#{we have a winner right off the bat}

[danger-tits-lute]

🌶️ Getting dominated

send 🌶️ and guess my muse's kinks. II Accepting

"By the right person, maybe..."

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: The Good Luck Charm

Wes goes to Gotham for a regular vacation, except he somehow has proof of Danny being Phantom. After years of threatening to expose him, Danny thinks he will do it in the big city now that they have graduated, so he follows after Wes, intending to foil his plan.

The redhead has no idea, as he has gotten over his desire to connect the two and is planning on enjoying his year gap before he suffers through college. He came to Gotham for the history stuff since he adored that subject.

He plans on seeing all the famous landmarks and even the minor ones that are only important to Gotham. Sure, he's heard of the crime rates, but as a sheltered boy from a small town whose only crime is paranormal-related, Wes thinks the tales are exaggerated.

Danny tells his parents and friends that he will do some soul-searching and take a spiritual retreat instead of going to College or getting a job for a while.

He does not want to worry them about Wes's proof in case he is exposed and the GIW attempts to arrest them for sheltering him. They hear that Wes is also going to Gotham briefly and assume Danny's random awareness of the redhead is due to an unresolved crush.

They let him shift into Phantom and fly after Wes' plane, shaking their heads at the love-struck fool.

While in Gotham, he attracts the attention of the Bats, who have no idea why a being of such power and long history (due to his time travel chase of Vlad, his existence was recorded, and of course, the Bats found it) is following around this random tourist who, for all intentions, is just sightseeing.

The more they watch Phantom, the more they realize that Phantom is somehow neutralizing the Gotham curse because Wes is far too lucky in this shit show city. The kid hasn't been mugged once and hasn't been caught up in rouge attacks. In fact, whenever he walks around the city, everything always seems to work out for him.

Bruce witnessed him literally drop his wallet only for it to be picked up by a crow who then dropped it on a bus, which drove it down the street until the wind flung it off the bus's roof, where it landed on the top of a hotdog cart umbrella. When Wes stopped for a chili cheese dog, it slid off the umbrella and fell right in his hand after he felt his pockets looking for it.

Phantom was watching him from alley entrance, tracking the wallet's path as Bruce was on the roof watching the two strangers with a mildly mystified expression.

Phantom's good luck wasn't limited to Wes, as anyone the redhead stood close to gained some positive karma. Once, while he was riding the historical train, a couple sitting behind him had been the random winners of a sweepstake. The middle-aged man in front of him got a call from his doctor, happily telling him they had found a match for organ translation, and the single mother struggling with her kids had been selected by the train staff for a completely free VIP package that she was able to later sell to keep her from being evicted.

All that from an hour-long ride near Wes Weston and the invisible ghost floating above him—the Bats used specialized goggles that allowed them to see the outline of Phantom.

The Bats want Wes to stay so Phantom's good luck can linger around the city. He's somehow cleaning up crime in the short two weeks he's been here, more than they ever could in the many years they've been attempting to stop crime.

[delespresso]

WINNER TAKES IT ALL ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; my only knowledge of wicked is from the movie, so that's what this is based on lol. i unfortunately do not live in a place where we have broadway/west end things (very sad coz i love musicals deeply) ps; not proofread!

prompt; “If I beat you, you have to kiss me” “That’s- wait, what?”

summary; weekend games were normal in shiz, but fiyero has a different idea of a game when it comes to the girl who caught his eye

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

Fiyero Tigelaar was used to charming the pants or skirt of anyone. He had people eating out the palm of his hand before he even said a word.

Imagine the slap in the face he received when she didn't even bat an eye at him. If anything, she always seemed annoyed whenever he was even mentioned or within proximity.

So he did what any other person would do — he kept pestering her. He was quick to become a thorn in her side and constantly shadowing her and showing up wherever she went. It came to a point where she was sure he was trying to be her extra limb.

During the weekend games, where everyone at Shiz gathered either in the courtyard, gardens or open fields depending on the game they wanted to play, he was even more incessant.

"Have you no one else to annoy?" she questioned as he stood beside her while they were playing a game of croquet.

Fiyero was leaning on his mallet, letting it rest on the grass as he gave her his typical nonchalant smile.

"None as entertaining as you, I find it stimulating," he replied.

She glanced up at him, the look on her face showing clear annoyance. Why was he choosing her to annoy, of all people? She was just a girl trying to surf through her university life, get good grades and have a bit of healthy fun on the side.

Without a certain winkie prince ruffling her feathers every other second.

"Its unbecoming of a fine lady to frown every moment of the day," he quipped.

She huffed out a chuckle, walking over with her own mallet in hand. She shifted to aim properly, before giving a gentle nudge to the ball that ended up right through a wicket.

Fiyero let out a low whistle, as if he was so impressed.

"Not bad," he hummed.

"You know, your praise isn't very stimulating," she quipped.

That made him smirk, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. She regretted her comment immediately but she didn't back down either.

"I'm sure we can find something that works," he retorted.

"You make me want to hurl," she replied.

"Ouch," Fiyero pouted, putting a hand to his heart. "You wound me, darling."

She imitated his pout, before turning away with a roll of her eyes. It felt like every little movement she made was being tailed by him. Their game only got more intense as it went on. Even the other players were a little concerned at how competitive they were.

The constant back and forth jabs, the heckling in hopes the other would miss their shots. It was a never ending loop.

It was the last round by now. Fiyero knew he was on the brink of losing — he was too easily distracted by her earlier. Now she was about to take the last shot, and if she made it then she'd most definitely come on top.

Now that couldn't happen. Not on his watch.

He walked around the field, going over to her side as she lined up her shot. He waited, watching the way her forehead creased slightly as she focused, the subtle pout on her lips.

Oh, her lips.

Then he had a cheeky little idea. With a finger rubbing his chin, he leaned in slightly closer just before she'd hit the ball.

"If I beat you, you have to kiss me."

His whisper right by her ear had warm breath fanning her skin. That was enough to send a random, odd shiver down her spine. Then his words registered just as she took the shot.

"That's— wait, what?"

She was knocked way off balance to the point her ball went completely south from the wicket. Nowhere close to how her shots had been so perfect before this.

Her jaw fell slack as she looked at the ball. Especially the distance between it and the wicket.

"Well, seems to me you're beat, darling," Fiyero mused.

She was still completely stunned by the fact. Especially considering she was always good at croquet — it was practically her game for crying out loud. In comes this stupid little prince charming knocking her off her game with a simple bet that wasn't even agreed upon.

Fiyero found it all completely amusing. Especially how flustered she was by a few simple words. He was definitely taking note of it.

"So?" he hummed, his body tilting to the side to be closer to her.

She turned her head, her eyes narrowed in a glare as she looked up at him. She wanted to smack that smug, cheeky look off his face with her mallet.

"No," she said simply.

She left the mallet in the provided space, trudging off the field and away from him. Hopefully for a really long time. He called out for her, unable to help the laugh that left him as she practically ran away at the mere idea of kissing him.

"Adorable," he mused to himself.

If Fiyero's life mission was to pester her, hers was to avoid him. She'd managed it for two solid days now. In and out of classes at the speed of light, no more lingering in the library unless she desperately needed a certain book and certainly no more courtyard homework.

Even her roommate was getting concerned by her behaviour, but she shrugged it off as her not wanting to be outside in public.

At some point it got stifling though, so she left the dorms at night. It was quite late and she wanted to go on a walk. So she went out to the gardens, past curfew. It was only for a few minutes anyway — she didn't see any harm done.

Until of course, someone else was already there. In her favourite spot. Playing with a stray puppy.

She couldn't avoid him for that long, clearly. As she attempted an escape, Fiyero looked up — their eyes meeting. And then came his cheeky little smile again. She was suddenly glad it was dark out, so he couldn't see her fully.

“And what's a good girl like you doing loitering past curfew?”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, deciding to just go with it. She stepped a little closer — for the fresh air. Totally nothing to do with him.

“Can't sleep,” she shrugged, her arms folded as she looked down at the puppy.

Bending down, she reached her palms out. The little thing was quick to jump and put its paws on her hand, licking at her skin. A smile pulled on her lips as she entertained the puppy.

“You've been avoiding me.”

“You've been pestering me.”

Fiyero chuckled at her quick retort, shaking his head as he sat on the grass.

“Do you always have an answer for everything?” he questioned.

“Why do you think I read?” she quipped. “I understand the concept is foreign to you, seeing as you can't read.”

“Ah ah,” he clicked his tongue. “I can read perfectly well, princess. I simply choose not to tire my brain.”

“So you choose to tire your tongue by vexing me with every word that comes out of your smart mouth?”

He grinned — two days of nothing and now he was getting quite his fill of fun.

“You just called me smart,” he mused.

“Is that all you heard?” she scoffed.

“Selective hearing. I choose not to invite negativity and stress,” he shrugged with a cheeky smile.

The chuckle that left her was a welcomed one. He liked that, the way she laughed even if they were arguing.

“Why don't you like me?”

The question left him before he even thought about it. Then again, he wasn't really known for thinking, was he?

She paused from petting the puppy, turning her head to him instead. Her head tilted, before she moved to sit on the grass properly as well.

“I never really said that,” she said.

“You've implied it.”

“Oh, so you do pick up on context clues?”

He laughed then, unable to help the way her words amused him a little too much. He was always upbeat, sure, but she seemed to make him smile a little more than usual. Even now — their smiles were matching.

“I don't not like you,” she eventually corrected. “I just find my focus elsewhere.”

His brows raised as he leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he watched her. Not the way she was playing with the dog, or their surroundings. He was just looking at her face in the dim light.

“So you do like me?” he asked.

“I tolerate you.”

“Already an upgrade,” he hummed. “Just tolerate?”

“Don't push it,” she warned light-heartedly.

The sound of their chuckles were the only thing reverberating in the quiet garden, as well as the dog rolling around on the grass at her affections. They sat there for a long while, maybe an hour or so. Until eventually they both got up to get back to their dorms.

“You still owe me,” he said on their walk back.

Considering they'd both snuck out past curfew, they were rather casually strolling back to the dormitories. Her brows furrowed faintly as she looked up at him, still falling in step beside him.

“I beat you,” he reminded.

Her brows immediately relaxed as she shot him another look. Except this time it wasn't annoyed or exasperated, even if she tried. It was softer, maybe a little more amused.

He walked her to the stairs of her block, lingering for a moment. As she took a step upwards, she paused. Fiyero waited with a raised brow when she turned back.

Then she leaned down, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Now we're even.”

Safe to say, Fiyero had sweet dreams that night onwards — especially when the daily pestering started to receive warm welcomes.

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[fernsnailz]

it's time... for the TEAM DARK FEST! 💥💥💥💥

me and @serpentineshine are hosting a little tournament to finally determine who the best Team Dark member is! this week there's gonna be goofs, bits, and even a special prize for the winner 👀

however, the most important prize of all is what awaits at the end of the festival! ...but that's a secret right now.

💥 cast your vote below! 💥

(oh also if anyone makes any propaganda for their fav character. tag me i wanna see)

video transcript below the cut! ⬇️

A blue announcement screen with scrolling text reads “SPECIAL FENSNAILZ ANNOUNCEMENT.” There’s a looping animation of Squeak the cat in the middle. It disappears, cutting to a shot of a studio space.

In the studio, SNAIL, SHINE, SQUEAK, and a VASH PLUSH all sit at a desk with a large CRT TV on it. Squeak and Vash are on top of the TV, and shelves with various items line the walls. Everyone seems to be unaware that the camera is rolling - Snail is reading the script, Shine is drinking from a mug, and Squeak is licking her butthole. Vash remains motionless.

Snail notices the camera zooming in, and throws away the script in a moment of panic. Shine and Squeak sit up to face the camera as well.

SNAIL: Coming at you pre-recorded, it’s Snail, Shine, and The Beasts!

SHINE: We’re here today to announce a special tournament we’re hosting: the TEAM DARK FEST!

SQUEAK: Eep!

VASH: weemp womp :]

SNAIL: You know ‘em, you love ‘em-

SHINE: Or hate them.

SNAIL: It’s all about TEAM DARK this week! Fellas, turn on that TV!

The camera cuts to a close-up of the TV as the screen flips on. Three shitty photos of each Team Dark member appear on the TV under the question “Who is the best member of Team Dark?” Every Team Dark member’s name is misspelled underneath the photos.

SHINE: Time for the ULTIMATE question: Who is the best Team Dark member?

SNAIL: Oof. We’re turning them against each other, huh? That’s dramatic.

SQUEAK: Meep! (HOLY SHIT)

The camera zooms out to a wide view of the studio, but zooms out much further than needed for a split second. For some reason, this is all being filmed on a green screen set, and the shelves behind the cast seem to be edited in. Not only that, but this studio is either widely over-staffed or widely under-staffed, because the boom mic is held by seven Chao stacked on top of each other. The camera zooms into a closeup of Snail before much of this information can be processed.

SNAIL: Well, it’s obviously Shadow. I told him if he won, I would get him ice cream after soccer practice!

The camera pans over to Shine.

SHINE: No way, vote for Rouge! She can carry like. Nineteen mountain lions. Give or take

The camera pans over to Squeak and Vash. Squeak points at a crude drawing of Omega that seems to say “VOTE OMEGA.” It is upside down. Vash holds a cute little sign that says “I <3 OMEGA” that he likely made himself.

SQUEAK + VASH: ?????????????? (we didn’t hire anyone to translate this part.)

Back in a wide shot, Snail and Shine stare blankly at Squeak and Vash. Squeak licks her butthole again. Vash is now Real. Someone off-screen sneezes very convincingly.

SHINE: This poll will run for ONE WEEK before we announce the winner! So little time…

SNAIL: Everyone make your vote count! The winner of this festival will have a special page in my… 

An image of a porcelain snail appears over a white background as an echo-y human voice says “SECRET UPCOMING PROJECT.”

VASH: bweep bwaa :] (Yay! Prizes!)

SHINE: The final verdict will be decided by Twitter AND Tumblr, so commit as much voter fraud as you please!

Squeak bites Vash and he screams. They both fall off the TV and make a surprising amount of noise. Snail and Shine stare in shock.

SNAIL: See you in seven days! And hey, if you want to participate… tag me in any propaganda you make to fight for your favorite Team Dark member!

Squeak and Vash explode.

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— happy home day + eijirou kirishima.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — exactly one a year after adopting from the pound, kirishima plans a special surprise for you, his special little puppy hybrid, on their birthday.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, smut, fluff, hybrids, lingerie, collars, creampies, dumbification, possessiveness, pet-names, body-worship, orgasm-denial, dom-sub, unprotected sex, praise!kink, daddy!kink, breeding!kink, afab!reader, puppy hybrid!reader, pro hero + owner!kirishima.

