#it sounded like circus tent music

[plantanarchy]

today at work I accidentally fixated on getting a lot of stuff sorted for spring even though I have a while to do that and in the meantime my coworker in retail decided to blast electroswing music for no goddamn reason. listen it's enough of a clown show in here we don't need clown car music.

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 10 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader.

PART TEN: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 3k+ words

[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts of -> [Series Masterlist]

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Growing up you'd confine yourself to your room, safe and warm under the bedsheets. Something you came back to even as an adult, as a kid though you used to imagine you were in the circus under a tent. You'd think of all the animals and performers, the ones from that book you never returned to the library, due to Lena uprooting your life once again. The tent (sheet) though always travelled with you, the one constant in your life.

Today, the circus was the guys moving around the house, you could identify them from the weight of their steps alone. One missing though, Johnny. You hadn't seen him since yesterday morning when he squeezed past you in the porch after a run. He didn't so much as glance at you, the music blaring through his headphones. You hadn't heard the creak of his door either or bumped into him in the hallway.

The duvet slung over your body though, much heavier and softer than the one you lugged around with you throughout your life. How you balled it up in a bin bag each time Lena decided she wasn’t happy and needed a fresh start, taking you god knows where. The mattress beneath you now, memory foam. No springs digging into you as you try to get comfortable. It’s why you don’t mind sharing a room with the Captain. The bed alone a luxury you aren’t familiar with. Something you could get used to.

An attainable goal to work for, a bed like this. To anyone else it might seem odd, they may even tell you to dream bigger, but you know what it’s like to be denied the basic and small things. Stuff you should have by now at your age, but the only things you own are the clothes on your back and the ones in your duffle bag. You’ll start small, that’s a promise you remind yourself each time you actually eat breakfast in the morning. You’re still trying to get used to a full fridge and well stored cupboards. Someone refills them, you’re not sure who though.

You also know what it’s like not to have your space, no room or bed to seek an escape or find that safety. Lena never let you share her bed either, stating that only her boyfriend would be in there. Least the Captain let you share his space. If you didn’t have a room or sleep in the car you were left with wherever you could find. The sofa isn’t as safe, no it’s out in the elements. Blind to those who watch you whilst you sleep, who wake you with a heavy hand or a raised voice.

It’s been years since then, you try not think about it. Shove it down, refuse to let it control you in the present. Your stomach growls in protest and you press down on it to silence it. The last time you’d eaten was yesterday lunch at work, after Lena’s ambush you just wanted to hide. You peel the duvet back and squint at the alarm clock, not realising you’d spent most of the day in bed. The room dark, yellow glow of the light in the hallway creeping underneath the door frame.

Saturday wasted, but most of your life till now had been so too, you couldn’t care less what an extra day made.

You drag yourself up though, unlocking the door and peering down the hallway. Oddly quiet for the early evening, no talk echoing downstairs or the sound of the kettle. You flicked the light on as you walked through the living room. The fridge door unnaturally light as you opened it, no milk cartons or cans of beer lining the shelf. A half grated pack of cheese and one lone egg rolling around the centre. Huh, looks like it wasn’t magic after all. You’d never seen it so bare.

“Ain’t had a -,”

You jump at the sudden voice, shrieking as you launch yourself away from them. Hand holding your chest as you turned to face Kyle.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Kyle said, closing the fridge door and smiling at you, hazel eyes softening as they met hours. You believe him too, Kyle’s presence a welcome constant since you’d arrived at the base. You felt like he could read your mind some days, knowing when you didn’t want to talk so he’d sit in silence eating dinner with you or chatting to you when he could sense that you were stuck in your head, overthinking.

“I was going to make dinner, but there’s no food. So think I’ll just go back to bed,” you say, but as you walk away Kyle’s fingers slip into your and stop you. He’s always particular with his touch, never grabbing your arm or wrist, sometimes even asking you to wait a second. Gentle, but direct with his words so that you don’t get confused or take them the wrong way. You know exactly where you stand with him.

If you were older maybe you’d even have a crush on him, he’s a good ten years older than you though. Not overly bulky like Simon and your dad, you cringe at the thought and comparison. More like an athlete’s physique, Johnny did say he was the most competitive.

“Gotta eat,” he says, dropping your hand and nudging his head over his shoulder for you to follow him. “Waiting for you to come down so we can go to the canteen.”

Your stomach drops at his confession, the fact you made him wait later than usual to go to the canteen and eat. He should have went without you. “I don’t have any money on me,” you mumble, hoping he doesn’t know about the Captains hand out. You didn’t want to explain the deal with Lena.

“That’s what my cards for,” he says, showing you his pay-card for the base canteen, even his photo was model worthy. “Come on, chuck this on. It’s cold out there.” He passes you a fleece draped over the sofa and holds it for you to put your arms through the sleeves.

There’s a military badge sewn on to the chest, the fleece doused in men’s deodorant. You walk with Kyle through the base, side by side. He keeps the same pace as you, talking to you about work and asking if the trucks running alright. The old thing goes, so it must be.

Kyle leads you into the canteen, scanning his card and pulling trays out for both of you. He talks you through the best food to get, convincing you not to go with the soup of the day. He doesn’t let you carry your tray, asking you to pick a table and he’ll bring it all over.

You sit at the furthest table away, looping round the outskirts of the room and avoiding a rowdy group of guys that looked like they’d just come back from some sort of mission. A little too loud for your liking. Kyle joins you, sliding your tray in front of you as he passes and sits opposite, fork diving into his mash potato like a man starved.

"So, how you settling in?" He asks between a mouthful, he doesn't spare you a glance as he shovels another mound of mash into his mouth.

"I've never settled anywhere," you mumble, trailing off on the thought and the realisation hits you like a bucket of cold water. You'd settled for the bare minimum when it came to other people, but never expected to make a home for yourself or fit into someone else's. There's nothing for you to aim for, not when you don't know how a normal family functions. Maybe you weren't meant to know, you've gone this long without.

Mistakes are either thrown away or corrected, you're still wondering what the Captain wants in terms of you. Some sort of correction for himself to feel better, a way to make up for the years he was absent? Thrown away if you're not moulded into something he's expecting? You never did live up to Lena's expectations.

"Mactavish, eh." Johnny says, sliding next to you on the bench. His elbow brushes your arm as he lifts his fork from his tray, sapphire eyes darting to your furrowed brow and he chuckles. "I was wondering who pinched me fleece."

You glance down at the badge on the chest and the small 'J.M' embroidered beneath it, you don't know how you missed it the first time. Too stuck in your head like always. Well that and his surname printed on the back in capital letters, you glare at Kyle who gave you a shrug, his gaze darting between the close proximity of you and Johnny.

“Didn’t realise you were part of me clan, not that I’m complaining." Johnny shrugs, bumping his elbow into your arm and nearly knocking you off the bench. He often forgets his size, pulling you back to him so you don’t teeter over the edge. The push and pull very much like the emotions you hold for him, fighting to stay away and reaching out for him all at once.

Kyle shifts in his seat, narrowed gaze darting to Johnny. The look alone making you focus on the food still on your tray, you'd been pushing the peas around with your fork the whole time you'd spoke to Kyle. You swallow the cold food, hoping to be out of the canteen and back under the covers in the Captain's room. Maybe you should have stayed there.

The two talk about some sort gossip running through the barracks, apparently Johnny's been there all day and picked up some juicy intel, if that's what you can call it. You've heard worse at school than whatever they're whispering about. Names that sound like they're out of a comic book, some ghost terrifying the new recruits and you just want to roll your eyes at the possibility of some spirit trapped in the barracks.

"Shit, Las-," Kyle says, silencing his phone as he reads the screen, "got something to do, you alright going back with Johnny?" He doesn't give you a chance to reply though, nodding as Johnny answers for you.

You don't stay much longer, Johnny even finishes whatever you left on your tray. Asks if you want some more to take back to the res' house, but you decline the offer. You can't see yourself going back there for a meal, the room too loud that you just want to cover your ears with your hands.

Johnny walks back with you, the excess of his fleece wrapped around you and twisted between your fingers. He's quiet, which is a rarity since you've known him. You've got one of the captains knitted hats shoved over your head, the usual army green that's probably travelled more than you have. The frost on the path crunches under your boots, Johnny's a step behind as if he anticipating a fall and he's ready to catch you. Thankfully you don't.

Part of you wants to keep walking, anything to distract you from the thoughts swimming around in your head. It doesn't matter if you talk or not, you enjoy the walks around the base with Johnny. The fresh air and company you could get used to.

You unzip Johnny’s fleece, but he catches your hands before you can shrug it off. "You don't want it back?" His fingers hook beneath the fabric as he pulls it back over your shoulder.

"Nah, keep it," he says, stumbling back down the stairs as the porch light turns on. "Just don’t let your Da' catch you in it."

"You're not coming in?" You ask, key half turned in the lock as you glance back at him over your shoulder.

He shakes his head, "Nah, got some training bits to do.”

Johnny steps closer and something in you snaps, your back hitting the front door before he can close the minuscule distance. Your chest shudders, heart racing as his gaze drops to your lips. He doesn’t move an inch though, the palm of his hand smoothing down your arm. Light touch ridding you of the bundle of nerves and thoughts trying to convince you he’s just being nice to hurt you. To get something from you. Because why would anyone be interested in you? There’s only one reason right.

You’ve been on edge since Lena grabbed you yesterday. Analysing every little spec of detail or action others have given you. As if they know how much the back of your scalp hurts from being pulled. How even now it’s tender to touch or lay on. A lasting reminder not to test your mother. You’ve let your guard down, with everyone and in return you’ve you got hurt. You always do.

"Alright there?" His soft voice filtering through the noise in your head. He's so gentle in his approach when it matters, as if he can sense its exactly what you need. Doesn't lose his temper or sigh in frustration when you don't hear the first time or reply straight away.

"I'm okay, a little tired," you answer, head falling against the door as you stare up at him. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

“That you, kiddo?” John calls, he’s convinced he’d heard your voice and muted the tv, looking over his shoulder to the light flickering outside the porch window.

A thump hits the front door and John’s on his feet nearly crashing into you as you enter. Your bag hanging on the crook of your elbow and his hat grasped in your clenched fist.

“Daad,” You say it like you’re questioning his and yours existence, it doesn’t feel natural falling from your lips. A forced smile faltering as if your minds caught up with your body, it’s gone as quick as it appeared. John wonders if any smile directed at him has been genuine. If you even want to call him dad. He knows he doesn’t deserve it.

There’s a part of you he can’t access and he knows it’s because he’s kept you at arms length. Shielded you from the terrors of his job and the slight risk of it following him home, to his family, to you. Even as a kid he couldn’t allow himself to get close. Ripped his heart out of his chest whenever he had to leave you for another few months or worse a year. Hated wiping the tears from your face and tugging his coat out of your tight grasp. And by the time you were old enough to understand, you were the one keeping him at a distant. Poetic justice, John likes to call it.

“What’s going on? Something happen?” You ask, tearing him out his head. The quiver of your bottom lip betrays you, gaze flitting to the stairs as if expecting someone else to be there. John knows somethings happened alright, just not what’s going with you. Always scanning the room for someone, that or planning a quick escape. He hopes it’s more of the first one.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You sure you don’t wanna come home with me?” He asks, knowing the answer before you even respond. Angie keeps asking him if you’re going and as much as he wants you to go with him, he can’t force you.

Your bag thuds on top of the dining table and you snatch the thermos from the outer pocket. “No, I’m staying here,” you snap, the spray of warm water filling the sink drowns out the swear word you mumble. “Like I said the other three times you asked me today.”

