#it was a public personality not someone he could feel threatened by

[parlerenfleurs]

I couldn't stand being with a person who is jealous and possessive as a rule, but the small, kneejerk reaction I've occasionally incited from men (unintentionally) was sweet and refreshing like fruit. Oh what is it? You want my affections all to yourself? How charming.

[rafesaddiction]

It's still not cheating when he's your best friend – Rafe Cameron x Reader (Part 2)

See here for part 1

Summary: You're excited to see your favorite band live. But a fight with your boyfriend threatens to cancel the trip, until someone you don’t expect to see, saves the day: your best friend Rafe Cameron.

Concept: best friend, only nice to her

Warnings: mdni! – smut, fingering, public, (kinda) dubcon, cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), hints at a toxic relationship, name calling (reader is called slut), protective!rafe

Word count: 3.1k

a/n The past weeks have been really hard for me due to health issues. But I've finally been able to write again. I had fun writing this and I hope you won’t be disappointed reading it. Please let me know your thoughts.

Taglist @dream-pink @dope-trope-105 @rafeinterlude @baby19sthings @yootvi @aaronhotchswife @lilo7sworld

He almost ruined it. For months, you had been looking forward to seeing one of your favorite bands at the beach festival. The day before the concert, your boyfriend told you he didn't want to go and he didn't want you to go either. You had a fight that started over something stupid and ended with him accusing you that you just wanted to go to the festival so you could run around naked and fool around with guys, like the slut you were. You cried when he stormed out and shut your dorm room’s door with a bang. You cried all night.

Your boyfriend was supposed to be the driver. And now on top of all the personal pain you were feeling, you had to explain to your friends that you no longer had a ride to the festival. Neither you nor one of your friends owned a car. You tried to get your parents' car, but they needed it themselves. In the group chat you discussed all kinds of possibilities, until one of your friends wrote that he had organized a car. Everyone cheered at that, and even you, despite of all those tears that kept running down your face, were relieved that you and your friends could make the trip. You not only wanted to see the band play, more important to you was to get out with your friend and forget about the argument you and your boyfriend had.

Your friend also mentioned that the car's owner would join us to the festival, to which everyone naturally agreed and was excited. You even promised to bake cookies for the mysterious hero.

But you didn’t expect it to be him. You could have guessed because that friend also went to high school with you and they had been friends then. Still, it was kind of a shock and you froze when you saw a familiar car on the parking lot next to the dorms. The Cameron family SUV.

You hadn't talked to him since that one night. That one night that should have never happened. That one night that had been the best night of your life. That one night when you had had the best sex of your life with your best friend, Rafe Cameron.

Rafe wasn't much of a texter, but he had texted you. You had written six different replies and never sent one. You had wanted to write him or call him several times. Like last night when your boyfriend had made you cry again. Suddenly you were very aware of how you must look. Your eyes all puffy from the crying.

Rafe was at the back of the car, loading bags into the trunk with the friend who had invited him to this trip.

He hadn't seen you yet, his back was turned towards you, and you were glad about it, because you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to feel. So you were more than relieved when one of your friends arrived shortly after you, pulled you in a hug and decided that you two could already get into the car which was much cooler than standing around in the burning sun, while you could leave it to the guys to load your stuff into the car.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, your friend to your right. She started chatting right away and you felt somewhat relieved that she didn't comment on your boyfriend's absence nor your puffy eyes. Shortly after, the rest of your group arrived, you were six altogether, and luckily the SUV was really comfortable – more comfortable than your boyfriend's old minivan.

Rafe got into the driver's seat, and for a moment, he looked at you through the rearview mirror, before you turned your attention to your friend, as you felt your heart skipping a beat at that moment. You were unsure whether you saw a smile flash over his face, and you didn't dare to look again to check, afraid your face might reveal too much of your inner turmoil.

Though the drive took several hours, time flew by quickly. You had been right. It was good being with your friends and having fun. Everyone was in a good mood, the music was good, there was lively chatting and laughter, there was drinking and snacking, and even stupid car games were played. You might have been a little quieter than usual, but no one seemed to notice – no one except Rafe, who again and again looked at you through the mirror, but never directly spoke to you.

The parking lot of the festival site was already quite full, but Rafe managed to find a good spot for the car. When you got out of the car, you stretched your arms and felt the sun on your skin. It was a very hot day and the car had been nicely air-conditioned. Since it was so hot and the festival was on the beach anyway, your friends and you decided to just wear your bathing suits. You got out of your jeans shorts and shirt, as you were wearing your bikini underneath. You saw Rafe take off his shirt, and one of your guy friends commented that he should put it back on as it would make them all look like total wimps compared to him. There was laughter and Rafe smirked as he casually flexed his chest muscles. It was true. Rafe did look fitter than most guys. It wasn't too much muscles, but he was big and looked strong. Sometimes you thought he looked too good to be real, like a statue of some Greek god… Rafe had caught you staring at him and you quickly averted your gaze, feeling heat crawling to your face.

Since everyone was hungry, your friends and you decided to get some pizza and drinks, and after that more drinks. Everyone was relaxed and had a good time. You smiled a lot – except when you looked at your phone and saw the notifications. Your boyfriend had sent you several texts and voice mails. You didn't open them, you had already seen in the preview window what those texts were about. Obviously he hadn't calmed down. If anything he was even more angry, even more hurtful in his messages.

When looking at the phone, you also saw the time. The band you wanted to see was about to play soon. You asked your friends to go with you closer to the stage, but no one really wanted to move. They said you could hear the music perfectly well from their current spot, besides the booze was here. To that everyone cheered and raised their cups. Everyone but Rafe.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don't have to. You can stay here, enjoy yourself. I'll just go on my own.”

“Quit that bullshit,” he said and came closer, he had put his cup away. “I'm going with you. So you won't get lost in the crowd. Besides, I know how much you want to see your third favorite band live.”

“You remember,” you gazed up at him, who stood now directly in front of you. You had to shield your eyes since the sun was shining so brightly, but you could definitely see a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I remember,” he said in a low voice, almost whispering and you couldn't help it, you gasped for air.

The smile on his lips turned into a smirk as he continued, “How could I ever forget you dancing to that one song for like all of junior year, hm? You're gonna do that dance again? Wouldn't wanna miss that.”

And he started moving his hips and his arms in a weird clumsy rhythm, imitating what was supposed to be you dancing. It looked ridiculous and you had to laugh.

You punched his shoulder. “Stop that. That's not how I dance.”

He kept on moving in that awkward way and you tried hard to stop laughing – suddenly feeling lighter and more relaxed than you had in weeks – since that night.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and pushed out your lips, pouting, but couldn't fight the giggles, as Rafe tried some elaborate pirouette which caused him to stumble, but he stopped, directly in front of you. All of a sudden he was calm and there was something so soft in his features which you knew he rarely ever showed anyone.

“Let's go,” it was almost a whisper, then he added in a louder voice. “We don't want to miss that song and that dance.”

You punched his chest, your hand almost hurting as it hit the hard muscle – and felt his hot skin. But you let him take your hand and lead you from the group of your friends who were engrossed in some conversation of their own. His strong hand holding yours felt good, it felt right. Rafe was your best friend. He was the one you trusted most, he was the one who made you laugh, no matter what.

Rafe walked towards the stage and tugged you along with him. When there were more and more people around, he pulled you close to his body. Still holding one of your hands, his palm touched your back as he walked behind you, keeping you very close. He made sure you didn't get lost in the crowd. His body shielded you from anyone bumping into you or spilling their drinks on you.

The place got more and more crowded and he had to slow down. You turned your head to look at him.

“This is okay,” you said.

Rafe frowned as he looked at you. “No, it's not. We're going to the front row.”

“No, Rafe, this is totally okay. I can see enough from here.”

His frown deepened. “No, you can't. You're too tiny.”

At that comment you frowned. “I’m not tiny. You're just a giant,” you said and wanted to punch him with your free hand, but you didn't have enough space to move your arm, so you just ended up placing your palm on his chest. Feeling his hard muscle, feeling his hot skin, and his heart beating. He placed his hand on yours and your breathing hitched.

Rafe held you even tighter to his body as he proceeded to walk to the stage. His strong arms held you, protected you. And despite all these people around you, you only felt him, his presence, his closeness, all around you. Your skin tingled where it touched his, and that tingling grew stronger and became something else. Something that went so much deeper. And you felt a too familiar pulsing in your core.

Some people complained and pushed and shoved, but one look at Rafe’s face and stature and they made room for you and him. He really managed to secure a spot in the front row for you, right in the middle and you got the perfect view of the stage, standing directly behind the first barrier. Only a few feet of empty space separated you from the stage. Rafe was standing directly behind you, his hands to both sides of you, resting on the rail, his arms caging you in – shielding you.

You wanted to turn and thank him, but in that moment the band entered the stage and started playing their first song. You were captivated by their performance and the great atmosphere their music created. There was cheering, singing, dancing all around you. People were pushing and shoving, but you only felt a fraction of that as Rafe's body pressed closer to yours. He was shielding you from all the crowd's wilder movements, while you could enjoy being part of this experience safely.

You even danced a bit, your back rubbing against Rafe's front. When you craned your neck to look back at him, you saw him grin. And you felt a grin on your own face.

The set list was great too. They played all your favorite songs and the lead singer managed to put some kind of spell on the audience when they played a couple of slower songs. Or that spell was just on you, and not caused by the singer, but by something or someone else.

You leaned back a little, your head resting against Rafe's broad chest, feeling his heart beat. You closed your eyes and your hips swayed to the slow rhythm of the song. Your skin touched his skin. And you didn't mind the thin film of sweat covering his body from the heat of the bright sun and the crowded place. You smelled his scent so intensely, it made you almost forget where you were. It just made you feel.

Your eyes opened, your upper body leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier. You watched the singer putting all his emotions into each and every note. Goosebumps crawled over your skin. But it wasn't from the singer's raspy voice. Rafe's hand touched your hip. Your back arched a little as your butt was pushed back. You gasped. Rafe's hand rubbed over your butt cheek, you felt the rough palm, the long fingers, the cool metal of his ring on your skin. The touch was light, too light, too gentle, too soft. Your mouth opened, but all sounds were drowned by the music and the noise of the people.

His fingertips, just his fingertips, tenderly touched the back of your thigh, moved to the inside of your leg. They moved up and one finger rubbed over the fabric of your bikini bottoms. It was like scratching and you flinched, but that didn't make him withdraw his hand. Instead, the finger pushed harder, pushed to part your folds, pushed to tease you, while the layer of clothes still was between you and his digit.

You felt heat rushing through your body, neither caused by the sun nor by the heat of the people moving around you. You did not perceive any of them. You just felt him, while your eyes were directed at the band on stage performing their emotional song.

Rafe’s finger moved along your slit with pressure. Through your bikini panties his fingertip was able to find your most sensitive spot at once and he began teasing it mercilessly. No one heard it, but you were sure, Rafe felt that you were moaning. You felt a growing need that threatened to take over all your senses. As if he knew that, felt that, perceived that, Rafe pushed the fabric aside – tantalizingly slow. And his fingers found you wet and yearning for his touch. A mewling sound escaped your lips as a finger pushed inside you. You felt your walls clench around the digit. And you felt Rafe tense behind you and you were sure you heard a groan.

The song had changed, you only now realized, its rhythm was faster, wilder. And so was Rafe's touch. His finger thrust into you, stretching your tightness, pushing deep, making you squirm. Your hands gripping the metal of the barrier for support. Your legs started shaking as Rafe added a second finger and began fucking you with his digits. He curled them inside you and your head went back to your neck as you moaned shamelessly. He pulled his fingers out completely, just to push them into you even deeper. Again and again.

The song grew louder, harder, fiercer – and so did his finger-fucking you. Your body trembled, your voice was hoarse and you were whining now. He pushed you further and further, closer and closer to the edge.

Then, all of a sudden, he leaned over you – maybe he was pushed by the crowd jumping about, maybe he needed to feel you closer too – and you could feel his hardness press against your back. You pressed your eyes shut as your climax hit you, hit you hard. The wave swept you away and carried you to another place, where all you did was feel, feel this, feel him.

