#it is infinitely more likely for him to sit there like 'how did i get myself in this mess'

[arbiterlexultionis]

Prompt: Oops I’m a King Now

So, I absolutely love Ghost King Danny fics. The way the zone just kinda points at this kid like “that’s him officer! That the one who now where’s the crown!” With Danny unwillingly becoming king and either being really good at it or the ultimate gremlin. Simply Magnificent.

But what if Danny accidentally became the king of ghost without becoming the High King Of Ghost, successor of Pariah Dark?

It started off real simple. Danny started to (somewhat) civilize his rouges gallery, getting them to almost behave while in the human realm. Just enough for him to be able to live his half life and not spend the other half shoving them into a "Cylindrical Container Of Doom". Desiree could grant all the wishes she wanted so long as she did so in a way that could be passed off as luck, usually good but with the Phantom seal of approval when it came to monkey pawing the wishes of people who are due for some karma. Lunch Lady getting the chance to cook for people in need so long as she didn't go full Murderous Mystery Meat on them for having dietary restrictions. Getting to try and beat the stuffing out of him at regularly scheduled intervals that don't just so happen to fall on the days he needs to study and take important test and the like. That sort of thing.

This all resulted in him spending more time in the Infinite Realms then ever before. Learning about culture and society in the zone, making friends and figuring out how to do the whole Be A Ghost thing. Most of that was done in a small community not to far from where the Fenton Portal opened up in the Realms. They weren't the most important society, they didn't have some valuable export, no advanced industries like the Far Frozen's technology, no exceptionally strong ruler or ally like Necropilis had with Pandora. But what they did have in spades was kindness. They taught him what they knew, shared what they had and treated his wounds the best they could when he wasn't in a good enough condition to make the long trek to the Far Frozen. They were some of his first actual ghost friends, rather then just being people that kept trying to beat him to half death but occasionally helped him out, usually for the sake of their own self interest.

So when he found out that a small gang of ghost(small by Danny "Guardian of the Dead, Protector of the Living" Phantom's standards, so not small at all) had been launching periodic attacks on the community, he just couldn't sit back and do nothing. But even with time in the Realms passing around seven times faster then it did in the Living Realm he straight up didn't have the time to sit around and wait who knows how long to defend the town the next time the gang attacked and, hopefully, take them all down in one fell swoop. Even if he did, What good would it do? He couldn't just End every last one of them, and they would know it would only be a matter of time before he was need back in Amity. Fighting them off himself would be a stop gap measure at best.

So, plan B it was. If he can't protect them himself he would make sure they could protect themselves. Run some drill, teach some tactics, set a patrol schedule, that sorta thing. Nice and simple. In theory. In practice, it was anything but simple. His friends were a simple and very small subsistence farming community. They grew what they needed and not a single grain more, and they all worked together to do it. it was a group effort because it had to be, with them only having what by modern standards would be considered incredibly primitive farming technology, tools and knowledge. If someone put down their plow and pitchfork to pick up a spear, someone else would starve. Ghost naturally filter feed ectoplasm from the air in the zone, which provides them energy and a small amount of some simple nutrients so starvation isn't as fast and serious a threat to them as it is to humans. But their bodies, cores especially, need proper food and water to function and being deprived of food for to long can and will bring about their End. Slowing food production to train a militia and protect the town would, once again, be a stop gap measure at best. A stop gap measure that required torturing his friends via starvation in every way that mattered to Danny.

Plan B won't work, but Danny doesn't have a Plan C so he'll just have to figure out how to make it so Plan B can work. The village can't spare any farmers because they can barely produce enough to feed them all as is with their less advanced farming technology. The answer to this conundrum, like most issues the modern teenager faces, is the smartphone. Or rather, is modern technology. Danny spends days at a time in the village pouring over every textbook he can find on agriculture, its history, the technology, modern practices, bribes Ghost Writer into letting him browse his library for long forgotten and not yet written human texts and tomes of food-bidden ghost knowledge on crops and agricultural sciences in the Infinite Realms. Spends a day or two getting his parents to consider Ghost Trees an imminent enough threat to make a purpose built gadget in the form of an overgrown stake with an egg shaped head that when pounded into the ground would evenly spread anti-ghost herbicide across a large area and deep into the soil but with a little modification could easily be used to spread fertilizer and plant seeds at record speeds.(and promptly Gasslit, Gatekeept, Ghostbossed them into thinking they dreamed making the device and it was a bad idea after removing all evidence and saving the blueprints.)

The whole nine yards, and not an inch less for his first true friends on the other side. When he was finally ready he brought it all before people of the village, by the end of the night he had them all agreeing to give this fancy shmancy "Techmogy" a try, and by the end of the week, Living Time, is well on his way to revolutionizing the villages agriculture. They can not only afford to start training and maintaining a small(again, small by Danny's standards) defense force but also export extra produce and begin to develop other specialized, though still low tech, industries. When they've finished dealing with the raiding issue the village starts regularly just kinda handing over a small percentage of their harvest, and at first Danny's super confused cuz like Why??? but then just convinces himself "Oh, they just want me to keep maintaining the militia. Yeah that checks out."("How much taxes did Mister Phantom say we're supposed to pay for all this?" "He just kinda... Didn't? I don't think he expects us to?" "Thats unicorncrap and you know it. And we are not taking advantage of his kindness. Sherral had to give him that 'I'm not Mad, Just Disappointed' look for twenty minutes yesterday to get him to stop working long enough to eat." "You know what, fair. He's gonna be properly compensated whether he likes it or not.")

Danny uses the extra to have a few of his Friends in The Militia keep an eye on the Fenton Portals opening in the Realms, keeping the non-sentient ghost from wandering into the human world and keep track of who passes though/keeping people on the no go list from going and kicking up a fuss.(A Neverborn who has never been to the Living Realm: The Fucks a Passport? What do you mean you have to search me for contraband? Why are you putting on a rubber glove? What's a cavity sear-*High Pitch Traumatized Screaming.*)

As it turns out the reason they had to deal with all the raids in the first place was because the two larger communities to the northwest(well, the "Northwest" as Danny calls it, he just kinda considers towards the Far Frozen to be north) are in the middle of a minor war that initially started due to food scarcity issues, with all the fighting destroying farmlands and bringing laborers away from the fields and into the battlefields only worsening the problem. The so called "Dangerous Bandits" were just starving people fleeing the war and bloodshed that had consumed the only home the Neverborns had ever known and Last Wills had known sense all that they had ever been and knew was ripped away from them. Upon hearing that all this trouble is a result of a famine that's been going on for the last few years Danny just lights up like "Starvation? Food scarcity? Those things that I just spent ages figuring out how to help? I can Help Them? I'm Going To Help Them!" and promptly goes frolicking through an active warzone trying to befriend the locals and share his new found knowledge and technology. Full on golden retriever mode. He makes lots of friends! As the help he provides begins to show results word of him spreads and his reputation grows, more and more people of both waring communities begin searching him out.

It's not long before the oligarchy that rules over one and the queen that rules over the other start hearing about how much good this "Sir Phantom" has done for the people they rule over, hear that good being compared to they good they have done. Then they start hear whispers about people being being jealous of the first friends that Danny helped, jealous of their freedom, technology, lower taxes, safety and prosperity. They start hearing the peasants first whisper and then shout that they might just be better off under Phantom protection and guidance then theirs.

The next three times Danny wanders into the area to try and provide what is essentially humanitarian aid to the locals he is attacked. The time after that it's a full blown assassination attempt, poison coated blades and arrows seeking out his core. When he next meets up with all his ghost friends he complains about it because he's like 73% positive that that one book he read on ghost etiquette said that trying to destroy someone's core was a Big No No. All of a sudden a whole bunch of his "Friends in the militia"(His soldiers. He doesn't know they're his soldiers but they are. They will metaphorically and if necessary literally march along side him into the depths of hell, even if he doesn't actually know he's their leader. Yet.) are coming out of nowhere talking and absolutely refusing to let him head back out there without some sort of escort.

So he and a, by his standards, small escort start going into those territories. They eventually start establishing small outpost from which to distribute aid and leave militia men to protect the civilians. And they start giving him what food they can afford too, they’re so nice!

Word spreads about the Oligarchy and Queen signing some sort of temporary true to handle “A grave threat to their people’s future” and Danny’s so excited for them. Finally, they’re starting to put aside their differences and work towards giving their people a better future!

His good mood is unfortunately cut short when hears about a group marching on his friends community. He rush’s back and finds said group between his community and the warzone, coming to the conclusion that they are more bandits fleeing the conflict. They are also probably the most well put together and organized bandit group he’s ever seen. They’ve got uniforms, supply carriages, banners and even start getting into a battle formation when they see him watching. The people that seem to be leading them have him a little confused though. A lady that could be considered the personification of the term “overdressed” and a bunch of old dudes who a clearly from the wealthier side of society. Half the reason he noticed them at all was because of how shiny all their jewelry is and even from a distance he’s like, 90% positive that’s all worth enough to feed like half the villages he’s been providing aid to for months. So he’s not to sure why they’re leading a raid against his friends for food, but he guesses it doesn’t really matter in the end.

Danny figures that facing an organized force would be a good training experience for the militia and good practice leading for him so he gathers up the militia and leads them to battle. Dispute being out numbered by a pretty significant margin it goes pretty well. As expected of bandits fleeing a famine, most of the enemy is half starved and their morale is in the mud so despite being pretty disciplined they can’t really put up much of a fight.

Once the militia gets a hang of fighting against enemies in proper formation and seems to have learned all they can from the battle Danny calls them back and moves in to sweep up. Most of the “bandits” are captured and he sends the rich weirdos packing. Or rather, sends them flying at high speeds one at a time. Spends some time making sure all the captured “bandits” get some food and medical care. Works on the logistics of getting them brought into the militia at the suggestion of the commander he left to lead it.

By the time Danny gets back to the war zone it’s, apparently, no longer a war zone. Everyone’s partying and celebrating, as while he was off fighting those bandits a brave and mighty hero had freed the people from the rule of Wicked Queen and Oligarchy. He goes on a tour of the territories, just to do one final check for issues and stamp out the last of the fighting and such. But nearly every village and town he stops in are pretty worried about the future of their nations, what with most of their governments being metaphorically and literally kicked out of the country and what’s left actively collapsing. So he decided to stick around a bit longer, grows the militia to better keep the peace, spreads some more modern tech to boost the economy. “Man y’all’s infrastructure is falling apart. Ah don’t worry about it, I’ll get some people working on it.”

This process just kinda repeats. Slowly but surly Danny finds more and more people in need of help. So he helps them. Makes friends. Gathers allies. Princess Dorothea was for some reason worried that being his friend would come at the cost of her crown but once she finds out that’s not the case she was more than happy to work with him. Gave Walker a new rule book to enforce when it comes to those under his protection. Pandora was pretty happy with the technological advancements he brought to Necropolis.

Getting the Far Frozen under his protection is probably the easiest of them all, and he even gets a really cool helmet out of it. Or well, he calls it a helmet but it’s not really all that helmet-y, as it’s mostly just a ring with a bunch of spikes poking out he top but it’s a really cool ring with spikes.

Made from the rarest and most valuable form of Eternal Frost within the Far Frozen the Nihil Glacias, it normally reflects and gives off absolutely no light. But as his power flows through and fills the ice microscopic imperfections and impurities within it become places where his energy gathers and collapses in on itself, creating brief beacons of light winking in and out of existence like stars in the night sky. When Danny first gets it he spends three hours in front of a mirror learning how to control it so he can make specific constellations appear and in the process learns that if he pours enough energy into it the excess power will begin branching out in ribbons of light, wrapping around him and flowing out like an aurora borealis. The fact that is multiplies his power a few times over and greatly accelerates the rate at which he grows stronger too is cool and all, but it’s his favorite accessory because of the stars. Apparently Frostbite got it for him so that his people would always be able to identify him, which makes sense. He wants them to know they can always come to him when they need help, and having a nice identifying feature so they can pick him out in a crowd or find him in an emergency will go a long way in ensuring they can.

Apparently Pandora’s something of a competitive gift giver as not long after word about how much Danny liked his new helmet got around she presented him with an enchanted ring, forged from a piece of the hope that resides within her box. Allowing him to not only sense the emotions of his people and always know when they are in danger but also draw power from the hope and faith they have in him, it very quickly rises to the position of second most prized possession. Just behind his fancy helmet because ✨Stars✨(and because it was a gift from Frostbite, the first adult in his life to ever actually Adult Properly for him and be there to support him. But Danny’s not gonna admit that part.)

Eventually Danny

Creates rules and laws

Funds and organizes a force to enforce the laws

Manages the economy to ensure continued growth and stability

Funds the construction and maintenance of public works and infrastructure

Raises and trains army’s to protect his people from outside threats

Appoints officials to act in his name and carry out a number of jobs

Danny, wearing a crown, sitting on a thrown, in the royal palace: Pft, no. I’m not a king or anything lame like that. I just help out around these parts, make sure everyone’s okay and all that. They’re all my friends!

