#Fast parking access

[parkomax]

Enhance your parking facility with the Tap N Go Terminal. Featuring RFID and NFC technology, this terminal ensures smooth, touch-free access, reducing wait times and improving operational efficiency.

[wormshirt]

The Doctor needs one of those classes they give to expecting/hopeful parents but for humans. Get their ass enrolled in a parenting course. And everytime they get a new companion he has to retake the course.

[luulapants]

25 ways to be a little more punk in 2025

Cut fast fashion - buy used, learn to mend and/or make your own clothes, buy fewer clothes less often so you can save up for ethically made quality

Cancel subscriptions - relearn how to pirate media, spend $10/month buying a digital album from a small artist instead of on Spotify, stream on free services since the paid ones make you watch ads anyway

Green your community - there's lots of ways to do this, like seedbombing or joining a community garden or organizing neighborhood trash pickups

Be kind - stop to give directions, check on stopped cars, smile at kids, let people cut you in line, offer to get stuff off the high shelf, hold the door, ask people if they're okay

Intervene - learn bystander intervention techniques and be prepared to use them, even if it feels awkward

Get closer to your food - grow it yourself, can and preserve it, buy from a farmstand, learn where it's from, go fishing, make it from scratch, learn a new ingredient

Use opensource software - try LibreOffice, try Reaper, learn Linux, use a free Photoshop clone. The next time an app tries to force you to pay, look to see if there's an opensource alternative

Make less trash - start a compost, be mindful of packaging, find another use for that plastic, make it a challenge for yourself!

Get involved in local politics - show up at meetings for city council, the zoning commission, the park district, school boards; fight the NIMBYs that always show up and force them to focus on the things impacting the most vulnerable folks in your community

DIY > fashion - shake off the obsession with pristine presentation that you've been taught! Cut your own hair, use homemade cosmetics, exchange mani/pedis with friends, make your own jewelry, duct tape those broken headphones!

Ditch Google - Chromium browsers (which is almost all of them) are now bloated spyware, and Google search sucks now, so why not finally make the jump to Firefox and another search like DuckDuckGo? Or put the Wikipedia app on your phone and look things up there?

Forage - learn about local edible plants and how to safely and sustainably harvest them or go find fruit trees and such accessible to the public.

Volunteer - every week tutoring at the library or once a month at the humane society or twice a year serving food at the soup kitchen, you can find something that matches your availability

Help your neighbors - which means you have to meet them first and find out how you can help (including your unhoused neighbors), like elderly or disabled folks that might need help with yardwork or who that escape artist dog belongs to or whether the police have been hassling people sleeping rough

Fix stuff - the next time something breaks (a small appliance, an electronic, a piece of furniture, etc.), see if you can figure out what's wrong with it, if there are tutorials on fixing it, or if you can order a replacement part from the manufacturer instead of trashing the whole thing

Mix up your transit - find out what's walkable, try biking instead of driving, try public transit and complain to the city if it sucks, take a train instead of a plane, start a carpool at work

Engage in the arts - go see a local play, check out an art gallery or a small museum, buy art from the farmer's market

Go to the library - to check out a book or a movie or a CD, to use the computers or the printer, to find out if they have other weird rentals like a seed library or luggage, to use meeting space, to file your taxes, to take a class, to ask question

Listen local - see what's happening at local music venues or other events where local musicians will be performing, stop for buskers, find a favorite artist, and support them

Buy local - it's less convenient than online shopping or going to a big box store that sells everything, but try buying what you can from small local shops in your area

Become unmarketable - there are a lot of ways you can disrupt your online marketing surveillance, including buying less, using decoy emails, deleting or removing permissions from apps that spy on you, checking your privacy settings, not clicking advertising links, and...

Use cash - go to the bank and take out cash instead of using your credit card or e-payment for everything! It's better on small businesses and it's untraceable

Give what you can - as capitalism churns on, normal shmucks have less and less, so think about what you can give (time, money, skills, space, stuff) and how it will make the most impact

Talk about wages - with your coworkers, with your friends, while unionizing! Stop thinking about wages as a measure of your worth and talk about whether or not the bosses are paying fairly for the labor they receive

Think about wealthflow - there are a thousand little mechanisms that corporations and billionaires use to capture wealth from the lower class: fees for transactions, interest, vendor platforms, subscriptions, and more. Start thinking about where your money goes, how and where it's getting captured and removed from our class, and where you have the ability to cut off the flow and pass cash directly to your fellow working class people

[teaboot]

Okay okay okay so I’m changing like every recognizable detail of this for privacy purposes but yall need to appreciate this

So I know how to retain CCTV footage, right? It doesn’t come up everywhere but I know my way around- and if someone gets jumped in a parking lot or whatever I can go backwards and see whodunnit

So I’m at this one place, right? And I get a call that an older woman in a wheelchair got hurt somehow and we need to see what happened.

Nobody remembers the exact time, because of course not, but they tell me she was wearing like a massive hot pink jacket and she’s in a wheelchair and she left with a medic round 09:45ish, so I figure I’ll start there.

So I find the incident itself no problem, but they need ALL footage for liability and insurance and stuff, so I have to keep going

And about ten minutes backwards, I lose her. She comes into view past a single shelf on one of the worse cameras and vanishes.

like. VANISHES. Hot pink jacket, big bulky black chair, gonzo. No idea where she came from.

So, I pull up entry cams. Zoom backwards till I see her come in… at like 06:15.

THREE AND A HALF HOURS EARLIER.

So first off, this is gonna take me like two hours minimum to write down, forget retention. And I’m kind of dying in my soul a bit but I start over there, watching her come in and meander and whatever.

At about 08:30ish she disappears.

Doesn’t leave. Doesn’t head to a bathroom. Doesn’t take her coat off. Her trail just stops.

Now, I’ve done this before. Typically, a location only has the mandatory minimum amount of room for a chair or walker to get around, so a person using one can only go forwards and it’s hard to 180. That limits options and makes it easier to follow, whereas a little unattended and fully mobile kid will zoom around in circles and shit and go who the hell knows where.

Then I see her again on the other ass end of the building, and I have to go back again to see how she GOT there.

My guys.

Her two and three-point turns are INCREDIBLE.

She’s popping on the wheels, flip, zoom, she’s out somewhere I didn’t think she could even GET to. I’ve been planning my search for places that fit a wheelchair or least-resistance fast-paths from A to B and she’s like… doing some Tokyo Drift shit.

I don’t know WHY. The whole place is basically completely accessible so long as you put up with having to reverse, but no. No, she goes where she wants.

I’ve been at this for half the day, and I still have no idea where she went for like an hour and a half.

Fuck me, I’m taking a lunch break

[liopleurodean]

On the one hand, I'm glad my disability is sort of normalized and made easily accessible in various parts of life, but also

WEARING GLASSES IS A DISABILITY AND IT SHOULD BE TREATED AS SUCH

[miyaz6ki]

☆ wearing their clothes

synopsis. seeing s/o wearing their clothes for the first time :) (like shirts/sweatshirts or jackets/coats :pensive:)

the blade has spoken. erm... first draft being posted... i feel a little nervous after changing from reshinless to the user i use everywhere..

pairings. albedo, alhaitham, capitano, childe, wriothesley, diluc, neuvillette, kinich, xiao, dainsleif, wanderer

albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.

"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."

he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3

alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.

he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)

"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."

capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!

"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."

he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.

childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.

baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?

even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.

wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.

"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"

he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.

a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.

not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!

"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"

dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!

but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.

"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."

diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.

"...I don't.. deserve you."

he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.

kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!

and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3

"someone's having fun aren't they?"

you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.

when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?

and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.

"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."

he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.

finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.

but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.

you.. look.. good.

[techdriveplay]

Race Fans Invited Take the Front Seat in a Luxury Supercar With Jack’s Rides

 In celebration of its partnership with the McLaren Formula 1 Racing Team, Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Whiskey is bringing the exhilaration of the racing circuit to Melbourne’s streets by offering fans the exclusive opportunity to take an adrenaline-fuelled drive in a pair of luxury supercars via some of Jack’s favourite venues.  From Friday 22 to Sunday 24 March, ‘Jack’s Rides’ will transport…

[be4chywritez]

neck kisses | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You love kissing up on Oscar, and this time it lands him in trouble.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: use of y/n and like allusions to smut, but no real smut

It starts with a perfect day.

The kind that makes your heart feel full, your skin warm, your cheeks sore from smiling too much.

Oscar had insisted on a proper date—something that didn’t involve race strategy meetings, travel schedules, or rushed dinners between flights. So, you ended up at the beach, just the two of you. The sun had been high, the waves had been gentle, and Oscar had been… well, Oscar—smiling at you like you were his entire world.

You spent hours there, playing in the water, sharing an ice cream that melted too fast, and walking along the shore, fingers laced together like you’d done it a million times before.

Oscar's hand rests lazily on your thigh as he drives, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing through the car speakers. It’s comfortable—easy.

Until you get an idea.

A very reckless, stupid, undeniably tempting idea.

The two of you had stopped at some random fast food place on the way back to his apartment, and now you’re parked in some empty lot, eating fries out of the same carton. The dim glow of the streetlights outside barely illuminates the car, making the space between you feel even smaller.

Oscar is mid-sentence—something about the race next weekend, about tire strategies, about things you should probably be paying attention to. But you aren’t. Not really.

“You know,” you mused, shifting slightly so you could turn toward him, “I never actually thanked you for today.”

Oscar’s eyes flicked toward you, suspicious. “For what?”

“For taking me to the beach,” you said smoothly, tilting your head as you let your fingers trail lightly up his forearm. “For driving me around. For looking—” you paused, letting your gaze drop to his exposed throat, “—really, really good in that hoodie.”

His lips parted slightly, his hand tightening on your thigh just a fraction. “Uh—”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck.

The effect was immediate.

Oscar inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing beneath you. His grip on your leg tightened as his free hand instinctively shot to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “Y/N—”

“Mhm?” You hummed against his skin, letting your lips trail lower, feeling the way his pulse quickened beneath your mouth.

His breath hitched. “We are in a parking lot.”

You let your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse point before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “And?”

Oscar groaned, his fingers digging into your waist as if that would stop you. “And—you—fuck—” His head tilted slightly, giving you more access even as he tried to resist.

You grinned. “You were saying?”

His response was cut off by a sharp inhale as you sucked lightly at his throat, your tongue flicking over the warm skin before biting down just enough to make him jolt. His other hand abandoned the wheel entirely, wrapping around your thigh as he instinctively pulled you closer.

“Jesus—” he muttered, voice strained. His grip was firm now, his hands no longer hesitant as they roamed over your waist, your thighs, like he needed something to hold onto.

You pressed a final, lingering kiss just below his jaw, grinning against his skin. “I love how easy you are to mess with.”

Oscar exhaled shakily, his grip on you tightening. “I hate you.”

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before—

Thud.

The car jolted forward.

The two of you froze.

Oscar’s hands flew to the wheel, his eyes going wide as his head snapped up. “Oh—oh my god—”

Your stomach dropped as you turned your head just in time to see a very unfortunate tree now very much in front of the car.

Silence.

Your jaw dropped. Then you looked at Oscar, whose face was rapidly shifting from panic to pure, unfiltered mortification.

And then—

You lost it.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying and failing to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god—” you gasped, shaking with laughter as you leaned back against your seat. “Did you—did you just—” You could barely breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Did you just get so flustered you hit the gas?”

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I—I wasn’t flustered—”

You threw your head back, cackling. “Babe, you just ran into a tree because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar groaned louder, slumping against the seat. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you corrected smugly, wiping at your eyes. Then, just to be cruel, you leaned in again, brushing your lips over the still-warm mark you’d left on his neck.

Oscar snapped.

His hands flew to your waist as he abruptly yanked you into his lap, your knees hitting either side of his thighs. “No. Absolutely not.”

You grinned, settling comfortably against him. “Aw, baby, are you scared I’ll make you crash again?”

