#let the poor man sleep ghost

[whatev-i-guess]

Heartbeat

Ghost snuggling into Soap: I can hear your heartbeat.

Soap, trying to sleep: Then listen closely. It tries to tell you to shut the fuck up.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 Damian

If you really think about, Damian's situation in the clone^2 au is... kinda tragic? Especially in the early months of his arrival. Like,,, think about it. Damian has always known he was a clone of Damian Wayne, that he was a copy of the blood son. There was nothing 'original' about him, not even his name (of which at least Danny has that). He was just... a replacement. A disposable one, to boot.

And he knew that, to an extent, by the time he was six years old. he might not have been actively acknowledging it -- he's six years old -- but deep down he knew. And like, he's six years old. Every small child craves the love and affection of an adult, especially their parents, and even though he knew he was clone, I imagine he still considered - and still does consider, somewhat - Talia and Bruce as his mother and father. And I really doubt he was... getting it?

Now, I know Talia loves Damian, her son. At least in some interpretations she does, and in this au she does. But... a clone of her son? I'm not so certain if she would have the same affection for baby Dames as she would for Damian. I don't think she would treat him badly, but I don't think Talia would treat him warmly either. Kinda just, distant. Colder than she would have been with OG Damian.

And, I know I've mentioned Damian's arrival from Danny's point of view, and its kind of comical kind of insane from his perspective -- a little boy clone of Damian Wayne falls through a portal and immediately attacks him. That sounds like a bad joke.

But, if you think of this from Damian's point of view? It's like he just got dropped into a scary movie. Like, think about it. You're six years old, and suddenly a portal, as green and as swirling as your grandfather's pools, opens up beneath your feet and sucks you through.

After an intense bout of vertigo, you end up in a massive, urban city -- completely different from the rural mountain palace that you lived in for the last six years of your life, and in this city, you don't know any of the language. You don't know what anyone is saying, you can't read any of the signs - you are completely stranded, away from home.

And then, to make things worse, you're facing a figure with a terrifying mask and eyes as burning green as the portal you fell through. Of course Damian's first instinct, six years old, is to attack. He's terrified.

And this figure, he's not a good fighter, but he's fast, and he dodges you quickly. He grabs your sword with his hands, and tries to restrain you, saying something in a language you don't know. Naturally, Damian is just scared. He's six! He'd just be learning how to read if he was normal child going to school.

This figure halfway through the fight yanks off his mask -- he realizes you're scared -- and looking at you now, is a youthful version of your father. This is a clone of your dad, someone you have never met but, six years old, still wants to. Damian gets defensive. This is an imposter.

But this imposter eventually gets you home with him - and he's using his little box, his phone, to communicate with you through a mechanical voice speaking in arabic. and it's frustrating. The boy, the imposter, can say whatever to you just fine, but trying to talk back is a hassle and a half. He's six, he doesn't have that much patience.

He wants to go home.

And so he keeps trying to run away. He keeps trying to find out of this hellish concrete jungle, and he keeps getting lost. It's loud, and busy, and there are people talking to you and you don't understand them, and there are rules and signs you don't understand - Damian tries to cross the street and nearly gets hit by a car. He doesn't know how the road signs work, he was never taught. They didn't get to that.

And he gets lost. And it gets dark, and Damian is brave, but he is six, and this is the worst stress he's been under in all his six years of life. He wants, desperately more than anything, to go home. Why wouldn't he? The only stable... semi-stable environment he was in just got ripped out from under his feet, literally! He wants his mother.

And it's not happening.

But there's something good to be said, at least. The imposter that looks like his father always comes and finds him, no matter what. He could have left that morning, and he will find Damian at midnight, frazzled and worried, and carrying an extra jacket with him because it is cold in Amity Park and Damian is six years old.

And sometimes Damian attacks him - he's scared and stressed and he doesn't want to be here. And every time he catches the sword. Even though Damian can see it cut into his hand and pearls of blood well up and stains his fingers. Even though Damian can see him wince in pain and bite his lip, he still catches it.

But with that little box, he coaxes Damian to come back with him. It's cold, it's dark, Amity Park is unsafe at night. They can figure something out tomorrow, please. And every time, he agrees, reluctantly. And the imposter takes the extra jacket he brought with -- a flannel, a hoodie, a jacket -- and he wraps it around him. It's warm, Damian's clothes are not that thick, and even though he thinks he might hate this imposter, he still sticks close to his legs as he leads him down the street.

And sometimes the imposter carries him, because Damian's shoes are not that thick, and he cuts his foot on broken glass while they're walking home. The imposter sits in the bathroom with him and carefully cleans the cut out, and makes sure it doesn't get infected.

There's hope you know, he still has it. His mother will be looking for him. She'll be worried. He's important to them. Damian may not be the original, but he is still a blood son. He is still her son. She will come find him. This nightmare will end soon. He can go home.

And then weeks pass, and nothing. Then months, and nothing. His family is not coming for him, and it hurts. Hurts more than anything. And yet while that happens, the boy he's attacked, and hurt, teaches himself arabic in order to speak to him. He takes Damian out of the house one afternoon and buys him new clothes, or tries to. And then he keeps buying him new clothes. He gives him blankets and gives up his bed to him until they can get him one himself, and steadily he teaches Damian english.

This boy is kind. Kinder than Damian's ever experienced, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He's devastated by the fact that he is not as important to his family as his family is to him. What do you do when you're six years old and you learn something like that? When a random stranger who looks like your father is kinder to you, and cares more about you than your family did?

And then Damian tells him he's a clone. He's Damian Wayne's clone, and he tells him his purpose - that their grandfather made him to kill him. And the boy, the imposter, Damian thinks he probably already knows that he's a clone. But he doesn't say that. He just nods, and asks him if he wants to tell his original about him.

Damian says no. He doesn't want to. He's tired of living in the shadow of his original. He wants to keep this to himself. This is his. For once, all of this is his.

And to his surprise, the imposter doesn't try and convince him otherwise. He just nods, and says okay. And when Damian asks why, the imposter - his brother - looks at him and says.

"I don't care about Damian Wayne. I care about you." And in Damian's gobsmacked silence, his brother continues. He tells him that if Damian doesn't want to tell his original that he exists, then they don't need to. They don't need to worry about the LoA going after him, because clearly if his 'grandfather' needs to make a clone of Damian in order to take him out, then whatever it was that Damian Wayne was doing to keep himself safe, was working.

"Wayne already has people in his corner, he's got Gotham's army of vigilantes to keep himself safe." his brother says with his eyes as blue as moonlight. "You, however. Do not." And he continues, and says that if Damian Wayne has the same training as Damian does, then he will be fine. He doesn't need to be aware of his clone. Because if DW doesn't know about Damian, then the LoA doesn't either.

And here's the thing. Damian would not have survived in the LoA for long. Not as a clone. No matter what, he was going to die no matter what he did, and sooner rather than later. The sword of Damocles was always hanging above his head in the League of Assassins.

That portal, and meeting Danny, saved his life. There's no way around it. And to an extent Damian knows this even at six years old. He may not be aware that he would've died, but he knows that meeting Danny was the best thing to happen to him.

It's no wonder after that, that Damian is as clingy to Danny as he is. Danny is the first person he's met to offer him unconditional love, with no strings attached, only pure affection.

[hana-bobo-finch]

a strange trend in my favorite characters I realize is that I tend to heavily gravitate toward somewhat obscure, antagonistic forces

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley (Part 2):

Having a giggle/chuckle fest almost every time you are intimate. It first happened at the beginning of your relationship when you would giggle every time you two kissed. It opened the floodgates, had let that nervous energy out, and Simon was right there chuckling with you. ("Heh—aw, fuck me.")

Swearing up and down that you're gonna fuck each other's brains out but as soon as you hit the bed, you and Simon are out like a light. The last time this happened, he was supposed to go down on you, but the next thing you know, you woke up to him fast asleep with his head on your stomach.

Kissing the bridge of his crooked nose and Simon turning into putty every time. Hell, kissing any and every dent, bruise, and scar, and making your man melt.

A nice round of horizontal tango turning into a cuddle session after you comforted Simon through a charley horse. Poor baby.

Initially making the telly watch you two make sex but turns out whatever you're watching was pretty decent after all so you guys are back to watching the telly again.

Getting hot and heavy one time but you were so intrigued with the mole you discovered on Simon's inner thigh that you spent the next half-hour or so trying to find other moles on his body.

Telling Simon that you "always wanted to do this" and when you get him hot, bothered, and hard, it turns out what you always wanted to do was measure him. His disappointment was immeasurable... even if he was interested to know the number.

Twinning in some way, shape, or fashion whenever you're out together.

Talking mad shit about his snoring but let him tell it, he doesn't say shit when you take up about 80% of the bed, covers, and sleep under him.

Speaking of talking shit, having disagreements like every couple does and when you go to bed, you're angrily cuddling each other. And yes, Simon still wants your kisses in the morning, even if you two are still mad at each other. Simon doesn't give a shit, you're still gonna love on him, dammit. And him on you.

