𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚐, 𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚘, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚢, 𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚎, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚞𝚜, 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚞𝚜𝚑, 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚙, 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚡 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚜 𝚞𝚙, 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎.
(gif cred: @itspapillonnoir)
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Playing Dead AU
Guyyyyyyssss
I just had a random shenanigans idea...
Now hear me out.
You know those murder mystery parties right? The ones where people get together, an actor plays dead, and the groups have to figure out who did it.
Well what if.
Danny takes a summer job as the body/actor of the victim for those parties and actually is commented on being the best 'very lifelike dead body' actor and hey at least his 'medical condition' (halfa) is finally being useful for something (besides you know, fighting ghosts) he can even go hours without moving (or breathing) once he's dead so he doesn't ruin the immersion for party goers.
Anyways, what if he gets a job for a rich people's party, you know something novelty for the wealthy to have fun with, maybe it's the Wayne's hosting a party or maybe someone else and they invite the Wayne's. And the company he works for sends him to Gotham. He gets there, helps set up the clues and the other actors, etc etc.
Then the guests start showing up, Danny acts like the star of the show he is and then the lights cut out, he screams (very realistically), and 'dies' before the lights come back on. As some players come up to inspect his body however he doesn't notice how some take his pulse and actually fully think he's dead.
Point being, Danny is the 'dead' body for the murder mystery, goes to Gotham for a gig, 'dies' and the batfam think they have a legit murder happening.
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There are moments, you’ve come to realize, when Kaku seems to drop some kind of mask around you.
It’s a subtle thing—an animal’s glint in his eye, that boy-next-door grin going sharp, his hold a little more clawed. Nothing dangerous, you think, but enough to give you a thrill that has you hungering for more, and you can only hope your hunger matches his own.
Times like these reassure you that it does. It must, when he has you by the wrist in some thin alleyway; when his thumb presses against the thin skin over your pulsepoint, and you can feel how his fingers twitch to grab you firmer, though you can’t see his face with how his head is angled.
He shifts his hold on your wrist, callused digits curling around it, and with a sturdy tug you’re stumbling in even closer with wide eyes.
“Your pulse is racing,” he says, all too chipper for how flushed you feel. Finally he lifts his head, and you can meet his eye from beneath the brim of his cap—despite his tone, his pupils are blown wide with something heavy, deep and dark as they regard you. “Do I make you that nervous?”
You shake your head; and it’s not a lie, not really. Nervous isn’t quite what you feel as he draws closer, but your heart pounds all the more rapidly within your chest nonetheless, each beat coursing through your veins to throb against the firm pad of his thumb.
Kaku dips his head. Your breath hitches.
His lips are soft. They brush butterfly-light against your jugular, hovering there just close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your neck. They draw a sharp inhale through your teeth as you stiffen—as his free hand finds the small of your back and the tips of his fingers press against your spine, making you arch into his sturdy form. Now he laughs, a breathy chuckle against you, pressing something heavier to your fluttering pulsepoint.
“Getting faster,” he murmurs. "I wonder..."
Before the word has even finished you feel his lips part. His tongue is warm and wet, slow as it drags up the line of your carotid—it takes a moment to register, but when it does you lurch back with a squeak, only drawing out more boyish laughter as Kaku follows you with fervent speed. Your back slams into the wall behind you, cushioned by his sprawled hand still resting at your lumbar, and his tongue finds your neck again.
On instinct your head falls back, baring yourself to him, and he takes great advantage of the opportunity. It draws a whimpering sound from your lips when his tongue flutters against you, which he responds to with a light hum—and then, with no warning, he sinks his canines there.
Perhaps, you think as your knees buckle and he catches you smoothly, his hunger far exceeds your own.
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