What Danny Says: You guys wanna be my Friends?

What people hear: I’m annexing you. Accept my rule quietly or End Screaming.

Pandora does wind up a competitive gift giver. At first the ring she gave Danny was a calculated political move, meant to ensure her and Necropolis remained in his good graces and that the Far Frozen wouldn’t wind up with to much of The Kings favor. But then she finds out that her ring, which she spent weeks crafting by hand, put her heart and soul into, forged from a piece of Her Hope, was only the second favorite gift not because of any practical or even political reason. But instead Because ✨Stars✨. Alright Frostbite you fuzzy bastard, this just got Personal. She Will be the best and She Will be Danny’s favorite. Frostbite is more than happy to compete if it means Danny gets more cool stuff that makes him happy and safer and starts actively making the best gifts he can. This eventually results in Pandora becoming the other Adult in Danny’s life who Actually Adults and Supports Him. One day when she was trying to get Danny away from his paperwork and in bed she heard him call her Mom in his sleep and she most certainly Did Not cry happy tears. Anyone who says otherwise Will taste the steel of her blade.

[blacksurvivalnostalgichanges]

i want to say this because it left me in stitches

i felt the sort of need to write, didn't feel like writing for my original thing, and i want to rethink the plot/lore of the fic so it's less based on stranger things. the attachment to it completely kills it for me. i got into the magnus archives because i was hoping to find the right inspiration, currently hoping i find other good horror. anyway, not important beyond my feeling of having to update on this

and i dug deep into google docs wondering if there were any things i wrote or started writing that could help

i, apparently, had this isbs drabble doc? that was entirely ideas for writing. i wrote a little on one, but it's too weak on the ground and i never finished it

one of the ideas involved the premise that yuki is calm, and ergo capable of mediating. like, he ends up allying with hyunwoo and isol because i liked those three as a group, still do albeit differently. and he'd help make them fight less

i'm gonna be real with you

i don't think i understood yuki back then at all

[arabella0001]

⋆˙♱ 𓆩♡𓆪 cn: hurt/comfort, slightly soft sukuna, suggestive

Nothing could’ve prepared Sukuna, the King of Curses, the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer from over a thousand years ago, to be so weak right now.

His cursed energy that’s almost infinite, was helping him before in his brutally fights, winning against every enemy he ever faced—or just killing for his own pleasure. All in vain, right now.

Not when he’s on the floor, with his back against the door. With his opened disheveled kimono at the chest, strangely making him look—along with his expression—almost like a helpless teenager.

Behind the door Sukuna was leaning against, you hadn’t stopped crying since last night.

At first, he dismissed you. Sukuna didn’t have time for your childish, dramatic whining that you threw around daily since he met you.

Even though this isn’t the first time he’s met you, right now, he wants to curse the day he met you the second time.

You were definitely her—the one from a thousand years ago. The one he only sensed and saw once but the memory stayed fresh all throughout these years. The only thread of emotion he was ever able to hold on to, one he always found disgusting. He regretted for eternity not speaking to you back then before you disappeared like a ghost, haunting his mind ever since.

Until he found you again. And this time, he didn’t hesitate. He made you his concubine. Your fear of him faded over time. After all, your love began at first sight. Your immediate desire was to alleviate his loneliness with your whole heart. Giving it to him, and only him.

So no one prepared you, not even for a second—on the contrary, the other servants even criticized you since the day you came—considering you were already placed above them. No one prepared you for how much it would hurt to see Sukuna, your Sukuna, letting another concubine, on a random day, amuse him and staying too close to him.

What was more shocking when you opened the door, to be surpised with her sitting on his lap, intentional, after seeing you. Even though he was completely disinterested in her existence, it was just in that one moment that he was entertained by her presence.

So your reaction—your disobedience more exactly—to leave right after he summoned you, made Sukuna not only be bewildered by your boldness and your apparent desire to die because you defied him, but also to completely ignore your jealous attitude, that was so unnecessarily loud.

That was until you started crying, slamming the door in his face.

And ever since, his soul, felt every tremble of yours from the other side. And this only managed to paralyze him on the ground by the door.

Pathetic. That’s what he thought. Pathetic, especially for what he’s about to do.

“Open the door.”

Your cries stopped for a second, only to surprise him even more with your stubbornness.

“No.”

He sighed so hard, probably the whole damn temple heard it.

“She means nothing to me, woman. I don’t understand why you get so worked up over such a meaningless existence.”

But you only yell in return, in a pitch he never heard from you before, your bleeding heart punching straight into his chest.

“Then why did you let her? Why did you let her sit closer to you?” You add between panting, “You swore to me. You sealed your heart to me. Only to humiliate me and ruin all I have left?”

Sukuna couldn’t help but rise to his feets, now facing the door and barely containing himself from breaking that stupid weak door. His clenched fists pressing slighy against the wood, just above his head.

You felt how his cursed energy swallowed the whole place. Almost making you fear him again, especially when his voice dropped low—commanding.

“STOP.”

His fists tightened until his knuckles turned white, trembling against the door. But his voice was almost a whisper, nor that it didn’t terrified you.

“Never. Never since I landed on this pathetic earth—have I ever fucking wanted any human being. I despise them. All. I don’t fucking care about absolutely nothing on this revolting land. Only you.”

He added, with a calmer tone, “So open the door.” Then cursed under his breath before speaking again. “Please.”

Your crying stopped instantly after hearing that unexpected beginning. Your eyes widened and Sukuna’s word halted for a moment when he felt a shift in your energy. But you treated him with silence again—and that was his breaking point.

“I’ll kill her. Her and any other concubine in this fucking temple.”

Just as he turned with determined footsteps and a murderous look on his face, you opened the door.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Sukuna gave you a side glance, disappearing instantly from where he stood before appearing now right in front of you.

His intense gaze trailed up and down your tear-stained face, your weakened body barely holding itself up.

Your eyes widened, and something he’s grown to hate the most since he met you stirred inside him again—seeing you scared. Again. Watching you step back, hands lifting instinctively to protect yourself, when in reality he is the one who’s supposed to protect you. Always.

His eyes softened with a tone slightly light, until his big rough hands grasped your firmly.

“You made me insane. So insane I wanna break this entire world in half. And I could, if I wanted.” He added, not leaving your face for once, like he was trying to hypnotize you. “I will never, ever hurt you. I don’t want you scared in my presence, in any fucking circumstances—You understand?”

Seeing how your legs tremble, your swollen eyes scanning his face frantically that he is not used to it—only your adoring, worshipping gaze should exist in his mind. This look needed to be completely erased. He did something much lower than he already was.

He knelt.

His movements so deliberate that your body froze.

Sukuna looked at you with such loyalty that you felt guilty. Expecially when he spoke, in that voice you loved so much, the one he only used at night and sometimes in the mornings—but even that was rare.

“Forgive me. For disgracing you. I will not put you in this position again.” And because it wasn’t enough, in his mind, he pushed, “Please.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to lift him. “My lord—”

“No. I don’t deserve your devotion right now.”

You corrected yourself, “Please, Kyo. Stand up, my love.”

And he did. Almost humiliatingly amused on the inside that now you were the one commanding him—and he listened.

Your hands cupped his face, looking at him with that loving, yet still hurt eyes.

“I—I forgive you.”

At that, Sukuna leaned into your parted lips, your body responding subconsciously before your mind even processed it, and kissed you so hungrily—yet different than before. Like he was pouring his entire cursed heart into that kiss. Devouring you.

He lifted you up like you were the lightest thing in the world, a small surprised sound escaping your lips. And as he held you like a queen—his queen, because that’s what you were, no matter your title—he carried you toward the bed, Sukuna��s gaze never leaving your face the whole time.

Until he threatened you—but not in the way you’d expect.

“Now. You need to deal with the consequences of almost ruining my most precious human heart. Your heart.”

Despite his menacing voice, his hands laid you down on the bed almost too gently, his red eyes piercing your. Then his leg settled between yours, towering over you and tossing his black kimono god knows where.

Sukuna’s voice was only a malicious whisper, tickled the skin of your earlobe.

“Now it’s your time to beg for mercy, woman.”

[catchastarorten]

—“This one’s mine.”

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x VIP!fem!reader

Summary: after being pestered by your own brother, you agreed to accompany him to the island to watch the games, only to find yourself helping a waiter—Jun-ho—who was being eyed by a creepy panther-masked VIP.

Warnings: your sarcasm, mentions of death/violence in Glass Bridge, your brother is a VIP, brother & sister bickering/you put him in his place because he's being annoying, the VIPs—panther masked VIP being a weirdo, you save Jun-ho tho, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.6k

The golden fox mask felt heavy on your face, pressing against your skin in a way that made you want to rip it off and toss it across the room. But that would be improper, wouldn’t it? A VIP must maintain decorum. At least, that’s what your insufferable little brother kept reminding you.

Speaking of him, he was sitting beside you, his wolf mask barely concealing the delighted smirk on his face as he leaned forward, watching the players stumble and fall to their deaths on the Glass Bridge. He laughed—actually laughed—when a man made the wrong choice out of the two and jumped, crashing through the wrong glass panel, screaming all the way down.

You sighed, swirling the drink in your glass, watching the liquid catch the dim light. It was infinitely more interesting than the so-called “game” before you.

How had you let brother dearest drag you here? Oh, right. He had whined and pouted and gone on and on about how you never did anything fun with him. You had rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn’t gotten stuck in your skull, but against your better judgment, you agreed.

And now here you were, surrounded by a bunch of snobby men—your presence wasn’t nearly enough to balance out the testosterone levels—draped in velvet robes, sipping on the finest liquor, and betting on desperate people fighting for their lives.

You suppressed a yawn.

“This is so much better than another charity gala, isn’t it?” your brother drawled, nudging your arm. “You have to admit, this is real entertainment.”

“Yeah, watching poor people die really warms the heart,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be such a bore, sis,” he said, rolling his eyes. “This is tradition. You should be honored to be here.”

Oh, you were honored, alright. Honored that your parents left everything to him, making sure he had enough money to play dress-up with his rich little friends while you had to fight for your own wealth. Not that you needed their inheritance, but the principle of it still burned. He got to be the spoiled prince while you had to claw your way up in the world. And now here he was, wasting it all on cheap thrills.

The Glass Bridge game was nearing midway. The players were hesitating, trying to strategize their way across. The VIPs around you were buzzing with excitement, shouting bets, clapping, drinking like it was the biggest sports event of the decade. But all you saw were walking corpses, their fear so thick in the air it nearly masked the expensive cologne in the room.

You took another sip of your drink, letting the burn coat your throat.

“At least pretend like you’re having fun,” your brother whined. “People are gonna think you’re some kind of a… prude.”

“Oh no.” you responded mockingly.

He huffed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. If there was one thing he hated, it was not getting his way. You could practically hear the gears turning in his spoiled little mind, trying to come up with a way to make you enjoy this, but his thoughts were interrupted when the other VIPs erupted into cheers and groans. You just exhaled through your nose, staring at the mess.

It was the players on the glass bridge, arguing, too afraid to jump. One shoved another forward, out of desperation or malice. The man screamed as he plunged to his death.

“Ugh, finally,” your brother muttered. “I hate when they hesitate. Just jump, you cowards!”

You turned your head slightly, studying him. Did he even realize how pathetic he sounded? Lounging in a silk robe, sneering at people who had nothing? He wouldn’t last a minute in their position.

“You should play,” you mused, tilting your head. “Next year.”

He snorted. “Please, I would dominate these games.”

You smiled behind your mask. “Would you?”

Your brother scoffed. “You doubt me?”

“I know you,” you said. “And you wouldn’t make it past the first round.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I’d make it to the finals, at least.”

You leaned in, voice dropping. “Tell you what. If you join next year, I’ll bet against you. Just to make it interesting.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. But you saw it—the flicker of doubt, of fear. As much as he enjoyed watching, he knew very well he would never survive playing.

And that? That was the only entertaining thing you’d seen all night.

A moment later, your eyes flicked toward the Panther-masked VIP, whose frustration over losing a bet had quickly turned into something much more unpleasant. His focus had shifted from the game to the waiter standing stiffly beside him—a waiter who, you observed, wasn’t moving quite like the other servers.

You weren’t an idiot. The way that waiter hesitated when he was called, the way his shoulders were a little too tense, the way his hands remained perfectly still as if not used to serving—it all screamed of someone who didn’t belong.

That was because he wasn’t really a waiter, it was Jun-ho disguised as one, though you didn’t know that. He had taken down one of the servers moments before the VIPs arrived on the island.

And now, the Panther-masked VIP was ordering him to sit beside him and take off his mask.

Jun-ho—recognizing the sharpness in his tone—tried to resist, his voice calm. “I need to serve the other guests, sir.”

The Panther VIP scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, come now, the others won’t mind if I keep this one for myself, will they?”

A chorus of laughter and amusement rippled through the room, the other VIPs agreeing without a care—“he’s all yours!” one of them laughed. Your brother even chuckled beside you, raising his glass as if this was all just another part of the entertainment.

You, however, did not find it amusing.