His hands tightened on your hips, his expression a mix of exasperation and something darker, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. His fingers dug into your sides, his lips parting slightly as he met your gaze.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, but his hands were saying something entirely different as they trailed up your sides, over your ribs, pressing into your back like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to push you away or pull you closer.

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair before whispering against his lips—

“And yet, you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Oscar groaned again, but this time, he didn’t argue.

Oscar’s hands were everywhere. His grip on your waist was firm, grounding, but his fingers weren’t still—they kneaded at your sides, then trailed up your back, pressing into your spine before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, just enough to make you shiver.

His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You had him exactly where you wanted him, and he knew it.

You tilted your head, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “You okay, baby?”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on you tightening. “You almost killed me and my car, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

You grinned, shifting slightly in his lap just to see him react. His hands flew to your hips again, holding you still as his jaw clenched. “I didn’t do anything,” you teased, your breath ghosting over his lips. “You were the one who hit the gas.”

Oscar groaned, his head falling back against the seat for a moment before he looked at you again, eyes flickering between your lips and the smug expression on your face. “I swear you do this on purpose.”

You pretended to think for a second. “Do what?”

His fingers flexed on your hips before suddenly dragging you forward, closing the small space between you. His nose brushed against yours, his voice lower, rougher. “Drive me insane.”

Your breath caught for half a second before you recovered, pressing your palms against his chest, feeling the way his heart hammered beneath your fingertips. “You love it,” you whispered.

Oscar exhaled shakily, his hands sliding up your back again, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I hate how much I do.”

Your heart flipped, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you let your fingers trail lower, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

For a second, you thought he might break, that he might actually kiss you, that he might completely lose himself in you the way you wanted him to. But then—

A loud knock on the driver’s side window made both of you jump.

Oscar jerked so hard that his knee hit the steering wheel, his hands flying off your waist as he nearly knocked you off his lap in sheer panic.

Your head snapped toward the window, your heart hammering. A cop.

Well. Shit.

Oscar scrambled to roll down the window, his voice cracking. “Uh—hi, officer.”

The cop—a tired-looking man with a badge and a very unimpressed expression—peered into the car. Then, at the tree. Then, back at you two.

Oscar swallowed.

The cop raised an eyebrow. “You good, son?”

Oscar let out a nervous laugh. “Uh. Yeah. Just. Um. Just a little parking mishap.”

The officer looked at you, then at Oscar’s still-flushed face, then at your position half in his lap. His expression didn’t change. “Right.”

You bit back a laugh, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it.

The officer sighed. “Try not to run over any more trees, alright?”

Oscar nodded so fast that you had to hide your face against his shoulder to keep from wheezing. “Yes, sir. Definitely. No more trees.”

The cop gave you one last knowing look before turning and walking back toward his car.

The second he was gone, you lost it.

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I am never recovering from this.”

You gasped for air between giggles. “Oscar. You crashed your car because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath before tilting his head back to glare at you. “I swear, if you bring this up to anyone—”

You grinned, leaning in again, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “What? You gonna lose control again?”

Oscar groaned. “I hate you.”

You smirked against his skin. “Liar.”

[ham1lton]

I’LL BE THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS (MAYBE??)

pairings: oscar piastri x stan account!reader

warnings: none?

faceclaim: pam hughes / pamalaaam on ig.

summary: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a fast driver must be in want of a girlfriend—oscar piastri just didn’t expect his to be a twitter menace.

author’s note: jam is just a nickname that yn goes by online, which is good for security on the internet. stay safe kids !

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liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend and 20,838 others.

yourusername: girl date w/ bffname. jam, books and the winter air. what could be better?

view all comments

user1: WAHT?!

— user2: omg she wasn’t joking she’s actually that gorgeous.

user3: sorry you’re so pretty i’m taken aback. i assume that all ppl who argue online r hideous trolls but you’re clearly not. sorry. i apologise.

user4: did u buy your namesake?

— yourusername: ofc!! spent my paycheck on new ones. i’m the proud mama of two strawberry jams 😽

user5: LANDO LIKED YOUR POST

user6: literally drop the skincare routine rn or i’m calling the authorities.

– yoursername: genetics + water + spite <3

user7: girl what books did u get i need the haul

– yoursername: east of eden, the glass castle and some other classics!! i’ll post a proper vid later if you’d like <3

user8: lando liked… HE’S WATCHING.

– user9: he’s been watching. oscar is shaking.

user10: okay but imagine arguing with someone online and then finding out they look like this. i’d delete my account.

– user11: user3 already went through all five stages of grief in these comments.

user12: winter air is nice and all but i feel like oscar should be here warming you up just saying!!

friend: girl date and no invite?! feeling betrayed rn …. 😓

— yourusername: ur in australia but i apologise. we should have walked through land and sea. next time i see u i owe u a matcha for the trauma babe 😞

— friend: a decent apology. i accept it 😽

user13: she fights, she reads, she stuns… what CAN’T she do?

– yoursername: parallel park.

user14: not me zooming in to confirm this isn’t an ai-generated model.

– yoursername: sorry to disappoint, i’m very real and very chronically online.

user15: OSCAR GIRLIES R HOT WBK <3

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from: mclaren racing team@mclaren.com

to: jam jamdoesf1@gmail.com

subject: you’re invited – race weekend with mclaren

hi jam,

we hope you’re well. we’ve been following your incredible f1 content and couldn’t help but notice your… passionate defence of a certain quiet australian. it’s safe to say the team (and the driver in question) are fans.

we’d love to invite you to join us for the upcoming grand prix weekend as our guest. paddock access, behind-the-scenes moments, and yes – proper tea and snacks included.

let us know if you’re available and we’ll sort everything on our end, including travel and accommodation. we think you’ll have a lot of fun.

looking forward to hearing from you.

cheers,

the mclaren team.

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 45,838 others.

yourusername: hotties make some noise! (all u haters that say matcha tastes like grass r BABIES!!!)

view all comments

user1: i would recognise my goat’s hand anywhere… by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— user1: my boo bear. my king. my reason. my oscar.

— user2: lando get off ur burner.

— user3: ICB LMFOAJDHEISJDN ?!38393&:

user4: jam ily. u taste good in matcha too. multi-use queen <3

*liked by yourusername.*

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous girl 🤍 lovely meeting u!!!

— yourusername: says the most gorgeous girl in recorded human history. omg blushing rn 😝

user5: u could say cement tastes good and i’d try it.

user6: jam you’re so fine it’s honestly starting to feel like a personal attack

user7: OSCAR DATING AN F1 OBSESSED GIRL YASSSSS

— user8: me and jam as the mclaren wags. i can see it now.

user9: the middle pic is giving “soft launch” and i’m spiraling

— yourusername: it’s giving “he paid for the matcha so i had to post him”

user10: is ur name really jam?

— yourusername: not legally or professionally or personally but yea :)

user11: the way jam is so unhinged on twt but is the sweetest ever on ig needs to be studied….

— user12: like on twt when she threatened to pull up on that guy who was saying awful things about oscar and he deactivated all his socials??? vs on ig where she goes to farmers’ markets like a granny 😭

user20: if oscar doesn’t soft launch you back i’m rioting

— yourusername: pls i’d settle for him texting back within 3-5 business days

— user21: NOT OSCAR FUMBLING BAD BITCHES NOOOO

— user22: @/oscar GET UPPPPPP!!!!!

— user23: WTFFFFFFFFF STOP THIS MADNESS @/oscar

— user24: if i had a baddie like this i would do anything she asks… jam says jump? i say how high… oscar u need that energy NOW!!!!

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[enhard]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚 steambound — park sunghoon

: showering with your boyfriend didn’t seem like such a bad idea, but he wanted it to take a different path.

pairing: bf!p.sh x fem!reader

cw: smut, fluff, praise kink, pet names, shower sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, sunghoon is so slick but he’s a sweetheart ahh, creampie, the littlest bit of degrading (calling you slut once), aftercare, starts off as a normal shower together but..

ENJOY! (MDNI)

You’re lying with your boyfriend, Sunghoon, in his dorm room bed, lights dim and some quiet ambiental music playing.

“I love you” you hear him whisper, while you’re straddled on top of him resting your head on his chest. “I love you too, baby.” You softly kiss his collarbone.

You sit there in silence cuddling for a few minutes before you groan, lifting your head to look at him. He opens his eyes feeling that you moved. “What’s wrong angel?” You run your hands through his hair. “I need to go shower… but I might fall asleep first…”

“If you shower now, you can sleep even better.” he smiles a bit. “You’re right.” You slowly sit up, stretching a bit before getting out of bed.

You grab your towels and everything needed, and finally head to Sunghoon’s personal bathroom. As you get in the shower, you close the glass door and turn on the water. The hot spritz hits your skin, causing you to get warm again. The whole bathroom starts steaming, the gentle sound of the water circulating throughout the room.

After grabbing your shampoo bottle, you hear the bathroom door open, quickly turning your head towards it… as if you could see through the glass. “Princess it’s just me” you hear your boyfriend say, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him. You get back to your shampoo. “Oh hey, need anything?” you ask. He walks towards the glass door, sliding it open to look straight at you. It surprises you a bit but you just smile. “Could I join you?” he looks straight into your eyes. you look a bit stunned but ultimately nod. “Of.. course.. come on.” You both have seen each other naked before but you never showered together, there’s a first time for anything right?

He takes his clothes off one by one, placing them on the sink before getting in as fast as he can to close the door. The air was chilly outside the shower cabin, especially with how he opened the door so you got chills from it. He stands right in front of you, giving you a small kiss as the water hits his back. he leans his head back to wet his hair, running his hand through it multiple times. You just can’t stop smiling seeing your boyfriend in the shower with you.. something you never thought would happen today.

You stare at him a little bit more, especially his body as he gets it all wet, but after you just mind your own business, turning around and lathering your hair, scrubbing your scalp with your fingertips. “Wait, my love.” he says softly, making you take your hand away. He begins massaging your head, really taking his time scrubbing your hair to the best extent. You just close your eyes, leaning your head back to let him have better access.

“Why couldn’t we do this earlier… feels so good.” you say, smiling. He laughs a bit, insisting on scrubbing the back of your head. “Good thing we are doing it now, you like it?” he leans in to give your shoulder a kiss. “It’s so relaxing, I should try it on you as well..” you say. He moves you to the shower head, letting all that soap rinse off your head, protecting your face by putting his palm on your forehead like an umbrella. “Your hair’s gotten longer. So pretty.” he praises, and you smile. “Isn’t it a pain to wash?” he shakes his head. “Not when i’m washing yours.”

After he rinses well, you turn back around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, let me wash your hair now.” he does a small nod. “I love you more. Let me get you my shampoo.” He says, leaning forward to grab his own bottle, handing it to you. You take it, spurting a small amount of shampoo into your palm. You emulsify before applying it to his soaking wet hair. You struggle a little to massage it real well into his hair, raising yourself up on your toes. “You’re too tall, I can’t reach that well.” you sigh, and he resolves it by sitting down on the small shower bench incorporated in the shower cabin. You easily have access to his hair now, so you continue scrubbing with your fingers. You get all in behind his ears, the back of his head and his favourite spot, close to his forehead. He lets out a few groans, the sound of the water blending into the background.

You continue smiling while insisting harder on it, circling around and moving back and forth. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling too much. “Never thought you would love this so much, baby.” you tease, and he bends his neck in all ways to get you to massage everywhere. “Why do you think I always fall asleep to your head massages?” he asks. “Oh that’s right. You’re so cute.” you smile.

You continue your massage for a few more minutes, and when you stop he whines. “Mm.. is it already over?” he pouts. “You can always get more, just ask. Now let’s wash up before someone scolds us.” you tilt your head.

He suddenly grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. He gives your tummy multiple kisses, getting closer and closer to your navel.