His fingers fucked you through your orgasm. He had wrapped his arm around you, was holding you close to his body, and thus was also keeping you from falling, since your legs were shaking and you feared you no longer could trust them to support you.

Slowly he pulled his fingers out. And even though you still felt echoes of your high, this also left a feeling of emptiness inside you. A longing that was always there if he wasn't inside you.

You felt his breath close to your ear and heard him say something, but the music drowned his words. You turned your head, looking at him with hooded eyes and saw him lick his fingers.

The rest of the concert felt like in a haze. Rafe kept his arm around you, holding you close, while you watched the band play but could only listen to his heart beat, as your body was still shivering.

When the show ended, people started moving and Rafe took a step back to give you room to turn around to him.

“Thirsty?” he asked you, and you just nodded, not trusting your voice.

His hand on your back, Rafe guided you through the crowd back to your friends, and you had to admit to yourself that you wouldn't have found them on your own.

Rafe ordered something to drink for you at the nearby bar while you stood with your friends. One of them commented that you were glowing and that you looked totally blissed out. You touched your cheek and felt the heat, and felt that smile on your face. She asked if the show had been that good and you replied that it had been amazing. Your voice was hoarse and she suspected it was from you singing along with the band so loudly all the time. You didn't comment on that, just felt another wave of heat going through your body. As you turned, your eyes met Rafe's. A little smirk on his lips as he put a cup into your hand and took a swig out of his own.

[yandere-sins]

I played Jiyan's quest today and I can't stop thinking about being Yandere!Jiyan's dirty little secret...

[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content (dub-con), Dragon Behavior (a little bit like fangs, biting and snarling), Mention of war and all that comes with it, Stockholm Syndrom Reader]

Everyone got one of those, right? Some people overindulge in sweets, and some gamble 'just one more game' while their pockets are empty. But for someone like Jiyan, who is seen as great and respectable in the public eyes—a person who can do no wrong—it's you.

You are the dirtiest secret one could hope to never uncover behind the beloved general. It would be hard to turn a blind eye to your situation, so he does his very best so that no one finds out about it. You are only destined for his eyes, a splendid gift of Jué for sure. Why else would your paths have crossed, your fates intertwining as cruelly yet beautifully as they did?

You are hidden away in his mansion, locked up, and put through a very different hell than what he goes through. He loves you; he really does. That's why you can't leave. Never. You're the one thing that keeps him grounded in this world, the last spark of hope that keeps his sanity from accidentally killing himself on the battlefield as he realizes there's nothing more to fight for.

Jiyan doesn't return to his mansion to live in splendor and the luxuries of life. He only comes home to you.

You are not a willing participant in this secret of his. Not even the few servants he permits around him know of you. Everything must be under wraps and he used his salary as a general wisely to build you a palace that can house his madness in a beautifully twisted way. It's an illusion of the outside world, with technology and science providing the idea of being a little less captured and a little more free. And Jiyan doesn't regret spending every penny to keep up the illusion of being your lover, not your captor.

This way, he can ensure your safety and well-being far away from other people despite him being outside, fighting dangerous threats, and risking his life daily. He can ensure that you'll be fed and entertained for a long time after his death, and no one finding out long after your passing either. But he doesn't even think of this possibility. Not when he's the only one you can cling to.

Being isolated does something to one's psyche, and that's the one thing Jiyan cannot improve for you—and at this point, he doesn't want to anymore. Everyone outside the underground palace is a foe when it comes to you. They'd try to take you away from him. And after just shy of a couple of years of being imprisoned, he finally has you broken down enough that you won't fight his love constantly anymore.

Instead, you walk up to him as he finally returns, weeks having turned into months. But with no one else to give you attention and love, you open your arms to him, worn-out and bloody as he is. Your body is tense and wary, with a frown on your face, but when he moves forward, so are you. Both of you are so desperate for what only the other can give.

You let him sack into your embrace and allow him to reciprocate your hug, always just a little too tight for your comfort. It feels revolting to hold him even after all this time. Still, you claw your fingers into his clothes as if he were going to disappear again any second. He reeks of sweat, blood, and dirt, but you tolerate it, and he is ever so thankful for you loosening his hair tie and combing through his hair. It's the end of stress and despair for Jiyan. You are ringing in the peace into his life, and he wants to stay like this forever, but another part is threatening to take him over.

He had to hold back for so long, yearning and exercising patience. Now, the beast inside of him is starving.

He can't help but lose his composure a little, burying his face in your chest and smelling you like an animal. His snarls reverberate throughout your whole body, like the purrs of a cat, the need for you building rapidly inside of him. Fangs protrude from his lips as he drags them over your shoulder, searching for the taut skin above your collarbone to sink them into you. Your blood tastes sweet and exciting instead of the bitter and impure blood on his lips whenever he worries them in the barracks, thinking of you. You squirm, complain, wiggle—a part of you still resisting. But if he wants to have a taste of you, then there's nothing you can do unless you want him to accidentally rip your throat out. He's proving you're real—not another damn hallucination—and he licks up the wounds with fervor, knowing you are alive and well after having your taste spread over his tongue.

Jiyan loves the pouty look on your face when he topples you over, catching your arms with his hands. He chuckles as you resist vainly, his grip leaving the prettiest of bracelets made of bruises on your wrists. The last ones have already faded and tears well up in your eyes as he replaces them dutifully. He knows you don't want to spread your legs for him, your body resisting that until the bitter end, so he picks you up instead, carrying you to the bath to ease the tension you're feeling. He needs it, too, and Jiyan licks his lips as the sweet release of all his pent-up feelings draws near.

Your moans resemble a song of healing as they echo through the bathroom, filling the space with all the love and adoration he gives you. Jiyan worships the way your body twists in his grip, tightens around his cock, and lets him know the extent of how good he is making you feel. His thrust may be harsh, and your mouth may be begging for him to stop mistreating both your lips and body as he mauls you like a Spearback, water splashing everywhere as you two get rowdy in the bath, but you can't resist orgasm after orgasm shaking through you, your belly full of his warm seed. It takes a while to satiate Jiyan, but just like you took care of him when he returned, he washes your exhausted body afterward and takes you to bed to pepper you in kisses and to stroke you some more until you are a bawling, beautiful mess coming completely undone in front of him. There need to be no secrets, no shame between you two, and your beauty is unrivaled, especially after seeing you again after so many nights imagining this very sight in front of him.

It solidifies his life's worth when he can watch you sleep, bundled up and frowning since you are so sore. He wipes the tears from your face as you have nightmares of being alone and being with Jiyan. But hearing you say his name in your sleep—regardless in which context—is enough for him to finally settle into the soft pillows too. One arm around you, the other one for you to rest your head on. Because just like you'll never escape this prison, Jiyan won't let you be anywhere but next to him as long as he's home.

He falls asleep with dreams of domesticity. Cooking with you, feeding you dessert, taking walks in a park he'll never take you to. Massaging you, sharing your woes, and cuddling in front of the fireplace. A life he will never ever have with you, but which has kept him from death so many times. Knowing you were at home, waiting for him, angry, pouty, trying to scratch his eyes out, but you were safe and healthy, saved him from the despair of losing everyone he ever cared about in this cruel war. Your blood reminds him of life rather than death, and the warmth of your body in his arms is the comfort he needs after the endless cold nights outside of this dream he built for you.

So Jiyan doesn't even think about everything of yours that he sacrificed to get to this point. You'll be his dirty little secret forever, and he'll make sure of it no matter how many discords or people he has to kill or how much he needs to break you to make this possible. He can't continue living like the hero people make him out to be if he can't have you to compensate for his madness. Isn't it a fair price? Jiyan wouldn't know what to do with all the despair and anguish if he couldn't turn it into love. Jiyan isn't sure he could stop himself from and fight against becoming what he fears most—a mad monster.

He has yet to realize that, beneath his mansion, sleeping peacefully next to you, he has long lost that battle.

But it's his dirty little secret no one on the outside needs to know.

[starwrighter]

1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cave boy Danny. What if he offhandedly mentions his parents being THERE (as in not dead) and being Doctors (not the same kind of doctors Bruce's parents are) and things like that and doesn't realize that the batfam starts thinking that this? This is what's different with this Bruce. He didn't lose his parents and thus does not grow up wanting vengeance, and his parents are similar in personalities but in a different field!

Now Danny is still as casual young Bruce as ever but the others are just freeking out around him.

Things are strange for a while. Danny knows that his actions have caused the Waynes to be....wary around him. Even Jason- who honestly threw a whole ass parade for Gotham in celebration of Joker's death- seemed to be tense around him.

Danny can't really say he blames them. He still doesn't know why Phantom reacted the way it did- a bit alarming. His ghost side marked Joker as a threat from the moment it laid eyes on him- a threat that could not and would not be reasoned with.

His ghost -half attacked, knowing that Joker's existence threatened his core. A core that was created from the desire to keep his friends safe at the moment of his death. (He had known he would die the moment the portal's electricity hit him- and Danny had not been mournful of his end but rather horrified that Tucker or Sam could have followed him to the afterlife. His last thought as a human was Please let me live long enough to keep them safe.)

Never has that happened before- not even when faced with Vlad or Dan. It was strange to watch Phantom attack and not be in equal amounts of control within his body.

Phantom has always felt a part of him but also not. Danny had once tried to explain it to Jaz, only to end up frustrated when she tried to paint Phantom as a different personality that shared the mind-space with Danny.

Danny knows Phantom isn't like that.

He's not another person- Phantom is Danny in the same sense that Danny is alive but dead. For the same reason, Danny is the flipped color scheme of Phantom. They are one, just viewed differently.

Or maybe they saw the world differently?

It's hard to say and even harder to put into words.

The closest Danny could come to explain was an example Tucker gave him. Someone is the same but acts ultimately differently online, even when they aren't trying to catfish someone.

It's the fact they are behind a screen that gives them just the extra amount of courage. Tuck had said.

Ancients, he misses Tuck. His ship is not ready to venture into his Ghost Zone- hell, if Danny is honest, it's barely able to move. He is trying his best to get it working, but it's slow going. Too slow, even with Wayne's generosity.

"Master Brucie," Alfred started, pausing just within the doorframe of Danny's room until invited in. He does that now, keeping to his manners as though Danny was a guest of the Waynes. Not someone who he can be so familiar with.

It stings to know his killing had lost him the right to be treated as a stranger when Alfred had always treated him as young Bruce Wayne the moment he was found.

"Yes?" He asks, trying to smile. It falls flat, but it's worth the effort.

Alfred's face stays impassive, and Danny tries to tell himself that he doesn't care. He's not a young Bruce Wayne. He wants nothing to do with the Wyanes'.

"There are more gifts for you." The bulter says. "Shall I bring them to your room?"

Danny has received a lot of fan mail since his actions were leaked to the public. Everyone knew that Joker was taken out by Danny Kane. And there wasn't a single person in Gotham who hadn't been hurt or known someone injured by the madman.

He is being praised as a hero.

For murder.

Danny can't find it in himself to feel guilty about it. Joker needed to die. He had too many chances to change, and too many people got hurt.

"That's okay. I'll go downstairs and look through them. I feel like watching a movie anyway." He shrugs his shoulders while strolling to the door in his lazy stride.

Alfred steps out of his way, bowing ever so slightly. "Very good sir."

Sir.

That stings.

Danny doesn't bring it up or mention that Alfred keeps a safe space between them. Not enough that it would be rude, but definitely one of a servant following a master instead of a man who thought him the younger version of his son.

When they arrive at the room, he is surprised to find a white shipping cart filled to the brim with packages and letters waiting for him. Standing beside the cart, flipping through the envelopes, is Tim.

He has yet to see much of Tim. Not since Danny proved his doubts weren't as unfound as Danny actively tried to convince the other teen of.

No time like the present.

"Hey, Tim." He calls just to mentally get the other prepared for his approach. As expected, Tim whips around with a narrow eye-ed glare that does nothing to hide his distaste for Danny. Alfred follows them into the room but stays by the door at an appropriate distance. "Anything good?"

"Good, how?" Tim bites, and Danny fights to not roll his eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe a letter from my mom saying I'm a good boy or another football from dad-"

"I beg your pardon?" Alfred cuts him off- which, okay, that's never happened before. The butler has never overstepped his position- even when they thought him harmless little Brucie- to talk over him.

