#ghostmaker x reader

[mixingandmelting]

If it's not a bother for you, can you please write batfam (including Bruce) and superfam getting jealous when reader subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Thank you!!!

A/N: Hello Anon! Sorry that this was sitting in my drafts for so long... 😔 I wasn't sure if you were meaning literally everyone in both families (batboys, batgirls, Jace Fox, supergirls, superboys, etc.) which would've made this post even longer and taken more time... If there are characters not written here you specifically would like, let me know

BATFAM FEAT:

Bruce:

Everything he does is subtle. The stiffness in his muscles, the tick in his jaw. All you did was mention how the way he readjusted his Rolex around his wrist reminded you of your ex. But since when did the things he did remind you of the other guy? 

“Must be a thing.” He chuckles, the grip around on his mug tightening as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

Bits and pieces of his control over his emotions continue to chip off. There’s irritation building up from sensing nostalgia in your voice when he casually asks about your ex. Under the pretext of curiosity, of course. A scowl set on his face hidden behind a newspaper without him knowing he’s making one. It’s to the point where he fails to school his expression on time when you push down the newspaper. For a moment you stare at him, shock and awe meeting cold and stormy. 

“Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne… is jealous?” 

His eyes widen for a second. To think he was that jealous to where he couldn’t keep up a facade…

He frowns when your lips curl up into a grin. Let’s just say the two of you made up real quickly afterwards when he suddenly pulls your wrist towards him.

Jason:

Sure, people can be reminded of their ex but come on. He reminded you of yours over how he shakes his hair out after taking off his helmet? That’s way too oddly specific.

“From what? Riding a street bike?”  He snorts, placing his helmet on the bench next to him with a thud from restrained strength. 

His mind knows there’s nothing to think too hard about; your ex is an ex and he’s currently yours. But clearly his heart doesn’t, churning and coiling with awful emotions he’s all too familiar with. He goes to grab a rag and wrench for “extra maintenance” when it’s actually him finding it hard to keep himself cool-headed if he doesn’t keep himself busy. 

“Jason? Jason. Look at me. It’s not what you’re thinking of.”  The only indication that he’s listening is the glance he tosses over his shoulder, still unamused and an eyebrow raised.

“I-,” The eyebrow raises higher from your sigh, “You just do it so naturally and still manage to make it attractive, okay? My ex had to try, forcing a Justin Bieber’s hair flip. That’s all.”

He gets you to break into laughter when he grabs you by the waist and cuddles you, grumbling how you should’ve said so from the start.

Tim:

His fingers hover over the keys for a second. Then he goes back typing. Nothing is amiss albeit the sounds of the mouse and keyboard clicking a tiny bit louder. He’s not bothered. Nope. Even if it was over how he cracked open his can of energy drink with a single hand, he’s not overthinking it whatsoever. 

“Yeah?” 

His voice stays steady, masking his questions as curiosity while in a small corner of the monitor, he’s pulling up and scrolling through the file on your ex. Net worth? Minimal. Job? Mediocre. There’s nothing about your ex sharing this habit or any other habits with him. But he considers that his fault, having brushed the other as unnoteworthy (which he does with anyone who breaks your heart). He can feel annoyance bubbling inside of him from your reminiscence with the other and his inability to pass it off as a simple talk about exes. Wait. Was this why? Because of the one time he mentioned about his past relationships?

“...Tim? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? No.” 

He flushes when he catches your unimpressed expression on the reflection of the screen. Instantly, he’s turned around, surprised to comforted when you start showering him with affection. Later on, he gives in and quit trying to get back at your ex for hurting you.

Minkhoa Khan/"Ghost-Maker":

Many had purposely brought up their exes to him before, trying to poke him for attention or gauge for a reaction. And most often he’d smirk and indulge them, finding the action as “cute”. 

But right now, his lips are set into a straight line. Constantly swirling the champagne in his flute rather than drinking it down. 

“Oh, I reminded you of your ex?” 

Lacking the feeling for empathy or fear, he’s never had found himself feeling jealous especially over an old flame of his partner. Right now? His mind is filled with irrationality and possessiveness. More than peeved for such a small thing to trigger an unneeded memory. 

He’s not one to usually filter or hold back on his opinion.  However, currently, there’s twice as much sass and bluntness as he shares his thoughts on the other in response to how fond you sounded when talking about your ex’s shared habit with him where your eyes widen from how out of character he was behaving. 

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous!” 

He refuses to give you the satisfaction, choosing to stay quiet and finish his glass. But when you don’t stop gloating, his hand slowly makes its way towards your shoulder to have you stop in a more… efficient way.

SUPERFAM FEAT:

Clark Kent:

“O-oh, really? I didn’t know your ex wore glasses…”

It’s bothering him so much. He doesn’t like it  that your ex does the same thing as him with the whole pushing up glasses if they were to slide down ever so slightly. It goes from him clasping his hands in his lap to resting them on his thighs in fists. More from him trying to stop said habit than anything else. 

Frustration and restlessness is how he gets, shuffling every few seconds so he’d at least feel comfortable on the bench he shares with you. His smile more awkward and his voice more strained. He wants to be the good boyfriend that would support you in every way: emotionally, mentally, and physically. So he tries to stay empathetic but his response stays as half-hearted caused by the ugly emotion coursing in his heart and brain. 

“Clark…? You’re not possibly jealous, are you?” 

Instantly flusters, cheeks matching his Superman suit while he denies that he is. 

“No! I’m not jealous whatsoever!” He tries to endure your stare, only to sigh and wave the white flag. “Yeah…. I actually am.” 

He lets out a grunt when you wrap your arms around him, finally breaking into a smile when you call him a silly man and that you’re stuck to him with superglue.

Conner Kent:

He stops and turns towards you, an eyebrow cocked up. 

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. This?” He flicks up the collar of his leather jacket in front you. “Is a Superboy signature move originating from yours truly.” 

So obviously your ex was copying him.  Not similar or “doing the same thing”.  But apparently, you beg to differ. He keeps brushing his hair back and fiddle with his shades, trying to suppress his irk of you continuing to push that he is similar to the other. Huffing at every point you make and rolling his eyes. 

He just doesn’t get it. Why he’s feeling this way and why he can’t act like normal. It’s not his first time hearing something like this from others, taking it in stride and joking how he’s that amazing that everyone wants to be him. But That’s not what’s happening right now. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, toying with a can near his foot. 

“You’re jealous.”

“No???”

Jealous? Him? No. No way. He’s Superboy, why would he be jealous? Despite his denial, his face starts to resemble his pants as you accurately guess what was running through his mind. At least part of his dignity gets restored when you kiss his cheek, calling him cute to which he cheekily replies with a duh.

Kong Kenan:

The baseball lands into his hand with a satisfying plot while he’s looking at you with a confused gaze. 

“Me tossing baseballs… reminds you of your ex…” He’s careful and slowly enunciating each word, making sure he didn’t (more like he hopes) misheard you. 

He goes back tossing the baseball with pursed lips and blowing air through his nose. It’s only concern. Worry. There’s nothing that he and your ex share in common. So he’d think you wouldn’t stretch it that far about getting reminded over something mundane as tossing a baseball. 

His tosses get harder, his eyes straining from keeping them trained on the ball. He makes an effort to at least voice out that he gets it, quite literally saying exactly that as he proceeds to explain why you’re wrong E.g., he’s smarter. He’s skilled. He’s Superman-

“Kenan, you know you’re jealous. Right?”

He startles, snapping his head towards you.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying-”

Trust for it to happen as soon as he takes his eyes off, the baseball would come falling on his head.  Coiling over, he yelps then scowls with tinted cheeks. At least you comfort him in the midst of your laughter, rubbing circles on his back which releases the tension in him as you promise you have no intentions of leaving him.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][attempted divorce][manipulative man][condescending but make it sexy][underwater oral (f! receiving)][a gaslighting king][fingering][cowgirl][cockwarming][denial][petnames][he's a little bit crazy but in a cute way][established relationship]

"Just sign the papers, Minhkhoa!"

You feel erratic. The urge to claw your eyes out getting stronger the longer Khoa draws out this divorce, chestnut eyes focused on the blue and gold fountain pen between his muscular fingers, instead of the stack of documents in front of him.

"No."

His calmness frustrates you to no end, forcing you to let out a low and annoyed groan, dropping into the seat across from him, brows pinched into a frown and lips tugged downwards.

"Just sign—"

"I'm not signing the papers." Khoa interrupts, his gaze lifting from the pen to meet your eyes, before he sets the writing tool down on the mahogany, interlocking muscular digits on the varnished surface.

"Tell me, petal," Khoa hums, "how do you know what this is?"

Your brows knit into a confused expression, upper lip scrunching in that way that makes him look at you like how a lion would look at a deer that's wandered into its den with flowers on its antlers.

Enchanted, but still, you're prey.

"Know about what?" You question and he motions towards the stack of paper.

"Divorce?" Your expression falls. "You're asking me how I know about divorce?"

"Yes." He answers with an exhausted huff, before leaning back in his seat, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest and his biceps bulge with the action. "How do you know what a divorce is? Who taught you?"

Is this what it feels like to see red?

"The fuck kind of question is that?!" You hiss, hands clenching into fists, so hard that your knuckles are turning pale. It's a stupid question, but you can tell that Khoa got the answer he wants, the outburst. Especially when you see the way the corners of his mouth twitches, his tongue peeking out from between pearly teeth, pointed canines on either side of the wet muscle.

"Darling, you're clearly overly emotional. You're not thinking this through."

God, this is making you rethink the half a decade you spent married to this gaslighting, manipulative, psychotic and aggravating man.