Being mad with Simon when he arrived too late to get the creepy crawler that was harassing you. Harassing you by doing what it does best: be a creepy crawler. Simon tells you you'll have to conquer your fear one day. You tell him to conquer the couch tonight lmao.

Agreeing to disagree about the superior ice cream flavor in the house. It's too bad there's not any of his favorite ice cream in the freezer. There's some of yours, though. Why? You didn't get any because it was so superior that you wouldn't "dare sully it with your hands". Cue the judgemental stare and him eating YOUR ice cream afterward. Rude.

Scaring the ever-living shit out of Simon on the rare occasions he gets to sleep in. He woke up to you sitting up in bed with his mask and paint on. Oh, and he calls bullshit. He did not nearly fall out the bed. Nor did he jump. Okay, Simon.

Chilling and drinking with Simon. Finding out he gets hot and sweaty pretty easily and off comes his clothes. Waking up hungover the next morning and you're the big spoon to a naked and equally hungover Simon. Choosing to do fuck all but sleep it off that day.

Playfully calling or referring to him as the Missus, especially in front of your co-workers. When they finally meet Simon and ask him who he is, he replies in pure deadpan Ghost fashion: "The Missus".

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost lives next to an old woman. She's a pensioner called Wilma who never had children and her husband passed six years ago.

At first, he had no intention of doing anything but offering his neighbours an awkward but friendly wave and keeping it like that.

Then he comes home one day, lugging around his shopping from Tesco and finds her sitting on her front step. It's baltic outside, a glacial chill running down his spine and twisting around his bones like vines. And this woman is sitting on her front doorstep, housecoat and slippers on with her eyes glued to the entrance of their street.

He's quick to approach her and locate the problem: her lock is broken, she went out for her morning smoke and now she can't get in until her landlord arrives and tries to fix the problem she's been telling him about for months.

He doesn't hesitate to bring her into his house, there's no worry about a stranger occupying his space. He treats it like a mission, get Wilma into his kitchen, make her a cuppa and possibly kill her landlord.

She insists on helping him put away his messages, she isn't prying and trying to get a feel for his home. She's genuinely trying to be helpful because she feels guilty that he had to go out of his way to assist her.

That's the day he decides that Wilma Stewart is his friend because that gives him a reason to help her without her trying to insist on owing him anything.

If something in her house needs to be repaired and he's capable of doing so, he'll mend it. If she needs help with bringing in her shopping or taking out her bins then he'll help when she's there. And eventually, he gives her a spare key, so she can pop in and look over his place while he's away for the job.

If she's baking, she'll leave a plate on his kitchen table. That's how he gains a fondness for Mars Bar traybakes.

When he leaves for any amount of time, he comes back to find a small house plant somewhere in his kitchen. Once he finds a knitted blanket hanging over the back of his couch.

When it's the seventh anniversary of her husband's passing, she invites him in for a drink. She tells him all about her husband Jim. A tender, attentive, gracious man who liked growing tomato plants and crocheting. He tells her about his mum, about Tommy, about Beth and about little Joeseph. His mum and her homemade lentil soup when dad was out, Tommy and their fight over a teal crayon when they were both boys, Beth and the way she brightened up the house with vases of flowers in the colours of a sunset, Joeseph and the way the little bugger peed on him the first time Simon ever tried to change him.

They get a little tipsy and watch Father Ted, he wakes up on his seventy-four-year-old neighbour's couch and ponders what past Simon would think about present Simon's friendship with a pensioner.

One day he invites the other lads over to his place, intent on having a drink with them all and catching up. He lives in a two-bedroom, one of the sergeants could kip in with him, Nik and John could take the other room and the last poor sod could sleep on his couch.

They don't end up making it out for a pint. It's a sunny day and she's a forward woman, Wilma talks them into washing her car under the assurance of baked goods. Then the old bird brings out a camping chair Simon wasn't aware she owned and watches them clean her Mini.

The other men seem to get a kick out of constructive criticism.

"Pretty boy, you missed a bit on the window."

"Oi, stache, get the shirt off."

She wins them over with her switchblade wit and the mismatching mugs she serves them all tea in. Kyle seems particularly fond of the Gromit mug she hands him but Simon's favourite is the cunt mug that uses the handle as the C.

Only when her car is gleaming under the sun's rays does she let them call it quits, herding them inside and tutting disapprovingly when Nikolai pulls his shirt back on.

The array of baked goods that she forces upon them all builds an alliance between the infamous Taskforce 141 and one Wilma Stewart.

By the end of the day, the old-timer has a small army rallied behind her and Simon is almost positive that if her landlord dies within the next four days Nikolai will be responsible for it.

[dark-raven-666]

At what point do homicipher characters fall in love with reader- ik they don't understand the concept, but still u know what i mean

Im craving mr. Crawling x reader fluff its not okay

homicipher men falling in love

Warning: spoilers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Mr Crawling

He immediately likes you, he's very friendly and sweet.

But then you pet him... That sends him there. Love at first sight? More like love at first pet!

Follows you around and protects you.

Stays up all night and watches you sleep. Poor man doesn't realize how creepy it is, he thinks he's just protecting you.

If you choose the option to take him back to your world he'll be an adorable house husband but boy will he mess up.

The first time he heard you flush, he thought the toilet was attacking you and he fought the bowl. It took you hours to get him off the bowl and explaining what flushing is. He still doesn't trust it.

Mr Scarletella

You out the bodies in the ghost house, and this guy thought you were feeding him.

I feel like he loves you but not in a human way or in an Innocent way like Mr crawling. It's more possessiveness, wanting to own you than love you.

But if you somehow get past that he would fall deeper and deeper when you show him affection, please kiss his cheek.

Showing other ghosts attention and love is a bug no no for him, you're his and his only. Why do you need the other ones? Braiding Mr chopped's hair? He has hair too, come play with his. Letting Mr crawling? He tolerates pets too!

Over all jealous and posessive.

Mr Chopped

This one takes a bit longer to fall in love, yes he likes you as a friend at first and you two shave fun, but when you recuse him from the hooded child, pick him up and protect him...

How can he not fall in love.

At first he thinks it's just friendship but the more it happens the more he feels in his non existent heart .

After a long time he trust you to brush and braid his hair, but don't cut it! Only the hairdresser can do that!

Over all cutie boyfriend, loves naps with you and loves to Yap.

Mr Gap

Love? What's that?

He enjoys your company yes, especially if you're our here giving him your hair and fingers for stuff.

After a while he stops talking all your fingers, because he sees how much it takes of your energy to regenerate them.

He takes one finger in return.

Hair? Well, I guess he'll accept a small strand.

When you ask him if he likes you, he frowns and asks how come?

You explain how he treats you differently (better) and he says he just appreciates the many things you do, plus you're really fun to jump scare..

Never actually falls in love he is only capable of "appreciating you". Or that's what he says to keep face.

Yeah he loves you, try hard enough and maybe he might give you something for free once. Maybe appear in the gap of your sheets and cuddle. He has to initiate it though.

Touch him without consent and he's disappearing for a while. It will never be the same again.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Cowboy Ellie x fem! reader

Warnings: Sexual content (soft sex + oral sex + nipple play + hickies), cheating, reader is mostly neglected by her husband.

Word count: 1.6k

Ellie was no stranger to pretty women who were lacking in attention, their husbands much too blind to even appreciate the beauty of the the feminine curve of a woman's hip, or the sensitive junction between their shoulder and the base of their neck. No, those country boys were so entitled to blows and lasting 30 seconds inside of a woman who should be worshipped for hours. She was no stranger, yet Ellie was floored when she first laid her appreciative gaze upon you, and her most hateful scour upon your husband.

You were like any cowboy's dream, in your gingham sundresses and skin she could only imagine to be as soft as the skin of a peach; she wanted to devour you until your content was dripping down her chin, she wished not to hear a crisp bite from you but instead a deep, moist mouthful of you that she could savor on her tastebuds.

Perhaps, that is why she immediately snatched the opportunity to do so when you came crying to her about your (rather hideous, in her respective words) husband just not being able to treat you right. He'd come home everyday late from work, had female contacts in his phone you were scared to open, and worst of all (a detail you so casually slipped as if it were nothing), he couldn't make you cum.

Ellie was a friend of yours and you confided in her about all of this, how in the beginning of the marriage, he would fuck you, get his nut, and then fall asleep with his back facing you.

"No aftercare?" She would ask, sounding incredibly offended.

"Aftercare?" As if you had no idea what that even was. Oh, you poor thing..

That was only the first half of the incredibly hard-to-listen-to story you told that night. Your marriage was not a long feat, only three years; yet in that span, he went from at least trying to make an effort and sleeping with you to maybe asking for a blowjob once a week. The gall this man had, Ellie thought to herself. If she could, if you would let her, she'd march right up to that asshole with the intentions of setting him straight. Only, she didn't ask. She was selfish, and her mouth got her in trouble.