“You’re tickling me.” you giggle, grabbing onto his shoulders. He looks up at you, giving your abdomen one last kiss before standing up. He towers over you again, grabbing the soap you’re gonna use for your bodies. He lathers the soap in his hands, before rubbing them on your abdomen. He soaps up your stomach real good before moving up to your chest. “Can I?” he looks up at you. “Of course, can touch me anywhere.” you both smile. He brushes his hands over your nipples, gently cupping your tits. He plays with them a bit, not even being able to wash you like he swore he would. You look up at him as he’s absorbed in your tits. “Got a little distracted?” you laugh. He shakes his head, massaging them a bit before moving up to your collarbone. “My bad… it’s hard to stay focused when you look so attractive.” he bites his lip. “You’re so hot when you say that. You can continue.” and he nods. He moves his hand down your arms, immediately jumping to your legs. He kneels down, giving you a smile before tracing his palms along your hips. You smile back at him, grabbing his forearm. He leaves bubbles all over your thighs, making risky circles around your inner thighs. He moves down your legs to your feet. After he’s done, he makes you turn around. “Let me wash your back too.” he says.

He continues by lathering your back with more soap, scratching it for you. He moves down your lower back to your ass, where he grabs it without any warning. He squeezes it a few times, before moving his hand down your pussy, rubbing his fingers on your core making you jump. “Hoon… what are you doing..” you say, barely resisting his movements. “Let me make you feel good.” he says, rubbing them forward, reaching your clit. Your legs slightly part, letting him circle your clit the best he can. You let out a small moan, leaning your head back. He rubs his fingers back and forth again, stopping at your core to insert both his fingers inside you. You really moan now, grabbing onto the wall. He pumps his fingers inside you while squeezing your ass with his other hand. “You’re doing so well for me, princess.”

You shut your eyes, beginning to struggle on his fingers. “Sunghoon that feels.. so good. Faster… please.” he nods before picking up his pace, curling his fingers right onto your g-spot. You let out a screech, leaning your head forward now. “Right there… oh my… i’m—” you get cut off by another moan. He smiles hearing it, reaching to rub your clit again with his other hand. You’re shaking under his touch and he can’t help but get hornier as time goes on. It doesn’t take long before you reach the edge, trying so hard not to finish before warning him. “I’m..gonna.. cum.. please..” you cry out. He keeps his pace constant, allowing you to finish. “Doing so well for me, my love. You’re so perfect.” he praises. You bottom out on his fingers, grasping the cold tiles as hard as you can. Your shaking orgasm washes over you as he pulls his fingers out. “There we go, pretty girl.”

You pant against the wall, before slowly turning around to face him. You grab onto his built arms, squeezing his skin. “Let me wash your body now, that’s what we were doing, right?” you give him a slight smile while looking into his eyes. He stares at your lips, nodding.

You grab the soap again, lathering it in your hands before running your palms all over his pecs, down to his abdomen. You move your hands up and down, feeling every inch of his body. You move up to his shoulders, going down his arms, grabbing his biceps with every occasion. “You’ve gotten so built, no?” you say. “You like it? I’ve been going to the gym with Jay lately.” you raise your eyebrows. “Oh really? I should see you work out soon, then.” you move your hands to his forearms, then intertwine your fingers with his. “Would you be able to resist?” he teases. “Can’t promise anything.” You shrug your shoulders and he smiles.

You jump dangerously close to his v-line, tracing your fingers on the dented lines in his skin. “Are you gonna let me go lower?” you look up at him. “Maybe, if I hear you say please.” he caresses your cheek. You roll your eyes.

“Please let me give you a handjob.”

He stares into your eyes for a moment, then he just gives you a slight nod. You smile, already grabbing his half-hard cock. Stroking it, you can feel it getting more erect with each stroke. By the time he’s fully hard, you’re already picking up your pace, squeezing his tip every time you reach it. He stands there, juggling between looking at you and looking at your hand. The water hits his back once again, washing away all the soap you distributed on his abdomen. “Keep going.” he says in a cool tone, making sure you keep that pace he loves so much. You nod, smiling down at his swollen cock. You place your hand in his abdomen, feeling the strings of water running down his skin, now making contact with your fingers. You feel every muscle under his skin, squeezing at his pecs as usual. He lets out low grunts, licking his lips a few times. “How is it, baby?” you ask. He closes his eyes. “Feels good. Do think.. your pussy would feel better.. though..” he slightly whispers, his words getting interrupted by the sound of the water anyway.

“Oh yeah? wanna test that theory out?” you say, grabbing at his tip again and he flinches. “Fuck— yeah… let’s do it..” You both smile at each other. You take your hands completely off him, letting him do the work now. However, you see him just standing there.. actually waiting for you to do something. “…Well? aren’t you gonna throw me around, mr. strong man?” you say sarcastically, and he immediately pulls you into his embrace. He grabs your waist tightly as he gives you a small kiss. “Let me take care of you.” You smile at him, not expecting such an answer at this moment but.. your boyfriend has always been nice to you. “I don’t mind that either..” you say, giving him another kiss.

He uses his hands to slowly turn you around, tilting his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, wet sounds escaping his mouth with each kiss. He pushes you against the cold shower tiles, glueing your chest and cheek to it. He continues kissing your neck, to your back until you start whining for more. “Hoon.. please…. I need you so bad.” you say. He smiles before replying. “You’re so impatient.” He grabs your ass, fondling it before grabbing his cock to grind against you.

He teases your wet pussy multiple times with his tip. He stops right at the entrance, slapping your ass with his other hand while doing so. “Inside… please.. please.” you beg. He kisses your shoulder, slowly shoving it inside you as you go. Once he gets his whole length in, he stops for a few seconds to let you adjust, beginning to thrust only when he knows you’re ready. “You’re doing so well my love. You always take it so good.” he praises. You leave out little noises, really letting him feel your insides, spreading your legs more and more with each thrust of his.

He’s going slow, but deep. It feels way more intimate this way, with his nose so close to your ear, you can hear his interrupted breathing mixed with the sound of water. You enjoy it quite a bit, sneaking your hand down to your clit just to circle it multiple times. Your moans pick up their intensity, the sound getting overbearing even for the water. “You’re lucky we’re doing this in the shower, you’re louder than usual, baby.” he says. You nod against the tiles, arching your back even more against him. “Go faster..” you plead, and he does. He significantly changes his rhythm, making your thighs shake already. The sound of your skin slapping is getting enhanced by the wet environment, however you’ve both grown to love that sound. You start bouncing yourself on him, and he stops thrusting to let you do just that. You push your ass back and forth on him, wrapping around him so well.

He slaps your ass again, making you flinch. “Such a good girl for me, didn’t know you were this desperate.” he smiles. “I need you so bad.” you say, almost drooling on your own words. You speed up even more, grabbing the tiles with both hands now, putting all your force into swinging yourself. Sunghoon leaves out a moan, grabbing your waist with one hand. That sudden change caught him off guard, making him bottom out again. “Fuck, that feels so good. You’re gonna make me cum soon.” he says. You smile widely hearing that wishing for that as bad as ever. He moves his hand from your waist to your clit, his slender fingers exploring your upper folds, going forward to your clit again, rubbing, slapping and abusing it until you become a moaning mess as you fuck yourself onto him.

He leans forward, really pushing your body downwards into a somewhat doggy position. He grabs one of your tits with one hand, keeping his other fixated on your clit. “Already tired? Come on, keep going.” he speaks when he feels you slow down. “I can’t d..do it anymore..” you cry. “Oh really? my poor girl can’t whore herself out on me cause she’s tired?” he teases and you cannot stop moaning and shaking your head. “Let me lend you a hand.” he says, before successfully keeping you in place, before thrusting into you like never before.

He has a speed that he didn’t think he could reach, he’s fucking you so fast you barely have time to react. The slaps are so frequent you’re both surprised how nobody came to see what was going on. Must be better that way anyway, cause Sunghoon’s busy making both of you feel good. You finally clench around his dick, leaving out moans so hot its driving him insane. “Hoon… I need.. to ..cum..” you gulp. He keeps his pace consistent, breathing through his mouth already. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum all over like I want you to.” he leads you on. With a few more rapid thrusts, you finish, legs shaking under him. You thought you were gonna slip and fall, but he’s holding you firmly.

“Oh..God..” you whisper out. He smiles at you, getting closer to his release as well due to your constant movement. He pounds into you like an animal, barely caring about anything that’s happening around him. He always does this when he’s about to cum, making sure that you feel the most satisfied beforehand. He leaves out moans more frequently, his pace definitely getting more inconsistent. “Baby.. please..” he begs out not being able to finish his sentence. “Cum inside me… come on..” you say breathlessly. He follows your orders with no objections of course, coming undone with a few more thrusts. He grabs your hips tightly while leaving slow thrusts as he cums inside. He jerks his head back, closing his eyes in pleasure. After his high calms down, he pulls out, giving his cock a few more strokes.

You both breathe heavily, part of his cum oozing out of you rapidly. You don’t worry about it too much, knowing you’ll wash yourselves up anyway. The night followed with yet another round of a shower, a normal one this time, where Sunghoon really took his time making sure you know you’re loved, hugging you, kissing you, washing you up real well.

“I love you so much.” You look at him with admiration.

“I love you more princess. Now let me wash those breasts.” He says, focused.

“Hoon, you already lathered them in soap 2 times.” You giggle.

The night ended with lots of cuddles in bed, feeling so tired after two things that make you sleepy at the same time, showers and sex.

[canthelpit0]

Intimate

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Wordcount: 2.1k +

In wich: matt has a borderline obsession with cock warming

Warnings: smut, cock warming, p in v, use of y/n, 1st pov, praise kink, name calling (slut), pet names, unprotected, creampie

(A/N: English is not my first language! Also this song has like barely anything to do w the plot, I just feel like that’s the vibe. This is sort of like a blurb. Hope you guys like it <3)

One of the considerably weird things Matt is into is: cock warming.

I clench at the thought trying to focus on my history homework.

I’ve known Matt for practically all my life. We’ve always been close and no conversation between us was ever awkward.

Matt didn’t seem like the type to be into that sort of stuff. But one day, when, we were hanging out and cuddling like we were normally, I felt a hardness at my butt.

When I turned back to look at him he was blushing. Matt had his arms wrapped around my waist, spooning me.

After I asked him what that is, he responded with a question. “Can I..?” He trailed off and I wasn’t catching on to his train of thought.

“What? you want to fuck?” I huff rolling my eyes…not that I would be against it.

“No.” He said defensively squeezing my sides. “Can I just put it in?” Matt asked shyly.

I paused, But eventually complied. With the duvet being over us it shouldn’t be too awkward. He shuffled out of his sweatpants and pulled mine down too.

And before I knew it his finger was inside of me and I was wet.

After a few moments I felt the head of his dick press against me before feeling his entire length slide into me.

I never thought he’d be into that, but even further, I didn’t think that I’d like it too.

I shift feeling the angle change.

“Y/n/n, can you stop moving.” Matt huffs, his words sounding passive aggressive. He puts one of his hands on my hips to prevent as much movement as possible, his other hand still clutching his phone.

I clench again at the tone of his voice, slamming my pen down.

Ever since that day, when this first started off, I started to sit on him more often. Whether it was while we were cuddling or just mindlessly hanging out. We’re not necessarily friends with benefits tho.

I guess he just likes the feeling… but so do I.

It was bad, like we hung out so much Chris and Nick started to make joking remarks about it.

About us hanging out so much that is, not the… whatever we’re doing.

Like it was so bad that practically every time we were alone somewhere private, I was probably sitting on his dick.

It feels so intimate and good, and if we still have time after, he’ll rail me.

But I’m saying that when we’re at home doing homework, I’m sitting on his lap. Or when cuddling or sleepovers. Or even when we go get fast food to eat in the parking lot at night. I’ll climb over the middle console and sit down on it.

I was never a skirt person, but I started to wear skirts more often just for the easier access.

I could go hours just calmly sitting on it.

But sometimes after a while I would get frustrated.

I try to grind into him, Matt still holding me in place as much as he can.

“What? You wanna get yourself off on my dick?” He huffs. His grip on my hip gets harder making me whine, while his other hand still holds his phone.

He’d been scrolling through TikTok and various other social media while I was trying to get all of my homework done.

