until he got knocked back in his chair. The last of the tail disappeared with a wet pop and the doctor looked at me with wide eyes. His left arm flailed away from his body and I could see where the ghost was inserting itself into his limb. The rest followed suit, his legs kicking out from underneath him until he spun around like a cartoon character and was looking down at himself with a shit eating grin.

"What the fuck just happened?" I watched him slide his hands down his body, the musculature of the doctor poking through the fabric. Within seconds he wanted to see more and stripped off the scrubs, tossing them to the side while returning the stethoscope to his neck like an accessory.

"Let's have some fun, fleshie." He pushed off his underwear and was now standing in the room without any clothes on, smirking at me.

"I'm not sure what's going on. What are you?" I asked. He took a step closer to me and I could feel his warmth. His cock was getting harder and so was mine.

"I'm shocked you were able to see me. I've never had a living see my ghost form. You weren't scared of it?" He chuckled.

"I think there are worse things in this world to be afraid of." I shrugged, the list growing longer in my mind.

"I suppose that's a good way to think about it." He inched closer to me, his cock grazing against my bulge.

"I guess so." My breath was starting to pick up.

"What do you say we have some fun while we're here?" He was grinning now, his hands sliding around my waist. A light tug and I was pressed against him, his cock sandwiched between us and pulsing. I pushed my hand up against his chest and squeezed, feeling his fuzzy pec in my hand.

"Will he know?" I wondered.

"They never do. We'll call it ghost-patient confidentiality." He got a kick out of that and his abs tightened as he laughed. I leaned in and kissed him, initiating the aggressive push against the wall and the grinding into my body. He couldn't really control himself, he was like a sexy doctor rabbit in heat. His hands squeezing me as I worshipped his body, suddenly finding myself bent over the examination table while he was beginning to explore my hole with his tongue. The crinkly white paper crunched below me and when I squeezed the sides of the bed my fingers turned red.

"Fuck yes. I want you so bad." I don't know what came over me as the doctor positioned himself behind me, his cock pulsing as he aligned it with my hole, squeezing it in. I bit my lip to prevent the moan from being heard outside of here. With each thrust I noticed I was barely breathing as I got so wrapped up in the pleasure. I could feel his cock starting to release inside of me and suddenly I was full of my doctor's seed while he was moaning, not keeping it from being heard.

"That was amazing. Maybe I'll haunt you outside of this stupid hospital." He slipped out of me and it made me shiver.

"I think I'd like that, Doctor." I said, standing up as we were both returning the crime scene back to its original condition. I pinched his nippled just as he slip the scrubs back on and I sat down where I was when the doctor's body was invaded.

"What are you doing?" He asked at the door.

"Oh, are you going to leave him?" I asked.

"Not today, we're going to go have some fun." He extended his hand and I was whisked away by this possessed hunk. I came in with the fear of a horrible diagnosis and somehow left closer to death than I ever thought I would be.

[wilhelminyard]

compilation of nice/sweet things the foxes said to neil because even though they're a bunch of assholes who'll insult anyone in their vicinity they all just love him so damn much (part 1) :

WYMACK :

"if your parents are a problem for you, we'll move you to south carolina early."

"foxes are foxes for a reason and they know we wouldn't sign you if you didn't qualify. that doesn't mean they know specifics. it's not my place to ask and I'm sure as hell not going to tell them."

"it's about second chances, neil. second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than what anyone else wanted to give you."

"I have never, ever hit someone without provocation and I'm sure as hell not going to start with you. you hear me?"

"I'll take care of this. you take care of you."

"do you have any idea what could have happened to you between here and there? what were you thinking? you should have called me"

"any of us would have come and gotten you"

"it's not your job to take care of yourself anymore. it's your job to play, and mine and abby's job to look after you."

ANDREW :

"oh you might actually turn out to be interesting"

"you be something. kevin says you'll be a champion. four years and you'll go pro. five years and you'll be court."

"curious that a man with so much potential, who has so much fun, who could 'be something' wouldn't want any of it"

"a liar who practices occasional honesty. clever."

"are you going to tell kevin?" "don't ask me stupid questions"

"oh neil, as unpredictable as he is unreal"

"what would it take to make you stay?"

"I'll stand between you and the moriyamas"

"you gave your game to kevin. give your back to me."

KEVIN :

"neil is exactly what the foxes need right now. his inexperience is inconsequential. we went through a hundred files looking for a striker for this year, but neil is the only one we approached. we knew as soon as we saw him we needed to sign him. we're just lucky we got there before anyone else did"

"our primary concern was keeping neil safe"

"*to riko* leave him alone."

MATT :

"are you bleeding anywhere?"

"coach says [neil's] got potential. andrew says you're fast. [...] andrew bets you can outrun everyone on this team."

"seriously are you okay?"

"I'll owe you one" "you won't owe me anything"

"you be careful, okay?"

"I'm fine" "you say that a lot. I'm starting to think you don't know what it means."

"coach says stupid but I say you have balls of steel"

NICKY :

"neil, you clean up good"

"andrew is keeping you, same as he kept kevin. it means you're part of the family now. [...] family means something different with us because it has to. it's not about blood. it's not even about who we like. it's about who andrew's willing to protect."

"that makes you invaluable to andrew"

"you're one of us, which means we'll never push you further than you're willing to go"

DAN :

"are you okay?"

"coach said you hitchhiked your way back here. I'd yell at you for being stupid but coach said he handled that already"

"we didn't let him [in]. he didn't make it further than the front door."

"neil? you don't have to do this, you know"

ALLISON :

"looking fancy"

SETH :

"maybe you're not as stupid as I thought"

AARON :

(I know it surprised me too but it's probably the only compliment he gives neil throughout the entire series and they literally just met at that point)

"at least you're not going to completely drag us down. it'll take most the season to get you where we need you to be but I can see why kevin picked you"

[nana-luvy]

. 𝐌𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

warnings: established relationship, fem!reader, suggestive content (i got a lil carried away sry) and dirty jokes (beware.), somewhat foul language

(also luke cosplaying nightwing which i need for my life-)

In which he's starting to understand why Halloween is cool.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

If camp half-blood was a training place dedicated to children of Greek gods, where believing in them was no question anymore, a pagan festival was still welcome once a year, because who doesn’t love Halloween ? Getting away from yourself for a night, partying and stuffing your face with candies and weirdly colored drinks, all dressed up in costume ranging from dinosaur to ballerina… maybe even upsetting a little the parents with a festivity not in their name, whatever they have to say about it.

You loved that atmosphere, the fire burning in the middle of the camp area getting bigger as the night came closer, turning almost purple with everyone’s excitement, the smell of sugar surrounding the place as bowls of candies were put everywhere, the enveloping warmth of the late Fall; it all brought the biggest smile on your face. After all, it was one of your favorite events of the year.

You were sat on your makeshift vanity, since Hecate children didn’t have the same kind of layout as Aphrodite ones, enjoying for now the silence in your cabin as you had left all of your half-siblings leave before you’d started getting ready. Eventually, you’d slipped out of bed, putting on your Starfire costume —the 2004 version, knowing Chiron would certainly give you a dirty look if you went for any other—, and now settled in front of the mirror to do the matching makeup. You didn’t turn to the door when someone knocked from outside.

“Can I come in ?”

“Sure ~” you simply answered with a little laugh.

From the corner of your eyes, you caught the movement of the door, dark figure stepping in, and you finally turned to face them.

“Wow.”

There he stood, awkwardly fixing his gelled curls, Luke Castellan suited up in the matching Nightwing costume you’d chosen for him, and you couldn’t have been more proud of your idea.

“Damn, am I making you that speechless, pumpkin ?” he asked, gaining back his usual confidence instantly as he caught your gaze, raising a cocky eyebrow.

A slight blush probably coated your cheeks under the foundation. “And how would you like that…” you replied, a smile in your voice as you rolled your eyes, adverting your gaze from Luke’s form before your brain started stuttering and going back to your makeup.

A smile was etched on your face as your mind kept replaying the view you just had, his hair gelled and curls tamed, the way the black spandex fit so well, following every dip and ridges along his toned body, and you had to mentally restrict yourself from throwing glances his way or you’d never hear the end of it. But you couldn’t help but pat yourself on the back for the matching costumes idea.

“You still on for drawing the mask, right ?” Luke asked after a few instant, now sitting cross-legged on your bed, mindlessly cradling one of your stuffed animals.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry.” You looked at him through the mirror, seeing him already doing the same. “I just have to finish up my makeup and I’ll do yours…”

So he stayed there for a short while, watching you skillfully draw a sharp wing of black eyeliner over the colored eye makeup, his gaze eventually trailing down your face to stay on your lips, slightly agape from the concentration, pale from not being finished yet, and he just had this urge tugging at the back of his mind…

He’d been in your cabin for about 5 minutes, and you’re surprised it even took him this much time to start nagging you, getting up from the bed and reaching for every and each item next to you, studying it all.

“How much does all of this even cost you? There’s like… a lot.”

“I don’t really know, most of this I got as a gift… Maybe about 200 ? Something like that ?” you replied, trying to get the placement of you fake lashes right.

“What ?!”

You laughed loudly at his reaction, head falling back to look at him as he stood behind your chair. “I just… I got a cousin that really likes me ~” you said with a small smile, shaking a lash band to dry off the glue.

“Damnit, I went for the wrong cousin…” he mumbled, sly grin dancing on his lips as he looked down at you. And whatever he was saying, his eyes were too full of adoration for you to believe anything.

You playfully smacked his arm, sitting back up straight to finish the last touches. “Shut up, nerd…”

Just as you started to put on lipstick, arms sneaking around your waist made butterflies erupt in your stomach, effectively resulting in loss of focus and a stray streak of pink on your skin.

“Luke…” you trailed, aiming to sound intimidating and probably just letting out a chuckle halfway through as he squeezed harder, head resting on top of yours.

“When are you done ?” he practically whines, pouting at your reflection in the mirror as he casually brushes off your attempt at a threat. “They’re all waiting outside already, I’m sure. Can’t we just… wrap it up ?”

You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder, face twisted in a mock scandalized expression. “Wow. If you really wanna make time cuts, I’m just gonna draw a straight line over your eyes and call it a day.”

The corner of his lips extended in a tight line, before he chose to hide his face in your hair, grumbling a small ‘Whatever, take your time, pumpkin’ against the top of your head, chest pressed to your back as he let you finish up.

You made your lips pop, evening your gloss, before getting Luke’s attention with a soft finger snap next to his ear. “Okay, birdie boy, your time to shine ~”

He didn’t necessarily like the excitement in your voice as you urged him to sit in the chair you sat in mere instants ago, but he obliged, knowing he couldn’t resist you anyway, and wanting to finally get this over with.

If he had to be honest, dressing up for Halloween wasn’t his strongest suit —pun not intended—, and since he was old enough to choose for himself, Luke had always went for whatever was simplest, whatever took barely a couple accessories over his everyday clothes. But since you’d arrived at camp, a few years back, you’d brought this spirit with you he couldn’t deny. And you’d made fun of him for ‘going as himself’ to a costumed event enough times for him to start to consider changing his beliefs. For you. So now that you two had finally started dating, after months and months of unresolved mutual pining, dressing up for Halloween didn’t sound so bad, if it put that smile that got his heart going on your face.