She leaned further into you. Her eyes were hesitant, but there was something past just simple care there that was clear as day. That man didn't deserve you. He didn't even deserve a second chance, but she wasn't going to let you leave with nothing.

"I know how to please a woman better than he ever could."

And upon much tension, upon your widening eyes but pitifully desperate acceptance, she'd finally have you and give you the night you deserved to have.

Ellie didn't rush you or ask for more than you'd give. Instead, she ghosted over your skin where your husband probably had never even cared to worship. The warm of her breath hit over your pulse, soft lips delivering warm pecks over it. She lingered to count each beat of your heart, how it raced underneath your soft skin.

She licked her sun-chapped lips and leaned in, halfway on top of your body so that she could tease you with the low rasp of her voice,

"Does he kiss your neck?"

Your next breath was but a hitch. "No."

"Do you like it when I kiss your neck?"

"Yes."

Ellie decided that answer, that soft but eager affirmation needed to be rewarded. Her soft pecks flourished into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over your throat, over the curve of your shoulders, and near your collarbone. From there, she lavished hickies over the bone and relished in your breathless, encouraging sounds. She pulled back, granting herself a whine from your lips that she'd like to kiss.

"Does he mark you up real nice like I just did?" Her drawl was thicker when she was losing herself in the act of pleasuring a deserving woman.

"I wish he did," you admitted quietly, as if you were ashamed.

Ellie rubbed over your sides soothingly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "Ain't nothin' wrong with wanting it, darling." Then, she had an idea.

"Anything else you wish he did?"

You looked nervous to admit it, swallowing and nodding. Ellie was a patient woman, and she knew that sometimes it was hard to be open and vulnerable about what it is that a person wanted.

You only whispered it, quickly to get it over with. "I wished that he'd...go down on me."

Ellie wasn't expecting the sudden forwardness, she hadn't even kissed you. However, you were probably needy. Poor thing, all pent up after years of dealing with guys who didn't give a damn about your own orgasms or even emotions like she could, if you were truly hers. She could move things along, however.

"Would you like me to?"

You nodded quickly like a bobble-head, something she found to be endearing, but craved your voice.

"Say it for me, darlin'."

"I want you to go down on me."

Ellie was a bit flustered with that sentence, one she had been dreaming of you hearing just the night before. Her freckled face had a nice, red glow to it.

"May I kiss you first?"

Your lips were like tulips, soft and delicate. You tasted like whatever chapstick you wore, something sweet like candy but artificial, not that she minded much. She'd taste your real flesh soon enough.

Ellie didn't rush the kiss or harshly rip your clothes off. Instead, she let your lips linger against hers, sharing oxygen and exchanging spit. Ellie tasted like chewing tobacco with a hint of something much like vanilla. Her tongue against yours anything but harsh or gross, in fact a sensation you wished to feel forever. That was not the sentiment with your husband, however; he tended to kiss you like he wanted to nibble on you, not devour you or savor your taste.

When she felt satisfied with the kiss, she pulled away to trail down your body. Her lips suckled on the stiff peaks of your nipples once your shirt and bra were peeled off, mumbling just loud enough for you to catch, "pretty, so pretty for me."

Her mouth did not leave your chest to venture lower, instead taking its sweet time to kiss upon the fat there, savor the pebbled skin of your areolas, and let her teeth graze but not bite down. You needed sweetness, TLC. You didn't need anything more than that right now.

Ellie was a tease, and let you writhe underneath her, legs already parted and awaiting as she made her way down your belly, tongue swirling over the soft skin.

Her teasing was more worth it than all of the nights with your husband combined into one nightmare. This was like a dream you wished to never awake from.

She did throw your panties on the floor in a bit of haste, but with your clit and moistened folds, she took her time to taste. Like the skin of a peach, she peeled you back, parting your lips with her tongue to coax a gasp out of you. Her hand didn't force your legs apart, you seemed to have yourself spread enthusiastically wide enough for her. She took advantage of that, using a free hand to intertwine fingers with yours, struggling to not smile when you squeezed.

"Ellie.." you breathed when she circled your clit with her tongue, not denying you long with a soft suckle to the swollen bud.

Ellie devoured your pussy like it was her family's peach cobbler, tongue relentless and moans sporadic. Each time she got too much into her head about how perfect it all was, the way she could feel the fat of your thighs gazing or squeezing her head, she'd let out little hums of bliss or louder, vibrating moans when you cried for her. Though she liked to enjoy her meal, the difference between Ellie and your husband was that she did not pull away after less than a minute to roll over. Ellie did not stop until you came, legs quivering as you squeezed her palm hard, wave after wave of pure bliss passing through your body.

She laid with you in arms, drawing patterns on your warm skin. You were still vulnerable, soft and breathless, but Ellie had no plans on even pulling away for a second.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Her voice was softer, a sweet sound with a lull to it that made you sleepy.

"I did, but I don't know what to do now."

Ellie sat up, but continued to rub soothingly on your back. "What does that mean?"

"It's just.." You sighed, conflicted. "I don't want to go back to my husband after that. I don't think I could handle it, not after everything you made me feel." More than just physical sensations and the orgasm, Ellie had stirred something within you.

"That's okay. We'll figure it all out, okay? Just lay here with me and let me take care of you. You deserve that, at least."

You nodded and let Ellie hold you.

Within her own thoughts, she knew that this could end badly, not just for you or your husband, but for even her. You were still a married woman, and you had just figured out a whole new side of yourself that she couldn't fully help you with. However, she did know that she would be here to kiss you when your husband wouldn't, and she had no intentions of pulling away when things got tough. For now though, she'd just appreciate your warmth and the trust you had in her for the night.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

omg, imagine how the 141+ könig would react if reader fell asleep on them? not in a relationship i mean, maybe they are just sitting on the couch in the common room and reader is tired and falls asleep on one of them?

This is precious and also a mood lmao

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Doesn’t move a single. fucking. inch.

The man goes rigid in his attempt not to wake you, he knows how hard you work so it’s no wonder you’re nodding off in the common area, so to him, there’s nothing wrong with getting some rest

So he’s sitting there with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread (as usual), and he’s fighting the urge to rest his head on yours, not his fault you seemed so comfortable

He’s glaring at every poor bastard and dares them to even try and make a comment

Needless to say, your sleep is undisturbed

Eventually you wake up and start apologizing profusely

“Don’t worry about it, sergeant. Just get to bed yeah?”

As you walked away, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He’s got his arms on the back of the sofa and behind your head and he starts to feel a weight against his chest

Then he looks down and sees you nestled up against him, your head on his chest and he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise

You. are. precious.

100% takes a selfie with you (and Gaz in the background throwing a peace sign)

After the initial thrill settles down, his arm that was draped along the back of the sofa has now come to rest against your own

You’re so warm and the weight of you on his chest is so grounding and soothing, the steady rise and fall of your chest, it’s all so relaxing

Soon enough, he’s nodding off too and he winds up with his head almost draped over the back of the sofa, snores coming out of his mouth

(Gaz definitely filmed it)

Eventually his snoring wakes you up and you can’t help the embarrassment at falling asleep against your teammate like that, still you felt bed that you essentially trapped him there so you gently shook him awake

He massaged the back of his neck with a groan and a wince, your hands replaced his as you gently ushered him upright,

“Come on, Soap, I owe you.”

John Price:

He’s low key melting as soon as he feels your head on his shoulder, he takes a quick glance at you and chuckles

He lets you have a few minutes, knowing full well how tired you are, before he gently jostles his shoulder to softly rouse you before you dozed off deeper,

“Think it’s time to hit the sack, don’t you?” His voice is low as he leans in close,

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. Get some rest, see you in the morning.”

He’s kind of touched and honored that you feel safe enough to fall asleep against him like that, honestly, he would’ve let you sleep there as long as you wanted

But he knows the comfort of one’s own bed is second to none, and he’d hate for you to wake up with a kink in your neck

And maybe his bones were getting a little stiff and uncomfortable from having to stay still for so long

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’s smiling softly to himself and resting his head on yours

He does that thing where you shift in your seat a bit to get comfortable and he shuffles a little lower so he can rest his head against yours

And he falls asleep too!

And honestly it’s the best sleep either of you has ever had because no one has been successful in waking you up, short of shouting or dumping water on you

You wind up waking up first and it’s already morning, you stretch and gently shake him awake,

“Gaz, we slept through the night.”

“Fuck.” He groaned, you laughed quietly and took his arm to stand him up,

“I think we’ve got just enough time to sleep a little longer.”

“What’s the point? We’re already awake.” He reasoned with a yawn and a stretch, “Come on, I’ll make coffee and then we can hit the showers yeah?”