John reaches out, palm hovering over your shoulder, but you dodge his touch. Thermos clanging to the draining board, you don’t like confrontations and he thinks maybe the previous night he scared you more than he realised.

“Can you look at me, kiddo?” He asks, stepping back to allow you some space. Always that arms length pushing him further away when all he wants to do is embrace you.

Your eyes flit to his before settling just over his shoulder. Another thing he hates, how you’re not comfortable holding his attention. “Sorry,” you say on instinct, as if by telling him that word he’ll go easy on you. Your greatest defence. When you have nothing to apologise for.

“Nah, I’m the one that’s sorry,” he says, scratching his stubbled jaw. “Shouldn’t have left it this long. You got hurt because of me and I don’t want that. The other night, that won’t happen again alright?”

There’s a shake of your head, your eyes follow his hand movements. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to.”

John doesn’t like how easy it is for you to brush it off and make an excuse up, because it isn’t alright. He should have sorted you a room out ages ago in order to prevent this, just like when you weren’t allowed in your parents bedroom as a child. “Well you’ve got a room to yourself now,” he says, gesturing you to follow him to the stairs and you trail after him, brows furrowing as he stops in the hallway.

“Ugh, this is Johnny’s room,” you say, not stepping inside with John as if he’s testing you. You linger in the doorway, noticing the empty wardrobe and clear surfaces that once held Johnny’s belongings.

“It’s yours now, Johnny’s staying at barracks so he can be closer for a new training course.” Lies, but you don’t question him on it. He helps you bring your duffle bag into the room, finally taking your creased clothes out and hanging them in the wardrobe.

You're perched on the edge of the bed staring out the fogged up window. Always so caught in your own head, you don't realise John's watching you. Back straight, shoulders squared as you keep the tension in your body. The line of your jaw taut, muscle flexing as you dare to look to him once again. There's many similarities between you and your mother, both strong willed and reluctant to trust, to trust him. He doesn't know what Lena's like now, but he know's the hatred she still holds for him. Sometimes that bite comes from you too and he feels like he's twenty again trying to dodge a shattering glass. Lena might have used you against him, but she'd never hurt you right? You always chose Lena over him growing up, then chose yourself when you were old enough.

[Part eleven]

Daughter!readers starting to unravel and John noticing more 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101 @bluebarrybubblez @shitaaba @muraaaaaa @vajjaa

[inkspiredwriting]

Wedding Woes

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Planning a wedding should be a joyous occasion, but for Five Hargreeves and his fiancée Y/N, it quickly turned into a battlefield of hilarious disagreements. From the moment they decided to tie the knot, every decision seemed to spark a new debate.

“Chocolate!” Five declared, arms crossed, as they sat in the office of Sweet Sensations, the premier bakery in town.

“Red velvet!” Y/N countered, her eyes sparkling with determination.

The baker, caught between the two, held up a tentative hand. “We could do a combination cake?”

Five and Y/N turned to her, then back to each other, shaking their heads simultaneously. “Nope.”

“What’s wrong with red velvet?” Y/N argued, her brow furrowing. “It’s elegant and delicious.”

Five scoffed. “Chocolate is a classic. And I don’t trust a cake that’s named after a fabric.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “What about the design?”

“Simple and clean,” Five said, envisioning a minimalistic cake.

Y/N, however, had other ideas. “I was thinking something with a little more... flair. Maybe some flowers, intricate designs—”

Before Five could retort, Klaus burst into the bakery, trailed by Diego and Luther. “Hey, lovebirds! How’s the cake tasting going?”

Five sighed. “We’re just... debating the finer points.”

Klaus waggled his eyebrows. “Why not go with a giant rainbow cake? It’s festive!”

Diego chuckled. “I vote for something with bacon on it.”

Luther just looked confused. “Do people put bacon on cakes?”

The baker looked like she might faint.

In the end, they settled on a layered cake with alternating tiers of chocolate and red velvet, topped with simple but elegant decorations. It wasn’t exactly what either had envisioned, but it was a compromise—a word that Five was rapidly learning to accept.

Next on the list was the music. Five preferred a live jazz band, while Y/N was leaning toward a playlist of their favorite songs.

“Jazz sets the mood,” Five insisted, adjusting his tie as they met with a potential band leader in their living room.

“Yeah, the mood for a 1920s speakeasy,” Y/N shot back. “We need something more modern, something we can really dance to.”

The band leader, an older gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache, interjected. “We can do a mix, if you’d like?”

Before either could respond, Viktor wandered in, carrying his violin. “Need a musician? I can play Anything you want.”

Five perked up. “Can you do jazz?”

Viktor nodded. “Of course. But I also know some contemporary pieces.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “What about ‘You Are the Best Thing’ by Ray LaMontagne?”

Viktor smiled. “I can do that.”

Five threw up his hands. “Fine, let’s have Viktor play. Just... not too much Ray LaMontagne.”

Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face. “I could DJ! Imagine the fun we’d have with a mix of 80s pop and punk rock!”

Five stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

When it came to decorations, Five wanted sleek and modern, while Y/N envisioned a romantic, rustic theme.

“We need string lights and mason jars,” Y/N said, flipping through a wedding magazine.

Five groaned. “We’re not having a Pinterest wedding. How about something more sophisticated? Like geometric centerpieces.”

“Geometric?” Y/N laughed. “What are we, hosting a math conference?”

Lila, who had shown up uninvited but was enjoying the chaos, added her two cents. “I think you should go with a theme park idea. Imagine—carnival games, cotton candy, maybe even a Ferris wheel!”

Y/N laughed. “Actually, that sounds kind of fun.”

Five buried his face in his hands. “We’re not turning our wedding into a circus.”

In the end, they settled on a rustic-chic blend with some modern touches—fairy lights and mason jars for Y/N, and sleek tableware and geometric designs for Five. It was a mix that surprisingly worked, combining the best of both their visions.

Even the wedding invitations were a source of contention. Five wanted them to be minimalist and elegant, while Y/N wanted something more whimsical and colorful.

“This font is too boring,” Y/N complained, staring at the sample invite. “It doesn’t scream ‘fun.’”

Five rubbed his temples. “We’re not throwing a rave, Y/N. We’re getting married. It should be timeless.”

Klaus, had another idea. “Why not go with a pop-up invitation? Like those 3D books! People would love that.”

Five shot him a look. “We’re not making pop-up books, Klaus.”

Despite the disagreements, the wedding day arrived, and everything was miraculously coming together. Five and Y/N stood at the altar, their family and friends gathered around them. The setting was a perfect blend of their styles—rustic yet sophisticated, whimsical yet elegant.

As they exchanged vows, Five couldn’t help but smile at Y/N. Despite their differences, their love for each other had only grown stronger through the process. It was clear that, no matter the debates, they were perfect for each other.

When they shared their first kiss as husband and wife, the crowd erupted into applause, and Klaus, predictably, started a slow clap that turned into an impromptu chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Five’s siblings had their mishaps—Klaus accidentally spilled champagne on Viktor’s suit, Lila got into a friendly wrestling match with Allison over the bouquet, and Luther accidentally triggered a sound system malfunction that blasted “Never Gonna Give You Up” at full volume during the toasts.

At the end of the night, as they danced under the twinkling lights, Five pulled Y/N close and whispered, “You know, despite all the chaos, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Not even the part where we almost had a bacon cake?”

Five chuckled. “Not even that. Well... maybe a little.”

Y/N laughed, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Five Hargreeves. Even if you have terrible taste in cakes.”

Five grinned, wrapping his arms around her. “And I love you, Y/N Hargreeves. Even if you have questionable taste in everything else.”

As they swayed to the music, surrounded by their chaotic but loving family, Five realized that the debates, the compromises, and the occasional disaster were all part of what made their love story uniquely theirs.

And for Five and Y/N, that was all they ever wanted.

[bl00dyfaiiry]

Yandere Circus clown x F!reader

Tags: HEAVY non con, abduction, obsession, Reader is 18+, begging, fingering, isolating, clowns, violence, toxic behavior, hide n seek.

People have fears. Heights, spiders, worms—you name it, sometimes I'm wondering if I'm really that childish to be scared at literally a person with costume and makeup, but whenever I hear those giggling, honking and those clowny noise, I can't help but feel shiver in my spine and that paranoia eating me like a quick sand.

It's a sunny day outside, my family decided to go to the new circus that just opened in our town. My family knows it—that ever since I'm a child I have that constant fear of clowns yet they ignored my protest about not wanting to go, too eager to help me fight my fears.

The tent is a bright red color, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy wafting through the air, mixing with the distant sounds of carnival music and the occasional roar of a wild animal. My heart is racing as we walk through the crowd, the anticipation of the horrors that may await me behind every corner is almost unbearable.

The moment we enter the circus, a clown named Sphere approaches us with a smile so wide and eyes so bright that it seems like a mask painted on his face. His hair is a wild mess of colors, and his outfit is a patchwork of patterns that make me feel dizzy just looking at it. He extends a hand with a balloon in it, "Welcome to the show!" he says, his voice a forced cheerfulness that makes my skin crawl.

My family exchanges glances, but then my little brother, Timmy, runs over to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I have a balloon?" he asks, and Sphere laughs, a sound that is both jovial and eerie. He ties the balloon around Timmy's wrist, the plastic stretching and creaking. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I watch them interact.

As we walk deeper into the circus, the lights dim and the music gets louder, the smells becoming a cacophony of animal scents, grease, and the faint metallic tang of fear. The clowns perform their acts with a disturbing level of precision, their smiles never wavering as they juggle, tumble, and ride bicycles. I keep my eyes on the ground, trying to avoid any accidental contact with their piercing gazes.

But no matter where I look, Sphere seems to be there. His eyes are always on me, tracking my movements with an intensity that makes my palms sweat. He laughs a little too loudly at his own jokes, his teeth sharp and unnaturally white against the stark red of his mouth. I feel his stare like a physical weight, and I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me, studying me.

During the intermission, I manage to slip away from my family to the bathroom, desperately needing a moment of solace. As I wash my hands, the water cold against my skin, I hear the telltale sound of a balloon squeaking against the floor. I turn to see Sphere leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his smile still plastered on his face. "You seem to be enjoying the show," he says, his voice a whisper that sends chills down my spine.

I force a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's... interesting," I reply, hoping he doesn't notice the tremble in my voice. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, the cheerful mask slips, revealing something darker beneath.

"Just interesting?" he asks, taking a step closer. The way he says it is almost a challenge, and I can see the glimmer of something sinister in his gaze. I take a step back, my hand reaching for the bathroom door handle. "I would have thought you'd enjoy it more, Y/N."

My heart skips a beat at the sound of my name on his lips. "How do you know my name?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. He laughs, a sound that's more of a chilling cackle than a cheerful giggle. "Oh, I know all about you," he says, leaning in so close that I can feel his hot breath on my face. "Every little detail that makes you who you are."

Suddenly, his hand snatches mine, pulling me towards a hidden corner behind the bathroom stalls. The plastic of the balloon still tied to my wrist scrapes against the wall, leaving a trail of paint on the metal. Panic sets in as I realize I'm trapped, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Sphere, let go!" I try to sound firm, but fear laces every syllable. He just smiles wider, his grip tightening. "You're so much more fun when you're scared, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a chilling caress against my ear.

He starts to pull me through the twisting back corridors of the circus tent, the fabric walls billowing around us with every step. The music and laughter from the main show seem distant now, replaced by the thud of my racing heart and the scraping of my shoes against the floor. I try to resist, to pull away, but his strength is surprising, like a coiled spring beneath the floppy exterior.