Danny turns to find the man pasty white, looking both cautiously overjoyed and wishful. "Did you make a joke about your parents, Master Brucie?"

"Ugh, Yeah? Why?"

"Young sir, are- are your parents alive?"

Danny is floored by the choked-up emotion in that one sentence that all he can do is nod. Tim drops the package he was checking over, his jaw slacked, and staring at Danny like having parents was the answer of the universe.

"Thomas and Martha Wayne are alive in your universe.." Tim all but breaths. "They are alive and have more than one kid."

"Why is that a big deal?" Danny asks, unable to himself. "What happened to Bruce's parents here?"

"Master Thomas was a doctor," Alfred says, ignoring Danny's question. But he now hears the answer in the past tense when referring to Bruce's parents. "Is he still in your world?"

"Yes, and so is my mom." PHD doctors, but they don't need to know that.

"That's why you like this." Tim slumps into the chair closest to him. Danny is mightily alarmed that he seems pale now. "That's why you don't know anything about Batman. He was never inspired. You....you really are a civilian."

Danny will deny that he fleed the room when Tim burst into tears till the day he died. He does not look back even when Alfred yells for his return. He has outstayed his welcome.

He slips into his room, grabs anything not nailed down with any form of technology, and then activates his intangibility. He sinks down down, and down, to the caves. He knows where the Bats work, knows where to go from his nights where he tried to work on ship.

He flies in that direction, knowing he will never see the Waynes again. Not after realizing how much pain his lies have unwillingly caused.

Master Post Link

[deepmochi]

Astrology notes: synastry edition 🪐💋

Read here ⚠️

Note: take what resonates. This may not apply to everyone if these notes don't resonate, just scroll. This post applies to romantic and platonic relationships.

🦋 Moon conjuct sun make people see what the other person has in themselves. Both understand the other but also judge them.

🪼 Venus in the 12th house has a veil under them. This in a synastry give "dating vibes" even for platonic friends/ relationships. For romantic ones, gives, they are secretly dating vibes "friends with benefits".

🦋 Mercury and Sun aspects in the same signs make them a very competitive couple lowkey. The sun has masculine energy that the mercurian finds "interesting" or useful.

🪼 North nodes- sun people aspects aren't for long term relationships. The north node person signifies someone who comes and goes; they don't stay too long. This is perfect for "people come and people go" D.O's line in love shot.

🪼 Asc-Venus aspects in synastry always like to compliment the other apperance. They appreciate those "that skirt looks good on you" comments. They got a self-esteem boost and a reminder that the person cares for them.

🪼 Men with their sun sign in your 1st house are perceived by you as hot. This could lead to a night stand or intense chemistry.

🧊 Venus opposition Venus gives very subtle vibes to each other like. There's is always one who is more oblivious to the other. If other aspects interfere, mind games are possible.

🪼 The same element in a placement produces a very similar reaction. You may feel very drawn to that person. For example, A Leo Mars woman will feel attracted to fire sun or venus (aries or sag) men. They have similar fiery traits. This applies to men for their Venus signs. A man with a Libra Venus will find airy personalities very attractive and (bonus points) with an airy rising even more.

🦋 Mars is about motivation, drive, your temper and temperature. Yes, First house goes checked your blood pressure and heart rate. Whenever you get mad, you should listen to your heart 👀, please.

🦋 Don't trust tik tok astrology notes. I just heard someone saying Mars in the 1st likes to work under pressure like for daily work Girl...I'm Mars in the 1st and NO. My heart cannot resist that.

💙 Also, first house mars synastry can be a feisty couple. In public or private 😗, the "I hate you" type, and then they kiss each other.

🦋 12th house-Venus synastry can be very pretty if they decide to go with the flow. Without judging the other, or forcing to be like others (society roles).

🦋 Their venus is in your 12th house, it indicates that they feel loved by you in ways they cannot describe. This sometimes also mean blurry lines. If they don't know your relationships status, communication is useful. Don't let your mind read signs.

🐦 Venus in the 2nd, guess? People likes to buy you things. If someone has their sign in your 2nd house, they will buy you things easily. Also, they can prefer to eat together or show physical love (hugs or hold hands) even for friends. Taurus rules the 2nd house.

🦋 Insecure men with your lilith sign in their Venus (conjuction) will not asking you out. THEY'RE SCARE OF YOU. They believe you will break their heart. If they do ask you out, they are ready to fight the world for you.

🦋 Love doesn't equals obssesion. Pluto in the 8th synastry repeat after me: Love isn't obssesion!

🐦 Men with your Venus sign in their Sun sign will be easy to read. If they will like you, you will see it. They cannot play mind games.

🐳 Dating your 12th house sign especially in the sun or moon, it's something I don't recommend at all. They will make you feel "confused", even if they don't try it.

🪼 Women with Mars in the 1st house make fragile men feel inadequate. You can see those men feeling threatened by these women.

🦋 If he has his Mars in your 1st house, he thinks you're hot . Girl, don't even doubt it.

📫 The venus sign in a man chart depicts his ideal type. However, what he needs could be found in the moon. Good aspects between Moon-Venus: a long-term commitment.

🦋 People in your 5th house feels very flirty with you. So, the tension is there, yes, but don't be too delusional. Flirting doesn't mean a serious deal, just be aware of respect if you are in a relationship.

🪼 🔞 If people have their sun or moon in your 8th house, you will see them as more attractive in a romantic/sexual way. It's highly posible to have sex, even if they're not your type.

🐳 🔞 Water in the 8th house in a person's chart indicates "emotions + pleasure". Usually women like to be dominated. Men prefer to dominate. Both prefer dynamic partners with a good aftercare.

🦋 🔞Men with water in the 8th house like to have sex in beaches, in the bathroom and when things gets emotional. Angry sex too.

🦋 Conjuntion and trines have good things, but we cannot ignore the bad things. For example, moon conjunct moon; good things, you understand each other; bad things, you may become twins (for good or bad), too comfortable in the relationship, forgetting romance and passion.

🦋 Sun signs are important to considered if they don't match your Jupiter sign. It could indicate possible obstacles in your marriage.

🪼 Friendly reminder, a perfect synastry doesn't equal a perfect relationship. Please, if the person doesn't respect you, leave them. Not matter how perfect is the synastry in paper.

Take care, lovelies 💚😘.

Credit: @deepmochi

[wilwheaton]

When you watch The Curse, you are watching two children who were abused and exploited daily during production. No adults protected us.

This was originally published on my blog in August, 2022.

I had a wonderful time at Steel City Comicon this weekend. It was my first time at this particular con, so I didn’t know there was such a huge contingent of horror fans, creators, and vendors who attend.

I love horror, and I was pretty psyched to be in the same place as John Carpenter and Tom Savini, across the street from the Dawn of the Dead mall. Pittsburgh feels like one of the places horror was invented, at least to me.

A number of these horror fans came to see me, and asked me to sign posters and other things from a movie my parents forced me to do when I was 13, called The Curse. I had to tell each of these people that I would not sign anything associated with that movie, because I was abused and exploited during production. The time I spent on that film remains the most traumatizing time of my life, and though I am a 50 year-old man, just typing this now makes my hands shake with remembered fear of a 13 year-old boy who nobody protected, and the absolute fury the 50 year-old man feels toward the people who hurt him.

I told this story in Still Just A Geek, and I’ve talked about it in some podcasts I did on the promo tour, but I’ve never put it out in public like this, in its entirety.

I suspect someone at the publisher would prefer I tease this and hope it drives book sales from people who want to read all of it, but I honestly don’t want to have another weekend like this one where everything is awesome, except the few times people who have no idea (and why should they) put that fucking poster in front of me, and all the fear, abandonment, and trauma come flooding back as I tell them that I won’t sign it, and why.

To their credit, each person was as horrified as they should have been, told me they had no idea (if they didn’t read my book why would they), and quickly put the poster away. They were all understanding. I am grateful for that.

But I really don’t need to tell this story over and over again, so here it is, with a child abuse and exploitation content warning, so I can just tell people to Google it.

After Stand by Me, everything changed. The attention from entertainment journalists, casting directors, and especially teen magazines came pouring in. The movie was a generational hit, beloved by critics and audiences alike, and every single one of us could pick anything to do next.

River’s parents and his agent got him Mosquito Coast, with Harrison Ford, as his next movie. I also auditioned for the role, but I knew even then that River was going to book the job. He was perfect, and I’d have to wait a little bit for my opportunity to come along.

I went on a lot of theatrical auditions after Stand by Me. I had tons of meetings with directors and the heads of casting at every major studio. It was all a very big deal, and I felt like we were all looking for something really special and amazing as my follow-up to Stand by Me.

At some point, a couple of producers contacted my agent with an offer to play one of the leads in an adaptation of H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” The script was titled The Farm. (It would, of course, be changed when the film was released).

I read it. I did not like it. It was a shitty horror movie, and I saw that right away. It was the sort of thing you rented on Friday when the new release you wanted was already out of the store.

My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

I told my parents I didn’t like it and didn’t want to do it. I clearly recall thinking it was a piece of shit that would hurt my career.

It wasn’t the first thing that had come our way that I wanted to pass on, and every other time, it hadn’t been a very big deal.

Sidebar: I was cast in Twilight Zone: The Movie, in 1983. The film tells four stories, and I was cast as the kid who can wish people into cartoonland. It was a GREAT role, in a movie I still love. (Note that Twilight Zone had four directors. One of them got three people killed. The segment I was cast in was not that one. I mention this because too many people zero in on this to deflect from what this whole thing is actually about.)

But I was CONVINCED by my parochial school teacher that if I worked on The Twilight Zone, which she had determined was satanic, I would go to hell. (This woman and her bullshit played a big role in my conversion to atheism at a young age, but when she told me that, I was all-in on the supernatural story they taught us in religion class.) I was so scared, more scared than I’d ever been to that point in my life, I cried and wailed and begged my parents to not make me do the movie. And I never told them why, because I was afraid my dad would laugh at me for being weak and afraid. My agent tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn’t budge. It’s the only thing I deeply and truly regret passing on, and I really hate I made that choice for such a stupid reason.

Okay. Back to The Curse.

This time, when I told them how much I hated it, they wouldn’t listen to me. My mother, already an incredibly manipulative person, used every tool at her disposal to change my mind. My father threatened me, mocked me, told me “It’s your decision” when it clearly wasn’t. It was all so weird; I didn’t understand why they cared so much.

That is, until they made me take a meeting with the producers of the movie, in their giant conference room on the top floor of a tall building in Hollywood. All I remember about this place was that it was huge; the table was way too big for the five of us who spread around it, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three of the walls, but the room was still dark. There was a weird optical illusion in the center of the table, this thing they sold in the Sharper Image catalog, made from two reflective dishes with a hole in the top of one. You placed an object in the bottom of the bottom dish, and it made it look like that object was floating above the whole thing. They had a plastic spider in it. What a strange detail for me to remember, but it’s as clear in my memory as if I were sitting in that room right now.

One man, who I presumed was the executive producer, was European or Middle Eastern (I didn’t know the difference then, he was just Not Like People I Knew), and I was instantly afraid of him. He was intimidating, and seemed like a person who got what he wanted.

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

I don’t remember what they said to me in their pitch or anything other than how uncomfortable and anxious I was to even be in that room. I tried so hard to be grown up and mature, but I — and my parents — was way out of my depth. I’d done one big movie and that was it. We didn’t have my agent with us, who had lots of experience and would have known what questions to ask.

No, in place of my experienced agent, my mother had decided she was going to be my manager, and she tackled the responsibility with an enthusiasm that was only matched by her absolute incompetence and inability to go toe-to-toe with producers the way my agent did. She was outwitted, out-thought, and outmaneuvered at every turn.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

So we sat there, my father who didn’t give a shit about me, my mother who was cosplaying as someone with experience, and me, thirteen years old, awkward as fuck, and scared to death.

At some point, this man, who is represented in my memory by big Jim Jones sunglasses under dark hair above an open collar, said, “We are offering you a hundred thousand dollars and round-trip travel for your whole family. We will cast your sister, Amy, to play your sister in the movie.”