"How about we take a nice, long hot bath, and we can talk out our problems like grown ups, instead of being childish and pulling the divorce card, hm?" Khoa goads you, lifting himself from his seat across from you and rounding the kitchen table, his hand grasping your jaw in a firm yet gentle hold, before leaning down, pressing a kiss against your lips before he pulls away, and moves towards the bedroom, ready to fill the ensuite tub with scalding water and a plethora of bubbles.

"As if a bullshit law could stop me." Khoa hums, softly but loud enough for you to hear that melodious chuckle slip from his lips.

"No order can restrain me, darling. None."

When you make your way towards the end suite, that seductive scent makes your footsteps stagger and you need to gather your bearings before continuing.

The scent of oud, woody and cardamon cling to the air alongside the slightest hint of chocolate, and the flickering of golden candlelight makes you cringe inwardly.

Steamy air makes it almost difficult to see, bathroom tiles slippery with condensation and fogged up shower doors and you gaze drops to where Minhkhoa rests at one edge of the tub, arms outstretched along the porcelain and honey-toned knees poking out from between foamy suds. Damp, inky hair clings to his forehead, his broad chest wet and dripping with water, and you shrug off your clothing as he turns his head away from you.

A feign of modesty and respectfulness, when Khoa is anything but.

His very existence is a crime against humanity.

A cesspool that wraps a hand around your wrist, tugging you closer to him once you step into the tub and you sink beneath the water, popping bubbles and suds kissing at the flesh of your chest and shoulders when you lean back against his broadness. Feeling the way squishy pecs and carved abs press against the curve of your spine and his arms wrap around your midsection.

Face nestling against the curve of your neck.

"You want to leave, sweet girl? Why?" Khoa questions, his voice a low, husky timbre and when it's paired with the steam that clouds your vision just a bit, the scent of spices and sweetness....

God.

You feel guilty that you've wasted printing ink on all those documentations because you know— you just know that even if Batman himself interfered and Superman was his hype man, no one could free you from the skilled and... Oddly nimble clutches of Minhkhoa Khan.

You swallow, trying to find exactly why you want to leave him.

Rude.

Unapologetic.

Psychotic.

Possessive.

Territorial.

Demeaning.

Manipulative.

Certified gaslighter.

"You don't take me seriously."

You respond, your voice small and you know damn well that you could belt at the top of your lungs, you could argue for hours and you could give Khoa a black eye by the end of this bath, but calloused fingertips trace slippery infinities at your side while his lips brush teasing kisses along the curve of your neck.

"I take you seriously." Khoa argues, his head lifting the slightest bit and he dips, his eyes meeting yours and you see that little furrow in his brows.

"I take you very seriously."

One very skilled and very muscular hand dips even lower, fingers circling your slippery clit and you're not sure if you're even breathing anymore. Not when one hand clutches your jaw gently, forcing you to keep eye contact with him, while his other hand makes teasing ministrations that make you glad that your feet are hidden underneath the bubbles.

Heaven knows Khoa would have a field day watching your toes curl while you're trying to explain to him why you want a divorce.

It feels like looking into the eyes of a cobra.

A dark brown canvas, painted with slivers of gold and yellow, hazel flecks and chocolate streaks that make his eyes look like a marble, pulling you into the endless vortex that are those endless pupils.

Strands of wet obsidian cling to his forehead and the back of his neck, Khoa's head tilts as he examines you even more carefully. Like a scientist looking at an insect underneath a microscope and he lets out one of those low, purring hums that make your ankles itch to be the accessories that decorate his earlobes.

"I take you more seriously than anyone else."

He speaks quietly, before lowering his head, brushing his lips against yours just as two fingers slide gently into your gummy cunt, and he inhales just as you take that shaky gasp, reveling in the way your lashes flutter shut and your hips buck, trying to take him all the way.

"Eyes on me." Khoa breathes out with a low hum, his fingers tracing over your jaw while his other hand continues to work beneath the surface of the water, watching with pure adoration as your eyes flicker open.

And Khoa gets to watch, in seemingly slow motion, as your lips part to let out a whine, as your eyes roll back in your head when his fingers push all the way in, his wedding band flush against your fleshy pussy lips.

If you thought there was nothing more hypnotizing than watching Khoa's eyes roam over you like he's trying to burn your image into his brain, you realise that it has nothing on the way he shifts against the bubbly waters.

Resting you back against the porcelain, Khoa positions himself between your thighs, carefully guiding your legs to part for him before he slowly sinks, his eyes remaining on yours.

And they only shut when he has to pass through the bubbly surface.

Muscular hands grasp the fat of your hips, lifting you just enough for him to make himself comfortable, and your stomach clenches when you feel the way his tongue drags through your folds, tasting you.

Two fingers slide into your cunt and you feel the way he prods at that little gummy spot he's always found with far too much ease and his tongue circles your needy clit. You feel the way his pointed nose bumps at your hood, your fingers lowering beneath the frothy surface and your nails scratch at his scalp, digits entangling themselves in his hair.

Khoa groans beneath the water and you don't bother wondering why he knows how to hold his breath so long. Because it's Minhkhoa and he's got a set of skills that go hand in hand with his job.

With each pass of his tongue and each thrust of his knuckles, Minhkhoa feels the way your cunt spasms as your orgasm nears, and your chest heaves.

"Khoa, I—..." You breathe shakily, one hand gripping the edge of the tub while the other remains knotted in his hair, raven tresses wrapped around your fingers as you push his face closer to your drooling and overstimulated cunt.

Khoa teases your clit with the tip of his tongue, before soft lips find purchase around the bud, and your lashes flutter, eyes slamming shut and stars begin to dance behind your eyelids. Because you know he's doing this with purpose.

A leisurely tongue fuck that has your mind racing for ways to not inflate his ego by coming too fast, but it's too late because by the time you get to the conclusion of thinking about his past lovers, your toes are curling and you're coming around his fingers.

Khoa doesn't stop either, fingers bullying your cunt like they owe him money, suckling and teasing your clit until it swells, peeking out from between velvety folds and it's only when your hand moves to his forehead, meek attempts to push him away do nothing but egg him on, but Khoa raises his head nonetheless.

The crown of his head pierces the bubbles, and he cards his hand through his hair, pushing the strands back and you watch as he kneels, water dropping down his toned torso in rivulets and bubbles and his eyes open.

Half-lidded gaze with wet lashes and you're panting, reaching forward and using your dry hand to wipe the water away from his eyes.

Khoa lets out an amused hum, and thats all he does before carefully repositioning you, holding you like you're porcelain and cradling you in his lap.

Like you're precious.

He guides your hands to rest on his broad chest, positioning them in a way that you can feel the calm, steady beat of his heart beneath sunkissed flesh and he watches as you raise yourself just enough, your legs still weak as you wait for Khoa's next move.

Carefully, notching the flushed tip of his cock against your slit, and Khoa's eyes remain on yours as he guides you to sink slowly, his eyes only fluttering shut once the curve of your ass is flush against his sack.

Each inch is a tantalizing and burning stretch, the kind that makes you wonder how you're even surviving because regardless of whether or not Khoa fucks you like he's a rabbit in heat, you never get used to the stretch.

His cock presses a sloppy kiss against your cervix, precum leaving his tip in thick, goopy drops and smearing against your fluttering and gooey walls, and he gives an experimental roll of his hips.

Feeling the way your nails threaten to break the skin of his chest and Khoa lets out a low groan, head tipping back against the porcelain before he runs his tongue over his teeth.

Candles have flickered out, the bathroom is relatively darker but you can still make out that animalistic glint in Khoa's eyes as he regards you, hands moving to grasp the curve of your hips beneath the surface of the water, fingers digging into the plumpness.

He keeps you from moving, forcing you to sit and feel each twitch of his cock against your constricting walls, but being unable to do anything about the way he just so shyly avoids that spongy spot.

Khoa wants nothing more than to watch you bounce on his cock, to feel the hot water lap at his torso with each of your movements but he knows you need to learn your lesson.

"Go on, lovely." Khoa urges you. "Explain to me why we need a divorce, again."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@fayethefaerie 🦋

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@allycat4458 ����

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

@titchx0 🦆

[sassatoru]

GHOST OR BAT?

pairing. batfam + ghostmaker x ghostbat!reader

summary. reader is a dna mix of ghostmaker and batman.

warnings. ghostbat drama, Minhkhoa Khan, I’m confused, cursing, canon typical violence.

a/n. I am bored out of my mind, might become a mini series. That I just randomly add stuff to. The mask referred to is kinda like Jason’s from red hood and the outlaw just minus the eye cover.

wc. 0.8k (not proofread)

You kept to your spot beside Talia, staying alert to the people in front of you. Batman and his children, plus Ghostmaker. You remembered reading up on each of them, studying all of them.

You eyes were focused on the oldest of the Batkids, Dick Grayson. He’d be your biggest problem, the man was severely underestimated but in Talia’s eyes he’d be the most capable assassin if he wanted to.

Cassandra Cain, you knew her. You fought her, you looked different then though, and by her stance you assumed she hadn’t connected the dots but she remained watching you.

Jason Todd, you helped train him. Never with your mask off, and you never spoke. Only ever instructed to fight him till he learnt.

Tim Drake. Held in high regard among the league, with smarts to match that of Batman’s. But not much of a problem, you’d have no problem with him.

Your eyes glided over to the youngest of the bunch, Damian. You’d die before letting your blade touch him, and he’d hesitate before raising his against you. He didn’t know you truely, you didn’t even know yourself truely. But he knew you’ve protected him.