And he also happened to think he looked absolutely ripped in the black fitted suit.

“So… will whatever you’re gonna put on my face be easy to clean up ? Or will I have to come back and get it removed ? Like, tonight, when everyone’s too drunk to pay attention to where I went and-”

You quickly came back to his side as he rambled, his breath hitching through the smug facade when you tilted his head up to look at you, because even after this much time, you just had this effect on him… “Castellan,” you started, and boy did it make a shiver run through his spine, his last name spoken in that firm, bossy voice you sometimes took, “shut up before I forbid you from coming into this cabin tonight.”

Luke didn’t miss the way her lips quirked into a half-smile, and again, that sight just…

“Why do you wear that much makeup ? You don’t usually do.”

The way he stated it made you halt right before the kohl crayon touched his face to map out the mask, blinking in confusion at his question. You could see his eyes scrutinizing your face, his usual smile casually hanging on his lips, and you had no idea if you should be concerned by his comment or awfully upset by it after spending an hour and a half preparing.

“Yo, wow, I heard it, sorry,” he quickly said, taking back his awkward phrasing and mimicking a rewind motion with his fingers that made you chuckle. “I meant by that, it just… I can’t see when I fluster you, does that make sense ? Like, there’s this… skin-tone liquidy shit I don’t know the name of just blocking out your cheeks, can’t even tease you and reap the bright red laurels,” he explained, broad smile stretching on his face as this time he didn’t need to see any blush to guess your state.

“Shut-” You cleared your voice, embarrassed by his antics, knowing damn well it somewhat warmed your heart for a reason you wouldn’t know. “Shut up before I poke your eyes out…” you said, unconvinced as you puffed your cheeks, trying to escape the deep embarrassment

“Ah, the sweet mumbling of your inner demons, can never get enough of those, can I ?”

You chose to stay silent, not giving him material to broaden his smirk any further as you started to trace the outline of the mask in black pencil.

You quickly mapped it out, filling the shape with black face paint, fully focused on the task at hand as you made sure not to go over the edge or leave a single speck of skin visible around the eyes. Meanwhile, Luke didn’t utter a single word, simply looking at you with that face of adoration he carried everywhere you were, loving the focused look you sported, how your brows slightly furrowed and the tip of your tongue just slipped past your lips.

You sighed as you cracked your neck to release tension, the position you were in slightly uncomfortable, before standing right before him and tapping his knee with the tip of your fingers. “Spread your legs, pretty boy.”

“Wh- That’s my line ~” He smirked but immediately obliged, letting you get closer, hands obediently resting on his thighs. For a short while at least.

You had just begun the shadowing process, tilting your head to the side to ensure the design from another angle when his fingers tangled in your hair, a thumb gently grazing your cheekbone before pulling you on his lips the next moment. Your eyes instinctively fluttered close, giving in to follow his movements with your own mouth, hands clutching the back of the chair for stability as he kept you flush to him. But you snapped out when his tongue darted out to reach your lips.

You quickly pulled away, your brain registering your surroundings again and not just the feeling of his soft lips on yours. “I- what was that for ?” you asked with a little laugh, breathing already a little heavy from this little eyes trailing along his face. “I could've smudged your mask.”

Luke couldn’t help but smirk again, pride blooming in his chest, his hands gently combing through your hair. “I don’t know, do I need a rea-”

“Shit!” you whisper-yelled, taking in the sight of his mouth now covered in a mix of your lipstick and clear gloss. “I… my makeup is messed up, isn’t it ?”

His expression was all but guilty as he started tracing his fingers around the outline of your lips, way past where they should've been painted. “Just a little bit… here.”

“Luke!” you whined, pouting with your brows scrunched up as you swatted his arms in frustration, clearly upset by a situation that amused him deeply.

“But-” He cut himself off for a second, pushing towards you to press his lips on the side of your neck, and your legs felt like jello for a moment. “-you looked so pretty,” a kiss, “all focused and in your, by the way incredible, Starfire makeup,” another kiss, “and costume and it just makes me wanna have you close...” Luke tilted his head with an innocent smile, looking up at you with a glint of mischief dancing in his hazel orbs. The next moment, his hands left your nape to snake around your waist ad your thigh, effectively tugging you down to straddle his lap in the chair.

You closed your eyes, blowing air out of your noise like it would elongate your patience towards your boyfriend’s antics. Which it did not. But could you really be annoyed when he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever lay a finger on, making your heartbeat increase and the butterflies in your stomach fly free ?

Still, you tried to hold your ground. “Luke-” You tried to warn him but it only turned into a whimper as he littered kisses up your neck to that spot behind your ear that made you sigh, your resolve weakening. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get this over with quickly ?” Your fingers curled in his hair, gently pulling him off your now really hot skin, feeling the blush creeping up and the blood pumping at your pulse points. “That we should go join the others at the campfire as soon as possible ?”

Looking down at him, one of the only thoughts in your mind was how little time you’d yet spent admiring how he looked in the costume, when really the look alone could make you insane.

His gaze crossed yours, puppy eyes paired with a pout that made your head spin, and he caught a glimpse of the pink lipstick marks he’d littered on your neck, pout morphing to a smirk quickly. “Oh, I said it. But then I thought ‘like hell’, and now we’re here in your cabin, and everyone’s out at the party…” he hinted, looking back up at you with a look far from innocent this time. His smile was warm and affectionate, but the passion burning in his eyes was unmistakable, and his thumb brushing over your thigh while his other hand crept up your side, teasing the hem of your purple and silver cropped top, was a mix that sent electricity shooting up your whole body.

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gain back your composure. “You like your Starfire, don’t you ?” The moment he nodded, pulling you closer, was the moment you snapped your fingers to make a little pink fireball appear in your hand, twirling it around your fingers. “Do you like her alien powers too ?”You continued, nicely threatening him, like saying ‘let me the fuck go or I’ll burn a clearing in your hair’. “Luke, there are people, actual people, waiting for us at the party, mkay ?”

“Damn, always so dramatic… It does make you me burn for you even more though,” he said, swiping his tongue over his lip while looking longingly in your eyes. “Pun intended,” he quickly added, and you couldn’t contain a laugh at the unseriousness of this boy. “Okay, c’mon, pass me a cotton pad so I can wipe it off while you finish my mask. Or maybe you like the pink lip marks ?” He raised his eyebrows playfully and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head in amusement and faint disbelief. You turned around, going to stand back up, but he was quicker, hands shooting to tug you back down by the waist. “Nu-uh, where you going ? Stay close.” And you could’ve just melted right there and then as he laid a chaste kiss on your shoulder.

“You big lovesick baby..” you grumbled with a laugh, your annoyance fully dissipated as you twisted your body to reach for cotton pads and the makeup remover, sliding it over his mouth before handing it to him. “And no slick move, you get it all off, right ?”

“Wow, I can’t even show you off anymore, can I ?” he huffed out, still doing as you said, delicately rubbing the cotton over your skin while you added the finishing touches to his, by some miracle of the gods, still intact makeup. “May I even add, Kori and Dick are pretty activ-”

“Luke ?”

“Yeah ?” He looked up at you with big, expectant eyes, while your gaze was more one of bewilderment.

“If you say that in front of anyone else tonight, I’m cutting you precious hair in your sleep.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” But the deadpan of your voice had him almost doubting it.

“Try me,” you stated, challenge in your gaze, before it quickly went back to its usual soft state. “Anyway, you’re all set,” you said, blowing him a playful kiss as you stood back on your two feet, not wanting to ruin your makeup any further. You quickly turned back around, putting your combo back on while Luke stood up behind you, hugging your form from behind.

“Myeah, cool…”

“Oh come on, you were all happy about it 10 minutes ago! Just wait and see, I’m gonna make you love Halloween ~”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it…” he trailed, breathing in the soft sent of your shampoo he found so relaxing.

“Ok, let’s go,” you finally said, closing back your lip gloss and popping your lips in the mirror as he hurried to the door, insisting on opening it for you. “Simp.”

“You love it, though.”

“I, insanely so, do, I’ll admit,” you replied with a soft chuckle, taking in the vision of him next to the door, waiting for you. “But what’s really insane is how much you do Nightwing justice in this suit, fits you so well…” you trailed, shamelessly looking Luke up and down.

“Yeah ? Even the bakery ?” he replied cheekily, sly smile dancing on his still slightly swollen lips.

You instantly laughed at his words, passing him by as you exited through the door. “You wish, birdie.”

Ok I had a little (lot) fun writing this, don't even come at me for posting it on Christmas<3

Also, it's my birthday, yayy (I'm 19, not yay.)

Anygaysss hope you liked it, bubye ~

Love, Nana -

[tiredfox64]

Waiter waiter!!

More giant Bi-han pls !!

(Headcanons,,, or smrhn,,, other characters are cool too !!)

Big...That's It

Yip notes: kitchen burning all around me with my lighter in my hand and the food on fire ...Okay...headcanons are good...custom job...g/t stuff again okay okay

Pairings: Bi-Han x Gn reader, Raiden x Gn reader

Warnings: My headcanons gasp opinions oh gosh

Bi-Han

I said it once and I'll say it again. It's giving Marc Antony and Pussyfoot. Just this big, aggressive guy who has to deal with this little menace that causes so much trouble but he loves them.

That man HATES to have you out of his sight. You need to be in front of him or in his peripheral vision.

If you can't stay in front of Bi-Han you're getting the towel or the leash. He will slam you down into a hand towel and wrap you up like a newborn Russian baby. That small leash that's made for bearded dragons that he bought one day? That's going on you too.

All silliness aside, Bi-Han actually likes you this way. A tiny thing that fits in the palm of his hand.

He likes that you're pathetic and you're forced to depend on him for certain things like getting you food or fighting off ants that try to fight you.

He purposely gives you big slices of food because you look cute shoving food in your cheeks. You look so silly eating baby corn, don't worry it's in a good way. He does scold you if you fill your mouth up too much and taps your back lightly to make you spit it out. Okay...maybe not so light.

You are his stress toy. You will be in a death grip while Bi-Han's thumb rubs against your head. You're an analog stick.

He doesn't trust you to sit on his head. You're gonna pull his hair and he knows it. You can stay on his shoulder.

Bi-Han likes to keep you in his room. You have your own little setup (probably in a huge cage with cloths over it) like your own room. He won't provide you furniture so you'll have to ask someone else cough cough Tomas cough choke to get you doll furniture.

He'd probably keep your room on a bedside table. Anything near his bed will do. He does that so he can have his hand near you. Don't worry he doesn't twitch or attack in his sleep so you won't wake up accidentally because he slapped the table.

This stays between you and me BUT he keeps his hand near you to make sure you're safe. If you're in trouble or struggle to fall asleep, you can tap on his hand and he'll be there to help. He'll bitch about it, sorry. But Bi-Han sure can provide you the best back massage with his two fingers so you can sleep peacefully.

Heaven help the poor son of a bitch who accidentally (or purposely) kicks you. You'll be down, a bit sore maybe, and then Bi-Han will come around and--oh look at that it's snowing blood.

Raiden

Ah yes, such a gentleman who unfortunately shocks you a lot.