As we weave through the shadows, the clowns' dressing room comes into view. The neon lights flicker, casting jagged shadows across the garish makeup and costumes hanging from hooks. The smell of greasepaint and sweat fills the air, thick and suffocating. "Where are you taking me?" I demand, but Sphere just giggles in response, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

He stops abruptly, spinning me around to face him. His smile widens, the makeup around his mouth cracking as he leans in close, his breath hot and sweet with a hint of something rotten. "Just a little game, Y/N," he whispers, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. "You see, I've noticed how much you've been avoiding me today. It's making me feel a bit... neglected."

My stomach turns as I realize the full extent of his obsession. "Look, I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I just don't like clowns, that's all."

But Sphere seems unfazed by my protests. "Oh, but I like you," he says, his grip on my hand tightening to the point of pain. "A lot." His smile twists into something that's more of a snarl than a smile. "And when I like something, I don't let it go so easily."

Before I can react, he yanks me into the dressing room and locks the door behind us with a final, echoing click. The room is a cluttered mess of oversized shoes, colorful wigs, and garish outfits. The walls are plastered with newspaper clippings and photos of past performances, all with Sphere's face at the center, his grin growing wider and more disturbing in each one.

He releases my hand and starts to circle me, his eyes never leaving mine. The floorboards creak under his weight as he steps closer, his movements deliberate and predatory. "You know, Y/N," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "I think you're playing hard to get."

I swallow hard, my eyes darting around the room for any escape route. The walls seem to close in around me, the clown paraphernalia watching with a silent, malevolent glee. "I'm not playing games," I reply, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in my voice.

Sphere stops his pacing, tilting his head to the side as if considering my words. "No?" He asks, his smile never faltering. "Well, then, let's make it interesting." In a flash, he snatches a rubber chicken from a nearby chair and tosses it into the air, catching it with ease. His eyes gleam with a sick excitement that sends a bolt of terror through my veins.

With a swift pivot on his oversized shoe, he lunges at me, the chicken held out like a weapon. I scream and stumble backward, tripping over a pile of oversized shoes. As I fall, my hand knocks over a rack of props, sending a cascade of plastic horns and confetti into the air. The sudden burst of noise and color only seems to fuel his manic energy. He starts to chase me around the small, cramped space, the rubber chicken slapping against his palm with a wet, meaty sound.

My heart thunders in my chest, the walls closing in with every step he takes. The room is a maze of clothing racks and trunks, each corner a potential dead end. I can feel his eyes on me, the unblinking stare of a predator. I dodge behind a rack of sequined outfits, hoping the fabric will shield me from his view, but his laughter echoes through the room, telling me he's closer than I think.

The rubber chicken hits the floor with a wet smack, bouncing away as he reaches for me. His fingers graze my arm, leaving trails of cold greasepaint. The chuckling turns to a full-blown cackle as he pulls me out into the open. "Why so shy?" he coos, his grin now a twisted, malicious thing. "Don't you want to play with me?"

I stumble backward, my feet entangled in a mess of fabric and props. His eyes gleam with a madness that sends ice down my spine. The cheerful exterior has crumbled away to reveal a creature of obsession and darkness. His pupils are dilated, and the makeup around his eyes has started to run, creating a grotesque contrast against the stark white of his face.

He removed his wig, revealing a mop of wavy short white hair, and his true face emerged from beneath the layers of makeup. Despite the madness dancing in his eyes, there was something eerily attractive about him. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and the curve of his smile made him look like a fallen angel. But the way his eyes burned into me, the hunger in his gaze, was anything but heavenly.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're wondering why I'm doing this." He stepped closer, his breath hot and sour. "It's simple, really. You see, I noticed you talking to that acrobat earlier." His smile grew colder, his eyes darker. "I don't like it when people I care about talk to other people."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What? I don't even know you," I protested weakly, trying to scuttle away from him.

But Sphere was already lost in his own delusion. "You think I didn't see?" he spat, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed a handful of my shirt and yanked me closer, his grip like a vice. "You think you can just flirt with him while I'm here, watching you?" His knuckles turned white with the effort of holding back his anger, and the room grew colder with his fury.

"I wasn't flirting!" I insisted, the panic rising in my voice. The clown's smile grew more twisted, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Liar," he hissed, and then, without warning, he slapped me hard across the face. The shock of the impact sent stars dancing in my vision, and I tasted blood on my tongue.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared at him, trying to understand what had happened. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of my situation. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's grip on my shirt loosened, his expression flickering with confusion. He took a step back, his smile fading into something more human. "What did you say?" His voice was softer now, less menacing.

I swallowed the metallic taste of fear and repeated, "I said I'm sorry." The words felt foreign in my mouth, but I knew I had to play along if I wanted to survive. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

Sphere's eyes searched mine, the rage slowly draining from his expression, replaced by a flicker of doubt. He let go of my shirt, his hand hovering in the air as if he wasn't quite sure where to put it. "You... you're not lying?" he asked, his voice unsure.

I shook my head, keeping my eyes on his, my voice steady despite the tremble in my chest. "I swear. I wasn't flirting. I was just asking for directions to the concession stand."

Sphere's expression softened slightly, his grip on the rubber chicken loosening. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Directions?" he repeated, his voice a whisper.

I nodded, taking a cautious step towards him. "Yes," I said, my voice shaking. "I just wanted to get some popcorn for Timmy. That's all."

Sphere's gaze searched my face, looking for any sign of deceit. His eyes narrowed, but the doubt remained. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and hurt. "Why would you ignore me?"

I took another step closer, placing my trembling hand on his arm. "I didn't ignore you," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "I just didn't know you liked me that way." His expression softened, and I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could get through to him.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "But I do like you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with longing. "I've liked you since the first time I saw you." His hand slid from my arm to my waist, his touch sending a shiver through my body. "I want to make you happy."

I knew I had to tread carefully. "I know," I said, trying to keep my voice soft and soothing. "And I appreciate it, Sphere. But I don't think this is the right way."

He looked at me, his eyes searching, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of sanity behind the madness. His hand on my waist tightened, but his gaze remained on my face, as if trying to read my thoughts. "What's the right way?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. "Maybe we could talk," I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "Get to know each other without the... the games." His eyes searched mine, his smile slipping away as he considered my words.

Sphere nodded slowly, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You're right," he murmured. "Let's talk." He guided me over to a chair in the corner of the room, the plush velvet upholstery a stark contrast to the cold steel frame.

He sat down, pulling me onto his lap, his arms wrapping around me like a vice. "Why are you so scared of me, Y/N?" His voice was a mix of innocence and something darker, a hint of the madness still lurking beneath the surface. "I just want to make you smile."

My heart raced as his hand began to trace circles on my back, the fabric of my shirt growing damp with my sweat. His breath was warm against my neck, sending goosebumps down my spine. "I know you're scared," he whispered, "but you don't have to be. I'll take care of you." His words were a seductive promise, a dangerous lure that I knew I couldn't trust.

Sphere leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my ear as his hand slid up my side, the fabric of his costume brushing against my bare skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a sweet, deadly caress. "Don't you want to be with someone who sees that?" I could feel his breath hitch as his hand moved up to cup my face, tilting it so that I was forced to look into his eyes.

My heart hammered in my chest as his thumb traced the line of my jaw, his eyes searching mine for any sign of consent. His touch was both terrifying and oddly comforting, the warmth of his skin grounding me in the chaos of the moment. But the fear remained, a cold knot in my stomach that grew tighter with every beat of my heart. "Please," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Let's just talk."

Sphere's smile grew a little wider, his eyes never leaving mine as his hand slid down to my waist, his fingers digging in slightly. "We are talking," he murmured, his breath warm and tickling against my neck. His other hand reached up to tug gently on a lock of my hair. "Don't you want to feel what it's like to be truly alive?"

I could feel the heat of his body against me, the firmness of his thighs beneath my legs. His fingers began to trace patterns on my skin, moving higher, closer to my chest. "You're so tense," he said, his voice a purr. "Let me help you relax." His hand moved up to my shoulder, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my neck.

My breath hitched as his other hand slid down to my thigh, his fingertips skimming over the fabric of my shorts. "Sphere," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. "Please don't." But his grip only tightened, his eyes never leaving mine. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and sweet, a stark contrast to the cold fear coiling in my stomach.

"You're so soft," he murmured, his hand moving higher, dangerously close to the hem of my shorts. His thumb traced the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but lean into his touch, even as the voice in the back of my mind screamed for me to run.

"Relax," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck. "Let me show you how much fun we can have together." His hand slid further up my thigh, the fabric of his costume brushing against my skin, making me shiver. I tried to push away the feeling of revulsion, focusing instead on the warmth of his touch, the gentle way he was speaking to me.

"Sphere, I-" I began, but his mouth was suddenly on mine, cutting off my protests with a kiss that was surprisingly gentle. His tongue slid against my lips, coaxing them open. I couldn't help but respond, my body betraying me as I leaned into the kiss, his flavor a mix of candy and something darker, something that made my stomach twist.

His hands moved with a possessive hunger, one sliding up to cup the back of my head, the other continuing its slow, torturous journey up my thigh. I moaned into the kiss, the sound muffled by his mouth. He took this as an invitation, his hand moving higher, his touch growing bolder, more demanding.

The fabric of my shorts was no barrier to his seeking fingers, and before I could fully process what was happening, he had slid them underneath, his palm cupping my intimate flesh. I gasped, my body responding despite my mind's frantic protests. His grip tightened, his thumb beginning to stroke in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made my vision swim.

Sphere's other hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. He kissed along the sensitive skin, his teeth nipping gently, sending waves of pleasure and fear crashing through me. His touch was a storm of sensations, a mix of pain and pleasure that made me feel alive and terrified all at once.

His hand continued to move under my shorts, his fingers teasing and exploring with a possessive hunger that made me whimper. I tried to push his hand away, my body responding despite my mind's screaming protests. But he was too strong, too determined.

With a sudden jerk, he yanked the fabric aside, exposing me completely to his gaze. His eyes widened with excitement, and his touch grew rougher, more insistent. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Do you like it when I do this?"

I whimpered, torn between the horror of the situation and the unwanted arousal his touch elicited. I tried to push his hand away, but his grip was unyielding. "Sphere, stop," I managed to say, my voice shaking. But he was beyond listening, beyond reason.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, sending jolts of pleasure through me that I despised feeling. "You like it," he murmured, his voice a mix of satisfaction and triumph. "You can't hide from me, Y/N." His free hand reached up to grab a fistful of my hair, tilting my head back even further. He kissed me again, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip, drawing a gasp from me that he took full advantage of, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth.

The sound of his clown shoes squeaking against the floor filled the room, a twisted soundtrack to the horror playing out before me. His hand worked faster now, his fingers sliding inside me with an ease that made me feel sick. I tried to pull away, but his grip on my hair tightened, keeping me in place.

"You're mine," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. "Mine to do with as I please." His words were a cold slap in the face, bringing the reality of my situation crashing down on me like a ton of bricks.

I struggled against him, my fear turning to anger and desperation. "No," I gritted out, pushing against his chest. "Let go of me."

But Sphere was lost in his own twisted fantasy. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, panting bursts against my neck. "You're so tight," he whispered, his voice a dark caress. "So warm, so wet."

I squirmed in his lap, trying to break free of his iron grip. His fingers moved in a relentless rhythm, each stroke sending a bolt of unwanted pleasure through my body. "Please," I whimpered, the word barely escaping the vice of his mouth.

Sphere's eyes searched mine, his smile never wavering. He leaned back, his gaze raking over me with a possessive hunger that made me feel like a toy in his hands. "Say it," he murmured, his thumb still stroking my sensitive flesh. "Tell me you want this."