König:

Doesn’t move a single muscle. Like Ghost, he gets quite stiff at first as soon as he feels your head against his arm (even sitting you down you barely reach his shoulder)

So he shuffles a little in his seat until your head is at a more comfortable angle and is resting against his shoulder

But now this means that his spine is curving in uncomfortable shapes, and a good portion of his butt isn’t even on the couch anymore

He wouldn’t dare wake you but holy shit his back hurts

So he slowly and carefully maneuvers you into his arms so now he’s sitting normally and he’s got you on his lap with your head tucked against his chest

He’s got his arms around you to support you and then he realizes that it’s not that much more comfortable

Eventually he gives up and winds up carrying you to your room

You wake up the next morning with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a sticky note with your name on it (and a little heart)

[ohbo-ohno]

idk if any of you have peacock/have seen ads for their show "teacup" but i can't stop thinking of smth similar with ghost (entirely unedited)

like, you buy a house out in the middle of nowhere - maybe a cabin, just to get away from society a bit. and you say you won't stay for long, but then you get used to things, start enjoying the peace and quiet you get away from all other human life, and you just... stay.

and then one day you go outside, and there's a giant spray painted ring around your house - enough for you to walk a bit but not so much that you can reach your garden. and there's a man standing maybe fifteen feet past the line, wearing a mask that covers his face, but clearly just staring at you. he's massive, casts a shadow that crosses over the line, but almost unnaturally still.

he tells you that he won't cross the line, that everything past it is still yours and safe. but if you cross the line in any way, you're his. the fact that you won't last long without food from your garden isn't something that needs to be said, you're already taking stock of the food inside your pantry.

you'd gotten comfortable out here in the wilderness, with your garden producing everything you could want. you never got into canning - bought a book on it, but never even cracked the spine. it's so much work, and you were perfectly happy with going to the garden before dinner and throwing something together with what you could get.

but now you're stuck. you see the man outside your window sometimes, walking around and around and around the circle, never passing it. every room in your house has a window, and there are days where you feel like he's following you, every time you glance outside he's just there.

you don't see him at night. you have no idea where he goes - god knows if he ever sleeps, you're not sure if he's even human - but you can't see him in the dark. the light from your windows doesn't stretch to the line, and the moon isn't enough to make him visible. once the sun goes down, he's just gone.

that's what gives you the nerve to step outside one night, long after it's gotten dark. you're hardly breathing as you tip-toe towards the line, eyes trained on your poor neglected garden - it's been several days since he first arrived, and no one has tended to your poor food. you're not even sure what you'll be able to get, if he's really gone.

he seems to be, or at the very least you certainly can't see him when you stop right at the edge of the line and look around. your flashlight illuminates the edge of the forest as you scan the trees, the circle of light smaller than you'd like. there's nothing.

you stand there for several more minutes, just staring at the food only a few feet out of reach. there's plenty of food that you know has already gone to waste, but you're hoping, praying there's enough to fight off your hunger just a bit, just long enough that you can think past the ache in your stomach long enough to attempt a plan.

(you'd been unable to think the first 24 hours, a creature of panic and nothing more. by the time you'd calmed even a bit, you'd been so hungry you could hardly breathe, then gotten sucked back into your panic after one look at your barren pantry. why had you never bothered to save food?)

your first step over the line feels like a crime. you almost squeeze your eyes shut just to wait for something to happen, but you force yourself to keep your flashlight active, not letting your eyes settle as you scan the forest again and again.

each step feels like you're stepping on glass, heart in your throat. it's dead silent in a way you've come to know the forest never is. the only thing keeping you from darting back inside is the desperate, animal need to eat.

you fall to your knees at the edge of your garden, plucking as many cherry tomatoes from the vine as you can, shoveling them in your mouth without even checking for bugs. there's nothing here but you and then man in the forest.

they burst on your tongue, cold and juicy and tangy and delicious. you feel delirious, having gone more than three days without eating by this point. the tomatoes could be spoiling on the vine, dotted with rot, and you'd still savor them like they're nectar.

you drop your flashlight after the first mouthful, desperate to use two hands and grab as many of the fruits as possible. the light illuminate just a small section of the trees ahead of you, blades of grass casting high shadows.

you only notice how much you've lost focus when the flashlight flickers off next to you. you can't move for a moment, juice dripping down your chin, paralyzed at the thought that he's somehow snuck up on you, made it to your side and taken your only light.

but he's not by you, you're still alone. you can feel it acutely, some instinct at the back of your head saying predator near, hide but not screaming in the way it had on that first day, when you'd been closest to him.

still, you're on your feet in the next moment, fruit abandoned in the dirt as you sprint back to your cottage. your not far from the circle, just mere feet, but it feels like an insurmountable distance.

you can feel him, he's right there you know it. the forest is quiet, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath your feet and your heavy breaths, but you swear you can hear his voice echoing in your head. not an inch past that line, love. then you're mine.

it's not a surprise when you're tackled to the ground, not really. still, you scream, tomatoes already churning in your gut and bile gathering in your mouth. your nails claw desperately at the colored grass, so fucking close to your safe haven, your cage.

"got you," he hisses over your shoulder, so heavy over you that you can hardly get in a breath. you scream soundlessly, face contorted in tear as you break your nails in your desperate digging. "you're mine."

the lights from your cottage seem like hardly more than the flame at the end of a matchstick as you're dragged away, your strength nothing compared to his as you're taken further and further from the safe haven he'd allowed you. by the time you hit the tree line, you don't have the energy to even try to scream.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 13

Cass looked up as Jason came out of Danny’s room. He looked better.

After Danny had been stabilized, Cass had taken Jason away from the safe house and to Jason’s place with the gym in the basement. She knew what it was like to have that need to act— to hurt to ruin to end— burning under her skin. She gave Jason the fight that he needed, letting him punch and kick until they were both covered in bruises and he was shaking apart in her arms.

Today he looked better.

“N is going to stay with Danny,” Jason said with a little nod backwards.

Dick, Jason, Tim, and herself had all been taking turns staying with their new brother. He was sleeping a lot right then; he was waking with nightmares a lot too. Waking up with one of them touching him seemed to help him calm the quickest so they took turns staying close.

“Red?” Cass asked with a little tilt of her head.

Jason glanced at the clock on the oven as he opened the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating out of habit. “He’ll be over here in two hours, I he doesn’t get distracted.”

“Be nice. Red cares. He’ll be here,” she said.

Jason seemed to settle on something and popped the top off before throwing it in the microwave. “Yeah… yeah. Danny’s pretty much wormed his way into all of our hearts, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Will for rest too.”

Jason snorted. “As if he already hasn’t with B. They didn’t need to meet for that. You know how the old man is, a real bleeding heart of stone.”

Cass rolled her eyes and ordered again, “Be nice.”

Jason frowned at her but she just smiled serenely back until he rolled his eyes. It was a win enough for her.

The heated food was set on a trivet between them and Jason stuck two forks in it.

“I’m thinking we get O in here in a few days,” he said around his own large bite of lasagna. “Danny is healing better this time, but we don’t know what sort of set back this will cause mentally and all. Having another set of hands would be good.”

“O will like him.”

“Course she will,” Jason said with almost a scoff.

“No O and Red,” Cass added thoughtfully after she had chewed her own bite. This was definitely Jason lasagna and not Alfred lasagna.

“Yeah… I don’t think I’m going to trust those three in a room together for a long time,” Jason said with a dawning sort of horror. “Danny took apart the remote here and now it has buttons for services I didn’t even know existed. I swear it will change shows on its own too if no one is paying attention to it. It’s useful, I guess, but a little creepy.”

“Ghost brother,” Cass said with a little shrug.

Jason’s eyes narrowed before he let out an exhausted sounding sigh. “I hate that you might be right. Our controller could be haunted now.”

“Alas poor Yorick?”

“Wrong character,” Jason said, pointing with his fork, “but that is a play with a ghost in it so good job.”

Cass smiled happily at the praise. “Once Red is here, you and me errands?”

“You just want to buy Danny another present,” Jason said, jabbing his fork in her direction.

“Yes,” she said with zero shame.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we have to do groceries too.”

-

Babs had been warned that Danny was still very skittish, but he hadn’t actually expected him to freeze like a scared rabbit when she came into the apartment. She stopped rolling forward and moved her hands to where he could see them both clearly.

“Hi Danny,” she said with her kindest librarian voice that she had. “I’m Oracle. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Danny shook his head, the motion ran through him like a shudder and whatever had frozen him shook off him like water off a dog. His smile was still shaky though, so Babs didn’t think that whatever the reaction had been was completely done.

“Hi, Oracle.” His voice was soft, rough, a little broken.

She’d heard from a number of the bats about the latest development and the trauma that went with it, but it as still something to see someone that looked like a young Bruce covered in bandages and looking more than worse for the wear.

“Are you alright if I come in? If you aren’t, that’s alright. I’ll just talk with Nightwing in the hall for a little.”

“No, you can come in,” Danny said, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes flicked over her again. “It’s just… your hair reminded me of someone is all. No one… no one bad.”

Babs offered him a smile and came the rest of the way into the apartment. “If that changes, just let me know.”

“It’s fine, really,” Danny said, though the words were still a little bit of a whisper.