Behind your mask you glared at the tallest two in the room. But your hands kept the same elegant hold on your swords, like Talia taught you.

Batman, Bruce Wayne. The world’s greatest detective. Truthfully you’ve always wanted to fight him, see how long you’d last, see if you could take him down. But that wasn’t going to happen unless he attacked, and he wouldn’t. He was smarter than that.

You glanced at the man in white, face masked so his expression remained covered. Minhkhoa Khan, the Ghostmaker. Not much was known about him, but the League of Assassins or anyone for that matter. He’d be the most unpredictable, you think.

“Mother,” Damian addressed the woman beside you. You remained stationary as she walked towards her son, brow raised in slight alarm as you stepped closer hesitantly, watching the others.

Damian moved through the crowd of his siblings to step before his mother, they greeted before he nodded to you, acknowledging your presence.

“Dear,” Talia called to you, she’d never used your name, saying that it was your secret to reveal so she only ever called you ‘dear’.

“You may speak,” she sighed softly, a strange softness in her voice. But you ignored it and nodded in response, she turned to the crowd of vigilantes.

“I suggest your other children leave,” Talia says. “The matter I’ve come to discuss is… personal. In a sense.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the assassin woman before nodding, earning a groan from each of his children, who begrudgingly walked away towards the stairs that lead back to the manor.

“Damian stay,” Talia ordered, the boy halted his movements and stepped to his father’s side.

Now the room remained with five people in it. Ghostmaker, Batman, Damian, Talia and you.

“I have some rather—“

“Disturbing,” you offered, voice distorted due to your mask. Khoa raised a brow at the robotic voice, good way to keep yourself hidden.

“Yes,” she nodded. “This child,” she motioned to you. “Happens to be a mix of the two of you.” She then motioned to Bruce and Khoa. Both of whom stared at you in response.

“Disturbing, all right.” Khoa murmured to himself, watching you, analysing you. Though he couldn’t be too surprised, considering Damian Wayne.

Bruce glared at you, “you’re lying.”

“I wish,” you scoffed, glaring back at him. Your eyes shadowed by your hood, and voice distorted by the mask that only covered the lower half of your face.

—

The three of you stood in silence after Damian and Talia left the room, neither of you looking at each other.

“You’re sick,” Bruce mutters, glaring at Talia before pointing at you.

“The child is a wonder of science, if anything i did you both a favour.” Talia shrugs, Bruce raising a brow in response.

“Enlighten me.”

“Think, a child with both your skills. The perfect weapon,” Talia replies. Khoa nods slightly, thinking it through, the perfect weapon.

“So, how many kills, kid?” Khoa speaks up, causing you to shift your gaze to Talia who nods.

“I don’t count them, they’re insignificant to me.” You mutter, detached, Bruce thinks, just like Khoa.

The Ghostmaker nods in understanding, as if he were impressed with the answer. “Smart girl.”

“Why did you come here? I doubt you were doing anyone a favour by exposing your secret.” Bruce asks Talia.

“I need you to look after her, i will be gone for a while. And i don’t trust my father with her, and i don’t trust her not to try and kill him again. She’ll be here also to watch over Damian.”

“Why?” Bruce presses, and Talia doesn’t bother answering as she’s already gone

All eyes turn to you, watching you as intently as you watched each of them. Now what?

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[gatorbites-imagines]

pls minhkhoa khan/ghostmaker relationship head-canons

Minhkhoa Khan x male reader

Relationship headcanons

I don’t know much about being diagnosed as a psychopath, so I’m not gonna involve that part of Khoas character, since I don’t wanna make assumptions about it.

It’s said that Khoa doesn’t feel empathy or fear though, which is interesting.

I’ve always imagined Khoa is someone who shows his affection through physical items, like an expensive watch or a personally tailored suit. Maybe even a brand-new car, or even a whole new apartment in the most expensive part of town.

I can’t see him as someone who verbalizes his love very much, like he wouldn’t say I love you multiple times a way. Instead, he would give you a gift, or squeeze you extra tight when you hug or kiss you extra longingly.

If you are a vigilante like him, he would make sure you had the best gear as well, to keep you safe. He would absolutely love to spar with you too, and its one of the easiest and fastest ways to get him riled up.

Outside of sparring, he loves to watch you wear his clothes or the stuff he’s bought for you. He always gets this curled smile on his lips as he saunters towards you, grabbing your hips or crawling up the bed and lying beside you.

His hands wander when you guys are together, it doesn’t even have to be anything sensual. Khoa just likes to touch you and be in contact with you at all times.

Khoa has a bit of an ego, so you have to stroke it sometimes. He can’t help but puff up a bit and chuckle when you call him handsome or squeeze his muscles and whistle about how he seems buffer than normal. Even if its just jokes, he likes it.

If you aren’t a vigilante, expect to be taught how you protect yourself. That’s a necessity to date him, if he truly cares about you, he is gonna train you. Khoa is not a kind teacher, but he always patches you up afterwards and will give you all the kisses and gifts you could want.

He doesn’t praise your work if it isn’t good though, he had very rough trainers himself, so he isn’t gonna compliment shabby work. This is when you’d figure out how seeing you being strong and lethal gets him going, if you hadn’t figured it out before.

You have to be okay with murder, since that’s one of the reasons he does what he does. Even better if you have the same morals at him, expect him to purr flirty comments into the comms when he sees you break a neck or take someone out.

You are gonna meet Batman at least a few times, those two are connected in one way or another. You don’t have to worry about being jealous though, with Batman or anyone else, Khoa is loyal to a T when you guys become official, and he expects the same from you.

It is kinda fun to make him a little jealous sometimes, if glares could kill the person flirting with you would go up in flames and cease to exist. Khoa always make sure you know who your partner is, one way or another.

Arguments can be pretty tense with him, especially if neither of you like to apologize. I can’t see him being super emotional and mushy, so after an argument you two would both go by yourself to cool off.

If he is in the wrong, he would come back later with flowers or something you like, would kiss you softly and hold you and quietly say he’s sorry. If you are the one in the wrong, you can do the same and he would forgive you.

If you guys get married, you know damn well your wedding is gonna be expensive. Even if you want something lowkey, your wedding is gonna cost enough that it leaves you feeling faint. The rings probably cost more money then you have ever seen, but seeing Khoa puff up like a proud peacock seeing you wear it, makes you feel like cautious about it.

[hattersrabbit]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

ao3 | MASTERLIST | SERIES

REQUESTS OPEN!

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

what i do write!

character x reader

character x character

poly relationships

male, female, nonbinary, gn (specify in requests)

smut

dub-con (only applies to yandere/dark fics)

what i don't write!

non-con

no incest or stepcest

adult x child romantic relationship

will not age up nor will i write for child/teenage characters in romantic tense

homophobia, sexism,biphobia, anti-semitism, or transphobia, racism, xenophobia is explicitly prohibited and you will be blocked if so

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑

꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑

BUNGO STRAY DOGS

dazai , chuuya , atsushi , akutagawa , ranpo , fukuzawa , fitzgerald , poe , mushitaro , sigma , fyodor , nikolai, yosano, kunikida, tachihara, jouno, techou, fyodor, nikolai, bram, ango

MORTAL KOMBAT

liu kang , kung lao, human! raiden, kitana , mileena, bi-han , scorpion! kuai liang, sub-zero! kuai liang, smoke, syzoth, ashrah , baraka, shang tsung, tanya, johhny cage, kenshi takahashi, fujin, nightwolf, hanzo hasashi (MK 9-11), erron black

DC

batman, battinson, superman, wonderwoman, hal jordan, barry allen, john stewart, martian manhunter, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, zatanna, john constantine, green arrow, harley quinn, poison ivy, selina kyle, sofia falcone, batfamily (platonic only!), ghostmaker, cassandra cain, stephanie brown, barbara gordon

MARVEL

steve rogers, bucky barns, peter parker, wanda maximoff, stephen strange, deadpool, wolverine, thor, loki, gambit, rouge, nightcrawler, storm, avengers (can be romantic or platonic), miguel, spiderverse (platonic only), johnny blaze

MOUTHWASHING

curly, anya, daisuke, swansea, tulpar crew (platonic only!)

CREEPYPASTA

jeff the killer, eyeless jack, laughing jack, jane the killer, ticci toby, masky, hoodie, bloody painter,puppeteer, nina the killer (2021), nurse ann, kate the chaser

FIVE NIGHT'S AT FREDDY'S

mike schmidt, vanessa shelly, michael afton

[ragingbookdragon]

How about 92 with ghost maker? Thank you!

I hope you know I spent like fifteen minutes looking between webpages on men's haircuts >:(

92. Cutting their hair for them

***

“I hope you know,” she started, holding a loose grip of his hair between two of her fingers, shears pointed sideways, opening to start cutting, “that I’m a classically trained pianist and model, not a hairstylist.”

He didn’t even bother to open his eyes as he replied, “I’m aware of your professions.”

“So, why do you want me to cut your hair when there is someone who can do this without fucking up?”

“Because I trust you to not fuck it up.”

“K, sweetheart, that’s not how this works,” she stressed, using the comb to brush out the strands she had just cut, making sure the length was even. “I don’t know how to cut someone’s hair.”

“You cut that Lantern’s hair.”

Her brows furrowed. “What Lantern?”

“The pilot.”

“Oh! Hal!” she waved the hand holding the comb, snipping another length of his hair. “That was an undercut. Those aren’t hard to do. Keep it long at the crown and top, threes on the sides.” She combed her fingers through the vigilante’s brown hair. “You’ve always kept it shorter on the sides and longer on the top. Sort of a mix between a slick back and sweep.”