I bit my lip, the fear and arousal warring within me. His touch was wrong, but my body responded regardless, betraying me with every shiver and gasp. "I-I don't know," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Sphere's smile grew a little softer, his eyes searching mine for any sign of willingness. "Shh," he murmured, his thumb circling my clit with a gentle pressure that made my eyes roll back in my head. "Just tell me you want this, Y/N. Just say it." His voice was a seductive whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate need for my validation.

I swallowed hard, the fear giving way to a strange mix of emotions. His touch was wrong, but the pleasure was undeniable, a siren's song that I didn't want to resist. His hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm, coaxing a response from my body that I couldn't suppress. "I... I don't know," I whispered again, my voice barely audible.

Sphere leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it," he urged, his voice a soft growl. "Say you want me." His thumb pressed down harder, and I couldn't help the whimper that escaped my lips. My body tensed, my breathing shallow and fast.

I stared into his eyes, the madness in them now a frenzied need for my acceptance. His hand moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each stroke sending waves of conflicting emotions crashing through me. I didn't know if I wanted this, but I knew I didn't want to fight anymore. His grip on my hair loosened, his hand moving to cup my cheek instead, his thumb stroking my skin with a gentle tenderness that was at odds with the harshness of his earlier touch.

"Say it," he murmured, his breath hot and sweet, his eyes searching my face for any sign of submission. "Tell me you want me." His voice was a whisper of hope, a plea wrapped in the guise of a demand. The room spun around me, the clown's twisted world becoming my own, the line between fear and desire blurring into a haze of confusion.

My breath hitched as his thumb continued its torturous dance, the pleasure building in a crescendo that I couldn't ignore. "I..." I began, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I want." Sphere's smile grew a fraction wider, his eyes lighting up with a dark triumph.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against my cheek as his hand slid down to cup my chin. "Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a seductive purr. "Let me make you happy." His hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, his grip firm but not painful. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, a silent request for entrance.

And with a tremble of defeat, I parted my lips, giving him the response he craved. "I... I want you," I whispered, the words barely more than a breath. His smile grew wider, his eyes alight with a dark victory. Without a moment's hesitation, he claimed my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra.

The cool air of the dressing room hit my bare skin as he yanked the garment away, leaving me exposed to his hungry gaze. He pulled back, his eyes roaming over my breasts with a greed that sent a shiver down my spine. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. His hand slid up to cup one, his thumb flicking over the sensitive nipple.

Before I could process the sensation, Sphere was standing, lifting me with him, his hands never leaving my body. He laid me down on the chair, his eyes never leaving mine, the madness in them now mixed with something primal, something untamed. His costume was a mess of colors and fabric around us, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

He knelt between my legs, pushing them apart with a force that was surprisingly gentle, given his earlier aggression. His hand slid from my neck to my chest, cupping my breast in a firm grip that sent a jolt of pleasure through me despite the situation. His thumb circled my nipple, teasing it to a hard peak, while his other hand slid back down to my thigh, his fingers tracing the wetness that coated my skin.

Sphere's eyes never left mine, his smile a twisted mockery of the cheerful facade he had worn earlier. He leaned down, his mouth closing around my nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive flesh. I couldn't help the moan that escaped me, my body responding to his touch despite the fear that still held me captive. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, a hint of pain that only served to heighten the pleasure.

His hand slid down to my center, his fingers pushing aside the fabric of my shorts and underwear. I felt his thumb slide over my clit, the pressure building, the anticipation of what was to come making me squirm. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with need, his smile a twisted mockery of the gentle lover he had once pretended to be. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a mix of triumph and insanity.

And then he was over me, his clown costume a blur of colors and the smell of greasepaint and sweat. He shoved my shorts and underwear down to my ankles, leaving me bare and vulnerable. His own costume was pushed aside, revealing his arousal, long and thick, standing at attention as he positioned himself between my legs. The room spun around me, the clown's laughter echoing in my ears as I stared up at him, my heart racing with a mix of fear and a twisted excitement that I didn't want to acknowledge.

With a single, brutal thrust, he filled me, his cock stretching me in a way that brought tears to my eyes. I bit back a scream, my nails digging into the chair's velvet armrests. His eyes never left mine, his smile never wavering as he began to move, his hips a blur as he fucked me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. The pain was a stark reminder of the reality of the situation, but the pleasure that followed was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Sphere's movements grew more erratic, his breathing ragged as he claimed my body with an intensity that was almost animalistic. I could feel every inch of him, his girth stretching me to the point of pain, his length hitting deep within me in a way that had me crying out with each thrust. His eyes searched mine, the madness in them now a wild, primal hunger that seemed to devour everything in its path.

The pain grew with every stroke, each thrust hitting a spot that had me seeing stars. My cries grew louder, my body shaking with the effort of holding on to my sanity. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, my nails digging deep into the chair's armrests. And yet, amidst the pain, there was a twisted pleasure that grew with every beat of my racing heart.

Sphere's rhythm grew erratic, his movements more frenzied as he approached his peak. His eyes remained locked on mine, the madness in them swirling like a vortex, threatening to pull me under. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came inside me, his eyes rolling back in his head as he released a guttural growl. The sensation sent me over the edge as well, my body spasming around his, my own climax ripping through me like a tornado, leaving me gasping for air.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, the pain grew more pronounced, the reality of what had just happened crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I tried to push him off, my voice a hoarse whisper of protest, but he was too heavy, his weight pinning me to the chair.

Sphere's eyes rolled back in his head, a low moan escaping his lips as he collapsed against me, his chest heaving with the effort of his climax. For a brief moment, the madness receded, and I saw a glimpse of something almost human, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a cold, calculating stare that sent a shiver down my spine.

He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering just above mine. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Mine to do with as I please." His hand slid up to my neck, his thumb pressing against my pulse, a silent reminder of his power over me. I tried to push him away, my strength drained from the intensity of what had just transpired, but his grip was unyielding.

With a sudden, brutal force, he pushed his hand over my mouth, stifling my screams as he climbed off the chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, a sinister grin playing at his lips as he moved to tie it around my eyes. The fabric was cold and rough against my skin, the darkness enveloping me like a second layer of fear.

"Sleep, Y/N"

My vision turns black, the handkerchief tight around my eyes, the fabric scratchy against my skin. I can feel Sphere's breath against my neck, his grip on my wrists tightening as he secures them behind my back. My heart races, the reality of what's happening setting in, my fear turning into a cold, hard knot in my stomach.

He stands me up, his hand guiding me to the center of the room. The floor feels cold and unforgiving beneath my bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of the chair. His voice is a low murmur in my ear, the words lost in the cacophony of my panic-filled thoughts.

Sphere's hand moves from my waist to the back of my neck, his grip firm and unyielding. I feel his other hand lift, the air around me charged with the anticipation of impact. And then, with a swift, brutal motion, he slams the palm of his hand against the side of my head, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

------------

A/N: part two? ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ ⁠ᴥ⁠•̥⁠`⁠ʔ

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

helloo! idk if youre taking requests, but if you do i was thinking of revenge era gee with fem reader who is also a well know singer. like shes on tour and does some festival mcr is playing at and shes really mainstream so the guys dont have high expectations on her music but then they watch her play and they're like "fuck, she actually does know what shes doing" and somehow her and gee exchange numbers and start texting all day long bc theyre both on tour

idk if this makes any sense tbh.

i saw one picture of ts on the red tour that looks like if it was taken with a shitty flip phone and thought of this somehow

anyway, feel free to ignore this and have a good day :D

Title: Happily Ever Accident

A/N: Hey y'all I know it's been actually forever but I saw this in my inbox and thought it was cute so managed to somehow write this amidst midterms season. Idk how but it happened. It's also not thoroughly proof-read because tbh I'm tried and lazy right now. But here's some content for y'all for once. Also, side note, but as I was writing this I was visioning reader as a Sabrina Carpenter-esc figure. Just in the sense of popularity, stage presence, etc. Pairing: Gerard Way (circa mid-2005) x F!PopStar!Reader Word count: 7,978 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of insecurity

Low expectations. The constant standard he had set for almost every single festival his band was expected to play.

It wasn’t that Gerard didn’t like other people’s music, or festivals for that matter, but considering the label had cornered them into a small handful of non-genre restrictive ones he was annoyed. The culture, the vibes, the people- this was not his place. Not his band’s place, for that matter.

But commercialism was the name of the game, he had learned that early on. He was lucky enough the label had allowed their last album to be artistically driven by him, from songs and lyrics to the artwork on the cover. But there is always a quid-pro-quo in the entertainment industry. And playing at a mainstream festival was apparently one of them.

They wouldn’t have agreed to this had their last music video not gone over budget by a significant amount, and now they were paying the price. On top of that the label had encouraged them to be in public, watch other bands play from the VIP tents. Gerard narrowly lost his shit after trying time and time again explain that they needed time to prep for their show, get in the proper mindset, and that would take all the morning into late afternoon when they were finally on. The label exec begged to differ, giving no ultimatum.

“Fucking hell, if we have to listen to another fucking basic pop artist I’m going to lose my mind.” Frank sighed walking through the festival grounds. The group was by no means blending in, as three security guards stood around them and they could easily hear and see people left and right gawking at them as if they were circus animals.

“Good fucking luck with that.” Ray replied. He was never the sarcastic type, if anything he was the most mature and level-headed. So when he had enough, everyone knew it was bad.

“We have one more.” Gerard too sighed, sticking his hands aggressively in his jean pockets. “Then we’re off the fucking hook.” The group took sighs of relief out of sync.

“Who is it?” Frank asked, seeming halfway curious.

“Uh-“ Gerard stopped, checking his phone to see what their manager had texted them. “Great. Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

“Fuck me.” Frank sighed. “My head is going to fucking explode. Listen, I like all music, but I cannot do this much commercial, manufactured pop.”

“I don’t know, her stuff doesn’t seem as bad as some of the others.” Mikey chimed in for the first time.

“How would you know? I’ve only heard her shit in Targets.” Frank speedily replied.

“Social media, I guess. Enough sound clips from her songs have blown up to make them pretty hard to miss.”

“I’m still keeping my expectations low.” Frank shrugged.

“It’s the last one, try to be somewhat positive.” Ray replied halfheartedly.

“We’re never going over budget on anything again.” Gerard quickly added, turning a corner to the next stage’s area. “I can’t fucking do this.”

She got nervous before shows. She was great at hiding it. But in the last few weeks every festival she was playing had crowds growing bigger and bigger. From what her manager had communicated to her approximately two minutes ago, she had the biggest recorded crowd so far for the second day.

Staring at herself in the mirror of the green room, she pushed every bad thought out of her mind. She even closed her eyes and imagined all the bad energy within her swooping out of her body in swirls of dust and being replaced with positive rays of sunshine. It might’ve been stupid, but it worked.

She opened her eyes, putting on her signature smile, looked herself up and down, reminded herself that she was incredibly sexy at the moment, and b-lined it for the door.

Anxiety be damned, her ambitions had gotten her this far and would get her further, she knew that much. She was happy at this point to be thrown into the group of “pop girlies” currently dominating the charts, because it meant she was catering to an already large fan base, and proving others wrong in their assumptions too.

Give a girl some platform boots, a tight outfit where the tops integrity around her chest was questionable, and a microphone- then you’ve got a pop star.

Gerard stood there amazed. He could not fucking believe it.

Three songs in and he was mesmerized. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked with her or himself. He was trying to rack his brain for reasons to not like this, and blank answers came up time and time again.

To begin with, her songs were substantially above average for pop. They had creative instrumentals, catchy sounds, and her lyrics were truly the star of the show.

