#MASKS:: Mimic Mirror

[kattenkvvaad]

new Masks character who dis? It's my Janus, Mimic Mirror (he/him)

[rebecca-lotto]

fighting type mask for ogerpon

StarStriker mask

ogerpon gains the ability flame body when this mask is equipped.

her attack , defense and speed stats are raised to the same ridiculous levels displayed with the StarShocker mask .

well, naturally , Koraidon is the main inspiration for this mask.

the team star emblem will also be sneakily put on the terrasztalized form of the mask .

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Random partner headcanons

Random little things a few creeps do as your partner

EJ likes to memorize your schedule. He just likes to know all of��the times he might be able to spend with you and know when and where you'll be throughout the day. if you randomly deviate from your schedule without telling him it throws him off his consistency and can bum him out and make him worried about you, so always make sure to just let him know if you'll be home late, or even early so he can make sure he's prepared for that. It sets his mind more at ease.

Jane likes to dress in your favorite color(s). She's quite the fashionista, and she has an extremely large wardrobe. When the two of you are a couple, whenever you're going out together to hang out or on dates, no matter the season she always makes sure her outfit includes your favorite color(s) in some way or another. It started out subconsciously, but one day you realized it and pointed it out to her, and she now does it intentionally. 

Toby mimics your facial expressions. He's often wearing his own mask to hide how he feels inside so he tends to keep his own face neutral or just in a resting smile, but the more he's around you the more he likes to mirror your expressions. It makes him feel more connected with you, and at some point, he starts doing it without even realizing it, and most of the creeps haven't quite caught onto it yet. Luckily you think it's cute, and that just encourages him and makes him happy. He partially does it to help him memorize all of your expressions so he won't forget them.

Slender always has a drink prepared for you when you get home. When he's settling down to talk to someone, he prefers to have a nice warm glass of coffee or tea, and when the two of you became a couple he started preparing a glass of your preferred drink whenever he'd make something for himself. Now he prepares you both a drink every day when you're nearly home. It's become muscle memory for him to do this and sit down with you for a bit after you get home, asking you about your day and how you're feeling, if there's anything he can do for you. It's your little daily ritual.

Jeff insists on always making you breakfast. He's got one of the best pancake recipes in the mansion, but he can make pretty much any kind of breakfast food you'd want him to, and if he hasn't made it before he'd definitely try to for you. It just sets his mind at ease to be able to wake up every day and do something for you. Whether you accompany him to the kitchen and keep him company, or he surprises you with breakfast in bed, he wants to make sure you start your day off deliciously. It relaxes and unwinds him at the start of the day, putting him in a good mood to be able to cook for and eat with you.

LJ gets really, really into learning your favorite songs. He never really listened to music (only really being familiar with more classical pieces), and so he wants to hear whatever music it is you listen to. He likes just laying in bed with you, walking somewhere, or even listening while you're baking something, so he can be with you when he hears your favorites. He might not like all of them, but some of them he really latches onto and he finds himself humming or singing them throughout the day, causing most of the mansion to become confused at how LJ suddenly knows so much modern music. It just brings him great happiness to share something you love with you, and it really gets him into music.

[rae-writes]

pre/early relationship things + Naruto boys <3

sawft bois, cute bois, sweet bois || 0.9k

Kankuro asking you to wait for him after the war: there's some things he's gotta figure out (including getting all his feelings together) and some things he needs to do, so he asks you to wait with a sheepish smile at the gates of Konoha

Kankuro's really glad he had his face paint over his cheeks because he feels a blush spread across them when you rub your thumb over the paint and smear two purple lines over your own cheeks in acceptance

And Kankuro nearly falls out in the floor when, a few weeks later, he's back in the sand village opening a letter from Temari and a picture falls out: you're standing in front of a mirror, purple eye pencil in hand, as you very clearly mimic a thinner style of his paint markings- with a bright smile plastered over your face as you look at the camera

Kankuro decides he has to go back to the Leaf as soon as possible. He needs you to be his. Really his.

Naruto trying his hardest to keep a clean presentation in front of you at first; neat hair, no sloppy clothes, wiped off face. He's just really nervous because he really likes you and wants to..essentially detach any images you may have of him from all the village gossip (even though you don't think anything but the best of him)

So Naruto was about to have a meltdown when he bumped into you as he ran late for a team meeting: bedhair fluffed out and sticking up the wrong way, clothes askew and barley put on properly, cheeks and mouth covered in crumbs and jam from his on-the-go breakfast that was clutched half eaten in his equally messy hand

But before he could disappear on the spot and go crawl in a hole and die, Naruto found himself with a racing heart and red cheeks when you gave him a sweet little laugh and helped him out. Your fingers in his hair, brushing and smoothing out the stubborn strands, running along his chest as you straightened his undershirt and zipped his jacket, swiping at his cheeks and lips to get rid of the mess (and sticking your thumb in your mouth to clean off the jam was just the nail in the coffin)

Naruto decides right then and there that he's gonna marry you someday (and when he realizes he said that out loud, he'll practically explode in a shade of red before stammering out a loud "Believe it!" before running off to go meet his team)

Watching Kakashi attempt subtlety as he stares at your lips whenever you're talking or simply just lounging around with him. He wants to kiss you so badly but he's not ready to take off his mask just yet but the thought of kissing you is on his mind so much that he thinks he might go insane if he doesn't get to learn how it feels

It's gotten to the point where Kakashi always presses his forehead against your temple, covered nose and mouth brushing over your cheek and jaw as he plays it off as exhaustion; really, though, he's just a little embarrassed (and a bit scared) to ask you to kiss him without removing his mask

Which leaves Kakashi absolutely shell shocked and delighted all at once when, as you're seeing him off before his mission, you press your lips against his through the mask as a parting gift (leaving the scent of your flavored chapstick behind on the fabric, something that keeps his mind just as occupied as before he got a kiss, only now it's because he needs to taste that flavor- mask be damned)

Shikamaru starting to debate the way he acts with you after seeing his friends with their partners, realizing he's never really asked you how you felt about his...lazy habits when hanging out and wonders if you're actually as okay with it as you seem

It's a real drag, honestly, Shikamaru thinks- having to question something he's never had self doubt on before. He makes up his mind that he's just going to ask you straight out and get it over with. His brilliant plan goes out the window and into the trash, though, when you trudge into his house for your date night and curl up beside him, mentioning something about 'been looking forward to our weekly shared nap' (which makes his heart speed up, hindering him from even being able to fall asleep. he wasn't complaining- for once- not after seeing you so at ease with his lazy habits)

Kiba not knowing why Akamaru runs off for around thirty minutes each afternoon after training is over, but not minding too much since his fluffy companion always comes back from wherever with his tail wagging and tongue out happily. He does get curious, though, so he ends up following along one day

And Kiba about dies on the spot when he sees Akamaru bounding up to you, the civilian that he has a giant crush on (who always smiles and waves at him, no matter what, in passing). He watches his tank of a hound sprawl in your lap- almost covering your entire body- and get petted and cooed at. He stumbles over with a dumb grin and heated cheeks, making easy conversation

When he leaves with Akamaru in tow, Kiba formulates a plan to finally ask you out, hopefully using his best furry wing man to help

[theplotmage]

Murder Mystery, Occult, Paranormal & Fantasy Prompt Ideas for Writers

1. The Cursed Amulet - A wealthy collector is found dead after acquiring a cursed amulet. The protagonist must uncover the artifact’s dark history to solve the murder.

2. Blood Moon Ritual - During a blood moon, a prominent figure is sacrificed in a forbidden ritual. The investigator discovers a cult trying to summon an ancient deity.

3. Witch’s Grimoire - A renowned witch is murdered, and her grimoire is stolen. The book contains spells powerful enough to alter reality.

4. Haunted Manor - Guests at a secluded manor start dying mysteriously. It’s said the house is haunted by vengeful spirits from a tragic past.

5. Necromancer’s Revenge - A necromancer brings people back from the dead to seek revenge on those who wronged him, resulting in a string of murders.

6. Sorcerer’s Apprentice - An apprentice sorcerer is killed during a magical experiment gone wrong. The protagonist must navigate a web of magical deceit to find the killer.

7. Alchemical Poison - A series of deaths caused by an untraceable poison leads to an alchemist who’s using forbidden knowledge.

8. The Phantom Assassin - A shadowy figure with supernatural abilities is killing off members of a secret society.

9. Demon Pact - A series of murders mimic those described in an ancient text about summoning a demon. The protagonist suspects a pact with dark forces.

10. Arcane Library - A librarian is found dead in a magical library where books can come to life. The books themselves hold clues to the murder.

11. Midnight Masquerade - At a masquerade ball, a guest is killed, and the murder is linked to an ancient ritual involving the masks.

12. Sacred Relic - A sacred relic is stolen, and those connected to its theft are being murdered by a guardian spirit.

13. Time-Worn Curse - An old curse reawakens, killing the descendants of the original cursed family. The investigator must break the curse to stop the murders.

14. Vampire’s Thrall - Murders in a town coincide with the arrival of a charismatic stranger who may be a vampire seeking revenge.

15. Elemental Fury - A mage controlling elemental forces is killing people who wronged him in the past. Each murder is committed using a different element.

16. Runic Inscription - Victims are found with runic inscriptions burned into their skin, leading the protagonist to an ancient prophecy.

17. Ghost Ship - A ship thought lost at sea reappears, its crew murdered. The investigator discovers the ship’s cursed history.

18. Puppet Master - An enchanted puppet is killing those who mistreated its creator, a deceased toymaker.

19. Celestial Alignment - Murders align with celestial events, suggesting a ritualistic pattern. The protagonist races against time to prevent the next murder.

20. Shadow Realm - Victims are being dragged into a parallel shadow realm, their bodies found drained of life.

21. Enchanted Forest - People who enter a forbidden forest are found dead, their bodies entwined with enchanted vines.

22. Murderous Djinn - A djinn, bound to an artifact, is killing people who come into possession of it.

23. Spellbound Love - A love potion gone wrong leads to obsessive love and murder.

24. Seer’s Vision - A seer predicts their own murder and enlists the protagonist to prevent it, but the future seems immutable.

25. Ritual Dagger - A dagger used in ancient sacrifices is rediscovered, and each person who touches it is killed.

26. Charmed Life - A person with a charm for eternal life starts aging rapidly and dies under mysterious circumstances.

27. Mystic Tattoo - A tattoo artist’s clients are being murdered, their tattoos turning into deadly curses.

28. Dragon’s Curse - A dragon’s curse starts killing those who stole from its hoard.

29. Mirror of Truth - An enchanted mirror reveals the darkest secrets of those who look into it, leading to a series of murders.

30. Ghostly Whisperer - A medium is killed by a spirit they summoned, who continues to haunt and kill.

31. Warding Sigil - A town’s protective sigil is broken, unleashing vengeful spirits on the townspeople.

32. Sorcerer’s Duel - A duel between powerful sorcerers results in one’s death, but the victor’s life is now in danger.

33. Forbidden Love - Star-crossed lovers from rival magical factions lead to a series of revenge killings.

34. Haunted Heirloom - An heirloom brings death to the family that inherits it, linked to an ancestor’s dark pact.

35. Shapeshifter’s Hunt - A shapeshifter is targeting a specific group, blending in seamlessly until the protagonist uncovers their true nature.

36. Arcane Academy - A student at a magical academy is killed during a spell-casting exam, and the murder is linked to a dark secret of the school.

37. Spectral Assassin - An assassin’s ghost seeks revenge on those who betrayed him in life.

38. Illusionist’s Game - An illusionist’s final trick results in real deaths, with magic and deception intertwining.

39. Golem Rampage - A golem goes on a killing spree, and the investigator must find its creator to stop it.

40. Philosopher’s Stone - A hunt for the philosopher’s stone leads to deadly competition and betrayal.

41. Mystic Caravan - A traveling caravan brings death wherever it goes, linked to an ancient curse.

42. Sealed Tomb - An ancient tomb is opened, releasing a vengeful spirit that begins killing those responsible.

43. Moonlit Beast - A werewolf’s attacks coincide with the full moon, but this werewolf is being controlled by someone with dark intentions.

44. Soul Harvest - Victims are found with their souls extracted, leading to a dark sorcerer seeking immortality.

45. Witch Hunt - A series of witch trials results in the wrongful deaths of innocents, whose spirits now seek vengeance.

46. Crystal Prophecy - A prophecy within a crystal ball foretells murders, but the seer is manipulating events to fulfill it.

47. Enchanted Theater - Actors in a theater troupe start dying in ways that mimic their cursed roles.

48. Dark Covenant - A secret society’s members are being killed off one by one, linked to a broken blood pact.

49. Doppelganger’s Curse - Victims are replaced by malevolent doppelgangers who are committing murders in their place.

50. Forgotten Sanctuary - An ancient sanctuary is disturbed, releasing an entity that begins killing those who desecrated it.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

- hi ! 💌,,

ISTG you’re writing is so well done and creative I had to contain myself from like spam!!