“Uh huh,” he drawled on, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and she gripped the scissors.

I could do it. She thought. I could just cut a chunk right out of the center of his head, and he’d have to shave it all off to make it even. Her lips pursed. Oh God, never mind. I remember what he looked like with a buzz-cut. It was horrible.

“You stopped cutting,” Ghost-Maker noted. “Something on your mind?”

“Just denying myself the urge to stab you in the jugular with my fabric shears.”

“So depraved of your inherent violence, Miss Wayne,” he tutted. “I don’t know how you live day to day.”

“Meditation and silence are both a given,” she shot back. “Maybe try it sometime.”

“Touchy touchy,” he noted, clicking his tongue and she almost snarled at him as she tugged his head to the side with a section of his hair.

“I have very sharp scissors in my hands, K. Mock me at your own peril.”

[dc-fanfic-sideblog]

Ok so

Uhhhhhhh batfam/DC character fic that I’ve had brewing in my head for awhile but never did anything about it until now

Fem!reader x various DC characters (romantic and/or platonic depending on the characters i include)

Also reader is a theatre kid in this, because you have no choice and you’ll read why anyways

Edit: now tagged under #costume designer!reader

⚠️beware lots of parentheses because I have ADHD and many extra thoughts⚠️

So, reader is majoring in costume design for theatre (wow self insert much) at Gotham University (not originally from Gotham because i think it’s funnier) and she wants to interview villains from Arkham, vigilantes, and heros for like a portfolio thing (I’m tired and making this up as i go shhhh)

And so she interviews the villains first because it would be more difficult to get their trust if they interviewed the heroes first

So, they get permission from the asylum somehow (probably by Bruce Wayne) and she gets to take notes and record their conversations but specifically creates a contact that the reader and whatever interviewee both sign that makes an agreement no information will be traded or bought from either parties

So reader starts with the villains, moves to the vigilantes, and finally the heroes because they will be the easiest to gain their trust

Probably traveling around to Metropolis and interviewing Superman and Wonder Woman

I definitely want to include the batfam and the justice league, Ghostmaker, maybe even Vigilante just because i think he’s funny (I KNOW he’s in Washington or whatever but he’ll find a way)

Damien Wayne is a kid, Jason is Red Hood, Tim is… happening and i don’t know about Duke but I’ll figure it out

So of course the word gets out about the fact that a college students is INTERVIEWING THE FUCKING VILLAINS IN ARKHAM, and reporter people are going absolutely bonkers

Bombarding reader on the way to the asylum and only leaving her alone when she gets to the gates with her special visitor ID, so maybe Batman might even make it a point to escort reader to ensure her safety

Now, at first, the Arkham patients are EXTREMELY suspicious over reader, questioning if she’s like an informant for the heroes. But after she gains their trust they actually start having fun answering her questions and telling her stories.

The villains are basically befriending reader and going “if anyone fucks with you, I’ve got people on the streets that can fuck THEM up”

So far I’ve only got ideas for the villain part, but I’ll get to the vigilantes and heroes later

The only thing I’m worried about is timelines and how much knowledge i actually have on the DC universe but I’m hyperfixating on it now so I’m just kinda doing it for the shits and giggles

DC fanboys scare me so stay away

Uhhh i have more little ideas for this but I’ll save that for another post because I don’t want to try and organize this

[vigilante-fangirl]

Lost in Evergreen: A New Assignment, Unlikely Allies

Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader

Prompt: On your first day in Evergreen, everything goes awry as you struggle to find your footing. Comical mishaps and Vigilante tries to kill you what else could go wrong?

Warnings: None for right now? Spoilers for season 1 finale of peacemaker

{Part 2}

It was your first day in Evergreen, and things were not going as smoothly as you had hoped. You couldn't help but feel completely lost, both figuratively and literally. As you aimlessly roamed the town's streets, dragging your feet and constantly glancing down at your phone, beads of nervous sweat formed on your forehead. Being new in town was proving to be more daunting than you had anticipated.

Your primary objective for the day was to locate the base of operations for the new task force you had been assigned to. Amanda Waller, the formidable woman in charge, had personally handpicked you for this mission following the incident that had brought you to her attention. Naively, you had thought it was a promotion, a chance to prove yourself and make a real difference. But when you excitedly relayed the news to your handler, Harcourt, over the phone, her laughter shattered your expectations.

Now, as you wandered through the unfamiliar streets, doubt crept into your mind. Maybe this assignment was a demotion, a way to keep you out of the spotlight and prevent any further mishaps. The memory of Harcourt's laughter echoed in your thoughts, intensifying the feelings of inadequacy that had been brewing within you.

As you continued your aimless trek, a mix of frustration and uncertainty weighed heavily on your shoulders. Each passing moment only deepened the sense of being lost, not just geographically, but also in terms of your purpose. Doubts nagged at you, fueling a fear of failure and reinforcing the notion that you were ill-prepared for the task at hand.

But deep down, a flicker of determination remained. Despite the setbacks and the self-doubt, you couldn't let the initial excitement of being chosen for this mission fade away completely. You reminded yourself of the countless hours spent training, the sacrifices made, and the lives you had already saved. There was a reason Amanda Waller had selected you, even if it wasn't immediately clear.

With renewed resolve, you straightened your posture and lifted your head, the nervous sweat now mingling with a newfound determination. You may be new to Evergreen, disoriented and unsure of your place, but you wouldn't let that define you!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks Earlier

Waller slams a thick paper file onto Harcourt's desk, her voice devoid of any emotion. "Here's your new assignment," she states flatly, as your face flashes on the screen, sporting an endearing, dorky smile. "(Y/N) , (Y/L/N), also known as Ghostmaker 2, the sister of the original Ghostmaker, Tanya (Y/L/N). Powers include Flight, intangibility, empathy, and mediumship. (Y/L/N) spent three years lost in the dead realm with her sister, only to return alone. She was a member of the young justice unit but has now become one of Belle Reve's glorified security guards. Not as formidable or ruthless as her predecessor, but she's all we've got. You've worked with her before, so you know the drill," Waller concludes the slide show presentation, displaying more pictures of you. "After my daughter's mishap, Task Force X needs more credible heroes to improve our image. We need a team that's not just black ops, but also focused on state security. She may not be suitable for the League, but we can shape her into what we require."

Harcourt sighs in irritation, flipping through the extensive field report on the table. "Waller, you can't be serious," she protests.

"Your team might have one last time but they also suffered a defeat at the hands of the butterflies. You lost a member and all of you suffered extensive injures. I have intel suggesting that they're recruiting humans and planning another invasion. Having a metahuman on your team should make it easier to eliminate this threat. You've dealt with it before, haven't you? So, what's one more time? Now, get going," Waller orders, pointing towards the door with a firm gesture.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cut to Now

You confidently stride into the only restaurant that doesn't look horrendous on the inside. A teenager, engrossed in her phone, barely glances up at you before greeting, "Hi! Welcome to Fennel Fields! How can I help you toda-" Her sentence trails off as she finally lifts her head, fixing her gaze on your attire, her head tilting in confusion.

"Table for one, please!" you cheerfully request, oblivious to your appearance. You're still donning your hero costume, a spandex purple unitard with light purple accents, adorned with a long cloak and amulets on your wrists and neck. After flying to this small town, you simply hadn't found the time to change out of your outfit. You assumed your handler, Harcourt, would be waiting for you, but she's nowhere to be found.

"Okay... Right this way, ma'am," the teen responds with a faint grimace, leading you to a booth. You plop down, eagerly grabbing the menu and flipping through its pages. Unbeknownst to you, a certain busboy and the rest of the staff are observing you with a mixture of confusion and amusement. It's a slow day, and the place is practically empty. 

"Ohh! They have Italian! I love Italian!" you exclaim with glee. After spending a year in Belle Reve, where the food is far from divine, the prospect of real, delicious cuisine is almost too good to be true. You proceed to order an excessive amount of food, calling the waiter over every ten minutes to try something new. You don't even manage to finish everything, only sampling a bit of each dish.

Once you've finished your meals, the bill arrives. "Yeesh! I ate way too much!" you laugh, reaching down by your side, only to feel a sinking feeling in your chest. You had your luggage shipped to the assigned hotel, leaving you without any money—no cash, not even your iPhone. All you have is a cheap prepaid phone and lip balm. Panic sets in as you nervously scan the surroundings.

"It's okay! I can just... slip away and come back later with the money! Yeah, it's not dining and dashing if I return later. Besides, how many people have I saved? I deserve a free meal!" you reassure yourself, beads of sweat forming on your forehead as you slump down in the booth. But before you can attempt to vanish, a hand forcefully slams down on the table, jolting you upright.

"Finding everything okay?" the young man says, attempting to mask the harshness in his voice. "Fucking cosplayers, they give actual heroes a bad name!" he silently grumbles, disappointment replacing his initial excitement of seeing another hero in Evergreen. To him, you're just another runaway looking for a free meal, and he won't stand idly by while you commit a crime.

"Yessss?" you squeak, squinting as you read his name tag. "A-Adrian? Just rummaging around in my old handbag," you nervously reply, plastering a smile on your face as a million thoughts race through your mind, desperately searching for an exit strategy.

He leans over, peering into your conspicuously empty handbag, then glances back at you. "I don't see a wallet," he remarks, raising an eyebrow.

You grit your teeth, feeling a surge of embarrassment washes over you. Not only do you have to rely on your powers to escape, but now you've managed to attract the attention of the "restaurant police." If only this guy weren't so cute, despite his "I'm going to murder you" stare. You just dip right in front of him. His icy green eyes pierce through your soul as you scramble to think of a convincing lie. Ultimately, you decide to tell the truth.