It all made sense, now. I was only thirteen, but I knew my parents were pushing me so hard because this company was offering me — them, really — more money than I’d ever imagined I’d earn in my life, much less a single job.

I knew that the right thing to do, the smart thing to do, was to say no. There would be other opportunities, and it was stupid to cash myself out of feature films for what I thought was, in the grand scheme of things, not very much money.

It’s incredible to me that I knew all of this. It’s incredible to me that I could see all these things, plainly and clearly, and my parents couldn’t (or, more likely, chose not to).

So after this man made his offer, all the adults in the room ganged up on me, selling me HARD on this movie.

My mother said, “Don’t you want your sister to have the same opportunities you’ve had? Wouldn’t it be fun and exciting to go to Rome? Think of all the history!”

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

I don’t think about this very often, because it’s super upsetting to me. Right now, I’m so angry at my parents for subjecting me and my sister to this entire experience. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

In that moment, I felt bullied and trapped. All these adults were talking to me at the same time, and I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted to go home and get out of this room. I just wanted to go be a kid, so I did what I’d learned to do to survive: I gave in and did what my parents wanted.

The experience was awful. It was the worst experience I have ever had on a set in my life, by every single metric. The movie is awful, and it is the embarrassment I knew it would be.

But here’s the thing: when you watch The Curse, you are watching two children, me and my sister, who were abused on a daily basis. The production did not follow a single labor law. They worked us for twelve hours a day, on multiple film units (while I work on First unit, second unit sets up and waits for me. When I should get a break to rest, they send me to Second unit, then to Third unit, then back to First unit. I was 13.) without any breaks, five days a week. I was exhausted the entire time. I was inappropriately touched by two different adults during production. I knew it was wrong, but I was so scared and ashamed, and I felt so unsupported, I didn’t tell anyone. I knew my dad wouldn’t believe me, and my mother would blame me. Anything to keep the production happy, that’s what she did. That was more important to her than the health and safety of her children. The director was coked out of his mind most of the time, incompetent, and so busy fucking or trying to fuck one of the women in the cast, he was worse than useless. He was a fading actor who was cosplaying as a director, as in over his head as my mother. My sister and I were never safe. Instead of harmless atmospheric SFX smoke, they set hay on fire in barrels and blew actual smoke onto the set. They took buckets of talc, broken wood, bits of wallpaper and plaster, and threw it into my face during a scene inside the collapsing house. My sister is in a scene where she goes to get eggs from some chickens, and they attack her. So they hired Lucio Fulci, the Italian horror master, to direct her sequence. His idea, which everyone was totally on board with, was to throw chickens at my sister. Live chickens, live roosters, live birds. Just throw them at a nine-year-old girl. Oh, and then tie them to her arms and legs so they’ll peck her. All of this happened under my mother’s observation, and with her full participation.

Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

If just ONE of the things I can remember happened to someone I loved, I would have grabbed my kids, gone to the airport, and flown home. Fuck those abusive assholes in the production. Let the lawyers sort it all out. Nobody hurts my children and gets away with it.

My mom says she “had some talks” with the producers. She claims that, once, she wouldn’t let us leave the hotel. (God, what a fucking dump that place was. It was just slightly better than a hostel.) I have no memory of that, but honestly the entire experience was so traumatic, I’ve blocked most of it out.

The movie was the commercial and critical failure I knew it would be. My parents spent the money. I don’t know what they spent it on. I got to keep fifteen cents of every dollar, so . . . yay?

My sister and I hardly ever talk about this. I suspect it was as upsetting and traumatic for her as it was for me. I told her I was writing about it, and asked her if she remembered anything. She told me she’d been lied to her whole life about this movie. Our mother let her believe she had been cast on the strength of her audition. “I was excited to work with you,” she said. She reminded me about some stuff I’d blocked out, including a scene where my character’s older brother (played by an actor named Malcolm Danare, who was kind and gentle, and made both of us feel safer when he was around) shoves my character into a pile of cow shit. When it came time to shoot the scene, the mud they’d put together to be the cow shit looked an awful lot like cow shit. When Malcolm pushed me into it, we all found out it was real cow shit. I was FURIOUS. The director had lied to me and had allowed me to have my entire body shoved into an actual pile of actual cow shit. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember he treated me the exact same way my father did whenever I got upset: he laughed at me, told me I was being too sensitive, reminded me that he was the director and he wanted to get a “real” performance out of me, and concluded, “If it bothers you so much, we’ll get you a hepatitis shot,” before he walked away.

My sister also recalled that, after she survived the scene with the chickens, it was the producers’ idea to give her one as a pet.

Okay, let’s unpack that for a quick second: you’ve been traumatized by these birds, so we’re going to give you one as a pet. That you’ll somehow keep in your hotel, and then will somehow get back to America. It will shock you to learn that neither of those things happened.

She remembered, as I do, the huge fight I had with my parents in our kitchen, where I told them I hated the script and I hated the movie. I didn’t want to do it, and I hated that they were making me do it.

“You don’t have a choice,” my father commanded. “You are doing this movie.”

“This is the only film you are being offered,” my mother lied to me. She made me feel like, if I didn’t do this movie, I would never do another movie again in my life. I had to do this movie. As my father bellowed, I had no choice.

Both of my parents denied this argument ever happened. Can I tell you how reassuring it is to know that my sister, who was also there, remembers it the same way I do?

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them.

But one thing she told me, the thing I did not know, the thing that makes me so angry I want to break things, actually managed to make the entire experience even worse than I remembered it.

There’s a scene after her chicken incident where I check up on her in her bedroom. She’s got cuts and bruises, and I guess we talk about it. I don’t remember and I can’t watch the movie because I’m terrified it will give me a PTSD flashback (I’ve had one of those and I recommend avoiding it). Here’s the thing about that scene: she has some cuts on her face, and those cuts are real. They are not makeup.

I’m going to repeat that. My nine-year-old little sister had actual cuts on her face that were placed there by an adult, on purpose.

The makeup department decided they would literally cut my little sister’s face with a scalpel, in three places, and put bandages over them. My sister told me our mother wasn’t in the makeup room when this happened — honestly, it seemed like our mother was strangely and conveniently absent when most of the really terrible things happened to us on the set — and when my sister told her what they’d done, she “lost her shit” at the production. She was pissed, I guess, which is appropriate and surprising. I wonder what would have to have happened for her to put us on a plane and get us home to safety? I mean, her son being abused daily didn’t do it, and her daughter being CUT IN THE FACE ON PURPOSE didn’t do it.

I just . . . I can’t. I can’t understand or comprehend allowing your own children to be physically and emotionally abused. They were literally selling my sister and me to these people, like we were some kind of commodity.

This was a tough conversation. My sister’s experience with our parents is very different from mine. My sister and I love each other. We’re close. I know it’s hard for her to hear that her brother, who she loves, was so abused by her parents, who she also loves. I was really grateful she made the time to talk to me about it, and grateful the experience wasn’t as horrible for her as it was for me.

As we were finishing our call, Amy also remembered one man, a young Italian named Luka, who was our driver for the movie. I haven’t thought about him in thirty years, but I can see his face now. He was kind, he was friendly, he taught us how to kick a soccer ball, and in the middle of an abusive, torturous experience, he stood out as a kind and gentle man. I mention him because she remembered him, which made me remember him, and goddammit I want at least one small part of this thing to not be awful.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares.

Ultimately, as I predicted and feared, this piece of shit movie cashed me out of respectable films forever. I got offers for movies, but they were always mindless comedies or exploitative horror films. They were never the serious dramas I wanted to work in after Stand by Me. The industry looked at me and River, wondering if one or both of us would become a breakout star. They quickly saw that River was doing real acting work, and I was in this piece of shit. For River, Stand by Me was a beginning. For me, it would turn out to be pretty much everything, at least as far as film goes.

There are thousands of reasons film careers do and don’t take off. Maybe mine wouldn’t have taken off anyway. Clearly, it’s not where my life ended up, and I’m super okay with that now. But when all of this happened, it hurt and haunted me.

The Curse remains one of the most consequential times the adults in my life failed to protect me. I’m 50. I still have nightmares. Everything I need to know about who my parents are is wrapped up in that experience: the total lack of concern for my safety and happiness, treating me like an asset instead of a son, lying to me, manipulating me, and using me to get things they wanted, and then gaslighting me about it.

This annotation is the last thing I wrote before I turned this manuscript in, because opening these wounds is hard and painful. I put it off as long as I could, and I feel like I’m still holding back, because just this small glimpse of the experience has taken me a week to write. I can’t imagine trying to go back and unpack the whole thing. (Note that is not in the book: I’ve made an EMDR appointment to work on this because the nightmares have come back after the weekend).

Fuck The Curse, and fuck every single person who exploited and hurt two beautiful children to make it. You all participated in child abuse, and you all knew better. Shame on all of you. I hope this follows you to the end of your life. I hope that living with what you did to innocent children has been as hard for you as it has been for me, because you deserve no less.

[witheringwidgetwrites]

MC has a secret admirer!

Request goes; They're already dating but it's new so most of the lesser demons don't know about it. MC then starts getting love letters from an anonymous person and the Dateables/Brothers get the need to show off that MC is theirs?

I'm gonna do the brothers first! Hope that's cool! If yall wanna see more pls request it! (Also pretend that this is near the beginning of yalls relationship)

INTRO

"Wow, look babe, I got a love letter! Guess I'm more popular than I thought, you might have some competition." You chuckle, kissing his cheek. It was a very flattering letter, laying out all your strengths, compliments sprinkled generously throughout the writing. It was... surprising to say the least. But you were excited to tell him about it!

LUCIFER

If he's already on edge, he might just yank it and rip it in half. Today, however, he's in a good mood.

"Let me read it." You hand him the paper, watching him closely as he grimaces and scoffs. He's not nervous, but he is baffled that someone had the nerve to send you such a... bold letter.

A little prideful, in the sense that he has something that no one else can. He know's you wont leave him for some lower demon, but he can't help but feel slightly threatened.

Walks a litter closer to you around town and RAD. He'll hold your hand when the hallways start to filter out and there's less students around.

Puts in the effort to take you on more public dates, Restorante Six, most likely. kissing your hand and giving you roses at the table. He's not flashy, but it's enough for rumors to spread quickly.

MAMMON

He rips it from your hand, immediately turning his back so he can read it. "Is this the kinda lame sappy stuff you're into? Even I'd do better than this! It don't even mention ya eyes!"

He hands it back to you, mumbling something about, "i'll show 'em" before he stomps off, shaking his head.

He struts the RAD halls with his arm around you, glaring unnecessary at anyone who walks by. He's certainly on edge for the first couple days after. He starts passing you small silly notes during class, little drawings and pickup lines. You watch him as he turns away, hand trying to cover his flushed cheeks.

Also takes you out more. Carnivals, amusement parks, more casual things! Posts 1 post, with a few photos of you together, captioned 'almost as good as grimm.' If you get another letter, you might end up having your first kiss in front of the school!

LEVIATHAN

"Wha? Who?" He can feel his heart beating faster, anxiety rising in his chest. "Just kidding Levi, you're the only demon for me!" You giggle at him. "Could I read it?" You hand it to him, watching him plop down in his gaming chair. He gets very expressive while he reads. Before long, his tail is swishing behind him, "they don't even know you! There's no mention o-of any of your favorite videos games in here! You love games." He frowns, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I know Levi, I don't even know who sent it. Don't worry, they don't know me as well as you do." He pretends to lose control of his tail, that pulls you into him for a hug.

He sulks for a few days, but after some reassurance, he has a plan. You're going to the aquarium and he'll hold your hand! That'll really show 'em. Might even go to physical school a few days more than usual to walk with you.

He writes you a little in-game dialog sappy note, telling you a few things he loves about you. Might make a singular Devilgram post with you, hugging his Ruri-chan body pillow, captioned ''my #1 and my #2'

ASMODEUS

"Ohh! Of course you're popular MC! Everyone loves you, and me of course. We're the top power couple! Now let me take a look." He smiles at you, smile faltering slightly as he reads the letter. Eyes blinking a little stiffly, he hands it back to you. "That's so superficial, you're much better off with me." And with that, he walks away.