I hope you’re still taking request and if you’re not that’s totally cool, I’ll wait ‘till next round.

Adam reincarnates in hell and oh, would you look at that? the s/o is the only one trying to help and not making him feel worse that he already is. (i just need wholesome content, exam week is killing me rn).

AGAIN, love you’re writing thx for reading so far!

ᯓ★ Let's Give This Another Shot (and not fuck it up this time) Sinner! Adam / Sinner! Reader | Drabble

‗ content / trigger warning: fluff, swearing, Adam being Adam, not proof read (we die like Adam) ‗ author's note: this is for everyone who's dealing with exam weeks, it sucks but I believe in all of you any you're going to kill those exams! (don't let them kill you!). Also thank you so much for the compliments Anon <3, I write for the people and myself, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying the crazy shit I've posted here!

ᯓ When you fall from grace, it's not a pleasant feeling; That Adam knew - or at least he thought he knew - well enough from hearing about Lucifer falling, hearing the horrific things the others whispered about it, mentioning it in passing before the thought disappeared and dispelled into the air as though Lucifer had never held a place in Heaven. As though he was nothing that what he was now, demonic figure that wore a crown made out of skeletons and bones fashioned to mimic horns. Adam never cared about the stories that were whispered, about the horrors he sometimes heard through passing, about Sera recalling how she heard Lucifer scream on the way down, about how Michael watched with horror as Lucifer tried to shield Lilith and himself, about how Gabriel heard his pleads and couldn't do anything; No one could save him from the fate that had been weighed on his shoulders as soon as he had fed the apple to Eve. And partly it was because Adam blamed Lucifer for ruining his paradise, for infecting the mind of both his (ex) wives and causing him grief and pain. Dying alone is almost just as unpleasant as falling from grace; almost.

ᯓ You see, while Adam had died alone on Earth, at least his soul went to somewhere pleasant and he was able to continue living; To make a name for himself and, he guessed, make some friends and live a rather worriless and carefree life in the clouds. He was able to have fun, rock out, and be known as the first human soul ever being able to reach Heaven - that was something not even Eve managed to do, and he took it with pride! It was his title. It was partly who he was. Maybe it was all he was. That much became more clear to him when he found himself waking up in Hell again, the stabbing pain of a dagger striking his back still their along with the weight of his wings. At first, he had thought he managed to survive the assassination attempt, that Lute had just left him in Hell on accident or because she thought he was dead. It caused some sort of pride to well in his chest, a flame that sparked his need to go boost and scream at the top of his lungs - he had survived an angelic weapon! He was immune! He was the strongest angel there was, because Sera would totally fall and die in a sad crumble after being stabbed with angelic metal! He was . . .

ᯓ And that's when Adam happened to pass by a mirror, or well more of a reflective glass on the street of Hell (as he walked, not questioning the odd ball looks he got), and that's when he saw it; What looked like a stranger to be staring back at him, engulfing and taking over his reflection like they owned it, like it was there own. That wasn't him! Well, it looked like him, he could admit that, but it wasn't as sexy or as handsome as him! The reflection would copy his movement, snarling as he did and grinning all the same. With his same fluffed up hair and piercing eyes, the reflection wore no mask yet still held the horns of his all the same; Even the way they slowly curled back before dipping down, forming and L for the gold spikes to rest at the end. The reflection wore his exterminator uniform, yet it was the darker version with the yellow having somehow been dulled and deepened and faded out all at once. His wings were still golden, still tucking at his sides from under his arms all the same, though there was no halo to accompany them this time. And Adam almost wanted to laugh, maybe it was hysteria or maybe it was disbelief, yet he watched to cry and laugh and break the glass all at once; Denying that this was his fate, being unable to stomach that he, First Man Adam, was not only double dead yet in hell. Hell! The first man cannot be in hell, he had created everyone on Earth; All of them came from his nuts and in turn all of them should be praising the fucking land he walked on because if it wasn't for him he wouldn't be here!

ᯓ And yet the Reflection looked back all the same, teasing him with a distorted grin; Like it could feel his distress in the way he curled his fist, pulling back before he slammed it against the glass. It gave a crack, a small one at first, before completely shattering. Adam could care less what shop or business had that glass, he could care less how he effected them or how he was going to be painted in Hell, because this was some crazy mistake! He was not supposed to be down here and he was not going to stand for some stupid mistake that happened because some small crazy bitch decided to back-stab him! Literally! And yet, if Adam wanted any of the answers he so desperately craved, he would have to suck in some of his pride and trudge along to the damn Hotel and talk to the residence who had taken his life. It would take him a while before he accepted such a fate, taking the chance between deciding and doing to walk along the Pride Ring before stumbling into the wrong town and being chased out by crazy demons who wanted to bite him! Maybe even eat him . . . What crazy place is this?!

ᯓ When Adam had begrudging and reluctantly knocked on the new Hotel door, which he would never admit to stopping and marveling at for a second, he would feel that ever irritating dread weigh in his stomach. Who wouldn't feel such a feeling after coming to the front door of a group of people you had tried to exterminate only, Adam didn't know how long, prior! Maybe, silently, somewhere inside Adam knew if he were in their shoes, having faced what they had, he wouldn't accept him either; He would throw him to the curb. Yet, he didn't exactly like that thought, and it wasn't very on brand, so he shoved it down and away and deep until all the could think about is: How in the hell would they not accept me? I'm Adam, I'm the first man! And yet when the door opened, allowing Adam to come face to face with none other than Vaggie, he felt that dread creep in a little. But, not enough to stop him from greeting Vaggie in a less that desirable way, "What's up Vagasaurus?" The sneering comment left his mouth, "I love what you did with the place. You know, it looks slightly less like a destroyed pile of Sh-" Yet the door would only slam in his face before Adam could finish his thoughts or his words; Leaving him standing outside, a tad awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open again. He, also, would never admit giving a glance behind him, making sure no one was standing there to watch him standing in front of the doors.

ᯓ "Vaggie, who was that?" Charlie would call to her girlfriend as she walked away from the door, coming towards where Charlie sat on the floor organizing new activities that everyone could do. All while Nifty rushed around nearby, cleaning Sir Pentious' and Dazzle's memorials in the new Hazbin Hotel. She muttered to herself quietly, not bothering Angel and Husk, who sat at the bar. "No one important." Vaggie would mumble, not being able to catch her tone before it could reveal that it was someone less than desirable. Possibly another sinner choosing a path of redemption after the last extermination! Which the thought caused Charlie to gain a burst of energy, barreling onto her feet so quickly that she knocked around the carefully organized slits of paper on the floor. Vaggie tried to protest, saying it was truly no one at the door and Charlie should just leave it alone! But she was never a really good lair, "Oh calm down Vaggie, I'm sure it's no one bad!" Charlie would grin with a wave, her hand touching the crisp and cool metal of the door handle before swinging the door back open. "Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! How can I-" And yet her words fell flat as soon as her eyes were locked onto Adam's - who quickly spun around, pretending like he hadn't just been looking behind him - and was also welcomed by his light groan of annoyance. "Oh fuck me." ". . . help you." Charlie's voice flattened, dropping as her eyes widened. You know, she's never felt this shocked to see someone at the steps of the Hotel before since Alastor had came along without warning.

ᯓ "Adam?!"

ᯓ "BITCH CAN YOU NOT SHOUT MY NAME?!" Was the next words that were exclaimed out of the ex-angel, the now outcast, as he seemed rather eager to push Charlie inside of her own Hotel and walk in after; Quickly shutting the door as though there was someone outside waiting and stalking him, watching him with all their attention. "Hey no, you cannot just let yourself in here this isn't Heaven!" Vaggie was swift to march her way over to the two, seeing as Charlie wasn't doing anything to discard of Adam she might as well do it herself! No way was she going to let some two-timing exorcist angel not only push her girlfriend around yet also push his way into the hotel. Who did he think he is? And yet Charlie waved out a hand, stopping Vaggie in her tracks. There was confusion, and the two at the bar would turn their heads, before scowling seeing the fallen angel. Adam was sure he could hear Angel's accented voice loud and clear shouting out, 'oh what the fuck is this bullshit!' before Charlie began to talk to him again in a rushed fashion; One he remembered quite well during the meeting that Lucifer subbed her in for instead of coming to it himself, and he was still annoyed by her voice. "What are you doing down here? I thought you-! You know . . . " Charlie rushed out, trying to make it quick as though the others at the hotel would jump and kill Adam again with no remorse, finishing the job that clearly didn't stay permeant the first time; And, honestly, Adam wouldn't put it above anyone here to do that. Adam, who had been picking at his teeth with his pinkie finger, would turn away from Charlie and shrug his shoulders, "Yeah, well, I fuckin' did and ended up down here for some fucking reason, probably a mistake and mix up of souls. I'm sure you have plenty of those down here, pft!- I mean who else would want to stay in this charity case!-" "We're not entertaining you Adam!" Vaggie would cut off the ex-angel, causing his interest to peak over at her. Though he relaxed quickly enough, maybe too quickly seeing as Vaggie had drown out her own weapon and that . . . nasty little creature stood beside her with the dagger made out of angelic metal; Now that little one-eyed demon could give Adam the creeps, maybe even a little (lot) fright, but not Vaggie. "You know, I thought were all trying to redeem souls in this junk box of yours." Adam scoffed, quickly crossing his arms with a tilt of his head. "Are you fucking discriminating against me wanting to return to where I rightfully belong just because I was an angel before this? Wow, that's a low blow, especially for someone light you." Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with malice, maybe even still a little pride. "You literally tried killing up like- 2 weeks ago!" Vaggie would gesture to the side, as though trying to compare time to the length of her arm. "Oh shit it's been too weeks?" Adam paused, thinking about it yet drawing a blank and shrugging in result, "Shit, didn't know, pft! That shit must still be fresh for you then, huh? Well, let me remind you all that you weren't the ones who DIED!-"

ᯓ "Adam?" Your voice would slip out into the common space of the lobby of the hotel, honey sweat to Adam's ears; Filling them with a melody that could match the songs of Heaven, running down his spine with the comfort he didn't know he needed until now. But even then, you knew he wouldn't break his 'tough man' exterior until you managed to snag him along, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. "Holy shit, hey Babe!" Adam was quick, rushing past and slightly pushing Charlie out of his way to make his way over to you, over to his love. "What the fuck are you doing in a dumb like this? I thought you said you had your own fucking spot near Cannibal Town!" - It had been the only reason why he had tried traveling to that cursed town, even while knowing its residents might try and take a bite out of him or his wings. He craved for the familiarity of someone in this new world, as he had never felt this vulnerable since his first days on Eden; Earth. God's Earth. "Babe?" A chorus of confused, slightly concerned, and baffled voices followed as Adam came to your side, swinging an arm around your waist and instantly drawing you closer. You swore he was fighting off the urge to flick off the others, a casual fuck you for trying to push him off and out. You could feel their eyes as you leaned up to pepper a kiss into Adam's shoulder, to which he squeezed your waist slightly tighter, adorning a snicker upon his face. "Wait, wait!-" Vaggie started, taking a staggering step forward as her arms laid limp besides her. One of her eyebrows were cocked up, her eyes narrow, "What do you mean Babe?" Your name left her lips, "Don't tell me you're dating that fucker!" She would soon exclaim, tossing her hands out as they finally regained the life they had lost. To which you would turn towards her confused, and then remember oh yeah . . . the battle. The one you hadn't been present for though heard about through Channel 666 News; In all honesty it's why you had came here, to the Hotel, to see if you could try and get to Heaven and find Adam again - praying he didn't actually die but was taken back to Heaven to heal or was revived in some way. "Uh, yeah. Adam's my boyfriend-" You would start with a wavering smile, nerves tugging at the edge of your lips. "Oh, this couldn't have gotten worse." Angel would groan, slamming his head down onto the bar countertop, acting like a disappointed parent; Silently telling you that you could have done better. To which you placed a hand on your hip, about to tell Angel off, only to be cut off by Husk tsking and shaking his head, "I would not put you as an Angel and sexist fucker, but whatever rows your boat." His tone came off dry, uninterested, and a little hostile. And with Charlie's silence, you couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's words a little heavier.

ᯓ And Adam noticed that, with one glance down at you and your face, his wings would flare defensively and his glare was snapped back at the other demons. He couldn't care less that they had been talking shit about him, he couldn't care less on how they saw him or the reasons they thought you could do better than him; They shouldn't care about whether or not someone was out of their friend's league if they were clearly happy with the person! That, Adam knew - or maybe he believed it more. "Hey, what your fucking mouths!-" He would start, trying to draw you away from the others. Sure, he was no longer an Angel, but he was sure as hell he could take any of them in a fight anyways! And yet, his anger was snuffed like a candle as soon as you placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing in and pushing him back. The breath of ire was caught in his throat, not even being able to reach his lungs, as he glanced down at you, noticing the spark that you had seemingly stolen right out of his chest and placed in your eyes. He knew your reservations of fighting with friends, or with anyone in general, so he couldn't help but feel pride swell up in his chest watching you stand up for yourself, for you and him: "I will not let you speak about me, nor Adam that way!" You defended, shooting a star through your eyelashes that the group; Who seemed just as taken aback as Adam had been before the warmth spread from his chest. Vaggie would scrunch her face, much more concerned that irritated or disappointed, but also all of that at the same time. Your name slipped from her lips, "You can't be serious! He's . . ." She stumbled for a moment, trying to grasp her words, "He's led genocides on Sinners all over Hell! He's like really gross and he doesn't respect people. He's a douche and a dick!-" "Dick master," Adam would correct Vaggie just to piss her off, earning a slight jag in the gut from you and a snarl from Vaggie. Vaggie, who, tossed out her hands once more, yet pointed at Adam this time, "See what I mean?!"