"I don't exactly... have... a... wallet, per se," you reluctantly admit.

"Then how will you be paying?" he inquires, his eyebrow still raised.

"GASP! Do you think I'm planning to dine and dash? Sir, I am offended! I will be paying in cold, hard cas—look, a gorilla!" you exclaim, pointing dramatically in the opposite direction. Adrian, naively falling for the diversion, glances over, momentarily distracted. Seizing the opportunity, you phase through the booth seat, reappearing outside the restaurant. By the time he turns his gaze back, you're already gone. "Oh no you don't, criminal!" he declares, dashing to the window, staring at you while you taunt him from the other side, blowing raspberries and running away. To your surprise, he mirrors your actions. You respond by giving him the finger while sticking out your tongue, and he mimics you. You can't tell if he's being playful or malicious but you continue running until the restaurant window is out of sight, feeling an exhilarating sense of giddiness as you don your cloak once again, pulling out your phone 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's dusk now as you're still wandering around Evergreen. "Youre the worst handler Harcourt!" You yell into thin air stomping your feet. Your phone died an hour ago to add to your worse luck. "This is what I get for dining and dashing..." You sigh as you jump to take flight a knife whizzes through you. Luckily you phase right as it's about to hit you dead in the center of your head.

"Ah! So you admit to the crime thief!" A costumed young man emerges from the shadows, his voice filled with righteous anger. His costume is a sleek black suit with a silver emblem on his chest and a matching mask that conceals his identity. He holds another knife in his hand, ready to strike again.

"You really think you can just waltz into town, dine and dash, and get away with it?" His voice is stern. He takes a step closer, his gaze intense as he studies you. You quickly phase through another knife that this mysterious assailant throws at you, narrowly avoiding it once again. "Wait, you've got it all wrong!" you exclaim, desperation lacing your voice. "I'm not a thief, I just... I forgot my wallet, and I didn't mean to dine and dash. It was a mistake! I'm not a bad personnn!"

He narrows his eyes, not fully convinced by your explanation. "A mistake, huh?" he retorts, skepticism evident in his voice. "That's what all criminals say!"

"Wait? How did you know I dined and dashed?" You stand your ground crossing your arms. "I think I would have noticed you at the restaurant?"

Your assailant drops his fighting stance now was his turn to sweat. "I..I have good intel." He says in a matter-of-fact way. You stare at him intently, a sudden realization dawning on you. "Wait a minute," you say, your voice filled with suspicion. "I recognize you. You're the guy from the restaurant, aren't you? Adrian!"

His eyes widen, and his composure falters for a moment. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers, his attempt at nonchalance failing miserably.

 "Oh my god you are!"

[mixingandmelting]

Can you please, pleaseeees🥹 with a chery on top to write some about Minkhoa Khan/Ghost-Maker"🫸🏼🫷🏼🫸🏼🫷🏼🫸🏼🫷🏼

A/N: for him? absolutely. we need more ghost-maker/minkhoa khan for real 😭

What started out as a rescuer and rescued somehow developed to where he would constantly come over to annoy you whenever he’s around, tonight being no exception. 

“You still live like this?” Full out judgement intended as he looks at your unit.  The same furniture and decorations stay in the same exact spot as they were all those years ago when he first met you. A few new kitchen appliances on the kitchen counter here and there though he tries to smother out the tiny flutter in his chest and the one corner of his lip twitching up when he catches sight of the espresso machine he had gotten last year. The very one you threatened to throw out after he decided to give his unfiltered opinion on your go-to instant coffee. 

“It’s called being modest. You should try it sometime; it’ll teach you how to be humble.” There’s no bite in your words despite rolling your eyes at him.

Yet he purses his lip at it. He knows you deserve better, he can treat you better. Hell, he considered multiple times to simply offer you to stay with him in his plane. Just two problems: one, you most definitely would’ve rejected and two, you only know him as Ghost-Maker. 

In as much as he has so many things to say regarding your sense of being “considerate” (like who says no to free money), the latter is the biggest issue. He’s torn between revealing his identity and not, the risk that comes with it swaying back and forth. It leads to the uncharacteristic part of him being indecisive. 

Yet, even Bruce wasn’t willing to put up with him nor try to understand him. But you. You talked with him where you would say things that would match his perspective. Argue with clear cut, stone cold logic just like him. Hell, you almost had him fooled into thinking you were also a psychopath if not for the fact it was from your compassion and empathetic nature that led your first meeting with him where you happened to save him, a random person, the one time he got critically injured. 

Without beating around the bush, he is very much aware he's very attracted to you and will probably get worse over time. For now, he’ll continue to nitpick on your clothes you're currently wearing while getting Icon to get your measurements so he could drop off some fashionably acceptable ones when he sneaks in again tomorrow.

[sassatoru]

MERCENARY pt. two

pairing. batfam x batsis!reader

warnings. languages death/murder, gun violence

summary. reader is bruce wayne’s unofficial daughter and a mercenary. she doesn’t frequent gotham until she gets paid to kill the joker. previous part

When you woke up you were in the Batcave. You were in big trouble, big big trouble. Why? Well...

The Joker was dead,

you family knows that you're The Knight,

and lastly you lied to Alfred

You could still walk, you only passed from exhaustion killing the Joker had been easier than you thought it would be, but getting away from the scene of the crime was very hard.

You slipped into Arkham thanks to Harley Quinn who pretended to be a guard and let you in through a secret tunnel, if she had stayed getting out would've been a lot easier but you couldn't risk her getting caught so you told her to leave, lying that you had an exit strategy.

You had made it out of Arkham successfully but when you were out all the Gotham Knights where there - it made you feel special if you weren't gonna lie - waiting for you, even Red Hood who looked like he didn't want to be there.

You took them down one by one - having known all there strengths and weaknesses, and weak spots - till eventually you were left with one.

And there he stood Batman, The Dark Knight something that contrasted your name the White Knight, you knew that you could take him down with some time but that was time you didn't have so you got in a fighting stance and when Bruce lunged you ran.

From roof to roof and Batman eventually accompanied by his birds and idiot sidekicks followed and when instead of jumping you dropped, they were all a little confused until they saw a speeding away. Damian was impressed. In the end they still got you and here you all where, every single pair of eyes on you.

"Sooo?" you smiled awkwardly "how's everyone feeling?"

"confused" came Duke's voice, everyone glared at him minus you who smiled at him gratefully.

"Mercenary?" Jason, he didn't sound pissed probably 'cause you just killed the Joker "What were there no other occupations available?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bruce asked and everyone was quiet once again. You sighed "If I told you what would you have said?"

"I-"

"No, Bruce you wouldn't have supported me. Not the way you do everyone else" you took a breath to control yourself "and that's understandable, y'know but you wouldn't have accepted me either, and don't lie about how you would."

"She has a point father"

"Damian-"

"Don't get angry at him"

"Don't tell me how to raise my son!"

"Your son! What about your daughter?!"

And that's when the argument flared, you were trying to avoid this but somethings just need to happen to resolve issues.

Everyone slowly started to back away from the heated argument, everyone but Damian and Jason who stood by your side the entire time.

"Where'd you even learn to fight like this?!"

Bruce looked at you expecting an answer, but you were far to ashamed to admit who had taught you to fight.

"Khoa" you mumbled in hopes that nobody would hear you over the water in the background, but they did. You knew this would happen one day, Bruce would finally tell you to piss off and never show your face unless he needed you to.

Bruce wasn't sure what to say. He didn't think Ghost-Maker of all people would take you in and train you, his old friend now rival. Why?

"Knight"

Everyone's heads snapped towards the entry of the batcave, and there he stood in all his idiotic glory, Khoa Khan. You didn't even know he was in Gotham.

"Ghost" you nodded at him

"You good?" a question that shocked Bruce and Dick

"Yup, just finishing off here" you ruffled Damian's hair with a promise to eventually come visit when things cooled down and squeezed Jason's hand in reassurance that you'd be safe.

You looked at Khoa "I'll be up" and he turned to leave

You walked up to Bruce and everyone else went on to do their own things in the cave pretending like they weren't listening.

"Bruce-"

"Stay safe, I'll uh reach out once I've had time to cool off and think about this" Bruce spoke softly.

You nodded hanging onto his words, "Don't do anything stupid, and please stay safe"

Bruce watched as you walked away from him, he wished he could stop you from following his once friend. You had still left him with so many unanswered questions, a part of him just wished he'd been a more present father than maybe this wouldn't be happening.

But he let you walk away, he knew you'd be safe that's all that mattered to him right now.

"Love you dad" and he smiled.

ᴛᴀɢ/ꜱ: @edgycatx @bbnny @magikhoodie @instantplaiddream @alecmores

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[ragingbookdragon]

Could I get 63 with ghost maker? Thanks!

You're welcome!

63. Bringing them coffee when you know they didn't sleep well

***

Exhaustion rolled over his shoulders with each dull clack along the keyboard, occasionally backspacing when his eyes fuzzed and misspelled the words. He let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair at the head of the Batcomputer, digging the bottom of his palms into his eyes, rubbing until stars burst behind his eyelids. When he opened them, he blinked a few times, waiting for the galaxies to disappear before resuming his constant typing. His siblings were asleep upstairs, and his father was off saving the other side of the world—he could handle report writing; it was better than closing his eyes and seeing nightmarish flashbacks.

Another round of clacking resounded in his ears and he faintly picked up someone’s footsteps from behind before his steaming coffee mug appeared in his line of vision, dark liquid swirling within. “You get your refusal to sleep from your father,” a voice said, accentuating their point by placing their hands on his shoulders, digging their thumbs into his blades.