Raiden needs to be careful with you after he uses his amulet. If you were at a normal human size you wouldn't be shocked by him once he was done with the amulet. But because you're a little bitty you get quite the shock when he touches you.

Oooo, is someone cooking pollo asado? Oh wait, that's just you.

He is totally fine with keeping you on his head and under his hat. It's safe and comfortable. You stay cool while the light seeps in. You could pass out up there while using his head of hair as your bed.

I genuinely believe this man would have doll hairbrushes for you. It's either Barbie hairbrushes or Ever After High hairbrushes. They were definitely borrowed from Johnny.

I feel like Raiden can cook simple meals and he will cook you miniature versions of those meals. Have a mini omelet.

Gently hold the reader in your hands, Raiden, gently hold them. This man has his hands cupped to hold you.

He's not possessive, he is just scared to have others hold you. Especially Kung Lao and Johnny because of how rough they can be.

You know those bunny owners who have a room dedicated to their bunny? Yeah, that's him but with you. You got a whole penthouse on one side of his room. Boujee ass dollhouse accessories and some great rat hammocks.

He likes to have you near when he meditates. He believes it can suppress your devious rat tendencies. If not, then at least Raiden can keep an ear open for you.

No touching the amulet! He reminds you every week. It's either curiosity or pure stupidity that drives you to go near it with your tiny hands.

Some nights...most nights, he lets you sleep on a pillow next to him. He knows not to roll onto you even in his sleep. Raiden likes to have his little lover close to him. You'll get a big goodnight kiss. Dawh :3

Yap notes: Yes, yes, I know I should be celebrating with family but this Christmas Eve hasn't been spectacular. So I spent some of my alone time doing this. Plus, that g/t curse was getting me again. A week of throat problems, a week of nose problems, a week of car and water problems, random bursts of anxiety and blood pressure spiking. Damn Fishii I said I would get to it! I might have a late Christmas gift for you (but with your luck my family might call me names again and I'll end up working on the whole thing tomorrow). To anyone else who might want to ignore family for a bit by reading, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. Now if this damn post just works that would be great.

[dexteri0us]

no, i don't want nothing crazy; just wanna get you alone; and all of this snow is falling; i can make you fall too

pairing: best friend's dad!dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity, harrison (listen, i'm not a fan of his, but he serves a purpose), age gap (both reader and harrison are in college), best friend's dad!dexter, smut - shower sex, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, dom!dexter

summary: requested: "shower sex with dexter? please and thank you 🙏🏻"

w/c: 6.9k

a/n: i honestly love new blood and i will always consider it a christmas tv. merry christmas!🎄

Spending Christmas in Iron Lake wasn’t your initial plan, but now that you thought about it, it was for the better. You were supposed to spend Christmas with your dad this year. It also included him picking you up in Iron Lake and driving you to New York, but he backed out at the last minute. You weren’t even surprised at this point; he always went out of his way to let you down. Or maybe it was just your perception. After all, he said the same thing about you.

Going to your mom’s wasn’t an option either, not with her boyfriend in the picture. He was a carbon copy of your dad, not just in appearance in attitude too. Arrogant, dismissive, and always acting like spending time with you was beneath him, especially when you were a teenager. He’d never really made an effort to connect. So, you were pretty happy to get into college and move into the dorms. But that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted to spend Christmas alone.

You couldn’t ask Harrison to take you either because he had plans with Audrey.  

“Fuck.” You muttered, reading the text from your dad.  

“What’s wrong?” Harrison asked, glancing up from across the table. A smudge of clung to the corner of his mouth as he took another bite of his cheeseburger, his eyes briefly scanning the diner for a waitress that would bring him another cup of coffee.

“Dad bailed on me. I’ll probably have to hitchhike to get to New York.”

“What? No way! I’ll drive you,” he said immediately.

“Harrison.” You gave him a look. “You promised Audrey to help her and Angela with the charity drive.”

“Out of all people, I think Angela and Audrey would understand.” 

You raised a brow at him, knowing full well he’d argue until he was blue in the face, but you weren’t about to let him ruin his plans because of you. You were big on keeping promises, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be the reason someone broke theirs.

“Well, you can always spend Christmas with us. My dad won’t mind.”

And that’s how you ended up swapping the couch for the bed with Harrison every night, spending the first of many Christmas breaks with the Morgans. Well, technically the Morgan-Lindsays, but to you, Harrison’s dad would always be Mr. Morgan.

When you first called him that, he just stared at you, almost startled, but Harrison had quickly jumped in to explain. Not to you, to his dad, that you just couldn’t get used to the difference in their last names. He seemed to relax a little after that, though he still looked kind of stiff most of the time.

Sometimes, you wondered if he didn’t like you, or if your presence made him uneasy. But Harrison had reassured you that he was always like that. He’s just weird like that. Don’t take it personally.

So, you didn’t. And truth be told, over the next Christmases you spent with the father-son duo, you became more comfortable around Mr. Morgan – or Jim, as he insisted on calling him. “Jim” just felt unnatural to you, so usually, you just settled for “hey” to get his attention. But every now and then, “Mr. Morgan” would slip out of your mouth. And truth be told, you thought he liked it.

Eventually, it would become like a running joke between you two.

One night, during your second Christmas in Iron Lake, you caught him with that amused smile on his face when you said it again.

“What?” You asked, passing him a plate to dry as the two of you cleaned up after dinner. Harrison was in the other room, button-mashing his way through a video game.

“What?” Mr. Morgan asked, glancing at you with mock confusion.

“Every time I call you Mr. Morgan, you look like you’re holding back some big inside joke.”

“Do I?” he said lightly, his brows furrowed, but the smirk formed by his lips didn’t falter.

“Yeah.” You snorted, as if it was the most obvious thing. “It’s weird.”

“Weird? I’ll have to talk to Harrison, he’s bad influence.”

You just rolled your eyes. You weren’t going to kid yourself. You had developed almost a feet-kicking crush on him and his teasing wasn’t helping. You felt like a little girl with a silly crush on her classmate.

You remember how reserved he had been, intense, when you met him for the first time. It had made you a little bit uncomfortable, but paradoxically, you preferred that to some pretense-interest in your life. He already knew about your situation with your dad and your mother – or more specifically, with her boyfriend.

You loved Harrison, but he kind of had a big mouth on him, and he had told his dad. You could tell from the way Mr. Morgan avoided the subject altogether. Honestly, it was refreshing. Audrey’s mom asked about your parents every year – polite but a bit probing, sometimes you felt like she was judging you and or maybe thought there was more to the story. You didn’t blame her, though. First, she was a cop, and second, they were your family, after all. At least, by blood.

Still, you felt more welcome here than you ever did with your parents. Mr. Morgan made it so easy too, even if things had been a little awkward at first.

The first Christmas you spent in Iron Lake, you ended up in the woods with Mr. Morgan, collecting firewood. Harrison made sure you felt comfortable being alone with him, and you did, it was just a little awkward.

You didn’t know what was weirder – spending Christmas in Iron Lake, or trudging into the woods along with your best friend’s dad. He didn’t exactly scream “festive cheer” with his quiet, no-nonsense demeanor.

Harrison had once told you that he wasn’t always like that. Apparently, there had been some kind of hunting accident, back when Harrison was learning how to shoot. He’d hit his dad, barely missing the heart, but he'd survived. Harrison described it as a Christmas miracle, but from that moment on, Mr. Morgan just hadn’t felt the need to celebrate Christmas like he had the years prior.

You watched him move through the snowy woods with certainty, like he already knew exactly which trees to check for fallen branches.

“So, uh… you do this every year?”

Nice. Real charming. You were a master in manipulating professors into extending deadlines. How are you so bad at making casual conversation?

“Pretty much,” he replied without looking up, crouching to grab a branch half-buried in the snow. “Wood-burning stove keeps the place warm. It’s more reliable than the heater.”

“Oh.” You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you. The cool air bit into your cheeks, your boots crunching in the snow as you followed a few steps behind. Then you tried again. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d be big on central heating.”

You tried to joke, but he stopped for a moment, straightening up and glancing at you with a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What kind of guy do I strike you as?”

“Well, you know.” You shrugged, trying to not get distracted by the joke going over his head. “The ‘off-the-grid cabin’ type. Knows his way around a woodchipper. Probably has a couple of tarps in the trunk, just in case.”

He watched you, probably waiting for a smile to crack, but your expression remained serious. You started to think maybe you’d gone too far. But then he finally snorted softly, pointing the branch in your direction.

“Tarps are versatile.”

His delivery was deadpan too, so dry it caught you off guard. Was that… a joke? You couldn’t tell, but you let out a laugh anyway. You decided to just role with it.

“Right. For winter emergencies.”

He didn’t respond, just gave a faint nod as he tossed another branch onto the sled you’d brought along.

“You’re doing fine,” he said after a moment, his tone surprisingly reassuring.

It made you scoff, your breath puffing in the cold air.

“Thanks Mr. Morgan, I was really worried about failing Firewood 101.”

You really enjoyed spending time with him like that, even though he didn’t talk much. But the way he adjusted his pace so you wouldn’t fall behind, stepped on a stick that was stubbornly stuck to the sole of your boot, or helped you with a stubborn log trapped under the snow made you feel like you didn’t have to try so hard.

When that Christmas break ended, you felt kind of bittersweet, because you knew you’d now see him only occasionally when he’d visit Harrison in New York. That is, if you were lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. But the year went by like nothing, and lo and behold, Harrison had invited you to spend another Christmas with them, saying that his dad brought it up first. To Harrison, it meant nothing, to you? Every-fucking-thing.

So now, during the second Christmas with the Morgans, you were doing domestic shit with him, like washing dishes while he was teasing you. It made your body all jittery with every passing moment. Hell, you didn’t even mind that he didn’t have a dishwasher, because you liked doing dishes with him. And Harrison was grateful for that too. See, everyone was getting something out of it.

“Maybe I just think it’s funny. You’re so committed to it. But I guess it’s better than calling me hey.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Okay, you brought that on yourself. No offense, but Jim just doesn’t suit you. It’s too basic.”

He had that faint smile on his face again, his eyelids dropped as if he was having a whole inner monologue again, but you didn’t call him out this time.

When that Christmas ended, you didn’t have to wait long to see him again. Harrison started inviting you to every holiday – Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Of course, you couldn’t make it to all of them, but you did appreciate the extra time you got to spend with Mr. Morgan. He’d even helped you, Harrison and Audrey move them into their new apartment in New York. And you were too naïve and paranoid, so you thought he was doing it all for you.

So, next Christmas, you decided to come prepared.

“You can’t give her another necklace. Try to be original,” you said, sipping on your coffee, watching Harrison rub his temples as he tried to think of a Christmas present for Audrey.

“Okay… okay.” He sighed, letting his hands fall to the table, grinding his teeth as if he was contemplating his thoughts. “I have an idea. But it’s big and you’re gonna laugh.”

“Okay. All the more reason why you should tell me.”  

He took a deep breath, and then, he spit it out.

“I bought her a ring. An engagement ring.”

Your eyes widened and your lips broke into a huge smile. “No fucking way. Are you fucking kidding?”

“See? I knew you were gonna laugh at me.” He rolled his eyes and fell back into his seat, crossing his arms like a child.