⭑ words — 4.3K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! i wanted to post something so had you guys vote on what you wanted to see next. the winner ended up being kirishima <3! this was a birthday fic commissioned by my baby @eijirhoe ( who has given me permission to post ) and was beta read by the lovely @vagabondings!! i hope you enjoy !! kiss kiss - m.list ✩

“for fucks sake, kirishima, that is not a fuckin’ guard dog.” 

only katsuki bakugou could be this miserable in an adoption centre for adorable hybrids— kittens, bunnies, mice and puppies alike. the redhead gives the employee standing nearby an apologetic mix between a smile and a grimace, the poor thing shaking in their boots at the proximity of the dynamight.

“katsuki, don’t yell. you’ll scare the ‘lil thing,” he pouts, sticking his fingers through the wire bars on the cage— coaxing the little hybrid inside closer. “and i thought you said german shepherds made great guards!” kirishima wiggles his digits again, pursing his lips to make those kissy sounds that are usually used to call to cats and crouches down to the height of the enclosure. 

bakugou smacks him upside the head but takes a stance beside his rioting hero friend before signing dejectedly. “wrong sound idiot, you’re meant to whistle,” the two strong, and surely intimidating men spare a glance at the cowering hybrid as katsuki whistles in an attempt to gain some trust. “and they usually do, but this one looks like they might shit themselves if someone looks at them funny. not a guard dog.”  

“but bakugou—“ 

“i hate to interrupt, mister riot. mister dynamight.” the employee from earlier steps in, steeling her nerves as she gestures to the cage the puppy hybrid is in. “but if this one doesn’t get adopted soon, i’m afraid they’re going to be put down. we don’t have the space for slightly quieter and apprehensive hybrids like them, no one really wants them if they’re not overly friendly or energetic and…if they do it’s usually for the like…” 

“hybrid farms,” bakugou finishes for the kid, his voice thick with disgust. “just shut one of those down the other day. awful fuckin’ places.” 

kirishima pouts again, peering into your cage— noting the gloss in your big pretty eyes and how you shrink in on yourself, tail pinned to the ground without the happy swish to it that other puppy hybrids in the centre have. “so…” he can’t imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen to have ended up here. “if they don’t get adopted today, they’ll be put down? isn’t there any other way? that hardly seems fair.”

“to us it’s a little more humane than ending up at a hybrid farm or those indecent love hotels exclusively for sex with hybrids…” the employee trails off again, nervously fidgeting with their fingers. in the distance, a bell chimes with the notification of more customers— a mother and her child, probably looking to adopt one of the younger, nosier hybrids for their family. “if you’ll excuse me…” 

“i’ll take ‘em!” red riot blurts without even thinking, the employee not having taken two steps away from him and his angry blonde friend who looks at him like he’s gone bat-shit crazy. “this is their only chance, right? i have to do something, they don’t deserve to go out like this.” the blonde closes his mouth, holding his protests thoughtfully. 

he’s right. kirishima is right, his kind soul always is. “ai’ght, fine. but don’t expect me to train that thing, they ain’t nowhere near close t’bein’ a guard dog.” bakugou grunts, folding his arms across his broad chest with a faux look of dismay— not admitting how impressed he is with eijirou. 

eijirou kirishima has a heart of gold, he’s always been like that— putting others before himself because he believes in them. he takes in strays, builds up their strength and their confidence, letting them know that he’ll always be the sturdy figure they can fall back on in times of need. katsuki was one of those strays, an unwanted dog just like you. he’d bared his fangs to the sweet redhead in fear of letting in someone that would hurt him, but as it turns out, becoming friends with someone as selfless as kirishima was just what katsuki needed.

the employee sighs, shoulders sagging with relief as they glance between the two pro heroes. “should i be getting the adoption papers then?”

with an enthusiastic nod, red riot peers back at you with affectionate eyes and a smile you can trust— one that only widens when you bump your head against his fingers over the bars of your pen and let the tips of them just brush your lush puppy dog ears. “yes please,” he says warmly, his gaze never leaving you. “don’t you worry about a thing little one, it’s you and me now, got it?” 

and for the first time in forever, your tail wags happily, and you don’t feel worried at all.

being adopted by eijirou kirishima most probably saved your life. 

he’d been eager to get you out of that shelter, with the promise of a better life written against his lips and lost under his tongue as he babbled about your new home and how excited he was to have a puppy hybrid of his own. a timid, sweet faced and jumpy german-shepherd hybrid nothing like their breed— with big eyes, a set of pointed and twitchy puppy dog ears and a tail that stays pinned to the ground with nervousness. there’s a lot for him to undo, a lot of trust to build up.

kirishima was patient when introducing you to his home that only big time pro hero money could buy— he let you sniff out the place, scenting areas that made you feel safe even having his comforting, large presence right beside you was enough to make your ears perk up and heightened senses go wild. he let you pick out the biggest spare room in the house and had even felt sad for you when you stated that you’d never had your own before. 

“with me, i’ll make sure you have everything you want ‘n more, kay pup? things will never go back to the way they were for you.” the red head swore to you, crossing his heart — that was the first time you’d ever felt love like that. 

the two of you quickly fall into an easy routine; kirishima would leave for work in the mornings after making sure he’d set out the perfect meal a growing pup, like you, would need— using all sorts of kibble that his explosive friend katsuki had recommended. occasionally he’d spoil you with pieces of turkey bacon that he knew you weren’t allowed to have, but what was the harm in spoiling someone who hadn’t experienced luxury before? plus he liked the way your German shepherd tail would wag and your pupils would dilate at the sight of the meaty meal. 

eijirou made sure you had all the toys possible to play with while he was away for work— you didn’t like sitters and nearly chewed out the last one katsuki had recommended for a nervous puppy such as yourself. you didn’t like her scent and how it had gotten all over your owner. you preferred to be alone, surrounded by the pinewood and musky husk the redhead would leave behind. and, by the time he came home from being red riot, you’d be sitting right by the door with big bambi eyes to welcome him home, the little bell on your store-bought collar jingling as you rush to meet kirishima at eight pm sharp each day.

though you’re pampered with treats and pretty things and ear scratches 24/7– kirishima does have you trained by that awful bakugou. you’re by no means a guard dog, despite what your hybrid breed might indicate— but you’re disciplined with house rules and how to sit and act properly. bakugou is mean and he snarls at you from time to time, but the praise and kisses you get from your darling and sweet red haired owner make the training completely worth it. 

nowadays, katsuki doesn’t even question when you scamper onto the couch or perch yourself on eijirou’s lap whenever they have their boys nights to watch the hero rankings live. “pampered fuckin’ pooch,” is all he grunts from over his can of beer. 

“hey,” eijirou will huff, his hands on the fat of your waist or twirling through your fluffy brown and black tail. “don’t be mean, katsuki. they don’t know any better.” 

even with all that house training— you still sneak into his bed when being on your own gets too much. his warmth calms you, and eijirou doesn’t seem to mind the brush of your thick and soft tail against his thighs in the morning. “pup, you’re not s’pposed to be on the bed,” he’d tried to scold you the first time it happened, he really did, but your ears lay flat against your skull and you gave him those eyes and kirishima was quick to dive in next to you— asking you what was wrong. “nightmares huh? of the pound? well, those can’t be very nice. maybe you should share a bed with me tonight. one night won’t hurt, will it?” 

except one night, becomes every single night.

repeatedly, each night, eijirou scoops you up into his flexing, toned arms and carries you to his room instead of your own— tucks you under his weighted duvets not yours, and swamps you with his body heat. he runs like a furnace during the later hours, not that you mind, it’s nice to be close to him. to feel adored like that.

yourself and kirishima are touchier than most hybrid-owner pairs, you’ve noticed. bakugou thinks it’s because you have a clingy-attachment style, the red head because you’ve been deprived of the affection that most pups deserve. he goes beyond headpats and chin scratches, and the ones that itch right behind your floppy fluffy ears. kirishima keeps a hand on the slope of your waist when he takes you for walks on sunny days, he holds your hand instead of your leash most of the time and his lips linger against your forehead a little longer than normal for a hybrid that’s just a housepet. 

you think it’s normal at least, you’ve never been cared for like this and having eijirou’s attention some, if not all, of the time feels like a dream come true. you know that he loves you when actions of endearment become more passionate— when innocent cheek kisses become sloppier lip-locks and when hugs turn into desperate attempts to grab at your flesh, also when your heat cycles become less about finding a mate and more about begging kirishima to ravage  you against the nearest surface, soothing the instinctual ache in your bones and lower tummy. 

he loved you, and you loved him— and you knew that you owed it all to kirishima for the better life he gave you. taking a chance on a shy little puppy hybrid at risk of being put down.

taking a chance on you.

“angel, ‘m home!”

the rustling of brown paper bags, heavy foot-steps and keys jingling in the front door make your puppy dog ears twitch and you perk up from your place deeper in the house at the sound of kirishima coming home from a long day’s work. you scramble up to meet him half-way into the kitchen, tail swishing a mile a minute behind you, nose wriggling in anticipation. “e-eji!” you breathe, fingers itching to reach out and touch him. “you’re back!”

you’re so cute, so loyal that it warms the pro hero right down to his core. kirishima nods once, giving you the go ahead to latch onto him since you’d waited so patiently and lets out a small chuckle as you tuck yourself into his side. “i always come back, don’t i?” setting the bags on the marble island, he frees up a hand to brush over your head softly, using a knuckle to rub behind your ear. “have you been good, baby?” moving to cup your cheeks next, he presses a gentle smooch to the tip of your nose. “‘course you have, you’re always good f’me…but, i gotta know— did ya miss me?”

“i always miss you,” you say a little too quickly, nuzzling into the palm of red riot’s large hand, tail wagging even faster. “can i…can i have a kiss, eiji? please.”

for a moment, a primal look flashes through the hero’s eyes before being replaced with something softer, something that mirrors the smile he gives you. “only ‘cause you asked so nicely, baby,” he says playfully, sliding his hands from your face down to your waist and tugging you nice and close, your hips flush against one another. “c’mere puppy, gimme some sugar, hm?” your body can’t help but bristle, keening into kirishima’s touch as he subtly lowers his voice and guides you into following his command.

you stand on your tiptoes without even realising it, tilting your head upwards as kirishima coaxes your mouth open with his mellow moving tongue—sighing sweetly against your lips until he’s captured them properly in a slow kiss, not giving you too much but pouring enough words into it to let you know how much he cares for you. he pulls away so things don’t too heated, but still keeps his hands on you before you can whine in protest. 

“what’s that?” you ask softly, cocking your head to the side when you notice the bags behind him.

“oh those? well,” kirishima swoops down to your height, nipping your nose with pointed teeth— only serving to make it scrunch up adorably. “i heard it was a certain pup’s birthday today…and it also happens to be the one year anniversary of their adoption. so i got ‘em a lil’ somethin’ to celebrate.”

he lives for the way you smile, almost dies at how your eyes sparkle. “c-can i open it eji?”

“not all of it, pumpkin,” eijirou briefly lets you go and you really do whimper this time, knowing better than to claw at him to stay when you know he’ll be right back. the burly redhead turns to grab a perfectly wrapped package from within the brown paper bag and passes it to you with an eager grin. “go put this on f’me, will you baby? then meet me in the living room once you’re done, for the rest of your present, kay?”

“okay! i’ll be quick!” you practically squeal, vibrating in your place.

“good pup, i’ll be waitin’,” he turns you around with a grip that's barely there, handling you as if you’ll break with too much force and patting you on the bum softly as you go. 

by the time you return to the living room, it’s been completely transformed. 

the lighting is dimmed, a ruby glow filtering through and the soft hum of your favourite song reverberates against the walls and high ceilings. kirishima seems to be fixing a box on the coffee table by the couch before he notices you, a slick and sexy grin tugging at the corners of his lips as you approach him. “there’s my pretty puppy,” he rasps lowly, sending a shiver from the tips of your ears right down to your toes. “god, i think i made the right choice pickin’ that cute lil’ number out for ya, looks so good on you, hun.”

heat pulses under your skin like buzzing kinetic energy, making you tuck the swell of your cheek into your shoulder bashfully, fluffy ears flattening against your skull. “you think so?” said number is a darling little babydoll dress, made of black silk and red lace lace accents that tickle the backs of your thighs with hearts embroidered at the chest.

“it looks perfect on you baby, you’re breathtakin’,” kirishima tells you earnestly, holding his hand out for you to hold— which you take shyly. “c’mere, twirl f’me? wanna see all of you. show off for me, cutie.” every single one of his compliments has your tail swaying from side to side and blood rushing to your brain, making you dizzier than the cute little spins you do for him while the pro hero sinks into the couch to watch you.

he leans back, thighs spreading wide— and you have to fight the urge to drop your gaze between them. “that’s it pretty thing, my puppy’s such a fuckin’ stunner.” kirishima swallows thickly, ruby glossed eyes darkening with desire. “come t’daddy pup, wanna give you your other gift.” 

you quickly shift to stand between his spread legs, quivering like you’re cold has large and rough hands swallow your waist and bunch your night dress up at your hips. he presses sloppy kisses to the softness of your tummy over the material. 

“sit.” he commands simply, tugging on your hips to pull you down with him

“yes daddy,” your breathing is ragged as you sink into kirishima’s lap, thighs apart so that you can straddle him properly.  you wonder if he can hear your heart racing from its place in your chest— your heightened hybrid senses can already pick up on his, kirishima’s pulse sky-rocketing now that you’re on top of him. “c-can i have my gift now?”

his calloused hand pushes the black silk up and over the curve of your ass, red riot digging into the fat of it to rock you back and forth over is hardening girth. “r’member your manners, puppy. yer s’pposed to ask daddy nicely.” nonetheless, he relents and snatches up the box on the coffee table— handing it to you to unravel. “open it up, baby.”

excitedly, you tear through the daintily wrapped package, revealing a red patent leather collar—decorated with red and black bows, and a heart shaped tag with the letters ‘EK’ inscribed into it. collaring was a big deal in the hybrid community, it meant a permanent mark, belonging to someone, being in love.

“let me put it on you,” eijirou simpers, readily slipping the leather around your neck and sliding two fingers underneath it to tug your lips up to his. “i love you, pup.” he confesses, licking into your mouth hungrily and grinding up into your dripping heat.

it’s embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten and so fast, dumbly following him to the forest fire of lust, sucking on his tongue like a parched puppy lapping at the first drink it can get. hybrids slick up faster when aroused and kirishima turns you on like no other— somehow finding your panty covered clit between your salacious bump and grind. 

slumping against his beefy chest, your nails dig deep into his shoulders and whistle tone dog squeaks bubble up on the swell of your lips each time eijirou swipes the pad of his thumb over your swelling pleasures nub, encouraging your juices to gush over his hard on—glueing you both together by strings your arousal.