He shows the world exactly who's you are immediately. You're tagged in maybe 10 posts in a row. Pictures of you and him, some of just you, all captioned things like, 'my love' and 'my number one always' and 'remembering the moment I fell for you' and it's unmistakable.

Becomes even more affectionate in the RAD hallways, snuggling up to you, sitting in your lap/having you sit in his during lunch.

SATAN

He frowns, putting his hand out for the paper. He glances over it, brow furrowing as he reads. "This is amateur writing. You deserve much better." He hands it back to you, walking past you quickly with a scowl on this face. He turns back halfway down the hall, "be ready at 6:30." You decide to leave him be.

First order of business, he writes you a beautiful letter. It's long winded, many poetry references, and references to stories you've read together. Even compares you to a cat, somehow. He does not give it to you yet.

He dresses nice for your date, electing to take you to dinner, and then a stroll through the royal gardens. As you approach the doors to the House of Lamentation, he turns to you, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a wax sealed letter, your name written neatly on the other side.

Sits a little closer to you at lunch time, and in the library. Hoping someones will see and rumors will spread.

BEELZEBUB

He doesn't read the letter. He's a little jealous, but he thinks reading it will upset him, so he stays away.

He makes the small effort to hold your hand more. He's not normally one for PDA, but for you, he can make a small exception. You can see how flushed his face is when you look up at him.

On game days, he lets you wear his jersey until he needs it. Might post a picture on his Devilgram of you in it. Captioned, '#1 fan'

After one of his games, he sees you talking to a lower demon, they seem to be standing awfully close. He sees them throw their arm around you, and so he calls for you, pretending he didn't see them. He waves at you, jogging over and cupping your face with his hands before placing his lips on yours.

BELPHEGOR

He's half asleep when you tell him. Isn't really bothered until you make the comment about competition. Now he's awake, and looking around like there's a present threat. Yanks the letter from you, holding it close to his face while he scowls. He scans the paper, before rolling his eyes and rolling back over onto his side, taking the letter with him.

Pretends he's not bothered. Asmo brings it up at the dinner table, Belphie calls it a "stupid letter" and crosses his arms, slouching.

Doesn't bring it up again, but you notice he's a little more cuddly in public than he was before. One day after class, he finds you in the library studying, he saunters over, kissing you brashly, tongue tracing the edge of your bottom lip,and loudly, before wiping his lip with his thumb, and sitting next to you, "what're you studying today, MC?"

If you like my posts, please feel free to tip me here!

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

I've seen allot of fics mentioning dick, jason or any other batkids trauma with r@pe, or just fics about them when they were young at a gala or etc and an older creep being a ped@phile and it either end with fresh trauma or Bruce coming in clutch and threatening their entire way of life

But it's got me wondering

Would Bruce have the same kind of experience when he was younger?

Like I'm sure that he would've have to attend some balls/gallas when he was a child or a teen as the future heir, but I'm also sure that there wouldn't have been many pictures or information disclosed to the public about him other than the fact he was present. And there are creeps somewhere in the high society pretty much anywhere, especially in a place like Gotham.

So imagine, in the eyes of someone else, the young Wayne heir, who doesn't make himself the main attraction unless needed, pretty face, no parents to come rescue him, and pretty much everyone knows that his parents murder MUST have given him trauma and made him vulnerable, and he didn't have that much power or influence nor did he have someone who was close enough to him that he could confide in. That is the image he would have had although the quiet part can be improvised if he started his brucie persona as a child.

But still

Like the circumstances of this happening to Bruce as a kid is extremely high, higher than the batkids actually, because they had Bruce, who has enough influence to make their lives hell.

So what would happen if it happened to bruce? Would someone rescue him? Would it be alfred or someone else?Would he tell alfred about it at all? What if it was someone else and years later he's still grateful and others (batfam) can't seem to figure out why Bruce is so grateful/quiet/not doing his brucie persona around this seemingly random person? Or would he feel like a burden and embarrassed and would try to run away from seeing them again?Would he be taken advantage of? Would he thinks that it was normal and not that much of a big deal? Is that why he developed his brucie persona as a playboy? The person would probably still be alive if they weren't that old of age when Bruce grows up and inherits WE do does he still meet the person at gallas and has to pretend that he doesn't feel the bile rising in his throat when they shake hands?

The possibilities are endless

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Hacker! Geto

When your ex threatens to leak your nudes... Hacker! Geto gets revenge for you

Hacker! Geto has been on my mind for a while now. I believe the man is one of those people that coding comes to so easily and that he'd get hired as an ethical hacker after infiltrating a high-end security encryption system.

Warnings: MDNI, leaking of nudes mentioned, sex

Geto Masterlist

Hacker! Geto, who you seek out on the recommendation of a friend after your ex threatened to leak your nudes.

Hacker! Geto, who feels his blood boil at the thought of someone holding a woman’s private photos as a means of coercion 

Hacker! Geto, who asks you to give him all the information you have on your ex, including email, cell phone number, and all his social media handles, reassuring you that he’ll take care of it, feeling protective at the look of vulnerability on your face. 

Hacker! Geto, who casually asks how long it had been since you had broken up, feeling his heart beat faster when you tell him and he decides it’s been long enough

Hacker! Geto whose fingers are practically a blur over the keyboard as he pools together all the information he needs to get into your ex’s account. Those thick, long digits clacking over the keys has you wondering what else they could do with such dexterity.

Hacker! Geto, who smirks so sexily in triumph as he figures out your pea-brained ex’s password with ease. Not exactly rocket science but the way you get closer to him as you peer over his shoulder at the monitor makes him feel like a hero.

Hacker! Geto, who tries to be considerate and polite as he starts deleting your nudes. He doesn’t want to come off as a perv but your photos are so damn sexy, your perky nipples on display. Others are of you in cute lacy lingerie, and you showing off your sweet pussy to the camera, folds glistening as you played with the small little bud peeking out from between your folds. 

Hacker! Geto, who grits his teeth as his cock hardens painfully as he imagines how your tight little pussy would grip him as he fucks into you, erasing all memory that your ex had ever existed. Unknown to him, you’re imagining a similar situation and trying not to blush as he looks over your photos before deleting them. 

Hacker! Geto, who quickly double-checks all of your ex’s accounts to make sure there are no backups that he could use to threaten you again. He then changed a few settings on the accounts to mess with the security encryption, leaking all of his personal information to the public eye. 

Hacker! Geto, who smiles at you, seeing the look of relief on your face as he logs out of all the accounts and erases his digital footprint. You shyly thank for the favor and ask what he wants as payment. He grins at you and asks you out on a date, which surprises you, but you accept. 

Hacker! Geto, who shows off his impressive fingering skills by making you cum within minutes, his clever fingers quickly finding that gummy patch of pleasure inside you while his tongue works on your clit with torturously slow precision. You mewl at the stimulation, on the edge of a second orgasm, wondering how you had ever thought the mediocre sex with your ex was acceptable. 

Hacker! Geto, who coos at you as you struggle to take his girth, whining softly despite how wet you are. He rubs your back and whispers words of encouragement to you. “C’mon now baby, how else are we supposed to completely erase him? You can take it.”

Hacker! Geto, who tries his hardest to last as long as he can but you’re not making it easy, bouncing on his cock, your pussy fluttering around him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

Hacker! Geto, who tenderly wraps you up in a blanket after sex, pressing kisses to your forehead, pulling your limp body closer to him as he strokes your hair. “I think we fucked him out of your life completely, doll.” he’ll whisper, then huff with laughter as you playfully but exasperatedly smack his chest.

all dividers by @/ cafekitsune

@actuallysaiyan @whatshernameis @daswanj

@estarlias @byul9158 @mirrors-musings

@Mangiswig @that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane

@darkstarlight82 @soft--cherry

@Galatict3a @hunnie-lily

@buttercupbitches

[lou-struck]

The Pickle Theory

Diavolo x reader

~While on a trip with you in the human world, Diavolo finds himself at the mercy of his worst enemy.

W.C- 2.6k

a/n: This was one of those prompts that I think of in the middle of the night and write it down in the notes app thinking that It would make sense in the morning... But I don't think I did Late Night Liza justice.

"Thank you for accompanying me on this little trip to the human world Mc, I would never have been able to figure out the intricacies of Human World Public transportation without your expertise." The Prince says warmly, his eyes alight with curiously as he takes in every inch of the sparsely populated city bus the two of you elected to ride.

Sure, there is enough room on this bus for each of you to have your personal space, but the demon is sitting shoulder to shoulder with you in the tiny two-seat row, and you certainly would not have it any other way.

"It was no problem at all," you beam, finding humor in how strange it is to see such a large and gorgeous man trying to politely cram himself into his seat. "I hope that you were able to find something here that you want to incorporate into the devildom. Besides, you know me. I love a reason to get out into the sun with you."

His smile is just as blinding as the sun as he takes in every inch of your elated features, and he lets out a chuckle. "This trip of ours definitely has been useful, but more than that, I am delighted to have had an excuse to whisk you away to the human world without any of our usual distractions."

"It's nice to be able to spend some time alone with you," you say in agreement as the bus comes to a stop. Despite years of etiquette training, you see the pout on his face as he realizes that the errand that brought the two of you together is coming to an end, and the two of you will have to go back to the Devildom so he can get back to fulfilling his royal duties. 

"It seems we have reached the final stop on our route," he murmurs as the remaining passengers trickle out the doors. Through his shades, you can tell the driver is staring you down in the mirror. He clearly wants the two of you to get off his bus, but he's not gonna try and get snarky to someone of Diavolo's size.

Which is more than fair

You stand, and he follows suit, walking off the bus and onto the cobbled streets of an unfamiliar city. Your mind is fixated on what you can do to prolong this errand date. You want to spend more time with him, but as the Prince of the Devildom, his time is priceless. Much to your surprise, your thoughts are interrupted by the ferocious growling of your stomach growls ferociously. Your eyes widen as you look over to Diavolo in embarrassed shock. 

Amazedly, the Prince only tosses his head back in laughter. "What a wonderful idea, Mc. We simply could not return to the Devildom when we are in such a state of hunger. 

"Right. That was my plan," you chuckle, deciding to roll with his easy compliment. The sun is high in the sky, warming every inch of your exposed skin. Closing your eyes, you stop in your tracks to enjoy the sensation. You can feel his golden gaze even before you open your eyes. 

His expression is radiant as he takes in your look of contentment. But there is something else behind it that you can't quite place. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Nothing at all," he replies, a faint smile on his lips. "I simply wish to see that pleasant look on your face as much as possible."

There is a deep feeling in your gut that there is more he is not saying, but you choose to not push him further. "Aren't you charming? But don't forget that you are the one who makes me smile so much," you say coyly as the two of you resume walking the narrow path, drawing your bodies closer and closer to each other until you are walking side by side. The light accidental brushing of your hands sends flustered shivers up your spine. 

As the butterflies in your stomach threaten to carry you away, you take a peek at Diavolo's face to see if he is anywhere near as flustered as you, but the Prince's face is a mask of nonchalant charm. Looking at him was definitely the wrong thing to do in this situation because he looks even more stunning in the light of the day. Sunlight radiates off his hair, giving it a rich, coppery glow, and his dark skin seems to shine with an otherworldly beauty. 

Men and women alike misstep as they catch a glimpse of his inhuman good looks, but his eyes remain focused on the path ahead. You can't tell if he is oblivious to the way his regal features draw attention or if he is so used to it it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

You become painfully aware of just how clammy your hands have become in this sweltering heat and try to not bump him again. 

Clearly, he isn't trying as hard (at all) as his hand brushes yours once again. Out of the corner of your eye, you just see a flash of a smirk grace his lips. "Perhaps we should hold hands, Mc."

"You wouldn't mind?" you ask, subtly wiping your hand on the fabric of your shorts.

"Certainly, it's only natural for human couples to want to hold hands when they are on a date."

You smile as his logic wins over your insecurities; when he takes your hand, you aren't sure if it's your time in the Devildom rubbing off on you or if it's your inner pettiness, but the dejected looks that appear on strangers' faces when they see that he is taken brings you joy. 

With his hand in your, it's easy to lose track of time. You aren't sure how long you have been walking until he stops abruptly. "Oh my, what is that smell?" 