ᯓ "And tell me how you felt when you first lost your divinity?"

ᯓ The question lingered in the room, drifting and sticking in the air, as Vaggie stared at you with disbelief; Her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide, and her stance rigid. You noticed how Charlie grew nervous behind her, how she seemed rather uncomfortable in the atmosphere that been created in the room since Adam had arrived than you. She would place a hand on Vaggie's shoulders, attempting to comfort her, yet failed to pick out any words to say in response. "It's hard enough to leave somewhere you've called home," You would continue, frowning, "To be tossed out like you had meant nothing, like one mistake had deemed you unworthy despite everything great you have done in your life. Vaggie! . . . out of everyone, I would have thought at least you would understand something like that." Seeing as she had gone through the same process herself, yet had always had Charlie there by her side to walk through everything with. Was she implying that Adam didn't deserve the same because of what he had done? Sure it was crude and cruel, but everyone deserved another chance to mistake their wrongs and that was what this hotel was about; And you voiced such concerns to not just Vaggie but to Charlie as well. What makes Adam so much different from Lucifer, or say another Fallen Angel that managed to wind up down here? What makes him less worthy to be redeemed? What made him less of a human soul as say Angel or Alastor? Everyone fucks up in their life and as long as they're trying to better themselves, understanding what they did wrong and why it was wrong, they should be given a chance!

ᯓ It wasn't long before Charlie said that everyone should take a break, and as such you would lead Adam away from the crowd of people and up to your own room in the Hotel. You could feel Vaggie's eyes linger, you felt like she wanted to say something yet let her words fall short before they were ever given a chance. But, even if they had, you were too pent up to even discuss anything logically with her at the moment. And you think she could feel or at least tell and that's why her words fell short, yet you would never know - you're not Vaggie nor would you ever think like she does.

ᯓ You and Adam found yourselves in your bed after settling some matters, such as a change of clothing for him and whether or not you wanted to try and make the trip back to your apartment today; Luckily you had some of Adam's old T-shirts and joggers you had stolen from him from one of the few trips where Adam had snuck you into Heaven - and yet on the same note, either of you felt like going downstairs to face anyone to leave to your apartment. So, with not much to do, you set the TV on as background noise and brain fuzz as you snuggled up to Adam's side. You felt as his claws, at first, scratched gently at his side, pairing with a kiss on the forehead, and then they began to tap the flesh there; Like you were some little drum that made no noise, yet Adam continued until he switched to rubbing his thumb against your hip. "What's wrong, Adam?" Concern dripped from your lips, forcing Adam to draw his eyes away from the mindless television and down to meet you, and your eyes. He had known your attention had been up at him for a while, at first admiring his face (as you didn't get to see it much) yet it had shifted to concern the more he played with the plush flesh of your waist. He wondered if you could tell he was nervous from the start. Adam's eyes would falter and glance off to TV again, his words causing a lump in his throat as he tried to play through them; Trying to find the best combination to spew out instead of talking without thinking - vomiting whatever first came to mind and not thinking about it later. And maybe you could tell the trepidations that filled his head too; Seeing as you shifted your position from his side, pushing yourself up, and instead onto his lap, effectively blocking his vision of the television. Your hands rested on his chest, something so natural at this point yet something that still caused Adam's lungs to halt for a minute and for his stomach to flutter. Even so, he would give you a curious glance up and down, trancing the curves of your body with his eyes as he has done countless times before - yet every time, you managed to take his breath away. "If you wanted to fuck, babe, you could have just said so!" The snarky remark left his lips, meeting your amused yet disapproving face. He knew that's not what you wanted, yet he couldn't help but entertain yourself when you were basically straddling his waist; As such, his fingers would drag along the calf of your leg before his hands would trail up your thighs before tailing back down and up once more. He saw the flutter in your breath, yet you tried to keep your composure. Even if Adam was making it ever so hard.

ᯓ "Adam," You would start, your tone causing Adam to stop caressing your thighs. It stuck his eyes to yours, and he couldn't look away no matter how much his nerves pulled at him to. "I want you to know, no matter what happens . . . I'm here for you, okay? We're in this together. You're not a solo act anymore, we're a duet . . . or, well, more a duo act." Your words sunk down into Adam's skin, they infected through his lungs and ran to his heart before infecting all his blood and his veins. His hands, which had ran up to hold your waist, gave a gentle squeeze as he swallowed down the saliva that built up in his suddenly dry mouth. A duo act? Sure, he knew you two were dating, that you had been for a while, yet even then he had a silent thought in the back of his head that you would leave him, much like the others; So he never considered himself no more than what he had: A soloist. First Man Adam! . . . but now he was able to add being 'Yours' to his list with some sort of fire-like confidence; Burning and bright. It made his heart catch fire, even more so when you would stretch out lightly and lean down to lay down on his chest; Your warmth infecting all of him you touched, allowing his arms to wrap around your back and for his wings to fluff out and wrap around your frame. It was like he wanted to shield you from the world, shield you from Heaven, shield you from everyone and anything that wanted to hurt you. Sure he had the urge before, but now? . . . "You heard that big man?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, your teasing smirk had him fighting for a breath. You would playfully nudge his shoulder, "You're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you're, we're stuck together so you better be getting used to it! I'll fight for you, you fight for me, and we'll get back to that stupid place that outcasted you in the first place!" But he would like to stay here, with you, forever. "And we'll show Charlie and Vaggie that it can be done and that even if you fucked up you have a good heart in you! . . . Because I know you do under all the gunk." And your laughter had never sounded so sweet, and you touch has never felt so soft and loving.

ᯓ A duo act, huh? With you? Adam could get used to and stand behind that thought; Perhaps, even after all this time, he wanted nothing more than to hear those words, or well the meaning of those words, from your mouth since the start.

ᯓ But even then, with the emotions that swelled Adam's heart with nothing but pure love, he couldn't help but nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent filled his nose with a warmth he missed, the soft skin of your neck flushed against his smirking lips, a feeling he longed for and couldn't forget. You were perfect, you always had been! "Fuck, Babe, when you say pretty shit like that, it's hard not to fuck you right here and now." Adam would groan before a loud cackle left his lips as soon as you smacked his back. All too used to his ways, you couldn't do much yet shake your head against Adam's shoulder, like a parent scolding their child for saying something offensive. "You ruined the mood Adam!" The huff escaped your lips, it hit Adam's neck and made goosebumps spring up his arms. "Again!" And yet, you didn't protest as Adam tossed you both into your sides with a fever, still cackling as though this was the funniest joke in the world - and you couldn't deny, you loved the sound of his laughter so much. Even as his stubble would tickle your neck as he did so, causing you to start laughing soon after and trying to push his head away from your neck. "Adam! Oh my god, Adam stop that tickles!" You gasped between breaths, struggling to push your boyfriend away as he found joy in your lighthearted misery. Though he would only curl around your frame, not answering your desperate calls of a truce and a stop, and trap you in his arms and wings with no remorse. "You're stuck with me Babe, you said it yourself! Now come here, let me kiss that pretty fucking face of yours until you can't breath!"

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[applejuicebegood]

Best-friend!Dick Grayson HCs (Hero!Reader)

Fem!Reader

A/N: I haven't written anything for Mr. Grayson yet, I feel ashamed. This is based of the Young Justice Dick Grayson btw Masterlist

You met through the original Young Justice team. Both awkward tweens attempting to mirror the legacy of the Hero's the group was founded upon.

He was the unintentional balance between Kalders unrelenting seriousness and Wally's extreme extrorevtism. He could cancel out the chaos of Conner's fits of anger and Artemis's petty fights with Roy. He became your stability within this extremely unconventional friend group you had found yourself in.

Stripped of his family and a normal childhood, it was rare for Dick to grow confident in the stability of any relationship. Only, stability is what you embodied for him. You were like the serene guiding point in a crowd of uncontrollable teenage angst and anger.

In the early days of the team where Dick assumed the position of 'team-leader' was innately his, he would secretly mimic your intense control of not only your emotions but your abilities and skill to hopefully appear more qualified.

To him, your skill is battle was artful. You moved with a grace that he had never seen replicated in any dancer or gymnast that cycled through Haly's Circus. You were entrancing and almost addicting to watch. His footwork and faints becoming tighter and more effecting the more he watched you train, and eventually training with you.

It was how you initially grew close as teammates. Long sparing sessions where you're combat and skill was so perfectly reflecting off of each other. You both would stay on the training pad for hours, trying until you gave in to knock the other off of their feet. It appeared unless, you both were obviously equally matched in skill and fight IQ. With Wally and Megan taking bets on who would go down first, neither of them ever actually paid up since you both would have to tap out from pure exhaustion.

But it was the rush of understanding that made you train with Dick until you both couldn't feel your arms. It was the exhilarating thrill of knowing someone entirely understood your limits and skill as well as they knew their own.

And when it came time for Dick to have someone covering his blindspots, it was you with your back against his. You had spared and trained and bled so much together that your weaknesses and habits had become a second nature.

You knew Dick had a tendency to keep his kicks wider, putting him at a speed disadvantage to regain stability on his feet. Giving you more opportunity to keep his sides covered as he leapt back to cover your right, where he knew you had trouble keeping track of.

It wasn't just your synchronization that made you such a good pair, it was the tenderness you knew that the other needed afterwards.

After brutal missions where your knuckles would be caked with dried blood and the adrenaline high was making you too dizzy to think, Dick would slink his arm under yours and carry you back into the safety of the hideout. He would guide you to a bed, willing you to shut your eyes and breath deeply. He would lean his forehead against yours, having you match the pace of his breath to level your nerves.

He hated it when other people would treat your injuries and he wasn't there. This scared, paranoid part of him had to be present with you. He needed to have his hand open for your to hold in a vice grip as Megan dug the bullet from your leg. He needed to be sitting by your shoulder as you slept, the oxygen mask fixed over your face, so that when you woke up- it could be Dick smothering you in his arms as he silently sobbed against your shoulder. So happy that you hadn't left him just yet.

And as much as he worried about you and the team, it felt good to worry. It felt good to have so many people he cared for and needed to keep safe.

He helps wrap and clean your hands before and after missions. Smoothing his thumbs over the tightness of your calloused palm. He smiles as you groan in relief as he works out a stubborn knot.

Your his sister in everything but blood. His reminder that he was able to find another family after his was taken.

It's funny in that his last memories with his mother was her asking him if he wanted a sibling. Dick liked to think that she, where-ever her soul rested, pre-determined your presence in his life. That she still managed to give him a sibling.

When you were both still young teenagers, you encouraged him to try for the Gotham High gymnastics team. Thinking that it would be good to separate that part of himself from hero-work. Of course he made the team. And of course you would always be front row to everyone of his competitions. Your voice would hurt from how loud you cheered and screamed as the gold metals were hung around his neck.

He treats birthdays and other holidays very seriously. He's got a list for everyone on the team of things they said they needed or liked. His gifts are so personal and sweet but it's the cards that make you tear up.

Being Hero's from such a young age, both of you struggled with really bad nightmares. It was common when the two of you were 14 for Dick to tap on your bedroom door late at night. His eyes wide and his raven hair tousled across his tight forehead. You didn't have to say anything to each other, at least not until the morning. You would pull back your covers and pat the space beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. You both would lay there, looking up at the ceiling until his weak, hoarse voice would break the silence. 'Can I hold your hand?' You nodded, settling on your side. You poked your open palm out from the covers, waisting for him to lace his fingers over your knuckles. He finally let out a relived sigh, shutting his eyes as he squeezed your hand in a thank you you knew he couldn't say.

He snorts when he laughs, something only you know about since you have been one of the only ones to make him laugh so hard. You find it insanely adorable.

Slightly overprotective. He really hates it when you're out late at night and you haven't texted. A smaller, traumatized part of his assuming the worst. He likes to keep his shoulder close to yours if your walking down a busy street together, or his hand hanging behind your upper back if your making your way through a thick crowd.

You quite literally grew up together. You were there for every embarrassing fumble in conversations and violent breakdown. You were there, side by side, when you got your highschool diplomas and when you immediately had to stop a drug trade right after the ceremony. You were there through everything, and Dick is going to try his absolute hardest to make sure your there for the rest of it.