“I’m not laughing at you. That’s amazing, Harrison. Oh, my God.”

“But?”

You stayed silent for a moment, figuring out a way to put it gently. “But… Audrey hates clichés.”

He closed his eyes in exasperation.

“Fuck.”

“No, hey. You can propose to her, but maybe don’t make it the main thing, you know.”

He sighed, rising to his feet with a small scowl on his face.

“Hey,” you said softly, “I’m so happy for you two. And she will be too.”

You exchanged smiles before he made his exit. You leaned against the back of the seat and looked out of the window to your right side, still smiling. You wondered if Mr. Morgan and Angela knew.

You got back to the crossword puzzle you put under your plate, munching on the bagel to fill your stomach and enjoying the faint Christmas music playing from the speakers. The waitress had just refilled your cup when someone slid into the booth across from you.

At first, you didn’t look up, assuming it was Harrison again, maybe realizing he’d forgotten something. But when you finally glanced up, you were met with a face you hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” the man said, his voice smooth and polite. It made you sit up just a little bit straighter.

“Uh, morning.” You smiled back.

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here alone,” he continued, leaning forward just slightly. “I’m Kurt. Kurt Caldwell.” He extended a hand across the table, his palm up.

You introduced yourself, putting your hand into his. You’d heard about Mr. Caldwell. They’d said he was a very kind and fair employer, someone who took care of his own. But after his son's death, he'd vanished from the public eye for a while.

For such a small town, there was sure a lot of accidents. Tragedies. On the brighter side, the number of of missing women cases dropped in the past few years, so that's that.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, just visiting,” you said with a smile but remained cautious. After all, he was a stranger. And you’re not one to underestimate the stranger danger rule. Not even in a small community like this.

“Really? We don’t have many visitors this time of year, Christmas tends to keep people close to home. You staying with family?”

“Friends,” you corrected.

“That’s nice. It’s always good to have people you can rely on during the holidays.”

You offered him another polite smile, unsure of what to say. He seemed harmless, but people randomly coming up to you were instantly weird to you. Welcome to a small town.

“You know, if you’re looking for something to do while you’re in town, I run a little truck stop just outside the main strip. Got a great diner there, too, and we’re always looking for friendly faces to stop by. First meal’s on me.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” you replied, laughing with him.

You pretended to get back to your puzzle, hoping he’d leave you alone, but before he could say anything else, the bell above the diner’s door jingled, and you heard your name.

You turned to see Mr. Morgan standing in the doorway, his presence commanding. He scanned the booth, his eyes landing on Kurt before flicking to you.

“Oh, hi.” You waved awkwardly at him as you watched him stride towards your table.

“Harrison forgot his gloves,” he told you, even though his gaze was locked on Kurt.

“Oh, right. I’ll text him.” You grabbed your phone, completely oblivious to the silent standoff happening between Mr. Morgan and Mr. Caldwell.

Mr. Caldwell stood, his smile losing some of its warmth. “Well, I should get going. It was nice to meet you, YN. Hope I’ll see you around.”

You gave him a polite nod and with that, he turned and walked out of the diner.

Mr. Morgan waited until the door closed behind him before he finally spoke.

“You okay?”

You hit send and looked up.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“Just checking.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, grabbing the empty sugar packet on the table and crumpling it in his hand. “But next time, maybe stick to sitting with people you actually know.”

This time, his tone was firm, almost scolding. You blinked at him, taken aback by this side of him. Now that you thought about it, you had never seen him pissed. And you didn’t know how to react. Your muscle memory took over for you, feeling the need to get defensive.

“Okay… I wasn’t – he just sat down. I didn’t –”

“Finish your breakfast. I’ll drive you back.” He interrupted, glancing out the window one more time as he watched Kurt’s truck disappear down the road.

You weren’t sure if it was the way he was ordering you around, or the way his hand hovered over the small of your back as he led you out of the diner, or the darkness that spread across his face, but something was sending shivers down your spine.

That evening, it was the first time you touched yourself to the thought of Mr. Morgan. You started wearing more revealing clothes, nothing fancy, just simple shorts and tank tops that would just show your skin, even though it was literally freezing outside. Overtime, you got bolder, getting close to him when Harrison wasn’t looking, unnecessarily leaning over him or brushing against him with your ass. When it was your turn on the couch, you’d purposefully stay uncovered, hoping that the tight shorts would ride up your ass while you were sleeping, to bring a little diversity to his early-morning routines.

He was a smart man. He knew what you were doing. And unfortunately for you, he was resilient.

“You sure you aren’t cold?” he’d asked once as you mixed the batter for gingerbread cookies, leaning casually against the counter behind you. And when you turned around, you saw his eyes flick from your exposed legs to your face. He did exactly nothing to hide it.

“I’m sure.”

You gave him an innocent smile and returned your focus to the batter, smirking to yourself.

“It’s below freezing outside.”

Yeah, tell me about it.

“Exactly. Outside. That’s why we collect firewood, right?”

“Hmm.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he studied you. Or tried to intimidate you? Honestly, you had no idea. “Doesn’t really explain why you’ve been walking around dressed like it’s summer for the past week.”

You paused, holding the bowl against your ribcage as you turned to face him.

“Maybe I’m just trying to liven up this place. Bring some Miami energy to Iron Lake.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Miami energy?” He repeated the words like they amused him, though his tone was dry. “Interesting choice.”

Your cheeks flushed and a shiver ran down your arms – and not from the cold. Maybe, just maybe, you should have kept your mouth shut. Harrison had told you that they’d moved from Florida. But you didn’t need to mention that part.

You were waiting for him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared at you, with that expression on his face that said that you were crossing a line. He made you too aware of your whole being – your skin, your lips, your eyes, everything was twitching or at least it felt like it was.

Gulping down the lump in your throat, trying as much as you could to make it unnoticeable, you turned your back to him again. He didn’t say anything more, and when you heard him walk away, you finally felt like you had space to breathe again. You hoped he at least checked you out one more time before leaving. Your cheeks still burned with a mix of embarrassment and frustration, and your body ached with an unfulfilled desire that he seemed intent on ignoring.

But still. He wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted you to believe. You just needed to figure out how to crack him.

Sometimes, less was more. So, the next evening, you decided to try something else. You’d packed a pair of thigh-high, cable-knit burgundy socks that you almost never wore – you found out quickly it was too impractical for everyday use. You thanked yourself for not selling them on Vinted, because now, they had a perfect use.

They clung perfectly to your legs, and you paired them with an over-sized sweater that was barely covering your thighs, leaving a teasing strip of skin visible when you moved. And that was the only thing you were relying on. Well, that and your sweater riding up when you’d stretch yourself up to hang the Christmas decorations.

You slid into your Birkenstocks and took a deep breath. Showtime.

You had been at the cabin alone, but you knew exactly when he was coming home. You’d timed it all perfectly, waiting until you knew he’d walk in and see you in the middle of something. Harrison wouldn’t have noticed the outfit, but Mr. Morgan noticed everything, even when he pretended he didn’t.

It was quiet as you set up for decorating, untangling the mess of Christmas lights while waiting. Any minute now. And then, you felt a gust of icy wind as Mr. Morgan made his entrance. You glanced over your shoulder, greeting him with a fleeting smile, pretending not to pay him too much attention.

“How was work?” you asked as you started to wrap the lights around the mantle, focusing on draping the string evenly.

“Average.” He said as he threw his car keys into the bowl by the door. “Did the cold finally get to you?”

You smirked to yourself, proud that you made unable to resist commenting on your clothes. First thing that came to his mind. Meaning the image of you in your usual shorts must've been lingering somewhere in his had. It had to be.

“Yeah, you were right. I wouldn’t want to spend Christmas in bed, on the cusp of dying,” you said, feigning defeat. “Where’s Harrison? He was supposed to help me.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “I don’t know.”

Well, you did. He was still at the tavern, because you told him you’d start at around nine. It was around six o’clock.

“Never mind." you said with a small shrug, turning to adjust a strand of lights. "At least I don’t have to listen to how everything's at the wrong angle.”

That earned a fait snort from him. His boots thudded against the floor as he crossed the room.  “You need a hand?”

“No, thanks. But you’re welcome to supervise. You’re good at that.”

“Funny.”  

“Is it?”

You reached for the next decoration – a thin garland of cranberries – and stretched up on your tiptoes to hook it around the nail, feeling the hem of your sweater ride up, baring the tops of your thighs. You could almost feel the moment he noticed by the way the silence in the room sharpened.

“I should’ve bought you some proper clothes for Christmas.”

Oh, my God. You couldn’t believe it worked.

“Really? And what would you consider proper, Mr. Morgan?”

You turned to face him, watching his eyes darken, his pupils dilate as his eyes flicked to your legs and then back to your face, his jaw tightening slightly. “Something warmer.”

“Warmer?” you echoed, glancing down at your cozy outfit. “I thought this was perfectly appropriate for decorating.”

“Appropriate for what, exactly?”

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips quirking upward as you shrugged playfully. “For making the place feel festive.”

“Festive.” He repeated with a strong voice. “If you say so.”

You stepped closer, your fingers fiddling with a stray cranberry that had fallen into your hand. “You don’t approve?”

Oof. Well, go big or go home.  

His posture shifted, straightening just enough to make him seem even taller, making you crane your neck to hold the eye contact. “I didn’t say that.”

A tiny victory. You nearly let your grin slip, but you had to hold it back. You still didn’t get what you wanted.

“Well, if you have any decorating tips, I’m all ears," you said casually, turning your attention back to the box of ornaments. You pulled out another string of lights and moved around the room.

You repeated the same tactics again and again. Sometimes, you bent down deliberately to give him a different angle as he ate his dinner, before retreating to the couch and doing something on his computer. Other times, you stretched a little too far to reach something, the edge of your sweater lifting again, revealing more skin.

The room was finally coming together, warm light casting shadows across the walls, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. You collected the empty boxes and stray bits of ribbon scattered on the floor and stepped back to admire your work.

With everything in place, you decided to retreat to the bathroom for a well-earned shower. Stripping out of your sweater and socks, you paused with your hand on the faucet knob, another idea sparking in your mind.

If he wanted to keep his composure, he was going to have to work harder. You hadn't done all of this for nothing.

You grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around yourself before heading into the living room, where he was still locked in whatever he was doing on his laptop.

“Mr. Morgan?” you called, your voice intentionally soft.

“Yes?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and his brow immediately fell, his eyes roaming your body yet again.

“The shower isn’t working. You think you could take a look at it?”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes narrowing, trying to decipher your intentions. Shit, he was already onto you and you were scared you’d really scare him away. But then he rose to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He eyed you suspiciously as he walked by you, but you just gave him an innocent smile. He disappeared into the bathroom, the faint creak of the old wooden door echoing through the cabin. You followed close behind, feeling the chill of the room raise goosebumps on your skin. The sound of him inspecting the faucet, twisting the knobs, testing the showerhead and eventually the sound of water filled the silence.

“It’s working fine. You probably didn’t turn the knob far enough.”

“Oh. My mistake.”

You stepped further into the cramped space, closing the door behind you quietly and leaning against it, nibbling on your lip.