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath in. Even with your inferior sense of smell, you are able to pick up the warm, comforting smell of freshly baked bread. "That smells amazing," you say, covering your mouth with your hand to hide how much you're drooling.

"It does smell wonderful; how about we stop here for a quick meal?" He offers you don't have to be a mind reader to know that he would be over the moon if you said yes. 

"I would love to," you smile, walking under the painted archway and into an adorable-looking cafe. Large, thriving potted plants outnumber the number of patrons in this thriving business as you scan the dining area for a place to sit. In the very corner, you see a perfect little booth for the two of you to grab. 

"let's head over to that table real quick; once we're seated, we can order our lunch at the counter and enjoy ourselves." You walk confidently, knowing that Diavolo will follow. 

"Everything here looks wonderful," Diavolo says as he scans the menu, "Do you know what you would like to get?"

You furrow your brow and read it yourself but find yourself unable to narrow your options down. "Not yet, I can't decide." You whine, "COuld you choose for me?"

"Of course I can," he laughs, standing to his feet. "I'll go up to the counter and make it a surprise."

There is a spring in his step as he steps up to the counter. He learned how to order food at restaurants on your last visit, and he is extremely eager to show off what he has learned. When he comes back and slides into the booth, he looks very proud of himself.

"Did you do it?" you ask.

He nods and places a white-numbered flag on the tabletop. "I did; this little date of ours has made me want to host a human world café event at RAD so everyone gets to experience this. "That would be such a great idea," you agree, already wondering what kind of trouble awaits the lot of you when the event goes underway. 

The Prince's excitement is contagious, and the two of you chatter excitedly about the semantics until nature calls for you to go to the restroom. You excuse yourself politely as you try to figure out where in this swanky place the bathroom is.

~ 

As Diavolo stares across the booth at your empty seat, all he can think of is how much he cares about you. 

Getting to spend time with you away from everyone else is more valuable than any of the crown jewels in his palace. You are fascinating to him, even more so than the world in which you hail from.

But seeing how comfortable you are out in the sun sends pangs of guilt into his heart. He can't help but feel guilty for pulling you to the Devildom, away from everything, but he knows deep down that neither of you would change it for the world. 

He is so lost in thought he barely notices a shy server sliding two plates of mouth-wateringly delicious-looking sandwiches onto the table before scurrying away from the gorgeous yet intimidating demon.

He eyes his sandwich hungrily. The bread smells even better now that it's fresh and inches away from him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, breathing in the aroma. All of his manners scream at him to wait just a moment longer for you to come back, but he can't help himself. 

He reaches for the first half of the sandwich but stops just shy of the crust when he spots something that makes his blood run cold. 

It's Slimy…

It's Disgusting…

It's the very bane of his existence…

"Pickles," he breathes, staring down at the lumpy green vegetable sitting inconspicuously on the edge of his plate. Now that he has seen it, its slimy, pungent aroma that so many others adore invades his senses. 

He can't look away from it, even as he feels his stomach twist with hausa. It's almost as if he had just eaten one of Solomon's Mystery soups the sorcerer sometimes brings to the castle to share.

What should he do?

Years of etiquette classes have taught him that, as a prince, it is rude to refuse to eat something on his plate. 

Even if he hates it. 

Even if looking at that particular something makes him feel as if his skin is turning green.

He gulps nervously as he is faced with the severity of the predicament he finds himself in. He is representative of the Devildom; it would be rude to show up to the human world and refuse the food that he has been given.

"Wow, it's here already?" your sweet voice pulls the future king of Hell from his brine-filled thoughts. His golden gaze shoots up at you quickly, watching intently as you slide into the red leather booth. You look down at your plate with a smile before glancing up at him. "It's not much, but for some humans, going to the bathroom at a restaurant and coming back to see that their food has been delivered is the closest thing they will ever get to magic."

"What a wonderful outlook," he exclaims. "Human creativity has no bounds. I find the more I learn of them, the more I am inclined to admire them."

"You give us far too much credit," you laugh, but he can tell that your attention has been taken by the beautiful sandwich in front of you. You look up quickly, and he sees the cute way your features twist in embarrassment. "Sorry, I got a little distracted. This sandwich you got for me looks so delicious it would be a shame to not eat it."

"Then please, dig in." he chuckles, gesturing to the plate. But to his surprise, you don't eat yet. Instead, you look at him with wide eyes as if you are waiting for him to eat his own meal.

But he can't…

Not when that thing is on his plate.

"Diavolo, is everything alright?" you ask, surely noticing how tightly he is clenching his fist. 

He feels his cheeks heating up in embarrassment, and he tears his gaze away from the dreaded pickle. "It's nothing."

Suddenly, your body shifts in your seat, and he feels a slight tap on his shin. It take him a moment to realize what exactly just happened. "Mc, did you just…Kick me?"

"I did," you admit bashfully as if you just remembered that you have assaulted the ruler of the Devildom with your Skechers.  "But only because you weren't telling me what's bothering you."

This unfamiliar sensation of being playfully battered fills his only-child heart with warmth, and he bursts out laughing. "you truly are gifted when it comes to getting someone to open up, Mc." he caves and spins his plate towards you so you can see the accursed pickle. 

"oh, your sandwich came with a pickle. I understand now." And just like that, you reach across the table, grab the pickle, and eat it like it was the easiest thing to do in the world.

"what did I do to deserve you? "He asks when you finish disposing of the problem. 

"It's just the pickle theory." You say with a laugh; he feels very confused and looks at you to continue. "Some people say that a relationship is perfect when one person hates pickles and the other loves them. That way, you'll always have someone who will eat your pickles, so you don't have to. It's not just pickles, though; it's olives, onions, and anything else that you can think of. But it's fate that we are here today, and you happen to hate pickles."

Although your explanation is ridiculous, Diavolo lets out an unrefined snort of laughter. Quickly, he covers his mouth with his hand, a practiced gesture he's done frequently under the watchful eye of his trusted Butler. Instead of wanting to scold him, you let out a hearty laugh of your own. The sound is not beautiful in any way, but it makes his heart thump wildly in his chest as he stares at you.

"So this is Fate?"

"I think so," you murmur, looking at him with an expression he cannot quite place.

"What's with that look?" He asks, raising a brow.

" It's nothing; I just like getting to see the side of you. I hope to see it more," you say earnestly.

He reaches across the table to grab your hand, and he stares deeply into your eyes with the look of a man in love as he makes a promise to you. "Whatever world we are in, I will do my absolute best to give you whatever it is you desire, Mc. 

Your eyes are full of tender emotion as he looks at you. "Would you really do anything for me?" you ask in a sweet voice and he finds himself nodding naïvely, he is completely under the spell of your charm. It's almost as if you are the demon who is corrupting the mortal.

But he knows you and rightfully trusts you with all his heart. One of the reasons he finds himself so drawn to you is that you would never in a million years take advantage of his love.

"Even though I just had a pickle, would you kiss me?" you ask, an endearing little smirk on your lips that has the Prince subconsciously leaning over the table towards you.

"If that is what you want, then nothing would deter me from granting such a request." he smiles, capturing your lips with his, not caring about anything other than the taste of you.

Tagging; @sleepyyshroom, @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo , @starbbyy, @sarah22447, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf ,  @ourfinalisation, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 Only you can see me, but...

Voyeurism CW: Dub-con, yandere!ghost, public sex, invisible attacker, non-con , public humiliation

"Stop ignoring me." The spirit threatened, glaring at (Reader) with his one good eye.

(Reader) had begun seeing the spirit nearly a month ago after visiting a little antique shop, and since then he hasn't left their side. The bus jolted, and everyone rocked in their seats, bumping into one another. It wasn't the giant gunshot wound to the dead man's head, the missing chunk of skull and brain, that made (Reader) ignore him, but the fact that they were on a crowded bus. They usually did interact with the needy ghost, just not in public. However, whenever (Reader) was out of the house, the man acted like (Reader) was an awful, terrible person.

The man who refused to give his name groaned, unfazed by the standing people phasing through his form at the bus swayed at the red light. "Stop ignoring me, (Reader). It isn't nice."

They looked up at him and narrowed their eyes, silently trying to get him to take the hint. He wasn't having it, getting louder as he started throwing a fit.

"Fine. Let's see how long you can ignore me." He dropped to his knees and climbed inside of (Reader), nestling partially inside their body as though they were sitting in his lap. "Only you can see me, but they can all see you."

(Reader) let out an embarrassing noise of surprise, feeling a hard cock rub between their ass cheeks inside of their underwear. The squeak gained the attention of one of the older gentleman standing right in front of their seat, glancing down at them in mild interest. They slapped a hand over their mouth and squeezed their eyes shut.

The ghostly appendage began rubbing against their crotch, making (Reader) hot and flustered. They wanted to whisper at him, tell him to knock it off, but they were beyond mortified at the idea of someone assuming they were on drugs. So he continued, taking advantage of (Reader's) anxiety to spread his slimy ectoplasmic pre-cum in their underpants.

When the tip pressed against their hole their eyes involuntarily fluttered open, gasping as he effortlessly pressed himself into them, stretching (Reader) open. A woman sitting next to (Reader) shifted uncomfortably, looking over at the young adult pressing their thighs together and tearing up.

Although it was only two people side eyeing (Reader) it felt as though all eyes were on them as they were violated in front of them. Not restricted by physical constraints, the spirit was able to forcefully fuck (Reader) without moving their body at all, only feeling the hard intrusion of a dick ram into their sensitive spot and the strange feeling of his balls slapping against their ass as he pounded their twitching muscles.

They were horrifically aware of their uneven breathing; the way their eyes kept drifting whenever their supposed friend hit their swelling nerve; the sweat dripping down their burning flesh; and how the man in front of them looked like he knew exactly why (Reader) was a squirming mess.

"Ah, I'm getting close!" He cried out in their ear as his movements fastened and became irregular.

They had to bite their inner cheek to prevent themselves from begging him not to, wondering if anyone could hear the wet slapping noise of their ass rippling as his sex hit their deepest parts.

The man standing in front of (Reader) looked a little pink on the face, tugging on his pants. The shame of being seen by other people made (Reader) tighten up, exciting the spirit more. "Do you like being watched?" He teased, biting down on their neck.

"no.." (Reader) accidentally whined, feeling eyes on them from all sides as they fought to not orgasm themselves.

But their fighting was for nothing, cumming hard as a cold, sticky fluid shot up into their body, overflowing around the spirit's dick and coating (Reader's) underwear, drenching through the thin fabric and sticking to the inside of their pants.

The spirit pulled himself out, releasing the rest of his ectoplasm like pulling a plug, leaking out of (Reader's) swollen hole onto the public seat. He pressed his lips through their hand, kissing (Reader) directly on the lips as they released the tears that had been threatening to spill.

The worst part was seeing everyone around them, glaring at (Reader) with disgust or arousal, made their nipples erect, to humiliated to admit that their watching them climax in public felt exciting...

[allzelemonz]

Long Mission: Bruce Wayne X Male Reader

Summertime Prompt: Day 1, “Only one bed” Pronouns: None Mentioned, masc in mind while writing Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence Warnings: One bed trope, coworkers, Justice League, mission aftermath, cuddling, sleep cuddling, Bruce is scared of affection, sleep deprived Bruce, Bruce and his weird relationship with feelings, fluff, paranoia Summary: After a long mission with the League overseas, you and Bruce find a place to sleep.

The desk attendant nearly shrinks at the glare Bruce gives them, seemingly he’s forgotten that Brucie isn’t supposed to be threatening. Granted, it’s four in the morning and a bunch of aliens had the League occupied all night so his grumpiness peeking out of his cowl is understandable. Especially when the person he’s glaring at is saying there’s only one room, only one bed, in the entire place that’s unoccupied.

With a groggy and pounding head from hours of fighting, you grab the keycard from the poor soul behind the desk and pull Bruce along to the elevator. He doesn’t resist, only stares at your hand on his sleeve until you let it go once the doors slide closed. You rub at your head, trying to alleviate the pain that makes your brain throb and literally every other muscle but nothing comes of it. Everything feels old and run down, your neck alone feels like it’s been snapped around and around repeatedly.