“i love you too…p-please e-eiji!” the air in the room feels heavier, tainted with the lust that clouds your logical thought. in fact, you can’t even think right with the way your owner toys with you.  he drools against your puppy tongue, curses into your heated mouth all while you’re riding his fingers like your life depends on it, kirishima pinching at your sticky clit just to hear more of your needy whines. “p-please daddy,”

the hand that once sat lightly against your neck now trails over each dip and curve of your body, barely brushing over your nipples or digging into the meat of your ass and thighs. “you look so fuckin’ good in the things i buy you, hun, drive me fuckin’ insane,” kirishima fights back a moan, cock twitching against your ass, desperate to be inside of you. “so beautiful in that lil’ dress, with my name around your neck. fuck… ‘m so lucky. my pup, daddy’s sexy fuckin’ puppy.” he rambles and praises you all at once, giving you whiplash, making you clench and ooze sweetly around nothing.

you’re sure that the redhead is almost as brainless and as fucked out as you are just from dry humping his darling little pup… but through his own grunts and groans, hips wildly bucking up to meet yours— kirishima still manages to dominate you, make you feel like you don’t even have to think around him. “you want me, pup, is that it? want me to fuck you?” he hums huskily against the shell of your ear, pinging your collar against your neck when you nod your head yes wordlessly. “gotta—fuck— gotta use your words f’daddy, c’mon now, you know that.”

“y-yes daddy, want you. badly.” you slur, and suddenly, your world tilts on its axis. your back hits the sofa with a bounce and you're pinned against it by the weight of your owner above you, your knees being pushed into your shoulders.

“a-always such a good…obedient lil thing f’me,” eijirou groans at the sight of you beneath him. “so perfect, ‘m so lucky t’have such a beautiful puppy all to myself, shit!” your silk baby doll gathers at your hips, soaked panties tucked to the side and your glistening, pulsing mound on display like an attraction made just for him. he wastes no time in yanking down his sweats and boxers in one go— revealing his bright red and angry dick, covered in a thick layer of gooey white precum. all for you. kirishima slaps the length of himself against your slit once, twice before his forehead falls against yours. 

“p-put it in eiji, c-can’t wait daddy…”

even though your cute little sex makes him a wreck, eijirou still manages to hold control over you— teasing you as he forces his fat tip past your tiny, creamy entrance. “so impatient, cutie, i should make you say please… but fuck, i need you so bad right now. might not last long…”

the pair of you let out strained moans as kirishima pushes in and he reaches the hilt—your sweaty bodies flush against one another, both of you covered in layers of each other’s arousal. your pussy flutters at being filled up so fast, clinging onto the pretty blue veins that spiral around his chubby, swollen cock— a low whine rumbles in your chest as the redhead sets a rough stream to his thrusts, milky cockhead brushing against each pulse point on your sensitive walls. 

it’s almost like you’re being knotted, squelching as kirishima tries to pull out of your snug sex that grips him selfishly. all the while, he pounds you to hell and back. you're so full, you’re a slobbering mess already teetering on the edge of insanity. red riot leans over you, washboard abs pressed against the backs of your thighs to force you down into the creaky couch— each time he withdraws from your messy and wet walls, your ears fall back and your tail thumps hard against the cushions, coated in your viscous nectar.

“fuck, this puppycunt sounds so dirty, gorgeous…feels like fuckin’ heaven,” he whispers to you, words damp on your cupid’s bow. “my perfect puppy, a dumb lil’doggy on my cock…s’such a fuckin’ dream.” your brain empties, becomes a void that’s filled with only eijirou kirishima and the way he fucks you deep, hits every spot, touches your body like a man worshipping a higher power. “‘m so lucky baby, really am.”

your collar jingles, the pendant with his name on it bouncing every time kirishima’s cock bullies its way into your gooey insides until they give into him. you’re the lucky one, you think— lucky to be loved like this, to have been rescued from the pound and pinned down on a dick that aches to be inside you, wrapping around his pulsing length to the point where you’re practically milking him already.

“d-daddy!” you hiccup, big fat tears clumping in your lashes, your face a beautiful mess to the man above you. “i can’t…”

the pro hero reaches down between your bodies, close to cumming just from listening to you howl over the sounds of skin slapping on skin, and tugs at your soft slick tail—stroking it until your pussy quivers and gushes around him, painting your babydoll dress and his half rolled down sweats with a fresh wave of your essence. every time he pets the fluffy appendage, you get wetter and wetter, tighter and tighter and your moans loud enough to wake the neighbours. 

heavy hips rock into you, even heavier balls clap creamily against your fleshy ass and kirishima lets his head drop to your neck—biting and sucking possessively at exposed skin just above where your collar lies. “yes you fuckin’ can, your daddy’s good pup right?” he slurs hungrily, writing his claim against your throat. “when you get close, hold it f’daddy, be obedient ‘n you’ll get your reward.”

you feel like everything’s on fire, every nerve ending in your body buzzing with anticipation— the knot in your stomach seconds away from unwinding. “b-but daddy—!”

“hold it.” eijirou warns sternly, though his breath stutters— every instinct that he has threatening to breed you up full with a load of his hot cum. “h-hold it, hon,” you sob at the pain and pleasure of holding off, thighs twitching, tail hitting the couch hard and puppy ears flopping over your face. you’re so adorable like this, jolting up the piece of furniture as the redhead languidly canters into you. he finally breaks when you let out a weak cry of his name, his first spurts of cum pouring into you. “f-fuck, let go for me puppy, make a mess on daddy’s cock—shit, thats it. so good, all over me, wanna see you cummin’ with me…”

white hot ropes of seed paint your insides just as your eyes roll back into your skull. he feels so warm, coating your insides with a layer of his cum as if to claim you from the inside out. there’s so much of it that oozes out of your entrance thickly, like a running tap of honey  that ruins your pussy lips with opaque white—triggering your own orgasm. kirishima holds you close, whispers sweet nothings into your ear as your release crashes over you, rocking your world while your juices splatter out against his pelvis and all over your cute little gown in clear streams.

“happy birthday, beautiful,” the redhead mumbles to you sweetly, kissing his initials on your pendant and right up to your lips. “i love you.”

“t-thank you eiji,” you whisper back— a sleepy, full and content puppy. “i love you too.”

[captainsophiestark]

Batting Cages

Kol Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2024!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day Twenty-Two Prompt: "Why are we doing this again?"

Summary: Kol and his spouse are in Denver, trying to find Jeremy Gilbert to help Klaus with his scheme. Unfortunately for Klaus, the couple are still head over heels for each other, and therefore easily distracted.

Word Count: 1,182

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Why are we doing this again?"

I wiggled the bat over my shoulder as I stared at my husband, Kol Mikaelson, from where he stood over the pitching machine in the batting cage. He tossed the baseball up in his hand, catching it again as he grinned at me.

"Because I need to make friends with Jeremy Gilbert, and he likes coming to the batting cages for fun after school."

I huffed, dropping the bat back to my side, held loosely in one hand. I made a show of looking left and then right at the other batting cages around us, then turned back to Kol.

"I don't see him."

"He'll be here. We just have to wait him out."

"Fine." I brought the bat back up to just over my shoulder. "Pitch it, then."

Kol smirked, then hurled the ball in my direction with a little more speed than I thought necessary. I swung through with the bat, keeping my eye on the ball and using some of my vampire strength, since that's apparently how Kol wanted to play.

The ball went rocketing back towards him in a straight line, so quick that he barely had time to duck out of the way. He popped back up a moment later, an indignant expression on his face.

"Hey!"

I just laughed and shot Kol a grin.

"You know, that's why they have the pitching machines," I said. "So you can avoid exactly what happened."

"Nah, that's not as fun," Kol said, waving me off before grabbing another baseball. "Come on, get the bat ready again."

I did. Kol and I had been together for centuries, so we'd developed a great rythm together. I'd found my soulmate, and even better, I'd been lucky enough to get eternity with him. So, when his brother sent him more than halfway across the country for some ridiculous and overdramatic mission, I'd come with him.

We found little ways to make the best of it. Like getting to the batting cages early to spend some time together.

"You know," I started, wiggling the bat over my shoulder again as Kol wound up another pitch, "if we had some blue tinted glasses, we could pretend we were in Twilight right now. Vampire baseball."

Kol shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"You are way too into that media for an actual vampire."

I just grinned at him, swinging the bat and knocking out another pitch he sent my way. This time, despite the temptation, I didn't send it straight at him.

After another few rotations, Kol and I switched places. I tossed a couple easier pitches his way, and Kol had fun hitting them out of the park, but I was starting to get bored. I tried to put a little spin on my next pitch, and for the first time all day, Kol missed it.

"Damn!"

I grinned. "Come on, babe. You've been playing baseball longer than anyone else alive. You can get that."

Kol narrowed his eyes at me, keeping the bat raised and ready. My grin widened and I wound up another pitch.

Wham! Like the last, it went flying past Kol and into the backstop. He growled in frustration and dropped the bat down to his side.

"Dammit! Alright, give me another one. We're not leaving here until I get this."

"Or... how about we make a bet?"

Kol raised an eyebrow at me, his posture relaxing.

"I'm intrigued, darling. What did you have in mind?"

"We take turns pitching and batting, say, thirty turns at each position. Whoever does the worst across both has to make the winner's favorite dinner tonight."

Kol grinned. "You're on."

"Perfect. Think fast."

Using vampire speed, I whipped the ball in my hand at Kol, ideally before he could react. Unfortunately for me, he also had vampire speed, and he sent the pitch flying right back at me an instant later.

"Nice try, darling. But you're going to have to do better than that."

Kol and I got lost in our competition, devolving quickly from any rules of sportsmanship. We tried to surprise each other with pitches, distract each other by shouting, and finally, distract each other by flirting. By the end of our combined sixty pitches, Kol was trying to speed across the batting cage faster than the ball he'd just thrown to pick me up so I couldn't hit the pitch.

I cackled as Kol literally swept me off my feet. Unfortunately for him, it was a moment after I'd connected with the baseball, sending it into the back fencing for the win. He put me down with a sigh, taking the bat out of my hands and spinning me around to face him.

"So... a tie, then."

"Nope! Nice try, Mikaelson, but I was keeping score, and you agreed with me. Hitting that last pitch gave me the win and we both know it."

Kol hummed, throwing the bat away from us and pulling me flush against his chest. He leaned down and kissed me, and I smiled into it, running my hands up and into his hair.

We were just starting to get carried away when a barely-intelligible voice crackled over the speakers of the batting cages.

"Attention everyone, the cages will be closing in ten minutes. In ten minutes."

Kol and I broke apart, just staring at each other for a moment. Then, we both burst out laughing.

"Damm," Kol said, shaking his head even as his smile stayed put. "We either completely missed Jeremy, or he didn't come today."

I shrugged. "Eh, I still feel good about how we spent the day. The mission can start tomorrow."

"I guess it's going to have to, now. Good thing Nik's not here to find out."

"Pft. Let him try to come at us. We've got a bunch of metal bats, we're untouchable."

Kol laughed, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as we headed out of the batting cages together. A few other people were headed out, too, but none of them were Jeremy Gilbert. Oh well.

"You know, darling... I think I might come by myself tomorrow. I don't think I'll ever be able to focus on Nik's schemes or the Gilbert kid when I can focus on you instead."

I beamed, leaning into Kol a little bit as we walked down the street together.

"That's fine with me. There's plenty of other things I want to check out while we're stuck in Denver. Although, when we meet back up tomorrow night, you should be warned that I'll probably have quite a few stacks of new books with me."

Kol laughed. "I'd be worried if you spent time in a new city and did anything else!"

"Aw, babe. You really get me."

Kol laughed, and after a moment, I joined him. We strolled down the street together, the same way we'd been spending our evenings for hundreds of years, and I couldn't keep a bright smile off my face. We might've been here to help Klaus with some ridiculous scheme or other, but no matter where we went or why, all Kol and I really needed was to be together.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

The Vampire Diaries/The Originals Taglist: @elenavampire21

[thatsdemko]

the story of us - m.verstappen

part two (good riddance)

Taylor swift inspired works masterlist

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: max verstappen x driver!reader

warnings: angst??? idk

a/n: HAPPY SPEAK NOW TV!!

And we're not speaking and I'm dying to know

Is it killing you like it's killing me yeah

I don't know what to say since the twist of fate

When it all broke down and the story of us

Looks a lot like a tragedy now

the crash. it was a simple overtake, one Christian warned him about. you were on your way to p1, your first pole position in formula 1 and max verstappen—your boyfriend and teammate— just so happened to have the nerve to take it away from you and leave you into the barriers.

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you wip your helmet and balaclava off in an instant. the second the Marshalls take him and you back to the garage you’re fighting. this is why Christian warned you two of mixing your pens in the company ink.

“my problem?!” he whips around at the sound of your voice crashing into his ears. he hates when you yell.

“you saw me coming! christian told you!”

max starts to rebuttal, but Christian puts his hand up to stop him. max knows Christian and you are right. he was warned you had DRS and were flying right into pole position— his position.

“leave her alone.”

“you don’t tell me what to do with my girlfriend.”

— next chapter —

it’s been two weeks since the incident. two weeks since he sent your car flying into the barriers, and you haven’t spoke since.

he hasn’t called to apology and you haven’t made any efforts to show him you’re over the fight. you just want your damn boyfriend back.

you’re situated on the end of the couch, he’s in the middle between Charles and lando, happily engaging in gossip and conversation while the interviewer starts to ask you questions. typically, max would pay attention, he’d smile and nod along like a proud significant other, but he could care less in this moment.

“have you two made amends since the attempted overtake?” the interviewer looks up from his cards in his lap. his eyes scan max, who’s busy in conversation with Charles, and then back to you. it’s quite obvious no attempt of amends have been made.

you’re nervously playing with the ends of your hair. you’re nodding along to the questions and trying to keep track of what needs to be answered, but of course he goes off on a tangent, and asks the question you didn’t want to answer. were you two going to be okay? was formula 1’s it couple going to survive this fight? the answer was quite simply, no.

“umm,” you pause for a moment and look over at the other Red Bull driver. that’s what he was to you now, you weren’t even sure if he was your boyfriend anymore.

“we’ll get there.” you fake a smile and set the microphone into your lap allowing the questions to flow to the three boys.

Oh, I'm scared to see the ending

Why are we pretending this is nothing?

—

“and that’s pole position for y/n y/l/n! her first win in formula one!”

the crowd is erupting in cheers. the radio hasn’t stopped buzzing with excitement, and while you’re excited, and happy, there’s someone who’s voice you’d want to hear on the other end. there’s someone you want desperately congratulating you.

in the winners room, he doesn’t even bat an eye in your direction. Charles is playing middle man trying to please everyone with his jokes and lighthearted humor, but it’s no use. the tension is bubbling between you two.