He turned around, sighing as he was already aware of you caging him.

“YN,” he said, giving you a chance to back out. “What are you doing?”

He stepped closer to you, his sturdy figure towering over you. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, trying to not let your composure slip.

“Well, I thought maybe you could teach me how to fix it,” you shrugged your shoulders, the words stumbling out before you could really think them through.

“You don’t need to know how to fix it if it’s not broken.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the towel tighter, the only thing keeping you grounded, really. You could be here forever with this back and forth, words felt useless. So instead of saying anything, you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t bold, not entirely; you lingered just long enough to make your intention clear, then pulled back.

You couldn’t read him, his eyes were closed and his lips still parted from the kiss before he finally spoke.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” he said, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Why? Because it doesn’t fit into your routine?” You meant it as a joke, but this was really not the time.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he stepped just a little bit closer, his hands bracing on either side of the door behind you, caging you in.

“You can’t even imagine what I’m capable of.”

You probably couldn’t, but it didn’t even matter. You found him attractive, and you wanted him. It was as simple as that.

“You sure you want to take that risk? All because you can’t help but act on your impulses? Last chance. Walk away.”

But you didn’t and you let him know with a subtle shake of your head. And that was it. Whatever restraint he’d been holding onto snapped like a thread pulled too tight. His mouth was on yours in an instant, the kiss rough and urgent. His hand slid from your neck to your jaw, tilting your face just enough to deepen the kiss.

You’d never been with an older man, but man, was this something else. He wasn’t careful about it. Even though he didn’t strike you as the most confident guy at first sight, the kiss convinced you otherwise. It was a stark contrast to your previous boyfriends. They’d been clumsy and eager, but Mr. Morgan – Jim knew exactly what he wanted and how to take it.

You barely had time to catch your breath as his lips left yours, trailing along your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that made your knees weak. He didn’t waste any more time as his other hand slid up your inner thigh and beneath the towel, going straight to your pussy. You gasped as his finger found your wetness, fighting the urge to shy away.

In no time, his clothes were gone and the towel pooled on the floor. He gripped your hips firmly, turning your bodies around and guiding you under the steady stream of water pouring from the showerhead. The sensation of cool water against your skin was overshadowed by the way his hands roamed your body and pulled you against him, making you dig your nails into his biceps.

“Jim,” you gasped as his cock brushed against your cunt, but his hand shot up to your face, covering your mouth.

“No.” He growled. “You picked the wrong time to use that name.”

Your brows knit together in confusion. That name? What was that supposed to mean? 

“Get on your knees.”

Without hesitation, you obeyed, sinking to your knees in front of him, your kneecaps digging into the wet tiles. He shifted his body so his broad frame was shielding you from the stream of water, making you aware of the cool air prickling your damp skin.

The droplets were cascading down his chest and over the taut lines of his stomach. Your eyes lifted from the scar on his left side to meet his, and for a moment, he just simply looked at you. Admired you. Then, with one hand cradling the back of your head and the other stroking his cock, he guided you closer.

You opened your mouth automatically, your lips almost wrapping around his head, but before you made a contact, he gripped your soaked hair and pulled you away, making you shriek.

“Did I tell you you could put your mouth on me?”   

“No,” you said with a small voice.

“That’s right. So, let’s try this again. Who’s in control?”

“You are, Mr. Morgan.”  

You felt your pussy throb from the way he was ordering you around. And for a split second, you were doubting yourself that you could handle it. What if he thought you were pathetic? What if he waited for you to fight back? What if he wanted you to be bratty?

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice softer than before, but it was still demanding. His thumb brushed along your shiny lips before continuing. “You’re beautiful. Don’t overthink this.”

Yeah, probably easy for him to say, but you nodded anyway.

“Stick your tongue out. Keep it out.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue rest on your chin. He gripped your jaw again, holding you in place. His cock brushed lightly against your tongue, before letting go of your jaw and bringing his hand to the back of your neck, squeezing, as he guided you down his cock. Automatically, your hands shot up to grab onto his thighs.

“Now, if it gets too much, you tap my leg three times, okay?”

You nodded, the movement of your head with his cock in your mouth making him hiss.

“Show me.”

You tapped his thigh.

“Good girl.”

Your chest swelled with pride as he praised you. This was a whole another level of making you feel good, and you’d never guess it would be coming from your best friend’s father. And not only was he making you feel good, but he also gave you confidence, making you slide your mouth around his cock in a more steady rhythm with him still controlling the movements.

It was slow at first, but you felt that he was holding back, so when he went to pull your head back, you overpowered his strength and instead let his cock slide deep into your throat, making you gag while he simultaneously moaned at the unexpected feeling. He pulled out of your mouth, a string of saliva and precum connecting your lips to the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered, as his palm wiped your chin. Well, more like spread the fluids over your lower jaw, before he returned his cock into your mouth and fucked it. He finally let go, hitting your throat over and over again, making you gag and cough around him, up until the point tears started sliding down your cheeks.

You were so close to tapping out, but before you could signal to him, he pulled out and leaned down, grabbing your jaw as he kissed your open mouth, tasting himself on you.

“Get up.”

You stumbled slightly as you got to your feet, your knees weak and sore from being in that position for so long. He didn’t give you a chance to steady yourself, grabbing your hips and spinning you around. Your back hit his chest as he guided you toward the tiled wall.

“Hands on the wall.”

As you did so, his hand trailed down your back, lingering over the curve of your ass before landing a sharp smack that made you gasp, and wow. You’d never have guessed that he’d be such a kinky motherfucker.

It’s not like you hadn’t had a guy slap your ass before, but this was just different. You remember being unable to get turned on when your sexual partner would spank you. You remember thinking maybe there was something wrong with you. It’s not like you didn’t like it or like it made you uncomfortable. You just hadn’t felt anything. It hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t sting. It had been like eating plain, salted chips. They taste good, but they don’t really get you excited.

But from Mr. Morgan, it burned, and it was the best feeling in the world. He skimmed his nails against the flesh of your butt, as if tracing the hand-print that was surely forming there. He placed kisses down your back until he was kissing your stinging skin. You shied away as you realized he was now kneeling behind you, but he quickly caught you by the creases where your thigh meets your abdomen, pulling you back to him.

“Spread your legs,” he instructed yet again.

Your heart pounded, the position feeling unnatural, but despite that, you moved your feet apart, feeling the stickiness between your thighs. You flinched as his cold fingers made contact with your pussy, but quickly recovered. He buried his thumb between your pussy lips, parting them as he slid it from your hole to your clit, pressing down harder as he circled the sensitive bud.

Your whole body vibrated, the blood rushing through your body and into your throbbing clit. He kept flicking it with his finger, occasionally slowing down to pull the hood of your clit back to focus on the most innervated part of you. You arched your back, as he brushed over that spot, making your stomach tighten. Then he finally brought his fingers to your cunt, pushing in one, then two fingers. It made you mewl, the way he was carefully sliding them in and out, enjoying every ridge of your walls. You heard him sigh, feeling his hot breath bouncing off your ass. It made you realize how bad you wanted his mouth on your pussy.

And as if he read your thoughts, his fingers slid out of you and to your clit, as he replaced them with his tongue, flexing it and fucking you with it straight away. He was licking up your walls, the wet muscle prodding against them, making you moan. The finger still worked your clit, but when you felt him open his mouth wide and bury his face even further into your ass to get his tongue as far as he possibly could. It made you see galaxies.

When he felt you twitching against him, already trying to get away, albeit unintentionally, he circled both your thighs with his arm, trapping you against him. You were basically sitting on his face and now that his fingers left your clit, he slid his chin lower, his stubble scratching your skin as the tip of his tongue massaged your clit. His nose was buried in your wet hole now, his cheeks squished by your thighs, and you were scared you were going to suffocate him. Unfortunately, it was his fault and his fault only that you stopped caring as soon as you heard the squelching sounds of your pussy as his tongue kept delving into you. That’s what he did, he made you selfish. He was bringing you closer to the edge and the only thing you cared about was falling.

And with his tongue flicking against your clit, you soon felt the knot in your stomach tightening, until you let go. Your release poured out of you and he was catching it all on his tongue, licking everything up.

Once he got every drop, he stood to his full height, his arms encircling you. I made you feel safe, secured. One of his hands landed on your breast, squeezing and pinching your nipple as he kissed along your neck and then your shoulder, waiting for you to fully come down. You let your head fall backwards against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

He smelled so good. Or maybe it was just the undetectable pheromones spreading through the air that sharpened every sense to its peak. You felt like a mess. Your hands itched to adjust your hair, to wipe at the moisture beading on your flushed skin, but you were too scared to move.

“Are you sure?” He asked as he pressed closer, his cock prodding at your cunt.

“Yes.”

And then he finally fucked you. Your back arched instinctively into him as he started thrusting, finding a steady rhythm. His hand slipped lower, tracing the line of your hip before dipping between your thighs again, spreading your pussy and grazing the nail of his finger over your clit. His hips moved harder and harder, the sounds of wet skin slapping against each other, his moans and your whimpers filled the room, the stream of water coming from the shower making a bad job at obscuring it. He was hitting that spot inside of you over and over again and combined with the sensation of his fingers on your clit and his teeth pressing against your shoulder as he licked the water from your skin made your knees buckle. He was going to leave a faint imprint, that’s for sure.

He was getting close too, or at least you thought so from the way he got louder and more high-pitched, fucking you faster. He wasn’t gentle about it. He wanted you to come hard around him, and it was working. You were getting closer and closer, and when he sank his teeth a little harder into your shoulder, not sure if it was intentional or in the heat of the moment, that name escaped your mouth on its own again.

“Jim–”

And in a snap of a finger, his hand shot up to your mouth, covering it and leaning your head back against his shoulder, his lips ghosting your ear.

“Dexter,” he said, his hand sliding down to your neck and lightly pressing against your throat. Your brain was mush, you didn’t know what he meant, your brows knitting in confusion as you tried to focus on what he just said. “Fucking say it.” He growled when you didn’t react, pinching your clit and giving you a particularly hard and deep thrust as he stopped him movements. 

“Dexter,” you moaned immediately. You just wanted to be good for him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised as he started fucking you again until you were coming around him. It made your whole body convulse. You hinged your hips to press against him and at the same time, to escape his wicked fingers. You brought your hand down to cover his on your pussy, thinking maybe it would bring you relieve from the overstimulation, but it did exactly nothing at all. You kept coming, coating his cock in your cum, making it easier for him to slide along your pussy walls, but harder for him to keep his cock from sliding all the way out. You were so slippery, your cunt clenching around him which brought him to his own edge, finally spilling himself inside of you.

Gradually, he slowed down until he eventually removed his cock from your pussy and freed your sensitive clit from his fingers. He did manage to slide them to your hole one last time, scooping up your mixed cum as he brought his hand in front your faces and admired it, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he rubbed the juices between his fingers. You watched it slowly disappear under the running water before he let his arm fall to your hip, turning you around. He pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, before opening them again, his eyelashes catching the drops of water from the shower.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in those socks.”

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

MDNI. Soap is nasty; madly in love with you and with whatever gets you going. Inspired by @notquitecanon 's fanfic.

It wasn't like it had been on purpose.