Before Jun-ho could be forced into something he clearly wanted no part of, you lazily raised your hand and gestured toward your glass.

“I need a refill,” you said smoothly.

Jun-ho’s eyes darted toward you, wary but sharp, understanding immediately that you were giving him an out.

Your brother groaned, shifting beside you. “Come on, sis, let him have his fun—”

Your hand shot out, swatting him hard against his arm before he could finish his whining.

He yelped, rubbing his arm. “Ow! What the—?”

“Shut up.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but the look you gave him through your golden fox mask was enough to make him think better of it. He slumped back into the couch with a huff, grumbling under his breath.

The Panther-masked VIP tsked in annoyance but didn’t say more as Jun-ho bowed his head slightly and stepped away from him, making his way toward you. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease, if only slightly.

As he reached your couch, he carefully took your glass and poured you another drink, his movements slow and precise. Up close, you could see the way his jaw was set tight, his eyes flickering with restraint.

You leaned in slightly as he finished pouring. “You okay?” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

Jun-ho hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding once. “Thank you,” he said quietly, placing your glass back into your hand.

You didn’t reply, just took a slow sip while he stood beside the couch you sat on.

However, the weight of the Panther-masked VIP’s stare was suffocating. You didn’t even have to look to know that he was still watching Jun-ho like a predator eyeing its next meal.

Annoyed, you turned your head ever so slightly, locking eyes with him through your golden fox mask. You raised your glass in a slow, mocking salute before downing the rest of your drink in one smooth motion.

The message was clear: Back off.

Unfortunately, subtlety was wasted on men like him.

“Come back here,” the Panther VIP drawled, waving his fingers in a lazy command at Jun-ho.

Jun-ho’s grip on the bottle in his hands tightened slightly, his body as still as a statue. It was subtle, but you caught it. He didn’t want to go back over there.

So, before he could even think about stepping forward, you reached out and grabbed his forearm, holding him in place. Your fingers pressed firmly against the fabric of his uniform—a silent message that he could stay with you.

You sat up straighter, your voice cutting through the noise.

“This one’s mine.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

Jun-ho stiffened beside you, clearly taken aback. You didn’t mean it in the way it sounded—he wasn’t a possession. But these men only responded to power plays, and if that was the language they spoke, then fine. You’d speak it fluently.

Your brother let out a low whistle beside you, his amusement clear. “Ohhh, big sis is getting bold.”

You didn’t even hesitate—your palm struck his arm again with a sharp thwack.

“Ow!” he rubbed where you smacked him.

“Shut up,” you muttered, leveling him with a glare. “If you don’t stop embarrassing yourself, I’ll give you a real beating in front of all these people.”

He grumbled something under his breath, soothing his arm, but he didn’t push it further.

The Panther VIP, however, was not so easily prevented. “Come now,” he chuckled, though there was irritation beneath his voice. “You can’t hoard all the fun.”

“Sure, I can,” you replied dryly.

A few of the other VIPs laughed at that, enjoying the exchange. The Panther VIP let out a breath through his nose, clearly displeased, but he wasn’t about to pick a fight with another VIP. That was the unspoken rule—annoyance was fine, but outright challenging each other was bad form.

Jun-ho turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. You met his eyes for a brief second, and then you stood up, keeping your grip on him firm.

“We’re leaving,” you announced.

Your brother groaned. “What? Where are you going?”

You didn’t even look at him as you responded, voice utterly monotone. “Somewhere that isn’t here.”

More amusement rippled through the other VIPs, some watching with interest, others indifferent as they returned their attention to the game. But as you turned to leave, you felt it—that silent, looming presence watching you.

The Frontman.

He didn’t say a word, didn’t move to stop you. He simply observed, his masked face unreadable.

You met his gaze for a long moment before turning away, leading Jun-ho out of the room. No one stopped you. No one dared to stop you.

And just like that, you stole the only honest man in the room away from the wolves.

The moment you got him alone into a dimly-lit, empty room, you could feel the tension radiating off of him. Jun-ho wasn’t stupid—he knew he didn’t belong here, and he knew that you knew. His shoulders were taut, his breath controlled but just a little too shallow, and his hand was subtly reaching for something. A gun, maybe. A knife. Whatever he had managed to smuggle in.

You raised your hands slowly, showing you had no weapon, no ill intent. “Relax,” you said, your voice calm, softer even. You let go of his arm, stepping back to give him space. “I’m not going to turn you in… or whatever you’re thinking right now.”

Jun-ho’s sharp eyes flickered with suspicion. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because if I was planning to sell you out, I would’ve done it back there.” you tilted your head slightly, crossing your arms loosely. “Would’ve let that old man have his fun.” you said with a hint of distaste at the thought.

That gave him pause. He studied you, his gaze flickering over your golden fox mask, as if trying to gauge whether you were lying, or just the need to understand why a supposed VIP was helping him. You didn’t blame him for being on edge. This entire place was a slaughterhouse dressed up in gold. If you were in his position, you wouldn’t trust anyone either.

“You don’t belong here,” you stated plainly, watching for his reaction.

“And neither do you.”

That actually made you laugh, just a short, soft chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”

He hesitated. Maybe because your mask didn’t hold the same predatory amusement as the others. His fingers twitched, like he was still deciding whether to draw his weapon, but then he let out a slow breath.

You sighed too and gestured toward the door. “You should go. Before someone actually does come looking for you.”

Jun-ho didn’t move right away. He just stood there, looking at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle. And for a brief moment, you could tell—he wanted to ask.

Who are you?

Why are you helping me?

What’s under the mask?

But he didn’t ask. He just gave you a small nod before slipping out the door, disappearing like a shadow. You shut the door.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders as you turned back toward the empty room. Not even a minute later, a knock came at the door. You raised an eyebrow, opening the door, meeting the presence of a square-masked guard, who stepped inside.

“The Frontman sent me to check on you,” the guard said, his voice hollow under the mask. “Where’s the waiter?”

You gave him a blank look. “What waiter?”

The guard straightened. “The waiter you left with.”

You tilted your head, voice dry. “Oh. Him.” you shrugged lazily. “I got bored. Told him to get lost.”

The square guard didn’t buy it. “Where did he go?”

You sighed, as if this was the most exhausting conversation of your life. “Am I his babysitter?”

The guard didn’t move. He was pushing. You didn’t like being pushed.

So you took a slow step forward, closing the space between you and the guard. He stood his ground, but you could feel the slight hesitation in his stance as you slowly backed him up against the wall.

When his back hit the surface, the shift in atmosphere was instant. You weren’t loud. You weren’t aggressive. But the weight of your presence—the empty, unreadable calm of someone who knew how to lie—was enough to make the guard tense.

You tilted your head slightly, a slow, empty smile forming under your mask. “What exactly are you suggesting?” you murmured, voice smooth as silk. “That I’m hiding something?”

The square guard stiffened.

“Because that would be a very bold accusation to make against a VIP,” you continued, voice dropping to something almost sickly sweet. “And you wouldn’t want to insult a guest, would you?”

There it was—the slight shift in his posture, the hesitation and hint of nervousness.

“I—”

You stepped back, your fake smile still in place. “Good talk,” you said dryly, dusting off your robe like this was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Tell the Frontman to send someone more competent next time.”

The square guard didn’t argue, he just quickly stepped away from the wall, stiffly nodding before leaving the room without another word.

You sighed as the door shut behind him, rubbing a hand against the side of your neck.

This whole thing had been a drag, but at least you’d managed to do one decent thing tonight.

[plethorawrites]

I know a lot of people HC that Damian Wayne would be a terrible dad because of how he was raised and his own trauma keeps him emotionally detached, but imagine if his upbringing did the exact opposite? (1.2k)

He'd be terrified the moment he finds out his wife is pregnant, utterly unable to comprehend it. He wants to be excited, like everyone else in his family is about it, but can't bring himself to get over the fear. He's worried he won't love it or feel attached to it like she already is. Hell, he keeps calling it and IT.

That fear only grows and grows, getting infinitely worse as she's closer to having the baby. He doesn't feel worthy of being a parent, he's got too much blood on his hands to know how to be gentle or caring, especially not to someone as small as a baby. His wife alone had to break through a dozen of his walls before he fully trusted her enough to be vulnerable with her. But then, the baby is born. He's a dad. His wife is alright, which is his first concern, the next being making sure the baby is too.

She is.

She's a she.

He has a little girl and it's like time stops, staring at her little face, her dark skin, her full head of hair, her chubby cheeks. That fear in his chest both grows and disappears all at once. He knows then and there that his worries about not loving her were absolutely ridiculous. He's never let the world hurt her. But the apprehension about being good enough still persists.

He refuses to hold her, claiming his wife should be the first since she did all the work. Which she did. Then, he still refuses. He doesn't want to cradle her when he keeps thinking of all the blood his hands have spilled. His wife can tell and deep down it worries her too, but she doesn't say anything because she knew it would take a while for him to get used to being a dad. His family comes to see the baby a few days after they leave the hospital, they all hold her, but Damian keeps his arms crossed.

He's still terrified from afar that one of his brothers will drop her, though.

One night, after she got to bed, he hears her crying. His wife is exhausted, rightfully so, so he gets up. She's eaten recently so he has no idea why the baby is crying, just that she is. He shushes her while she lays in her crib but she's a few weeks old, so of course she has no idea what that means.

Finally, he reaches down, scooping her up into his arms, just to try to keep her quiet so his wife can sleep. "Shh. Please let your mother sleep," he whispers, his eyes softening as she immediately stops crying.

He puts her back down, the anxiety having already flooded him just by having her in his arms, but the second she's back in her crib, she's crying again. He's forced to pick her back up and the crying turns to soft cooing, staring up at him with wide eyes. He sighs, sitting in the chair his wife likes to rock her to sleep in, holding her close in her blanket. Which wasn't really a blanket at all, just his old cape that she had somehow taken to finding comfort in.

She reaches out, with that iron vice of a grip all babies seem to have, grabbing his finger with her hand. "Such a strong grip for such a small person," he whispers to himself or perhaps to her. "I love you, you know? More than anything. I just...feel like you deserve a better father than me."

She's still staring, silently, with absolutely no recognition of his words and his grips around her tightens as he leans his head back in the chair, falling asleep until morning when his wife finds him in the nursery with her still in his arms. He won't pretend he didn't feel a little bit of comfort holding her. But it was still frightening to him. Even if his wife assured him every other day that he was doing fine and she knew he could be a good dad.

He takes to being the one to soothe her at night so his wife can sleep, both because he's used to staying up at night for work and because he's somehow a lot better at getting her to calm down. He begins calling her 'beautiful' or 'darling' in Arabic, which always elicits a small smile. And he knows without a single doubt that he'd never let the darkness he's seen touch her.

The older she grows the better he gets at it. She's less fragile, he's more confident that he does deserve her. He can raise her better than he was raised. And he does. He can recognize each of her cries, knows what she needs, sometimes before she does. He presses a kiss to her head every night before she goes to bed and even when she starts sleeping through the night he'll still sit in her nursery for a while because he knows he'll never see her this small again.

She turns one and his whole family is there, spoiling her with extravagant gifts, even though he knows her favorite thing in the whole world is the blanket she sleeps with, made from his old cape. She's old to stand and starts babbling, not quite forming words, but it's enough that he knows what she wants when she points in a vague direction and starts getting frustrated about wanting something. He sits on the floor, holding her little hands while she stands, learning to take her first steps and his wife grimaces, worried the baby will fall.

She does.

Damian catches her.

She giggles and he can't help but grin with pride. "That's my girl. Already learning to walk a few months early." She's smart, he knows it. He doesn't boast to anyone aside from his wife or family about it, but secretly judges all the other kids in the group his wife takes her too. They weren't quite as advanced as his daughter.

After all, she responds to some words in Arabic. Her nicknames, mostly. Although she'll turn her head when he says 'look' or tells her 'good job' for finishing her mashed veggies. How many other babies did they know who were bilingual before two? Not many.

After fourteen months or so, her eyes change from blue to green and he finds himself even more transfixed with her wide eyes that track everything he does when he wakes up before his wife to make them all breakfast. He scolds her lightly when she throws the teething ring she loves at him, telling her "That's rude." Before handing it back to her and making her some steamed vegetables, since he always refused to give her store bought baby food.

It wasn't good enough for his child.

Around the time her babbling turns to poorly formed words, she starts calling him Babba and realizing how it makes him smile utters it over and over when she wants to be picked up.

She goes: "Babbababbababba." Like it's all one very long ramble until he lifts her out of her high chair and lets her rest on his hip asking her what she wants. "Stuffed animal?" He questions, pointing at her collection of them. She just repeats. "Babba." again, laying her head against him.

He realizes she just wants to be held and he gladly holds her for as long as she wants.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: Hey y'all! I hope y'all enjoy, the next one might be submissive Terry idkidk 🫣 kinda hate this one.

Perfect Gentleman. | Aaron Pierre.

Gentle!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on, oral s3x ( m receiving), extreme language (cursing, sexual references) established relationship, slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread!