“We should go somewhere else.” Bruce mutters, staring off at the wall like he’s thinking. “He might call someone, might’ve recognized me.”

“The only place I’m going is bed.” You sigh. “Drop the vigilance for the night, we’re in Ireland. No one cares about Bruce Wayne or Batman or--”

“Don’t say that out loud.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as what feels like a railroad spike splits your brain in half. “Not every building in the world is bugged.”

“I’m still checking the room.” He says as the doors slide open. “Don’t get comfortable.”

He walks down the hall after yanking the keycard from your hand. Maybe you should’ve taken Oliver up on his offer instead, he and Dinah were going to stay in some castle and at the very least they’re not broody. As you follow Bruce down the hall you can practically see the ears poking up from his head as if he’s wearing his cowl. His shoulders are hunched but somehow still impossibly broad, his fingers curled into a fist. Very much not the Brucie he should be while in public.

Bruce swipes the card, watches the little light flicker green, then opens the door to the little room. You follow in and he holds a finger up to his lips, telling you to stay quiet. So you wait while he searches every inch of every last thing. He picks out a gadget from his pocket and it scans over the room as he checks the nooks and crannies. When the device beeps, he checks it and taps a few of its buttons as you try to keep your eyes open.

“It’s clear.” He mutters, so much of his voice still stuck in Batman mode.

“Great.” You huff, rubbing your neck from the pain. “What’s the, uh… sleeping plan?”

He glances at the bed. “You can take it, I’m not sleeping tonight.”

“Clark said you hadn’t slept in days.”

“Clark exaggerates.”

“Just an hour.” You sigh, sitting on the bed and rubbing your eyes. “You can’t be sloppy in unfamiliar territory.”

He’s quiet after that. You roll your eyes, tired of the Batman act, and lay down. Almost as soon as you’re settled, you’re out. The exhaustion takes over and you might as well be dead. Bruce stares for a while, knowing he doesn’t have to be as worried about security as he is. Anything thrown at the two of you could easily be handled, even more so if you’re both well rested. As he crawls into the bed he finally lets himself feel the aches all over his body. He hates to admit Clark was right, but he hasn’t slept in days and it cost him awareness during that alien fiasco. He took more hits than he should have and he’ll definitely be getting an earful from Alfred once he’s home.

With a grunt, he rolls to his side. Every inch of his body aches like an old chair taking on weight as he settles under the blanket. His eyes trail to you, sleeping next to him. It’s not the first time he’s had to share sleeping arrangements with another League member, Clark alone ends up stuck doing it every time they stay a night in space simply because no one else is up to it. Diana did it once and nearly threw Bruce out of a window for making noise in the night.

You look nearly as battered as Bruce feels, much more exhausted. For a moment, Bruce is reminded how long it’s been since he held someone and the image of you in his arms plagues his mind. Most people he hangs around for show as Brucie, or shoves away as Batman. Only his kids, and really any kid that’s scared and needs a hug, have held him. Alfred does sometimes, when Bruce is overwhelmed. But that touch, that feeling of holding someone because they’re yours, that’s something Bruce hasn’t felt. Only imagined, and it’s so easy to imagine that with you right here.

Against his better judgment, he rests a hand on your shoulder. It’s just the slightest feeling, but you’re warm. Bruce shivers now that he realizes everything around him is cold, except you. He’s wanted something from you for so long but he’s just cornered by a million different things with no time to get into those feelings. He has the League and its expenses, Gotham, Wayne Tech, his kids, Ra’s breathing down his neck, everything but the one thing his mind is stuck on right now. And of course he just happens to be shy, he’d rather put on a fake Brucie smile or worn out Batfrown than his own face.

He’d never do it. Not unless you asked first. But you’d never do that, would you?

When you wake up it’s impossibly warm. The curtains keep the afternoon light out and the room is dark. It takes you a moment to see, your eyes blinking sleep and shadows out until the bruised face of Bruce is in focus. He’s completely wrapped around you, arms and legs gluing him to you as if he thought you’d float away during sleep. Everything about him is warm and soft and tight.

With the slightest twitch from you he wakes up. His eyes snap open and he stares at you like the startled bat that he is. Neither of you move, just sitting there in shock and confusion.

“You’re… warm.” You mumble, making the softest move to slip your arms around him.

His jaw clenches for a moment before he brushes his lips over your neck, nothing more than a feather before he nuzzles into the spot and breathes deeply. His hold on you relaxes and his breathing evens out as he falls back asleep. You try not to move, knowing how much he needs this sleep, and likely this comfort.

[icedbeverageenjoyer]

🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺🖤📺

🖤📺Mr. Puzzles' Fluff Alphabet!! 📺🖤

Hey guys!!! The moment I saw snakes-writing-corner's fluff alphabet I couldn't focus on any of my other stuff until I've made one on my own! It's surprisingly easier than the oneshots I'm used to-- but on with the fluff!!!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He is incredibly affectionate and always wants to pamper you with kisses and compliments! Though he only shows it when the cameras stop rolling and he's sure you two are alone.

His love language is words of affirmation, since there is no better way to express his love than saying it directly! You would think he'd eventually run out of things to compliment, but his vocabulary is vast and colourful, making you blush every time. He is also multilingual, so sometimes he'll sweettalk you in a different language only to fluster you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?) 

Since you are his partner (and thus, his only friend), you're already his best friend! But if you weren't dating he'd probably be just as chaotic. He will call you in the middle of the night and ask you for input on his scripts, oftentimes his voice doesn't get picked up clearly and you just hear garbled static with the occasional manic laughter.

Sometimes he'll just skip the phone entirely, break into your house, and put on a movie so you two could watch. If the sound of a door being kicked to the ground or the smell of perfectly cooked popcorn doesn't wake you up, him manhandling you and throwing you at the couch (not on, at) is sure to do the trick!

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He is not used to people touching him or vice versa. The only times in the puzzlevision arc where he touched someone were when he was threatening Mario or fighting the crew, so he only makes physical contact when nessesary.

The closest thing to cuddling he would do is sit next to you and press his screen against your temple. It's not exactly a kiss, but more like him resting his head on you after a long day.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they around the house?) 

If you were to live in his studio together he would give you your own room and personalize it to your needs! He doesn't need to clean much since he almost never leaves his office unless it is to either pester the Smg4 crew or hang out with you.

If you two live at your place he'd be a little bit more organized and take on all the cooking. He has been the host for a few MasterChef-like shows, so he knows how to make a nice three course meal when you both eventually get tired of takeout. His specialty is breakfast, mainly pancakes, and he takes great pride in it!

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) 

He would never allow himself to break up with you, and if you were to break up with him, he simply won't let you. Every time you'd try to explain that you're leaving him he'd either talk over you or just cover his antenna and pretend he's not listening, all the while still doing romantic gestures for you as if nothing happened. He is naturally stubborn and refuses to take any form of rejection.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) 

Almost immediately. He would throw a big, sappy wedding and show up in either the cleanest, most stylish sleek suit on the market or the biggest, most beautiful poofy dress ever made.

He'd record the whole thing in five different angles to get every detail on film, but he won't release it to the public. This special day will be for his eyes only.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Incredibly gentle! He doesn't touch you often, but when he does, his fingers are featherlight, and the cozy warmth of his old screen pressed against your face is always comforting.

He could get a little harsh sometimes and say things he really wasn't supposed to, but he always comes back and apologizes when things go too far.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? What are their hugs like?)

He is not used to them at all. Usually if anyone else were to hug him he'd kick them off immediately, but he's more patient when it comes to you.

He feels safe enough around you to let you get closer, but he'll be frozen stiff the entire time, not entirely comfortable with the pressure on his skin just yet. Still, every time you back away he'd insist he doesn't mind, and he means it, he appreciates every form your love comes in. And if you're ever upset, he'll wrap his lanky arms around you and just keep them there until you're feeling better.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) 

In the early stages of your relationship he wouldn't actually see you as a love interest, but pretend to be interested so you'll fall for him and be there in case you were ever useful.

Soon, however, he found himself actually catching feeling for you. And after some inner turmoil, he finally confesses for real! After that, he would say 'i love you' in almost every conversation. At first he copied what he saw on television, he'd recreate every dramatic gesture and cheezy date, but it would always leave him frustrated for whatever reason.

It wasn't until you pointed out that he was acting instead of actually having fun that he started to slip out of his show host persona. Now his use of 'I love you' is much more sparse, but every time he says it, you know he means it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) 

Extremely. He is agressively passive-aggressive and if he sees anyone even looking at you in a way he doesn't like he'd immediately be onto them. He'd start off polite at first, basically telling them 'get out or I will throw you out' without saying it, but if they still don't get the hint he will grab them by the scruff of the neck and drag them out.

He would come back to you with a muffin from the snack cart and lead you away to show you his progress on filming the upcoming movie. You're not listening though, neither are you eating, the faint smell of gunpowder coming off of him immediately stumping your appetite.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are him pressing his screen against your face. He doesn't have lips, but his gentle electronic warmth is enough to linger on your skin. He loves kissing your face and hands, having them securely in his hold as he peppers you with kisses. He also likes it when you kiss back, especially around the wires on his wrists and neck, as it is one of the few places where he can still feel touch.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) 

He's not really a kids guy. On one hand most of his shows are aimed towoards a younger audience, and he wants to introduce kiddos to the wonders of TV! On the other...he can't handle the loud crying and sticky fingers.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

At the morning you will wake up to the smell of freshly made breakfast before you feel him pulling the covers off of you and dragging you to the kitchen. He'd talk about his plans for the day while you're still waking up and grazing on your toast. 

He would then head to the studio, but not before kissing you and saying goodbye like a working husband going out for a long day at the office.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) 

Due to his upgrades and mostly electronic nature he doesn't need to sleep. Usually when you go to bed he stays up in his office, pouring his heart out on a script he'd likely end up tossing. Sometimes when he's lonely he'd quietly sneak in your room and lay down next to you, his screen facing you on a blank, staticy channel.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) 

He doesn't mind sharing his 'tragic backstory' with others, seeing it as just another selling point of his persona, but you seem to be the only one to take it seriously. The irreversible effects of long-term isolation had warped him into a charecature of what he loved most.

You try to make him see just how horrible his situation is so he can start to heal and develop a real personality, but it seams near impossible to get through to him. You can't fix something that dead and gone.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) 

Patience is not a virtue Puzzles acknowledges. The second something goes off scrip he will freak out and immediately focus all of his resources on fixing it. He craves control and if something doesn't go his way he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. When he is sulking in his office even the smallest little thing can set him off. 

Luckily, he seemed to have mellowed out after his defeat. When he gets worked up, instead of exploding and taking it out on the closest thing to him (he still misses his favorite remote), he simply let's out a long, tired sigh and goes back to work. Progress, you'd like to believe!

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) 

He has a very advanced database that he's already explained to you in detail, but you still can't grasp how it works exactly. What you could somehow get was that ever since his face surgeryupgrade, he has been able to record and play back everything he's seen in vivid detail.

He has special folders of where he stores information and one of them is entirely dedicated to you. Every single interaction or passing glimpse is recorded, and sometimes when you're away for a while he likes to play them back and just listen to you talk.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?) 

Probably when he realized you were more important to him than everyone else. It was before you guys started dating. He was in the office repairing his hand after a loose prop fell on him, but he couldn't lock the mechanism in place with just one arm.

It wasn't until you walked in and offered to help that he finally let you touch him, albeit only his non-feeling, motionless palm. When he was done he muttered a quiet 'thanks' and began readjusting the fiberglass plates.<

"No problem, that's what friends are for, after all."

That was when it really sunk in. You guys really were acting just like friends. And it wasn't a staged act or anything, it was all just natural interactions. He had to rationalize it in his brain for quite a bit after that. Were you really friends, or was that just a passing remark? No, you actually meant it. Would he consider you for a friend to begin with...yes.

And so it was official. The day he gained his first friend.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?) 

He has never felt the need to hire bodyguards, since his pointer finger alone is considered a highly lethal weapon, not only that, but he has complete control over the studio. So if anyone ever tried to break in, he'll just snap his fingers and have a heavy piano prop crush them.