Soap had only seen you leave your office with your cheeks flushed and breathing heavily, hurriedly walking towards the bathroom.

You looked so pretty when you looked disheveled.

He just wanted to know what had happened. If you were okay. Were you ill? Feverish? Horny?

It was only natural that he would make his merry way inside your office. Concerned colleague and all that. Right?

Soap had plenty of qualities. Smart, handsome, strong, tall, funny. He could say his god had blessed him with plenty and more. One little extra that made good use in the battlefield, however, was his nose - trained on gunpowder and blood and C4 solvents.

And when he entered your office, his nose tickled, but due to a very different reason.

Cum.

He groaned, hands rubbing down on his face as his eyes rolled back. He could already feel his cock chubbing up inside his pants at the mere though of you getting wet all on your own inside your office – so, oh so close to him. If only he knew you were needing to get some edge off, bonnie, he would kneel in front of you and beg you to let him help, however you wanted.

But alas.

Soap trudged slowly towards your desk – your open notebook taunting him with its dim, flashing light. He knew very well what would be playing in your browser, and he readied his phone to take a picture of the link. He knew you wouldn't take that much longer in the bathroom, but he needed to know what made you tick; which tags you chose.

He tried so hard keep himself from sniffing and licking your chair like some mutt in heat, but he could see the faint glimmer of your wetness on your seat and who was he to waste a meal when it was right in front of him? And you were better than honey.

His eyes barely processed the page, snapping a photo of the tab and quickly making his way out of your office unnoticed (and painfully hard).

Soap hurried to his quarters, locking himself inside his room and kicking his boots and clothes off in lightning speed. His heart thumped loudly and fast inside his ribcage; a shot of adrenaline in his veins he didn't even feel during missions. His cheeks were flushed, mirroring yours when you ran away from your own mess, and he felt like a teenager with a crush all over again.

A bit pathetic, truthfully, but it also made him feel alive; he remembered what was like to be human, to be a man, to be smitten - to have other feelings beside anger, fear and anxiety. Your little escapade made him feel like himself again.

Yes. Maybe he could excuse himself from invading your privacy if he kept on thinking about it.

But it wasn't time. His cock was hard and his curiosity was killing him.

Soap scanned the link on his photo and opened a tab on his phone, eagerly putting in his headphones and grabbing an old (and expired) bottle of lube as he waited for the page to load.

Once the page was fully loaded, however, Soap could only blink as his brain slowly processed the image in front of him.

He inhaled shakily, thumb pressing play while he finally made sense of the setting in front of him.

A bulky, hairy man (he noted with plenty of satisfaction) sat on a chair, cargo pants open and drenched in lube and cum and sweat, almost turning to a different color entirely. His cock slapped against his stomach with every twitch of his body.

The man was tied up on the chair with flimsy pink ribbons he could probably rip off with ease, if he truly wanted to. On his stomach, five full comdoms were tied to one of the loops of the ribbon. His cock was painfully red and leaking and he moaned like a fucking cumbrained slut and Johnny could swear he was genuinely about to burst.

So this was the type of thing that got you going, huh?, he thought, eyes wide and mouth agape - almost drooling.

The woman on the screen barely appeared – the focus was the man and the sugar pain of the torture she was inflicting upon him. Her long, black nails contrasting against the pink of the man's dick, as she languidly kept stroking his cock - the amount of lube she was using on his dick making obscene, wet noises that, alone, could make Johnny go insane.

If it wasn't for her voice.

Johnny could clearly picture your pretty lips uttering the same words as he closed his eyes; his own hands following the same pace she had set. In his mind, he could imagine you torturing him like that – his sweet little bird being so cruel as she milked him dry with her pretty hands and soft voice.

"Come on, baby. Won't you cum for me one more time?"

As many times as you want. Until he dehydrated, bonnie. He could die like that for you if you want.

"Just one more. You know my favorite number is six, hm? Give me just one more."

He would give you thirty six if you asked. Do you want it? He could put it all in a box and place it on your office's desk.

"You sound so cute, baby. Come on. Give me one more."

Fuck fuck fuck. Johnny fucked his fist, hips stuttering against his hand as his phone plopped on the bed. Only the sound of your her voice and her hands pumping the man's length guiding him to his orgasm.

He felt his balls tightening and his cock twitching in his hand and he knew he was getting close. Fuck, so that's what you liked, huh? Him being a whore for you, moaning loudly as you did whatever you wanted with his body, huh? He could do that, bonnie. He had been fucked before, just ask his friends. He had never been fucked, however, by a pretty little thing like you.

Do you wanna use a strap? Or do you wanna use just your fingers first? Or maybe you just wanna tie him down and milk him dry. He's okay with anything, lass. All he asks is to let him eat you out once you're done. As a reward, right? He'd deserve a good reward for all his little deaths.

"That's it, let it go, baby" you the actress whispered and Johnny thrusted into his hand one last time, thick ropes of cum shooting up as his balls tightened. The hairs on his chest got covered with his spent, his peak coming onto him with way more force than he thought it would. It left him floaty, lightheaded – drunk.

"Good boy, that's my baby. That's my good boy. So good to me."

Johnny moaned loudly at those words, licking the salty pearl of his own cum that landed on his lips and his beard. Yes, bonnie. He can be your good boy. He can even be your lap dog. He can wear a collar and all and brand your name into his skin. Anything, anything, if it's for you.

After a few minutes, his breathing evened out and he blinked away the tears he didn't even know he had shed. Coming down from his high, Soap groaned at the mess he had made. He was covered in his thick load and by a thin layer of sweat.

He pouted, fully absorbed into his role of your dainty sub who desperately needs aftercare. Where were you to take care of him when he needed you so? He thought, as he grabbed wet wipes and began cleaning himself before making his way to the common bathroom. The irony of him mirroring your own steps wasn't lost on him.

That's okay. His precious new discovery was just the beginning.

And now, onto trying to convince you to fulfill your little femdom fantasies with him.

[cryptid-killjoy]

"Huh? Is that right?" Dale pondered on the eyeball info GoGo dumped. "He may know. I don't know. I never did study as much as of the magic as them." Then he squinted his eyes. "Then again neither did Jetsam. I bet I'm better at it than him though."

Scout looked up as she heard Dale call his father by his first name. She couldn't decide if that was weird or not. She was so caught off by it she missed a great cue for a joke where she could have easily bagged a funny one on Dale. She didn't say anything about who was better than who.

The twins did settle down even though they kept giving each some side eye. So, GoGo was right about this family. They weren't flawless. They had their problems, big ones even, and clashes could butt heads, but family was always family, and it would always work itself out even if it was to agree to disagree the caring for each other remained strong.

Dale gave her a couple of choices that came to mind. There were probably a few other ways her evening could end up if she so deemed it. Still, the moment Scout saw she was going to stay back with Dale it was like it only then dawned on her she'd put her in the position to have to fend for herself when this urge to see her parents kicked in. She got up and jogged over to GoGo before Dale could get much word in. "Hey. Thanks for understanding." Then she coerced her in for a Scouty hug too. "I just gotta." Then she hiked a thumb behind her pointing in the direction of her parents. She popped a little peck on GoGo's cheek and smiled. "Happy Halloween."

Then she went back to the car where Koda was already loading in Chip and helping him with his seat belt. Koda wasn't taking any chances on the way back.

He watched her rub the back of her neck. There was something there. Was she embarrassed about something? He couldn't quite read it. Maybe it was nothing.

He'd give GoGo a smile back. "Works for me. First things first. You're driving and we're going to the liquor store. Maybe a pharmacy."

It was dawning on him how much abandoned shit was around for how little people lived here. It was probably still a free for all in this desolation.

"I'm just thankful I didn't break my legs." He admitted as he hobbled over to her car and gave the others a chin-up nod and wave as the others drove away.

He inched himself down into the seat like a person in pain cringing and blew out when finally hit bottom. He leaned his head back and took a second to recompose. He clenched his face and leaned the seat back a few extra inches. He was still in his crop top Ken doll costume on minus the box only now he was blood spattered, grass stained, and dirty. He rubbed at his stomach exposing rapidly changing colors around his rib cage. He knew that wasn't going to be pretty by morning.

"Yeah, self-mediation first. Treasure hunting and tourism after."

GoGo had stayed hugging him for a while, until she was able to calm her mind somewhat. Until the memories and the smell of smoke had escaped her. Yes, her and Scout had been doing their risky streetraces, and going out and doing crazy things like joyrides and pushing what speeds were possible in different vehicles but this was the first time that there had been someone that she knew hurt from these things. It was like Dale flying through the air had nearly stopped her heart, brought her back to that place.

She was too emotionally drained to get all grossed out by Flotsam at this point. He might as well have just been picking his favorite color out of a pack of starbursts with the way that she was reacting. Eyeballs were just the new pink starbusts - the best kind.

“Interesting choice,” Go-Go said. “The only cells that survive from the time you’re born until you die are in the eyes. So he’s collecting whole lives.”

Back to the nerd. She couldn’t help it. It actually was interesting that the eyes were a focus. Don’t even get her started on what she would think of the psychology of Bastien if she knew about those eyes.

She took a half step back onto the grass, excluding herself from the scene of Jetsam leaving, and took the time to take another breath. She felt bad for Scout, Dale and Chip, having a family member that was actually good to them - so it seemed - and that they loved that would disappear in front of them like that. And also a small bit of gratefulness that she wasn’t in their place. Having a shitty family sucked but at least she didn’t have to waste any brain power missing them.

Family had never been cohesive in her mind so … actually, seeing some of the cracks in the Laveaus made her feel a bit more like she could relate to them. Was she a bit concerned too when the twins started to fight? Yeah. But also, knowing them, they’d calm down and make up. But seeing that there were still arguments, fights. It felt more real. Less like the fantasy that them being witches and werewolves and zombies and shapeshifters painted it all to be.

She only stepped towards Scout, because she hated seeing her friend upset. Especially by someone whose ass they couldn’t just kick, or who they couldn’t just X out, like that girl that she had been seeing. A father - that was different. And she understood, God, did she understand, she used to be in the same boat, until she realized that she was wasting time that she could spend on better pursuits rather than a fathers love.

When Dale gave her the choice, she looked towards Scout again, and then pulled her in for a hug too. “You go on ahead,” She told her friend, giving her a reassuring smile. “I think I’m going to tour the town a bit. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to look for scrap in a place like this.”

It seemed like a good excuse - it was a real reason, she would absolutely have a ball of a time going through the cars around here and look for parts that might be harder to get back in New Zealand. But she also wanted to give them a bit of space to do their family thing. Scout really seemed to need her parents right now. She wasn’t ready to sleep, still jittery from adrenaline, and didn’t feel like sitting in a room, trying to calm her heartrate.

“I don’t mind the company though,” She said towards Dale, smiling a little sheepishly and rubbing the back of her neck. If this were a normal abandoned town, she’d feel absolutely fine going through it alone. But given the zombies, and the apparent random people that are just walking around waiting to get killed, being alone seemed not to be the best idea.

[revelboo]

I’m absolutely melting over Spinster snuggling his big ol face against their lil human. It’s soo cute and fluffy and I love it when full-size mechs still find ways to do affectionate things like that despite the size difference.