[resart]

The Inconspicuous Writing Gem: Daeran’s Look-alike Contest Breakdown

The Dance of Masks brought the long-anticipated last hurrah to the Knight Commander’s story. Although it was announced that the DLC would focus on the companions, I wasn’t holding my breath for substantial content that would actually enrich the characters’ plots. The game is already massive and has a ton of variables, so expecting the writers to continue storylines that can have multiple outcomes would be unreasonable. But one scene far exceeded my expectations and set the bar high for the rest of the expansion, rendering me more critical about some of its elements than I would normally be. The event in question may not appear as much, but the true artistry in writing stories driven by the player’s choice fully reveals itself in what we don’t see on the surface. Daeran’s look-alike contest varies greatly, depending on how his personal quest was resolved, and, therefore, serves as a semi-epilogue to his arc. I wanted to post an analysis of his character’s progression for quite some time, and this send-off is a fitting opportunity to delve into this matter. I’ll break down the differences in the new scene as well as in a few others and share my overall thoughts on what this addition brings to the table. Brace yourself because it’s going to be long.

I'll start with a quick reminder of what Daeran’s questline outcomes are, because I'm going to reference them a lot:

Good, in which he’s openly grateful to the Knight Commander despite having to face the tribunal, and Liotr, noticing their bond, intervenes so the Inquisition doesn't lock him up;

Lobotomy, in which Daeran reluctantly accepts his predicament of having to face the trial, Liotr doesn't support him and after the crusade, the Count is sent to the asylum and lobotomized;

HappyEvil, in which the Commander kills Liotr to secure Daeran’s freedom;

ArchEvil, in which Daeran doesn't have any trust in the Commander, feels deserted and murders Liotr to avoid the trial.

At first glance, there's nothing profound about Daeran’s festival quest — it fits his image to indulge in the vain act of self-celebration by choosing the most accurate imitation of himself. However, this simple setup proves itself clever when we realize that, by observing the contestants, he sees himself in a distorting mirror. Coincidentally, each participant appears to represent a different facet of the Count’s character. Therefore, his reactions to them speak volumes of the self-image and mindset he developed during the crusade in each scenario.

Among the doubles, we have an aasimar who mimics Daeran's arrogance and cruelty, and constantly interrupts other participants' speeches with mocking remarks.

A woman who recreates Daeran's sophisticated bon vivant persona.

A drunkard who paints Daeran as a worthless and utterly unapologetic rake.

And finally, an innocent boy who keeps staring at Daeran with admiration and portrays him as a virtuous hero of the crusade.

After the presentation of the contestants is over, Daeran asks the Commander’s opinion. Again, his responses to their verdict vary in each case (unless they choose the cat), but the difference in how he reacts to being compared to the little boy is the most telling.

No matter what the protagonist suggests, the winner of the contest is fixed for each of the outcomes. If the Commander failed to earn Daeran's trust and he murdered Liotr himself, the conceited aasimar is declared the winner.

If the Commander killed Liotr, the Count awards the lady.

If the quest was resolved peacefully (either Good or Lobotomy), Daeran chooses the boy and has a heartwarming exchange with him.

This variety of possible scenarios and the way they are handled encapsulate why I consider Daeran's story so intricately woven and enjoyable to analyze. He's an incredibly flexible and dynamic character whose potential endings range from becoming a saint to a homicidal maniac. But what makes this duality and everything that comes in between so engaging is that all these vastly contradictory conclusions are equally organic and convincing, given his rich characterization and the player’s choices. The subtle yet significant divergences in the narrative paths maintain the integrity of his personality and prevent his evolution from seeming far-fetched while efficiently showcasing his growth or regression.

Regretfully, this attention to detail is missing from the other new scenes, which don't convey a similar sense of progression and can come off as somewhat disconnected from the rest of the playthrough. The rendezvous, for example, avoids references to how the player concluded Daeran's romance and quest. Given these plotlines' non-linearity, it's an understandable approach, but it prevents the scene from exploring deeper themes and hitting more emotional notes. What's particularly detrimental to the its overall intensity is the absence of exclusive dialogue for the True Love outcome. Ironically, it's the two worst endings that get unique and surprisingly heartfelt lines.

The difference is insignificant, however, because the conversation always plays out the same. All in all, the segment is nice and leaves a lot to the imagination, but only partially exploits its potential. Meanwhile, the festival mini-quest embraces the aforementioned strengths of the storyline's writing, giving every iteration of Daeran distinct dialogues that clearly demonstrate the impact the crusade and acquaintance with the Commander had on him.

I won't examine every dialogue branch in detail but will mainly focus on the Good scenario. As someone who likes this ending the best and even advocates the controversial writing in the final confrontation with Liotr, I always thought the narrative failed to properly sell its implied benefits. Apart from the closing conversation in the quest itself, late-game provides little reactivity to differentiate the outcomes, making it hard for the players to fully grasp the internal shift that Daeran undergoes. Comparison of said dialogue in various scenarios reveals his perspective in Good route as the least egocentric and overall most mature. Unfortunately, in an individual playthrough, these qualities can get overshadowed by the Count's dissatisfaction with the inconveniences he will eventually have to endure.

Aside from that, the effects of each resolution manifest only in Daeran's responses to one question in the romantic route and how he expressed his feelings regarding Galfrey’s death.

Even though they show evident contrast and serve as a much-needed emotional pay-off for the moral dilemma the player faced in the storyline finale, both are relatively minor, with the Queen one completely missable in most playthroughs. When combined with the similar omission of negative repercussions for Daeran’s moral condition and emotional maturity in other outcomes, it's not surprising many players believe he doesn’t ever change or that becoming better fundamentally clashes with his nature.

The discussed competition scene remedies the narrative’s deficiencies, ultimately proving this statement untrue. In the Good outcome, Daeran presents a reasonable dose of self-distance. When confronted with the drunk’s insults, he replies with humor and courtesy, which is a stark contrast to his reactions in the Evil outcomes and his past responses to criticism. Despite being hurt by the harsh judgment, he understands such a low opinion of himself is somewhat justified. The Count's mild response and his sensitivity to the suggestion that he's nothing more than an unfeeling scoundrel may even indicate that he has developed some remorse for his past actions. He also dismisses unwarranted flattery and distances himself from the brash egotism. All without falling into a spiral of gloom and self-deprecation that occurs in the Lobotomy scenario. Introspectiveness and vulnerability showcased here are a seamless continuation of the self-evaluation Daeran does in the High Trust version of his quest upon being supposedly betrayed by the Commander.

It's all the more unfortunate that the other interactions in the DLC don’t acknowledge these differences and instead return to the common denominator of all endings. As a result, the player will go from Daeran, who self-reflects and claims the aasimar presents an unfunny caricature of him, to Daeran in the tavern, who puffs himself up exactly like the guy (using even the same words) and seeks more sycophantic praise. While it's expected for him to put on an airy act and tease others, the absolute lack of self-awareness he previously exhibits in the Good route is quite jarring. Considering the complexity of the storyline as well as all sorts of limitations, such inconsistencies are inevitable (the base game already has a fair share of them) and in the end, one can easily reconcile them through their own interpretations. However, after being spoiled by a reactivity treat like the festival mini-quest, it's disappointing that the remaining dialogues lack similar nuance.

In the Good scenario, Daeran's behavior reinforces what we learn in the epilogue — that in this version, he has the most difficulty navigating through his newfound freedom and redefining himself in it. Choosing the winner of a silly contest shouldn't be hard for him, and it isn't in the Evil outcomes. There, the self-satisfied Count (who in both cases already has the blood of at least one innocent man on his hands) picks what he perceives as an idealized version of himself — be it the aestheticized depiction of his self-centredness or the unbridled and unyielding haughtiness. Noteworthily, in the Happy variant, Daeran openly flirts with the lady and, in both Evil paths, if not romanced, attempts to seduce his favored contestant. It’s peak narcissism, given the implications of the scene. In the peaceful outcomes, especially the Good one, the ordeal is a series of unpleasant self-reflections that even causes him to become overwhelmed by sorrow at one point. In the end, Daeran’s choice stems not from an ulterior motive or a desire to boost his ego but from genuine fondness for the boy. The youngster's belief in the Count’s kindness and heroism reminds him of his own innocence that was prematurely and brutally snatched from him. At his core, Daeran is not a self-sufficient master of his own fate but a helpless child thrown by unfortunate circumstances into otherworldly oppression and a vicious cycle of selfishness. In the Evil routes, he successfully deludes himself into believing he’s the former, but here, he realizes he’s the latter.

We're used to seeing Daeran scoffing at saccharine narratives and lofty ideals, and in the Evil versions, he's indeed annoyed with the boy’s portrayal of him. In one of them, he even anticipates him to be disenchanted, finding the prospect amusing. In the campaign's early stages, the Count voices his dissatisfaction with being enrolled in the crusade and laments the tarnishing of his ill reputation. Any suggestions that he may be secretly vulnerable are met with biting retorts. But now, Daeran doesn't disabuse the child and isn’t even bothered by being seen as a heroic figure. There also isn’t any objection when the Commander points out the similarity between him and the boy. He’s shocked they can see through him but decides to be honest and agrees with their assessment. Daeran’s sensitivity and his tendency to be more emotionally transparent with the protagonist is, at this point, a recurring theme in the peaceful outcomes, so it’s a shame that when they later choose to compliment his vulnerable soul, he's always equally dismissive.

Daeran is perfectly aware of how damaging cruel disillusionment can be to one’s psyche. As a child, he witnessed firsthand the powerlessness of good in the face of evil, the suffering adhering to moral principles can bring, and how those who claim to be righteous can turn out to be as callous and uncaring as hardened villains. These experiences left the young Count with a pessimistic view of the world and human nature, making him adopt coping mechanisms that only deepened his melancholy and loneliness. Knowing this, he wishes to spare the boy a similar fate and plays along to preserve his innocence.

In the non-peaceful outcomes, Daeran gives the signet away as if it was an insignificant bauble. But even though we barely ever see this side of him, some dialogues indicate he’s proud of his heritage and his ancestors' role in Mendev’s history. They were valiant defenders of the kingdom, who, for generations, protected its borders from any threat. This is who the Count, as a scion of the Arendae house, was originally destined to be and who, it so happens, the boy sees in him. Perhaps his take on him makes Daeran reflect on how differently things could have turned out had it not been for his family's demise and the Other’s interference. It undoubtedly revokes memories of his roots and deceased kin, since he not only rewards the child with the ring but also educates him on its meaning and sentimental value, expressing unexpected sincerity and kindness. In the Lobotomy scenario, this gesture is particularly bittersweet — with his impeding childless death, Daeran’s lineage is going to expire, making the memento the only way to keep its memory alive.

Finally, the Good version of the scene carries a deep symbolic significance. Daeran rewards one person who doesn't focus on his superficial traits or recreates the mask he hides behind. The image the boy paints of him may not be accurate, but while the other portrayals embody what the Count turned into under the Other's influence, this one shows what he could have been if he hadn’t lost the childish naivety he now longs for. And who he, despite his own skepticism, still can or perhaps even already started to become, thanks to the good protagonist's compassion and support. Just like the Commander, the boy views him as someone better than what his predicament forced him to be. And Daeran, confronted with sincere faith in him, cannot help but answer the call.

[twisted-confessions]

I just found this really cool picrew and wanted to try and make an Overblot version of my Twst/HTTYD OC Bella and it turned out SO GOOD!!! (Lore dump about her Overblot below the cut)

Anyway, new tag game! Use this picrew to make your own Twst OC's before and after their Overblot then tag some fellow twst friends to make theirs as well!!

Tagging: @oyatochie @oya-oya-okay @boopshoops @sweetbunpura @kirexa @valy-gc @winterwriterstudios @hyp3rf1xat10ns @idiazhroud @masked-tornado @patchyegg87 @teapot-tyrant @unity-obj

And then Open Tags for whoever wants to try!!

In my au, Bella's Overblot is inspired by a few different characters, however the main elements for her outfit are Dire Crowley and Toothless while her attitude would match Drago Bludvist since all three of them triggered major life changing impacts, 2 negative and 1 positive. She also gets two set of wings (Night Fury and Raven) to mimic her mother Valka's dragon, Cloudjumper, while gaining some white horns to match Valka's Alpha Bewilderbeast. In the Overblot image she's doing the hand pose Crowley does when he pulls someone out of the coffins and I can totally hear her saying "Aren't I just sooo kind to lend you all a helping hand?" to mock the Bird man lol. The first one is ironically just her genuinely wanting to help someone out lmao. I love making parallels.

I can imagine her Overblot rampaging including her Bewilderbeast Abilities with her commanding all dragons nearby (including Malleus rip-) to capture NRC students so she can steal their magic to force the Mirror of Darkness to send her home, as well as to capture Crowley so she can kill destroy him for using her and lying about letting her go back to New Berk, while also using her Ice Breath to tear down the entire school. Her Phantom though, despite her Night Fury design and wings, would actually be The Bewilderbeast soul inside of her taking physical Blot-form so unlike the other Phantoms, this one is tied to her life in a very different way, keeping her soul(s?) protected while still draining her life force the more she uses it's powers. So destroying Bella's Phantom might have some very negative consequences...