And it’s been probably over an hour now and I was getting frustrated from all the homework. doing math first was definitely a mistake.

And while on a normal day I would be fine with the intimacy and wouldn’t be trying to get myself off, the homework today was frustrating. And since Matt was already balls deep inside of me, I might as well.

He leans over putting his phone on my desk. With the movement his hand on my hip loosens giving me the opportunity to start to slightly ride him.

“Fuck-“ i sigh. I lean forward on my arms, trying to get as much friction as I can, both on my sweet spot and also my clit.

I hear Matt’s low groan. And suddenly his hands are on my hips again, holding me in place.

“Y/n I swear, i will make you cum over and over again until you’re seeing fucking stars if you don’t fucking stop right now and go back to your homework.”

His tone is authoritative and so hot. Why was he saying that like it would be such a bad thing anyway.

“Matt please.” I whine.

Sometimes Matt would get frustrated and fuck me while I wasn’t even paying him any mind, and sometimes it was the other way around.

He huffs letting go of my hips. Matt leans back as he just watched me and my every move.

I let out a shaky breath once again, leaning forward more to lift myself better.

“Fucking slut, getting yourself off on your best friends dick.” He rolls his eyes in exasperation.

His hands go to my waist, assisting my movements now instead of stopping me.

“If you cum I’m still gonna Make you warm me.” He warns his tone assertive.

Matt holds me in place for a few seconds and scoots the chair back. I sigh leaning forward, using my forearms to prop me up, before starting to ride him again.

His eyes were heavy lidded, his mouth dropped in a silent moan while he watches me.

He somehow seemed way less sensitive than me. But I can literally feel the knot starting to tie In My stomach just waiting to snap.

By this point I was panting and Matt was letting out some heavy breaths too.

“Fuck- Matt, Matt” I whine his name my voice pitching higher as i keep getting closer.

“You close baby?” He breaths out keeping his hands on my hips for stability.

I let out a sharp breath letting my head drop forward as I keep up the angle and speed up in order to reach my climax faster.

“Yeah.” One of my hands go down to my clit to rub it, resulting in my other arm having to hold me up alone.

“Come then.” He demands, his voice sounding cocky. I can hear him breathe heavily and bite his lip to keep quiet.

With his hands tightening on my hips, I feel the knot in my stomach snap.

I let out a loud moan, piercing through the, otherwise, mostly quiet room.

I sit down again my pussy convulsing around his cock.

I sigh, trying to calm down again. Matt’s hands rub my sides, holding my back to his chest and mumbling sweet nothings into my ear.

“You good?” He asks after I mildly catch my breath. I lean more into him, my eyes fluttering closed as I mumble an agreement.

“You gonna go back to your homework now, or…?” He trails off waiting for me to answer.

“No” I breathe out and slightly look over my shoulder to make eye contact with him.

He lets his huge grin take over his features. He picks me up gently, making me wince, to wich he whispers encouraging praises into my ear.

My back makes contact with my bed. I sigh at the feeling of the soft sheets under me. And I watch as Matt hurriedly takes off his shirt.

I was still wearing my mini skirt and a long sleeve shirt, but Matt didn’t look like he was going to take them off. The access was easy, so really, why do the extra work.

Matt rubs my lower stomach, while his other hand holds his dick. He glides it up my folds before slipping it back into me. I whine at the feeling throwing my head back into the mattress.

I’m still sensitive from my previous orgasm and also from the hour of cock warming’s

It wasn’t like he wasn’t sensitive too. I could see him physically hold back from releasing right then and there.

Our eyes stay locked while he starts to rock his hips against me. I can feel him hit that spot in me that makes pure euphoria shoot through my entire body.

Despite not being labeled, it always felt so intimate with Matt.

Maybe it was because most of the time it was literally just cock warming and nothing else. But sometimes, when it did come to the actual intercourse - penetration type of thing, it still felt intimate.

“So good for me baby.” He breaths out. Our eyes stay locked, my mouth dropped in quiet moans.

“Fuck- you like being filled?” He chuckles. His hand stays on my lower abdomen, pressing down slightly to feel himself.

I close my eyes briefly trying to respond, but the way his hips snap into me, and the way he still manages to make this feel sensual, has my head fuzzy.

“Fuck..” Matt breaths out his eyes staying locked on my face. “Too fucked out to answer now?”

All I can do is whine out his name and moan loudly, and he takes pride in that. I know he does. I can see it in his eyes.

“You wanna be fucking full all the time, don’t you baby?” Matt taunts, somehow speeding up even more.

I clench around him my legs going stiff at the constant and heavy stimulation.

Matt notices and readjusts, picking up my legs further so they’re on his shoulders before he picks up pace again.

“Close” I whine out, I can feel the knot in my stomach getting tighter by the second, threatening to snap anytime now.

“Good girl” he hums. Matt’s fingers find their way towards my clit as he starts to vigorously rub it.

“Oh god-“ I moan loudly throwing my head back, my eyes shutting tightly as I try not to get overwhelmed, even tho i already am.

“Eyes on me.” Matt speaks lowly also panting. His movements pick up pace getting more rough and messy, indicating that he’s close too.

My eyes snap open, immediately meeting his. And as soon as they do, I feel my body convulse, my orgasm washing over me like a wave. But despite that, I try to keep my eyes on Matt as best as I can.

“So pretty.” He breathes out harshly and before either of us know it, he gives me one last thrust and fills me up.

I pant, trying to catch my breath. I feel a thin layer of sweat coat my skin, but despite that, I love this feeling.

This post orgasmic state was sending me into almost as much euphoria as the sex itself.

I watch through lazy, heavy-lidded eyes as Matt sits up straighter, moving my legs from off of his shoulders.

“You wanna clean up or sleep like this sweetheart?” He asks tilting his head. Matt was trying to contain a goofy smile.

“Just..” I trail off and let out a breath. Damn I didn’t realize just how out of breath I am.

“Just lay down.” I breathe out.

He licks his lips his eyes wandering from my face to my body and how it’s still clothed.

“You wanna sleep with clothes, or…” he trails off. Matt’s eyes come to meet mine again with a playful glint.

“Matt, I don’t care” I say exasperated.

“I wanna cuddle?” He says like I said we wouldn’t. I huff a slight laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation at hand.

Matt huffs trying and failing to hold back a smile. He gently and slowly pulls out in order to not hurt me. But I still wince from the over stimulation.

He pulls the skirt back down and than reaches for the zipper. He pulls the skirt off tossing it to the floor carelessly.

He then reaches for my long sleeve shirt. I sit up slightly so he can take that, and my bra also off.

Now being nude under him, he looks satisfied. He hums in approval and wordlessly lays down next to me, before I feel his arms go around my waist.

“You think you can warm me, baby?” He whisper sweetly into my ear. I feel a shiver run down my spine from his tone of voice. My eyes shut I take in his silk like words.

“Corse.” I breathe out pushing my hips back into him to tease him.

Matt chuckles lowly. I feel his length slide through my folds. Still being soaked in our combined juices, it was fairly easy for him to slip back in, not that it didn’t make me moan.

I felt way too sensitive, but like hell would I ever say no to this.

Matt chuckles at the low moan I let out. He has his arm spread out so I can lay on it his other arm around my waist. “You do like being full?” He asks in fake shock.

“You were the one that started this tho?” I question right back not moving at all. Simply keeping my eyes closed and enjoying the closeness and intimacy.

“Touché.”

Masterlist

A /N: sorry for being gone for so long guys. Schools been overwhelming. But yeah, I hope you guys liked this. Requests and asks are open & feedback is always appreciated 💕

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief (Part 2)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: Red Hood has a new informant, and nobody likes it. Two of the bats meet them. It’s not what they expected.

Trigger Warning for starvation and animal/child abuse. Read at your own risk.

Also, there is angst, but I promise it will get better soon 💚

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hood had a new informant. One he would not name. And nobody liked it. This mystery individual had given him the location of Cobblepot’s new scheme a month ago, a warning about a big bank robbery two weeks later, and a tip to look into what the Black Mask was doing five days ago. It was good information, but Batman (being paranoid as he was) didn’t trust it, and neither did anyone else. It was likely a trap, but Jason protected his informant with such passion that nobody could get anything out of him. At least, not until today.