But then he took into account her as a person. She was quite attractive, sure. He had seen her enough online and in magazines to see at least that much, but he was sure most of the male population and a decent amount of the female population also saw that. But here, in this light, in that tight little outfit that showed off all the right things just enough to give a good idea, but still leave a good amount to the imagination, he was falling head over heels.

He was almost flustered with her perfection in his eyes, having to catch himself to make sure wasn’t staring like a dog at a bone. After all, there were enough people around to know him and take photos, which would lead to massive and weird speculation online that he simply didn’t want to deal with.

And her stage presence was empowering. She was confident, not selfish. She was sexy as much as she was innocent. She was clear in her intentions and messages, just as much when she left some ideas not fully complete to leave people longing and wondering.

Suddenly he understood all the teenage girls in the audience. She was fucking incredible.

“Told you.” Mikey said next to him with a smirk. It was hard for Gerard to look away from her, but he did. “Don’t always believe stereotypes man. You out of all people should know better.”

“That really wasn’t so bad after all.” Frank shrugged as the group walked back to their own green room, hidden in an array of tents set up on the edge of the festival grounds.

“Yeah, but standing in the heat for that long was exhausting.” Ray commented next, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He was always tense until they got all the equipment set up and knew everything was going to go right.

“I don’t know man, that last show kinda rocked.” Mikey responded. “Been trying to tell you guys that not all pop artists are that bad.”

“Well, a lot of them are.” Frank quickly rebutted. “However, you are right, that last one was incredible. I just thought having a girlfriend who obsesses over pop music had gotten to your head.” Mikey rolled his eyes.

Gerard was silent, partially because he didn’t really have anything to say, and partially because he was hanging on to the last show. He learned through years of art school and sketching under cubicle lights that some of the best art was clear as day yet still left you thinking. That was how he felt at the moment. Dwelling in the really astounding feeling he had.

She had single handedly proved a lot of his fallacies wrong. And he saw with his very eyes how she managed to go from half the crowd being into her to the master tools her voice and movement had that puppeteer the crowd like a pro. Who was he kidding though- she clearly was a pro.

Turning a corner he was so lost in his thoughts, his body in auto drive and his vision turned to the cement ground. He knew he needed to stop thinking soon, get in the right headspace for his own show- and then he bumped into something.

His body lost a bit of its control as his right arm collided with something a bit smaller than him. Suddenly he regained all his consciousness as his stabled his footing again, turning his body to see what it was.

And there, low and behold, in those damn platform boots and an oversized hoodie that went so far down her thighs it was a dress, was the very woman who had captured his mind just minutes ago. She was lingering within him, and now she was right here.

Fate works in strange ways.

“Shit, I’m so sorry-“ She began, regaining her own balance as she clearly took more of a hit than he did given that she was shorter and had boots that, despite looking like they weighed a ton, he doubted helped to ground her any more.

“No, that was my fault.” He quickly interrupted, growing embarrassed as she looked up and he realized he had managed to be rude to her in the last 30 seconds not once but twice. “I should’ve been looking out.”

“Me too.” She calmly replied with a small smile, handing this with so much grace and calmness compared to his internal panic.

This close she managed to look even better than on the screens. Photos and videos didn’t do her beauty justice. She looked almost like a doll- near perfect features, beautiful hair, and a smile that was so comforting and cute and graceful. Her makeup was almost as perfect as it was when she went on, but her mascara was ever so smeared around the corner of her eyes, her lipstick fading, and hell- his mind couldn’t help but wander to a place where he wondered what it would be like if he had put her in this state. And then he shut those thoughts up as quickly as they appeared, choosing instead to wonder how anyone could be more perfect.

“I um- I better get going and leave you guys to get to your show.” She quickly said, but froze up not even a moment later, her eyes growing wide with embarrassment of her own. “Shit that was weird wasn’t it? I don’t know you but- well I do, kinda, but like not personally. I mean knowing your music and band and-“ she stopped talking not knowing what to say, her body almost shrinking in a sense of even more embarrassment. “Fuck. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Gerard gave a chuckle and a smile of his own. He felt better now that both of them felt embarrassed.

“No, it’s okay.” He replied. “We’re just coming from your show, actually.” Somehow she froze even more. He could tell under that huge gray hoodie her muscles had tensed further.

“Oh, uh, I hope you enjoyed it.” She softly smiled, polite but seeming almost nervous. Why was he so bad about talking to women, especially pretty ones?

“It was phenomenal, actually.” He replied, nervous himself and instinctively rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. There was already a thin layer of sweat connecting back there from standing in the heat for so long. But he didn’t care about that nor how he would survive the heat on his stage later- all he cared about right now was not completely fucking up this interaction with the woman in front of him.

“Are you just saying that to be nice?” She asked with a pouty lip as she clearly questioned the integrity of his response. He rapidly shook his head.

“No, of course not. I don’t lie- ever. If anything I went into the show not knowing much- not in a bad way, I mean kinda in an ignorant way if I’m being honest, and you just- fuck, man, the way you controlled that crowd was so exciting and empowering. It truly was incredible.”

Her face looked like a damn puppy dog begging for a treat. If he weren’t human he would have definitely melted by that look. Big eyes and a genuine smile, her cheeks big and emphasizing her reaction.

“That’s really sweet, thank you so much.” She replied, yet again with grace that he wished he had in these moments. “I um- while I would love to talk more I need to take a shower. I feel so sticky and just- gross. But it was really nice talking to you. And thanks so much for watching me, I really appreciate the feedback.”

His heart broke just a bit.

“Yeah, of course.” He replied, and before he could think he blurted out. “You’re more than welcome to come to ours as well, I mean I’m sure you have the artist VIP tent access, but if you wanna get closer I can definitely arrange a barricade pass for you.”

Her eyes lit up and glowed in a way he wished he could see every single day.

“That’s amazing!” She replied. “Would it be selfish to ask for one more too? My best friend is here and she likes you guys too-“

“Consider it done.” He smiled as she smiled back. “I’ll have my manager send them over to your trailer.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you.” She replied.

“It’s the least I can do. Returning the favor of watching your show and providing feedback.”

“Does that mean I need to take notes for yours and give them to you too?” She asked with a playful smile. Just now he noticed the water bottle in her hand with a straw as she took a sip and damn- he quickly erased all the dirty thoughts that rushed into his mind before it was too late.

“Only if you want to.” Where had this confidence in him come from? He didn’t even know. But right now it was working, and that was all that mattered. Yet again, his body thought before his mind as he said, “Give me your number and we can arrange a meetup. To, ya know, exchange notes and whatnot.”

She seemed flustered, but hid it well. However, the red blush growing on her cheeks and her face that froze yet again for a mere moment told him maybe she wasn’t all that good at this either. But hey, there was a learning opportunity for both of them, he supposed.

“Sure.” She said, as he grabbed his phone, handing it to her as she quickly typed it in.

Y/F/N Y/L/N it read on his screen, the line of numbers under it.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/F/N.” He smiled.

“You too-“ She said, but stopped herself. “I know your first name but I don’t want to say it before you do because that’s creepy.”

He let out a genuine laugh.

“Gerard.” He said.

“Gerard.” She replied. “I’ll see you later, Gerard.”

“So what you’re telling me is Gerard Way wants to fuck you?” Lacey asked her. But she supposed this is why people had best friends- to be both supportive, honest, and borderline crude all at the same time.

“I don’t know if he wants to fuck me-“

“He wants to ‘exchange notes’ on your shows? Code words for ‘come back to my trailer and let’s have sex’.” She said with confidence, sitting down and scrolling through her own phone as Y/F/N changed into a solid black hoodie and jeans to not make her presence obvious. Their show was not about her, and she hoped her presence wouldn’t make it about her.

“Well, I don’t just fuck guys. And I’ll be happy to tell him that if he tries. But he seemed very sweet, and all the interviews of him lean towards him being a very nice guy.” Y/F/N responded quickly, borderline defensive.

“Nice guys can have hookups too, ya know.” Lacey said. She wasn’t wrong, but Y/F/N swore this felt different.

“Regardless, that’s not happening with me.”

“Preach, sister.” Lacy said with a bit of pop in her voice. “If what you’re saying is true, it did sound like you have him wrapped around your finger.”

“We talked for like two minutes. I barely know him, he barely knows me.” Y/F/N rolled her eyes, expertly reapplying her lip gloss in a small mirror.

“Do you know that amount of men after your shows that would fall on their knees and beg for you?” Lacey asked, finally looking up from her phone to make eye contact in the mirror.

“Whatever.” Y/F/N sighed. “I’m just excited we have barricade to a My Chem show. How long have we been wanting to see them?”

“A solid year.” Lacey admitted, standing up to find her shoes. “I’m still not over Gerard Way wanting to fuck you, though.”

Y/F/N was sure rumors would be circulating by morning. As soon as she entered the VIP barricade area alongside Lacey, there was a sudden eruption of screams, and as she looked over a sea of phones were taking photos and videos of her. She gave a polite smile and wave before turning back around towards the stage, hoping as soon as the band got on the attention was going to divert away from her.

Damn her for thinking having a black hoodie on with the hood up would prevent this.

Within minutes though, as the lights on the stage went pitch black and screams from the entire crowd erupted she knew that finally she could just enjoy seeing a band she really liked play from right in front of her. Perks of being a pop star or whatever.

She had to admit that the in-person performance easily knocked any of the recorded ones she saw online out of the fucking park. And while Gerard Way had always been objectively attractive, and happened to be the skinny sad white boy that was her type for whatever reason, he looked really attractive in this light. Like a new skin of confidence took over him. Maybe it was the tight black skinny jeans or fake bullet proof vest with no shirt on under it that perfectly sculpted his lightly muscular arms- and damn the hands. Masculine hands were one of her weaknesses. And his very much fit into that category.

So did she have any notes after the show? No, actually. It was exactly what she had expected, but two fold. She was left amazed and energized as they walked off.

If he really wanted to compare notes with her he was going to be sorely disappointed in the lack of notes she had.

That night did not end with them sharing notes about the others show. Instead, it ended with them sitting on a grassy patch of the festival grounds when it emptied out talking about anything and everything. Gerard had quickly realized how multi-faceted of a person Y/F/N was. Every preconceived notion he had of her was torn down by her random knowledge about random things, her admissions to cringey teen phases she had, cute childhood stories, dichotomy of family and how difficult that could be to navigate.

She was fucking perfect inside and out. And he knew he couldn’t lose her.

In an assertive nature he decided to text her more through the next week. She was on tour in one town, and he was in another. But that didn’t matter. Every other day, or three days apart maximum, they would call from their hotel rooms, or from outside his bus, and talk. About everything. Their days, their histories. What they ate, what they did or didn’t like, who they saw, where they were next, what they wanted to do, asking the other about cool things to do in the city they were in for that day.

And finally, a little less than two weeks after they met, they had that talk.

“So what are we?” She asked over the phone, sitting on her bed and nervously picking at her brightly colored nails. She needed to know before she got too attached and her heart broken further down the line when she was way deeper in than she was now. Not that rejection now wouldn’t hurt- she was trying to save herself from more potential hurt later.

“Seeing each other?” He asked. “I mean, no pressure- we can always take it slower.“

“I would like for us to be ‘seeing each other’.” She replied with a smile growing on her face.

“Great, then we’re seeing each other.” He decided, she could hear the small smile in his own voice despite not seeing him.

“We have a four day break coming up.” He mentioned on a call. A few weeks had blown by, and things felt very normal between them given how abnormal their situation was.

“Okay.” She replied simply, wanting him to go on.

“I want to come see you, if that’s okay.”

“Okay.” She replied again, not hesitant- but a mixture of excited and logistically starting to play a mind puzzle about how this was going to work.

“Just okay?” He asked, now sounding more hesitant himself but equally as confused.