Sounds like the Scavengers have a rough job ahead of them going off that ending. Makes me wondered if Spinister comes back in a unconscious state, would our honorary scavenger try to do the face nuzzling back in a worried attempt to wake him up?

Oooh drama. Yes, please. Gotta get there, though. Shenanigans first

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 12

Scavengers x Reader

• “Right there. Don’t move,” Crankcase says as Spinister obediently stands in the doorway to the bridge completely oblivious. Otherwise he’d probably be offended or attack as Crankcase rigs up a blaster pointing at his head and tapes it down to a console. “Okay, tiny. Anyone comes through that door that’s not us, you pull this trigger.” Hooking a servo around you to drag you closer when you shy away. “You don’t hear them out or ask who they are. You shoot first. Understand?”

• “Yeah,” you mumble as Spin lifts a hand and waves from his spot playing target. Aware of the way Crankcase and Krok are both staring at you like they don’t believe you’ll be able to do it. “I can do it.” No, you’re pretty sure you can’t. Even if someone comes in with a gun drawn on you, you’re not sure you can just shoot them in the face point blank. You’re not nearly cold blooded enough for that, but you force a smile anyway so they won’t worry. Because you can’t really beg not to be left alone, can’t admit that you’re scared.

• “It’s not a kind galaxy,” Krok says, watching you clasp your hands together, avoiding their optics. “And you’re very soft.” Too soft. Too gentle. Anxiously clicking at the device in his hand, he’s almost tempted to tell Fulcrum to stay with you even though they need him. Primus knows Misfire can’t hit anything, Spinister gets distracted with his own shadow, and Crankcase sometimes freezes. “You can’t be soft out here.” Because you won’t survive and they need you here with them. Looking after their own because they’re all they each have and you’re part of that.

• “Try not to find a stupid way to die,” Misfire adds, reaching to gently flip your hair into your face. Grinning when you scowl at him, but don’t offer the rude hand gesture. You’ve been very careful not to do that anymore, he’s noticed. No longer interested in them? Or just embarrassed now that they know it’s an offer?

• Worried, you watch them gather their gear which mostly seems to be a small armory’s worth of guns and leave you behind on the console with a blaster you’re not even sure you’re strong enough to pull the trigger on. Rubbing your hands against your arms, you walk toward the edge of the console to sit and nearly fall flat on your face. Something has you by the leg and you yelp when you slide into an awkward sit on your hip, leg and foot in the air. You’re stuck to the alien equivalent of duct tape, one corner of it having rolled slightly. Swearing you try to pull loose, the stuff not budging at all. Awkwardly pulling yourself up, you hiss as your shirt sleeve gets stuck. And panic claws at you as you think of glue traps. Of small animals getting stuck and suffocating themselves trying to get loose. “Spin! Krok! Misfire?” You scream.

• Returning to the ship a full rotation later, it’s a relief to see it intact. The ramp still closed. Fulcrum vents as he follows Misfire inside, almost walking into the other con when he stops suddenly. And starts laughing. Leaning to look, he grimaces and shoves past Misfire. Because you’re half naked, your lower covering stuck to the tape, your upper cover hooked around your neck, the sleeve also stuck and the ends of your hair caught in the tape so you’re bent over at an awkward looking angle. Hearing them, your head turns and you’re leaking, making a hitching sound that sobers Misfire immediately. Both of them coming over. “Shh, it’s okay. Primus. How do we get you loose without hurting you?” Fulcrum asks, servos ghosting over you as you sob.

• “Tiny!” Spinister roars as soon as he spots you, rushing to get at you only to be stopped by Crankcase and Krok seizing his arms. “Let go!” Straining to get free as he drags them toward you. You’re in pain, hurting. That noise you’re making twisting unpleasantly in his spark as Krok hooks an arm around his neck. “Calm down, if you try to yank them loose you’ll hurt them,” Krok snarls as he’s dragged by the much bigger mech.

• “Cut me loose, please,” you whimper, neck, back and legs aching from the position you’re trapped in. Hear Spin howling as he fights against the other two then a thump and swearing. You’d tried to tear your hair loose for hours, but only ended up making it worse. And now you can’t stop bawling like a baby. Sniffling as Misfire produces a blade and then hesitates, expression almost stricken. “I’m sorry,” he says and then he’s sawing at your hair, trying to not take off too much. Fulcrum catching you when you pull loose from your shirt and fall backwards, legs tingling with pins and needles. “Does it hurt?” Slumped in Fulcrum’s palm, you look up at Misfire and it takes a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, taken by surprise by how miserable he looks.

• “I don’t feel it when my hair is cut, hun,” you say, just lying there. And he puts the blade away, wanting to reach for you as his optics slide to the tape you’d gotten caught on. Realizing what would have happened if you’d kept struggling, if you’d panicked trying to get free. That you’d have died there and it shocks through him how ridiculously fragile you are. Reaching to tip your flushed face up, watching your eyes leak, he feathers his servos against you to feel the frantic pounding of your heart. “Where’s Spin?” You ask, voice ragged. Glancing back, he winces. Growling a warning when Fulcrum turns with you cupped in his hands so you can see Spinister sprawled on the floor when Krok or Crankcase had decked him to keep him from freaking out and accidentally making things worse. “Spin!”

Previous

[zepskies]

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

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[sulumuns-dootah]

25. 12. Raphael - Messy pranks (18+)

      ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆꙳·❅‧The Yule festival of Hell 2‧❆ ₊⋆

Warnings: Raphael playing rough, Dub-con

‎‧₊˚✧ 18+ Minors Do Not Interact‎ ✧˚₊‧

      ༺☆༻

What you're about to do can go either horribly bad or horribly bad. You yourself aren't even sure which of those turnouts is the more probable one.

In your hands, you're carrying multiple water balloons filled with angel blood. It wasn't that hard to get considering the ongoing fights between heaven and hell with hell defending itself successfully enough.

Sneaking around the main heaven building, you're looking for Raphael, but also trying to be unseen by him otherwise he might question the balloons, which would ruin the surprise.

The halls are eerily empty and every small noise makes you jump. Maybe you should've grabbed some bag or a box to make the balloons look less conspicuous, but it's too late now and on your way back, you might run into Raphael.

Turning another corner as quietly as possible, you arrive to a spacious sun room type of hallway with multiple upholstered benches and one large arched window. And there he is, with his back turned to you, looking out at the endless clouds with an occasional angle flying by.

That's good an bad news. Good, because he won't see you coming. Bad, because if you miss, you're in for a lot more trouble than drenching Raphael in blood.

You wish you could take a deep breath to calm your nerves so your hands don't start shaking, but you don't want to alarm the seraphim in front of you.

Slowly, you transfer one of the balloons into your dominant hand and extend it, preparing to throw it. You take a second to fully commit to your actions, fully aware that once it's done, there's only one way out and it's by eventually facing the consequences. Sure, you're preparing to run away, but there's no way you'll be able to evacuate the area in time without Raphael recognising it was you.

Now or never.

In a quick succession you take a deep breath and close your eyes for a split second before putting all your strength into throwing the balloon at your target. The angel seems to react to your now announced presence by slowly turning his head in your direction, only to have the blood-filled orb perfectly hit his neck.

As if in a slow motion, you watch the latex barrier break and the liquid inside paint Raphael's back, face, hair and the window in front of him scarlet red. The whole scenery is mesmerising and you fully forget about making a quick escape. Well, unless you meet the angry eyes of the most terrifying seraphim.

Quickly, you turn around and start sprinting down the hall you've come from, but not for long. There's a flash of white around you and a few steps into your hopeful flight, you bump into something and drop all the remaining balloons...

Not something... Someone...

You fall back, almost on instinct and look up to see the bloodied up angel, that now looks like he's about to devour you.

“YOU!” he growls and takes a few steps towards you, making mirroring the distance in stepping back.

With slow, deliberate steps, Raphael backs you up against the window, now decorated with a trickling blood splatter.

“Naughty little thing...” he bends down to your level as your back meets the cold glass pane. He's only a little bit taller than you normally, but currently you could swear, he's twice the size with the way he's towering over you.

“I-uh... Raph-...” the look in his eyes is scorching hot and you feel like you're being boiled alive just from his gaze alone.

“Filthy little prankster I've got here, huh?” his strong hand comes up to grip your throat and lift you up, smearing the crimson and dirtying up your own clothes. Your hands fly up in a futile attempt to pry the hand off, but it only makes him laugh.

Eventually, he does let you down, but only to push your head tot he side and your cheek up against the glass, into more of the red liquid, “See the mess you've made?”

You can hear the glass angrily creak and if Raphael were to apply any more pressure, you're it would break into million pieces.

“Hm? What've you got to say for yourself?” he prompts, lessening the force he's applying.

“I-uh... I-...” you try to come up with any excuse that doesn't make your current situation worse.

“Thought you were funny, didn't you?” he finishes for you, somehow guessing your original reason.

You don't even need to say anything; the tears welling up in your eyes tell Raphael all that he needs to know.

“Heh... Such a fucking nasty thing... Luckily I know exactly what'll teach you to know better next time...” his angry expression turns to a dark smirk, making your stomach drop, but also somehow managing to turn you on. Curious thing our brains do while we're at death's doorstep.

With mocking tenderness, the seraphim pulls out his very much hard length (wait, when did he take off his chastity cage?) and collects some of the still-fresh ruby liquid off the window pane to smear along his shaft.

Not a second after that you find your face pushed up against the window again, but this time while being bent over with your ass sticking out for the angel to allow him to rub between your now shamefully naked cheeks. The glass is now almost freezing against your skin which in contrast with the heat of Raphael's cock make it almost painful to endure.

“Scream all you want. You got yourself into this mess and God won't help you.”

      ༺☆༻

But wait, this angel also has a gift for you!

"Gabe gave you what? Hahah... Take this one, it's better!"

[emoisthenewemu]

Favorite present! ~ Megumi Fushiguro x GN! Reader

A/N i live for soft boy megumi like SORRY but he is sensitive I don’t make the rules. i love him sm and plan to write more for him in the future.

If you were to ask Megumi Fushiguro what his favorite present was this year, he would probably say you.

Wc:1086

"Meguuumiiii" You whine from the hall, holding a cardboard box full of your friends' presents. Ones you handmade with blood, sweat, and literal tears. In fact, you had begun the project as early as October (before Halloween even).

What at first seemed to be a cute idea of making stuffed animals soon turned into a pain in the ass, taking up most of your free time.  Of course when you and Megumi would see each other you would refrain from letting it distract you but the very second he left or even fell asleep there you went-crocheting away. When he would walk in your dorm after a long day of class?

There you sat, legs crossed and an ever-so determined look on your face. Hunched over in a way that looked painful-which it definitely was because you had been complaining about your horrible back pain for the past two months.

Every time the two of you would FaceTime you would be groaning and sighing, complaining about how it was crooked or you put too much stuffing. That your fingers were cramping or now you need to start all over because it looks just awful.

Oh how annoying it was for Megumi to sit and watch you suffer over something absolutely no one is forcing you to do. He told you countless times to just give up and ‘buy everyone gift cards like a normal person’.