Jason was out of commission for a week, and Gotham was in deep trouble. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and despite thoroughly examining every inch of every abandoned or rundown theme park, amusement center, and playground in Gotham, they hadn’t found a trace. It took a mix of bribery, black mail, threat of bodily harm and a significant amount of painkillers for Jason to agree to give them instructions on how to get the information they wanted. Which is how they ended up on a random rooftop with a bag of fast food.

~~~

Two figures made an unwelcome arrival at your designated meeting place. Instead of a single pair of feet softly falling on to the roof, and the air being filled with the familiar scent of sweat, gunpowder, and campfire cologne mixing with deep fried chicken, the wind sent a wave of overpowering floral detergent, mint shampoo, and citrus no-tear soap to assault your senses. The sounds of two individuals landing harshly on the roof stabbed at your sensitive ears, and even though the moonlight glowing from behind them obscured their appearances, you could price together who had intruded upon your night.

They both scanned the roof from their vantage point, and you crouched closer to the ground and leaned against the brick box that functioned as an access point to the roof, hoping the shadows would hide you long enough to make an escape plan. 

After seeming to confirm there was no human in sight, the taller of the two figures turned to examine the surrounding buildings, and the smaller crossed his arm over his chest and huffed.

“I don’t trust this,” the smaller one petulantly mumbled, quite enough you weren’t sure the man behind him could have heard, “Everything about this is suspicious, the secrecy, the location, the set up… who trades information for a burger of all things.”

“I heard you the first seven times Robin,” the taller of the two answered, dropping a familiar looking paper bag on the ground before arching into a handstand, “but this is the best — and currently the only — shot we got.” The words hung in the air for a moment before he added, “and it’s not a burger, Jay was very particular about that”

The boy huffed in frustration and looked ready to lose his temper, but with the cargo confirmed as food, your plans of a quick quiet escape were all but abandoned. Even with the smaller one — Robin — facing away momentarily to glare at his upside down companion, the temptation of food was just too strong. You hadn’t seen Red Hood in three days, nor had you eaten in just as many, and your stomach ached with need. Under better circumstances you could have dove between the two and stolen away with the food, but the past several days had been brutal, and every movement hurt. You opted to stay where you were, in hopes a better opening may present itself.

The taller of the two righted himself to his feet, and looked around at the surrounding building again, before lifting one hand to his ear, “you sure we got the right place? I don’t see anyone… no I checked, I’m sure. What do you want us to do,  just wait around? For what?! Yes… Yes! I understand that, but is this really — no, I promise. And who’s fault is that?…” he spoke heredity and harshly, and with all the standard Gotham street noise closer than it could be, it took you a moment to register the mumbling of another voice. You scooted closer in hopes of hearing the other side of the conversation, but due to a mix of pain and exhaustion, you stumbled, disturbing some of the debris around you, and while the taller of the two remained seemingly oblivious to your presence, Robin’s piercing eyes locked on you your location, still obscured in the shadows.

He grabbed hold of the sword on his back, and confidently stepped forward. You hesitated for a moment, before carefully extracting yourself from the dark, staying close to the ground in hopes of seeming as small as possible. Robin froze for a moment upon first impression, though his face was unreadable. He slowly sheathed his sword, and in turn you rose from the ground to stand. He took a soft step forwards, and you did not back away. He took another slow step towards you, lowering himself slightly, trying to appear less frightening, and in turn you made a small shuffle forward. By this point Nightwing had fallen silent, watching your careful dance with his companion. A delicate back and forth until you were three feet apart.

“What are you doing here thalabun?” he asked softly, more rhetorical than anything. You weren't sure how to answer the boy, how to explain your relationship with crime ally's guardian, so you stayed there, looking at him, examining is spiky hair and soft skin, familiarizing yourself with the citrusy smell that wafted off him, listening to his faint, controlled, rithmic breaths. 

“Give me the bag,” his voice was sharp and stern again, head aimed at his elder.

“No way,” came a swift response, “we need it for the informant, remember?”

“I'll only take a little, look at it!” Robin exclaimed gesturing to you, “plus we've been here for almost twenty minutes. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Nightwing seemed to mull it over, carefully examining you, before picking up the bag and launching it at a waiting Robin. Robin unwrapped the chicken sandwich, and pulled off a piece of the patty, tossing it at your feet, where you quickly lapped it up. Nightwing wandered over to where his partner was sitting on the ground and dropped beside him.

“Ok Robin. What's next? The informant is a no-show, and we still need to find the joker. Where else could he be?” they both sat in silence considering the question, pondering what — or rather where — they missed. A small, strangled ‘yip’ echoed into the damp cold of the night, and both vigilanties snapped their attention back to the fox. It yipped again, tail wagging, as if to say ask me. 

“You wouldn't happen to know where the joker is, would you?” Nightwing asked, almost sarcastically. He got a yip in response, and a head bob that resembled a nod. That made him pause…

“You do?” he repeated, beginning to doubt his vision and sanity. But as if to assure him of both, the creature repeated the gesture. “Could you show us?”

That… was a bit more difficult. Your body hurt and you were tired, three days of no food, little sleep, and constant harassment from kids, store owners, and wild animals alike had taken a toll. But you wanted to help. To be useful. At least to pay back the kind souls for feeding you, but also because doing good felt nice. And very little seemed to feel nice these days. So you summoned what strength you had, and launched yourself at them, leaping between, and landing on the hard floor with surprising grace. You pushed all your energy, all your hope, and strength, and thankfulness, into your legs so that they would go, go, GO!

You made it just short of the edge of the roof before your legs gave out and you were consumed. By darkens. By pain. Your back hurt, burning with every cut and bruise you had ever received. Your legs stung and ached. Your stomach clawed at your flesh begging to be filled or released from its prison. You were surrounded by darkness. Deep and unending, it was cold and quiet, yet all too loud, swallowing you, leaving you with nothing but pain. Everything hurt. So, so much. And you were alone, with no one to treat your wounds or hug your suffering heart. There was no warmth to reach for, no soft blankets or squishy stuffed animals. Just you, alone, cold, and in pain.

Two small, steady hands buried themselves beneath you, before carefully leaning you against something soft and sturdy. A kind hand shifted to run from the top of your head to the base of your tail, before repeating the motion. It was soothing, inside and out. Slowly the pain alleviated, and your breathing evened out. The dizzy feeling lifted, and you summoned all of your will power to crack open your eyes just a bit. You were met with the soft concern of Robin, worry visible even though the mask he wore. Robin’s steady breathing softly lifted you ever so slightly, and you focused to match his breathing: in and out, in and out. He smelled clean and strongly of oranges. It reminded you of the girls home you had lived in for six months before it was shut down for feeding the kids expired food. It was not a good place, but it was kinder than many others. You had missed the smell. 

“How about I carry you and you point to where we need to go?” he recommended softly, still running his hand down your spine. You basked in his warmth and soft touch for a moment longer, trying to regain your strength, before shifting in his hold and pointing at Gotham’s skyline. 

“That way?” You briefly nodded in confirmation, and both boys launched themselves off the roof and into the night air.

You had never seen Gotham from this perspective. Sure you climbed up fire escapes, and sat atop many buildings, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like soaring through the air, skyscrapers flying by. The way the wind licked freely at your hair reminded you for a moment of a trip you had taken with your mother long ago. She was driving on an empty dirt road, heading to the beach. The air was sunny and warm, the breeze swayed the trees in a methodical way, and your mother had let you stick your whole upper torso out the window. Distant street noises brought you back to reality, and looking down you saw the cars and people, they reminded you of Mr. Knox’s toy train display, the one that nobody but him was ever allowed to touch. They all looked so small from here. 

Eventually you all landed outside a junkyard with a broken front gate. You led them inside, between piles of broken cars and rubbish, around the sharp metal and spilled oil, all the way to a faded, rusty, ice cream truck. Its hood was dented, the paint was chipped, and it was missing its two back tires, but a distinctive, infuriating, familiar laugh radiated from the inside.

The two vigilantes exchanged a look, before Nightwing turned to you and held out a crinkled paper bag.

“I guess you were Hood's little informant,” he breathed out. You gladly accepted the payment, and retraced your steps out of the junkyard and into the concrete jungle of Gotham.

Once you were long out of view, and hidden in a grimy abandoned back alley, you softly plopped the bag on the ground. Your food was in a bag and wrapped in foil, you’d need thumbs to get it out. You didn’t like being in human form, not right now. You were skinny in both forms, but without the fur coat being a fox provided, the wind and cold seemed to sink right into your bones. It didn’t help that your small amount of clothing had definitely seen better days. But food is more important than momentary discomfort, so you shift, trading your tail and matted fur for arms and skin. 

You unwrap your chicken sandwich and sink in your teeth. The bread gives way softly, and a delicious crunch sounds as the lettuce brakes away into your mouth. The tomato bleeds its sweet juices onto your tongue, and as your mouth finally closes around the first bite of food you’ve had in days, you realize that by some miracle, despite the hour weight and cold conditions, the center of your crispy, chewy chicken patty was still warm. You barely finish chewing the first mouthful before taking a second, desperate for food and warmth.

You wonder if Red Hood is ok.

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚

Notes:

Nightwing and Robin intentionally landed loader than they normally would in hopes of alerting the informant they had arrived, since they were expecting a human.

Jason, on the other hand, always tries to be especially quiet when coming to meet you because he knows your ears are sensitive.

'thalabun' is fox in Arabic according to google translate. if this wrong please, please let me know, as I intend to use it with some consistency moving forward.

ALSO!! Illustration

tag list:

@4rachn3

Let me know if you want to be added 💚

[chanelrolls]

Love and Deepspace Men as College Students AU

pairings. sylus x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, xavier x reader, caleb x reader

notes. my headcanons of how and what would they be if they were set in an alternate universe of a college setting. requests are open!

SYLUS

Everyone knows Sylus. Whether it’s because of his absurd wealth, the way he dominates the racing scene, or how he carries himself among the crowd, he’s the kind of student people admire from afar but rarely dare to approach.

Definitely owns the most expensive bike on campus. He would pull up to lectures late, engine roaring, only to park in the most inconvenient places. The professors hate it, but no one dares to tell him to stop.

Never attends classes on time. He shows up whenever he feels like it, slides into his seat without a care, and still manages to ace every test like it’s effortless.

His major is a mystery. Seriously. Some say he’s in business because of his family’s influence, others think he’s in engineering because of his obsession with bikes. The truth? He’s studying something completely unexpected. (Design)

The one who gets professors to bend rules. He hands in assignments late, yet somehow convinces the professor to accept them. Probably through sheer confidence and the undeniable fact that his work is always top-tier.

People constantly try to get on his good side. Fake friends, clingy admirers, opportunists, he sees through them all. It’s a rare feat to actually earn his trust.

People think he’s cold, but he’s actually just selective. He doesn’t waste words on people who don’t matter. But when he does care? His presence is all-consuming, and he keeps those people close to him.

Has a reputation for getting into fights. He doesn’t start them, but if someone dares to push him? He ends them. Fast. Brutally. Efficiently.

Despite his reputation he's ridiculously smart. No one expects him to be the guy who casually dismantles complex theories in class. He doesn’t even study much, his mind just works differently.

He doesn't date, at least not publicly. People wonder if he’s ever been in a relationship, but no one has proof. His affairs, if they exist, are shrouded in complete secrecy.

He knows the underground side of the university too well. He’s got plenty connections, some legal, some… not so much. The kind of guy who could get his hands on things no regular college student should have access to.

SCENARIO

It’s late. The campus parking lot is empty, except for the flickering streetlights and the distant hum of a few motorcycles.

You’re walking toward your dorm when you hear the deep purr of an engine slowing to a stop.

You glance over your shoulder. It turns out to be Sylus.

He’s sitting astride his bike, helmet balanced on his thigh, one hand gripping the handlebar loosely. His gaze? Fixed directly on you.

"Didn’t take you for the type to stay out this late," he murmurs, voice low.

You shrug, trying to ignore the way the cold air makes you shiver. "Didn’t take you for the type to care."

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips. "I don’t." A lie. You can tell.

He watches as you move closer, eyes flickering down for a fraction of a secon, too quick, but you catch it anyway. You don't want to make your conversation longer with someone this well-known, so you walk ahead, hoping that that's the end of it. Until you hear him speak again.

"Need a ride?" It’s an invitation wrapped in something dangerous. How unexpected.

You hesitate, then tilt your head. "Why would you...?"

Sylus chuckles deeply, like he wasn’t expecting the challenge. "Guess there’s only one way to find out."