“No, I just mean- like, yes, please come, I really want to see you, but if people see us together again, I think it will kinda be obvious. I- it’s not that I don’t want to show you off, but I kinda like the direction we’re going in now. I don’t want public speculation or opinion to fuck that up.”

Even in a fucking baseball cap and sunglasses at her show, people would grow suspicious of that figure in the secluded family/friends area. They would equally as quickly figure out, judging by the firestorm online caused by her presence at their show the night they met, who it was. And then they would be official without actually saying anything. Just by being together.

She wouldn’t mind being official to the public, eventually. But she wanted more time to have just them to herself.

“I can stand off to the side behind the stage.” He offered.

“Your view is gonna suck.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay then.” She replied affirmatively.

“Okay?” He asked for clarification.

“Yes, okay.” She softly smiled with a giggle. “Come to the shows, I even have a hotel room booked one of the nights.”

“Oh fancy.” He replied with a chuckle. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

She shouldn’t have been nervous. He had seen her perform before.

Well once- the first time they met, and then twice on TV in the last few weeks since her career had managed to blow up even further. But this felt different. It was different.

She knew he could now have expectations of her. What if he didn’t like something, or got the ick from the way she danced or what if she fucked up? What if she tripped on stage for the first time or bumped into something or forgot a lyric or her voice went out-

“On in two.” She heard one of the stage techs say, peeking their head through her green room door. As if one queue, she heard a roar of screams from the direction of the stage, queueing that her little intro video had started. Despite still playing smaller venues, at least ones smaller than arenas, her label had actually been willing to put quite the production into her tour after realizing that her stage presence and personality was one of the things that charmed audiences so much.

She gave herself one final look over in the mirror. Her opening outfit was standard- a body con number decked out in black sequence with red accents and her infamous knee high boots that were plain leather, but that she had begun to notice were also being worn more commonly by fans to her shows. It was one of those trademark things that made her feel more like the pop star she was growing to be. At least the headlines called her that.

Taking her hands, she fluffed out her hair a bit more giving her light waves more volume, dropping them, closing her eyes, and reopening them in her stage persona.

She walked out of the door beginning her strut with the sense of confidence she only gained to this level when she knew she was going to be on stage. As she approached side stage, her bedazzled microphone with her initials on it in small rhinestones at the bottom was waiting for her with one of the stage assistance. She gave him a small smile and nod as a thank you, taking it delicately and wrapping her hand around it firmly.

Her in-ear monitored queued up with her sound guy, Jeremy, who gave her the 20 second warning. She allowed herself one final deep breath, realizing this was her time to shine. Even if he was here for the first time watching her as the guy she was seeing, and just generally in a new light, she recalled meeting him for the first time after a show, figuring if she could impress him once maybe she could do it again.

After all, the version of herself that managed to get his attention in the first place was the one who was about to step into the spotlight in a mere three seconds.

Sweaty, hot, tired, worn, happy. The best ways to describe how she felt almost every night coming off stage.

She felt great about this show. The crowds she was dealing with were getting better at each stop, she figured it was venues being sold out and her rapid growth as an artist that was to thank for their enthusiasm and their increased screaming of her own lyrics back to her.

But what made this show so special was seeing him in one of the boxes up and over from the crowd. He kept a low profile with a plain t-shirt and baseball cap, standing next to Lacey through the entire duration, but the occasional eye contact they made was what kept her going.

He was always at least smiling at her. If not he was beaming, or nodding, swaying to the music, and her favorite was when he was so focused on just her that she caught his lower lip being bitten, his eyes glued straight onto her. She knew she always had most if not all of the crowd in a trance- but tonight his attention was the one she really wanted.

She giggled at something her manager had said as they walked through the back hallways of the venue, sipping on her bottled water through a straw and trying to regain as much hydration and energy as possible. As the turned a corner toward the green room, she paused and gave a big toothy smile as she saw him at the end of the hallway.

There was Gerard, still in his relatively incognito outfit, and a full smile as their eyes met. As fast as she could manage to run in her boots, she made her way down the hall and collided with his torso, breaking out into a fit of giggles as he hugged her back.

“Did you like it?” She asked first, letting her chin fall on his chest as she looked up at him with big doe eyes hoping for a good answer.

“You fucking killed it.” He said affirmatively with a smile, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. “You’re absolutely insane out there. Such a natural- fuck, I wish I had half the confidence and ability you do when I’m on stage.”

“Oh stop it!” She playfully and lightly hit his shoulder as she backed away to walk back to her room with him. In the process he swiftly grabbed her hand in his, intertwining their fingers which made her smile even more. “Don’t give yourself any less credit- you’re a fucking beast on stage.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head.

“But nothing like you.” He replied, holding the door open for her as they entered back in so she could change.

She quickly and stealthily changed into a shirt and sweatpants, sitting down to take her makeup off, or at least that’s what she would typically do. But as she sat and looked at herself in the vanity mirror, catching a glimpse of him in the back scrolling on his phone, she wasn’t so sure she felt all that confident with him in person without all of this on.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, catching her in a trance. Damn, why did he have to be so good on picking up these things?

“Nothing.” She said with a soft smile. His body language with a raised eyebrow implied he definitely did not believe that. “I just- should I take my makeup off?” She asked turning to him. He gave her an even more confused look.

“Is it what you normally do?” He asked and she nodded. “Then yeah, take your makeup off.” She didn’t move, still staring at him. “Baby, what’s wrong- actually?” She groaned.

“It’s so stupid.” She admitted, now looking away from him. “I just- I don’t want you to like, I don’t know, not like me without this on.”

He looked a bit shocked and confused at look, but it quickly melted into sympathy.

“Sweetheart, take your makeup off.” He requited with a sweet tone. “I promise you, I will not view you any differently without makeup on. That is such a minor thing. And I’m not with you for your looks- I mean, you are fucking gorgeous- but that’s with or without makeup.”

“Fine.” She replied, grabbing some of her cotton pads and makeup remover, then going to town on delicately running them over her skin and cleaning everything off.

Once she was done, only a few minutes later, she grabbed her bag and regular shoes, slipping them on and getting up to approach him where he leaned next to the door. As soon as she was a few inches from him, he delicately took her face in his hands.

“See, just as gorgeous as always.” He softly smiled, giving her a soft and passionate kiss. She offered a sheepish smile and a growing blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She nervously replied. “We gotta go though- I’m fucking starving.”

“Holy shit.” She said, taking another forkful of pasta and placing it into her mouth. “This is so fucking good.”

“Mhm.” He nodded in agreement taking a bite of his own. It was nice to have some company to actually eat with, and not just pull out her laptop to watch a show or call her parents who were halfway across the country. Now, she had her boyfriend laid across the bed sideways in front of her as she sat criss cross at the head.

“You want a bite?” She asked. He looked at her skeptical for a moment before nodding, allowing her to grab another few pieces, giving them to him.

“Well, shit.” He sighed with a smile. “That is fucking amazing.” She nodded in agreement. There was a brief moment of silence that followed.

“I hate that we have to go back to being, like- normal.” She said. It was one of those thoughts that just spilled out without her even thinking.

“Hm?” He asked, looking up with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ya know, like being apart for so long.” She said with a tight smile. “We’ve barely spent any time together in person but every time we do I want to spend more and more- and we can’t.” He sighed, putting his fork down in his container.

“I know, baby.” He softly said, taking his now free hand and placing it on her bare thigh, rubbing small circles into the skin with his thumb. “But it’s only another month- then we’re on break and I’ll come be with you as long as you want.”

“Gee, you should get a break.” She said with a serious face. “You need to go home and settle for a few weeks and be with your family and friends there who you haven’t seen in fucking forever.” He shrugged.

“I’ve had all the time in the world to make relationships with them- I want to continue to build ours, and if that means going on tour with you than so be it.” He replied with confidence.

“Even if we do that people will speculate and- we would have to go public.” She explained.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, but,” She took a moment to think, making eye contact with him again as his eyes begged hers for answers. “I don’t want to keep you or us a secret. I would love to show and brag about my super cool, super talented, super hot boyfriend to the world, but I want to keep it private.” He smiled lightly and nodded.

“Then let’s do it.” He said, affirmatively. “We’ll take it at your pace. Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

He had been on tour with her for a full week. And it was becoming unbearable how many things were circulating around.

It started at the first show he came to- a solid handful of people had noticed him and put a name to the face, despite his attempt to remain to himself. A small firestorm erupted online over the alleged rumors. The headlines abusing taboos and cliches of the “pop princess and rockstar” trope that made people go crazy.

Then he actually began coming on tour. She wasn’t sure she had been happier on any other leg of it, until he was there to watch every show, and take her out when she had breaks to his favorite spots in each city, and then end the night in her queen sized “suite” on the back of her bus if you could even call it that. She had even bought more storage bins for under the bed to make room for his things.

But people didn’t need to see all the stolen and sudden kissed, or hysterical fits of laughter, or constant touching that were soft reminders of the other. They didn’t need to know about all the photos they had taken of each other, or the memories made, or the lyrics and words that began filling her songbook as she wrote almost exclusively now about him. At least yet.

But on day nine of them being on her tour together, she couldn’t take the speculation anymore. She couldn’t ignore all the photos taken of him at her shows, or the videos that replayed her not-so-obvious smiles and slow hip movements while making direct eye contact with him. In all fairness, she wasn’t trying to hide it.

People could see moments and snippets of their love. But she wouldn’t let them see the whole thing.

“What d’you think?” She asked, the back of her head leaning against his shoulder as they both looked at her phone. It was a simple story draft for her Instagram of the two of them just a few nights ago walking into a gas station. Not the most romantic thing, but her makeup artist had managed to catch it at one of their stops late at night.

The lighting was perfect and almost vintage aesthetic, offering a slight blur to the photo. It was the two of them holding hands as they walked in, both with hoodies and sweatpants on. Only half her face was shown, brightly smiling up at him, and only the back of his head was shown as a mop of slightly messy slightly put-together black hair.

“I love it.” He said with a small smile, giving her a kiss on the top of the head. In the bottom corner she had just put a small black heart, meant to be a small clue.

“Okay,” She smiled. “I think I’m gonna post it.” She said, looking up at him. “You okay with this?”

“Of course.” He genuinely smiled back. “I don’t mind at all.”

Before she could second guess she hit the post button, immediately turning off her phone and throwing it to the edge of the bed.

“It’s done.” She said with big eyes and a giddy tone. “Like, we’ve confirmed.”

“Mhm,” He nodded with a small chuckle, “We have confirmed.” He leaned down to give her a soft kiss, not even a few seconds later his phone buzzed.

He reached over to grab it, smiling at the screen, and showing her.

I was wondering when you guys were gonna post something. Mikey had sent. It’s been fucking long enough.

She should’ve stopped staring after a few seconds, but she couldn’t help it. She rarely felt this confident in herself, but just as quickly as the adrenaline boost of self love hit her, the sobering of imperfections came knocking too.

Dressed in a long green strapless dress that was built to just fit her, she looked and felt like a Barbie. Her makeup team had really done quite an impressive and good number on her face, exemplifying all her good features perfectly, and covering up or minimizing the ones she didn’t like so much. Her hair hung in a low, sleek pony tail against her back, her nails for once long with extensions that would be removed for sure in the next two to three days.

“You’re absolutely perfect, ya know that?” She heard him, turning around to find her boyfriend with a big smile as one of his hands placed itself lightly on the small of her back. She softly smiled up at him, and he swore his heart skipped a beat and nearly sent him into cardiac arrest the way her big eyes stared right into his.