>:)

[whateveriwant]

Hey! I love your writing so much, and I was wondering if you could do 141 HCs with an albino GN!reader? Or a reader with tics but not tourettes? Either or!! Have a lovely day!

I'm sorry it took me a little while to get to this, anon! I went with the second option!

Ghost

Can you say 'twinsies'? Because Ghost definitely can 👯‍♀️

I can totally see Ghost having tics of his own – motor ones specifically, mostly confined to his face, but you wouldn't know it because they're always hidden by his masks

Thus, when he first notices you ticking, he immediately clocks it for what it is and he (almost giddily) thinks to himself 'Finally! Someone who gets me'

Because of this, he quickly becomes your second shadow, following you around everywhere like a little big puppy

Naturally, he'll get incredibly protective over you, especially when it comes to people who stare or make comments under their breath or even outright approach you and ask something rude regarding your tics

If he catches anyone doing anything of the sort, then he goes into scary dog mode real quick: arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side, an intimidating silence as he glares with a gaze so menacing it could melt steel

Price

With a man as sharp and attentive as Price, much like Ghost, he takes instant notice of your tics

And as protective as Price is, he'd probably get fairly concerned about you to the point where he even pulls you aside one day to have a little chat

He knows that… tics, he thinks they're called, aren't necessarily indicative of anything health-wise, but he just wants to make sure that you're okay; that there isn't anything he can do for you

Even after assuring him that you're perfectly fine and healthy and good, that doesn't stop him from looking out for you like you're his own flesh and blood

Similar to Ghost, if he sees anyone staring or making snide comments about you, then he's definitely going to step in and shut that down

However, rather than giving them an I'll tear your spine out through your throat look à la Ghost, he'll mutter something in their ear – the specifics of which you're unsure, but it always has them making a swift, shaky-legged departure

Gaz

While he too notices your tics, Gaz would never ever mention them out of respect for you and your privacy

He would wait for you to be the one to bring it up, should you ever choose to, that is. And if you never do, well, that's a-ok to him. Whatever you're willing to divulge, he'll be there waiting without pressure or judgment

However, if you were to talk to him about it (and thus invite a conversation) then prepare yourself for a barrage of questions

He doesn't ask them meaning to be offensive or intrusive or whatever; he's simply curious. He just wants to get to know you well, and that means knowing what makes you uniquely you

Unlike the other 141 men, if he notices someone bothering you about your tics, he's not going to directly (more like aggressively) confront them over it

Instead he'd harmlessly distract them, drawing their attention onto himself until they've completely forgotten all about their interest in bugging you

Soap

This man, bless his heart, would be totally, astoundingly oblivious of your tics even if they punched him in the face

In fact, the closer you become with him, the more he finds himself unconsciously start to mimic them

Kind of like when you like someone and so you start mirroring their movements/patterns of speech? Yeah, it's like that but with your tics

Of course, if you were to say something about it (and especially if you said it made you uncomfortable), he'd immediately apologize, explain how he wasn't even aware he was doing it, and make sure he never does it again

Like with Ghost and Price, if Soap noticed someone being rude towards you, he'd go into guard dog mode, but he is the most feral by far

He'd be all up in their face, furious, practically foaming at the mouth as he yells to "Mind yer own fuckin' business while you've still got workin' legs to mind with!" … only to turn to you afterwards all sunshine and rainbows like he didn't just tear that person a new one 😇

[ninibeingdelulu]

Mimicking his mannerisms ✧

Plot: You mimic your boyfriend’s mannerisms.

At first, the enigmatic striker didn't seem to register your playful imitations of his signature subtle smirks or the way his steely cobalt eyes would narrow with razor focus.

Why would he? To Kaiser, such trivial details weren't worth breaking concentration over.

That utter absorption in the game, in dismantling defenses and obliterating opponents through sheer, leonine skill is what made you start mirroring his mannerisms in the first place.

The way his chiseled features settled into that stony, impenetrable mask of intensity whether dribbling a ball or simply contemplating strategy...you found it weirdly entrancing.

Which is why, bundled up on the sofa freshly showered after a match, you erupted into peals of giggles after perfectly emulating Kaiser's celebratory chest thump and fist pump from earlier when he'd scored the game-winner.

Complete with your best attempt at replicating that guttural grunt of exertion just to sell the impression.

At first, Michael merely arched one of those winged brows fractionally, gaze flickering over to you with mild interest. Studying, analyzing, deconstructing your silly antics just as he might an opponent's offensive patterns to identify weaknesses.

You beamed right back without a shred of self-consciousness, striking another achingly-familiar pose - feet braced apart, knees bent, arms raised like they're clutching an invisible ball, mouth curling into that infuriatingly smug half-grin Kaiser flashes before blowing past defenders like they're standing still.

And...was that the ghost of a chuckle rumbling up from the striker's barrel chest at catching your overly-earnest mimicry? Sure sounded like it before he hastily muffled the impulse, eyes crinkling with unmistakable amusement.

In a flash, you pounced - taking shameless advantage of your petite stature to clamber right into his lap before he could protest or deflect.

Looping your arms loosely around his thick neck, you peered down with dancing eyes and an impish grin.

"Something funny, Master Sniper?"

You crooned his moniker in an exaggerated baritone approximation of his own molten vocals.

"Don't tell me the great Michael Kaiser is finally going easy on the opposition?"

Michael, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch at your flagrant invasion of his personal space. Just leveled you with one of those piercing, soul-searing stares from beneath heavy lids for a pregnant pause.

Almost as if evaluating whether to simply disengage entirely...or take the bait and engage with this maddeningly irreverent side of you that delighted in needling his legendary composure.

Then, before you could react, those powerful arms looped in an inescapable vise around your midsection, crushing your squirming body flush against his own.

One broad palm cradled the nape of your neck, callused thumb dragging along the line of your jaw as Kaiser fixed you with a lopsided smirk crackling with unspoken challenge.

"So that's how you want to play it, wildkatze ?" Any pretense towards stoicism evaporated in favor of that rich, honeyed baritone dripping with roguish self-assurance that stole your breath more effectively than any physical exertion.

"Well then...no more holding back, starting now."

Those silvery eyes glinted like sharpened steel as he effortlessly flipped your positions with that same controlled, explosive grace he wields between the lines - pinning you bodily beneath his solid, unyielding weight with startling swiftness.

One sensual caress along the curve of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb ignited tingling shockwaves through your nerve endings.

"Let's see how good your impressions really are...starting with the most important celebration of all once we're done here."

Any further protests dissolved into breathless, keening pleas of surrender as Kaiser set about teaching you to mimic the only poses and exertions that truly matter between the two of you.

[springtyme]

𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

An Unmasked Love Halloween drabble <3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

word count: 559

note: Happy Halloween, everybody! ♡ I wrote this super quickly and haven't proofread or anything, but I just wanted something to post for tonight, and what better way to celebrate the holiday than with some fluffy dad!simon.

As Halloween approaches, you find yourself in your daughter’s room, carefully dressing her in her costume. You delicately slip her into the soft, plush pumpkin suit, adorned with a smiling jack o lantern face on the front. 

“Oh, look at you, princess!” you coo, gently slipping her tiny arms into the costume. “You’re the most adorable pumpkin I’ve ever seen.”

Your daughter giggles with excitement, her little legs kicking happily as you fasten the buttons. She reaches out her little hands, exploring the soft fabric with wonder. Her eyes light up with anticipation, even though she is still too young to really understand what’s going on.

You can’t help but giggle too as you help her slip on the gloves you got her, tiny copies of the one Simon had been wearing the first time you met him. She wiggles her tiny fingers, marvelling at the cute little bones printed on the black fabric. Her eyes sparkle with delight, unaware of just how precious she looks.

Just as you finish dressing her, Simon walks into the room, his eyes widening at the sight of your daughter in her pumpkin ensemble. He can’t help but let out an exclamation of delight.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Simon says, his deep voice filled with amusement.

Giggling, your daughter reaches out her arms towards Simon, her face beaming with joy. Simon scoops her up, cradling her gently in his arms, and she nestles against him, feeling safe and loved in her father’s strong arms.

“Hey there, little pumpkin,” he says, his voice filled with genuine affection as he leaves a soft kiss on the top of her head, something he has been doing a lot after stopping wearing his mask when he’s around her.

Your heart swells with happiness as you witness the sweet interaction between Simon and your daughter. Despite her not being able to speak yet, the love and adoration in her eyes reflect the special bond they share. 

Simon’s eyes lock with yours, a soft smile on his lips mirroring your own. 

“Are you gonna show daddy your gloves too,” you say, more to Simon, whose eyes are moving to look at the little girl’s hands, than your daughter.

His eyes widening at the sight of the gloves. He can’t help but let out an exclamation of surprise.

“Hey, are those…” Simon starts, his voice filled with curiosity, before trailing off.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips. “I know they don’t fit for a pumpkin, but I just couldn’t resist,” you say, chuckling softly.

Simon’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes one of your daughter’s tiny gloved hands in his. “Well, I must say, she’s the most stylish little pumpkin I’ve ever seen,” he says, joining in on the playful banter.

“Look at us, a pair of skeletons.” Simon chuckles warmly, gently playing with her little fingers. 

Your daughter giggles in response, her eyes sparkling with joy as she mimics Simon’s gestures, attempting to imitate his playful antics. The sight of the two of them fills your heart with warmth and happiness.

As you watch Simon and your daughter share in this precious moment, you know that no matter what costumes they wear or how many Halloweens pass, their love and connection will always remain a source of light and happiness in their lives.

[hurriane23456]

Through Another’s Eyes

Elliot Bennett had always thought his job was peculiar, to say the least. He worked at Mimic Studio, a company renowned for its hyper-realistic masks. These weren’t the kind of masks you’d find at a costume shop; they were masterpieces, crafted with such precision that they transformed the wearer entirely. Each came with a full outfit, contact lenses to match the eye color, and shoes to complete the look. Mimic catered to movie studios, high-end cosplayers, and a few private clients who didn’t explain why they needed to look like someone else.

Elliot was a junior marketing intern, responsible for social media posts. He wasn’t an artist; and never got close to the merchandise. That evening, he found himself alone at the studio, the whirring machines and half-finished molds silent around him. It was rare for him to have the space to himself, and as he walked into the Mask Room, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of curiosity.

The Mask Room was where the completed works were displayed—rows and rows of lifelike faces suspended on mannequin heads. The designs ranged from average-looking men to strikingly handsome models. The outfits accompanying them hung nearby, tailored to perfection. Elliot’s eyes landed on a mask he’d never seen before: a rugged, stubbled face with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. The tag read: "Jason – Outdoorsman."

He hesitated but finally gave in, locking the door to ensure no one walked in on him.

Elliot unhooked the mask and carried it to the changing area. The accompanying outfit was folded neatly beside it: a flannel shirt, distressed jeans, and brown hiking boots. His fingers tingled with excitement and nerves as he stripped out of his work clothes, standing in just his socks before pulling on the jeans. They fit snugly, hugging his legs in a way that made him glance at himself in the full-length mirror.

The flannel shirt was next—soft, perfectly worn in, and rolled up at the cuffs. He slipped on the boots, their weight and rugged soles giving him the impression he’d just come back from a mountain hike.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up, marveling at the detail: the faint freckles across the nose, the hint of crow’s feet at the corners of the eyes. He stretched it gently, noticing how pliable yet durable the material felt, before slipping it over his head. The inside was cool against his skin, and he adjusted the edges until they blended perfectly with his neck.

When he looked in the mirror, he gasped. Jason the Outdoorsman stared back at him. Elliot popped in the blue contact lenses, completing the transformation. His reflection didn’t just look like someone else—it felt like someone else. He smirked, tilting his head, running a hand over the stubble that felt impossibly real.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. He rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling like he could chop wood or trek through a forest.

He could’ve stopped there, but the thrill was addictive. Elliot peeled off the mask reluctantly, placed it back on its stand, and scanned the shelves for his next choice. His eyes landed on "Mason – Business Tycoon."

The outfit was a three-piece suit: charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt, a silk tie, and polished black dress shoes. Elliot stripped down again, feeling a bit silly standing in his boxers in the sterile studio, but excitement overpowered his hesitation.

The suit fit him like a glove, the fabric smooth and expensive against his skin. He adjusted the tie, the Windsor knot sitting perfectly at his throat. The shoes, shiny enough to see his reflection, clicked satisfyingly on the tiled floor.

Mason’s mask was next. It had a clean-shaven jaw, slightly tanned skin, and sharp cheekbones. Once he slipped it on, he inserted the hazel contact lenses and stared at himself.

He looked powerful. Confident. Like a man who owned skyscrapers and never took no for an answer. He straightened his tie in the mirror and let out a low laugh.

“What’s my next big deal?” he joked to himself, his voice deep and commanding.