“congrats, by the way.” max says rather briefly. he’s looking at the television in the room that’s replaying your overtake on him. the one that didn’t fail and alter your relationship. he wonders what would be different if he didn’t push you off the track. would you be kissing right now? would you cry in each others arms?

you don’t even get the chance to say ‘thank you’ or ‘I miss you’, because by then you’re being called up for podium and the distance between you two is so very obvious. the love and happiness Red Bull used to have, was a flame that was dying.

I don't know what to say since the twist of fate cause we’re going down

and the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now,

the end

read part two here

[moooncats]

✿ Pick A Card ✿

✿ What Does Your Inner Child Think Of You? ✿

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✿ Pile 1 : Imagination , Chakra Clearing. ✿

Wow! This Pile so far is one of my favorites right off the back. Like seriously I RARELY ever pull out this elusive card and right off the bat.... blam! Haha what incredible energy we have here. So I'm hearing that your inner child is so stinking happy of the person that you've become. They love how you revel in the wondrous, mysterious, most beauteous power of your imagination, and let it whisk you away on a right-brained roomp through all things nonsensical, Suess plays Wonka style. To them, you're an off road adventurer, playing in the upside- down, glow-in-the-dark woods of posibility. There is no "no" here. Only "whoa!". And "flow". And "Holy moly, here we go!". (Hmmm maybe there was something in your brownies? c; ). Your inner child feels heard from you and is attentively hanging out with you feeling affirmed by every journey you set out to. I'm hearing "Your the best friend I could ever ask for." Omg pile 1 this is so effing sweet like seriously, they think you're such a cool, magical person. They wouldn't have it any other way! (:

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Chakra Cleansing: Archangel Metatron: "Call upon me to clear and open your chakra's, using sacred geometric shapes. Your inner child want's to make sure that you are taking care of yourself and not over extending your energy ♡. Please make sure to cleanse your aura every once in a while. You can take a bath with essential oils, sage/paulo santo's your body and area, or do a salt water cleanse in a lake or beach. The water can be very cleansing and healing. As a native from Hawaii the beach would be my go to cleanse preference. (✿◠‿◠) 🌊

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✿ Pile 2 : Open Heartedness , Prioritize ✿

Wow pile 2 lemme give you a hug okay? 🫂 Seriously, you have been through some stuff. I'm picking up on heavy energy here. Your inner child is amazed at how unjaded you are. They have seen you go through some people who were absolute bummers. Did that experience make you salty in any way? Heck no. They see you as a strong warriror who always chooses to not let unhappy chapters make you into a monster. They appreciate that so much. If you let negative experiences turn you sour, then the jerks and bully's win. So you move on with an open and hopeful heart, if only because you hate losing to jerks. Pile 2 you are winners. 🏆💗 You kill people with kindness and don't let their bad energies mix in with your pure and thoughtful heart. Your inner child is so sweet, they tell me that they give you hugs and love that you are the person they have become. I'm hearing "We are misunderstood and not everyone will get us, but our hearts are always pure".

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Prioritize: Archangel Metatron : "Focus on your highest priorities. I will help you get orginized and motivated". Pile 2, your inner child is amazed at how many ideas that you get from time to time. However, they want you to manifest your thoughts from the 4D and materialize them into the 3D. Proper planning and prioritzing will help you with that. Take out a sheet of paper, and start writing your goals, plans, anything that has to do with your future. They want to make sure that you at least have them written, so you can start "scripting" your dream life. If you don't know what scripting is, it's a form of manifestation that helps you with your ideal dream life. Try it out, it's free and does wonders. Your inner child wants to help you realize your power. I'm hearing your quite popular in the dream realm, you may have astral traveled before or have been looking into it. This is your sign to continue on that path. Congratulations pile 2! This is so far the longest pile that I've done so far. So many messages! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ ♡

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✿ Pile 3 : Honouring Ideas , Clear Intentions ✿

Interesting indeed. This pile I'm hearing unlike pile 2, you are the type to go for your goals. Your Inner child is quite impressed with you! They love how many silly, serious, & whack a doodle ideas you come up with! Lmao, I'm hearing a specific scenario for every event in your life. What an amazing brain you have. This is my pile who always has their head stuck in a book, ears listening to a podcast, and an head full of wonder and ideas. When an idea comes to you, you honor it by doing your best to bringing it into being. You are a master manifestor. Ideas to you, are like children, and you proudly nuture them, knowing they'll grow and develop, and eventually make their way out into the world without ever really acknowledging how much time/money/love you shelled out for them. This is my piles who may be entrepreneurs. Seriously keep that ish up, you are definitely trend setters! Your inner child loves how smart and buisness minded you are. They are definitely proud of the person that you are and have become. (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ♡

✿ Advice From Your Inner Child ✿

Crystal Clear Intentions: Archangel Michael : "Be clear about what you desire, and focus on in with unwavering faith". Pile 3, I'm hearing that any idea you have will be brought into fruition. How lucky! The gods are definitely in your favor when in comes to Manifesting. Please do not stop dreaming, all your dreams will surely come true with the right intentions. 🌌☁️✨️

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[wh0re43van]

Frogger- Peter Maximoff X Reader

Summary: Teasing Peter Maximoff. That's it. Thats the fic.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: A little smutty (pg 13-ish), weed, kinda slow burn

A/n: This came to me while staring at a wall for 20 minutes after five bong rips. It was written in like an hour at midnight and only proofread once; probably a fair amount of typing errors. Thank you for reading !!

Pt 2

I lay on Peters bed listening to one of his Pink Floyd cassettes and sipping on a coca cola awaiting his return. I met peter at the arcade a couple months ago and we hit it off immediately… well, after we finished arguing over who got to the Pac-Man game first. He zoomed in front of me, seeming to appear out of thin air. I yelled at him, saying that I was there first and I had already put my token in, after he backed down, then we hit it off. He showed me some secretes he’d learned about the game then we went to get coffee. I’ve spoken to him almost every day since. He quickly became a close friend.

“Knock knock,” he says walking into the room. He’d zoomed out to re-up. I hop off his bed, setting my soda down on the coffee table as I approach him. I’m happy to see him, but even more excited to check out the weed.

“About damn time,” I joke as he tosses me the baggie.

“What? I was gone for literally five minutes,” he laughs, taking a seat on his couch.

“That’s awfully long for you, eh Quickie,” I sit down next to him grinning. “Shit, I left my papers in my car,” I frown, before picking up my keys and dangling them in front of Peter. He rolls his eyes, taking the car keys and speeding out and back, within seconds he’s tossing the rolling papers into my lap. “Thank you,” I bat my lashes at him.

“Yeah yeah,” he rolls his eyes, opening a bag of chips. He watches me as I break up the weed and begin to roll the joint.

“Damn you’re good at that,” he says genuinely impressed as he crunches on the Doritos.

“Well, I have a lot of experience,” I laugh sparking the joint, taking a deep hit. He’s told me that he didn’t smoke a whole lot before he met me, maybe I’m a bad influence. Then again, I had never stolen anything until I met him; so I guess it cancels out.

I pass the joint to peter as I exhale the smoke. “Good shit,” I laugh as I try stifle a cough. Peter takes a hit, immediately coughing so hard his face turns red.

“Goddman,” he chokes out, I hand him my soda in attempt to ease his coughing. “Wow I already feel it,” he says after he takes a sip, his voice raspy from the hot smoke and hacking as he sets the glass bottle down next to him.

“I think the coughing makes you higher,” I giggle, wiping off the ash off my skirt.

“I think you’re right, shit,” he sighs. “You feel it yet?” he asks looking at me through lidded eyes.

“Not quite, my tolerance is pretty high,” I laugh then take another hit before grabbing his Atari controller. “Wanna play frogger?” I ask.

“Stupid question,” he scoffs, zooming to the gaming console, looking for the correct game cassette. I take the time to admire how handsome Peter is, the way his white t-shirt hugs his toned arms, his constantly messy silver hair that falls perfectly into his face, his perfect skin- despite how much junk food he eats.

‘Damn he looks good,’ I think to myself as I take another hit off the joint, lounging on his crumb covered couch with the tan controller resting in my other hand. Peter zooms back to me.

“321 go!” He shouts, starting the game.

“Shit Pete I wasn’t ready,” I shoot up dropping the blunt, Peter of course catches it before it hits the ground then pops it into his mouth. I die almost instantly.

“You lose,” he takes the controller out of my hand replacing it with the joint. “My turn!” He gives me a shit eating grin that I’ve grown to adore. I roll my eyes.

“Alright Quickie,” I begin as his fingers move in a blur on the Atari controller. “Lets make this a competition. Best 2/3. Winner gets a whole joint to themselves,” I smirk.

“Oh you’re on,” he laughs, not looking away from the television. I cover his eyes with my hands, causing him to die. “Dude!” he shouts at me. I grin taking the controller. “You loose, my turn!” I mock him. He laughs, leaning back on the couch. I last a while, ultimately missing the log, dying when I fall into the water.

“425, beat that,” I proudly hand him the controller.

“Pft, in my sleep,” he scoffs, and he’s right. He quickly beats my score with a whopping 683. “You sure you wanna continue, man?” he smirks. “You can still back out and just split the joint, and keep your pride intact,” he offers with a smug grin. Instead of getting irritated, I develop a plan.

“Oh, I’m sure Peter,” I smirk back. “But could you go first? You’re so great, I’d like to know the final score I have to beat,” I ask batting my lashes.

“Uh, sure. Okay,” he agrees even though he looks confused. He starts the next game, doing very well of course. Without him noticing, I pull my sweater down to show some cleavage before I reach over him to grab my cola sitting on the opposite side of him. My chest sets even with his eyes as I grab the cold glass bottle. Peters fingers slow and a light pink settles on his cheeks. He clears his throat, as I sit back down on the couch.

“Alright man, you can’t distract me that easily,” he laughs it off, even though he’s still blushing, glancing between me and the screen.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m just thirsty,” I smirk as I use my tongue to bring the paper straw into my mouth, staring at Peters eyes that keep finding their way back to me. I slowly slide the straw out of my mouth, my tinted lip gloss leaving a ring on the white paper.

“Mmm,” I moan, leaning closer to him as I savor the taste of the cherry cola. “This is really good Peter, how’d you know that cherry’s my favorite?” I ask lowly. His eyes go wide, his frog gets hit by a truck earning him a score of 237

“Come on!” the speedster shouts. “That’s totally unfair! How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re being all hot and shit?” he asks, his cheeks still pink.

“You think I’m hot?” I giggle, taking the controller from his hands. His cheeks burn even brighter when he realizes that he just admitted that he thinks I’m hot.

I easily beat his score; he doesn’t even try to stop me. “Fetch me my weed,” I grin, holding out my hand. He rolls his eyes, but in instant the weed, papers and lighter are in my hand. “Thanks, Quickie,” I wink before quickly rolling another joint.

I lean back on the arm of the couch, watching Peter as his eyes follow the joint going between my lips, staring as I French inhale the smoke. His bloodshot eyes watch in awe and I can’t help but smile at his obvious ogling.

“Let’s watch something,” I smile, standing up and walking toward the tv, taking another hit.

“Sure,” he sighs in relief. “What movie are you th…” he trails off when I bend over, my short skirt exposing the smallest amount of my ass. I pretend not to notice, picking up a random VHS.

“What about Jaws?” I turn, asking him innocently. He blinks shaking his head as if trying to release himself from a trance.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah s-sure dude. What, uh, whatever you th-think sounds good,” he clears his throat again, staring into my eyes, not even blinking. I can tell that he’s trying extremely hard not to look at my sweater that’s still pulled down or my skirt that’s ridden up my thighs. I can almost hear him saying to himself ‘don’t look, don’t look, don’t look…’. I’m enjoying every moment of this.

I smile as I bend down to slip the VHS into the player, I turn to catch Peter adjusting his pants. He quickly removes his hand, giving me a huge grin trying not look guilty. I put the spliff back in my mouth to keep myself from laughing.

I walk over to the couch, tapping the joint out and setting it in the ash tray. As the movie starts to play, I take a seat next to peter, throwing my legs over his, allowing my skirt to fall down my thighs towards my stomach, and Peter seems to notice. His breath hitches in his throat, glancing back and forth between the movie and my thighs. We sit like this for the first part of the movie, eventually he relaxes a bit, getting into the film. I watch as the light from the screen bounces of his sharp features. I smirk as I lean up to Peter.

“You have something on your face,” I say quietly. He watches as I take my thumb in my mouth, wetting it to wipe the dried frosting off his cheek. His face floods red, he’s adorable.

“What’s wrong Peter?” I ask, still only inches from his face. “Why so quiet all of the sudden?” I lean into whisper in his ear. He visibly shutters as my breath hits his skin, a barely noticeable sheen of sweat appears on his forehead. I’m satisfied with his reaction. “Do I make you nervous, Peter?” I ask, wiping the sweat off his face. He turns to look at me.

“Uh,” he clears his throat. “N-no, of course not. It’s just, uhm, a little warm in here, th-that’s all,” he stutters, staring at me with his glossy brown eyes.

“Hm,” I pretend to think about his response. “You’re right,” I grin before pulling my grey sweater over my head, leaving me in my short skirt and white tank top that clings to my curves and barely covers my cleavage. He audibly gasps with wide eyes, not bothering to hide his staring.

“It’s getting even more hot in here all of the sudden,” he pulls at the neck of his shirt trying to cool himself off.

“Maybe you should take this off then,” I suggest, toying with the hem of the shirt. “Might cool you off,” I don’t drop his gaze as I reach for my cola, taking another sip.

“I-uh… y-yeah, sure, m-maybe you’re, uhm right,” he stumbles over his words before clumsily taking off the white t-shirt. I’m surprised that he actually did it, but definitely not disappointed. I drink in the picture Infront of me. The nervous boy fidgeting with his hands, a thin sheen of sweat on his flushed cheeks and toned torso, his chest rising and falling rapidly, all of my doing. The sight makes my core ache.

“Your goggles are crooked,” I observe as I slowly crawl on top of him to straddle his waist, giving him time to stop me, incase I’m taking it too far.

He just gulps, watching as I settle on his lap. I place one hand on his chest, using the other to adjust the silver goggles, my chest at his eye level once again. I catch his eyes, now glossed over with lust rather than THC, watching me as I smooth his hair down. As I sit back, my core against his crotch, I can feel his excitement through his pants, he bounces his leg rapidly in anticipation, watching, waiting for whatever it is that I’m going to do to him next.

“Are you sure you’re not nervous?” I smile, my skirt completely bunched up around my waist, exposing the entirety of my white thong.

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracks. “I’m totally fine,” his words come out shaky as he stares at my exposed underwear.

“I’ll move if you want, Peter,” I slowly grind my crotch against his, the friction on my core feels amazing. “Just tell me and I’ll move,” I offer with pleasure laced in my tone, hoping that he doesn’t ask me to stop.