Summary: terry's been the perfect gentleman, maybe a little too gentle.

swear you can have me, you really one-of-one.

how you so nasty? you really one-of-one.

You eagerly scratched the itch away in your bitten up ankles. The mosquitoes out here in the Black Bayou had torn your exposed ankles up—and this was why camping wasn't your thing. You'd never complain though, any excuse to be with Terry was a good one.

"I told you to wear long socks," he chuckled looking back you and at how you'd scratched the skin on your ankles red, "all that gardenin' you do and you out here with no socks on," he softly lectured as you watched him pitch the tent, at his demand. He was such a gentleman.

You'd been dating Terry for over four months, you've both went on a plethora of dates, had the steamy first kiss, and even spent a night at each others apartment, but you still hadn't fucked yet. Was it you? You knew you had an Oscar worthy performance of your coy-innocent act that Terry ate up all of the time, but you weren't a prude. You couldn't count how many times you'd hinted, and seduced only to be met with more gentleness.

And you loved how patient, protective, and gentle he was with you. He was everything you'd practically asked for when you started dating. A nice man, a sweet man—and you got it, a full blown golden retriever boyfriend. He had so many amazing qualities, he was always on time arriving fifteen minutes early. Something he said was one of the most useful things he learned from his time in the Marine Corps. He was a full blown de-escalator, he never wanted to argue with you, always communicating as calmly as he could before coming to an understanding with you. He was gentle. But maybe he was too gentle? You wanted Terry in the worst ways. It didn't help that he stayed in good shape, gym four times a week, and his infinite morning runs kept him in tip-top shape.

You pouted, squinting your eyes as you looked at Terry from underneath the brim of the Nike bucket hat you'd retrieved from him. Although he was pitching the tent and the sun was currently beating down on him, he decided that, you, sitting in the shade doing nothing, needed the hat more. Such a man.

"You said come comfortable, and I garden in my crocs—that's what I came in!" You defended your reasoning for not wearing the socks that he did tell you to pack last night over a quick FaceTime call, but he did say come comfortable in the same sentence. "These mosquitos are relentless, baby, look at my ankles!" You frowned looking at how red and irritated the skin has gotten there even on your deep brown skin.

Of course Terry stopped his meddling with the tent and came over to assess your so badly injured ankles. He tsk'd softly his big hands cradling both of your ankles gently. Now push them behind my head! you eagerly thought feeling him touch you at all always sent shocks and shivers through your body.

"They eatin' my baby up," he somberly acknowledged rubbing his thumbs where the bites were firmly, "you put bug spray on like I told you?"

You nodded. "Yeah, just go and finish the tent," you dramatically sighed waiting to eagerly scratch at the bites, "I'll just be sitting over here, itchy, getting ate up." At least something was eating you up.

He brought your left ankle up to his lips casually, placing a soft kiss there before setting the both of them back down carefully. You almost moaned, it had been way too long. "stop scratchin' at em, you makin' em worse."

You looked at him, batting your eyelashes at him a dazed nod following right behind. He was so gorgeous, and it didn't help that he was so sweet and treated you like the absolute brat you were. He continued on with his quick work with the tent and you continued on with your sneaky scratching. After it was perfectly pitched, he got you inside as soon as it was done to rub a bit of alcohol on your itchy ankles and making you put on a pair of his socks that were way too big for you.

You frowned looking down at your legs later that night as you both set around the campfire, that you had gotten started. You hadn't forgotten all the survival tips your father had shown you. Terry focused on cooking the fish he and you caught earlier from the pier. He'd cleaned it and dissembled it himself. "These are puttin' a damper on my outfit, so not cute."

Terry chuckled, quickly flipping the searing fish over in the pan. Your eyes flickered over to him. "What?"

"You so country," he commented through a light chuckle, "damper?"

"That's not country!" You defended through a smile. "Everybody says damper!"

"Nobody says damper,"

"Does too!"

"Why you gotta be such a brat? Why you act like that?" He teased playfully, holding his hand out to you only to pull you up from your chair and into his lap. "Hm?" He hummed nuzzling his faced into your neck where he playfully nipped at the skin on your neck, knowing the ticklish effect it had on you.

You laughed hunching your shoulder up to push him away from the area, "stop!" The assault lasted a few more minutes before he reluctantly stopped, only when he seen the tears from your nonstop laughter, and how you cradled your aching stomach when you laughed.

"Brat," he mumbled in between persisting kisses to your lips. You happily returned each one, who were you to deny the brat allegations. They were very true. "Always gotta have yo way."

"You love how bratty I am," you retorted, trailing your own lingering kisses from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck.

"I do," he mumbled out an agreement making you laugh against his neck before continuing on, and you thought maybe, as his hands kneaded the back of your thighs and the undersides of your ass. But all that came undone when he urgently removed you from his lap in light hysterics about almost burning the fish.

The fish.

How could he even think about fish when he had your throbbing pussy in his lap, was he really blind to all this shit? Or was he just not sexually attracted to you? Or was he fucking celibate? The questions brought on a lingering insecurity. The rest of the night you were more distant, quiet, the situation left you a little embarrassed and salty. You'd never had a man be so indifferent to your advances. Or did he even see them as advances? Hell, you didn't know anymore.

Your distance and quiet demeanor didn't go unnoticed either Terry, who constantly made it his mission to see if you were okay and enjoying yourself. You answered the same all the time, yes, which did very little to comfort him—but he also didn't wanna push you into irritation.

"You sure you good, baby?" He asked later that night as you both settled into the cozy tent. You made sure to nestle yourself into your cute, pinky, sleeping bag. It was so you.

"Yeah." You simply answered with a nod, forcing the weak smile. Such a liar. But you weren't gonna admit that the situation left you feeling a little salty. You didn't wanna bring the situation up at all, you'd much rather forget it.

"You sure? You not actin' like yourself, baby. You want me to take you home?" There he went. Being so him. Always being so caring.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing really, im just..itchy still." You seamlessly lied. Or maybe not. You were still itchy.

Terry decided not to press the issue instead making sure he got as close as possible to you, something he always did when you slept together, he loved being right up under you—you didn't contest to it. Ever. You both gave your good nights, and Terry made sure to turn off the LED lantern lamp you both had in the tent. A soft and easy silence falling over the both of you. Terry's soft breathing, body heat, chirping crickets and the pitch black were enough to lull you to sleep. And they almost did, but damn, you were still itchy.

You brought your knees to your chest, hastily scratching at your extremely itchy ankles, a heavy, draws out sigh from the temporary but almost euphoric relief skipped past your lips.

"Stop scratchin'." Terry's deep voice but through the silence, the raspiness on the edge of his voice attributed to the sleep that had took him in quick. The words halted your actions quickly as you tried to quietly morph into a comfortable position.

"I'm not," you spoke quietly.

"But you were."

His damn hearing. He heard everything.

"Well I wouldn't have been if I was doing something else." Your tone snappy but the suggestiveness fore fronted the sassiness.

"Somethin' else like what?" Terry questioned.

You huffed immediately, sitting up abruptly from your sleeping bag and flickering the lantern on. "Are you really that clueless?" You exclaimed almost, looking at his ever so lost expression. "Terry, are not you sexually attracted to me?"

Terry looked at you as if you'd grown two heads. Like he couldn't understand why you'd ask him such a question, like you didn't know he was a full blown raging man. "Why would you even ask me that, of course im sexually attracted to you, baby."

"You don't act like it," you quietly murmured, "it's like every time I try, you pull back. What is it? I really thought I was obvious enough with everything."

And you were. Terry wasn't ignorant to your advances. But he also wasn't ignorant to your past relationships and the men that you dealt with. Full blown sex addicts a few of them seemed to be, and some of them seemed unable to form a real bond with you without sex. He wanted to prove to you that he actually liked you, that he wanted to get to know you past sex. That he wanted this to last. It'd taken copious amounts of restraint for him to slyly deter away from the advances. Copious amounts.

He wasn't exactly sure how he made it to four months himself, without caving in. Maybe it was his serious he'd gotten about your relationship, maybe it was genuine like for you that made it somewhat easy. He was still a man though, taking care of himself when he was finally away from you.

He said your name slowly, sitting up himself, "im utterly, completely, and deeply sexually attracted to you. But I wanna show you that when it comes to keeping this together, sex is indifferent to me. I don't want you to think we need that shit to connect. I genuinely like you, alot."

"I like you too, but I already knew that Terry," he softly laughed, the weight of the insecurities dropping off your shoulders. You couldn't believe that once again, all this time, the lack of sex was catered to his feelings about you. You were gonna fuck this man so good. So good. "I knew that at the end of the first date when you didn't try to kiss me when you dropped me off." You giggled at the recanting of the memory.

"I wanted you to feel it though."

"And I do feel it," you slinked even closer to him, hand trailing up his thigh, "I feel it so much." You looked up at him, batting your long lashes.

Terry sat there slack mouthed, brows furrowed, his stormy eyes looking down at you with bursting pleasure and astonishment as he watched you suck him down. How the fuck did you get so good at this shit? You'd completely covered his shaft in your saliva, you were loud and sloppy. Just how he liked it. Throat so tight around him, every time you nuzzled him in. You were dazed yourself, tasting him, having him in the back of your throat where you craved him so many times before. You were savoring all of this.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his girthy length, stroking them at a brisk pace, your wet mouth guiding them in their dizzying up and down movements. His grunts and groans of approval only furthered you to please him more. You looked up at him, eyes watery, and soft as you took him down, spit bubbles formed around him, as you nuzzled him in deeper into your mouth. Removing a spit soaked hand, you nuzzled that into your soaked panties, pleasing him, pleased you.

"Sss-shitttt," he drug out through a groan, his strong hand grasping the back of your neck, as he bucked himself up into your mouth, relentlessly fucking your throat. You shut your watery, burning eyes letting him use you how he wanted. "Fuck, eat that dick up baby. You do that shit so good," he slurred through his persisting moans.

That only furthered your arousal, which furthered your efforts. The rough gags and choking from you was almost enough to send him over the edge. Almost. You finally pulled back, giving him a chance to recover and giving yourself a chance to catch your ailing breathing.

You stroke him off, spitting down on his shaft in your hands, eagerly stroking the lubrication in, leaning your head down to suck one of his balls into your mouth; gently. You knew too much. How did you know so much?

"Why you so nasty?" He mumbled grabbing your chin once you were done tending to his balls. "Hm?" He hummed before pressing your wet lips to his own. His kiss rushed, sloppy, and deep. His tongue searched every inch of your mouth, his lips sucking your own into his mouth.

Oh he was nasty like that?

"Move," he knocked your hands away from his still hardened dick, "take that shit off." He comments taking heed to the articles of clothing you still had on, his own hands slithering under the oversized shirt you'd put on for bed.

"But I wanted to make you cum—" you started, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your hand once he eagerly pulled your t-shirt off, nipples immediately pebbling due to the exposure of the cool night air in the tent. You didn't get to finish your sentence before Terry's lips were already latched onto the flesh on your neck, creating red blemishes as he cascaded down your body skillfully.

"You bout to," he mumbled attaching his lips to yours once again, "open up," he tapped your jaw firmly, "lemme see." The firm taps to your jaw ignited the fire and aching need in your belly, a moan slipped past your lips as you opened like he asked.

You watched, dazed, as he spat down into your mouth. Oh, he was nasty.

It was like yin and yang to you. This couldn't be your Terry. Not the Terry that bought you flowers every Sunday and never let you lift a finger Terry. This was a different Terry, nasty Terry. Impatient Terry. Demanding Terry. Just what you wanted.

"Oh my god-uhhhh!" You slurred out through a moan. Terry's vice grip on your locs matched the same vice grip you currently had him in right now. He had you positioned on all fours, one hand on your hip to steady his hard, dizzying strokes. He was fucking you hard, too hard. Too good. Your thighs trembled beneath you, knees threatening to buckle as he slammed into your heated core repeatedly. It's like he knew exactly where that spot was located. "Right there, daddy! Right fucking there," you whimpered, face pressed pathetically on the pallet beneath you.

"I know, i feel that shit," he groaned, sending another hard smack to your ass cheek, the recoil from his pelvis constantly slamming into your ass had him in a complete daze. Four months he kept himself from this, restrained himself from what he knew had to be good. But he didn't expect it feel like this. "Wettin' me right the fuck up—mm mm, keep that shit right there, you better not fuckin' lay down, keep that shit open just like that." He mumbled out into the tent, taking into head your trembling legs. The lewd sounds of your sopping wet pussy, followed by the loud slapping of your skin together filled your tent and your empty head.

"Fuckkkk," you groaned out, managing to sit up in your elbows, acrylics clawing at the covers beneath you, your eyes crossed as you felt his tip kissing a little too deep, "so deep, baby."

"Mhm," he hummed pulling your head back with his tight grip on your hair, his lust filled glare looking right down into your own crossed eyes, "right where i should be. Look at you, takin' this dick like a good girl. This what you wanted right?"