“Well then,” Dick said, interrupting the end of the oddly tense moment, “Babs, do you want any hot chocolate?”

“Thank you, but without the mountain of whip cream I know you liked to put on it,” she said, giving Dick a playful glare.

He shrugged unrepentantly. “Danny?”

“Yes please,” he said. He was fussing with the blanket he had been sitting under, folding it up just so.

Babs moved towards the kitchen to give him a little bit of space and the illusion of some privacy.

‘What was that about?’ Babs asked Dick silently through raised eye brows, a slightly twisted frown, and a subtle nod towards the living room.

‘Not a damn clue,’ is what Dick’s shrug said back.

It almost made Babs sigh.

Danny was still a complete mystery to her. While they were being good and had avoided taking blood or fingerprints from Danny, Barbara had at least been trying to find Danny’s path through the city. She’d been saying for days now that the boy was like a ghost.

She just didn’t expect that to be as literal as it was.

The nickname had lost any of its fun.

“Danny, whipped cream for you?” Dick asked.

Danny’s eyes darted from Dick to Babs.

“Oh, feel free to have it like N,” Babs said with a smile. “I just don’t have the sweet tooth that he does.”

“She never has, it’s tragic,” Dick said with a sigh as he started to warm a pot of milk. “So, whipped cream.”

“Um, yes,” Danny said.

“I will take sprinkles though,” Babs said. “Do you have the little—”

“Bats?” Dick scoffed. “Of course I have the little bats. You can’t have proper hot chocolate without the little bat sprinkles.”

“Of course not,” words serious but unable to help the little smile that she sported.

“You all really like the theme, don’t you?” Danny asked, though he was smiling too now.

“The boy in the hoddie with the Bat logo on it does not get to talk,” Dick said and tossed a large marshmallow at Danny with pin point accuracy.

Danny caught it effortlessly and started to pull it apart with a little shrug. “Hood got if for me as a present.”

“Of course he did,” Tim said as he finally emerged from wherever he had been tucked away. He handed the tablet he was carrying over to Danny before he sat down in the neighboring armchair. “He’s just trying to claim you first, as if him and I didn’t find you together.”

“Hot chocolate, Red?” Dick asked while Danny was busy looking bewildered at that.

“Sure, but add some coffee to it?” Tim asked.

“No,” Dick replied far too cheerfully. “But seriously Dandelion, a Bat logo from a Bat means something.”

Danny’s face scrunched up at that and he looked down at himself. “I don’t think… he was trying to claim me?”

Babs snorted. “Oh, trust us, he was absolutely claiming you. He probably felt that he had to do something material to even start to compete with B.B., as if he wasn’t cooking for you all the time.”

Danny stared back at her with wide blue eyes. The open surprise and desperate want was odd to see on someone that looked so much like Bruce. Damian certainly never let himself appear that way.

“And Red is already souping up your tablet, I’m assuming— though if you really want an improvement let me see it,” she continued, talking over Tim’s little snort, “and N is making you the special hot chocolate. Even Signal is thinking what he can get you and Spoiler is whining that she hasn’t met you yet.”

“She is getting so annoying,” Tim whined while Danny stuffed the shredded marshmallow in his mouth, likely to get out of saying anything. He looked more than a little teary eyed. Tim gave him the out by continuing, “We’ll have her over one morning when she’ll be tired and easily distracted by waffles. You’re not up for the full Spoiler experience yet.”

“Trust Red on that,” Dick interjected as he stirred the coco, “he dated her.”

“I don’t know what either of us were thinking,” Tim said with a sigh. “We are both way too high maintenance in different ways for it to have worked.”

“You were still waiting for you bi awakening, baby bird, you were missing out on half the options,” Dick said. He dropped one of the oversized marshmallows in each of the four mugs before pouring the scalding hot chocolate over it.

Babs left him to his sorcery and wheeled over to the couch before working her way onto it. Danny helpfully moved the blanket out of the way and then offered it back after. She draped it carefully over her legs.

“So what did Red do to your tablet?”

“I actually didn’t do anything,” Tim said, and then had to pause. “Well, not after I gave it to Danny at least. I was just making sure everything was still good. Danny’s been tinkering with it.”

Danny gave a little shrug and picked at the edge of his hoodie.

“Do you like engineering then? Or inventing?” Babs asked, trying to encourage Danny to open up a little.

“Yeah, my— I—, I mean…” Danny stumbled over his words. He lost some of his color with each false start until he was worryingly grey. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, I used to at least.”

“Danny, hot chocolate,” Dick said with impeccable timing as always.

Danny whispered a thanks and took the almost overflowing mug. He could basically hide behind the mound of whipped cream and he definitely tried to. Babs took the offered mug with a much more modest dollop but an absurd amount of bat sprinkles. Her lips twitched up in a smile as she took a sip.

Tim’s portion was somewhere in between Bab’s and Danny and of course Dick’s was practically laughable. It’s a wonder he didn’t make an absolute mess of himself drinking it as they argued over a movie to watch. It was clever of the Bats, really, they had started to narrow down how long Danny had been a test subject by what movies he had seen or not.

It was somewhere between seventeen and twenty-three months.

Nearly two years.

They were all lucky that Danny had made it out at all. They all knew the statistics of something like that.

Hot chocolate turned into dinner turned into Danny cuddling Dick on the couch and eventually resting against Bab’s legs. A good sign about her acceptance, according to the birds.

“Oracle?”

Babs had thought that Danny was asleep. She reached out to run the tips of her fingers through his hair. The lights from the movie that was still playing glinted off her pink nails. “Yes, Danny?”

“If I asked… would you be able to find someone for me?”

She tilted her head. “The person that I remind you of?”

“Yes. Just… just so that I know she’s okay.”

“Is she in danger?”

“No, she’s not like me. She’s…” Danny cut himself off, swallowing back the words.

“But you’d still like to know.”

“Yes.”

Babs hummed. It was technically an abuse of her powers, but they were something she abused all the time. “Yes, if you ask me to, I can find out if she’s okay.”

“Okay. I’ll… maybe I’ll ask. Thank you.”

“Of course, Danny.”

---

AN: I struggled with this chapter at first, but it was because I was jumping right to Barbara meeting Danny and not giving the others some more time to deal with the change in Danny. They still haven't really dealt with it, right now they're focused on healing and getting more help through Babs being around.

All our poor Bat's. So attached already and so traumatized.

But not as traumatized as Danny...

Stay delightful, darlings!

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: You're the winner of the First Quarter Quell and you awaken in the hospital to Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your bedside.

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Mentions of death, Mentions of planning murder, Mentions of cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Mentions of poison, Large age gap/difference (Coriolanus is 33 while reader is 18), Manipulation, um...trying to think of anything else.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 1:

When the Head Gamemaker’s baritone blared out overhead, naming you the victor of the First Quarter Quell, you literally collapsed into a heap on the blood soaked ground from a mix of exhaustion and happiness. Your eyelids drooped and the last thing you saw before you passed out was a pair of peacekeepers coming towards you.

When you woke up, you were in a sterile white room. A hospital room. You had drips and IVs connected to you along with some monitor that made beeping noises. Blinking to readjust your eyes to the brightness of the artificial light, you surveyed the room only to notice that sitting in a chair right next to your bed was none other then the head gamemaker himself. Coriolanus Snow.

“What are you doing here, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You curiously asked. Surely he had better things to do then be at your bedside. Like being home with his wife. Oh and you knew he was married because 1.) He was wearing a gold band on his ring finger and 2.) You've seen a dirty blonde woman his age on his arm in a few pictures of Victor's balls and such in the cheap Capitol rag mags that get circulated around District 12 to be used as tp by the poor and destitute. 

Staring you down with his icy blue eyes, he said, “I'm making sure that District 12’s first victor in 15 years survives.”

His words made a shiver run up your spine. It was common knowledge that District 12’s first and only victor (until now) had mysteriously vanished into thin air a few months after winning her games and returning home. Nobody dared talk about her. Her name was lost to the wind; she was a ghost that nobody paid any mind too. The fact that the head gamemaker wanted to make sure that you didn't die unnerved you. 

Surely you weren't in that bad of shape, were you? Swallowing a lump in your dry throat, you croaked out, “How bad of shape am I in, Head Gamemaker Snow?”

“Please, darling, call me Coriolanus or Coryo, if you'd like.” The platinum blonde, who looked a bit sleep deprived in his wrinkled button up (as if he'd slept in it) told you. “I insist.” He smiled. 

Him calling you darling and insisting that you call him Coriolanus or Coryo made your insides churn. It wasn't right. Why would he be so informal with you. He was the head gamemaker, a 33-year-old man from the Capitol, and you were just a victor, an 18-year-old girl from District 12. You two shouldn't be informal with each other.

“Oh, where are my manners? You must be thirsty. Let me get you some water.” Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow lightly chastised himself while rising from his chair.

Crossing the room to a counter where a tray with a pitcher and glass were, he explained, “When the peacekeepers pulled you out of the arena you had collapsed from dehydration.” Pouring you a glass of water, he further explained, “Your vitals were very low and, in fact, you died once on your way here, but the medics brought you back.”