He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a small whimper as I put more pressure and speed into my movements. I slowly dip down to his neck, giving him time to stop me if he desires, leaving wet kisses on his jugular. I swear I can feel how hard his heart is beating.

“You taste so sweet, Peter,” I whisper in his ear, continuing my grinding on his erection through his pants.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his breathing shallow and quick. I slowly slide my hands down to his buckle, still moving my hips as I trail my kisses closer to his lips. I pop the buckle open and bite down on his lip gently, he gasps against my mouth.

Beep beep. Beep beep.

Goddamnit

My digital wristwatch signals that it’s time to pick my little brother up from school. I hop off Peter, he furrows his brows.

“I gotta go man, I gotta pick up my brother,” I explain, he just watches in confusion as I slide my sweater back on my body, adjusting my skirt and putting on my shoes. I head to the steps, he jumps up as if he’s just now processed what’s happened.

“Hey, wait, you can’t leave me like this,” he whines, his erection prominent in his blue jeans. “We were having fun,” he frowns. I smile widely.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming back,” I wink. “My weeds here dude, you know I’ll be back,” I laugh walking away from the shirtless, frustrated, confused boy standing with a raging boner in the middle of his room.

[ggfj84]

“I love you, Jaybird, but this is going to get someone killed, most likely Tim."

"Hey!"

Nightwing patted Red Robin on the shoulder. "Sorry, Timbo, but it's really just a game of odds. The three of us have already bit the dust once."

"I was pronounced dead once, too."

"You were kidnapped by your older self and tortured for a bit,” Red Hood said with a jerk of his shoulder. “Doesn't really count."

"And your math is flawed, Richard. If we died once, the likelihood of dying again increases exponentially - "

Nightwing shook his finger between Robin and Red Robin. "You two are spending waaaay too much time together."

"Are we doing this or not?" Hood huffed. "I'm getting bored over here."

How did he agree to this again? “What are the rules of engagement?”

Red Robin pulled the cards from his belt and handed one to each brother. “One rule and one rule only. First one to finish their whole Batman Bingo Card wins.”

“I can’t agree to this,” Nightwing spat, reading off his boxes. “ ‘Steal an earring from Catwoman.’ ‘Stump the Riddler.’ ‘Switch Batman’s tea for coffee?’ This is insane.”

“I have ‘Make Batman laugh,’” Hood said incredulously. “Anyone want to switch?”

“No switching!” Red Robin chastised. “You play the card you were dealt. The free space is seeing the Bat Signal.”

Robin hmphed. “I have ‘not threaten to stab anyone for an hour.’ It does not say I cannot stab someone.”

Nightwing shook his head. “Guys, this is dangerous. We shouldn’t do this.”

“Geez, Mr. Buzzkill, think you can have fun for one second?” Red Hood grumbled. When Nightwing shot him a glare, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Winner gets their name listed as the Kitchen’s highest scorer. Batman will forever be frustrated, not knowing how you snuck into the Hall of Justice and mastered its training exercises.”

“Tim will hack in?”

“Naturally. Loser gets to be Bruce’s plus-one for his next charity event.”

“It’s a fundraiser to capture and save the city’s mice,” Robin added.

“Vicki Vale is set to attend, too,” Red Robin muttered.

Nightwing clicked his tongue. “Right, so…what was the free space again?”

(Now with amazing art from @dicks-dick-ifyouwill - check it out!) 

[acowardinmordor]

Continuing from This, but definitely not resolving anything yet.

You Left Me, You Miss Me

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

----

Steve’s eyes watered and he pinched his lips tighter, restraining his reaction. But he didn’t break. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. He refused. 

Robin crammed the next marshmallow into her cheek, barely managing to get her lips back together around the mass of sugar fluff, and kept the game going. 

First one to swallow, chew, laugh, or fail to fit the next marshmallow would lose. 

They hadn't decided what the winner was going to get, but neither of them were willing to lose. Even in stupid games they invented while exhausted and tipsy and giggly after midnight. 

He had Robin, and that made the rest of it easier to bear. 

Painless? No. 

But he didn’t spend his days wallowing in agony and crying into pillows. It ached the way a bruise did; a constant dull throb in the background, and only vivid if something smacked into it. He’d walked off worse. He carried deeper scars. He could grin and laugh and act like it was normal on the rare times he saw the others. 

And he could grin and laugh and be normal around Robin. 

She’d taken a gap year, and was planning to clear some gen ed credits at a community college in the spring, then make new choices. Steve was planning to follow her. 

That was what had them drinking and shoving marshmallows in their faces. She chose a place closer to Indianapolis, they’d called around and had a list of places they might be able to rent, and while any and all ice cream shops were forever banned, there were plenty of places where they could work. 

Steve nodded to acknowledge her successful marshmallowing, and reached for another of his own. 

It was the seventh. 

It was ambitious.

It did not go well. 

An hour later -- after a burst of giggling gave both of them utterly disgusting, half-choking, half-spitting marshmallow down themselves fits -- they changed into new pajamas, washed faces, drank water, and ate a few chips to chase off the sugar coating their tongues, they curled up in Steve’s bed. 

“We should drive up tomorrow,” Robin mumbled. 

“We have work. Birdie.”

“Ugh, fine. Thursday. We both have Thursday off.”

“Sure. Thursday."

"We’ll go find a place to live so we can get out of this town.”

“Anything’ll be better than here.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go over and--”

“Nah, it’s fine Robs. It happens. We’re gonna go live something better.”

“Damn right we… are…” She trailed off as she fell asleep, laying across his chest. 

It wasn’t the end of the world. He knew, in graphic detail, what that was like. This was life. This was kids growing up and finding friends that fit in better. This was all of them letting go of the desperate grip on each other that shared trauma had caused.

This was healing. 

Steve was a bit part in the movie of their lives. An extra who wandered in to keep them safe, sent on his way when the danger passed. It wasn’t their fault that they meant more to him than he did to them. The whole definition of who he was, and who he wanted to become changed because of them. They were everything for him, and he'd give everything to them.

He wished there was something he could give them, but the closest he could manage was departure.

He wasn’t mad at them, so he never let Robin see how it broke his heart. She’d have grabbed his bat and started hunting. She knew they weren’t inviting him around as much. She knew they were being distant. She knew that Steve tried at first, then stopped. She knew he was upset, she just didn’t - couldn’t - know how much. 

It wouldn’t do any good. 

And in a few weeks, top of the new year at the latest, they’d be living in Franklin, Indiana, assuming they didn’t decide last minute to move into the city itself. He would close the book on this part of his life, and start a new one. One where the guy he used to be wasn’t a permanent stain, and he could make friends without tragedy pushing them together.

He'd never find anyone else like Robin, but maybe he could have friends who would want to keep him, just because they liked him.

---

Part Three

there will be more. don't know when. and I'm so bad at Tag lists that I just don't do them anymore. sorry ducklings.

ps if someone has a suggested name so I can tag these blips of story, that'd be great.

[betheflame]

so i promised a stony baseball au...

“Is this normal?” 

Bucky cut his eyes to the right. They were standing along the railing of the dugout, watching the game unfurl in front of them. The Avengers were up to bat, runners on second and third with one out. Rogers’ eyes were trained on the batter in the box. 

To be fair, every eye in the stadium was. 

Bucky didn’t get a chance to respond, because at that second, Stark’s bat cracked and the ball soared into left field. “Get out, get out, get out, get… FUCK YES.”

He smiled as two runners crossed the plate before Tony trotted home. The Brooklyn Hydra increased their lead over the Reading Athletics and they were giving the sell-out crowd a good show. Minor league baseball was part theater, part sport, and part training ground for the individual players to show off in the hopes they might get called up to The Show. 

It also gave big leaguers recovering from injury somewhere to ease back into the game; which is why Bucky was currently sharing the dugout with World Series champion, two-time Cy Young winner, and generational talent Steve Rogers. The man they called Captain America was coming off of hip surgery and Bucky knew their whole team was just a litttttle bit starstruck. 

Except their starting catcher, who appeared to give less than zero fucks about playing with the headliner. Bucky could not figure out exactly why Tony and Steve hated each other, but it started the second day of Steve’s rehab stint. The two had gone out to dinner after practice and came back to the clubhouse the next day nearly hissing at each other in hatred. 

So it didn’t matter that Tony had just hit a 3-run home run in a fashion fit for highlight reels. Steve acted like he was watching a traffic collision. 

Tony danced back into the dugout and gleefully put on the traditional Home Run Crown the team kept for celebrations. He high fived everyone and then stopped dead in front of Steve. They glowered at each other until Steve finally grumbled ‘nice hit’ and Tony moved on to celebrate with the guys behind them. 

“Is what normal?” Bucky addressed Steve. 

Steve had gone back to leaning on the railing. He blew a big gum bubble tilted his head over to where Tony was taking off his batting gloves. “The drama.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you play on a team with a man whose nickname is ‘King of the World’ and you’re concerned about Tony having fun playing baseball on minimum wage?”

Steve snorted. “Carlito is a jackass. Been begging the front office to trade him for two seasons. Stark just doesn’t seem to take the game seriously.”

Bucky barked out a laugh as the inning ended. He grabbed his glove and began to trot out to his position at first base. “Rogers, you’re currently playing on a team that uses an inflatable pool toy crown as a home run celebration. You’re here for another two weeks, feel free to enjoy it.”

....

let's see where this goes, shall we?

[seths-rogens]

for the writing prompts i GOTTA ask for #34 "why are you so cold" eeeeeeeee i'm twirling my hair already. pairing of your choice <3 and if 34 isn't inspiring, please go for which ever one you hoped someone would request!

okay this is longer than the last two prompts and Wayyyy spicier than anything I've ever posted (even if it is still fairly tame i think) but here u go bestie! hope u liiiike <3

word count: 2.9k | rating: E

cw: blood drinking

——————

34. Why are you so cold?

“What’re you cooking?”

Steve startles in his place by the stove, whipping round and slamming back up against the oven. Boiling water sloshes over the rim of the pan, soaking into the back of his t-shirt. 

He barely feels it, too focused on the figure standing in the doorway to the hall. They’re drenched in shadow, features unrecognisable. He’d had the lights low to offset the migraine that was ever so slowly wearing off, but also because it felt wrong to turn the lights on at two in the morning. 

He regrets that now.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Steve chokes out, wishing more than anything that he had his nail bat within reach. He glances off to the side, judging the distance between himself and the knife block. If only he could—

“Now, now, Stevie. That’s no way to treat an old friend.” 

Steve inhales sharply, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

Long hair, lank and tangled. A once white shirt shredded and stained with blood so dark it seemed black. Torn jeans and muddied white Reeboks. Steve can't see past the tears in the clothes, but he knows it probably isn't pretty. 

A dead man takes a step forward out of the shadows.

“Eddie.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Eddie grins, baring his teeth. Even in the dark they gleam bright white.

“You’re dead.”

"I am?!" Eddie exclaims, starting to frantically pat himself down. Steve winces  - that's gotta hurt. He pats at his chest, rests a hand over his heart and breathes deep. "God, you had me worried for a sec there, Stevie boy."

"This isn't real." 

"Then what, pray tell, do you think it is?" 

"A-a dream. Or a nightmare. Or... or Vecna's back and I'm his next goddamn victim. Fucking figures right?" Steve rambles on, borderline hysterical. 

Eddie takes another couple steps closer. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and ducks his head as if he's blushing. "Aw, Stevie, you dream about me?"

"No. They're nightmares." He takes a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's just you dying over and over. Bleeding out in my arms, fucking screaming at me to help you." He scoffs before mumbling under his breath. "God, what am I doing? Talking to a freaking mirage."

Steve turns around and leans against the counter. He stares into the boiling water. The pasta's probably overcooked by now. 

"You're not real." Steve mutters to himself in reassurance,

A hard line of pressure  bares down against  the expanse of his back. Steve's breath catches in his throat. "Are you sure, Sweetheart?"

Too solid, all too real, hands gently grasp his hips, before sliding round his waist. A gentle tug and he's pulled into a one-sided embrace. "Don't I feel real?"

Steve doesn't know whether to melt into the feeling or fight it off. 

It's been strange, the last few months. Since they fought Vecna and closed the Upside Down off. Everyone's been different.

Steve included. 

He tries hard to be the rock the group needs, but it weighs on him. He can take everyone else's pain, but who will take his? 

But now, wrapped in strong arms, Steve feels his resolve waning. It would be so easy to fall apart.

He pushes the thoughts back. Eddie is dead. This thing behind him is a trick. 

Steve spins, pressing his palms flat against Not-Eddie's chest and pushing. Quickly, he shifts to the side, leaning over to the switch on the wall and turning on the under cabinet lights. 

He jumps when he turns back round, Not-Eddie much too close for comfort. "Afraid of the dark, are we, pretty boy?"

In the light, Steve takes a closer look. The skin beneath the tears in Eddie's clothes is smooth and unmarred where it should be mangled. The tips of his fingers are near black, like he'd dipped them in ink, the nails sharp. Steve glances at Eddie's grin, notices the extra length of each of his canines, the way they're sharp like fngs. 

Finally, he meets Eddie's eyes. Sees the way they're tinged red. Gasps.

"Like what you see?" Not-Eddie smiles, those fangs of his pressing divots into his bottom lip.

Steve stares, only a little terrified. "You're not Eddie."

Eddie frowns.  "It's a little bit different, I know, but that's what happens when you're the last meal of a few hundred alternate dimension demon bats." 

"No... no, I--" Steve shakes his head. "You can't be him. You can't be." 

"And why's that?"

Steve feels a sting in his eyes. His heart starts to pound. "You were dead. Your heart stopped." He tries to back away further, the counter at his back halting his futile efforts. "We left you there... Oh god... Eddie, we--"

He slides down to the floor, tucking his knees tight to his chest as his breath comes in short pants. "I'm so fucking sorry. I left you there. I... I'm sorry."

With a grace unseen of the Eddie of before,he slinks down to a crouch and speaks with a harsh clarity unlike his previous joviality. "My heart stopped, Harrington. I bled out. That isn't on you."

"But I--"

"No. It's on Vecna. You killed him, yeah?"

Steve nods. "Yeah."

"Then you did all you could. Like, avenged me or whatever." 

Steve runs a hand down his face, surprised to find it coming away wet. "I'm still sorry."

"Steve... I--" Eddie reaches out, cupping Steve's cheek in the palm of his hand. Steve flinches at the sensation of skin touching skin. "What? What's wrong?"

"Why are you so cold?" 

Eddie's skin is cold. Icy like the time Tommy pressed his hand to the back of Steve's neck after taking an ice bath. Cold like the snow Robin shoved down the back of his coat last winter. Cold like the waters of Lovers Lake, and the frigid air of the Upside Down.

It's inhuman. 

Eddie sighs. "So uh, I don't think I'm human anymore." He grimaces awkwardly. "Surprise?"

"What do you mean you're not human?" Steve grits out through clenched teeth. 