"Yesssss," you managed to fully get out, a series of breath taking moans following. He was giving you exactly what you wanted; hard, rough shit. He was fucking you like he hated you, like he had a point to prove. This shit was only making you delusional did he not understand the type of you he would get now?

"Yeah? Wanted daddy to dig yo' shit out just like this, huh?" He nodded watching you nod in response, your breaths coming out in a series of heavy puffs. "I know you did, can tell by the way you creamin' on my dick."

"Shittt!" You gasped out the exploitive, planting your hands flat against the ground, mustering yo whatever weak energy you had to fuck yourself back against him, working toward your own impending orgasm. "I'm finna cum!" You rushed out.

Terry pulled you back toward his chest, your small frame engulfed in his as you sat promptly in his lap getting impaled in the most delicious way possible. You felt lightheaded, high, and perfect all at once. "Babyyyy, im cummin'!" You whined out.

"Keep tellin' me, do that shit. Lemme feel you cum on my dick," he grunted, the lewd works making you clench around him as they clearly sent you tumbling over the edge. Terry mocking your long, loud and drawn out moans with his own. His lips attacking wherever they could on your exposed neck. His impaling strokes never stopped, even when it was clear you'd completely rode it out. He kept fucking you, sending you into a deep place of overstimulation. When was he ever planning to cum?

"Look at you," he mumbled a smug smirk on his lips, hand firmly holding your slacked jaw in his hand, "dick got you dumb—breathe through that shit, baby." He tapped your jaw, repeatedly. The sight of you alone, plus the constant contracting of your walls around him had earned you a deliciously sounding groan. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he spoke up.

Everything was too much. It was too much to focus on. The pleasure, his voice, his kisses. Forgetting to breathe in the middle of your overstimulation was warranted.

Your breaths cane tumbling back to you fast, hard and quick you panted. Body trembling in Terrys grasp, as dared to lean forward feeling another orgasm approaching, but this one felt harder. Body-shattering. It hurt and felt so good at the same time.

"Fuck, ima nut baby," Terry grunted in your ear. "Pussy so good, why yo shit so good like this?" Finally.

"Cum in my pussy, please daddy," was the first and only thing you could get out, not even warning him about your oncoming orgasm. This one cramped everything, the tightness in your stomach didn't subside but seemed to get tighter. Your thighs were numb, but your legs ached. The squeal you let out left your throat raw, and that's why you didn't hear Terry when he finally announced that he was cumming, but you felt him for sure, right where you told him to.

You felt Terry's lips against your jaw, kissing you repeatedly. Telling you how well you did for him, how he couldn't believe he kept himself away from that for four months. How good it was. These were finally the words that lulled you off to a blissful sleep, you'd finally got what you wanted. There you were, fucked out In a tent, with cum leaking out of you. Such a whore. A happy whore.

-

still no tag list! 😭 hope you enjoy this little filler! 💕

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 4

"THOSE FUCKING BITCHES SAM!" Danny shouted as he stormed into his apartment, slinging his backpack off by the door as he toes his shoes off.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, Danny was met with Tucker, shirtless with only a pair of plaid boxers on, staring at him with sleep glazed eyes, he had a box of cereal in one hand, and a bottle of oat milk in the other, raising the bottle in a salute, Tucker stuffed a handful of cereal into his mouth before taking a swig of the milk, holding up a hand to stop Danny from speaking as he chewed, only letting his hand fall before he spoke.

"What?"

"The Bats are fucking assholes!"

Tucker looked back at the bottle of oat milk, sighed and placed it back in the refrigerator, chucking the box of cereal on the counter, Tucker grabbed Danny by the shoulders.

"Of course they are Jerks Danny..." his grip tightened as he started to shake the Halfa, "I have ten deadlines and 5 missed calls, I really want to geek out right now about you meeting the local heroes but I really don't have the time, so yes, jerks, tell me about it later okay?"

Danny phased through the tough grip on his shoulders, letting out a giggle as he watched Tucker fumble as he no longer had someone to help steady himself, "I did yell specifically for Sam, Tuck so you can't get mad at me! Go huant the Wanyetech building, I know for sure those dudes are way more dead inside than I am!"

Getting a groan from his friend at his dead pun, Danny continued into the apartment, snatching Tuckers cereal box off the counter as he went to sit in the living room.

Spotting Sam typing something on a lap top, her big over the ear headphones blaring as he flops down next to her, which thankfully was enough for her to notice him.

Offering g the box of cereal to her, she sent him a tired smile as she slipped the head phones off and took some of the fruit flavored rings, "Hey there Deadstuff...how was work?"

Danny sent her a grin, "Well, Clocky decided to throw me a bone and I think I got this? He is a little bitch boy that sends me all over the place but this time it was a dined, Lunch Lady taught me how to cook." Pasuing to stuff a new handful of tasty fruity goodness, Danny spoke around the cereal in his mouth "Cookin' ish so much more cool when da food isn't trying to kill you"

Slapping Danny's arm as she rolled her "Don't eat with your mind full and tell me what got you so riled up" Sliding her laptop of her self she tucked her knees up before stretching them out over Danny, who was already going off on his story.

"Wait wait! You had Nightwing in you're restaurant and you didn't get me an autograph?" Same shot Danny a scowl, who at least had the decency to look sorry

"I was going to but they fucking dined and dashed Sam! Even when I was actively Phantom, I never, ever just left a bill!"

---

Dick knew that perhaps eating the food was a slightly bad idea, given the look B gave them when him and Tim pulled into the Cave.

He was standing there, arms crossed, thankfully cowl down, what made the sight infinitely less intimidating was Damian doing the same next to him, his head tilted to look down at them and perhaps standing on his tittpy toes a little bit.

Dick wanted to coo at the father son bonding, but remembered he had to act at least a little chastised at the moment "Yes I am sorry B, It was my decision to head in, there was no outward danger so we just took a chance."

Wincing at the gruff grunt he got from that Dick powered on, "I will write a more detailed report, but personally if anything wrong it's likely that the kid working there is Meta? I dont-"

"He can't be meta! He is very clearly a ghost Dick!" Tim interrupted already flipping through some notes he had made on the way back home, "its the only explanation...or he is a 5th dimensional Imp with a passion for cooking but I really hope not those guys suck to deal with..."

Dick nodded at that, but had to say some thing foe his own superfan imp "Nightmite is a chill dude helps sometimes with cases back in Bludhaven!"

Giving a sigh, Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No mites, no metas, no ghost, go to Medbay I am running blood tests on what sweet hell you have ingested."

---

Bruce ran the test again, sure that it was wrong, praying that it was wrong.

TEST COMPLETE

TRACE LAZARUS WATERS DETECTED

Underneath was lists of chemical make ups of the samples Tim took and his sons blood, there were varying levels through out the food samples, some lighter but others were heavy on it.

What was stumping him was...it was nearly perfectly pure, the pits naturally over time get polluted, with the dirt and sediment that falls in, and with the various amounts of bodily parts and fluids that are dipped in it.

But the trace amounts Bruce was finding were a better quality than Ra's own personal pool, not the one he dips in to regain his youth that the LOA make a ritual out of, no the privet one in the Alps that was clear as glacial water.

It didn't make any sense to Bruce, who would be spreading Lazarus water around? Ra's would not simply share his secret pure stash...

Lost in thought, Bruce sat back glaring at the test results.

---

"And after I thought I was giving great service, they fucking left, no bill, no tip! I didn't even get to see Nightwings ass as he left! People say it's a godly experience! I was robbed!" Letting out a huff Danny shot Sam an incredulous look at her sudden burst of laughter. "Sa~am, this isn't funny! Never meet your heroes! I am taking this to Twitter! They shall know my fury!" His words only served to make Sam laugh even harder.

Stifling a grin Danny took out hos phone, a old busted thing that was more ducktape and prayers than actual technology, but dear go's did it still work.

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@.realwing @not-that-red-robin.real yall are toxic twinks came in to my workplace and fucking dined and dashed 0/10 Nightwing has a flat ass.]

Hitting send, Danny put his phone down, choosing to let the nights happenings go past his mind and just hang out with Sam before showering and finally going to bed.

---

Tim was hunched over his lap top, going frame by frame of his body cam footage, he *needed* to figure this out, it was like an itch in his brain that he would go through bone to get through.

His work payed off as he clicked forward another time, his feed went static before it showed a blurry blue blob in place of the diner! Proof! It was there!

Jumping at the sudden bang of his bedroom door being thrown open, Tim whirled to around to see Dicks distressed face, standing up, Tim prepared for the worst, something happened. Bruce was dead agian it had to be-

"TIMMY I AM A TWINK AM I??" Was Dicks wail as he flopped down on Tim's bed.

Letting out a shuddering sigh, Tim looked longingly at his laptop before closing it, "Dick, what the fuck."

Rolling around on the bed, Dick finally looked up at Tim "Littlewing sent me a tweet and...ugh just look!" Thrusting out his phone as he spoke

Pasuing at the mention of Jason, Tim  looked down at the screen and froze

"Holy shit...we forgot to pay didn't we...fuck Jason is never going to let us live that down."

Tim still remembered the first time he witnessed one of Jason's famous "make Bruce spend more money" rants about tipping.

It was glorious.

Tim now realized he would be one of two that was likely going to have to face it next.

"UGH?? You focus on the money and not the other parts? Tim I was called a toxic twink with no ass! This is a declaration of war! I have never been so offended!" Dick sat up, eyes narrowd while Tim opened up the tweet on his own phone.

"The comments agree Dick, I am sorry, you now have a flat ass congrats and welcome to the club" Tim said dryly, trying to go to the posters page, since it was clearly Danny who posted it.

Only the app crashed when he tried to. And again when he tried to a second time, and his web browser crashed when he tried opening it there

Tim was baffled on what was happening while Dick lemented on his bed before deciding to hack it later.

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween super sorry about that send me venmo and I'll pay with tip]

<@i-haunt-spirit-holloween

[@not-that-red-robin.real Fuck that face me like a coward bitch bet you wont]

<@not-that-red-robin.real

[@i-haunt-spirit-holloween...bet]

---

Somewhere in a safe house in Crime Ally, Jason let out a little giggled as he scrolled through the comments on the funniest post he had found in a while, Jason was surely going to have to speak to Timberly and Dickiebird about paying their bills but right now?

He was kicking his feet watching Dick have a public meltdown as Nightwing.

Finally, he wouldn't be the only one who had to retake the Bat Media course.

How was he supposed to know doing peace signs next to a person he just shot wasn't allowed?

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Hello, I love your stories! Would you be willing to make a Yandere x willing! Reader. Where the reader is so burn up and tired with the world that she accepts everything the Yandere says. From not leaving home ever or even letting him put chains on her.

Yandere Captor x Reader

An: I’m actually really proud of this :> I hope you like it!!!

The world ended quietly for you.

Not with a bang. Not with fire. Not even with a scream. Just... silence. The slow drowning of a life you once tried to build, piece by piece, until the waves took it all.

You used to try.

Used to wake up every morning and tell yourself: One more day. Just get through one more day. You worked, you smiled, you talked to people who didn’t care, and pretended you didn’t notice. You kept going, like a machine running on a dying battery.

But the world didn’t give back what you gave it. You bled and it stayed thirsty. You cracked open your chest and offered your ribs, and it still asked for more.

Until one day, you didn’t get up.

And that was when he came.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Days bleed together in this place. The curtains are always drawn, the lights dim, the walls a warm, enclosing gray that keeps the world out. There’s no clock. No phone. No internet. Just him.

Your protector. Your shadow. Your captor. Your everything.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he murmurs, crouching beside the bed.

You do. Without hesitation. He places the pill on your tongue like communion, and his fingers brush your lips a second longer than necessary. You swallow, because he asked you to. Because that’s what you do now. You obey.

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice dripping pride. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking softly. “So good for me.”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed under his touch. It’s easy, now. Easier than fighting. Easier than pretending the world still holds something for you. There’s nothing out there. You know that. You remember it.

And in here, there’s warmth. There’s his voice. His presence. His fingers always curling around your wrist, gentle but firm. His breath at your ear when he pulls you close at night and says, “You’re mine, you understand? Only mine.”

You understood from the beginning.

The first time you woke up here—confused, drugged, your limbs heavy and your mind in fog—he had been sitting at your side, stroking your hair with infinite patience.

“I know it hurts,” he’d said. “I know how tired you are. That’s why I brought you here. You don’t have to pretend anymore. No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

And you’d wept.

Not out of fear, but relief. Because you were tired. You didn’t want to go back. You couldn’t. The world was a monster, and he had pulled you from its jaws.

So you stayed.

When he brought in the soft restraints, you didn’t fight. You lifted your wrists for him, docile, like a doll. When he closed the heavy iron cuff around your ankle and kissed the mark it left, you only said, “Thank you.”

He tells you things while you sit in his lap, curled against his chest. His voice is calm, loving, possessive. Always possessive.

“You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

“I don’t want you talking to anyone—not even through a screen. They’ll try to take you from me.”

“You were meant to belong to someone. Me. I saw it in your eyes the first time I watched you.”