“Ow,” he hissed as a particular dig made his muscles jolt in pain; he didn’t bother craning his neck to see who it was—he knew already. “That hurts, K.”

Ghost-Maker shrugged, continuing to massage the soldier’s shoulders. “That’s what happens when you don’t stretch before vigorous activity.”

“I’m typing up reports,” he countered. “Not fighting.”

“Poor posture makes for sore back muscles.” He bent down, brushing his lips near the soldier’s ear. “Much more than our routines do.”

He harrumphed, lifting the mug to his lips; he took a sip, then paused and looked at the coffee. “K?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you wash my fucking coffee cup?”

“Of course, I did,” Ghost-Maker replied. “It was a disgusting buildup of multiple uses.”

“I can’t believe you washed my fucking coffee cup. You don’t touch a sailor’s coffee cup.”

“You’ll live.”

“You fucker.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Ghost-Maker x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mature Themes

Author's Note: Based on this ask right here! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Being the only non-vigilante in the family besides Alfred meant that she was the one who was normal. Or abnormal in her family’s case—but hey, they still loved their abnormal sister. She was the one who was able to provide rationality from a civilian perspective, another look from a different lens. She was softer too. Much softer than most of her family, quiet, reserved, kind. She didn’t like fighting. Didn’t like arguing and screaming until throats were raw.

Her nights weren’t usually spent outside fighting crime, though she did help out in the cave from time to time, readying equipment, providing food and drinks for before and after patrol routes. Most nights, she was at her apartment or still working. She liked not being a vigilante. Liked being able to go out with her friends at night and not be burdened by last minute bailouts because Two-Face decided to rob a bank or Penguin started a gang war with Joker.

All that being said, she did know her father’s enemies and friends. Being the first child in the manor and with less than two decades between her and him, his enemies and friends were well-known categories to her. Bruce’s oldest friend during his travels, Ghost-Maker, had also been someone she’d known—at least by story. She’d never met him until the night he showed up and challenged her father. Then he became a member of their family, though she could tell the others were wary—she didn’t blame them, but if she didn’t extend the olive branch, she knew they weren’t going to reach out.

They got along well, in her opinion. She liked to be around him and often felt like Ghost-Maker relaxed around her, even to the point that he spoke of his travels. It was no surprise to either of them when they started a romantic relationship. And while he wasn’t particularly monogamous, he seemed satisfied with her for the time being.

***

It was far, few, and in between when they were all in the cave at once, and not dressed in gear about to go out, but instead to hang around and train. She smiled as Cass and Duke wiped the floor with Jason and Dick. Tim and Damian were butting heads about a video game and Steph was leaning over the back of Barbara’s wheelchair, offering insight to some new update the tech genius was creating. Bruce and Ghost-Maker were leaning against the table, quietly murmuring back and forth to each other—in Latin, she had to note, figuring it was because she was in the middle of them, and they didn’t want her to know; she wasn’t upset.

“Jason, Cass, no hits below the belt,” she called out. “You both know better that.”

Cass nodded, readying her position again, but Jason stopped, propping his hands on his hips as he griped, “Okay, but in real life, people hit below the belt, (Y/N).”

She tutted at him. “Jason, you have to be the bigger person.” Raising a fist, she grinned, “Punch ‘em in the face.”

“I can do that!” he chirped.

“I didn’t mean punch Ca—oh, who am I kidding, he won’t be able to hit her,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest in preparation for the all-out ass-kicking her second younger brother was going to get; she looked over at Bruce. “Wanna bet on them?”

He chuckled. “Ten on Cass.”

“But I was choosing Cass!” she pouted, then pursed her lips. “Fine. I’ll up it to twenty on Jason.”

“Do you two bet on your family often?” Ghost-Maker asked, and she looked over.

“When it’s a high-stakes match.” (Y/N) nodded at the two siblings circling one another, Duke and Dick had moved off the mats. “Jason and Cass are two of the best fighters alive. Each are capable of going hand to hand with Bruce and lasting for a quite a while.” She looked back at him. “When they really hit their primes, they’ll be better than you and dad.”

He snorted. “There are few people who are better than me and Bruce.”

(Y/N) propped a hand on her hip. “This coming from the man who gets his ass kicked every time you and my dad fight?”

“This coming from the woman who can’t fight at all?” he shot back, and her cheeks warmed, jaw snapping closed at the retort.

“I chose not to fight because I don’t believe in violence.”

“You literally just told him to punch someone in the face.”

“Just because I don’t believe in hitting people doesn’t mean I can’t tell someone. It’s just speech. Words.”

“I think you’re making excuses,” he smirked.

(Y/N) glared. “I think you’re being a jerk.”

“Nice comeback. Did you get it from a laffy taffy wrapper?”

Even Bruce snorted at that one and she couldn’t help but shift her weight between her feet as embarrassment flooded her body. “You are such a nasty person. Rude and nasty and mean.”

Ghost-Maker cocked a brow, at least she thought he did. “Aw, are you upset that I’m faster at firing off than you are?”

She scoffed. “Thanks for reminding me why we stopped screwing. Maybe the next time we do, you’ll fire second?” This time, his jaw went slack, and he gaped at her, but she was quick to add, “And for the record, being rude and condescending doesn’t make you look cool. It just makes you look like an asshole. But you’d know a lot about that, huh?”

“I think I know much more than you do, Primadonna.”

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh? So, what do you want me to call you? Miss Snobby?”

She turned to face him. “I’m warning you.”

“I’ve got it! Miss Prude!”

THWAP!

She’d let her fist fly before she even knew what she was doing and not even Ghost-Maker was able to react fast. He reached up, grabbing his nose as blood spilled out his nostrils, staining the rim of the cloth mask he wore. The noise in the cave stilled as everyone turned to face their eldest sister, all gaping, though Jason and Cass wore proud looks. Even Bruce had no idea how to react.

(Y/N), with hot cheeks, thrust a finger in his face and griped, “Newsflash, Ghost-Maker. The Wayne Family motto is ‘talk shit, get hit’.” She sped off towards the stairs, half out of embarrassment, the other half of giddy adrenaline. “I’m going home! Goodnight!”

Ghost-Maker merely watched her back as she left, blinking in stunned silence; Bruce snickered. “My daughter isn’t a vigilante, K. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t train her to defend herself.”

He shot his friend a glare and wiped his nose, feeling the sting, starting to walk off. “Go shove it.”

“And just where are you going?”

“You heard her,” he grinned. “The next time we screwed I had to fire second. Besides, someone’s gotta drive her home.”

Bruce was already starting after him. “That is my daughter you’re talking about! Get back here damnit! I will not let you taint her!”

“She’s already been tainted by me, old friend. Many times.”

“I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT, K! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

[ragingbookdragon]

My Love For You Was Bulletproof, But You're The One Who Shot Me

Ghost-Maker x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: Y'all asked for it and now I have delivered! Based on this ask, it's the fic that's going to ruin all of you! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She knew she’d meet her end at the hands of vigilantism. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d die before she was fifty either by a stray bullet or a knife through the ribs. Maybe a death squad sent by Ra’s or some other homicidal maniac. But never in all her years as a vigilante, did she ever think she’d be staring down her death at the hands of her oldest friend. Of the man she loved—and thought loved her too.

***

“This is your fault,” she scowled, slamming her fists against the sides of the metal wall. “I told you this was a trap, but did you listen to me? Noooo, Ghost-Maker knows everything.”

“Oh please, you’re the one who pushed us,” he retorted, tapping his gauntlet and she looked over her shoulder, seeing him leaning against one of the other walls without a care in the world.

“I pushed us because we were about to be squished by spiked walls, genius.” Her glare darkened and she looked around the metal box. “And now we’re stuck in this…in this thing.”

“Look on the bright side,” he offered. “No impaling walls in sight.”

“I’m going to murder you, Ghost-Maker,” she retorted, then a click sounded, and the walls fell away, revealing an electrified cage, much bigger than the box. “What the fu—”

“Well, look who I caught!” a voice pitched and they turned, seeing Riddler in some kind of theatre box, his feet propped up on the railing. “Ghost-Maker and Widow-Maker! Now isn’t this surprising?”

She scowled at the supervillain, pointing at him. “When I get out of this, I’m going to plant my foot in your ass.”

Riddler tsked at her. “Now, now, Widow-Maker, that’s no way to treat a host.”

“A host to uninvited guests held against their will,” Ghost-Maker interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want with us?”

“Now isn’t that the million-dollar question,” he replied, then clicked a button on his cane, and a wall outside the cage slid up, revealing five civilians tied to chairs, some type of collar around their necks.

Her eyes widened. “What the hell?” she shot Riddler a glare. “What are you playing at?”

He cleared his throat and stood up. “I want to play a game, Widow-Maker. Or better yet, I want you and Ghost-Maker to play a game.”

The two vigilantes shared a glance then Ghost-Maker stepped forward. “And what game is that?”

Riddler grinned. “I want you and Widow-Maker to beat each other to death.”

She huffed a laugh. “That’s not a game. That’s a death trap.”

“True. But there is an objective to the trap.” He tipped his head to the people. “One of you dies…or they all die.”

“You’re bluffing,” she retorted, and he merely blinked and pressed a button.

One of the collars started beeping profusely, and the woman’s eyes widened in terror as she screamed behind the gag.

“Wait! Okay!” she yelled. “Stop!”

Riddler clicked the button again. “I don’t bluff, Widow-Maker.” He reached over and pressed a new button and numbers flashed on a sign above the cage—ten minutes. “You’ve got ten minutes or you all die.”