Eddie falls backwards onto his butt, sitting criss-cross applesauce across the room. The pot is bubbling over on the stove. Steve ignores it. 

"Well. I should be dead, right? We've established that." He fiddles with a dirty strand of hair. "But all my bites are healed. And I can feel my teeth in my head. They ache and they're sharper than they were before. And..." He pauses, trailing off.

"Spit it out, Munson."

"And I can hear your heart beating. I can smell your blood."

Steve presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying you're what exactly?"

"I think I'm a vampire."

"A vampire. Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Look, I know we weren't that close, but I figured Henderson would freak out if I showed up at his house and the others' parents would ask too many questions."

"So I'm the last resort?"

"No, Steve. I came here because I trust you." He shrugs. "I thought we might've been friends if I'd made it out, y'know? I thought you might be willing to help."

Steve's shoulders slump as the weight of those words sets in. He nods. "What do you need?"

He smiles, canines glinting. "I'm fucking starving."

Steve laughs softly. "Well I've got enough overcooked macaroni if that works?"

Eddie smiles back. "Sounds good."

Steve pushes himself to his feet and offers Eddie a hand up, which he takes gratefully if the extravagant bow he offers means anything. He grabs two bowls and a couple forks, and dishes out the overdone monstrosity. 

With a sheepish grin, Steve passes Eddie a bowl and sits next to him at the breakfast bar. 

Steve digs in as Eddie takes his first mouthful. 

There's quiet for a moment, then, "Hmm?"

"What?" Steve asks through a mouthful. 

"I didn't consider this part."

"What part?" 

"I'm a vampire, Steve."

"So?" He pokes at the pasta with his fork.

"Vampires don't tend to eat human food. Humans are the food." 

Steve splutters, choking on a bite of pasta. He drops his fork, appetite gone. 

"You don't have any raw meat by any chance?"

Steve grimaces. "Haven't really been able to stomach it since," He gestures to his bat bites, still healing. "Y'know." Eddie nods sympathetically. "I'd offer to drive to the butchers but since it's," He checks his watch. "Three-twenty-seven AM, I think they'll be closed. Sorry man." 

Eddie slumps in his seat, running a hand through his mud streaked hair. "It's fine. I'm sure I'll last until tomorrow. Do you mind if I take a shower though?"

"Sure."

He leads Eddie up to his parent's bathroom. "Take as long as you like. I'll grab you a spare change of clothes."

Eddie nods with a smile and ducks into the bathroom. Steve waits until he hears the water running before rushing into his bedroom to pull out the comfiest clothes he owns. A soft pair of heather grey sweatpants and an old, worn in Hawkins Swim team t-shirt. 

He folds them up and leaves them on the bathroom counter, keeping his eyes downcast. 

He heads back downstairs, scrapes what's left of their food into the trash and starts to pace.

Eddie is alive and in his bathroom. *Eddie is alive and in his bathroom.* 

He should be freaking out, and sure, some part of him is, but another part of him is overcome with a sort of overjoyed awe. Maybe he came back a little different, but at least he isn't dead.

It's at that moment that a thought crosses Steve's mind. Eddie is alive again, and he needs to do anything he can to keep him that way.

Steve settles on his parents long untouched bed and waits, raring himself to make an offer he never thought he would.

When the water shuts off Steve swears he feels his heart stop for a moment. 

Eddie smiles when he opens the bathroom door, steam billowing out in a cloud after him. He's trying the ends of his hair with one of Steve's mom's 'hotel quality towels', wearing the borrowed pair of sweats and Steve’s old shirt. "That water pressure is insane, man. I don't think the trailer park has ever had anything like that."

"Ha. Yeah. So I was thinking--" Steve starts, holding himself tense.

Eddie laughs softly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Funny." Steve rolls his eyes.  "What I was gonna say was, you could always, uh, feed on me. If you want. If it's not like weird or whatever."

Eddie watches him with a stunned expression. Eyes wide and jaw slack.

Steve keeps going. "Just because you said you were hungry, and if you haven't eaten since you got out of the Upside Down - which we will be talking about by the way - then you probably really need to eat, right?" 

"Right." Eddie nods, walking over to the opposite side of the bed to where Steve sits. "And you're just offering yourself up like a jock on a platter?" He shakes his head, sitting next to Steve, up against the headboard. "The kings are supposed to feast on the peasants, Stevie. Not the other way around."

"C'mon, man. You said you were starving."

"I could really hurt you, Steve. It's not worth that." 

Eddie ducks his head and Steve grabs his wrist, squeezing a little."You trust me, right? So I can trust you back. I trust that you'll know when to stop. I trust that you won't hurt me."

"It's not that simple."

"You don't know that. You won't know if you don't try." 

"You're reckless, you know that?" Steve just grins. Eddie hesitates. "Only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." Steve tilts his neck to the side. Edde starts to lean in, shuffling awkwardly to try and find a better angle. Steve takes pity.  "Here, maybe this is easier." He swings a leg over Eddie's thighs and drops into his lap. 

Eddie gasps as his weight settles. Their eyes meet and everything narrows. Nothing else matters, only  two men in an empty mansion in Loch Nora. 

Tentatively, Steve loops his wrists together behind Eddie's neck, the wet strands of his hair brushing his skin. "Is this better?"

Eddie nods, awestruck. “Yeah. That’s good.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Cool.”

A pause. They watch one another.

“You can bite me now.”

“Right.”

Eddie leans in, dragging his nose along the column of Steve’s neck, inhaling that sweet, tart smell. 

Steve tries to repress a shiver.

Eddie bares his fangs, prepares to bite. 

“Wait!” Steve stops him, ducking away from Eddie’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Is it gonna hurt?” “I don’t know.” 

“Right. Of course. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Continue.”

He closes his eyes, bares his neck once more.

It’s like a prick, at first, when Eddie’s fangs pierce his skin. A little uncomfortable but not unbearable.

But then, all encompassing heat. Spreading down, down from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

Steve gasps, eyes flying open as he twitches in Eddie’s lap, clenching his hands into fists. The heat pools in Steve’s gut as he feels his sweatpants grow just that bit tighter. He rolls his hips without thinking, lets out a guttural moan as his eyes roll back into his head. Feels his toes curl in his socks.

Eddie pulls away. “Steve?”

“Don’t stop. Why did you stop?” His breath comes in short pants.

Eddie grimaced. “You seem a little, uh… compromised? I don’t wanna continue if you’re gonna hate me after. Don’t think I could live with myself.” 

Steve meets Eddie’s eyes, sees the dark, wide circles of his pupils. His own probably just as large. “I don’t want you to stop. I didn’t know it would feel like this.” 

“Does it feel… does it feel good?”

“So fucking good. I want you to keep going.”

“You’re sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, tangling a hand in the hair at the back of Eddie’s head and dragging him into a kiss, wet and messy with blood and spit. Eddie gasps against Steve’s lips.

When they pull back, his eyes grow ever darker as they take in the blood smeared around Steve’s mouth. 

Steve leans into Eddie’s ear. Whispers. “Bite me again.”

With a moan, Eddie grips Steve at the roots of his hair, tugs his head to the side. Steve lets out an involuntary whimper. 

“Fuck…” Steve sighs, eyes falling closed as Eddie’s teeth pierce his skin for the second time. 

He feels his cock straining against its confines. He starts to roll his hips again, short, frantic jerks as he clenches and unclenches his hand in Eddie’s hair. “Eddie… fuck, Eddie, please.”

Eddie pulls off, licks over the punctures, presses his bloody lips to Steve’s adams apple. “What do you need, baby?”

Steve just whimpers, continues to grind in Eddie’s lap.

Eddie grasps Steve’s hips, stilling him. “Answer me, Sweetheart.”

Steve whines. “Fuck. Need you. Need more.”

“Good, that’s good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” Eddie’s hands slide down to Steve’s ass, where he grabs both cheeks in a firm unrelenting grip. He squeezes, pulls, forces Steve to start a slow grind. “God, I wish I could rip you outta these, Stevie.” 

Steve freezes, shudders, sits back in Eddie’s hands to meet his eye. Swimming black meets swimming black. 

“Do it.”

“You’re serious?” 

Steve nods. “I have other sweatpants.” 

Eddie smirks. He digs his shoe nails into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, pulls until a loud ripping noise cuts through the quiet of the room. Eddie tears until he can pull the scraps away from Steve’s legs and drops them to the floor.

“Holy fuck.” Steve dives in for another kiss, grinding his barely covered cock against Eddie’s in his borrowed sweatpants as he shoves his tongue in Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie gropes his ass again, little fingers dipping down until they brush the now bare skin of Steve’s thighs below the hem of his briefs. He controls the rhythm and Steve can do nothing but let him.

“Can you come like this?” Eddie asks breathily. Steve just whines an affirmation. “Good. I want you to.” Eddie smirks, but the stuttering of his hips betrays how much he’s affected. 

They become desperate, pace frantic and uncoordinated. They’re not kissing anymore, just breathing into one another’s mouths. Steve clutches tight to the back of Eddie’s shirt as Eddie shifts one hand from Steve’s ass and presses it hard to the bulge in his pants. “Come for me, baby.”

The coil in Steve’s stomach unwinds and he tenses as he falls over the edge, muscles pulling tight like a bowstring. He moans unintelligibly, eyes clenching shut as the roll of his hips turns to involuntary little jerks. 

Everything fades to black.

When he comes to, he’s wrapped up in strong arms.

“Back with me?” Eddie asks kindly, a warm smile upon his - now clean - lips.

“How long was I out?” Steve sits up stiffly, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

“Just a little while. I got you some water.” 

Steve grabs the water bottle on the bedside table, chugging down half before recapping it. “So we should do that again sometime.”

Eddie laughs.  “You read my mind.” Steve turns to him, they share a smile.

Steve smirks. “Thought that was your job, Mr Vampire.”

[aparrotandaqrow]

I'm gonna need everyone to get real savvy and real skeptical real fast about political polls and election models in the next 4 months. News organizations are starting to grasp for polling numbers to understand how Kamala Harris will match up against Trump, and I need you all to remember and repeat this maxim:

Electoral opinion surveys and preference polls are not useful without precedents.

The media is going to turn to them because they are desperate for narratives and we are going to be starved of information up until votes get counted.

Do not be misled; the media are effectively running to soothsayers. Both if polls show Kamala doing well, and if they don't.

Here's the thing you need to understand about election polls in the US. Predicting a winner in a presidential election is extremely nontrivial, because of the Electoral College. Outcomes depend on margins in a handful of states; this is why you see organizations like 538 talking about the "Path to 270" and the make-or-break states for individual candidates. A huge fraction of American voters live in California, and their preferences largely don't matter statistically, since California always votes blue. So a straight random poll of Americans will always show the Democrat ahead, because so many Americans live in California and New York (yes this is also why the Electoral College sucks).

To counter this trend, pollsters will use statistical models to adjust the polling sample, trying to guess at who will vote in which state, and rebalancing their polling sample (often by applying statistical weights) to try to get a more accurate sense of how the race will actually break.

So right off the bat, that introduces a serious degree of uncertainty. Good pollsters account for that in the poll's margin of error (not that the media ever let a margin of error get in the way of a narrative), but estimating the margin of error due to statistical weights itself relies on statistical models. Pollsters look at past elections and the variability in turnout relative to polling results (since there are polls that try to measure turnout specifically) to build a model for how uncertain their turnout predictions are.

And that is the key point here. A presidential election opinion poll rests entirely on a prediction of future voter behavior based on past behavior.

That works fine in normal elections with normal candidates. This was not a normal election before Biden dropped out, and it certainly is not one now. No major party's candidate and presumptive nominee has dropped out after the main nominating contest. Not since the advent of the modern party system with primaries and caucuses that are open to the average voter. No major party has fielded a campaign for the presidency during a standard election year in only 15 weeks. Ever.

We do not know what impact that will have on voter turnout, in any demographic or in any region. We have no precedent for this.

So if someone tries to sell you a narrative about how the election is going? They are lying to you in order to sell you a narrative, either for propaganda reasons (a campaign) or financial reasons (a for-profit media enterprise).

I know it is tempting to grasp at every straw of information to understand how the campaign is going. Trust me, I have 3 weather forecast apps and 4 weather radar apps on my phone. I know how compelling it is to want to know what's happening and what will happen.

The best we can do is have conversations with the people in our lives who are not convinced they want to vote for Kamala Harris or aren't convinced they want to vote, and honestly and earnestly get them to come out to vote. Doesn't matter what state you vote in. Don't let historical precedents that do not apply dictate your actions. Have those conversations.

And for fuck's sake, ignore the media pundits losing their minds trying to fill the airwaves with predictions. They don't know what's going to happen any more than you do.

[lestappenforever]

this is directed to you social-psychological anon (my goat <3)!!

you’re so right. max literally cares soooo much about what charles thinks of him. when anyone has anything bad to say about max, he doesn’t really care, has a short and cold response to it, or just laughs it off (if it’s someone he knows doesn’t mean it, like lando joking “max ruins everything”). point is he doesn’t really care that much. however, a few years ago an interviewer asked charles what was annoying about max and they made max respond to it, which is so weird but we roll anyways lol. charles goes “annoying? i don’t know. i guess he can say weird things to the media. but that’s okay, he has personality. personality is important.” (this isn’t an exact quote but it’s along the lines of what he said!). he barely even says anything bad, and he immediately compliments max right after. however, max got so upset about it. he immediately goes “I DON’T CARE WHAT HE THINKS!! >:(“ he took it much deeper than he usually does about not great comments toward him. whole country booing him? he doesn’t give a fuck. charles says a barely insulting (not even) comment? he takes that shot so personally 😭 it just shows how important charles’ opinion is to him. fascinating….

Social-psychological anon, another admirerer who shares their own wonderful insight to this analysis. ❤️

And I'd like to throw in my own two cents here, because there is absolutely something truly marvellous about how Max could not give less of a fuck about what other people think of him, no matter who it is. But with Charles? There is some deeprooted urge within him, a desperate desire for Charles' approval, that just gives him a whole other response to anything that may even be slightly interpreted as negative if it comes from Charles.

Your example with that video of Charles being asked if Max is annoying, and Max's clearly bothered response is excellent. Had that been anyone else — a reporter, another driver, literally anyone who is not Charles Marc Harvé Perceval Leclerc — he wouldn't even have batted an eye. Hell, he probably would have grinned as if whoever it was had just given him a massive compliment. But because it was Charles, and because Max for some reason decided that Charles was sort of insulting him (even when he absolutely was not — quite the contrary, the way I personally view it), just gives away just how much Charles' opinion of him means to him. And that is a huge deal, given how Max Emilian Verstappen is very well-known for not giving a flying fuck about what other people think of him.