You don’t ask what he means by that. You don’t ask how long he watched you before he took you. It doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing matters except him.

Sometimes, he puts a blindfold on you and leads you to different rooms. Sometimes he washes your hair and hums while you sit between his knees like a child. Other days he binds you to the bed, chains wrapped in velvet so they won’t bruise, and tells you how beautiful you are like this—helpless, dependent, perfect.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks once, lips grazing your temple.

You nod.

“Even if I did something bad? Even if I hurt people to protect you?”

You hesitate, then say, “Yes.”

Because it’s the truth.

He kisses you then—slow and soft and grateful.He touches you like you’re holy, like you saved him. And maybe you did. Maybe in his broken, twisted world, you’re the one thing that makes sense.

“You were wasting away out there,” he says one night while you lie chained beside him, your head on his chest. “They didn’t see you. Didn’t know what you needed. But I did.”

You whisper, “You saved me.”

He holds you tighter. His arms are iron. His heart beats a little faster under your cheek.

“Say it again.”

“You saved me.”

“I’ll never let you go,” he vows. “Even if you beg me to. Even if you try to run. I’ll break your legs if I have to. I’ll chain you to my fucking spine”

You don’t flinch. You don’t cry.

You only close your eyes and whisper, “Okay.”

Because you’re tired of making decisions. Tired of pretending freedom ever meant anything but loneliness. You’re so, so tired.

And he’s not the world. He’s not the cruelty you came from.

He’s just the man who took it all away.

So when he tightens the chains a little more, when he slides a collar around your throat and kisses your lips with trembling reverence, you let him.

You let him.

Masterlist

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel w/an Innocent S/O

Warnings: Protective Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Implications of Smut, Fluff, More Fluff, Spooning, Mentions/Implications of injuries, Insecurity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Him being fiercely protective of you 24/7.

If someone even so much as looks at you wrong, he stares them down until they either break down and start apologising, or their heart gives out.

You’re the only person he shows any affection to. You’re also the only person allowed to touch him. Period.

He’s so touch starved; please hold him and tell him he’s your big guy :-(

Goes FERAL when you rake your fingers through his hair; his eyes roll into his skull and he can’t help but moan a little, even if the context isn’t sexual.

Don’t bring it up or he’ll punish you for it later 👀.

He finds your innocence both endearing and worrying.

On one hand, you believe in the good of everyone, which, considering how insecure Miguel can be, is what initially drew him to you; your ability to empathise and sympathise with others, to not judge them.

However, he knows people would take advantage of your kind and giving nature.

One time, he found out that one of the Spiders – a Victorian England era ‘gentleman superhero’ – had tossed you a used coffee cup and told you to dispose of it on his behalf. When you tried to say something, to tell him you were busy and had better things to do, he just dismissed you.

Of course, Miguel had seen this. He has eyes on you every second of the day.

You never saw that Spiderman again. Nor did anyone else. All that seemed to remain of him was his suit thrown haphazardly into the storage room, where a great big tear edged with blood was ripped into the chestpiece, the hero’s signature top hat abandoned and crumpled beneath it.

He also broke another Spider-Person’s arm when they tried to steal one of the fairy cakes you’d lovingly baked for him; poured your heart and soul into.

Miguel also growls at people he thinks are looking at you strangely. Full-on bares his fangs like a rabid dog and watches them cower.

He purposely grows his fangs out and lets you play with them.

He’s careful to make sure you don’t get hurt, though, guiding your hands away from the pointed tips.

His guilty pleasure is when you kiss his fangs and tell him he’s “The coolest, most handsome man in the world!”

“Just the world?” He says, smiling, raising an eyebrow. His heart melts in his chest as your smile widens, eclipsing your eyes into crescents.

“In ALL the worlds!” You say, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, laughing. He brings his arms, thick and muscular, around your waist and pulls you into him, pressing ticklish kisses into your neck, revelling in your laughter.

Intimacy-wise, Miguel is horrified at the prospect of hurting you.

He’s ever so careful, as if handling glass, holding back his strength.

It’s worth it, though. The strain.

Especially when he hears you mewl and try to hide your face in his chest.

“Oh no, Sweetheart,” he says, tangling a hand in your hair and pulling your head back. His pointed fangs flint as he gives a smile. “I want to watch you like this.”

Loves your gentle kisses – they give him life.

Nothing can get him down when you’re around; especially when you’re sitting in his lap.

Though, issues have arisen as a result of your oblivion to…compromising positions.

More often than not, Miguel’s had to bite his lip and tongue when you shift in his lap, catching him, making his heart start and his breath shutter, electric anticipation jolting through him.

He takes you aside in the bathroom to deal with the issue you’ve unknowingly caused, but you don’t complain. Not that you can with your mouth full.

He looks at you with eyes which have seen the deaths of countless individuals, yet when he finds yours, he sees love and light spanning infinite universes within them. And they give him hope that there is more to life than loss and grief; more to him than his failures.

He revels in the feeling of you hiding behind him whenever you’re scared.

Sometimes he takes you to areas of the facility where he knows you’ll be easily frightened – for example, where captive villains are held – so he can feel your hands tightening around his arm or gripping the back of his suit. It makes him feel useful, like he can take on the world.

And he gets off on being the only person who can truly protect you. But he’d never tell you that, of course.

Loves demonstrating his strength around you. He can pick you up single-handedly and carry you anywhere without so much as thinking of breaking a sweat.

He prefers to be the big spoon, curling around you like a shield and protecting you from the outside world, his warm, broad chest to your back.

Tells you how much he loves you through hushed post-intimacy whispers and soft touches. Shows it through acts of service and the insurmountable adoration that fills his eyes whenever you’re around.

He can’t imagine being with anybody else. He can’t even remember the last time he felt anything save for contempt before you showed up.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. No cost is too great for the love of his life <3.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[ilovetvgirlmorethanyou]

PAIRINGS! ✩ — isagi yoichi x fem!reader

SLURSAGI

wanted to write fluff so i went to a random head cannon generator lol

your beloved husband has many skills definitely. cooking, playing soccer, and an infinite amount of stamina (which comes into play sometimes). but in the name of god he cannot understand social cues for the life of him.

going out in public can be kind of a hassle especially with a famous husband who people just love taking pictures of. so you two tend to stay in your community for the most part. while you both do plan to have children soon, you’re not in any rush being as young as you are.

however, one day isagi mentions how he needs to go out with you for a meetup with friends because he knows himself better than that. he’s going to mess up and embarrass himself in front of everyone.

“baby pleasseeeeeee just come with me” he whines as he grabs into your waist lovingly as you’re making lunch for the both of you. he wraps his big muscly arms around you as he nuzzles into your neck.

you giggle as you start to get a little tickled by the vibration of his whines on your neck and you flick his forehead causing him to jolt back.

“okay ouch” he complains.

“honey i’m not going with you. you need to learn how to talk to other people without my help” he scoffs at this and puts his hands on his hips as he steps back.

“your help? i don’t need your help im perfectly capable of talking to people by myself!” you widen your eyes at this and scoff.

“oh really? you? good at speaking?”

“very! i’ll show you im the best at it! im leaving without you and im going to come back with more friends than before!” he yells (lovingly) as he closes the door and leaves.

you were used to his childish tantrums that usually ended up with his head on your lap like the baby he was.

unsurprisingly, after a good hour, you hear someone knocking on the door as you’re setting up the table for lunch. the door opens and in comes isagi who looks completely defeated.

“baby…” he whines as he slowly walks to you with sadness written all over his cute face. you pout and open your arms allowing him to cuddle you.

“what happened?”

“um…”

“tell me—“

“i thought we were all just playing pool at the bar but… everyone wanted to play soccer and…”

you raise your eyebrows and back up from him in confusion.

“i may have said a few bad words to them”

you purse your lips then laugh out loud. “oh really? bad words like what?” you ask in sarcasm. “oh no did you call them stupid?”

he proceeded to tell you every single slur in the urban dictionary.

the next hour was dedicated to isagi sitting on the couch and watching youtube videos on what not to say to people you wish to be friends with.

[evellynssocbrainrot]

Kaz and Inej are the touch-repulsed ship, but it's crazy how touchy they still get in the books.

In Six of Crows

Kaz can reveal one-half of his naked body to Inej, and that is a fuck ton of skin (This isn't really touching, but it's still important)

Kaz had to carry Inej bridle style, in his arms, which meant that their bodies were PRESSED, her side to his front and they stayed like that for a while

Kaz and Inej were sitting pretty close together when Kaz went to talk to her after she recovered a bit from her injury, and then Kaz proceeded to wonder what would happen if he got closer

Kaz and Inej were pressed shoulder to shoulder during the prison wagon ride and stayed like that long after Kaz had woken from fainting

Inej woke Kaz up after he fainted by POKING HIM IN HIS THIGH!!! (I am infinitely jealous of her)

*INEJ*WORE*KAZ'S*GLOVES* (Not really touching, but still extremely important)

Kaz gripped Inej's wrist and felt her pulse

Inej touched Kaz's cheek skin to skin, and he withstood for a fair while

Kaz gripped Inej's hand during the "How will you have me?" scene, AND INEJ SQUEEZED HIS HAND BACK!!! T_T

When Inej falls in the end, after she killed the squaller that was trying to kidnap her, Kaz RAN BLINDLY to her without LOGIC OR PLAN in the hopes of CATCHING her

In Crooked Kingdom

When Kaz rescued her from Van Eck, there is a small and supremely slept-on moment in which Kaz INTENTIONALLY touched his fingers to the top of her upper arm, and Inej, the girl who flinches when her best friend hugs her, was COMPLETELY relaxed

Kaz canonly daydreams about touching Inej's hair :3 (No touch, but INSANELY STUPIDLY ADORABLE)

I know y'all have read the bathroom scene, but let me remind you of the things they did

Inej was near a guy while having her shoulders and her arms exposed, this is big for her

KAZ WAS STANDING BETWEEN HER LEGS!!!! HER KNEES WERE FRAMING HIS BODY, HE WAS SUPER CLOSE TO THE CIRCLE OF HER ARMS AND HER WAIST

AT SOME POINT, KAZ BROUGHT HIS ARMS AROUND HER ON THE BASIN

KAZ STARED AT INEJ'S PULSE SEVERAL TIMES

HEEEE KIIIISSSEEEDDDD HHHHEEEERRRRR NNNNEEEECCCKKKKK, the same spot at which Inej was kissed by clients

After Kaz took his revenge on Pekka and after he explained his "child burying" scheme to Inej, he extended his hand AND HELPED INEJ UP, and after that, their hands were still joined (It is a CRIME that this scene was removed in the show, Freddy and Amita would have KILLED it)

The skin-to-skin hand-holding at the end of the book, in which their hands stayed like that for a good while, need I say more??

When Inej saw her parents, she was about to FALL, AND KAZ BRACED HIS BODY AROUND HERS TO STABILIZE HER!!!

As you can see, I still have not recovered from Kanej

[heartkaji]

2O WOMEN VS 1 EGOIST !

bllk boys if they were in the videos by the sidemen + beta squad

includes: michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi sae

MICHAEL KAISER !

“kaiser, ask her if she’d let you put your balls in her jaw.”

isagi’s voice is only a static crackle through the ear piece speaker, but it’s more than enough to have kaiser gnashing teeth & wrinkling nose. it was taking everything in his power not to snap the headset between his fingers. kaiser wasn’t even sure why he had to do this ; fuck yoichi and fuck bastard münchen’s publicity team.

he tries for an exhale but his dignity accompanies it, “would you let me put my balls in your jaw ?”

you’re the third girl who’s sat with kaiser so far & fuck his heart is aching— you’re far too pretty for this, blood drenched cheeks & freckled nose & silver draped around your neck like rings of vined ivy. kaiser can’t help but wonder why a pretty thing like you is here seeking male validation in thigh highs & skimpy bralette. surely someone of your beauty would know better, no ?

“what ?”

you ask so sweetly, lashes fluttering as you blink hurriedly as if it’ll help you hear better. if you were actually somebody, michael kaiser would be almost embarrassed by now, but you’re only pink painted lips & syrupy sweet voice so kaiser clears his throat & swallows his pride. he parts his lips to repeat the query but a hiss in his ear interrupts him, “she didn’t hear you, say it a—“

kaiser snaps the headset between his fingers & tosses it somewhere behind him. “i said, can i take you out sometime ?”

ISAGI YOICHI !

“try to sit on her lap while she’s talking.”

“you lot can’t be serious.”

unfortunately for yoichi, hiori & kurona were dead serious. he picked at the earpiece as you babbled on about your ideal first date, teeth kissing as he plotted on how he’d sit himself between your thighs.