That being said, he is your personal guard dog and will absolutely snap someone out of existence if he feels you are being threatened. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) 

Puzzles is a tryhard in every way the word could be interpreted. When he figured out there's more to a relationship than surface level romantic cliches, he began to put more thought into what he gifts or what dates he takes you on, wanting them to be just perfect for you! 

Just like the shows he directs, most of them are hit or miss, but he puts his soul into every single thing he does for you, and you'll always treasure that!

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His smoking and temper. He's a chain smoker, having one every odd day on good weeks, and blowing through a pack on particularly rough ones. 

For his temper, he usually has a specific set of rules before blowing up. First - try nicely. If that doesn't work, try again, but a bit more sternly. If that doesn't work, try again, but this time make it a clear, threatening warning. And if that doesn't work either, just brainwash them into complying.

You have gone through most of those stages at least a few times, but not the last one. At least, not that you remember. Maybe he figured taking control wasn't worth the trouble, or he was so frustrated that he didn't want to deal with you anymore, but you did notice his patience has been improving, especially when it came to you. Maybe all those therapy sessions you dragged him kicking and screaming to were working!

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Looking as nice as possible is a must, especially if it is to impress you! He obsessively fixes his puffy arm sleeves to fold just right, and if there's something wrong with his current outfit like a stain he hasn't noticed or a crease that won't go away he will just replace the entire outfit with a new, completely identical one. </p>

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. No matter at what stage of the healing journey he's in, you will always be a big part of his world. If you go, he loses his partner, his best friend, his co-director, and everyone he's ever loved. He'd be left alone, as he always was, with his TV. . .And for the first time in forever, he'd grow to hate it.

X = Xtra (Random HC) 

While it was his lifelong dream to work in the creative field of television, Mr. Puzzles is not a creative person. He's more of a businessman than a director, creating several successful tech companies for the sole purpose of funding the studio, despite the low ratings. 

Low ratings which are caused by his complete inability to be original, pulling plot points from other established classics and writing them in with his own, stiff, awkward style of storytelling.

He speaks every language ever shown on TV, is fully able to perform invasive surgery without any risks, knows the copyright laws so well, he might as well be a lawyer, had a hand in engineering and programing his body, and has definitely done some less than legal things to get where he is today in the industry. And yet the thing that stumps him is actually being creative.

Y = You (How would they talk about you?)

Your relationship with him is one of the very few things he wishes to keep in his 'private life', so he doesn't talk about you often, mostly just quickly mentioning you when he explains his absence. "Ah, so sorry for depriving you all of my presence, my lovely partner wanted to watch 'Food fight' for the first time and I simply HAD to intervene!"

". . .who invited y-"

"ANYWAYS back to the show!-"

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?) 

He has a powered down mode when he recharges. Before going in that mode he'll go to your room and lay down army style on your bed, but by the time you come home you'll see him  sprawled out on your bed, one foot on the pillow, the other dangling from the edge, with his screen displaying the puzzlevision logo bouncing off the four walls of his monitor.

Thank you guys for reading, hope you enjoyed and have a great day!!! 💕💗💞

[ovaryacted]

hi baby i just wanted to ask for ur thoughts on like.. how leon likes being touched and caressed and stuff! like kisses on his shoulder over the scar where he got shot, a gentle but possessive hand on his thigh, rubbing his back as you hug him, lightly dragging your nails against his scalp, running your fingers through his hair, etc <3

OMGG, hey boo <3. Of course, I’d love to talk about how Leon likes to be touched, especially because I headcanon him as someone who is touch-deprived and wouldn’t beg for touches but he would crave it. I also didn’t choose a specific version of Leon for this answer, it’s more like a general perception of how he’s receptive to touch, but if you want to pick & choose which one fits a version of him best, feel free to do that! Hope you like it! :)

For the most part, Leon is a big fan of being touched gently and with consideration. He’s been through so much shit, body slammed, squeezed, pummeled…the general consensus is that Leon has been put through the wringer. So to be touched like he’s made of porcelain reminds him of his humanity and helps him remember that not all touches are violent or threatening.

He likes feeling your hand cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his cheekbone in soft swipes. It brings back fond memories of how his mother used to do the same after a long day of playing outside, wiping the dirt away from his face with a gentle smile. He’ll nuzzle his face towards your palm, wanting to bury himself into your warmth and never leave.

His favorite thing to do is probably cuddle for two reasons: one, he gets to be as close to you as possible, and two, he gets to be warm. He doesn’t mind being the one who holds you on top of him, but he likes being the one to lay on your chest or be the small spoon. It makes him feel like he’s being babied, using your chest as his personal pillow and wrapping his arms around your waist. You felt like an oversized teddy bear, pressing his nose against your neck so all he smelled was you, easing his senses and calming him down.

While he is resting on top of you, you’ll run your fingers through his hair, pushing his bangs back and doing it repeatedly like a tide against the shore. The touch makes him hum happily, purring like a cat when your nails rake down his scalp and towards his neck. You’d squeeze his nape, moving your hand up to make sure you got every part of his head and releasing the pressure he may or may not have. He likes it when you run lines up and down his back, outlining the curve of his spine and coming back up to trace or scratch the top of his shoulders. His body would be completely lax against you, closing his eyes and starting to doze off with ease.

If you want him to completely knock out, you’ll run your thumb over the bridge of his nose and eyebrow, pressing into his temple before moving to do it again. You could also rub the outer shell of his ear, sometimes it will tickle but usually it makes him feel good. It’s a trick that works on babies, literal babies, and somehow it also worked on Leon because once you did this, he’ll be out cold in 3 minutes flat. He’d think you’re some magician, that you’re doing witchcraft on him to give him the nicest 50-minute nap of his life. He usually has such a hard time falling asleep on his own unless he’s on the verge of collapse, but you make it so easy for him that he just lets it happen.

Cuddles and napping aside, there are other ways you show your affection by being physical with him. Coming up to squeeze him from behind, you’d give him kisses on his neck and keep your hands on his stomach. Sometimes it would make him blush, and most times it makes him smile, but he always likes waking up a little bit earlier in the morning so you can do just this.

Out in public, he likes it when you hold his hand or squeeze his arm as you’re walking with him. It’s like you’re showing him off to the world, showing everyone that he’s yours and he belongs to you. He especially likes it when you’re sitting next to him at dinner and put a hand on his thigh, giving him a faint squeeze and keeping your hand there. It short circuits his brain, and if you’re at some work event or having dinner with friends, it makes the small act of possession even better for him.

When you’re both alone, you’d give him a sneaky smack on his ass when he has his back facing yours, either doing laundry or washing the dishes. You’ll do it when you’re passing by him, your hand lightly tapping him and walking away as if it were nothing. Better yet, when you give him a squeeze on his rear it makes him flustered, rolling his eyes and trying to hide the way it makes his cock twitch.

As for the touches that make him the most vulnerable, it definitely involves his scars. He wouldn’t mention them outright, his scars would just be something you see and don’t mention again because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But after some time of dating him and getting comfortable with knowing how he acts and behaves, he’ll let you trace and kiss over every single scar on his body. Every bullet graze, scratch, or faded bite will be touched by you, and in a way, it’s like you’re kissing away his pain.

You’d carefully run your thumb over the most significant scar on his shoulder, kissing it over and over again and feeling Leon shudder underneath you. Whenever you do this, you see Leon for who he is, accepting all of his flaws and trauma, and acknowledging his pain and survival. You’ll remind him that he’s strong, that he’s enough, and that he’s human, things that he often doubts and never has time to appreciate himself. It’s moments like these that he’ll fall apart above you, being more open and vulnerable than he’s ever been in years, but he’s no longer scared that you’d run away because, in the end, you choose him and you’re here to stay.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #10

[The Stalker Part 2]

Strange was no longer an expression that could be used to describe your life.

Maddening chaos, a whirlwind of panic, fear, and more sinister things came to mind whenever someone asked you how you'd been. You don't even tell them anymore, some of them declaring you mad for still going on about your stalker after so many months, but there never being evidence to show them. They were scared for you in the beginning, but now they were suspicious of you.

You can feel him at all times. Sometimes, you think he brushes by behind you, or you feel his breath against your neck, his eyes on you at all times. But even so, you never met him. He's been there... and yet he wasn't. He never seems to need a day off from his stalking, his break-ins being more like him coming home every day, and neither the police nor security could catch him.

Even when he started delivering you more sinister gifts, like hands and eyes, whenever you refused him.

You pleaded, begged, and asked him to stop, but he was far from it. He allowed you to live your life, but only on his terms. You were to do what he wanted: eat the meals he prepared for you, take a bath when he ran it for you, and even take time off work when he requested it. Intrusively, he was taking over. And after all the misfortune it brought you, you simply... caved. You were so drained of strength that you let him do as he pleased.

It was a surprise that he even let you do things on your own, like buy groceries. Most meals were pre-made by him whenever you got home, but sometimes, he let you cook instead, expecting you to leave some for when he came to visit. He loved your cooking, expressed it so many times before, and 'rewarded' you for it, although it was never a surprise for him. He was watching you, after all. Every. Step. Of the way.

However, you acknowledged it was better than being stuck at home in fight or flight all day.

You dodged everyone at the grocery store, knowing that talking to someone would make him jealous. It was almost ridiculous how much you danced to his tune, but receiving the hand of a woman whose nails you complimented was lesson enough. Quickly, you gathered what you would need, before hurrying to the self-checkout and leaving the potential dangers of public, your heart aching for the times where you didn't need to fear for other's lives in every setting you were in.

Perhaps it was fate that made you go outside that day, the goodwill of the gods you had prayed to all this time. Still, nothing could have prepared you for the accident that took place just before you could reach your home. A car passed you by just moments before you heard the squeaking of breaks, then the deafening crash of machinery ramming into each other.

Screams echoed out before you could turn around, flames lighting up the early-evening darkness. You heard countless people's footsteps rushing out of their houses and passing you by as you stared at the scenery behind you. Sirens were blaring in the distance as you looked at the body lying on the ground, clothed in black. Someone tried to stabilize the person. Tried to help him.

You'd know him, even when he lay mangled and in pain on the dirty ground. Even without ever knowing his handsome face that became unraveled only when the paramedics deemed it safe enough to pull his helmet off. It was him. Your stalker.

When your eyes met, you witnessed a mixture of pain, devastation, but also... happiness in them. Perhaps because you finally knew. His existence was no longer a shadow that threatened you but a human who bled and hurt and deserved help, despite all his misdeeds. You should have felt sympathy for him, but you were so emotionally drained, you couldn't do anything.

But you also couldn't leave.

There was the person who had made your life a living hell. Who made sure you neither slept nor were awake for the last months, who even made you doubt yourself so many times. Who harassed and abused you to the point it made you want to give up resisting. You weren't sure how severe his injuries were, but part of you hoped he'd die. Perish. Disappear from your life.

And another part... wanted answers.

Why did he do all this, why go to such lengths? What was his goal, and why did he need to go about these things in these particular ways? Who were the body parts from, and where were these victims? What happened to them? And most importantly, why did he choose you?

You'd never have the answers if he died now. He'd be gone, but could you ever return to your old life without the answers? Could you live with yourself knowing people died and you survived by pure chance? Because something happened to him before he could do it to you? If he died, you'd never get justice for anyone. Everyone would keep believing you made all of this up. You'd be miserable, and he'd won.

As if he realized your inner tumult, he smiled before turning his head over and putting on his best pained expression towards the medics. Slowly, he raised his arm, pointing towards you and saying some words you couldn't hear, but the paramedics' heads snapped around, suddenly calling out to you.

"Hey! You're his spouse, right? Your husband needs to get to the hospital asap! You can drive with us!"

They didn't wait for you to respond before they started loading him on a gurney, your stalker never looking away from you. As if to say, "You want the answers? Come to me."

Your home was so close that you could run and hide inside, but you might lose the chance to ever get the answers that you'd want or need for your future therapy. Would you ever recover, not knowing if he survived or not? When he'd be back? This could be your last chance to figure things out and bring him to justice, or at least be sure he wouldn't come back to haunt you.

"Hurry!" one of the medics shouted, rushing to your side, perhaps to aid you as they might have thought you were in shock after seeing your husband like this. There was not much time, and you had to decide what you wanted to do immediately.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)