“Not necessarily, but thank you.” She responded in a small voice. She always got nervous before events- he learned that quickly after having to be on text and call standby as she repeated her own self-doubts while spiraling about things going wrong. No one would have ever known- her presence on carpets, stages, and everything in between was flawless.

And now here they stood for the first time together doing this. Him in a traditional and well-fit suit, her in the dress that would put anyone else wearing the color green to shame. He gave her one good look up and down (what was realistically the dozenth already), relishing in the fact that he was merely an accessory to her- and was blessed to be one at that.

There were already rumors circulating everywhere about the potential for them to show up together tonight. It was the ideal place to hard launch, and after dating for just over six months it finally felt like a good time to let the world see them together in all their glory. She was feeling more confident in him, and he was honestly just along for the ride- a very happy passenger too.

“How do we act?” She asked next, his hand still sat on her back as she leaned more into him so their bodies were no more than two inches apart.

“Like how we normally act.” He replied confidently. “I’m not sure anyone will be genuinely surprised- people have been expecting this.”

“When people set expectations about things they don’t know, it typically doesn’t work out the way they want.” She replied quickly.

He knew better than to ruin her hair or makeup, but at this moment he couldn’t see her for that, so he leaned in without hesitation and gave her a soft kiss as an attempt to calm her nerves.

“We’re not here to appease to anyone’s wants or expectations of us.” He explained in a tone just above a whisper, as if they weren’t the only two people in the room. “We’re here to be with each other- not to explain us.”

It was a relative blur, and she thanked the blinding lights of paparazzi that overtook her vision and senses as soon as they took a single step onto the carpet together. She had never heard the two of their names meshed together so many times in such a short period of time. It felt weird to hear them coming out together from other people’s mouths- but it also felt reaffirming.

His hand had initially snuck around her back, resting itself on the other side of her waist and pulling her close to him. The slight warmth from his body made her feel okay, an emotion she typically had to forcefully place at bay here but was tamed solely by him.

They gradually moved their way down at the instruction of the event staff, and narrowly at the last stop he leaned in to whisper to her, hiding his lips behind the back of her head to not let anyone get a chance to overhear what he was going to say.

“I think I have a new appreciation for my name when it’s next to yours.” He said with a small smile, pulling away and looking down at her.

She couldn’t help herself but to break out into a bigger smile, one that wasn’t posed for the cameras but more authentic. She usually hated her full smile, the cheekiness and roundness of her face making the pictures look unbearable to her, but in that moment it didn’t matter. She playfully nudged him a bit as he resumed his position with his arm around her waist, but this time she placed her hand on his chest, angling herself towards him.

He authentically smiled, not expecting it, and had to resist the urge running deep within him to kiss her. But no one here deserved to see that part of them- no one here deserved to know her like he did.

“New album stuff?” He asked, walking over to the living room with a “new” cup of coffee in his hands (this was his third refill in the last two hours). She nodded from where she sat on the floor, back against the bottom of the vintage arm chair she fell in love with and insisted on having to decorate their new place. Their place.

Gerard had always respected her boundaries with her music. She was being incredibly secretive about her upcoming project- despite it essentially being finished from what he had gathered- but he also knew incredibly well how labels worked. And despite both of them being in the industry, her upcoming album was expected to be gigantic. Both in the reception of it and in the work itself.

“They just began pressing all the vinyls.” She smiled up at him.

“When are you gonna see it?” He asked back, sitting down on the couch and leaning over the coffee table to grab his sketch book and pencils again.

“Hopefully within two weeks.” She shrugged. “That’s if everything goes right. Not that I think it won’t- there’s just… a lot.” He looked up for his eyes to meet her, giving her a sympathetic look and nod.

“Regardless of how it goes, you have worked your ass off for this.” He explained. “Critics will always say shit because they’re jaded and subjective. Most of them haven’t even made music. And your fans are gonna love anything you put out.” She softly smiled back.

“Thanks.” She said. “I can’t wait for you to hear it.”

“Don’t you have the entire record on your computer?” He asked, eyeing the laptop that sat in her lap. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not that simple.” She replied, closing it and getting up. “Besides, I want it to be a surprise.” She finished, walking over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“So are you flattered or what?” Their manager approached where he sat on the bus. He was so lost in the trance of finding the necklace that she had been dying to get for ages online as a surprise album release gift that he didn’t hear a thing.

“Hm?” He asked looking up at him.

“You’re the muse for the number one song on Billboard right now.” His manager replied with a small smile, arms crossed over each other.

“Right.” He awkwardly responded.

He was, indeed, the quite obvious muse for her first single, which happened to somehow skyrocket on the charts as soon as it released and within a few days was impossible not to hear. Whether it be radio, playlists, grocery stores, social media- the damn song was everywhere.

By no means was he upset, he just wasn’t expecting it. He was actively figuring out how to deal with the amount of empty and comical threats he got from fan accounts saying they were fully prepared to fight him if it meant even a shot at being with her. Also, while he had approved of the lyrics she had showed him (well, specifically the incredibly, borderline obvious, suggestive ones) it still made him feel a blush grow on his face when he heard them over and over again.

And the fucking cherry on top was the music video. At this point, he had seen her in many different ways, doing many different things (if you catch the drift) but as soon as he watched it he felt like he was falling for her all over again, ten-fold this time. It also made him begin to seriously question why the fuck you were with him, and simultaneously wonder if all the manifesting bull shit the merch girl was telling them about was something he should look into given that he needed some form of magic to get someone so out of his league.

“Good luck when the album drops, man.” His manager smiled, “Can’t wait to see all the teenage girls that want to band together and fight you.”

Gerard didn’t drink anymore and hadn’t for a while. But he did stare with a smile as she took a shot of tequila and her face immediately grew into a sour and twisted expression.

“Fuck that was worse than I remember.” She said through a small cough, grabbing the water by her and downing a chunk of it.

The low-key album release party was being held at their place. It was primarily close friends, the one producer she worked with on the record and her engineer, then the band as well as some of Gerard’s friends. Despite it being small, the place was buzzing under the dimmed lighting as there was consistently multiple conversations happening in the background, solid laughter mixed in too, and her album playing track by track in order softly in the background.

She sat on the floor, back against the couch, in a simple shirt and jeans, him right behind and next to her sat on the couch. She wasn’t drunk, but was definitely tipsy as she laid her head on his jean clad knee. He looked down at her with a smile, running a hand through her loose hair.

“I love you so much.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for being such an incredible muse.”

He had been complimented plenty of times by critics, reporters, fans- but nothing even came remotely close to that comment.

“Baby, this is all you.” He insisted with a smile back. “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so damn incredible at everything you do.”

She sighed happily, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I’m so fucking glad you bumped into me.” She said. “I was so pissed at first and so tired and hot and sweaty- I thank the universe everyday for making that happen.”

“I do too, sweetheart.” He said, letting his smile melt into a sincere and content one. It only felt right. “I do too.”

[ccobweb]

𝓑e a freak like me too ⋮ jimmy darling

ᡣ𐭩 . warnings ᯓ +18 mdni!, smut, pwp, fem!virgin!reader, make out, age gap (not specified but everyone is over 18), fingering. a/n ᯓ english is not my first lenguage!

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Your life was monotonous and boring, with strict parents who only let you leave the house for college things and no little siblings to play with. Everything was like that until one day the circus of monstrosites arrived in the city, and your father decided to take you and your mother to see what show they could offer.

Excited, you dressed in a beautiful white dress with pink flowers that they gave you for your 18th birthday, you subtly made up with a pink eye shadow and a gloss on your lips, you were ready to go out.

                                         . . . 

You got out of your father’s car and looked around, both excited and scared of what could happen there.

“Come on, honey, or we’ll be late,” your mother warned you while she and your father were starting to walk towards the circus.

You ran after them until you reached them and got by their side. Once inside the circus you were amazed, everything was full of colours and lights, the typical circus music sounded in the background while children rode the attractions, you were fascinated.

You approached the entrance of the tent of the show, your father paid for the tickets and you sat in the front row to be able to see the spawns up close.

                                           . . .

The show was halfway through and everything was spectacular, you were delighted with those people with deformities. Everything was going perfectly until Jimmy Darling, the lobster boy, appeared on stage.

You were damned with his beauty, so much so that you overlooked the deformity of his hands. He began his monologue as usual and at one point you clashed looks, making him wink and make you blush, you just wish your parents hadn’t realised.

                                           . . .

At the end of the performance everyone got up from the seat and left the tent, including you and your family. You escaped for a moment saying that you would go to the bathroom to actually go in search of that handsome boy who had darned you with his charms.

After a couple of minutes looking for him, you found him about to enter his caravan and accelerated the pace until you reached him.

“Mr. Darling?” You said once you were behind him, touching his shoulder to get his attention. He turned confused about who was calling him until he saw you and smiled.

“Oh, you, you’re the girl in the front row, right? What’s your name?” He said and you nodded your head, telling him your name.

“I just wanted to tell you that I loved your show, it was wonderful” you smiled cheerfully as you put your hands behind your back.

“You’re such a sweetheart. No girl had come before after a performance to congratulate me,” he replied winking at you once again, making you blush and look the other way briefly.

“Well, just... just wanted to tell you that. I’m leaving now” you said goodbye with your hand and turned around to go back to your parents.

“Wait!” You heard Jimmy’s voice behind you and turned your head to look at him “Is it okay if we see each other someday?”

You were very excited when he asked you that, you were excited to be able to spend more time with him.

“Of course yes,” you replied with a wide smile.

“Perfect, is it okay if we meet in the ‘Coffee and Jhons’ cafeteria? It’s a good place to see each other” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

In your head you were already making a plan to be able to leave the house without your parents knowing that you were going to see a boy, much less could they know that that boy was a spawn.

“Okay, I’ll see you there tomorrow at 12 am?” You said this time with a small smile.

                                           . . .

You had deceived your parents by saying that you were going to your friend Alice’s house to study when you were actually about to reach your meeting point with Jimmy.

Your stomach was full of butterflies, you had never lied to your parents before, much less to go see a boy. But it wasn’t just any boy, it was Jimmy Darling.

You entered the cafeteria and looked around you until you found Jimmy sitting on one of the stools at the bar, waiting for you. You approached him from behind and touched his shoulder making him turn around.

“Hello Jimmy” You greeted with a small smile, you were very nervous.

“Hi darling” He said grabbing your hand and leaving a kiss on it, to which in response your cheeks were coloured.

When he saw how you blushed, Jimmy smiled from ear to ear making his cheekbones stand out. You sat on the stool next to him and asked for a cherry coke to drink and a cupcake, while he asked for a beer.

You immediately realised the leather gloves that covered his hands, and you frowned confused. “Why are you wearing those gloves?” You asked delicately, without wanting to offend him.

“Well, as you know, I have lobster hands and many people could be scared to see them,” he replied while still smiling.

You took one of his hands and stroked it over the glove. “I’m not scared of your hands” you said as you looked him in the eyes with a soft smile, which warmed his heart.

                                           . . .

It had already been several weeks since your secret meeting with Jimmy, and you did not stop running away from home to go see him at any time. This time he had rented a motel room just for the two of you. Were you nervous? Yes, and a lot.

You stalled through the window of your room and ran down the street where Jimmy was waiting for you with his motorcycle.

“Hello, darling,” he said when you rode behind him on the motorcycle and grabbed his waist so you didn’t fall. “Ready to go?”

The road to the motel was quiet, it was night so there were not many people on the street and you could enjoy a small walk before reaching your destination.

You entered the reception of the motel and Jimmy asked for the key to your room and then go to the elevator to go to your room.

“You look beautiful today, more than usual” He said while the elevator doors closed.

“Thank you very much,” you answered with a smile while blushing, his flirtatious comments always made you blush.