“— and i’m not trying to be different or anything, but i think dinner dates are rather boring. i’d rather go to an amusement park or—“

“same, honestly,” yoichi was a charmer with a voice heavier than tree sap. his baritone alone had your guts knotting & spilling. “rides are way more exciting, really get your adrenaline going huh ? and then at the end of the date you share a kiss on the ferris wheel. i fuck with that.”

you blink, flesh pinkening & blush crawling up your throat as your fingers play with your bag strap. yoichi thinks you’re cute. you’re a fucking doll really, a pretty little thing isagi has decided he likes staring at.

yoichi can’t help but tease your further, “you wouldn’t mind if i kissed you on a ferris wheel, right ?”

you bite your inner cheek & yoichi swears you’re the cutest thing in the world. as if rehearsed, you cross your legs, shoulders tucking as you straighten your spine,

“on the first date, isagi ? quite the manwhore aren’t you ?”

it catches him by surprise but also pulls him back to earth. he bites his tongue, “oh ? when would you let me kiss you then ?”

he gets off his seat as he speaks, striding towards you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. you choke on your tongue, “um, me ? on the first date is a bit too— isagi ? what are you—?”

he positions himself on your lap. “you were saying ?”

yoichi’s ear piece blares with booms of laughter. “nah this man’s not real ! man said—“

NAGI SEISHIRO !

“are you a magician ? because when i look at you, everyone else disappears.”

“next.”

this was the eighth girl nagi had rejected. each girl came in with a new pick up line, and to nagi, each one seemed to be worse than the last.

“nagi, you have to say yes to someone already. you’ve rejected almost every— don’t listen to chigiri, nagi ! you don’t have to say yes to any of these bitches—“

nagi was about mid eye roll when you walked in.

you were rose dappled cheeks & fluffy jacket upon crème tee. your eyes met the room before his, scanning the seemingly infinite white walls & high ceiling. you even did a little wave to the camera before taking your seat. cute

even then, your eyes settled everywhere except him.

“hi,” he broke you out of your trance.

“ah— hello !” you flash him a shy grin, dimpled cheeks & freckled nose. “i was supposed to say a pick up line, right ? are you french, because—“

“no, no, please don’t,” nagi interrupts. you’re a pretty thing, red bruised knee bouncing over the other as you tuck away a strand of hair. fuck, you’re like candy for the eye.

“you get a pass.”

“huh ? but my pick up line—“

“no need, it’s a yes from me.”

pretty pink lips bend into a pout & nagi is almost tempted to let you say your line, but he shudders at the thought of your incomplete statement. you nod a bow & show yourself out with another tiny wave to the camera. perhaps this game isn’t all that bad after all.

mid thought, nagi’s earpiece crackles to life. “nagi, why’d you say yes ?! what’s she got that—“

ITOSHI SAE !

“ask her if she’d get with a bisexual dude.”

“what ? stop it shidou he doesn’t like dudes. ask her if she—“

“how about i ask her to shut the fuck up?”

sae says it a bit too loudly so your eyes widen a bit before you seemingly shrink in on yourself. sae hadn’t actually meant it—he was only trying to put a stop to the squabbling in his ears but now your nose is red & you’re biting your lip like you’re about to cry.

truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck.

but his PR team sure does. sae was live right now & his public image already wasn’t the prettiest. he’d also rather not receive yet another lecture from his manager.

“um, girl number nine ?”

the sound of a facepalm rattles in his earpiece. “isn’t she like, the fourth girl ?”

sae bites his bottom lip. you’re fidgeting with your nails & your breathing seems heavy & your eyes seem to be everywhere but his. you don’t even respond to his call. he sighs.

“that wasn’t meant for you, sorry.” he swallows. “you were talking about red flags in a relationship, right ?”

you seem to perk up—perhaps you thought he wasn’t listening ? you were going on & on but how could sae not pay you any mind when your voice seemed smoother than redwine & myrrh ?

“yes—yes i was ! um, what about you ? any red flags ?”

“when they’re too horny.” a damn-it ! blares through his ear piece.

you nod, “i get that. though honestly, i’m a bit of a freak myself.”

you say it like you didn’t just admit to being a professional dick sucker. “sae, ask her for her number—“

he taps a button & the humming in his ear ceases. “a freak, you say ? do elaborate.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, edit, translate or reupload

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men Reaction to You as a Parent

AN: I miss my mom 😭 I love her so much. She's sooooo precious.

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

Genre: Hurt and comfort

Ingredients: 90% comfort, 10% angst

My Fav: Caleb and Xavier

Xavier:

He knows the look. The way your hands fuss with the curtains long after sunset, how you peer out the window like the past might knock and ask to be let in. You’re restless.

He doesn’t say anything, he never does. Just watches you pace. Waiting for the triplets. Kassandra, Reagan, and Pam. Twenty-somethings now, but still your babies. You count the days until they return like a soldier marking calendar walls.

And tonight, like clockwork, you turn to him with that same eager light in your eyes. “Shall we sit outside in the yard? Get the firepit going? I got their favorite sweet potatoes.” You tug on his hand like you’re twenty again. “Let’s go, honey. Please?”

He’s already moving. The shawl is in his hands before you finish the sentence. He drapes it over your shoulders, presses a kiss to your temple, and follows you out without another word.

You sit in the yard together, hand in hand, listening for laughter that hasn’t arrived yet. But it will. It always does.

He doesn't need to say it aloud, but in his silence, you’ll always hear it: Watching you love them like this… it makes him love you more.

Rafayel:

You always wanted a quiet life. He remembers how you laughed the first time he said he’d give it to you. “Quiet’s not in your blood,” you teased.

But when Alaric was born, your son with his lungs and your fragile heart, you changed. Or maybe you returned to something truer.

You gave up the Hunter’s Association. The title. The power. You traded it all for hospital chairs, medical journals, and the quiet war of waiting rooms. And he watched you, time and time again, fold yourself into the margins of your son's life just to keep him breathing.

Not once did you ask why this happened. You only asked how to help.

Now Alaric sits in your old chair at the Association. Heart full, future wide. And Rafayel sees it every time you look at him, that flicker of disbelief. Like you still can’t believe you won.

And maybe that's what he admires most about you: you never stopped being a fighter, you just learned how to fight for something smaller, and infinitely more precious.

Zayne:

He sees it before you even speak.

The way your hand hovers above the table, over that one plate you always used to set first. The way your fingers curl in, then pull away, like grief lives in your bones now, like it whispers, not yet, not this time.

Aching to reach for the daughter who slammed close the door to her room. Leaving the dinner untouched.

You never ate without her. Not once. Not since the day she was born. Feeding her was your love language. Her plate was always first, always warm, always right. And now you sit across from him with a smile stretched too tight and a silence that doesn’t quite settle.

“I forgot dessert,” you say, too fast. “We should have something sweet. For your promotion.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just watches you walk to the kitchen, not like you’re hungry, but like you’re searching. Like if you just bake the right thing, if you get it just right, maybe the world will tilt back into place.

Zayne stands and follows, reaching for your hand before you disappear again. His thumb traces the ridge of your knuckles, soft and trembling.

“She’s not mad at you,” he murmurs, eyes steady on yours. “You did nothing wrong. She loves you.”

You blink, and your tears fall quiet, like they always do. Witnessing a drifting relationship once so cherished.

And he thinks, if loving someone is a sacred act, then parenting is its own kind of worship. And grief… grief is the altar where that worship never ends.

Sylus:

You left.

You loved him, but your love for your children outweighed it. And when he wouldn't stop, wouldn't turn his back on the life that had no room for them, you made the only choice you could.

You walked away. From him. From the danger. From the man who clung too tightly to a throne of blood, head of Onichynus, feared in every shadowed corner, yet too much a coward to surrender his power for peace.

You left behind divorce papers, and all the love you once carried.

Because you knew: it would only take one more threat. One wrong name whispered. One misplaced vendetta. And your children would pay the price.

He hated you for it. Said you turned them against him. Blamed the caution in their eyes, the distance in their hugs, on you.

But the truth is, he forgot. Forgot why he found you in the first place. Forgot the lifetimes that led him to your door. Forgot that everything good in him only ever came alive when you looked at him like he could be more.

Now it breaks him, not just that you left, but that you were right to. That you were strong enough to put your children first.

And that he was the reason you had to do it alone.

Caleb: (trans fem child)

He stood in the hallway, unseen. The morning light poured in through the half-open door, catching on your hands as you worked, parting strands of hair with steady, practiced care.

Fifteen years. He’s known her every day of them. His kid. Your kid. Raised together. Held through scraped knees and whispered nightmares. But today, today was different.

Today, you saw her.

Not the version the world forced on her. Not the shape they assigned. You saw her. And you didn’t hesitate. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t look to him for direction. You just met her where she was, as if you’d been waiting to do it since the day she arrived.

"Do you feel bonita?" you asked, voice soft and warm, teasing just enough to draw out that flicker of a smile. He watches her shoulders drop, just slightly. A breath let go. A bit of armor lowered.

She nods. Doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t need to. In that moment, she is safe. She is known.

And Caleb, Caleb feels something sharp crack and re-form inside his chest. Something quiet. Old. Holy.

Because you didn’t treat this like some revelation. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t mourn what was never yours to grieve. You just braided her hair like it was the most obvious, natural thing in the world.

And gods, that’s what wrecks him. He’s spent his whole life trying to shield her from a world that doesn’t know how to see people like her.

But you? You didn’t just see her.

You recognized her.

And standing there in the hallway, fists clenched and heart full, Caleb thinks: There is no war he wouldn’t fight for this. For her. For you. For the quiet kind of love that makes people whole again.

[visbacktatto]

viktor x assistant!reader

you were always too worried about viktor. you couldn't help it, not when he seemed so passionate about ruining himself for the sake of his research on hextech. someone had to take care of him, if not himself, you.

in the beginning it was difficult, when jayce brought you to the lab viktor gave you a studying look, sizing you up, deciding almost immediately they didn't need help, not yours, not from anyone.

but jayce had it known it was a non negotiable decision, he was getting more and more busy with the council work and viktor was surely exhausting himself with the research, he needed the help and you would be perfect for the part.

and you were, actually, slowly you proved your worth, being quite a genius on tech yourself, it wasn't hard to figure out the little instabilities with the hextech and help with the infinite calculations that came with the job.

and so, viktor started warming up to you, he started with asking for help in little things, like correcting an equation he couldn't seem to crack, checking some new invention that was malfunctioning every time he tried to start it, and every time he had to hide his surprised expression when you actually solved the problem.

so he started respecting you, and then, actually talking to you, letting you know a thing or two about him. how he liked his coffee, how organized he was with the notes on the notebook that he usually showed no one but now he's showing you, how passionate he actually was about giving people access to magic, about providing real change and comfort to the people in need and how far he was willing to go for it.

and you didn't even realize you were falling in love with him until one of those late, late nights in the laboratory, just the two of you working on some new tool together.

viktor was sleepy, clearly, you could see it in his tired eyes, but he was too stubborn to leave the work unfinished, leaned on a desk, being swallowed by the infinite papers with prototypes, he didn't even feel it when he fell asleep, his head resting on the cold surface above his notebook.

but you noticed.

it wasn't rare for him to sleep in the lab, he'd told you that before, you'd seen him early in the morning when you came to start working and he was already there. but it was the first time you saw it happening.

and he looked so beautiful, exhausted, the bags under his eyes profound, but undeniably beautiful. almost ethereal in that brief moment his body relaxed.

and you don't know why, but you reached his hair, your fingers featherlight when they brushed the brown strands, a surprisingly smooth sensation, his hair was soft.

and, yet unconsciously, he leaned into your hand, making you give into your sudden impulse and actually caress his scalp, gentle, caring.

later, when he woke up, he thought it was just a dream.

and from that day on you felt your heart beating fast almost whenever you were together. sitting side by side discussing something, his breath close to your face, his hand brushing yours when reaching for a pen, his knee touching yours under the desk when he was too focused on a new invention to move away, to keep his distant and cool demeanor, he was warmer now.

you continued doing little things for him, bringing him food when he forgot to eat and brushing it off as “i just bought too much for myself, do you want some?”, of course he knows you did it on purpose but he wouldn't point it. besides, he almost found it... endearing.

and on a particularly quiet night in the lab, the only sounds being of viktor's pen on paper and the soft hum of the machines surrounding you, you fell asleep there, for the first time.

the thing is, you were sat beside him, studying some pieces of a tool you've broken down to fix, and the moment you fell asleep your head was drooping to the side.

viktor thought it would give you a sore neck lately. of course it was the only reason he brought you closer to rest on his shoulder... it's not like he felt like he needed you close and couldn't resist seeing you so unapologetically adorable by his side... of course not.

he continued writing, but he was unfocused, the gentle weight of you resting on him occupying his thoughts. he didn't realize he was even moving before he brought you a little closer, his hand securing your waist, all in the name of making sure you were comfortable, he justified to himself.

you stirred, slowly waking up, your senses registering his scent before your eyes opened, he smelled good, like coffee, faint perfume and something indistinctly him. then you felt his hand resting on your waist, his warmth seeping through your clothes. and you could swear your face was warming up.

you opened your eyes, confirming your suspicion, you were resting on him, god you felt so embarrassed. “viktor? i'm sorry, i-” you mumbled sleepily, but he quickly brushed it off with a “no need to apologize, it's okay, you are tired”, his hand dropping from your waist out of surprise to see you awake, “maybe you should wrap it up for the day” he suggests.

you nod, slowly distancing your body from his, and he almost misses it. “maybe i should” you murmur, rubbing your eyes with your hand, trying to shake half of that sleepy haze away.

and you don't even notice that viktor is watching you. his eyes focused on your face, your cheeks looking a bit puffy, cute, even if he'd never mention it. his hand moved without his intent, holding your wrist, “you're feeling well?” he asked, sounding gentle, his accent thick, making your sleepiness almost dissipate by how fast he put your heart to race.

and he was feeling it, by holding your wrist he could feel your pulse picking up. not that he would mention.