She frowned at the supervillain, quietly asking, “Ghost, what do we do?” hearing no response, she looked over. “Ghost?”

A hand shot out, cracking her across the jaw and she went to her knees, one hand coming to grip her jaw, the other fumbling along the floor for grip. She pulled her hand from her face—her lip had been split open and blood flowed down her chin.

“Ah, what the hell!” she screeched, turning her head to look up at him, but he gave no response, coming down at her with one of his swords. “Jesus Chr—” she rolled out of the way and scrambled to her feet, holding out her arms in a defensive pose. “Ghost, what are you doing?”

“Saving their lives,” he merely replied, swinging the sword in a wide arc. “You heard him. Either we all die or some of us live.”

“So what?” she bellowed, catching the sword in the claw outside her vambrace; shifting, she slammed her free palm against the flat side of the katana, snapping it in half. “You’re just going to kill me! The lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few!”

“In a way,” Ghost-Maker said, tossing the broken handle to the ground. “One of us has to die.” The blue lights of his mask narrowed. “And it’s going to be you.”

Her own eyes widened, and she could barely prepare herself for the barrage of strikes that came her way. And while she had flexibility on Ghost-Maker, he had reach on her, and at some point, during the fight, he’d managed to grab her by the collar of her suit, slinging her backwards with all his strength.

And she realized much too late what he was aiming her at when her back collided with the side of the cage. A scream ripped from her throat as the electric current tore through her veins, frying her nerves to crisps; she collapsed onto the ground, pitching forward onto the cold floor, her cheek resting on the metal.

She saw him coming towards her and tears flooded her vision as she begged, “Ghost, please. Stop. Don’t do this.”

“Begging isn’t going to save you.” he rolled her onto her back, not that she had any strength to stop him, and wrapped one hand around her throat while the other pulled the second sword from his back. He paused to examine her, the swollen right eye, the busted left brow, split lips, and bloody nose. The tears slipped down her cheeks, mixing with the flowing blood and he brought the sword down at her.

Her hand snapped up, catching his wrist and she plead, “K, I love you.” Her arm shook with the strain against his strength. “I love you,” she cried, squeezing his wrist. “I know deep down there’s something there. Please. Just—just stop.”

He said nothing in return and suddenly, she felt her arm go slack, letting the sword come down again. A blast rocked the side of the room and Ghost-Maker shifted, wrapping an arm around her as he pulled her away from the debris. A pained cry sounded above them, followed by a grunt, then the electricity snapping against the metal of the cage fizzled out.

Ghost-Maker pulled away from her, getting to his feet, and said, “It’s about time you showed up.” She turned her head, seeing Batman free the last captive, then he came to the cage and started unlocking it.

“When Icon sent the S.O.S., I knew something was wrong.” He looked at them. “Good job keeping the distraction up.”

“We tried.” Ghost-Maker turned and bent down, reaching for her. “Come on, (Y/N), let’s—”

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice was frigid, like frostbite and she staggered to her feet. “Don’t ever touch me again.” Her ankle was sprained, and she bit back a whimper as she stumbled and limped to the door.

“(Y/N), I wasn’t going to kill you. You know that.” Ghost-Maker murmured, and she glared over her shoulder. “You know I never would.”

“He was right all those years ago. You are a sick, broken, monster.” She spit at his feet. “And if you ever come near me again—I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

She spun on her heel and shoved by her brother, ignoring his gaze, as she hobbled to the nearest exit.

Batman glanced at Ghost-Maker, eyes widening for a split second at the defeat in his oldest friend’s stance, his shoulders low, head turned away in shame; not wanting to breach the subject, he merely stated, “I’ll go after her.”

And Ghost-Maker said nothing in return.

[ragingbookdragon]

We have been blessed with an early FFF! I’m pretty excited to see where you’ll take this. Can I please have “stop touching my ass or I’ll kick yours” with ghostmaker and batsis? I always love the work you do 😉

"Stop touching my ass or I'll kick yours." Well, half of my mind is virtually always in the gutter so...

Also, thank you! I'm glad you love it!

***

It was a terrible idea to put the two of them together on a team. Despite the fact that they were fantastic at getting the job done, the entire family had to begrudgingly and probably with a great deal of nausea listen to them flirt back and forth for hours during their fights and at one point, Barbara had even considered making them get their own channel because their flirtations bordered on dirty talk.

It was one such night where the two were scoping out a skyscraper owned by Joker, and honestly, the two could’ve just busted in, but Bruce wanted surveillance done first, then they could move in. Ghost-Maker was propped on his stomach, a pair of thermal binoculars against the front of his mask as he looked through the windows. She on the other hand was sitting beside him, quietly trailing her fingers up the back of his thigh where she knew the material thinned out.

“Stop it,” he commanded, and her touch stilled then it continued up his leg to his ass where she poked it.

“Stop what?” she teased, poking it again.

“We’re on the job right now.”

“Are we really?” she shot back, splaying her fingers to grab his butt, squeezing the muscle until his legs flexed. “Because all we’re doing is watching when we could be doing…so much more…”

Ghost-Maker turned on her, glaring behind his mask. “Stop touching my ass or I’ll kick yours.”

She merely blinked and shifted, looming over his body and she pressed one hand to his shoulder and the other to his hip. “Is that a promise? I like those promises.”

For the love of God, please stop fucking with your mics on. I am so fucking sick of having to listen to that shit.

Agreed. You two should be ashamed of fornicating on the job.

Did you just fucking say fornicating, Two-bit?

I did. What of it.

No one fucking uses fornicating anymore. What the fuck—

She clicked their mics off and shifted upwards, letting him roll beneath her so their hips were slotted together, and she grinned. “Five minutes?”

He started unlatching his suit. “Make it ten.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Ghost maker x batsis where they get body swapped

Hurriedly rewatches Scooby-Doo to write this

***

“Well…this is unfortunate.”

She rolled her eyes—his eyes—and turned, glaring at…herself? “Oh really? What gave you that idea?” Her voice had lowered a few octaves now that she had been swapped into his body. “Maybe it was the fact that WE ARE NOT IN OUR ORIGINAL BODIES!”

He—she—merely propped his hands on his—her—hips and countered, “If you hadn’t touched the orb we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Before she could yell again, steps echoed behind them and they turned, seeing Bruce walking over; he bent down and kissed her cheek and she almost cackled at how his eyes widened.

“Hey sweetheart.” He looked at her. “Ghost-Maker.”

“We need your help,” she said, and Bruce looked at her funny.

“Did you just say you needed my help?” he grinned. “What is this world coming to?”

“You’re not talking to K, dad, you’re talking to me.” She stated, watching his eyes widen. “It’s me. Your daughter. K got stuck in my body.”

He looked between them bewildered. “Wha—how?”

Ghost-Maker, the one in her body, glared at her. “Your genius daughter decided to touch the magic orb without the necessary precautions.” His glare softened. “Though, it’s not so bad. I’ve always wanted to experience what it’s like to be a woman.”

He grinned and the way her lips curled made her feel uneasy. “I can look at myself naked.”

She snapped. “I’M GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU!” she reached out, placing Ghost-Maker’s hands around her throat.

[ragingbookdragon]

Bring On The Wonder, We Got It All Wrong, We Pushed Us Down Deep In Our Souls, So Hang On

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this piece right here that everyone got mad at me for because I made it angsty :) Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Will you slow down?” Bruce complained, reaching her in a few steps. “Your ankle is sprained and you’re going to—”

She turned on him, slapping his hand away from where it was reaching for her. “I don’t wanna look or talk to you or anybody else right now.” She spat. “Take the hostages to GCPD and leave me the fuck alone.”

“He wasn’t going to kill you.” Bruce said and she scowled.

“It doesn’t matter what he was or wasn’t going to do.” She pointed to herself. “I thought he was going to. That’s what matters to me.” She turned and took a step, though her leg faltered, and she went to her knees, reaching to hold her ankle. “Fuck,” she hissed. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“(Y/N),” he murmured, bending down beside her and she reached up, yanking the cowl off.

“Everything hurts,” she cried, anger and pain lacing her voice. “My back hurts. My chest hurts. Everything fucking hurts.” She reached up to wipe the blood still leaking from her busted nose and split eyebrow. “And I’m bleeding.” (Y/N) licked her lips, feeling the sting from the broken skin of her bottom one.

Bruce’s hand went to his utility belt, unclipping one of the pockets, and he pulled out a rag; he gently raised it to her eyebrow, dabbing at the blood as he quietly stated, “Your eyebrow’s already in hemostasis. Though it’s going to need stitches.” His hand briefly stilled near her swollen eye, then he continued to her nose where he gently held it.

She whimpered, trying to recoil but he held on. “That hurts.”

“You need to stop the bleeding,” he advised, then grabbed her hand and placed it over his, forcing her to take it.

“What are you doing?”

Bruce didn’t answer her, one arm curling under her knees, the other her back and he hefted her up into his arms. “I’ll take you back to your penthouse.”

(Y/N) wanted to cry, and she was helpless to stop the tears that gathered in her eyes; she turned, burying her face in the plate of her brother’s shoulder pad, breathing deeply to keep her sobs at bay.

“I don’t know what’s going to come after this,” he explained softly, careful to take even steps to avoid jostling her. “But I know that you’re the only one who gets to choose what happens between you and him.” He rested his chin on her head. “And if you choose to take a leave for a while, then I’ll support that.”

She let out a shuddering breath. “I just want to crawl in a hole.”

“Want me to get my shovel and dig you one?”

A watery laugh passed her lips, though it dissolved into a sob and with her free hand, she reached over and grabbed Bruce’s opposite shoulder, squeezing tightly as she shook against him.