I think a lot of this boils down to the fact that it's Charles. The guy Max has fought against for most of his racing life, the boy who grew up alongside him in karting, the guy his own father believed was predestined to fight him on track forever, even in F1. (Which is high fucking praise from Jos Verstappen.) Max and Charles have been tied together for as long as Max can remember, and for as long as they're both competing in the same league, Max will think of Charles as the rival to beat. He will think of Charles as the one driver on the grid with the biggest chance of giving him a proper fight, even when he so clearly can't.

Take this season, for example. We haven't gotten to see many battles between Max and Charles for obvious reasons (Ferrari being absolutely abysmal for most of the season), but the few times we have gotten to see it? Max will go fucking wheel-to-wheel with Charles as if they're both in the running of winning the WDC and the winner will be decided based on who comes out victorious out of that particular turn. It doesn't matter that Max knows that he's going to get past Charles. It doesn't matter that Max knows that Charles won't actually be able to fight him for a race win unless Max is starting from far back on the grid and Charles isn't. It doesn't matter that Max knows the car Charles is driving and the strategies his own team are throwing at him aren't up to par. None of that matters, because fighting Charles Leclerc and seeing him as his biggest rival is so deeply ingrained into Max's entire racing identity that he will treat every battle he gets against Charles as if it's a battle that will decide the title even if it fucking kills him.

And that right there? That deep-rooted respect and admiration for Charles? The same kind of deep-rooted respect and admiration Charles has for him? That connection that has taken them from "hating" each other in karting, to civil colleagues in F1, to an actual, genuine friendship that they so clearly both treasure incredibly dearly, as proven by the blatant shift in the vibe between them recently? That's the reason as to why Max, despite clearly not giving a flying fuck about what anyone else thinks of him, will always care about what Charles thinks of him. That's why Max goes to such extreme lengths to behave differently around Charles than he does with any of the other drivers, and why he treats Charles so differently from everyone else. Because not only does Max know and respect Charles' boundaries and his preferred way of being treated, but he wants to do it right. He wants to exist within the same space as Charles and do it well. He wants Charles to enjoy and look forward to their interactions as much as Max himself does. And to this day he craves that approval from Charles as much as he probably did when they were kids, but back then he was too hot-headed and stubborn to realize that the "hate" he felt towards Charles was actually nothing more than the excitement and slight fear of seeing such a massive part of yourself reflected in someone else — someone you were supposed to hate.

I've seen it mentioned so many times in different posts on Tumblr, but it's absolutely true what they say: Max is so much softer around Charles than he is around anyone else, and treats Charles with a sense of care I am yet to see with any of the other drivers. Which, to me, is such a testament to just how much he values Charles' opinion of him.

[sallage]

An Unexpected Fight

The Unexpected Fight Series

Part 1

Warning: This is a tickle fic!

Summary: After "Winning" the sports festival years ago, Bakugo saw an opportunity to redeem himself in a student organized 1v1 circuit, where he faces off against Aya.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler Aya

Words: 5,510

Reading Time: 22 Minutes

A/N: Here is it! Part 1 of The Unexpected Fight series! I will admit, it was hard to rewrite this one and I'm not satisfied with it, but hopefully the rest will fall into place. Enjoy!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

A malicious grin slithered across Bakugo’s face.

His eyes flashed across his challenger, who was seated on a bench deep in thought. Her hands were in her lap and she seemed to be entirely focused on what she was doing, eyes closed in quiet meditation.

Bakugo was currently taking part in a student organized 1v1 circuit, particularly because of his “victory” at the sports festival from years ago. Each class was competing separately, and the winners of their respective groups would fight one another in a series of battles until only a single victor remained. As the blonde who had defeated his class was now getting ready to fight the other winners, Bakugo could not be bothered to even remember the name of the victor currently fucking around on the bench. He stood and waited for the match to start, not particularly concerned with whatever trick this feeble-looking woman could pull.

Bakugo exhaled a confident and arrogant scoff, doing a side lunge to loosen up and prepare for the upcoming fight. His thoughts were filled with various combat strategies, trying to decide on the best course of action for a quick victory. 

“Kacchan!” 

Bakugo's mood immediately shifted when he heard a familiar, shrill voice slither into his ears and knock around annoyingly inside his head. From the corner of his eye, his gaze landed on Deku, who was racing toward him like a green bat out of hell.

 “Hey, Kacchan! I know you’re busy getting ready, but I wanted to tell you something about-” 

Bakugo huffed obnoxiously, not bothering to hide a twisted and annoyed expression. “You think you can tell me something I don’t already know, nerd? Take a hike.” 

“But it’s about Aya’s quirk, you’re not going to expect-“

“I know a hell of a lot more than you, Deku! I don’t give a shit about what your damn strategies are! Fuck off.” 

Deku didn’t move. Instead, he rubbed the side of his arm anxiously. Bakugo’s eyes locked on the nervous movement like a shark, growing one hundred times more impatient with each passing second. He could tell that Deku was debating on either insisting or letting it go, probably mumbling up a fucking storm in his own head As much as Bakugo would have loved to watch the nerd explode from overloading his own mind, he just didn’t have the time.

“Well, hurry up and spit it out if you’re just going to fucking stand there. I don’t got all day!”

Deku looked back up at him and before he could lose his nerve, he came right out and asked. “A-are you still ticklish? Like from when we were kids?”

Bakugo froze. He would have cracked his neck if he whirled on Deku any faster than he did. “Huh? What the hell kind of question is that?”

Deku bit his lip, already regretting his approach. “It’s not- I mean, if you are-”

“Shut up.” Bakugo smoothly rose from the stretch and strolled up to Deku, getting in his face. “I grew out of that childish shit ages ago, got it? Now get the hell out of here before I blast you for wasting my time!”

“Kacchan please, I-its important- I mean, I just found out-“ 

“I’m not gonna say it again!” Bakugo grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Take the hint, you moron! Get lost!” Bakugo gave Deku a firm shove, not enough to knock him down, but enough to get his point across. Midoriya stumbled and stared at Bakugo with wide eyes filled with irritation, gripping his own fists tightly in anger.

“Fine.” Deku closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. His emerald orbs softened into an expression that Bakugo almost didn’t recognize.

Pity.

“Good luck, Kacchan.”

With that, Deku turned and walked away.

Bakugo maintained a steady, unyielding gaze as Deku left, irritated that he had been pulled away from his preparations by such a weird and unnecessary distraction. He returned to his routine, pushing out Deku's interruption and any impact it had on his train of thought. Finally, a pair of ringing chimes alerted him to the start of the battle, at which point Bakugo confidently stepped onto the designated platform, his body filled with the vibrant energy and thrumming anticipation.

He stared at Aya from across the arena, his expression shifting to annoyance as he spotted her small frame and emotionless stare. Her curly hair coiled past her shoulders like winding trails of black smoke that rise from flames. Her cinnamon hued skin was riddled with healed over scars and trauma, one particularly curious one started at the back of her ear, wrapped down the front of her neck, and disappeared with a winding stretch underneath the collar of her shirt. Her eyes were wide and golden brown, like the afternoon sun shining through a glass of whiskey. 

He gave her one of his maniacal smiles. “You sure you wanna do this?” He unfurled his fist, letting powerful explosions slip through the cracks of his clawed hands, but his overcooked smugness faded slightly when her eyes refocused on his.

In one second, he felt the dynamic of the entire fight shift.

The vivid brown in her eyes disappeared, completely eclipsed in black, shining in the darkened emptiness of her pupils like a dying star before its collapse. There was something mischievous behind them that Bakugo couldn’t grasp, like an inside joke between friends that he wasn’t in on. Alarm bells instantly clambered around inside his head as he now began to question what the hell her quirk was. 

Shit

Ding!

Without hesitation, he used an explosion to propel himself into the air, before angling his body and firing himself downwards like a missile. The force generated from the blasts carried him forward with incredible speed, aimed directly towards her. With his extended hand, Bakugo launched a rapid barrage of explosions and without pausing to see if any of the blasts hit, he landed back on the ground with a heavy THUNK, and triggered one final explosion, causing the arena to tremble and shake with a deafening boom. The ground underfoot cracked and splintered from the force of the blast, and the heat generated by the explosion lingered briefly, filling the area with a fiery glow. Sparks and smoke covered the entire battle field, but through the thickness of it, he frowned. Lifting his hand from the lose ground, he looked at it, then looked around, dumbfounded.

She fucking dodged it. 

How the hell-

“Pssst.” A whisper behind him made him start. 

He whirled, but she leaned back, avoiding his sparking fist. She took advantage of his momentum and pushed his shoulder with the flow of the punch, causing him to stumble and flop onto his back. Bakugo let out a frustrated growl, quickly getting back onto his feet with a swift hop.

Aya stood in front of him, hands casually slung in the pockets of a hoodie she pulled over her uniform. Her eyes were half closed, sporting a bored and uninterested look. She waved away the smoke in her face, eyes locking on Bakugo.

He snarled. “You’re dead, freak.” 

He raised his arm. Explosions popped and flashed brightly through the smoke, lighting up the foggy area like a chaotic, flickering light show. He was about to end the fight in less than a minute when he suddenly gasped and slammed his arm by his side, the explosions in his hand dissipating in a cloud of black smoke. As quick as the feeling came, it disappeared. Keeping Aya in his sights, he quickly searched for anything that may have caused the unusual tingling sensation he felt under his arm.

The corner of Aya’s lip tugged upward.

Bakugo gifted her with a dirty look through narrowed eyes. Lifting his arm, he prepared to shoot out explosions again, but just before they started, he felt that strange, tingling sensation again, only this time it was more intense, like a worm or something was wiggling wildly against his armpit while fingers were spidering and poking down to his ribs. He shouted in startled surprise and shoved his arm hard against his side, his second hand automatically reaching under his arm to grasp whatever that was. Once more, he felt nothing, and his grip closed around empty air.

“The hell?” Bakugo looked himself over before his gaze fell on Aya. She tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, an expression that read, "Do you get it yet?" 

“What the hell's going on here?" Bakugo's voice conveyed an obvious and palpable sense of frustration.

Aya's unbothered expression and overall demeanor could only be described as casually smug. She stood there with her hands in her pockets, treating the situation like it was nothing special, in a way that only added to Bakugo's frustration and growing embarrassment.

“Give up.”

Bakugo’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

“Surrender. Cry uncle, whatever you prefer.” Despite her neutral expression and tone, Aya's confidence rivaled Bakugo's, a show of strength and assurance that the mysterious girl held her own against the explosive fighter. “Give up.”

Bakugo huffed in disbelief and slowly assumed his classic fighting stance. “If you think I’m giving up without a fight,” He lit up explosions from both of his hands this time. “Then you’re dummer then you look, you frizzy headed freak!”

Her expression never changed, as if his insults were nothing but whispers in the wind.

“Why are you still standing there?” Bakugo gathered his explosives. “Fight me!”

This time, he changed up his strategy, releasing the explosions before his arms even moved, shooting them above his head, and chucking them toward her. Each explosion was condensed and rapid, flying at her with speeds faster than anyone could blink. The concentrated blasts would be impossible to block, and should cause her to be thrown back and knocked off her feet. 

The arena quickly filled with smoke as a few rushed and rouge explosions crashed to the ground, causing smoke to billow upwards and obscure his view. Bakugo was just about to blast himself over to Aya to deal the final blow, only to pause after seeing her clear some of the smoke with a causal wave. She was exactly as she was before, with the only difference being her slight movement to the right.

Right when their eyes locked, his surprise was cut short by the sensations that washed over him, causing him to nearly choke as he gasped and clutched his abdomen. His eyes widened as he stared down at his stomach, which felt as if a pack of fingernails were lightly scrabbling up and down on the surface of his skin, beneath his clothing. He grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled it to the side, revealing nothing but the smoothness of his skin and the groves of his abs. Even so, the sensations persisted. Bakugo's eyes flashed to Aya, where she gave a knowing, condescending nod.

Bakugo cursed, feeling a new sense of urgency as the reality of the situation quickly sank in. Aya's quirk seemed to possess the power to manipulate his nerves or his brain, to the point of inducing physical sensations that were not actually there. It was as if his sense of reality had been hijacked. The sensations on his stomach grew stronger, the nails slowly and interchangeably scratching at his skin expanded outwards, teasing the waistline of his pants and the sides of his toned belly. He clenched his hands into fists and his face twitched.

Instead of giving him a dignifying fight, she was playing with him.

This is exactly what Deku was trying to tell him. 

That puny bastard.

Aya noticed his mind working. She raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly towards the small crowd trying to gaze through the smoke, silently asking him if he truly wanted to go through with this in front of everyone.

Bakugo bared his teeth. “Listen here, if you don’t wanna get fucked up-”

Aya put her hand up. "You're out of your league here. Give up and I wont embarrass you.” 

Bakugo froze, his mouth set in a sneer as he stood firm in the face of Aya's challenge. There was no way he could give up, especially before anything even happened. Bakugo tried to recall the last time he was tickled, the memory bringing him all the way back to elementary school. He knew that he might still be a little ticklish, but enough to become incapacitated and unable to fight? He highly doubted it. The whole concept sounded incredibly ridiculous to him and it brought the confidence that he needed back to his face in the from of a cocky smile. If this hag was going to try to tickle him into giving up, she had another thing coming. 

As the crowd waited patiently for visualization to return, Bakugo lit up some more explosions in his hands, finding strength in his confidence.

“That kindergarten bullshit doesn’t work on me, but you can fucking try!” Bakugo blasted himself upwards, rising high above Aya to create space between them. He hoped that the distance would make it harder for her to use the quirk so if anything, he could take her out from the air. That plan was immediately thwarted when he felt a flurry of light finger scratches scraping rapidly against his sides. He growled and sent another barrage of explosive blasts down towards her, trying to push her back and give himself time to figure out how to gain the upper hand. Distance didn’t work, so maybe-

“AH!” 

A sudden burst of fingers rubbing, scribbling, and squeezing in his armpits forced an unrestrained squawk out of him, causing him to abruptly halt his ascent to shove his hands under his arms. It felt like there were three hands in each armpit, One set of thumbs kneading torturously at the bottom, another set of fingers scribbling endlessly in the center, and another hitting an impossible angle right at the top tendon where his bicep connected with the top rim of his underarms. Each hand rotated spots and techniques, maintaining a constant and inconsistent method. Caught off guard by the sheer numbers and intensity, Bakugo folded in on himself, elbows clamped to his sides. Choked laughter hiccuped in his throat, and even high in the air where no one could hear him, he struggled not to make a sound. His eyes widened when the fingers suddenly grew nails, causing him to go back on his pledge and splutter, his mind momentarily overwhelmed by the sensations of manicure-inspired torment.

As the ground grew closer, his chances of landing safely rapidly declined. The initial attack subsided halfway through his fall, but each time he lifted his arms to take control of it, the tickling would start again and he’d be forced to slam his arms back down. Finally, he had no choice but to keep his arms up and as he did so, a harsh and rapid squeezing sensation from all three sets of hands caused him to accidentally launch himself past his desired landing spot and across the field with a loud bark of laughter.