“i'm fine i just... couldn't sleep tonight and i got a bit exhausted, i guess” you answered honestly, trying to not focus on his hold on your wrist.

he finally noticed he was holding your wrist so he dropped it. a little embarrassed himself by his actions. why was he acting like that? and before he could think it through he offered, “you can... continue, to sleep here... if it helps” what meant sleeping on him. but he didn't bring himself to say it out loud.

you looked at him a bit confused, and you were confused. what did he mean by that? sleeping in the lab? that was always uncomfortable, even if you couldn't seem to get some real sleep in your bedroom.

but before you could question further he gently pulled you closer, giving you the chance to put some distance between you again if you wanted to. he rested your head on his shoulder again, not saying anything about it, though.

you didn't know what to say either, your heart beating on your ears, loud, so loud that you could bet viktor was hearing it too.

and just when you thought you couldn't get more flustered, he searched for your wrist again, looking right at your eyes, searching for consent. that you understood the meaning. and you just nodded.

he entwined your fingers, a small, faint smile resting on his lips.

and you smiled too, and everything seemed right in the world in that stolen moment of peace.

[dreorig]

Oh wow, you just happen to be taller and broader than your mercenary boyfriend!

[ deadpool x dom male reader | nsfw under the cut | had this sitting in my drafts for a while now so uhhh forgive any mistakes :P ]

First things first. He thinks that's so hot of you.

He brags about you to everyone. Everyone. Random people, someone's he's fighting with, a friend; they all will hear about how handsome and tall Wade's boyfriend is.

Wade gets heart eyes when you both are in public and you hold his waist or hug him from behind. A subtle possessive squeeze on him will also do the job.

Wade will steal your clothes. He is 6'2, do you seriously think he'd ever have another chance to feel smaller in someone else's clothes anytime soon? Yeah, he's not losing this chance.

How many times can he ask to arm wrestle with you until you threaten to cut his vocal chords?

"So we can't get to decide what we're getting for dinner and we both want different things..." "Wade—" "There's only one way to solve this situation..." "Wade. No." "ARM WRESTLING!" "NO."

You will give him piggy backs and carry him around in bridal style either you like it or not. It's a demand.

He jumps at you randomly. First time he did that he jumped from behind, but you didn't know that was him, so your instincts made you grab that apparently stranger and throw him across the room, making him hit a wall. Wade fell even more for you right then and there.

Wade was mesmerised. You desperate; so you ran towards him, already chanting an infinite amount of sorry's. "Shit. Sorry, sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to—" your apology was interrupted by the sound of Wade's laugh, which took you aback a little. Wade jumped to his feet and into your arms, this time you caught him properly. He wrapped his legs around your waist and arms around your neck, his chest still trembling with laughter. "Do you know how unbelievably hot that was? Never stop manhandling me."

Wade can reach the top shelves just fine but will ask you to grab the things instead. He just wants to enjoy his tall dog privilege.

He will always go to the gym with you if he's not busy re-killing former US presidents, slaughtering some asshole or pestering Logan. Hell, Wade loves to see your muscles flexing and your sweaty self after a good workout.

Asking you to pick him up (like this) became a part of your workout routine. He giggles and melts in your hold because he loves the fact that you pick him off the ground so effortlessly, like he's a piece of paper.

Fuck him doggy style and slap his ass with your big hands and you'll hear the loudest moan ever.

So loud you'll probably need to slip a few fingers inside his mouth to keep him shut. You don't need any neighbours hearing what's yours only.

You know what they say about big hands, eh? Wade knows it better than anyone and God, he loves the way you stretch him. Naturally he's got a high pain tolerance, so you being big and making him see things without having to use a toy is just perfect.

Doesn't mean you never use toys, tho. Fuck Wade's face and make him gag on your big cock while he has a dildo deep inside him, he'll give you the biggest puppy eyes ever as he humps on your leg.

You reminding him of your size difference never fails to make him wet. Never fucking fails. Tell him he should stand in front of you to get a better view since you're taller and he won't hide the fact that his underwear is already stained with pre-cum.

No marks such as love bites will stay on Wade's body due to his healing factor, much to his and your dislike, but eventually you found a way to claim him as yours — he's got to wear one of your shirts while you so relentlessly fuck him and even after you're done. Your scent and sweat that lingers on the fabric make Wade's head spin, often leading him to beg for you to fuck him once again.

Plus wearing your clothes just feels right. The way they're always oversized on him serves to remind him of how much bigger you are. He's got a size kink, he can't help it.

"Aren't you my little bitch?" you increased your pace. "Fuck, yes, yes," he pushed his hips down, meeting your thrusts. "Did I fuck you dumb? Use your damn words," you growled in his ear. Wade's cock throbbed at that. He was indeed beginning to think you fucked him dumb, yet he replied, "Arghh— yes, shit, yes, I'm your little bitch~" "Yeah, that's right. Let me show you how a real man treats a little bitch like you," you slapped his ass so hard even your own hand burned a little. Wade came right away without even having to touch his cock this time. How many times was it now? Not that he cared, he just wanted more, more, more. You chuckled, pleased with your own work. "Look at what a slap can do to a little bitch in heat." Wade wasn't sure of what you really said, but his ears caught "little bitch in heat" and he smiled dumb, more than happy to know he was your little bitch in heat.

[gay-dorito-dust]

could you do a lil drabble for each of the batboys with a ghost!reader who haunts the mansion? like the ghost is super nice and chill, and they help out in minor ways (help finding small items, cleaning up places, fixing someone’s clothes).

All the boys at some point knew the mansion was haunted, but not by the ghosts of Thomas and Martha Wayne, no but instead of a different person entirely who had no ties what so ever to the manner but thankfully you’re rather helpful and chill in comparison to how movies tends to stereotype ghosts as…something you take full offence to…

Jason

Ironically he reacted the least to you when you showed up in front of him one day, his red helmet in hand.

‘You’ve got to stop dropping this dude, it can only take a couple more drops before you break the fucking thing completely.’ You tell him as you set the helmet aside on his bedside desk.

Jason only looks at you with intrigue. ‘How did you get in the manor?’ He asks. You crossed your arms over your chest. ‘I’m a ghost, there is no getting in when I’ve been here for a little over a couple months.’ You replied

‘How?’ He asks.

You shrugged. ‘Dunno, I died a few feet from this manor and yet I got stuck here regardless, it sounds like the start of a shitty horror movie.’ Jason chuckled as he sits back on his bed. ‘Yeah it really does but aren’t you ghosts meant to be, you know…vengeful towards the living?’ He teases and you shot him a look.

‘First of all those ghosts are old cunts who are have a thing for killing young people and kids for the sake of enforcing their hatred towards the newer generation. I on the other hand don’t fucking care because what purpose does it serve me to frighten people into paranoia? None and besides you lot are a messy bunch that don’t know the first thing of keeping your stuff in your own rooms, you and dick are the worst for that.’

Jason raised his hands in defence. ‘Guilty as charged but they always seem to come back to our rooms regardless, so I’m assuming that’s you?’

You hummed.

‘Why?’

You shrugged again. ‘I’m bored and got too much time stuck here doing fuck all. So now I clean up after you lot to pass the infinite time I’m now cursed with.’

‘Must suck.’ Jason said as he looked at you. ‘Being dead and I should know but unlike you I was brought back against my will.’ You waved a hand at him as you sat next to him. ‘It’s not all bad being dead but I think coming back to live is an even worse fate to have.’ You then look at him with concern for his wellbeing. ‘How do you do it?’

Jason stayed silent as his steely gaze locked onto the wall in front of him. ‘I’m still trying.’ Was all he said and you decided they your time here was over as you walked over to his doorway but looked back at Jason before leaving. ‘Talk to your brothers, before you regret not doing so later…I know I regret not saying anything to my family before…you know.’ You tell him with a weak smile.

Jason was left mulling over your words that night.

Dick

He fainted the moment you handed him his weapons to him. This wasn’t the first time he did it either.

You weren’t amused as you sighed. ‘Okay big guy, let’s get you back to bed.’ You settled aside his weapons on the kitchen counter where you found him, before focusing all your effort and energy into lifting him up and carrying him back to bed, tucked in tight like a baby that he was when it came to horror movies.

You often left dick’s stuff in places he frequently visited or in his room rather then stay long for him to see you, all in the hope of not having to hear him scream and potentially faint on the spot, for in all honestly after the first few times it was beyond ridiculous, and you couldn’t be bothered to make an attempt to ease his anxiety about you if he wasn’t even conscious for you to do so.

He was the one you interacted the least but would keep an eye on from afar like you did with the rest of the boys.

So when he finds himself in his bed, he’s confused, he thought he was in the training room before but then he remembered that his encounter with you sent him into unconsciousness. He wasn’t the biggest fan of horror movies and ever since his first one, his fears and worries towards ghosts has grown since his siblings love horror movie nights, much to his dismay.

There was a ghost in the manor…but you didn’t seem hostile or as angry and violent as the ones he saw in movies, if anything you were the exact opposite but still his worries that this was all just a ruse was enough to have him on edge whenever he heard a creak in the floorboards or shutting of a random door.

‘Christ you’re hopeless boy wonder.’ You say out of instinct and dick, who had gotten out of bed at this point and wandered down the hallway, straightened up and looked over at you with wide eyes.

‘You!’

‘Me!’ You replied sarcastically. ‘Now before you faint on me, your weapons are in the training area where you fainted before I had to drag your ass back to bed, if not ask Tim as I left him the responsibility to tell you where they are.’ You add and within a matter of minutes, dick fainted and you sighed once more as you were forced to carry the man back to bed, more then ready to do this all over again should he cross your path once more.

Tim

Didn’t fully encounter you until he was on a hunt to find his missing computer charger, growing ever more annoyed when he couldn’t find it, only to hear someone from his doorway say;

‘Looking for this?’

Tim looks up to find your translucent hand hold out his charger, it almost looked as though it was floating in midair in front of him as though it was the carrot on the stick and he was the donkey, destined to be lured by the illusion of one day eating the carrot only to always be mere inches away from that reality but never getting any closer then those mere inches.

‘What the-‘ he begins but you raised your other hand.

‘Don’t freak out dude, I’m just a ghost who’s trying to help you find a charger, no need to reach for the phone and get a fake medium, nor call that John Constantine dude Christ.’ You said as you threw his computer charger onto his bed. Tim was still very much in a state of surprise at how you could intersect with objects, for as he was aware ghosts had to be able to muster the anger to do so, but here you were doing what other ghosts couldn’t so effortlessly and easily as breathing.

‘Thanks?’ He then says and you shrugged your shoulders.

‘No problem, also when dick comes and ask you where his combat sticks are, they’re in the kitchen…where he left them the night before, I would do it but I’m pretty sure he fainted when I held them t to him.’ You told Tim but before he could say anything else, you disappeared through the wall across his room and it left him with a cold sensation travelling through his body upon witnessing it.

He’s now going to sleep with one eye open in the instance you came back to watch over him like a sleep paralysis demon. That and he found out your death with a quick search.

Damian

Didn’t believe in ghosts until he caught you sorting out his art supplies in a neat and orderly manner.

‘Hey!’ He’d bark.

‘At least arrange your paint brushes from thickest to thinnest,’ you groaned, ignoring his bark, ‘it’s a pain in the ass to keep cleaning after you and keep the art desk clean also.’

Damian faltered and his anger subsided to confusion. ‘You’re the one who’s been doing that?’ He asks. You looked at his as though he grew another head. ‘Duh, of course I do. Also don’t wear anything that can get into acrylic paint, it doesn’t come out, like at all that shit ruins any good shirt you have forever see!’ You then showed him your paint covered sleeves with a smile.

‘How did you get in here without setting off the alarms?’ Damian questioned and you then sighed as you balled up a fist and threw a punch that went straight through the set desk, you leave it there for Damian to realise what your situation was before pulling it out. ‘You’re a ghost.’

‘In the flesh! Well flesh for you not me as I’m dead and all-‘

‘Yes I get that but-‘

‘Damian.’ Dick’s voice could heard through the door as the pair of you froze. ‘Who are you talking to?’ Damian was about to answer but when he looked over at where you stood, you were gone as though you had never existed and slowly Damian closed his mouth. ‘No one.’ He replied as he looked over at his art desk to see that you had cleaned his paintbrushes, organised them from height order and even brought a fresh canvas out for him too.

Something told him that this won’t be the last time that he saw you.

Congratulations you’ve gained his interest.