By now, Elliot was fully immersed in the game. He pulled Mason off, carefully reassembling the set, and reached for something more daring. His hand hovered over a mask labeled "Ryan – Rock Star."

The outfit was bold: ripped black jeans, a leather jacket, a fitted black T-shirt, and combat boots. There were even accessories—silver rings, a chain necklace, and sunglasses.

Slipping into the clothes felt like stepping into a different world. The leather jacket was buttery soft, the rings cool against his fingers. He placed the sunglasses on top of his head, letting them rest in his tousled brown wig—the mask came with hair this time, styled in perfectly disheveled waves.

Ryan’s face had a roguish smirk, a faint scar above his eyebrow, and piercing green eyes. Once he had the mask on, Elliot completed the look with the green lenses and stepped back.

He didn’t just look like a rock star. He felt like one. He struck a pose, pretending to hold a guitar, and laughed.

“This is insane,” he muttered, his voice raspy and full of swagger.

Elliot was riding a high. Each transformation was more thrilling than the last. He could feel the studio’s silence around him, but it only heightened the sense of intimacy with his newfound game. Placing the rock star set carefully back on its stand, he scanned the rows for his next choice.

His gaze landed on something unusual: a mask labeled "Liam – Athlete." The mannequin head sported a short buzz cut and a face glistening with sweat, as if Liam had just finished a grueling workout.

The outfit was a basketball jersey and matching shorts, complete with a pair of size-13 sneakers. A duffel bag sat beside the mannequin, holding accessories like a wristband and a water bottle.

Elliot couldn’t resist. He stripped down and pulled on the jersey and shorts. They felt cool and lightweight, clinging to his body in a way that made him acutely aware of every movement. The sneakers were enormous compared to his regular size, but they fit perfectly, thanks to the padding built into the soles.

The mask was different from the others—it came with a slight sheen, replicating the effect of perspiration. Elliot slipped it on, adjusting it carefully, and popped in the brown contact lenses.

The mirror revealed someone who looked fresh off a basketball court: a chiseled jawline, a confident smirk, and broad shoulders that seemed almost too big to be his own. Elliot flexed an arm experimentally, laughing at how the mask made his wiry frame appear like a professional athlete’s.

“Game on,” he said, his voice carrying a new edge.

As he returned Liam’s set to its place, Elliot felt something shift. The masks weren’t just disguises anymore; they were identities. Each time he looked in the mirror, he felt less like Elliot and more like the man staring back.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over a shelf filled with more masks. Should he stop? He shook his head. No one was here to judge him. He could stop whenever he wanted.

His fingers brushed against a mask labeled "Dominic – Undercover Agent." The face was rugged, with a five o’clock shadow and a slight scar running down one cheek. The outfit was a tactical ensemble: a black turtleneck, combat pants, and utility boots. A leather holster and fake earpiece completed the look.

This time, Elliot didn’t hesitate. He undressed quickly, feeling a rush as he pulled on the tactical pants and secured the belt around his waist. The turtleneck hugged his frame, making him feel both sleek and dangerous.

The boots were heavier than the others, clunking solidly on the floor as he paced. Finally, he pulled on Dominic’s mask, the material molding perfectly to his features. The scar added an air of danger, and the steely gray contact lenses gave his gaze an intensity that made him shiver.

When he stared into the mirror, Elliot felt like a stranger to himself. He reached for the holster, strapping it across his chest, and slid the fake earpiece into place.

“Agent Bennett,” he whispered to himself, testing the new persona. He turned sharply, pretending to clear a room, his movements sharp and precise.

Elliot’s exhilaration outweighed his caution. He scanned the shelves for one last transformation, his eyes landing on a mask labeled "Malik – Urban Legend."

The mask was striking, with smooth dark skin, a neatly shaped beard, and bold features that radiated charisma. The accompanying outfit hung nearby: an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, and a pair of pristine white sneakers. A thick gold chain rested on the mannequin's chest, completing the ensemble.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. The set was unlike anything he’d tried before, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty. But the thrill was irresistible.

Stripping down, he reached for the hoodie first. It was heavy and warm, the fabric thick enough to feel substantial. He tugged it over his head, the hood settling comfortably around his neck. The jeans were loose, pooling slightly around the tops of the sneakers when he slipped them on. The chain was the final touch, cool against his chest.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up carefully, noting the incredible detail: the texture of the skin, the subtle highlights on the nose and cheekbones, the natural sheen of the beard. Sliding it over his face, he adjusted it until it fit seamlessly. The brown contact lenses were a perfect match for the mask’s warm, expressive eyes.

When he turned to the mirror, the transformation was complete.

Elliot barely recognized himself. Malik’s broad shoulders and confident stance felt worlds apart from his usual frame. The oversized clothes emphasized a casual, effortless style that made him look like he belonged on a street corner or a music video set. He smirked, leaning into the persona.

“What’s up?” he muttered, deepening his voice. He laughed, shaking his head at how different he sounded.

He struck a pose, pulling the hood up over his head, and turned sideways in the mirror. The way the sneakers gleamed under the fluorescent lights added to the image, making him feel like someone who turned heads wherever he went.

Elliot was so absorbed in Malik’s reflection that he didn’t hear the faint click of the studio door unlocking.

-----

“Elliot. What are you doing?”

The voice froze him in place. He spun around, heart pounding, to see Mr. Calloway, his supervisor, standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. Calloway’s sharp suit and polished shoes looked completely out of place in the dimly lit studio, but his expression was impossible to misread: curiosity, amusement, and just a hint of annoyance.

“Uh… I… I was just, uh… testing the fit,” Elliot stammered. The deep voice of Malik spilled out of his mouth, making his excuse sound even more absurd.

Calloway took a step forward, folding his arms as he looked Elliot up and down. “Testing the fit, huh?” His lips twitched into a small smirk. “Well, you do look good, I’ll give you that.”

Elliot’s cheeks burned under the mask. He started to peel it off, fumbling with the edges.

“Stop.”

The command made him freeze. Calloway tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful.

“Put the hood back up,” he said.

Elliot hesitated, then obeyed, pulling the hood over his head again. Calloway paced slowly around him, inspecting the outfit from every angle.

“Hm,” Calloway said finally. “I always wondered how these looked in action. You wear it well.”

Elliot shifted awkwardly. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Calloway waved a hand, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m not mad. But since you’re already having fun…” He gestured to the rows of masks. “Pick one out for me.”

Elliot blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “If you’re going to play dress-up, let’s see what you can do with me.”

“You want me to… pick one?” Elliot asked, dumbfounded.

Calloway shrugged. “I’ve always been curious about these things. Might as well indulge.”

Elliot hesitated, but Calloway’s expectant look made it clear he wasn’t joking. Elliot scanned the shelves, searching for something drastically different from Calloway’s usual polished, buttoned-up look. His eyes landed on a set labeled "Jax – The Punk Rebel."

The mask had a youthful, edgy vibe: messy black hair with streaks of electric blue, a pierced eyebrow, and sharp cheekbones. The outfit was equally bold: a black leather jacket covered in studs, a ripped band T-shirt, tight black jeans, and heavy combat boots. A chain dangled from the pants, and fingerless gloves completed the look.

Elliot hesitated for a moment before pulling it down. He held it up with a small smirk. “How about this one?”

Calloway raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You want me to dress like that?”

“Well,” Elliot said, a little braver now, “you did say you wanted to try something different.”

Calloway sighed but took the set. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Elliot stepped back as Calloway began changing. Watching his boss trade in his tailored suit for tight jeans and a leather jacket was surreal. The combat boots added a heavy stomp to his normally quiet, calculated steps.

Finally, Calloway picked up the mask. The punk's wild hair and defiant smirk were a far cry from his usual clean-cut look. He adjusted it carefully, making sure the edges fit perfectly before popping in the bright blue contact lenses.

When Calloway turned to the mirror, Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Well?” Calloway asked, his voice a deep rasp that suited the rebellious persona. He adjusted the leather jacket, striking a mockingly defiant pose. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’d get kicked out of their own office,” Elliot joked, still grinning.

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor, Bennett.” He stepped closer to the mirror, inspecting the transformation. “I have to admit, this is… fun. A little ridiculous, but fun.”

Before Elliot could answer, the studio door creaked open again. Both he and Calloway froze, the playful mood evaporating instantly. They turned toward the sound, expecting to see a coworker or perhaps security. Instead, a man in a black uniform with the company logo stepped inside, clipboard in hand.

It was Frank, the head of inventory.

Frank looked up and froze in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the scene: Elliot still wearing Malik’s oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, and Calloway transformed into Jax, the punk rebel.

“What the hell is going on here?” Frank demanded, his voice sharp.

Elliot’s stomach sank. Calloway, however, didn’t miss a beat. He stepped forward, his combat boots thudding heavily on the floor, and gave Frank a mischievous smirk.

“Relax, Frank,” Calloway said, his raspy, rebellious voice a perfect match for the punk persona. “We’re just… testing the merchandise.”

“Testing?” Frank repeated, incredulous. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Do you know how much trouble you could get into for messing with inventory like this? These are high-value items!”

Calloway waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the role he was playing. “Come on, Frank. Don’t act like you’ve never been curious.”

Frank sputtered, clearly caught off guard by Calloway’s brazen attitude. Elliot, meanwhile, stood frozen, unsure whether to defend himself or stay silent.

Then, to Elliot’s shock, Calloway grinned and gestured toward the shelves. “Why don’t you join us? Pick one out. It’s not every day you get to see yourself as someone else.”

Frank blinked, his indignation faltering. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re always talking about inventory this, inventory that. Why not take a closer look? I mean, really experience it.”

Elliot stared at Calloway, his heart racing. Was he seriously inviting Frank to join them?

Frank hesitated, his grip on the clipboard tightening. Then his gaze shifted to the rows of masks, curiosity flickering in his eyes despite himself. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Calloway said with a shrug. “But you’ve got to admit—it’s tempting.”

Frank sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a terrible idea.”

“And yet, you’re considering it,” Calloway pointed out, his smirk widening.

After a long pause, Frank set his clipboard down and stepped toward the shelves. Elliot exchanged a wide-eyed look with Calloway, who winked.

“What’s the craziest one here?” Frank muttered under his breath, scanning the options.

Elliot’s anxiety began to shift into a strange excitement as he realized the night had taken a completely unexpected turn.

Frank scanned the shelves, muttering to himself as his eyes darted over the masks. He stopped in front of a set labeled "Boone – The Outland Ranger."

The mask was rugged and wild-looking: sun-kissed skin, a thick unkempt beard, and sharp, weathered features. The outfit hanging nearby was equally striking: a sleeveless leather vest adorned with various patches, a pair of tan cargo pants tucked into scuffed combat boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with a feather stuck into the band. A leather holster with a prop revolver hung at the side, completing the ensemble.

“This one’s ridiculous,” Frank muttered, pulling it off the rack. He turned to Calloway and Elliot, holding it up for them to see. “What do you think?”

Calloway smirked, crossing his arms. “Perfect. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to be a ranger.”

Elliot bit back a grin as Frank sighed, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him here, and began stripping out of his uniform. He folded his shirt neatly, shooting a glare at Calloway when he caught the boss smirking.

The transformation began with the cargo pants, which fit loosely but comfortably. The leather vest was snug, its patches adding a gritty, rebellious touch. Frank hesitated at the holster but eventually strapped it on, adjusting it with a scowl.

Finally, he picked up the mask. It was heavier than he expected, the craftsmanship so detailed it seemed almost alive. He slipped it over his head, adjusting it until the edges vanished seamlessly into his neck. The transformation was instant: the tired, middle-aged inventory manager disappeared, replaced by Boone’s rugged, outdoorsy persona.

Elliot handed him the hazel contact lenses, which Frank inserted with surprising ease. Then he placed the wide-brimmed hat on his head, completing the look.

When Frank turned to the mirror, he froze.

“What the…” His voice was rough and deep, entirely unlike his usual tone. He leaned closer to his reflection, running a gloved hand over the mask’s beard. “This is insane.”

Calloway chuckled. “Told you. Looks good on you, though.”

Frank adjusted the holster, his expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “I look like I just stepped out of a western.” He struck a mock pose, drawing the prop revolver from its holster. “Bang, bang,” he muttered, smirking despite himself.

Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You’re a natural.”

Frank turned to face them, crossing his arms. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it—this is… kind of cool. But if anyone finds out about this, we’re all getting fired.”

“Only if you don’t look the part,” Calloway teased, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now come on. Let’s see how these characters look together.”

Frank groaned but followed as Calloway led him and Elliot to a larger mirror on the other side of the room. The three of them stood side by side: Calloway as Jax, the rebellious punk; Frank as Boone, the rugged ranger; and Elliot as Malik, the urban legend.

For a moment, the absurdity of the situation faded, replaced by a strange sense of camaraderie.

“You know,” Calloway said, grinning, “we could pull off one hell of a heist looking like this.”

The three stood in front of the mirror, their reflections almost unrecognizable. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was as though stepping into these personas unlocked something freer in each of them.