But he soon learned his lesson because every single time he said anything like that it just ended in a speech about how important it is to ‘finish things you started’ and you ‘promised yourself it wouldn’t be another abandoned project sitting in the closet’. Yes, Megumi understands. He still thinks you are insane. And he will tell you so.

“Isn’t that why you love me?” You say and he can only nod.

Megumi loves your tenacious spirit. How passionate you are about the things you care for. How lucky he is to be one of the things you are very passionate about. It is the only reason he continues to support you in your endeavor. As long as you promise you will not be doing this shit again next year. He even puts a cute little Santa hat on and wears matching slippers with you. It only took like five minutes of begging!

The only thing that continues to bother him is that you did not make him one. Surely you would have mentioned it by now. He would have seen it one of the countless times he walked in to find your room scattered with yarn and your many ‘rough drafts’. He would also be lying if he did not admit he went snooping around a few times when you were showering in the hopes of finding his.

Kugisaki is getting a white bunny. A pink bear for Itadori. There’s an animal for Maki, Yuuta, Inumaki, Gojo, a panda for Panda (duh), and nothing for him.

Maybe you forgot. You’ve been so busy making all of them and it must have slipped your mind. You probably did not even think he would want one. He has no stuffed animals in his room or anything even remotely similar. It’s not like he would cuddle it at night and think about you or anything.

So he delivers the gifts with you-with a smile on his face. Whatever Megumi considers to be a smile at least. Even ignoring the comments of how ‘whooped’ he is to be standing there matching with you. A thing he once swore he would never do.

Until he met you. You softened him up like butter. Gone is the aggression that was always his go-to in any situation. The way you loved him made him feel complete. He used to find it absurd that falling in love could change a person.

But you change him for the better. You challenge him emotionally without trying to change who he is deep down. You bring out the best and suppress the worst of him. Oh how Megumi loves you, more than words can describe.

It is your first Christmas together. As a couple at least so he may have went a bit overboard with the presents. He was trying very hard to impress you. He would be deeply embarrassed if he got you a bunch of presents and you got him nothing.

Surely that would not happen. You gave him a present last year. Why would this one be any different?

He is just anxious, a feeling he knows a bit too well. Megumi is an overthinker, sometimes he will let even the smallest things eat him up inside. He is nervously chewing at the inside of his cheek, holding the now empty box as you finish giving away your last present.

You grab his hand, squeezing it tight before pressing a kiss onto his cheek. “Thanks for coming with me handsome. Im so glad this is over” You groan and he chuckles at the exasperated look on your face. “You were so right. Never again” You peck his cheek again and he smiles contently.

Your touch is so comforting he does not even realize the two of you are heading back to your dorm instead of his. Too lost in the warmth of your smooth hands and intoxicating giggle.

It is not until you open the door and walk him inside that he understands that all of his worries were for nothing. Sometimes he forgets that you might love him just the same way he loves you. Maybe even more like you swear you do. He feels almost silly for doubting you. As he should.

Your small twin bed is covered in presents. His presents. They range all different sizes. But right in the middle, atop one of the gifts sits two little crochet figures.

Two wolves, a white and a black one.

His chest is warm and tingly. Megumi pulls you into a hug. Arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his head digging into the nape of your neck-he swallows the lump forming in his throat.

“Thank you” Megumi sighs into your chest, moving up to kiss your neck lovingly.

“Ohh Megs” You chuckle, trying to jump excitedly up and down but his arms prevent you from doing so. They grip you tighter. “You need to open them first!”

And he says something so cheesy he would have thrown up if the moment wasn’t so sweet. “You’re the only present I need”

[dismas-n-dismay]

HI HELLO I'M HERE FOR THE ANIMALISTIC FEATURES ON D(A)EMONS TED TALK

I’ve been waiting for you. *sits and turns in my swivel chair evilly with my hands pressed together at their finger tips.*

Full Explanation on Animalistic Traits on D(a)emons in no assorted order under the cut (with art included) @bazpire @vind3miat0r (tagging y'all cause I finally made the damn post)

(From left to right, Gavin, Caelum, and Azmidi in both their material forms and their pure demonic forms visualized)

Fear demons are very Creepy Crawlie based! That being said nearly all of them have amphibious/reptilian traits! Though they don’t have blood they do appear to at least feel cold blooded and do enjoy similar activities that reptilians might like sunbathing or anything equivalent!

Fear demons have Very thick and long tails, some have tails that end in fins or have extra fins on the side but that differs from demon to demon. Most fear demons have black sclera or entirely black eyes that are Very sensitive to light leaving them to only coming out at night which is both great for feeding but sucks because they get limited sunlight unless wearing sunglasses :[

Fear daemons tend to be cooler/dry colors! They’re not exactly pastels, think more calm and soothed colors that blend in w their surroundings.

For Example (of a standard fear demon): The Caller Boi is a light grey, fully scaled demon with a long tail that’s finned at the end and has smaller fins on the side! His tongue is fully that of a lizard (he can grab food with it!) and is forked, he also has heat pits underneath where his nose would be! His hands and feet are clawed and his hair is long, black, and oddly limp. His hair is incredibly long and always vaguely sopping wet looking, it also kind of looks like deep dark Kelp.

Most fear demons have longer hair/hair that very much seems uncared for, either too oily, or too dry, or too wet. Very much unnatural/uncomfy looking. Their eyes are usually obscured by their hair to keep them safe and few fear demons feel a need to show their eyes since the whole “Tall, oddly colored, long limbed creature in your room watching you” thing is enough to get a reaction and feed as is.

Most fear demons Do Not wear clothes. They don’t actually have any genitalia or defining features sexual and the effort to make clothes at both fit their proportions, feel comfortable against scales or oddly smooth/silky/slimey skin, and have tail holes is too much for any of them to Want to do unless they genuinely find it fun. So if you see one of these guys in public, don’t stare. They’re just doing their thing. Also they will notice you and will end up following you home :] (fun new buddy who definitely loves you)

Fear demons tend to either have flopped/lop ears or no ears at all! Their ears can still be perked to look for prey to pay extra attention to things if needed but are most comfortable flopping down and staying there. The chances of you touching a fear demons ears are slim to none since you will almost assuredly lose your hand afterward.

Empathy daemons very much got the best end of the deal as most of them are Chimeric in nature and therefore have a variety of mismatched animal traits! Where as other demons have traits that come directly from on family/class of animal, Empathy demons can and will have Any. (Though seeing mammalian traits is very common) This can go from mismatched fur and skin patterns to even each of their limbs. Being the most animalistic trait inheriting variety of demon, it’s incredibly helpful that Empathy demons aren’t able to be seen by their charges for a certain amount of time as this typically allows them time to be able to disguise their forms into something vaguely more human. Caelum is still struggling with this, thus his odd eyes and two sets of animal ears.

Though since that’s been repealed in canon (since it was causing empathy demons to have weird attachments to their charges due to being unseen) more people will probably be having what they assume to be visits from “angels” (more on that below)

Empathy demons are often mistaken for angels are where the idea of angels comes from somewhat! Truthfully the Sovereigns are what the concept of angels comes from but after their disappearance and the much more common appearance of Empathy demons to those in need, empathy demons became the standard as well as the saying “Do not be afraid” because seeing a creature that’s part every animal is Very Scary.

(The sovereigns look like biblically accurate angels)

Empathy demons are all born Incredibly short but grow to be one of the tallest kinds of demons! For example: Caelum was the shortest in his batch/litter of empathy demons but this means that he’ll grow to be the tallest and above average size for an Empathy demon! Which will be very inconvenient when he tries to visit freelancer and is now a good 8 feet tall (please be nice to him he hates being too tall to be held it makes him sad)(also Caelum is right handed by choice but all demons are ambidextrous…I couldn’t find anywhere else to fit this hc in so shush)

Empathy demons are born in litters/batches! Batches are used to refer to litters that have been born (typically 1 to 2 at a time otherwise the word litter will just be used interchangeably if it’s less than 2) while Litter is used by the demons in said batch to refer to themselves and their siblings that were born.

For example: “A couple new batches of empathy demons were born, they will NOT stop crying about someone taking their toys.”

“Oh me and my litter used to do that, have you tried just labelling the toys with their names?”

Empathy demons can be born with duplicate limbs! So there’s like a non-zero plausibility of there being an empathy demon named Tails who does In Fact have two fox tails. He would not find this funny. (But he would love tails and name himself Miles after him)

This can span from multiple arms on their torso to multiple tails, wings, ears, or even horns! Caelum has been known to have two tails on occasion but primarily is known for his two sets of ears! One resembling a bear or lion cub and the other resembling a lamb.

Concubi (incubi and succubi) have the Least animal traits as it would generally be hard for them to shift and disguise if they had the amount of traits other demons had. This leaves them feelings rather put-out by other demon groups and it’s very common for Concubi to be jealous or upset because of their lack of traits. Sure it’s great for catching food and all but it feels like a denial of their demonic attributes honestly. Being mistaken as human by other demons and humans themselves is a common and very down putting experience for concubi, while some embrace it and the ease it gives them to catch food, many reject this idea and will try and make their animal/demon traits more apparent.

It’s very common for concubi to have ur standard demon tail and a thing layer of fuzzy/fine fur as well as clawed hands and sometimes feet! It’s more uncommon to have cat eyes and slit pupils. Almost all concubi have long elf like ears and if they don’t then that’s very rare! The outcome of that is either having human ears (extremely rare) or some form of animal ears (even more rare) Obviously it’s much more favored by the general concubi population to have animal based ears and those that don’t have normal ears or animal ears will disguise their ears to be normal and elf like but demons can always tell when one another are using magic to hide themselves, so this trick only works on non-demons or humans

Gavin has a fair mix of uncommon and common traits for incubi! He has fairly long animal like ears (similar to a sheep/goat or rabbit), hooves, and claws! But for the most part it's not incredibly hard for him to shift and pass as human which is a mixed bag as far as he's concerned with how it makes him feel. He definitely has More traits than the average concubus but the ones he has are incredibly concubi specific, meaning they're as minor as genetically possible for him to pass as human when shifting. Think of it like being double jointed. Is it uncommon and kind of weird? yes. Is it something noticable that's going to come up every day unless you show it off? No. It's a minor oddball trait at best which sets him in this weird spot of either being idolized by some concubi for his traits, demonized by others for his lack of conformity with human standards, or being denied his demon-status due to the simplicity of his traits. It's a very hard topic for him.

At the least he's lucky that there are Very few sadism demons left out in the world, it would give him an even bigger complex of problems. (Sadism demons are basically what would happen if you took Concubi genes and pumped them with steroids. EVERYTHING about their genetics is more obvious. While Gavin has retractable claws, a sadism demon might have claws that never retract. Cats eyes that properly dilate in every light, more markings as well as markings that are more blantantly obvious. Fangs and tusks that protude from the mouth and glint in the light, whiskers and antennae that properly feel and catch every change in movement. Compared to a sadism demon, an incubus is just a chubby house cat playing an unconvincing game of pretend to a big cat. Really, if you asked Vega he would say their lives are spent playing a charade of pretend, a mockery of what a real demon is. they're practically human.)

(I have way more but this post was too long so lemme know if the tags if you want a part two on the other kinds of demons plus some more art :3 Also demon on demon discrimination because thats so fucking funny to me.)