He inhaled deeply, catching Ghost-Maker from the corner of his eye leading the hostages out. “We’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

***

Turns out that the leave of absence seemed like the best choice for her, and she’d hunkered down in a safe-house about three hundred miles outside of the state on the edges of the McIntyre Wild Area in Pennsylvania. Bruce and she had bought it years ago as a last-ditch effort if they needed to get out of Gotham and it’d taken the two of them, plus Clark to clear it out and build. Half of the time was having Clark laugh at the two siblings and call them “city-slickers trying to be country folk” as he watched them struggle to tame the land.

But in the end, it had been effective, and they’d built a rather cozy safe-house that looked inconspicuously like Ma and Pa Kent’s home in Smallville. It was stocked with everything they needed, a built-in basement for safe measures. She was alone and secure in the small cabin and that’s how she wanted to be. Since leaving some few days ago, she’d messaged each nephew and niece telling them that while she loved them dearly, she needed to be alone for some time and that she’d be back as soon as she could be.

They’d flooded her phone with messages and concerns, but she’d left the device in her penthouse before leaving, resting assured that Bruce would explain in her absence. She felt like a failure and more so, weak for leaving her brother with the job of explaining, but the last thing she wanted to do was explain the situation herself.

She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, gazing absentmindedly as the flames cast light that flickered around the darkened room. The entire room was open, living room and fireplace in the center, bedroom in one corner, kitchen in the other, a closed bathroom in another. It all smelled like pine. Fresh air and the ingraining scent of pine. But it’s what she needed. Gotham City overwhelmed the olfactory senses with blood and smog and on especially bad days, the rotting scent of fish and death. Everyone needed a break from it at some point in their life; to remember how to breathe in air that wasn’t contaminated.

The only thing she didn’t like was how quiet it was. (Y/N) was used to the distant sounds of traffic, gunshots, and sirens. Here it was the sound of her breathing and the wind whistling through the trees, wildlife scratching and hunting away in the underbrush. She swore she could hear her blood flowing through her brain. If there was any consolation, it did help to hone the senses on what she wanted to hear. And what she didn’t want to hear was knocking at the front door.

Quietly she rose from the couch and walked to the side of her bed, grabbing the loaded twelve gauge; she cocked it and stepped up to the door, warning, “If you’re not park rangers, I suggest you leave now. I’m armed and I will shoot you.”

A muffled chuckle sounded from the other side. “Well, that’s not the way I figured you’d greet me.”

“Oh, so you were expecting the shotgun blast then?” she answered aiming at the door and she pulled the trigger, blasting a large hole in the center of the wooden door. (Y/N) waited until the smoke cleared before she walked up and bent down, peeking through to see him flat on the ground, unharmed, reflexive as ever.

“Damn,” she griped. “I really thought I was going to beat you that time, K.”

Ghost-Maker cocked his head up and she was sure he was glaring at her from beneath the mask. “You crazy—”

“Bitch?” (Y/N) finished. “Tell me about it.” She set the gun next to the door and stood up, flipping the lock before pulling it open. “What do you want.”

“Well, I was coming to see you,” he said, picking himself off the ground; dusting himself off, he added, “You wouldn’t answer me.”

“Huh, I wonder why?” (Y/N) questioned, pressing her finger to her chin in mock thought, then her face lit up and she exclaimed, “Maybe it was because you tried to kill me a week ago!”

“I wasn’t going to kill you.” He griped. “You know I wasn’t going to.”

“Noted. What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you and if you’re smart, you’ll leave before I decide to reload the gun.”

Ghost-Maker sighed, gazing at her. “I was using Kyusho Jitsu to slow you down until Bruce arrived.”

(Y/N) wanted to scream, but she kept her voice level. “And that somehow justifies splitting both lips, one eyebrow, busting my nose, and throwing me into an electric fence?”

“…No,” he murmured. “No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her. “But I was concerned that if I didn’t make it look like we were really trying to kill one another, Riddler was going to kill the hostages.”

She merely stared at him for a long moment. “You know, I used to think I knew when you were telling the truth, but now that I really think about it, I don’t know when you’re lying to me either.”

He stood to his full height, jaw tightening as he said, “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar, (Y/N). And I’d never lie to you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she shot back, face pinching as she finished with, “And you can sleep outside.”

She shut the door and turned around, walking to the bed in the corner and he looked through the hole in the middle. “You know I can just come inside if I want?”

(Y/N) laughed, stripping the shorts and long shirt she had on before climbing into the bed. “You take one step in here and I’ll cut your penis off and nail it to your forehead.”

“Hmm…have it your way,” he decided, turning around and she had as she tried, she couldn’t block out the sound of him setting up his blanket and bedding on the porch.

Hopefully, he’d be gone in the morning.

***

A crack of thunder startled her awake and she sat up in the bed, looking out the window to see the rain beating down. Her eyes drifted to the hole in the door and for a moment, she wanted to get up and see if he was okay, but she felt a bolt of irritation flash through her and she huffed, flopping back down into the bed, yanking the covers over her head.

She laid there for a few minutes, listening to the thunder clap above her, the lightning illuminating the room ever other moment, then she groaned, cursing herself for being a good person deep, deep down. (Y/N) threw the covers off her and rolled out of the bed, hurrying to the door. Pulling it open, she couldn’t help but smile at the man curled up in his thoroughly soaked blanket.

“Come inside.” He said nothing in return, and she sighed, kicking him in the stomach. “I know you’re awake, K. Get in here.”

“I thought you didn’t want me inside,” he retorted, yet to pull the blanket off his head.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I don’t. But I’d be a terrible person if I let you get pneumonia.”

“You know you can’t catch that from rain, right? It’s caused by—”

“Fine. Stay out here for all I care,” she interrupted, starting to close the door and he sat up, scrambling for the inside.

“Wait!” She smirked and he craned his neck up at her to scowl. “You did that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” (Y/N) retorted, cracking the door open more so he could get inside. He sat against the door when she closed it and she leaned against the door frame, watching the water drip down his soaked body.

“Want a change of clothes?” she asked. “Bruce left some behind the last time he was here.”

“Thank you,” he said, and she walked over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.

She turned, seeing him yanking off his shirt and pants, then tossed the clothes to him. “Here.”

He caught them. “I’m not wearing his boxers.”

“They’re new, jack-ass.” (Y/N) snorted, looking away so he could dress himself, then she glanced back. “Feel better?”

“I feel less cold,” he retorted, walking around the fireplace to toss another couple logs inside. “You’re letting the fire die out.”

She rolled her eyes and wandered into the kitchen, returning with a clean rag. “You’d be less cold if you took the mask off and toweled your hair.”

He looked up at her, watching, waiting, and since he didn’t stop her from reaching behind him, she untied the knot at the base of his skull, pulling the damp fabric away.

(Y/N) wiped the water from his face, softly brushing over his cheeks, then to his eyebrows, and when she was satisfied, she placed the towel on his head, and gently massaged his scalp, letting the towel soak up all the rainwater.

When she was done, she tossed it aside and sank onto the brick wraparound with a heavy sigh, eyes drifting to the wall. Ghost-Maker collapsed against her legs, resting his head back on her thighs; unconsciously, (Y/N)’s hands went to his hair, stroking the brown tresses.

After a few minutes, he murmured, “I apologize for not telling you the plan.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before continuing their ministrations. “I accept your apology.” She scratched his scalp. “Sorry for what I said.”

“It didn’t hurt my feelings,” he shrugged, and she tugged his hair.

“Yes, it did.” He tipped his head back, gazing at her. “Parade it around all you want but we both know you’re not immune to having your feelings hurt.”

Ghost-Maker searched her eyes. “You truly thought I was going to kill you?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) answered. “Everything was happening so quickly. I didn’t have time to think about what fighting style you were using on me. All I knew was that you weren’t pulling punches and it didn’t feel like a plan to me.”

She stared at him. “And I was scared of you.”

“Are you scared of me now?” he questioned, and she inhaled then exhaled.

“No.” He seemed relieved, but it was short lived as she added, “But I don’t trust you anymore. And I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I do again.”

He looked away. “I see.” Nothing was said for a moment, and he pulled from her, standing to his feet. “It’s late. We should rest.”

(Y/N) stood and started making her way to the bed when she realized he was going too. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Going to bed?” Ghost-Maker offered, and she cocked a brow.

“Try again, K.” She pointed to the couch. “Go.”

His face pinched and he turned, but she caught his hand and he stopped, glancing back at her. (Y/N), against the better judgement in her head and the obvious discomfort between the two of them, stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the middle of his chest.

He seemed to freeze at the sudden action, even if it’d been one, they’d done many times, but he recovered, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other around the back of her neck. His cheek brushed her temple and her grip shifted, hands coming up to press flat against his shoulders; with the warmth stinging the corners of her eyes, she dug her nails into his back as if it were the one thing keeping her from breaking down.

She wanted to say it. Wanted to tell him how angry she was. How hurt. How much loathing was built up inside of her, but nothing would come out.

“I know,” Ghost-Maker murmured against her hair. “I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), and I know.” He pulled back, hand slipping from her neck to cup her cheek; he pressed his forehead to hers and assured quietly, “I know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes slipped shut and she let out a shaky breath. “Tomorrow,” she whispered, and he nodded.

“Tomorrow.” He let her go and watched as she unsteadily headed for the bed, collapsing onto the mattress; she tugged the blankets over her head, and he frowned as he saw her frame start to shake beneath them. Pulling the blanket off the couch, he laid down and watched her for some time. Waiting until she stopped shaking and slipped off into sleep so he himself could sleep too.