Calloway adjusted the chains on his jacket, his smirk now almost cocky. “You know, I’ve been running this place for years, and I’ve never actually tried these on. I gotta admit, they’re pretty incredible.”

Frank snorted, tugging at the brim of his hat. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re dressed like a punk rock delinquent.” He gestured toward Calloway’s combat boots. “Those are a far cry from your usual loafers.”

“Hey,” Calloway shot back, “at least I look good. You look like you just walked out of a survivalist convention.”

Elliot chuckled, finally feeling relaxed enough to join the banter. “And I look like I should be running a streetball tournament.” He spread his arms, taking in his oversized hoodie and sneakers. “Guess we’ve all got our alter egos now.”

Frank shook his head, but a small smile crept onto his face. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Calloway said, raising an eyebrow. “Frank, look at us. We’re living the dream. For years, people have been buying these masks to become someone else, even just for a moment. And here we are, actually getting to experience it ourselves.”

Frank sighed, leaning against the counter. “You’ve got a point. It’s… kind of fun.” He glanced down at the prop revolver, spinning it idly before sliding it back into the holster. “Not gonna lie, I do feel pretty badass.”

“Exactly!” Calloway said, clapping him on the back. He turned to Elliot. “What about you, Bennett? Feeling like a whole new person?”

Elliot hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s weird… but in a good way.”

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, staring at their reflections. For a moment, they weren’t coworkers—they were characters, living in a shared fantasy.

Finally, Calloway broke the silence. “You know, we should make this a team-building exercise. Let everyone try on a mask, get a feel for the product.”

Frank groaned. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle seeing Jerry from accounting dressed like a Viking.”

Elliot laughed, picturing it. “Or Martha from HR as a biker chick.”

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. But we’ll keep this between us for now. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Frank and Elliot said in unison.

“Good,” Calloway said, straightening his jacket. He turned to the mirror one last time, his expression softening. “Well, gentlemen, if nothing else, this has been a night to remember.”

Frank smirked. “Just as long as no one remembers it tomorrow.”

Elliot grinned, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. For the first time in a long while, work didn’t feel like work—it felt like an adventure.

Calloway leaned back against the counter, looking at Frank and Elliot with a mischievous glint in his eye. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve tried on our alter egos. Now let’s take it up a notch.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘take it up a notch’?”

Calloway smirked. “We switch. Each of us gets to experience someone else’s transformation. It’s only fair.”

Elliot blinked, his pulse quickening. “You mean… you want us to trade outfits and masks?”

“Exactly,” Calloway said, pushing off the counter. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little sweat.”

Frank groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is getting out of hand.”

“And yet,” Calloway said, pointing at him, “you’re not saying no.”

Frank hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Elliot swallowed hard, feeling both nervous and intrigued. He glanced at Calloway’s punk-inspired outfit, then at Frank’s rugged ranger look. Both felt so far removed from his own urban style that the thought of stepping into either was dizzying.

Calloway clapped his hands. “All right, here’s how this works. We’ll go one at a time. Frank, you’ll start by switching with me. Elliot, you’re next. Sound good?”

Frank shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”

Frank unbuckled the holster from his waist, the leather strap creaking as he handed it to Calloway. “Here. Start with this.”

Calloway took it, slipping it on with ease before removing his own leather jacket. The studs glinted under the studio lights as he passed it to Frank. “And this is yours.”

Frank slipped the jacket on, the heavy material fitting snugly over his broad shoulders. The band T-shirt came next, and he grimaced as he pulled it over his head. “This thing’s damp,” he muttered, feeling the residual heat from Calloway’s body.

Calloway laughed as he tugged on the ranger vest. “That’s the price of admission.”

The pants were next, and Elliot couldn’t look away as the two men swapped. Frank struggled to wiggle into the tight black jeans, muttering under his breath about how restrictive they were. Meanwhile, Calloway adjusted the cargo pants, clearly amused by how loose they felt compared to his usual attire.

Finally, they exchanged masks. Frank hesitated as he peeled off the Boone mask, revealing his flushed face beneath. The inside of the mask glistened with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway with a grimace. “This is disgusting.”

Calloway took it without hesitation, slipping it over his head. He adjusted it, the bearded face settling into place seamlessly. “There we go,” he said, his voice now rough and deep like Boone’s.

Frank picked up the Jax mask, grimacing at the sticky interior. “I swear, if I get a rash from this…” He trailed off as he slid it on, the punk’s sharp features replacing his own.

When they turned to face the mirror, Elliot couldn’t help but laugh. Calloway, now dressed as the rugged ranger, looked completely at ease, while Frank’s transformation into the rebellious punk was hilariously out of character.

“How do I look?” Frank asked, his new voice rasping like sandpaper.

“Like you’re about to start a bar fight,” Calloway said, grinning.

Calloway turned to Elliot. “Your turn, Bennett. Let’s see you handle Boone’s look.”

Elliot’s heart raced as he began peeling off Malik’s hoodie. The fabric clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway, who took it without complaint.

“Man, this thing’s heavy,” Calloway said, slipping it on.

Elliot kicked off the sneakers and struggled out of the baggy jeans, feeling oddly self-conscious as he handed them over. Calloway, now fully dressed as Malik, adjusted the oversized clothes with ease.

Meanwhile, Elliot reached for Boone’s outfit. The vest was stiff and warm, the leather almost alive with the residual heat from Calloway’s body. The cargo pants felt rough against his skin, and the holster added an unfamiliar weight to his side.

Finally, it was time for the mask. Elliot hesitated as he picked up Boone’s rugged face, the beard still damp from Calloway’s earlier transformation. He slid it over his head, shivering as the sweaty interior clung to his skin.

When he turned to the mirror, he barely recognized himself. The rugged ranger stared back at him, and for a moment, he felt a strange sense of power.

Frank, now fully dressed as Jax, smirked at him. “Not bad, Bennett. Not bad at all.”

The three of them stood side by side, now fully inhabiting each other’s original roles. Calloway, as Malik, looked imposing and confident. Elliot as Boone, had a rugged ease about him. And Frank, as Jax, felt like a completely different person.

“This,” Calloway said, his deep Malik voice booming, “is what I call teamwork.”

[halfadoginatank]

Autistic eddie munson this, autistic robin Buckley that. What about autistic steve Harrington? What about the little audhd kid who wasn't in a safe place, a safe home, to unmask. To be born how you are and sniffed out that something is wrong with you, to spend hours in the bathroom, alone. Learning how to mimic tone and expressions.

To spend years masking until when the day comes where you have a best friend just like you, a boyfriend, a brother, just like you. To work that mask off of yourself, and finally see who you are. Crying in the same mirror you practiced in because you dont recognize yourself happy, safe, and loved.

[thenightshadowqueen]

Okay I said I had more to say about Victor and Eli and I’m rereading Vicious again so here we go. (This is going to be a long one.)

Okay. I’m going to try and get my thoughts to be coherent but I’m struggling because oh my fucking god I just want to scream about them. That being said, I’m going to try to make sense, but this is mostly just going to be a rambling rant of all my thoughts of them.

The thing is. The thing is. Victor is obsessive by nature. He picks one thing, and he lives for it. For the majority of Vicious, what he lives for is revenge. He never thought about the after. In Vengeful, his obsession is finding a cure. But back at Lockland, his obsession was Eli. He saw this monstrous thing, hidden under this near-perfect façade, and he was fascinated. Eli “stole” Angie (his previous obsession, from the way he talks about her in the few mentions she gets), and Victor couldn’t even find it in himself to be angry, because he was too interested in Eli.

From what we know of Victor, he almost never finds someone he can tolerate, let alone someone he likes. And that must be desperately lonely, living like that, but he wouldn’t have realised that. Not until Eli. So no wonder he can’t let him go, even after everything. And Victor doesn’t keep grudges. He kills people out of necessity, yes, and practicality, but not out of vengeance. He doesn’t hold on to things. Except for Eli. Because when you have that much love for someone, and you base so much of your life around them, and then they betray you (how Victor sees it), you can’t just let that go. You can’t just move on. Victor didn’t just feel betrayed; he lost his best friend (and the man he was in love with). And that’s not something you can forget.

Now, look at it from Eli’s perspective. He’s spent his whole life trying to mimic human emotions, trying to be like everyone else, trying to bury this thing inside him that doesn’t fit in. And then he meets Victor, and he sees himself. And, slowly, he starts to realise that he can open up. He can be himself. I don’t think most of this was conscious for Eli—he’d spent so long masking that I don’t think he even knew he was doing it anymore—but I think it’s a big part of why he was in love with drawn to Victor. Imagine spending your whole life repressing yourself, and then finally finding someone who not only accepts your sharp edges but craves them. That would be so fucking addicting.

And then Victor kills Angie, and it’s like confirmation of everything Eli was afraid of: that this dark thing in you really is evil. After all, its mirror, your best friend, just murdered your girlfriend. (Again, I don’t think this was conscious for Eli, but I do think it played a role in the path he went down.)

But no one has ever understood either of them like the other did, and no one ever will. And because of that, they’re both so deeply, wholeheartedly obsessed with each other. They spend so much of their time planning to murder each other, trying to impress each other, playing these dark games with each other. Victor could have just sent a message to meet up with Eli, but instead, he set up an elaborate riddle game via the police EO database. Entirely unnecessary, but crucial to them and their deepseated obsession with each other. And Eli played along. And in Vengeful, Eli could have told Stell that they were hunting Victor. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, because he needed to be the one to kill Victor. Victor was his, in whatever way you want to interpret that phrase.

And I guess that’s what it boils down to. Victor is Eli’s, and Eli is Victor’s. His to love, and his to hate, and his to kill. And that is the great tragedy of Evervale.

[enbyenvy666]

personal pornstar part 3/? cis!ver

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

after a little spending spree courtesy of your pro-hero sugar daddies, you send the pair some pictures of your new clothes, as well as a couple other outfits, leading to a late-night sleepover.

established!kiribaku x masc!reader part 1 | part 2 cis!ver trans!ver | part 3 trans!ver

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, reader wears lingerie, threesome, anal sex, top!kirishima, switch!bakugo, bottom!reader, semi-rough sex, mating press, sexting/sending nudes, cuck chair lol, aftercare, no beta we die like men w/c - 3.2k

a/n - I figure out how to add the song this fic is named after!!

The payments you were receiving for spending time with Kirishima and Katsuki were relieving some of your financial stresses. You had bought new nice clothes with the money Katsuki gave you earlier that week, even sending him pictures of the clothes you tried on to get his opinions.

Once home, you wanted to use the rest of your day off to do housework, but as you went to put away your new clothes, you couldn’t resist the urge to try them on again, posing in front of your thin, floor-length mirror. A form-fitting blazer on top of a black button-down that had a rose pattern sewn into it in a kind of thread that looked black until in the right light it would shimmer silver. A classic silver wallet chain added a bit of spice to your new black slacks, all of which not only looked good together but also looked good on you.

Unbuttoning some buttons here and there, and rolling up a sleeve or two made you feel like a kid playing dress-up again. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, still in view of the mirror, you looked over your reflection one more time, grateful for Katsuki’s help. You also realised he hadn’t seen you in the completed outfit yet.

Holding up your phone, you posed in front of the mirror. A couple of buttons undone on the shirt, showing off your collar bones, legs crossed at the knees and leaning your weight on one hand planted on the bed beside you. Holding your phone up beside your face, you were looking at it as you took the photo, making sure it was in focus.

After sending it to the group chat with the two heroes, you started to strip off the nice clothes, hanging them up in your closet to avoid creases. Your phone buzzed on the bed, and you giddily picked it up, excited to see their reactions. What you had received back surprised you, but it didn’t disappoint.

It was a mirror picture of the both of them, similarly in a floor-length mirror, but you could tell theirs was wider as you could see what looked to be a significant portion of their shared bedroom. Both were in their base hero costumes, bare of the extra things like gauntlets and masks.

Katsuki was taking the picture, with the phone held up to his chest while he was looking down at it. Kirishima stood behind him, his muscular arms wrapped around Katsuki’s thinner waist, his bare chest against the blonde’s back. Kirishima had his lips pressed to Katsuki’s temple, but his sparkling jewel eyes were staring directly into the camera. As you were admiring the picture, you received another text from Katsuki, saying how he wanted to see you in that outfit in person.

With an almost childlike excitement, you continued to carefully put away the new clothes, wanting them to stay pristine until you saw the heroes again. As you put on some comfier clothes, your foot knocked on a cardboard box that sat on the floor of the closet, gathering dust. That procrastination curiosity got the better of you and you opened it, wondering what you could have put in there.

Oh…

Lacy underwear, thigh highs, garter belts. Impulse buys you got when you were feeling good about yourself but never had a reason to wear. Underwear that was made purely of leather straps around the crotch, waist and thighs, meant to mimic the look of shibari. A lace garter-jock strap-thigh high combo, leather harnesses, classic lacy thongs, all gone to waste.