Bakugo slammed into the ground, his back taking the brunt of the impact. He had no time to pick himself back up before he felt the nails and fingers of Aya's quirk scribbling against his neck, collarbones, and even his shoulders. The sensation wasn’t nearly as strong as before, but with each scratch and scribble, he felt goosebumps spread along his skin. He rubbed at his neck as he stood, but the effort was useless. He groaned in frustration, stretching out his shoulder in time to see Aya, who had taken the small trip to meet him at the corner of the field. 

—

Izuku watched with concern as the smoke from Kacchan’s explosions continued to shroud the fight between he and Aya. Even though Kacchan acted like a total jerk, Izuku still felt the need to protect him. Midoriya didn't think it would be easy trying to warn the angry blonde about Aya, but he didn't imagine it would be that difficult. After receiving insider information from one of Aya’s classmates, he raced to find his childhood friend, hoping he could at least get a few words in before being kicked out or ignored completely. Unfortunately, he was hardly able to get a few words out before the other hit his boiling point. 

The warning had been given to the best of his ability, and that was all Midoriya could hope for at that point.

Aya's personality was well-suited to her quirk, which specialized in the manipulation of physical sensations, allowing her to impose and replicate almost any kind of sensory feeling on anyone she could lay her eyes on. Her quirk, coupled with her lack of empathy and remorse, unpleasant upbringing, and strong distrust of anyone she meets, made her a very scary and dangerous person to face.

Aya knew that her quirk, while powerful and insidious, would not be allowed in the tournament without some degree of restriction, as openly torturing students into resigning using pain and bodily harm was grounds for disqualification. Her creativity and outside-the-box thinking allowed her to find a whole new way to play, one that would prove incredibly effective. Her creativity and resourcefulness paid off, allowing her to beat her class and take the crown through her unique, unorthodox, and innovative use of her quirk. 

“AH!”

Suddenly there was a break in the mist. Izuku’s head tilted up, watching as his friend clamped his elbows to his sides and doubled over, face scrunched in effort. Midoriya bounced his leg impatiently when Kacchan let himself fall right back down. 

He sighed. 

No matter how the blonde treated him, he still wanted to see him succeed.

—

“Bastard!” 

Bakugo struggled to contain his sounds of discomfort, biting the inside of his cheek to maintain control over his twitchy reactions. The fingernails were beginning to spread out, from his neck and shoulders, down to his chest. He felt them teasingly brush over his pecks, the outer edge of his underarms and the inner sides of his ribs near his stomach, sending violent shivers down his spine. He held back the impulse to slap and claw at his body, feeling like there were bugs ticklishly crawling around underneath his shirt. He flinched when he felt fingers start to lightly and tentatively, intermittently squeeze his lower ribs and scratch at the edges of his belly.

“Y-You scared to actually fight or something? Ss-stop this stupid shit!”

Aya shook her head like she was disappointed. “Give up.”

He would rather die.

“Fuck off.” He sneered. His body was stiff with effort, and he closed his hands into tight fists. He cursed himself for not even being able to keep his arms up long enough for an accurate blast, or to save himself from a fall. Unless he wanted to become a blabbering incoherent mess on the floor, He needed to think of something.

His thoughts were interrupted by a harsh squeeze to his flanks, to which he reacted with a closed mouth groan and a quick bend to the side. “Fuck you! This is what you use your lame ass quirk for? Did the others tap out because you bored them into it? How the hell did you get this far with this weak shit? I’ll kill you and throw your damn head in the ocean.”

Aya’s amusement faded. “Last chance.”

“Fuck you and your chaAH!”

Bakugo spluttered and contorted his face into a pain induced expression, biting his cheek so hard, he tasted blood. He pushed harsh air through clenched teeth and pursed lips as he felt thumbs digging into his hips, rubbing the bone in agonizing circles. He felt stupid little girl giggles building up in the back of his throat but he quickly swallowed it. The worst part was having to stand there as it was happening, the blonde refusing to move and show any kind of weakness as he was getting the shit tickled out of him. He moved his arm slightly to the side, hoping to sneak a small explosion that would at least create some distance between them, but the flurry of tickles attacked his armpits again causing him to yell out and shove his elbows against his sides once more. Aya rolled her eyes at his efforts.

Bakugo was running out of options, and he realized that he couldn't just stand there and let Aya control the fight. He had to make a move. Quicker than she could react, he raised both arms, this time keeping them up when the flurry of fingers attacked, and blasted a sloppy round of explosions towards her, squeezing out a only few small, concentrated rounds before a crushing sensation closed in around his neck, like a steel bar randomly dropped on it. He stumbled backwards, hand gripping his throat before he tripped and fell hard on his back. As soon as his back hit the ground, the feeling on his neck lightened, but he felt his arms and legs prickle and give out, as if they had fallen asleep. He tried to move his arms, but it felt like they lost their integrity, only twitching in response.

Aya walked into his field of vision, a red and angry looking welt shone on her leg, shoulder, and chest, the wounds looking considerably bad under her singed clothes. Bakugo’s eyes flashed with recognition. 

He finally fucking hit her! “I hope that stings, hag.” He hissed.

 The look on Aya’s face went dark. "You're lucky we're not somewhere else, or I'd really be torturing you."

Her face twitched and Bakugo felt his limbs grow heavier, as if they were made of led. He grunted and struggled, able to buck his hips, move his elbows and knees, but even with a tremendous amount of effort, his arms and shins only lifted slightly. 

He grunted. “What the actual-” 

She leaned over him, so her face was directly above his. Her eyes were as black as they appeared, soulless and deep. A few drops of blood leaked from her shoulder, dripping down next to Bakugo’s head. 

She clenched her jaw, eyes flashing with sadism. “I’m not going to stop until you piss yourself or pass out.” 

Bakugo only had one second to register that sentence before hell unleashed on his body. 

He screamed as an immediately intense ticklish sensation bloomed on his stomach. It felt like fingers, nails, and brushes were all attacking him at the same time. The nails scratched at the top of his stomach right underneath his ribs, each individual finger nail on two hands scratching in small circles, following the downward slope of his ribs.

Another pair of hands scratched and kneaded his abs, using deviously sharp nails to trace and outline the prominent groves. Two nails, one on each side, scratched that horribly sensitive spot right at the corners of his stomach where it connected to his sides.

Fingers squeezed the area at his lower belly right above the waist line of his pants, hitting a sweet spot directly above his hips. Brushes scrubbed torturously on the pads of his abs and on his outer stomach, a rouge pair venturing out to tease his sides and slip over towards his back. The brushes that left the pack, used the very tips of their nonexistent bristles to tease his lower back at the spot where they connected to the outer part of his flanks. Even worse, the sensation spread without respite to the source, winding about in unholy circles. One small nail circled around his belly button, occasionally dipping into it to scratch at the inner walls at random.

He was able to hold still for for all of one second.

Bakugo slammed his head back against the ground so hard, his vision doubled. His shoulders lifted as much as they could from the ground and he shook his head back and forth. His face grew red and his eyes squinted shut. His breathing escalated and he pushed it out in one long breath, punctuating the last few seconds of it in an animalistic growl. His reaction was majorly grunts, curses and growls, the occasion shout and laugh disguised as a cough when the any of them honed in on a sweet spot. No matter how hard he pressed his back into the ground, the brushed persisted.

“FffffFFFFfffffFFHFHFHFHFFFFF-” 

Aya’s eyebrows rose mockingly in a surprised look. “Hm. That technique usually has everyone kicking and screaming.”

“MMMGGGHHH!”

Bakugo was sweating. The tickling he felt all over his stomach and lower back never dulled or tapered off. It stayed consistent, seeking out the worst spots to focus on. A pair of nails found that the jelly fishing technique at the center of his stomach made him writhe. A set of brushes found that interchangeably poking their bristles underneath and along the waistline of his pants made him buck. A pair of hands found that dragging their long nails slowly up his sides while wiggling them slightly made him desperately try to pull his body upwards, so they did that over and over and over again. His twitching and head banging evolved into bucking and desperate pulls at his limbs as the sentient and bogus tickle tools learned more about his body and manipulated it. He had never felt anything this torturous in his life, and God, he wanted it to stop.

And it only got worse.

Bakugo’s body seized when he felt fingers start to climb his ribs. The urgency in his struggling increased, involuntary yelps and muffled laughs slipping past his tight lips. He arched his back and spluttered, losing his composure more and more with each rung the fingers climbed. He pushed his head up so he could look down at his body. His eyes darted over the exact spots he was being tormented, but there was nothing to show for it. He tried again to move his arms, the effort monumental and pointless.

“FFFHMHMHMHMHM!” 

Aya was saying something, but he couldn’t hear any of it over the war he was fighting.

The fingers suddenly switched up. Instead of scratching, they started rubbing and kneading into the bottom half of his ribs, causing him to jolt and buck. Giggles escaped freely in the form of closed mouth humming, occasionally slipping through the cracks in his lips in the form of pained laughter. Aya leaned in closer, her small fingers wrapping themselves around Bakugo's wrists. With a slow and delicate movement, she lifted his hands up and positioned them by his head, his fingers twitching as he tried to resist. He realized that Aya did this not because she needed access, but just to make him feel as exposed and as vulnerable as possible. He hated himself for how well it worked.

Then he felt three pairs of hands attack his armpits. 

His mouth and eyes shot open, appearing as if he was laughing even before the sound came out.

“FFFFFFFFFFAHAHAHAHAK! AHH! AHAH!  FAHAKING SHIHIT! GAHA- GAHAHAD DAMN IHIHIHIT! NAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAP!”

Aya nodded. “Thats more like it.”

With his arms strained from the constant pressure he was exerting on them, Bakugo felt the fingers pressing and rotating into the grooves of his ribs, following the bones all the way to his back. He began to flail and thrash, bucking his hips and shifting his body from side to side. Bouncing his knees and flapping his elbows. Bakugo knew he looked absolutely ridiculous, he didn't care at this point.

“WAIT WHAIT WAHAHAHAHAHAHIHI- AHH! OHHOO MY- GAHH! WHAHAT THE FAHAHAHAK IS THAHAHA?!” 

He felt hundreds of thin fuzzy tentacles slither under his shirt, caressing his twitching body and hitting the little spots the fingers and brushes weren’t focused on. He felt them slither over his entire back, hitting a largely sensitive spot underneath his shoulder blades, running up his spine, squirming on the back of his neck, and wiggling over his collarbones. He felt them slither maddeningly over his flanks, making him buck and throw his weight around. He jolted hard when he felt arms wrap around him from behind and slowly massage his upper ribs. Bakugo shook his head rapidly, voice cracking when the hands used four finger to start a light massage dangerously close to his death spot. 

He was in hysterics, so when he literally felt hands slip underneath the waistband of his pants to attack his bare hips and thighs, he immediately dissolved into silent laughter. The fingers dug into his firm thighs, his laughter reaching soprano levels when they squeezed his inner thighs. Thumbs kneaded right into the crease where his legs bent into his hips, and another pair of thumbs drilled into the tendons that connects his inner thighs to his crotch. 

It was maddening. He tried to squeeze his legs together, tried to pull down his arms, tried to protect his back, but he couldn’t. The moment his feet came under attack was when his laughter turned silent for the second time.

Brushes scrubbed up and down his soles, while another pair scrubbed the tops. Each toe had its own pair of mini brushes as did the balls of his feet. The fuzzy tentacles swarmed all over and around, slinking in between his toes and wrapping around them like toe separators to constantly nuzzle back and forth, occasionally reaching down to attack the stems and upper balls of his feet.

Bakugo no longer cared about winning. The constant teasing and mocking he would undoubtedly have to endure for giving in was the farthest thing from his mind. He just wanted out; he needed it to stop.

Black smoke rose from his hands, but he was too hysterical to notice.

“GAAAHAHAHAHAHA! AAAHAHAH! OHOH- O-OHOHOHOHKAHA- OHOHOHKAY! FUCKINGOKAY STAHAHAHAHAHA!” 

But she didn’t. She didn’t even speak. He opened his eyes, but was blinded by tears.

 “I’m not going to stop until you piss yourself or pass out.” 

There’s no fucking way she actually meant that. No fucking way.

The torture didn’t cease.

“AH! NO! SHIT SHIHIHIT SHIT! NO!” 

The fingers massaging his upper ribs finally slipped into the little space below his armpits and right above his ribs. 

His mind went blank.

“NONONONAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! HAHHAH AHAH! NOHOHOHHOT THAHAHAHA- GAAAHAHAHAHAD! PAHAHAHAHAH- PLEHEHEHAHAHAHAHA- I CAHANT! I CAHANT FUCKING- NAAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHHAHAHAHP! GEHEHEHT OOAHAHAHAHAHFF, YOU BIHIHIHIHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Tears flowed down his face like rainwater over river rocks. The additional, continuous tickling behind his knees, along with another pair of hands squeezing his death spot proved to be too much for his already overloaded mind to bear. A massive explosion surprised them both, completely overwhelming and blinding him even through his closed eyelids. 

The release of the overwhelming torture was like a building being lifted off his chest. He took in the air greedily, sucking in breaths as if he had just done a twenty-foot dive into the lake. He rolled to his hands and knees, the suddenness of it all was enough to make him feel dizzy and sick. The area around him was covered in soot, and the ground was blackened and flat.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of Aya and did not hesitate, immediately chucking a large explosion at her. She dodged it, twirling and dodging with ease as her eyes turned to focus on him.

NO!

Bakugo braced himself, but nothing happened. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched her frantically try to wave away a cloud of smoke that wafted in front of her.

His jaw dropped.

Before he could think of the entire plan, he locked eyes in Aya’s direction and aimed his palms to the ground in front of her. He let out a series of explosions and a thick smoke screen swirled around both of them. 

Bakugo couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.

He charged towards Aya, using his explosions to create a cover of smoke. Before she could see him again, he barreled into her, both of them falling to the ground. Aya got up first, and desperately tried to wave away the smoke around them, her eyes searching for him. However, Bakugo had already built up a huge blast of energy, aimed right at her chest. The explosion knocked her backwards and she slammed violently into one of the benches at the side of the arena. When the smoke partially cleared, Bakugo saw that she continued to lay there.

Unconscious.

He won.

The arena was silent, before loud applause and cheers filled the room in celebration. However, he was in no mood to accept praise. With his hands resting in his pockets, he turned away from the few students gathered near the entrance, heading to the door. As he walked out, he could see his classmates seated just a few feet away, Deku in the middle as the rest cheered and clapped. Bakugo's expression blank, completely numb. His body was weak and tired, and it was all he could do to remain standing and make his way back towards the dorms.

˚ · • . ° .

Part 2