And just like that, he tosses you the helmet. As if he already knew you’d say yes.

ZAYNE

The epitome of a model student; Perfect attendance, straight A’s, every professor’s favorite. If there’s a student the university would use in a promotional video, it’s certainly him.

Teachers' favourite

Always impeccably dressed. Button-down shirts, slacks, polished shoes—never a wrinkle, never a stain. He treats college like a corporate internship, and it shows. He also often walks around with long trench coats, it's his favourite piece of clothing.

Sits in the exact same seat every lecture. Second row, dead center. First row is too eager and attention-seeking, but anything further back is inefficient.

Has the most organized notes you’ve ever seen. Typed, color-coded, formatted like a research paper. If you ask to borrow them, he’ll hesitate before sighing and handing them over.

Never late, never rushed. His schedule is meticulously planned. If he’s ever late, something catastrophic must have happened.

Carries a leather-bound planner around. Digital calendars are unreliable for him. He writes everything down, from deadlines to coffee appointments, in perfect cursive.

He's always chosen as a delegate for external competitions or division-level activities, earning several awards.

Rarely seen at campus cafeterias. If he does eat on campus, it’s either a perfectly balanced meal prepped in advance or something minimal like black coffee and a protein bar.

Always smells expensive. Not overpowering, just subtly present. Clean, crisp, like fresh pages of a book mixed with something chic and sophisticated.

Somehow has dirt on everyone. He doesn’t gossip, but he listens. A passing remark, a detail others overlook, he collects information without even trying, possibly even using those against those people when needed.

Once you earn his attention, it’s hard to shake it off. If he chooses to focus on you, it’s deliberate. And his attention is the kind that lingers, even when he’s gone.

SCENARIO

It’s late. The campus library hums with a quiet stillness, the air thick with the scent of old books and freshly brewed coffee. You’re seated at a wooden desk, buried under an avalanche of textbooks and half-written notes, struggling to finish an assignment.

“Your handwriting is inefficient,” comes a smooth voice from behind you.

You glance up, blinking as Zayne pulls out the chair across from you, uninvited but completely assured of his place there. He sets down a sleek leather journal, flipping it open with precise movements.

You scoff. “Not all of us are programmed for perfection.”

His lips quirk—just slightly. “Clearly.”

You glare, but he’s already scanning your notes, his sharp gaze dissecting your work with effortless precision. Without asking, he reaches over, flips your notebook around, and rewrites an equation.

“You missed a variable.”

You stare at his elegant script, then back at him. “Do you enjoy making people feel incompetent?”

Zayne exhales, amused. “No.”

His fingers brush against yours as he slides your notebook back. It’s fleeting—so subtle you might’ve imagined it.

"Then what?" You ask. But when you meet his gaze, there’s something else there, something unreadable, something intentionally left for you to decipher.

And for the first time tonight, your exhaustion is replaced with something else entirely.

RAFAYEL

Skips classes religiously, claiming the "academic system is a plague on creative minds." He’s only seen in class when he’s legally required to be there—or when he’s bored enough to entertain himself with a professor’s suffering.

If he does attend, expect dramatic sighs, exaggerated eye rolls, and the occasional muttered insult about how the syllabus is “the death of passion.”

Knows everything about everyone. It’s not that he seeks out gossip—it simply comes to him. He has a way of prying secrets out of people with nothing more than a lazy smirk and a well-placed question.

Unapologetically nosy. If you so much as whisper in the hallway, he’s tilting his head, eyes alight with curiosity, waiting for the drama to unfold.

Despite his disdain for academics, he has the highest scores in philosophy and art history—because, according to him, “those are the only things worth knowing.”

Causes scandals effortlessly. One time, he casually implied that two professors were having an affair, and within a week, half the campus believed it. Was it true? He won’t say.

His art is chaotic, emotional, sometimes terrifying, and always raw. Professors either worship him or think he’s insane—there is no in-between.

Constantly broke despite having expensive tastes. Has a habit of buying ridiculously overpriced lattes just for the aesthetic of holding them.

Everyone thinks he’s a flirt, but he’s actually just very comfortable with physical affection. Will drape himself over his friends, lean against them, play with their hair—but the moment it’s turned on him? Flustered beyond belief.

The type to disappear for days and then show up like nothing happened, holding a new painting and a cryptic comment like, “I was emotionally exiled to the mountains.”

Claims to be a “nihilist” but secretly gets way too invested in people’s love lives. Will drop devastatingly accurate predictions about who’s going to break up next.

Often idles in the clinic when it's physical education time, just because he doesn't want to sweat.

SCENARIO

It’s midnight when you find him, half-sprawled on the studio floor, surrounded by unfinished canvases. The room smells like paint thinner and something distinctly him—smoky, a little sweet, like the remnants of a late-night adventure.

“You’re out past curfew,” he drawls, not even looking up. He’s playing with a paintbrush between his fingers, tapping it idly against his knee. “Breaking the rules? How rebellious of you.”

“Rafayel, I need to close this room now. Ms. Evans told me so.” You cross your arms, stepping over a discarded sketchbook. “You aren't allowed in here this late.”

He finally looks up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “No. But neither are you, so now we’re both criminals! How romantic.”

You roll your eyes but step closer anyway. He’s watching you now, head tilted in that way he does when he’s analyzing something—or someone.

“You should go,” you tell him.

“So should you.” His lips twitch. “But instead, you’re here. Seeking me out. Really suspicious of you, but it's okay, I get people who have crushes.”

You sigh, exasperated. “Rafayel—”

“Shh.” He shifts, suddenly closing the space between you, paint-streaked fingers brushing against your wrist. His touch is warm, even through the cold air of the studio.

“I have a theory,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer. “I think you like me.”

Your heart stumbles. “Excuse me?”

“I think,” he continues, ignoring your attempt at indignation, “that you pretend I annoy you, but you keep coming back.” His fingers trail higher, barely grazing the inside of your wrist. “I think you’re more interested than you want to admit.”

You swallow hard, pulse betraying you. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. "That's what you like about me."

XAVIER

Rarely speaks in class, but when he does, it’s always something unexpectedly insightful. Professors are lowkey impressed.

His navigation skills are atrocious. He’ll confidently walk into the wrong lecture hall, sit through 20 minutes of an advanced physics course before realizing he’s supposed to be in philosophy.

Has a perfectly neutral expression 99% of the time. No one ever knows what he’s thinking, and it drives people crazy.

Falls asleep in the most inappropriate places. He’s been found dozing off in stairwells, under trees, and even once, standing up in a crowded elevator.

He doesn’t understand social norms at all. If someone tells him a joke, he’ll just stare at them before giving a delayed, monotone “Ha. Ha.”

Awkward in a way that somehow makes him more attractive. He doesn’t try to be charming, and yet, that’s what makes people drawn to him.

Has absolutely no idea he’s a campus heartthrob. People whisper about him, but he’s too oblivious to notice.

Has an oddly intense gaze. Even if he’s not trying to be, the way he stares at people makes it feel like he’s reading their soul.

Carries a handkerchief like some 19th-century nobleman. And yes, he will hand it to you if you’re crying.

Oblivious to flirting. Someone could directly say, “I like you,” and he’d just nod and go, “Noted.”

His humor is so dry it’s almost undetectable. Half the time, you can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious. One time he approached you suddenly while you read a book about being different, "How many yous would I find in the next school year?" Huh? "Being different, right?"

The most inconveniently attractive person on campus. He’s not trying, but the rolled-up sleeves, the lazy ruffled hair, the calm but unreadable expression? Yeah. It’s a problem.

A student council member but always absent during meetings.

SCENARIO

It’s late, probably too late to be out walking around campus. But here you are, beside Xavier, the cool autumn air pressing in around you.

“You should go back to your dorm,” he says, his voice as calm as ever. “It’s getting late.”

“You’re literally out here too.”

He tilts his head, like he hadn’t considered that. “…Fair point.”

The two of you walk in silence for a while, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement. He doesn’t say much, but that’s normal. Being with Xavier isn’t about filling space with words.

Then, out of nowhere...

“Do you want to hold hands?”

You nearly stumble. “What?”

He just looks at you, expression unreadable. “It’s statistically safer to walk in pairs. Handholding ensures proximity.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s… the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugs. “I know.” But his hand is right there, fingers slightly curled, waiting.

After a beat, you sigh and take it. His grip is warm, steady—but then, a slight squeeze. A tiny motion, but enough to send a shiver up your spine.

When you glance up at him, there’s something different in his expression. Just for a second, an almost-smirk. A teasing, knowing glint in his eyes.

Like he’s enjoying this.

You squeeze his hand back.

And he lowers his head to smile.

CALEB

The golden boy of the campus. He’s effortlessly popular—everyone knows him, everyone likes him, but he doesn’t care for any of it.

A natural-born athlete. Captain of the basketball team, but he’s also good at soccer, swimming, and anything that involves physical endurance. He lives for competition.

Too charismatic for his own good. People are drawn to him, but he keeps a natural distance, his warm exterior masking the fact that his attention is extremely selective.

Flirty without meaning to be. It’s not intentional. He’s just too smooth, and it drives people crazy. A smirk here, a casual arm around someone’s shoulders, it all means nothing to him.

Has had dozens of love confessions, but never accepted a single one. No one knows why.

Straightforward and assertive. If he wants something, he takes it. If he doesn’t like someone, they know.

Has a ridiculous amount of stamina. Can play a full game, go to the gym, and still have energy left to pick someone up and carry them effortlessly.

Would rather fight than argue. He’s not one for petty debates, he settles things physically or with an unshakable finality in his tone.

Territorial as hell. His seat in the cafeteria? His parking spot? His people? All his. No one touches them.

Cooked once during a cookery lesson and was annoyingly good at it. Now people keep begging him to make food, but he only ever does it for someone specific.

A terrible tutor. He has zero patience for slow learners and will resort to bribing, challenging, or outright intimidating someone into getting the right answer.

He doesn't always resort to violence, no. When someone pisses him off, tying the person's bag around their chair is all that he needs to do. Sometimes, secretly putting huge rocks inside the bagpack.

Cannot sit still for long periods. He’s either tapping his foot, spinning a pen, or stretching every five minutes.

Despite his unpredictability, he's ranked as the valedictorian of his batch.

SCENARIO

The student lounge is crowded. People are chatting, studying, and lazily scrolling through their phones between classes. You’re sitting on one of the couches, laughing at something your friend just said when Caleb suddenly slides into the seat next to you.

No warning. Just an unbothered, entirely possessive claim of the space beside you.

“Hey—” You barely have time to react before he does something even bolder.

His arm slings over the back of the couch, effectively caging you in. His fingers tap lazily against your shoulder, casually.

You turn, confused. “Caleb…?”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s staring at your friend instead with a forced smile, his usual easygoing nature laced with something colder.

“Are you leaving?” Caleb asks in a deceptively polite tone.

Your friend hesitates. Then, after a forced chuckle, stands up. “I—yeah, I have class.”

They’re gone in seconds.

You blink, not being able to say anything.

“What?” Caleb finally turns to you, his smirk lazy, but his eyes? Entirely unrepentant.

You frown. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He hums, tilting his head slightly, watching you too closely.

“Didn’t I?”

The implication hangs in the air. Like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s already decided what’s his.

[reiding-writing]

I don't know if you're taking requests but imagine cold!reader killing someone like they're working on a case and the unsub reminds her of her professor and everything he did so when she ends up facing the unsub she doesn't hesitate and pulls the trigger, like how would spencer and the team react to this?

ONE BAD DAY. /spencer reid/

all it takes is one bad day for you to regress back to the beginning.

s11!cold!reader angst 3.1k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | kinda somewhat merged a few asks together for this one, hope it’s alright 🤞 MENTIONS OF RAPE AND SA

You’re halfway through the briefing when the bile rises.

On the projector, a smiling man in a white coat beams out at you. Dr Elliot Keene. Forty-two. Respected neurologist. Devoted husband, award-winner, keynote speaker. Also, allegedly, a rapist.

Not just any kind—no, his victims couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink. Coma patients, sedated and voiceless, tucked away in pristine hospital rooms, their bodies trusted to his care. The bastard violated them anyway.

Hotch’s voice is steady as he outlines the case. There are four confirmed victims so far, and at least two more under review. Garcia’s findings link Keene’s security badge to restricted access during odd hours. No alibi. No witnesses. Just enough to take him in, if he’ll come quietly.

You don’t realise your jaw’s clenched until your molars ache.

“Keene’s wife is cooperating,” JJ adds, flipping through her notes. “She says he’s been... different lately. More paranoid. Sleeping in his office.”

“Because he knows he’s going to be caught,” Morgan mutters.

There’s a short pause before Hotch turns to you. “Alright. You and Reid will take the south wing. Keene was last seen on camera heading that way. He’s probably trying to get out through the staff tunnels.”

You nod, maybe a beat too fast. “Copy that.”

You feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you head to gear up. He doesn’t say anything—of course he doesn’t—but he watches. He always watches. And it’s not even that you mind, most days. But today, you can’t take it. The weight of his concern. The gentle, knowing worry that radiates off him like a low hum.

So you avoid his gaze. Pull on your vest. Strap your sidearm with practised ease. Keep moving, keep busy. Keep your stupid hands from shaking.

—

The hospital is colder than it should be. Sterile tiles under your boots, flickering fluorescents overhead. You and Spencer move in tandem, clearing corridors, checking closed doors.

He glances at you after a moment of silence too long. “You okay?”

You don’t look at him. “Fine.”

“You seem—”

“Spencer,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “We’ve got a suspect to find.”

He backs off, but you feel the shift in his posture. He’s not convinced. You don’t blame him.

How could you be fine?

Every step echoes with ghosts.

You don’t think about him on purpose. But this—Keene—it’s too close. Too familiar. Another respected man behind closed doors, taking what he thought was his by right.

Back then, it was his hand on your shoulder during late office hours, his mouth too close to your ear, the way he’d remind you of your grade before inviting you for “extra help.” You were nineteen. Desperate to pass. Desperate to be believed. You tried to cut it off after the pregnancy, and he didn’t listen.

And how could you have told anyone? Your academic career was at risk. A lack of a bachelor’s degree, a student too young to be given a jump up the rungs of the ladder.

Potential, was what Wittchen saw in you. Or maybe you were just an easy mark.

Just like Keene’s patients couldn’t scream, you hadn’t been able to either.

You shake it off. Grip your firearm tighter. Focus.

—

The comms crackle. Hotch’s voice comes through. “Target spotted. East car park. Looks like he’s trying to get into a vehicle.”

You and Spencer pivot, heading through the lower corridor and out onto the side lot. The late afternoon sun hits your eyes hard. You blink once. Twice.

There he is.

Keene.

Sweat clings to his brow. His lab coat’s gone, replaced by a rumpled hoodie and jeans. He’s crouched low behind a row of parked cars, just barely visible.

Hotch’s voice cuts in again. “We’ve got him boxed in. He’s surrounded. Proceed with caution.”

The rest of the team fans out. Morgan and JJ take the west, Rossi to the north. Spencer shifts beside you, waiting on your call.

You don’t hesitate.

“I’ll talk to him,” you say.

Spencer’s brow creases. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You move slowly, gun raised, your voice loud but level. “Dr Keene! FBI. You’re surrounded. Step out with your hands where I can see them.”

There’s a pause. Then, slowly, he rises.

He looks worse up close. Pale. Shaking. Still trying to keep his arrogance intact, but you see the cracks. His eyes flick from you to the others, calculating.

You keep walking. “Hands up.”

He lifts them, but his left hand dips slightly. Towards his coat pocket.

“Don’t.” you warn.

But he keeps moving.

Just a bit more.

Your finger squeezes the trigger before the thought even finishes forming.

And he drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

The silence is deafening.

—

You don’t move at first.

You hear shouts behind you—Rossi calling in for a medic, Morgan yelling something you can’t quite make out. Spencer’s voice, sharp with alarm. But it all feels distant. Muffled.

The body’s lying still. A slow, blooming pool of blood beneath the torso.

Then Hotch is beside you. Calm, but there’s steel in his voice. “What happened?”

“He reached into his pocket.”

Morgan jogs over, crouches beside the corpse. Gently, he peels back the man’s fingers. A black pistol lies in the dead man’s hand. Safety off.

“Well,” Morgan mutters, “she wasn’t wrong.”

Hotch exhales through his nose. “Lucky.”

His eyes land on you. Not in anger. Not yet. But disappointment? Worry? Yes.

And that’s worse.

“You were supposed to give him a chance to surrender,” he says quietly.

“He didn’t look like he wanted to surrender,” you reply, your voice flat.

“That’s not your call to make in a moment like that—”

“He had a gun.” you snap, louder than you mean to.

Hotch’s jaw tics. “We'll review your body cam. Go wait by the vehicle. Now.”

You don’t argue. You just turn and walk.

—

Spencer catches up with you as you reach the SUV.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You ignore him.

“What happened back there—”

“Don’t.”

He steps in front of you, gently. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Your fists clench.

You don’t want this. You don’t want his concern, his softness, his damned vulnerability.

Not now.

Not when you can still feel the weight of the trigger against your finger. Not when the ghost of your professor is whispering in your head, reminding you how powerless you’d felt then—and how powerful you feel now.

So you turn on him.

“I said don’t.”

Spencer flinches, just slightly. But he doesn’t back off.

“Look, I know this case is—”

“What? You know?” Your voice is cold enough to freeze the marrow in bones. “You think because of what happened last year you know how I feel right now?”

He doesn’t answer.

You step closer. “You don’t. So stop acting like you can fix it.”

Silence stretches between you.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Looks, for the first time in a long while, genuinely lost.

You get in the SUV and slam the door behind you.

—

The motel is nondescript and quiet, a leftover from some 80s renovation. The kind of place with vending machines that still take quarters and beds that creak if you breathe too hard.

You toss your gear on the desk and sit at the edge of the bed.

The tremors start once you’re alone.

Your fingers twitch. Your shoulders ache with tension. The adrenaline’s worn off and left nothing but static behind.

You get up, move automatically. Strip off the vest. The boots. Turn the shower on, wait for the water to run hot. Step in. Scrub harder than necessary. Watch the blood wash down the drain—even though it’s not yours. Never was.

Later, you sit in the dark with a half-finished takeaway container and the TV on mute. Some local news broadcast flashes images of the hospital scene. A blurred body. A headline: Respected Doctor Killed During FBI Arrest.

Your name won’t be in the papers. But it’ll be in the report. In the quiet, knowing glances from your team. In Hotch’s tense sigh. In Spencer’s silence.

You can already feel it.

The shift.

The way they’ll look at you tomorrow. Like you’re dangerous. Like you’re broken. Like you’ve gone backwards.

You dig your fingernails into your palm.

Fine.

If that’s what they want, they can have it.

You survived this long by not feeling.

You’ll do it again.

—

Quantico is colder than it should be. Not in temperature. In tone. In presence.

You walk the halls like a ghost—quiet, distant, untouchable. You’ve stripped yourself back to something basic. Efficient. Ice-cold. Just like you used to be.

The change is obvious.

Morgan sees it in how you don’t smile anymore. JJ in the way you no longer linger to ask about her family. Garcia, especially, feels it in your voice—monotone, clipped—when you answer her questions like you’re checking boxes. Even Rossi, who’s known his fair share of emotionally distant agents, watches you with a kind of reluctant déjà vu.

But it’s Spencer who feels it the most. Because he remembers who you were before all this—back when you didn’t let anyone in, when the walls were ten feet high and reinforced with sarcasm and disdain. It took years to dismantle that fortress. And in one day, it’s like you rebuilt it brick by stupidly reinforced brick.

He doesn’t want to push. He knows better than most that pressure makes you retreat deeper. So he tries subtlety. Soft re-entry. An offered coffee. A quiet word. A gentle presence at your side during debriefings.

But today, when he follows you out of the briefing room and quietly offers to walk with you to your car, you cut him down with five words.

“Mind your own fucking business, Reid.”

It lands like a slap.

You don’t even look at him when you say it. Just brush past and disappear down the hall, your coat swinging behind you like a closing curtain.

Spencer stands frozen for a beat. Then turns, slowly, like he’s just walked into a gust of cold wind.

—

He doesn’t try again that night.

He lets you drive home alone, even though every fibre of him wants to be in the car with you, making sure your hands don’t shake on the wheel. Making sure you eat dinner. Making sure you sleep.

But he knows you.

Knows this is fear wearing the face of fury. Defence disguised as cruelty.

So instead of following you immediately, he calculates.

He gives you time. Watches the clock.

Thirty minutes to get home.

Fifteen to change. Ten more to pretend you’re fine. Another twenty to heat food, or pour yourself a drink. Maybe you'll put something on the TV. Maybe not.

When the hour mark hits, he gets in his car.

—

You open the door before he knocks a second time.

The look you give him could sour milk.

“Jesus Christ, Spencer. What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice is lower than usual. Hoarse. You haven’t cried—he can tell. But you haven’t exactly been relaxed either.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says quietly.

You don’t move to let him in.

“Not in the mood for a lecture.”

“It’s not a lecture,”

Your eyes narrow. “Looks like one.”

Silence stretches between you.

He swallows. “I’ll stay in the corridor if you want me to,”

You sigh, deep and exhausted. Then step back.

“Five minutes.”

He steps inside.

You close the door, but your back never turns fully toward him. A survival habit. Always keep the exit in view.

Spencer stands awkwardly in the entranceway for a beat, then speaks.

“I know you think you’re dealing with this,”

You roll your eyes and move to the kitchen. “And here comes the lecture.”

“It’s not,” He follows, not too close. “Just… do you know the statistics of trauma patients who process events alone versus those who share with even one trusted person?”

You open the fridge. Pull out something left over. Chicken, maybe. You don’t look at him.

“I’m a Psychologist. Of course I do.”

“Sixty-eight percent show measurable improvement when they talk. Thirty-four percent get worse when they don’t.”

You move to the microwave.

“I’m not one of your subjects, Spencer.”

“I know.”

He’s pacing now. Quiet but relentless. There’s a tremble in his voice, but it’s not fear—it’s urgency. Desperation dressed in facts.

“But you’re you. And I’m me. And I love you. And I’ve watched you do this before—go cold, shut down, shut everyone out. I know why you do it. I even get it. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it happen without trying,”

You say nothing. Pour sauce over the chicken. Grab a fork.

“I know you’re hurting,” he says softly. “I know the case… I know what it reminded you of.”

You freeze just a second. A breath. Then keep moving.

“I don’t need pity.”

“It’s not pity. It’s love. I love you. And you’re hurting.”

You don’t answer.

So he keeps going.

“I read this paper last year—it was about emotional suppression in law enforcement, and it talked about how the illusion of control is one of the hardest addictions to break. We think if we can control the reaction, we can control the pain. But really, we just displace it. Store it in the body. It shows up later—migraines, insomnia, nightmares, fractured relationships. Do you even realise how much you mean to us? To me?”

You sit at the table. Eat quietly.

He doesn’t stop.

“I can’t lose you to this. I won’t. And I know you think pushing us away keeps you safe, but you’re making things worse. You’re not a problem to be solved. You’re someone I care about—deeply. And I—”

His voice falters.

You keep eating.

He clears his throat. “It hurts. Watching you go back to the version of yourself you’ve worked so hard to grow out of.”

You still don’t respond.

He takes a shaky breath.

“You hurt my feelings today,”

The fork pauses, halfway to your mouth.

Your head turns slowly.

“I hurt your feelings?”

It comes out sharp. Disbelieving. A little too loud for how quiet the room is.

Spencer blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Like he wants to rewind the words back into his vocal cords.

You stand. Cross the room.

“You haven’t stopped talking since you got here, don’t freeze up on me now.” you say firmly, “Stand up for yourself.”

He looks up at you, startled.

“If there’s anybody you can be honest with, it’s me. So stop acting like I’m some fragile thing you need to walk around. If I was cruel, say it. If I crossed a line, tell me.”

He licks his lips.

“You weren’t cruel,” he says. “Not really. But the way you shut me out—it felt like you didn’t trust me with the worst parts of you. You told me you’d confide in me about these things, but you gave up the second it got hard,”

You look away.

“I know why,” he continues, “I know it’s not about me. But it feels like it is.”

You stay quiet.

He steps closer.

“We talked about this. About communication. About letting someone stay even when it’s uncomfortable. And I know it’s hard. I know everything in you is telling you to keep this locked down, to bury it and move forward like nothing happened. But I want you to want to talk to me. I need that. Not just for me—for you,”

You finally look at him.

“I don’t have to say it out loud for you to know what the problem is.”

“I want you to say it anyway,”

You hesitate.

Then, “I’m not ready,”

His face softens. Just slightly.

“Okay,”

You take a breath.

“I need you to go back to your apartment now,”

He doesn’t move.

“Please, Spencer. I’m asking,”

He nods, slowly.

And you think that’s it—he’ll leave. Walk out, let the silence swallow everything again.

But then you say it.

“I’ll come over in the morning,”

He looks up.

“For breakfast,” you clarify. “Before work,”

A pause.

“Maybe I’ll be ready to talk then,”

You don’t promise.

But you offer. And for someone like you, that means something.

He gives a small, tired smile. The kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but tries.

“Okay,” he says again, this time softer.

You walk him to the door. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t try to hold your hand or kiss your cheek or squeeze your shoulder.

But you both linger for a moment before he steps out.

And just before you close the door, you hear him say, “Thank you,”

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP fanfic idea: A Pen Pal's Duty

It starts off with a single letter.

Danny has always heard about pen pals through TV programs, but Amity Park was too small to participate in exchange programs, including passing letters. It was a concept that was all Hollywood to him.

He figured it was also one of those dying practices, and someday, no one would bother writing letters, especially with the increased paranoia of speaking to strangers that overtakes the country after people start figuring out the more likely kidnapping tactics that criminals use.

Not to mention the increase in scams. No one even answers a phone number they don't recognize anymore. Pen Pals just becomes a pipe dream.

Then, he becomes a hallfa with access to infinite worlds. Each is set in different time frames, locations, and languages. He figures that he could become a pen pal with one of them, and goes home to write the perfect first letter. He even calls in favor of one of the universe's most powerful beings, Ghostwriter, who can affect the fabric of the universe just so the man can write an epic poem centered around a mailbox.