But the giddiness and excitement from Kirishima and Katsuki gave you an idea.

The sun was setting by the time you were ready to send them a collection of pictures. Trying on the different pieces and trying to find the perfect angle and pose for the pictures. Showing your supple body in scantily clad underwear that barely covered your most intimate parts. Eventually, you had a nice collection on your hands, and without hesitation, you hit the send button.

But then the realisation hit. Here you were, sending them risqué pictures out of nowhere, when there wasn’t much of a build-up other than you sending a nice, somewhat sexy picture of yourself, and the two of them sending one back that you may have taken out of context. They had just gotten off work, they were probably tired and just wanting to relax, and you were sending them borderline nudes. Oh god, where’s the unsend button?!

Before you could even try to delete them, you saw the three little dots of Katsuki typing. They disappeared and reappeared a couple of times, making you chew on your bottom lip nervously. The dots disappeared, and you waited for them to reappear, but they didn’t return. With a sigh of defeat, you limply fell back on your bed.

Your phone began buzzing in your hand, the ringtone singing louder than you expected. Fumbling the device between your hands as you sat up, trying to recover from your freight before you answered. Katsuki’s contact name was on your screen, and it only served to make your already frightened heart beat faster.

“Hello?” You answered meekly, phone to your ear, cringing at the way the metal piercings scraped against the screen from you placing it there too fast.

“Oi! Do you know what ya doin’ t’me?” He shouted into the phone, but you swear you could hear the twinge of a smirk.

“S-sorry, I was just-” Your cheeks were warm, unable to hold down your cheeky smile.

“You know exactly what you were doin’. I’m callin’ you a cab.” In the background, you could hear Kirishima playfully scolding Katsuki.

“Really?” You gawked into the phone.

“Uh-huh, and you better wear one of those outfits f’me.” Looking around your bed at the various sets of lingerie and sexy underwear, you bit your lip.

“Which ones?” You asked, feeling a tingle between your thighs as your mind started to wander to dirtier thoughts.

“Dealers choice,” he huffed.

“Get here fast.”

———

Katsuki was waiting by the door, ripping it open the second he heard you shut the cab door. He dragged you inside as soon as you were within reach, slamming the front door closed before slamming his lips onto yours. Backing you up against the wall, his hands groped your hips, desperately grinding his own against you.

“Katsuki,” came Kirishima’s warning voice. He was standing on the nearby staircase with stern yet playful eyes, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Katsuki pulled away, your lips popping, as he glared at his partner with a low grumble.

“Katsuki,” he mocked. Kirishima could only chuckle and shake his head, slowly descending a few more steps.

“Be gentle.”

“He said he likes it rough,” the blonde smirked, pulling you off the wall by your hips, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep yourself steady.

“Dontcha baby?”

You smiled meekly and nodded, fingers fiddling with the baby hairs at the back of his neck. With a smirk and a huff, he stepped back and took your hand, leading you towards the stairs. Kirishima ended up leading the way to the bedroom, and it was just as nice as it looked in their picture.

The bed was made, ready to be tussled and disturbed. A couple of candles on the bedside tables created a soft glow around the room, and a rattan chair sat in the corner, facing the bed. You weren’t able to admire the room any longer as Katsuki pushed you down onto the bed, standing over you with a smirk.

With a knee between your thighs, he slipped his hands under your shirt, pushing it up until he revealed the lace garter belt around your waist. His tongue ran over his lip, quickly pulling down your pants to reveal the sheer thigh highs clipped onto the garter belt with thin straps. Kirishima stood behind Katsuki, watching his partner rush to undress you.

Finally, bare of clothes except for the lingerie you had hidden underneath. Kirishima had his arms slinked around Katsuki’s waist, both of them staring down at you. It was like the picture, but now the two pairs of red eyes on you felt even more intense. Like two predators watching their prey. But you weren’t scared, you trusted them. As a silent signal, Kirishima stepped back, leaving a lingering hold on Katsuki’s hips until he finally let go, letting the blonde do as he pleased with you. 

Katsuki began to tug on his belt, aggressively undoing it as his almost glowing eyes wandered over your body. Your thighs pressed together, feeling vulnerable under his intimidating gaze. You watched him undress, leaning back on your elbows as button after button came undone. You hadn’t even realised Kirishima disappeared from your sight until the drawer beside the bed slid open. Finally breaking your glare from Katsuki, you turned your attention to Kirishima, who was digging through the top drawer of the nightstand. 

A bottle of lube and wet wipes were placed on the tabletop, Kirishima smiling softly at you as you watched him, his lips parting to show the pointed tips of his teeth. It was comforting, if only for a moment. While you were distracted, Katsuki had completely stripped off his clothes and swooped down, trapping you between his arms. With your neck craned to watch Kirishima, Katsuki used the opportunity to place a hot kiss on your neck, teeth dragging against your skin. You gasped and moaned as you grabbed onto his shoulders, back arching up until your torso was flat against his abs. 

His cock felt hot and heavy against your thigh, yours barely contained by the matching lacy panties you wore. With your attention back on him, his lips travelled up your neck until they met yours, his hands running over your bare skin, stopping for brief moments over the garter belt and thigh highs, until his fingertips slipped under the elastic of your panties. Featherlight touches against your cock were accidental, his focus on the underwear itself. 

He broke the kiss to retrieve the lube, squirting some on his fingers. His dry hand pushed your thighs apart and pulled your underwear to the side. The lube felt cold on your hole, gasping at the wet feeling as he slowly but firmly started to finger you open. Katsuki bit his lip as you mewled below him, rolling your hips in hopes of the digits slipping in further. You had almost forgotten about Kirishima until you heard the chair in the corner creak as he shifted himself on it to get a better view of Katsuki prepping you for him. 

After fitting three fingers inside you, Katsuki pulled them out and slicked up his cock with lube, pressing the tip to your tight ring of muscle. With little resistance, he penetrated you, cock stretching your walls. Moans and curses flowed from your lips, twisting the bed sheets in your fists. He was quick to set a fast and rough pace, hips slapping against your thighs. Each thrust had his cock brushing against your prostate, sending pleasureful shocks through your nerves like electricity. 

His strong hips made the bed creak, his grip shifting to your thighs to push your knees towards your shoulders. Without Kirishima’s calm and grounding touches, your body felt electric and like you were in another world. Eyes rolling back, back arching and moans turning to mindless babbles as each thrust against your prostate brought you closer to coming. 

But Katsuki’s hips began to slow, your orgasm falling with it. Your eyes snapped to him, and through blurry vision, you could see Kirishima behind Katsuki, guiding him to lean forward. As he leaned over you, pushing your knees further against your shoulders and his cock slowly thrusting at a new angle, Kirishima held a strong grip on the blonde’s hip, lining up his cock to his husband’s hole. He could barely hold Katsuki still long enough to insert himself, but once he did Katsuki started to thrust even faster inside you, fucking himself on Kirishima’s cock. 

Kirishima stared lovingly at the back of Katsuki’s head before he aggressively grabbed his hair, yanking Katsuki upwards. The blonde’s face was twisted in pleasure, Kirishima nibbling at his neck as his powerful hips set the pace. He had taken control of the whole situation, his staunch hold on Katsuki reigning him in, and he seemed to like it too, maybe even love it by the way he grinned. 

“Fu-uck!” Katsuki groaned, his raspy voice sending a throb to your core. He still had your knees against your shoulders, so as much as you wanted to run your nails across the muscular landscape of his body, you could only clench the bed sheets. Each forceful thrust from Kirishima was felt inside you, your underwear growing dark as precum leaked from your cock, soaking the lace fabric. Drool dripped from the corner of your lips as you let out a chorus of moans, Katsuki’s grip on the underside of your thighs growing tighter, leaving crescent moons to dot your skin. 

“Ka-Kats-ki,” you stuttered, eyes clenching shut as your peak grew closer, toes curling. Katsuki moaned at you calling his name, biting his lip to muffle the sound. A couple more muffled moans from him had you peaking your eyes open, catching the two heroes locked in a passionate kiss. When they broke apart, they stared deeply into each other’s eyes as Kirishima finally let go of Katsuki’s spiked locks. It was as if they were silently communicating with each other as Katsuki pulled your calves against his shoulders before leaning down, his chest almost against yours if your legs weren’t in the way. 

Kirishima started thrusting intensely, forcing Katsuki’s cock deeper inside you. It felt like he was rearranging your guts with each stroke until the coil snapped as you stained your underwear. Clenching around Katsuki brought him closer to coming, Kirishima feeling the way his partner’s hips stuttered as he tried to match the pace of his hips. With a Herculean grip, he held Katsuki’s hips in place and started pounding him. Each thrust from Kirishima caused Katsuki’s cock to stimulate your prostate as it pressed against the sensitive spot perfectly at that angle. 

With your lips parted as you whined and moaned, Katsuki kissed you, his tongue against the back of your teeth. Another orgasm started to build, barely coming down from the high from the first one, as you started clenching down on Katsuki’s cock once more. This combined with Kirishima’s superhuman speed brought Katsuki to cum, the feeling of his seed filling you bringing you to cum as well. Katsuki’s hole tightened around Kirishima and with a few more staggering thrusts, he came. 

The combined panting of Katsuki, Kirishima and yourself harmonised in the room, everyone slowly coming back down to earth after being sent to cloud nine. Kirishima pulled out of Katsuki with a shiver, which allowed the blonde to pull out of you, just in time as your legs started to ache. Katsuki lazily rolled down beside you, sweaty back hitting the cooler sheets. Kirishima retrieved the wet wipes he left out earlier, cleaning himself off first before nudging Katsuki’s thighs apart to clean him. 

In response, Katsuki pulled the red-headed hero down to kiss him once more. You looked away, feeling almost as if you were intruding. Your underwear being pulled down had you looking between your legs, where Kirishima was attempting to remove the soaked garment. You sat up, reaching down to take them off yourself.

“You don’t have to-” You were silenced by his hand cupping your cheek delicately, his smile just as soft. 

“It’s okay, just relax,” he spoke, waiting for you to lay back down before he continued to remove the lingerie. Most of it had been stained by cum and lube, and most likely couldn’t be salvaged. Katsuki must’ve caught your frown, as he playfully squeezed your thigh before he climbed off the bed. 

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he said as he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. The wet wipe felt cold against your abused hole, but it was better than feeling slick and sticky. 

“What time is it?” you asked once Kirishima was done cleaning you, looking around for a clock. From the bathroom you heard a tap squeak before the water hit the tiled floor, the rhythm broken up by Katsuki cleaning himself up under the stream.

“Don’t worry about it,” Katsuki called over the water. 

“I have work in the morning,” you replied as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, searching the room for your discarded clothes. Kirishima was fluffing about around you, stripping off the pillowcases and tossing them aside. Before you could ask him why, Katsuki peered out of the bathroom, scowling at you but the threatening look was diminished by his wet hair and water droplets running over his rippling biceps. 

“Shitty Hair has late patrols, he can take you,” he explained shortly. With your brow furrowed and head tilted in confusion, he sighed. 

“You’re staying the night, get in the shower.”

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing before Kirishima’s large hand found your back, leading you to stand up. Deciding not to fight it, you let the redhead lead you into the ensuite, where the shower was running, steam clouding the air. 

“Kats likes it a little hot, turn it down if you need to,” Kirishima whispered to you before leaving you to bathe. The caddy hanging from the base of the tall showerhead was stocked with various skin care products like scrubs, moisturisers, and shampoo that, when you squirted it onto your palm, smelt like Katsuki’s hair. There was also a bottle of 5-in-1 body, hair, face, shave and moisturiser which you correctly assumed to be Kirishima’s. When you were done, the redhead was waiting and gave you a fluffy towel, pressing a chaste kiss to your wet hair as you passed him. 

The bed sheets had been changed, candles blown out and only a lamp lit the room. Katsuki was now dressed in only his underwear as he carried the soiled sheets away. By the time you had dried yourself off, Katsuki had returned, now holding some folded clothes, which he handed to you. It was an old shirt and sleep shorts, both baggy on you, but smelt like the explosive hero. He dragged you to the bed, pulling you close on the crisp, clean sheets. You tried to ignore the fact that he was barely clothed, but you still felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he smirked as he pulled you to his bare chest. “Red is a human heater.” 

Speak of the devil, Kirishima exited the bathroom, a towel hung low on his hips as he used a separate towel to dry his red locks. He strutted through the room, displaying his gorgeous body decorated with scars from his years on the hero scene. Digging through a dresser, he found a pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt, slipping them on before climbing into the bed. He pulled Katsuki until his back met his chest, Katsuki pulling you along with him. After switching off the light and snuggling into the bed, Kirishima sighed, all the tense knots in his muscles slipping away. 

“Goodnight Kats, goodnight baby,” he called into the dark room. 

“Night Ei,” Katsuki replied, words slurred as sleep quickly took him. 

“G’night,” you whispered into his chest, melting into his arms as your eyes drifted shut, the soft hum of the washing machine down the hall lulling you to sleep.