“What the hell? I died?...” You gasped, struggling to comprehend what you just heard. 

Head Gamemaker Snow appeared by your side and placed the water glass into your hand. A hand much smaller and weaker than his large calloused one. “Yea, but you were revived.” Sitting on the edge of your bed, causing it to dip, he motioned for you to drink. “I must have my Victor alive and well, so that's why I've been keeping watch over you, Y/N.”

His words should've made you see a red flag waving in the air, but it didn't. Maybe you were too young and naive to catch onto the true meaning of his words. Maybe they went right over your head because you were still weak, or maybe since you had a stalker back in 12 that you had convinced yourself was just a weird neighbor boy you didn't realize the true possessive meaning of Coriolanus’ words.

“Are you going to stay here now that I'm awake or?...”

“Unfortunately, I have to leave you here and go home.” He pouted. What the hell, he actually pouted? You had to admit that his plush lips looked very kissable when he pouted. Petting your hair, he gave you a reassuring smile. “Don't worry, darling, I've made sure that you'll be well taken care of by the best nurses that money can buy in the Capitol.”

What he didn't tell you was that he threatened the lives of the nursing staff’s loved ones if you so much as had a hair out of place. That was something you didn't need to know. Just like you didn't need to know that when he first laid eyes on you, in your best cotton floral dress; your hair pulled back with a ribbon for Reaping Day, he found you the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on and just had to claim you as his. Reason why, as the head gamemaker, he might or might not have screwed around with other tributes’ sponsor gifts and made sure you got a few things here and there that would ensure your survival. You had an innocence to you that he had the primal urge to consume. An innocence that was absent in the Capitol. An innocence and a beauty that he carved to have all to himself.

You just being you consumed him with a passionate obsession. One that he would act on soon. Very, very soon. He just needed to take care of his wife, Livia, so that he'd be free to make you his forever. But that wouldn't be hard, considering he was a master at making people drop dead from sudden food poisoning. 

Pressing a kiss to your hair, Corio- no Head Gamemaker Snow, promised, “I'll be back in the morning to check up on you before I'm needed at the Citadel.”

“You have to wrap up the game stuff don't you, Head Gamemaker Snow?” You asked, even though you were sure he'd say yes. In fact you didn't even know why you asked that. Maybe as a replacement for goodbye since you hated that word. 

Last time you said goodbye to somebody it was your mother and she took off with some officer, leaving you with your older half-brother Rein to take care of you both. He was 15 at the time and you were 5. Safe to say, you never used the word goodbye again in your life. 

“I told you, call me Coriolanus or Coryo.” He reminded you, not liking that you were still calling him by his title. “Yes, my darling rose, I must make sure that all the paperwork is in proper order for your prize money and the construction of your house in Victor's Village.” The platinum blonde man, who you just noticed has bags under his eyes, tiredly told you before pressing another kiss to your hair. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he said, “You need to be a good girl and rest for me.”

You blinked at him. What? Be a good girl? And rest for him? Say what? Your brain was short circuiting at his words. Not just his words, but the way his baritone was both dominant and soft as he spoke them.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he simply said, “We'll talk more tomorrow. I promise.”

“Okay.” You nodded numbly, unable to comprehend what the hell was happening. You went like your head was spinning, as if you had too much moonshine. Hell, what had your time in the arena done to you?

Coriolanus gave you a pleased smile before rising from his spot on your bed and walking out of your room; making sure to close the door behind him. It was only after he was gone that you realized you were in a private room.

Coriolanus was fucking exhausted when he got home. He could barely keep his eyes open as he stepped out of his black sedan. After you were admitted to the hospital, he dismissed his driver and drove himself there. He didn't want the man to be waiting around on him while he stayed steadfast at your bedside, plus he was more than capable of driving himself home once he saw you open your beautiful eyes. What he wasn't expecting was for you to be asleep for over 24-hours. 

So, sleep deprived, Coriolanus walked into the townhouse he shared with his wife, Livia. The townhouse was a gift he received from Strabo and Ma Plinth once he announced his engagement, but he planned on putting it up on the market once he took care of Livia. He didn't want to bring you to this house that held nothing but hatred and misery in it.

No, he was going to bring you to his penthouse on the Corso. Now that's a proper place for you to live with him. In fact, he'd be telling you about your new residence tomorrow morning during your visit. Oh, he was so excited to tell you that you'd be staying in the Capitol with him. Of course, he'd use the excuse that since District 12 doesn't have a Victor’s Village and it must be constructed that he's arranged for you to use his Corso penthouse during the construction period.

It was a great plan. One that was foolproof. He just knew that you, being so young and innocent, would view his offer as one of help instead of one of ownership. Or, dare he say, love? Yes, love. He was sure that he was obsessively in love with you. It was a feeling he swore to never feel again, but yet again one just can't help who they fall in love with.

He always thought that marrying for hate instead of love or even tolerability would give him power, but truthfully all it gave him was a headache and a bad case of blueballs. Livia was a heinous bitch and was a cold fish in bed. She didn't like to fuck. What the fuck? Who doesn't like to fuck? Coriolanus thought that was absurd, unnatural even.

That's why he had to have affairs here and there; then turn the whores into avoxes to keep their mouths shut when he was done with them. What? He was a man after all and had needs. Needs that he knew you'd fulfill without any problems. With you he'd be faithful because you'd be his mind, body, and soul and would do anything for his love since you were so young. All he had to do was show you how in love *cough* obsessed *cough* he was with you and you'd be his forever.

Unknown to Coriolanus, the object of his marital hatred (Livia) was having an ongoing affair with one of the male avoxes in their household. An avox that had once been an equal of theirs in the Academy and the University, but crossed Snow the wrong way with a question about the songbird from 12. 

Coriolanus wasn't even to the stairs yet when he heard Livia’s screeching coming from the front sitting room. Great…seems like the bitch was waiting up for him. 

“Coriolanus, where have you been? The games ended and you never came home!” Livia demanded in a high pitch scream as her fuzzy heeled skippers clicked loudly against the hardwood floor as she ran out of the sitting room and into the main hall.

“Don't worry about where I was, Livia.” Coriolanus venomously gritted out as he made his way to the staircase.

“You're my husband, Coriolanus. I'm supposed to worry about where you've been.” Livia shrieked while following her husband. 

“I'm your husband when I don't come home, but when I'm home we have separate bedrooms and you come up with every excuse under the sun not to fuck me.” Coriolanus spat back as he tiredly trudged upstairs, feeling a migraine coming on from his wife's nagging. Oh, how he needed to poison that bitch yesterday.

“Your tastes in bed are not the same as mine, husband.” Livia said, placing special emphasis on the word husband, while following him upstairs. “You're too harsh for my taste, but that doesn't mean you can stay out for days on end with some whore.” 

All Coriolanus could see was red, like a raging bull, after hearing her remark. How dare she insult his prowess in bed? He knew how to fuck a woman and how to fuck her good; he never had any complaints either until he tied the knot with Livia. Damn bitch, won't fuck him and then insults his ability to fuck. Oh, yes, it was time for her to go. 

She outlived her usefulness. Livia couldn't give him the one thing he most desperately needed. An heir. What use did Coriolanus have for a woman that refuses to have his child? After a decade of hell with his wife, he was ready to cut his losses. He had control of her family's bank and the Plinths fortune, plus his status as Head Gamemaker and Senator along with his position on the War Council was more then enough to make him a successful candidate for president once the elder President Ravenstill kicked the bucket. He didn't need her for an heir anymore, not when he had you (you were young and fertile enough to give him litters of heirs).

Oh, Coriolanus knew exactly how to make up for never coming home after the games ended with Livia. Oh, yes, he did. 

“The victor, Y/N, from 12 was in bad shape and I had extra paperwork to do.” He smoothly lied to his dirty blonde wife as he set foot onto the second floor of his townhouse. Turning to look at her, he gave her a fake smile full of fake sympathy and offered, “How about I take you out to your favorite restaurant for dinner? The one that has that red wine you can't get enough of.”

“Yes, I accept your apology and dinner invitation. Just don't do this to me again, Coriolanus. We might hate each other, but I'm still your wife and deserve respect.” Livia told Coriolanus before taking off to her room, her robe billowing behind her.

Coriolanus smiled wickedly as he retired to his room. Oh, after tomorrow night he'd never have to deal with Livia ever again. He'd be free to have you all to himself, forever and always.

You were walking in the plains, tall prairie grass blowing in the wind. The deeper you walked in it, the more dread you felt. You couldn't describe the feeling, but you just knew that something was wrong. Then, suddenly, you heard a crunching sound behind you. Turning around, you saw the last tribute, a girl from 2, with a knife in her hand running towards you. 

You were exhausted and thirsty. The water you had been gifted from a sponsor had run out nearly a day ago, so you were feeling the effects of dehydration. You didn't know if you either didn't have a lot of sponsors or weren't getting any more water bottles because a water source was nearby somewhere, but you did know that it sucked you were dying of thirst.