This mailbox would connect their worlds but not allow travel, as the living can not enter the Realms. Ghostwriter is beside himself, claiming the symbolism of longing, of friendships transcending life and death, and of the power of the written word to connect worlds was too grand of a writing prompt for him not to do.

Danny stops listening after a moment, his eyes glazed over just like whenever Mr. Lancer talks about class readings. Eventually, the ghost has his mailbox set to station itself as soon as someone attempts to write back to Danny. He even wrote in a clause that allowed whoever became his pen pal to understand English the second they touched the letter.

Danny would gain the same knowledge once their fated pen pal wrote them back. Apparently, Ghostwriter wanted it to be a "chosen one" trope.

He told Danny to fly around the Infinite Realms, select a door, and let lose his introduction letter so that his powers could lead the letter to where it had to go.

Danny flies around for a while, trying to pick a world to throw his letter in, and eventually selects the one that seems almost crystalized were it not for the lines of technology he can see running through it.

He had written his letter as if though he had always been Phantom. The reason was that Danny didn't want whoever his pen pal-to-be to find out about Halfas, due to first-hand experience of what people did when finding rare beings such as he and Vlad.

Plus, Danny was also raised on the "Don't talk to strangers. Don't open the door if home alone. Don't tell anyone where he lived or what his age is online" ideals of his generation.

He was comforted by the fact that Ghostwriter could only pass along written scripture, and thus, the pen pals could not share photos or videos.

He opened the door, staring into the swirling green of the portal, and threw in his letter. To keep his identity further hidden behind Phantom, he made it seem like he could not cross into the living world either and thus could not entirely open the door himself.

A few days go by before Danny suddenly gets a Ding sound goes off in his head, letting him know someone has responded. It's torture waiting for the final bell to right, but the minute it does, Danny is racing out of school towards the Ghost Zone portal as fast as his human legs can take him.

He flies as fast as he can as Phantom- which is very fast. He just topped his latest speed at 300 mph- and found the same crystallized door. Outside of it, now flouts a glowing mailbox with the words D. Phantom inked on the side. A little red flag is raised, letting him know a delivery has arrived. Ghostwriter's symbol is also flouting near the box, letting other ghosts know not to touch it.

Once again, Ghostwriter has a reputation in the Infinite Realsm: there was a reason it took all the willing ghosts on Truce Day to help Danny take him down.

Feeling giggly, Danny pulls open the lid and finds a blank envelope inside. He rips it open at once, for a second not able to understand the writing, until a soft type writer sound echoes behind his ears, and suddenly he can read it.

Dear Phantom,

My name is Jor-El of planet Krypton. I was delighted to be the one to find your letter, and I hope we can become great friends. I am fourteen years old and dream of becoming a scientist who can help my people. Maybe when I become a successful scientist, I can even invent a way to travel to the home planet you hailed from when you were alive. I am already searching for Earth in my skies.

A friendship is born. Over the years, Jor and Danny trade many letters. They learn everything about each other, from Phantom's battles to Jor's crush on Lara. They advise each other where they can, trading ideas of inventions and research.

Jor makes a compiled file of his planet's culture and technology, eager to show Danny everything about Krypton while Danny does his best to do the same about Earth and the Realms. Danny's decision to be only Phantom with Jor can be a little hard to maneuver, but he makes it work by explaining he came to form in the Ghost Zone- technically not a lie- and all ghosts created in the zone can and will age.

Danny is even one of Jor's honorary stone bearers at his and Lara's wedding, while Danny names a few of his inventions after the house El.

Then, sometime after Jor's son is born, tragedy strikes. Danny had noticed that his friend's letters had slowed down, but he figured it was primarily due to being a new father and getting a high-paying position in his dream field. Danny's adult life was just as hectic as he was a department head at NASA's research and engineering department.

He could barely find time to visit family, let alone date around. Sam and he broke up in junior year but remained close friends. Danny dated around in college but really buckled down to focus on his career the closer he got to NASA. He had no idea how Jor was able to balance everything when he was working in Krypton's version of NASA.

He should have checked.

By the time he got Jor's newest letter, Danny had realized too late it would be his friend's final one. Jor had discovered his sun was exploding, and although he tried his best to save his planet, no one believed him until it was too late.

Thus, he focused all his energy and resources on creating two escape pods strong enough to escape the sun's gravitational pull. It wouldn't be large enough to see his whole family, but his son and niece could live. Jor wasn't sure if his escape rockets would even work, but he did not have time or the means to test them.

He just did his best with his brother's help to save their children and set the coordinates for a planet that once housed a dear friend: Earth.

The letter ended with a final goodbye to Danny. After reading the letter, Danny attempted to open the door and fly to Jor's rescue, but when it swung open, all he saw was the other side of the zone. It was merely a floating doorway that led nowhere now.

The portal was gone because Krypton was gone. Danny's pen pal and friend of twenty years was no more.

A scream of angst rattled through the Infinite Realms as one of it's most potent members realized he was powerless against the circle of life.

He made a tough decision.

Devastated, he eventually visited Ghostwriter, asking if Kara and Kal had survived, and the writer let him know that Kal would land on that universe's earth in a week (Jor had been dead for four days.) while Kara was floating in space, frozen after a malfunction in her rocket's blast. Since they were apart if Ghostwriter's recorded story of the mailbox he would know that much.

Sadly, now that the letters between Danny and Jor would end, Ghostwriter would no longer know their tale. They were out of his influence.

Danny couldn't save his friend or planet, but he wasn't about to let the two children down.

"You realize to live in one universe, you must die in another?" Clockwork asks for the millionth time as Danny suits up his rocket, taking every letter he and Jor shared and any personal item he could fit. "The second I open a doorway to that world's earth, you officially die in this one? Your family and friends will grieve you. You will never see them again."

"I know," Danny whispers, sending Sam, Tucker, his parents, and his sister a silent apology. "But I have to do this. Can you make it look like an accident? One that doesn't put the blame of my death on anyone's feet but my own?"

"I'll design the scene like an explosion of one of your experiments gone wrong. No one will be to blame." Ghostwriter solemnly swears. His eyes gain a pitying light that Danny has recognized over the years. After all, the narrator knows one of his biggest secrets because he saw it the second he wrote that pen pal system. "You can not replace Jor-El with Kal-El."

"Of course, I can't," Danny laughs without humor, sealing up his rocket. He gives the two ghosts a sad smile. "I'm not in love with Kal."

Clockwork stares impassively before he turns and waves his staff. A portal opens up before Danny. "This will take you to the Earth five minutes before Kal lands. When you are ready, you may pass but know this Phantom. You can not return to the Realms."

Ghostwriter sighs, placing one hand on Danny's shoulder. "Love is one of history's greatest gifts and saddest tragedies. I look forward to your story being written out in your new home. Remember to live while you are there."

Danny smiles, pulling the writer into a hug and ignoring how he goes rigid. "Thank you for everything you've done over the years, Ghostwriter."

"Think nothing of it. You were a wonderful muse," The man whispers as Danny hops into his ship. He stands by Clockwork, who shifts into his elder form as Danny powers up his boat. His eyes show a sad look as he stares up at the man he watches grow until the ship vanishes through Clockwork's portal.

"Will he be alright?" He asks the time god.

"He will. I arranged for him to inherit a forgotten farm next to a kind couple. The Kents are more than happy to help an overwhelmed single father of two and will grow to become like a set of grandparents for Kara and Kal." Clockwork answers.

"That's not what I'm asking."

Clockwork hums. "Danny's has long ago accepted that Jor's heart was never his. His core knows it, and he's grown accustomed to the pain. But he will find peace on that Earth. He even finds a new love."

"Who?"

"Now, that would be telling. As a writer, you know it's best to let the story unfold than to give it all away." Clockwork twirls his staff "But know his adoptive son and daughter are less than pleased with a Gotham Butler."

Ghostwriter blinks. "What does that mean?"

"It means Danny will have to dodge some overly protective bats. Now then, could you tell me about your latest work? It's been a long time since I enjoyed a good story."

[starry-bi-sky]

im dedicating this to @detectivedarling. i felt inspired after seeing their little ficlet yesterday sadhjfl 🫶

-

Danny's grip on his cane tightens.

"What—"

His voice cracks. He stops, clears it, then tries again in spite of the nausea twisting in his gut. "What are — you, uh, watching, Bruce?" He sounds horribly far away.

Bruce doesn't look at him, his attention laser-focused on the screen. Which is— fine. It's usually not a problem, Bruce gets like that when he hyper-focuses on a case, and unless it's urgent — or he's been at it for hours — Danny sees no need to pull him away from it. He likes the quiet camaraderie they have, it's companionable and unique to the two of them.

He wishes he was right now though. Looking at him, that is.

That way he wasn't watching what was clearly one of Danny's ghost fights. One of the nastier ones, if the collateral damage and rubble on the street is of any indication.

Danny tries to remember which one that is. He shuffles a little closer to the desk, ignoring the rock in his stomach or the ugly weightlessness in his arms. It's not the blood blossoms, that much he knows. He just recently had an injection so it shouldn't be bothering him this soon—

So it's just nerves. Perfect.

Most footage of his fights are— messy, at best. Unusable at worst. Amity Park was obsessed with appearing 'normal' when they first started happening, and typical news stations censor the worst of the fights anyways for publishing, since they can get pretty gory at times. And ghosts move too fast to be caught on regular standard cameras, not including distance and light and—

That is to say— finding usable ghost fight videos is hard.

Danny wonders how Bruce got his hands on this one, and then stops wondering.

The audio is muted, which is - good. Good, because the fight is ugly and chaotic and clearly this was taken on someone's phone. Fuck, he can't remember if he ever saw that before — clearly not. They're hiding behind an overturned car, and Danny grits his teeth so he doesn't tell that idiot to run.

The camera turns up, and focuses on two figures in the air. It takes a few seconds, but when it does, Danny gets hit with a wave of vertigo. His grip tightens and he leans heavily on his cane, he waits for the black dots to disappear.

He- uh, he remembers this fight now. Uh, sort of.

He remembers being twelve at the time, and he remembers some of the injuries he got out of it. His eyelid spasms abruptly. This ghost wasn't one of his regulars, so he doesn't remember whatever name they had, barely remembered what they looked like up until- uh. Now.

Was he always that small? Well— Phantom's never been particularly big, perks of being a dead kid, but— it's - different. Seeing it from an outsider perspective. Was he that small? Or is it just because he's wearing a jumpsuit clearly too big for him that casts the illusion of being small?

Doesn't really - matter. Now. He can't access his ghost form, and he already knows the answers to his appearance.

Phantom is clearly bleeding, viscous and violently green like the bubbles of a lava lamp, clutching onto a limp shoulder that's missing an arm from the elbow down. Half his face is drenched in similar blood, the eye on the drenched side is closed — not because he can't see through the ectoplasm.

Danny's memories of that fight slowly come in a bit clearer. Right. He took a pole to the eye in that one. That had - hurt. A lot. Getting an eye gouged out usually does. It and the missing arm took hours to grow back.

He rubs his eye with his palm for no other reason than it itches.

The other ghost isn't untouched of any injury either, but he's not in a state of dismemberment like Phantom is.

Danny drops his gaze down at Bruce, whose sitting in his chair with his hands threaded together, looking so tense that Danny half expects to meet solid steel if he were to touch his back. His face is - blank. Terribly blank, with an intensity in his eyes that Danny doesn't see often.

He looks terribly distressed.

He opens his mouth, and finds that nothing comes out. His throat is thick with an ugly, tar-like feeling that makes his eyes sting. Kinda reminds him of when someone wraps their hands around your throat and presses. He closes his mouth, then tries again.

"B—" hhhhhh, "Buzz."

Finally Bruce looks at him, one hand slaps the space button on the keyboard, and the video pauses. His expression doesn't shift, but there's a weight in the lines of his face that reminds Danny of a set of weights sagging.

He looks quite like he's grieving something.

Bruce opens his mouth, his voice comes out terribly soft and heartbroken: "He looks like you."

Which is— a terrifying sentence in and of itself. One that makes Danny's legs shake and ignite his ragged, poison-chewed nerves alight with the need to run. An instinctive urge to deny, deny, deny.

How could he? He could say, that's a ghost, Bruce. I'm not a ghost. He could crack a joke, and ask, 'do I look dead to you?' or say something about how he knows that his parents studied ghosts, but that didn't make him one.

He could say that, and he could say it knowing full well that Bruce would see right through it. He'd probably let Danny too.

Danny closes his eyes. They sting, you see? So does his nose, right in the back like someone popped him in the face. And his throat is thick and gross and like someone stuck a spider, the big fat tarantula kind, right down into his esophagus.

He breathes in — through his mouth, because his nose stings and so it'd be best not to irritate it further with air — and it's terribly shaky and uneven. But it clears a pathway to his lungs big enough for him to say — whisper, really:

"You know, I think you're the first person to notice that."