But your thirst didn't matter now. Surviving the girl from District 2 did and you knew you wouldn't be able to fight her in the tall grasses. So you ran. You ran as hard and fast as your lightheaded feet would carry you.

It didn't take long until you were out of the tall grasses and on a barren field of cracked soil. You had a small pocket knife that was gifted to you, something you were sure cost a hefty penny since sponsor weapons were always pricey according to Lucky Flickerman’s game commentary.

Flipping the switchblade open, you turned around and headed straight towards the girl that had tripped and fell at the edge of the plains grasses and the dry bed of field soil. Lifting up your knife, you made to plunge it into her, only for her to look up at you with a sinister smirk and plunge her knife right into your neck.

Your eyes flew open as you screamed bloody murder. You died! You had died in your nightmare instead of being victorious. That nightmare shook you to your core. It frightened you so much that you screamed yourself hoarse, until your vocal cords were stripped. You were so frightened that you huddled in the corner of your room in a fetal position.

Nurses and other hospital staff tried to tend to you; get you out of the corner, but you just struggled and fought with them. You couldn't let them near you. What if they wanted to kill you? What if they hurt you? Your dream had shaken you up so bad that you weren't quite with it yet. You weren't in reality, you were stuck in your own head and afraid that somebody or something was going to get you. You were scared out of your wits. You were so scared that you cried. You weren't aware that you were crying, but the tear stains marred your hollowed cheeks like scars.

Coriolanus had only been asleep for an hour or so whenever he was awakened by a call from Capitol General Hospital. What the charge nurse told him made his heart clutch painfully. His victor, his darling rose, woke up terrified out of her mind and curled herself into a corner, screaming and crying her head off.

“She's having a nightmare about her time in the arena. Aren't you giving her anything to calm her down?” Coriolanus asked the nurse  he was on the phone with as he sat up in bed, flipping on his bedside lamp to softly illuminate his pitch black room in a golden glow of light.

“She won't let anyone near her and you did say to call you with any updates on her condition, sir “ The nurse hesitantly told him.

“I’ll be right there to sign her out since your hospital staff are incompetent and can't properly take care of a victor.” He told the nurse before hanging up on her.

It only took a few minutes for Coriolanus to dress and rush to the hospital. Despite being exhausted, you needed him and he wasn't going to let you down. You were his and he was going to take good care of you. He always took good care of his things. He did like his things to be perfect and if they weren't then he'd make sure that his favorite things were mended until they were perfect. You were his and he'd make sure that he made you perfect once more. Perfect for him, to be by his side as not just his Victor, but as his First Lady. His darling rose.

Dressed simply in a fitted white shirt and black pants, Coriolanus ran up the stairs to your floor and rushed into your room. The site of you curled up, tear tracks staining your cheeks, wide-eyed and afraid pulled at what little heartstrings were in his too small blackened heart. You looked like a wounded animal and he hates it. You were his victor, his darling rose, his future First Lady and he wanted you to recover your senses so that you could regain your strength; be all that he knew you were to him.

He slowly approached you with his hands out in a show of peace. “It's me, my darling rose. It's Coryo.” Coriolanus softy told you in an attempt to let him near you.

Your eyes blinked at hearing his nickname and for some reason you nodded at him. As he crouched down next to you, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder, you clutched the middle of his pristine white shit and sobbed, “I died, Coryo. I dreamed that I died instead of her.”

Your words gutted him. A world without you was no world at all. Wrapping his arms around you: letting you bury your head in his chest, he strokes your hair while offering you the comforting words of, “Oh, my darling, you're alive. You're alive and I won't let anything bad ever happen to you again, Y/N.” You shook in his arms, causing him to simply ask, “You hear me, my darling rose?”

“Mhm…” You mumbled out, too afraid to talk for fear that you'd start crying again. 

“Shh…” Coriolanus shushed you like one would do a small, frightened child. “I'm here. Your Coryo’s here and you're safe. You'll always be safe with me, darling.”

If you were of sound mind instead of scared out of it (from the horrors he designed and put into the damn games) you would've ran far far away from Coriolanus. But, sadly, you were too scared and on the verge of a mental breakdown to understand how twisted the man holding you really was. How obsessessive he was; how wrong letting him hold you was. No, you were too afraid to realize that you were letting the creator of your nightmares comfort you.

Once your sobs subsided and you quieted down, Coriolanus pulled back from you so that he could tilt your chin up in order to have your eyes on his. “I was going to wait til morning to tell you this, but you’ll be staying in a luxurious penthouse while the Victor’s Village is constructed in your district.”

You nodded, only to squeakily ask, “How long am I staying here?”

“Oh, just long enough to build your victor's house. I suppose it'll be done by time your victory tour rolls around; maybe even sooner.” He smoothly lied. He had no intentions whatsoever to let you go back to District 12. You deserved more then the mud and poverty stained streets of the coal district. You deserved to be bathed in rose scented oils and salts, dressed in the finest fashions, fed the best foods, and fucked on the best silk sheets that his money could buy. 

“Okay.” You nodded, naively believing the lies of the head gamemaker. 

“How about we get you out of here and over to the penthouse? Hmm? I'll even call Tigris to come over and spend the day with you, how'd you like that?”

“I like Tigris. She’s nice and was my stylist. Always talked to me like she cared.”

Coriolanus knew that his cousin was your stylist. He's the one that assigned her to you after all. But neither you nor her needed to know that. No…. It wasn't important. What was important was that you two got along, especially since in a short while you'll be family.

“Tigris is my cousin; I'm glad to hear that you like her.” Coriolanus told you while helping you to stand up. “And she does care about you, Y/N.” He told you while leading you over to your bed. “Never forget that the Snows care about you. And that snow lands on top.” He whispered into your ear while helping you sit on your bed. 

You just blinked at him, trying to process what he meant. You were so tired and mentally weak from your nightmare that you had no idea that his remark was one of possession. Your throat hurts from all the crying and screaming that you did, so you weren't thinking straight. Infact, your throat hurts so much that you grab the glass of water from your bedside table, quickly gulping it down.

“Be careful, you don't want to make yourself sick.” Coriolanus warned, much like a parent would to a child, while snatching the glass away from you.

“My throat’s dry and hurts. I need water.” You said in a pained whisper, side eying the glass in Coriolanus’ hand.

“Yes, well, that tends to happen when you scream and cry yourself hoarse.” He stated a bit coldly before lifting the glass to your lips and ordering, “Be a good girl and take small sips for me.”

You obeyed since your throat was aching. The small sips of the cool water seemed to soothe your damaged throat just enough to keep your mind off the pain. When Coriolanus felt you had enough to drink, he put the glass down on your side table. 

Petting your hair, he said, “I need to go sign you out at the front desk, but I'll be back soon to take you with me to the penthouse. Where you'll be safe.”

“Thank you.” You weakly smiled at the man that was now both your salvation and your damnation.

If only you knew what life awaited for you at that penthouse. Would you still be thanking him if you did?

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops,

@bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,

@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur

@squidscottjeans

[tiddygame]

Simon started his sleeve well before he became Ghost.

It started when Joseph was about 3 1/2 and Simon got a nasty scar on his arm that made the poor kid upset every time he saw it. Joseph knew that it didn’t still hurt, but for him it was a reminder that is uncle was always in danger. It scared the kid to think about what caused it, even though Simon assured him that he was okay.

So after a brief discussion with Beth and Tommy, he figured he’d get a tattoo to cover it up. A sleeve would be expensive, but if it meant Joseph didn’t cry every time he saw the scar on his uncle's arm, it would be worth it.

It took some looking around for an artist that was willing to tattoo scar tissue and one that he trusted, but it wasn’t long before he was scheduling a consult.

Then he realized he had no fucking idea what he wanted to get tattooed.

He felt like getting a flaming skull or half naked lady permanently etched into his skin would defeat the purpose and he most certainly was not going to get something in a language he didn’t speak.

His mom jokingly suggested that he could get a floral sleeve and cover his arm in flowers.

And, well, it was close enough to a dare that he couldn’t turn it down so a few weeks later, he’s got his appointment set up to turn his arm into a garden.

He has quite a few types of flowers in there (some that his mom loves, some that Beth and Tommy had at their wedding, etc. etc.) with vines and leaves to fill in the gaps

The appointments are quite far apart with his deployment, Simon didn’t want to deal with a healing tattoo in the field. They started at the scar, covering it up and then expanding from there.

Joseph loves the flowers.

He was always so excited when Simon let him fill them in like his arm was a coloring book, even if he still struggled to stay in the lines.

He used to cry every time Simon left and it would break his heart, but now Joseph demanded that his uncle return as fast as he could so he could go back to coloring his arm and talking about sharks.

Joseph loved the flowers.

It took a while for him to go back.

There was no reason to, not anymore. He had more scars, but there wasn’t anyone he had to hide them from.

The tattoo was left unfinished for a long time, only part of his forearm was done.

Ghost didn’t care. He wore long sleeves even in weather warm enough to cause heatstroke; he couldn’t look at it.

When he did, he didn’t see an unfinished tattoo, he saw his nephew. Saw him looking up at his uncle with big brown eyes, begging Simon to carry him. Saw him sleeping under the Christmas tree.

Eventually he returned. He requested a slight change to the design and showed the artist a photo of four headstones and the bouquets that accompanied them

(There was a fifth, partially out of frame and cut off, vase empty)

The artist nodded and got to work.

In the new sketch, a few new flowers were added, but the first thing Ghost noticed were the four little garter snakes that had been weaved through the petals.

Ghost nodded and that was that.

Every now and then a rookie would see it and start to laugh, but when they remembered the reputation of the man they were laughing at, it was quickly cut off with hasty (and futile) apologies. (They were still going to end up running laps until they vomited up their lungs.)

It was rare that he was exposed enough for people to see the tattoo and from a distance, it just looked like a simple sleeve. It wasn’t long before his little garden became a lesser known rumor that followed him around and joined the other whispers.

Ghost didn’t care. He didn’t get the tattoo for himself or any prying eyes. From the moment he booked the consultation to leaving the parlor with his sleeve complete, it was all for Joseph.

The rookies could spread whatever rumors they want, his nephew would have loved it and that’s all he wanted.

The first time Soap got a proper look, he just stared at it for a while before going off on a story about when he was little and picked up a snake thinking it was a stick.

From anyone else, it would have felt like that were trying to change the subject so they didn’t have to acknowledge that The Ghost had such a “feminine” tattoo.

From Soap, it was comforting in an odd way. It was obvious that Soap wanted a better look at it, but he never pushed Ghost. Just like the mask, Soap was patient.

Later down the line, it would morph into quiet nights with Johnny tracing the lines and trying to identify each type of flower. He’d look to Simon for any clues but would complain that Simon always looked too love-struck for his facial expression to give any hints on if he was getting close.

Simon didn’t deny these claims but still refused to offer any help.

And even longer after that, Johnny would shakily color in the petals as he tries to regain his fine motor skills.

The markers would often slip out his hands and the shakiness meant he couldn’t stay within the lines, but the fact that he was there at a all, debating which pink to use on the peonies and getting frustrated with himself when he couldn’t get the cap back on, was enough of a miracle that Simon could barely keep himself together as his sleeve regained its color for the first time in years.

When Johnny was done, Simon hugged him with one arm, holding the tatted one up and away so that the new ink wouldn’t smudge.

Eventually, Simon would tell the story of why he got the tattoo, even if Johnny already had a pretty good guess based on the wistful look Simon had when talking about it. He would tell him which ones his mom loved, which ones had been at Beth and Tommy’s wedding, and which ones were just the artist adding some to make it more cohesive.

But for now, they would hold onto each other tightly, neither of them willing to separate. Maybe for some, crying over a box of sharpies wasn’t a happy ending, but Simon didn’t care. He had Johnny in his arms and that was all he could ask for.

[lu-dao-writes]

— 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝙓𝙞𝙚 𝙇𝙞𝙖𝙣 & 𝙃𝙪𝙖 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙜)

ᡴꪫ ﾟ. 𓂃𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 You like being with Xie Lian, and when San Lang joined you had no problems with him either. You love their natural affection…

B̴̰̼̤̄͋̽̆͝ų̷̤̫͙͉͈́̓ͅt̵̯̬͌̿̎̽̉ ̵͎͈̯̓͐̀͘͝s̷̡͖͚̘͓͙̈́��̰̖o̸̪̞̹̞̼̥̮̮̊̃̈́̎́̾̕͘͜͝m̶͚̐̉͑́͗̕͜͠ͅé̴̫͓̥̈́͗̈́̒ͅt̷͚̟̲̻̜̙̾̚i̷̢̗̗͈̩͚͆̍m̴͙̼͉̻̗̻̬̿̓̀̆͘ͅe̴̡̧͉͔̲͔̫̻͑̋̀́̈̀̌̈́̚s̵̢̫̟̳̩̲̟͆̏̆̃̄̿͝ ̴̤̘͉̻̮͈̿̀̐̄͒̃͝į̴̫͔̫̠̌͐̚t̸̰̔̋̀̾͐’̴̢̦̥͓̯̺͖̈́̓̒ś̴̨͇̣̼͑̀̉͛̎̏͠ ̸̤̺̼̞̠̖̃̋͗̄̀͝š̸̙̼̐̉̎͗͘u̶͍̞͖͒̈̅̔̒̍͘͜f̵̨̝̳̻̪̫̫͈͎̑̏̎̍̈͒f̵̞͇̥͖̥̹̳̹͐͐̌̈́̽͝o̸̡̤̙̙̗̤̦͙̿́̀͐̾͠c̵̨̹̔͜ȃ̶̛̱̜̗͍̒̌̈́̿́t̸̛͎̘͕̤̜̟̎̐i̷̖͓͖͔̭̥̒̆͂́̚͘͘ͅn̵̛̯̬͎̭͐̊̋̏g̸͓͍͚̦̻̳͑.̵͙̖̰͊̉ ̶̲͉̘̆̋̀̆̓

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, possessive behavior, biting, blood tasting, sleep watching, amnesiac!reader, gn!reader, hybrid au, some animalistic behavior, maybe poor grammar.

𝘼/𝙉 This is a warmup I made when I needed to take a pause from my jjk projects! Also deciding to post this while I wait for my poll to end!౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

YOU’VE only met Xiè Lián a month ago, but he is a humble man, perhaps the most humble man you’ve ever met in your years of living.

And despite only knowing him for such a little amount of time, there’s this huge sense of familiarity whenever you’re together.

He’s so kind, too kind almost, and submissive, but not in a completely bad way. It just seems that he’s too willing to let others walk all over him sometimes.

But you don’t regret befriending him. He’s as sweet as can be and your wonderful savior, his only want when you asked how you can repay him is your e̶t̶e̶r̶n̶a̶l̶ friendship.

You two were lonely souls wondering the earth so it’s natural that you remained at each other’s sides, helping him collect scraps.

While staying with him, you’ve noticed the ferret’s need for physical touch and aggressive play, which you grant because how could you not? You owe him a lot and you’re touch starved yourself.

B̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶a̶g̶g̶r̶e̶s̶s̶i̶v̶e̶,̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶e̶s̶ ̶d̶r̶a̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶,̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶X̶i̶è̶ ̶L̶i̶á̶n̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶i̶l̶y̶ ̶l̶i̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶d̶o̶w̶n̶.̶

But it’s okay! That’s just his nature!

There was one time he had to disappear for a moment, stating that it’s just some business to help innocent people from a ghost problem and left you at an inn for the time being.

You missed him,b̶u̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶d̶e̶n̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶e̶n̶j̶o̶y̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶.̶ ̶

But he soon came back and you two now had a place to live at for once! It’s a shabby shrine, but both of you put your care and hard work to make it a home.

The bed is a simple straw mat on the hard floor but the comfort of each other’s arms and warmth make up for it!

B̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶u̶g̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶t̶i̶g̶h̶t̶,̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶p̶o̶s̶s̶e̶s̶s̶i̶v̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶m̶o̶s̶t̶.̶ ̶

Sleeping together is a joy though!

And things get more interesting when a lone fox joins the mix.

His name is Sān Láng, and Xiè Lián had brought him over one night and offered your collective space to him since he had no place to go.

He’s a charming young man with a mysterious aura, giving answers but becomes a bit elusive when it’s direct questions about him. He’s far more interested in getting to know you and Xiè Lián though, wanting the both of you to lay yourselves bare to him.

But he quickly becomes close to you both, and you become aware that he’s just as clingy as the ferret.

The bed situation is even more cramped, but as long as you were all touching all was fine!

S̶o̶m̶e̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶w̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶’̶r̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶a̶t̶c̶h̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶’̶v̶e̶ ̶y̶e̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶f̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶l̶e̶e̶p̶s̶ ̶e̶m̶b̶r̶a̶c̶e̶,̶ ̶X̶i̶è̶ ̶L̶i̶á̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶S̶ā̶n̶ ̶L̶á̶n̶g̶’̶s̶ ̶b̶r̶e̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶u̶f̶f̶o̶c̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶i̶m̶p̶r̶i̶n̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶k̶i̶n̶.̶

Sān Láng likes to watch you and Xiè Lián, especially when you’re playing, but he never gets in the mix until he’s invited, and you can see the pure delight in his eyes when asked.

But you almost always end up on your back, overpowered and vulnerable to them both.

L̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶p̶e̶r̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶y̶.̶

But unfortunately, things get weird when Nán Fēng, a dog, and Fú Yáo, a cat, show up at the door.

The way those two grow so pale when they look at you…

And how tight Xiè Lián holds your shoulders…

How Sān Láng’s voice gets unusually more sharper…

There’s more to what’s going on.