He approached you and placed one hand on your cheek and the other on your waist, curiously today he was not wearing his leather gloves. “Can I kiss you?” He asked in a whisper as he brought his face closer to yours, to which you nodded.

He kissed your lips gently, he knew it was your first kiss and didn’t want to scare you. You corresponded to the kiss, nervous but excited.

The elevator doors opened, this time leaving you on the floor of your room. Jimmy slowly separated from you, “Come on” said as he grabbed your hand and guided you to the room.

Once inside the room he closed the door and kissed you again, but this time with more passion. You opened your eyes surprised at his action, you didn’t expect such a hungry kiss after that sweet kiss he had given you minutes ago.

He guide you to the bed, making you both sit on it while you were still kissing. You followed the kiss shyly until you gained more confidence, that’s when Jimmy licked your lower lip to ask for permission and be able to put his tongue in your vocal cavity, which you agreed to.

Your tongues were dancing inside your mouths in a heated and exciting kiss. Jimmy grabbed your shoulders and gently pushed you until your back collided with the bed mattress, leaving you lying down.

His large fused hands walked through your body being careful not to touch any inappropriate place until it reached your waist, stopping there and separating slightly from the kiss. “Is everything okay?” He asked looking into your eyes to make sure you were comfortable.

“Yes Jimmy, I’m great” You confirmed with a smile as you rested one of your hands on his cheek and raised your head to kiss him again.

He reciprocated the kiss gladly and his hands moved around your body again, this time leaving them right on your thighs and putting them a little under your dress. His thumbs drew small figures on your inner thighs while his hands moved very slowly — so as not to alarm you — towards your centre.

When the tips of his fingers grazed your underwear you shuddered and separated from the kiss, looking at Jimmy a little scared.

“Shh, don’t worry, darling” He tried to reassure you as he lowered his kisses to your neck and hid his face there. “Can I?” He asked as he wrapped his fingers in the strip of your panties, to which you nodded.

He slowly lowered the garment down your legs, caressing them in the process. “Tell me, honey, have you ever touched yourself down there?” He asked by taking his face out of your neck to look into your eyes with a smile on his face.

“Yes, but only a couple of times” You replied embarrassed as you looked away from him, to which Jimmy laughed.

“It’s fine. Does it bother you if I touch you?” You bit your lower lip repressing a smile at how understanding and respectful he was.

“Yes, please touch me” You begged slightly as you looked at him again with big and bright eyes.

Jimmy did not hesitate to start caressing your clit with two of his fused fingers to prepare you, to which you covered your mouth with both hands to repress the sounds that threatened to come out of your throat.

“Oh, pretty girl, let those beautiful sounds come out, I want to hear you moan” He said without any qualms making you blush, but you listened to him and took your hands away from your face.

His fingers went from caressing your clit to surrounding your entrance, which made you let out a little gasp. “Jimmy...” you whispered as your breathing agitated.

“Are you ready?” He asked leaving a small kiss on your cheek, you nodded and he began to put his fused fingers through your entrance very delicately so as not to hurt you.

You closed your eyes and hissed slightly while your fists clung to the sheets. At first it hurt a little but then the pain was replaced by pleasure little by little.

Your back bent over and moans and more prominent sighs began to come out of your mouth, your hands clung to Jimmy’s biceps while your face contoured with pleasure. Jimmy looked at your face with a big smile, proud of himself for causing you so much pleasure with just his fingers.

His wide fingers caused you an indescribable pleasure, they widened your vaginal walls deliciously. You couldn’t stop moaning loudly, and you were surprised when his thumb began to caress your clit again.

“Jimmy... I- I think I’m going to come” That phrase made him smile even more, and he began to speed up his movements.

“I know honey, I can feel it,” he said as he began to kiss your jaw and leave a path of kisses up to your neck. “You just let yourself go, let it go”

It didn’t take you much longer to finish, moaning his name loudly and closing your eyes tightly. Jimmy laughs slightly when he took his fingers out of your intimacy and saw how wet they were, and then put them in his mouth and savour your juices.

“Jimmy! Don’t do that...” You said covering your face with both hands because of the shame.

“Why wouldn’t I do it? You’re delicious” He let out a little laugh at your reaction and then lay down next to you, passing an arm behind your shoulders and curling up with you. “Now let’s rest for a while, it’s been a very trying moment... but don’t think I’m done with you” He said the latter giving you a small spanking.

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mlist , bots , ao3

 ccobweb 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

ⓘ clarification — this fic was re-uploaded in 2025.

[amya-da-dc]

Under the big top

summary: based off this post by @batsandbirdbrains

a/n: Season 1 young justice

The mission had been simple. Too simple.

Recon at an abandoned amusement park—suspicious magical activity, likely Klarion. Intel had said he’d already left. Intel was wrong.

They’d barely stepped past the rusting ticket booth when the air shimmered, and Klarion appeared with Teekl on his shoulder.

It started with a flick of Klarion’s fingers. “Oops,” the witch-boy giggled, voice echoing like nails on glass. “Bye-bye, birdie!”

Robin didn’t have time to react. One second he was flipping mid-air, dodging a magically conjured spike, and the next, he was falling to the ground, the world fading behind him.

“Robin!” The team yelled, though, Wally was the first to get to him, skidding to his knees beside his best friend. Robin lay limp in Wally’s arms, completely unresponsive. His eyes were open—barely. Glazed over. Blank. Like the lights were on and nobody was home.

“Dick,” Wally whispered urgently. “Come on, man, wake up.”

He didn’t

“What did you do to him!?” Artemis yelled, an arrow drawn.

“Nothing you can fix.” Klarion sang as he was already disappearing, fading into the void with a swirl of red mist and Teekl hissing behind him.

The fight was over. And Robin hadn’t moved.

Back on the bioship, everything was chaos. Kaldur was trying to get a League response. Nothing. M’gann was trembling with psychic strain already. Zatanna was flipping through her spellbook, muttering under her breath. Wally was still holding on to Dick, refusing to let go.

Artemis had one hand on Dick’s shoulder, the other on his forehead, not even bothering to hide the panic in her eyes. “He’s running a fever.”

Connor ripped off part of his shirt and tried to wipe away the sweat that was appearing on Robins brow.

“He’s not just unconscious,” M’gann said quietly, as she walks over to them pressing her hands to Dick’s temples. “He’s gone. His body’s here, but his mind… it’s somewhere else. Somewhere Klarion sent it.”

Wally swore. “Then go get him!”

“We’re trying, Wally!” Zatanna snapped. Her voice softened immediately. “Sorry. Just—this kind of magic—it’s not easy to track. Let alone undo.”

“I can’t reach his mind,” M’gann whispered, forehead slick with sweat. “It’s… sealed off. Locked from the inside.”

“It looks like Klarion created a dream world,” Zatanna said grimly. “A prison made from his own thoughts.”

“If we don’t get him out soon, his real mind could—” M’gann didn’t finish.

“There is a chance me and M’gann could tag team this. Try and go in and fix whatever Klarion broke.”

“I can link us psychically,” M’gann offered. “But… we’ll all have to go in. I don’t know what Klarion put in his head. And if we’re not careful, we could hurt him more.”

“Then we be careful,” Kaldur said simply. “And we bring our friend home.”

They didn’t waste time.

Kaldur barked orders. M’gann flew them out, hands clenched tight on the controls. Wally didn’t leave Dick’s side for a second, carrying Robin in to the medbay.

They tried contacting the League again, but all channels were blocked. Off-world, compromised, whatever. The team was alone.

They all stood around their Robin as M’gann and Zatanna transported the team into Dick Graysons broken mind.

Everything changed the moment they slipped into Dick’s mind.

The sky was blue, bright. The smell of popcorn and sawdust and something sweet hung in the air. A giant red-and-white striped tent loomed ahead. The chatter of crowds and the sound of big band music playing through dusty speakers. Laughter. Barking vendors. Children running past, clutching cotton candy.

“This is…” Conner’s voice trailed off.

“This… is not what I expected,” Artemis murmured.

“This is his ideal world,” Kaldur said slowly.

Wally’s face was pale. “…It’s Haly’s,” he said quietly. “The circus.”

They followed Wally’s lead into the tent’s rear entrance. Inside, the team looked up in amazement as they saw them: aerialists high above, flying from trapeze to trapeze like birds in motion. Tumbling. Laughing. Applauding each other. It was paradise in motion.

A strangely accented voice called out, “Hey, no towners in the tent ’til showtime!” The boy was maybe ten or eleven. Black hair, messy and windswept. Leotard glinting under the lights.

“Oh no…” Wally froze, “Dick,” Wally whispered.

The boy turned to the trapeze. “Pa!” he shouted, running off.

Artemis was putting two and two together. She vaguely remembers sneaking into Haly’s Circus years ago, though she was caught before she got to see the famed Flying Graysons.“Wait, Wally—was that—?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Thats Robin…”

But not their Robin. Not the Robin with the sharp quips and haunted eyes. This boy was younger. Freer. Happy.

“Don’t say anything. He doesn’t remember us. We need to be careful.”

A man and a woman descended from the rigging, followed by another pair. The team looked for any sign of a possible Batman though none of the aerialists bore Batman’s shape or shadow.

One of the women spoke softly in French, her voice gentle. The boy responded, glaring at them, before running off again.

“…She said to help Johnny with Zitka,” M’gann murmured, picking up the surface thought as it faded.

“Are you lost?” The woman asked, her voice cool and accented. She crossed her arms.

“Sorry,” Kaldur stepped forward, his voice calm but respectful. “We didn’t mean to intrude. “This is not a sideshow tour. If you want autographs, you’ll have to wait until after the evening show.”

“You shouldn’t be back here,” the woman added, eyes flicking between Artemis, Wally, and Conner in particular. Her tone softened, just barely. “I don’t know how you got past the gate, but please—leave the performers in peace.”

Connors fists clenched at his sides, but Kaldur nodded quickly. “Of course. We’re going.

With one last apologetic glance, the team turned and slipped back through the curtain, exiting into the warm sunshine outside the tent.

“They think we’re the intruders,” Artemis said.

“In his mind, we are,” M’gann said gently. “Right now, we don’t belong in his perfect world.”

“So what do we do?” Conner asked, jaw tight.

Wally stared at the tent’s bright stripes, now seeming so much more imposing. “We find Dick. We remind him who he is. Before this world makes him forget completely.”

The team left the tent quietly and followed the direction Robin had gone.

They found him with another teen, older, maybe thirteen. They were laughing near an elephant, shoveling hay.

“See? Zitka wants you to cheer up,” the older boy teased.

Zitka tousles Dicks hair with her trunk, and he laughs with her, patting her face. She trumpets away in amusement.

“See?” Johnny teased, ruffling Dick’s hair. “Zitka likes you better when you’re not being a brat.”

Dick scowled, flushed red, and threw hay in his cousin’s face. Laughter bubbled up, unfiltered.

It broke something in Wally’s chest.

The two of them began roughhousing, throwing hay, mud-streaked and smiling, when the same woman from earlier rushed over, scolding them in rapid French and—something else they didn’t recognize.

“That’s his cousin,” Wally said, almost like he didn’t want to believe it. “That’s Johnny. He died in the fall.”

Then the team was spotted.

“Oh look, Dickie,” Johnny sneered. “It’s your towners.”

“They’re not mine!” Dick snapped. “I told you to leave!”

“Rob, dude,” Wally stepped forward, voice soft. “You’ve gotta stop.”

Everything stilled. Both boys froze. Johnny moved in front of Dick protectively.

“Why are you calling him that?” Johnny snapped, arm curling protectively behind him.

“Because he’s Robin,” Wally said gently. “He knows he is. Even if he forgot for now.”

“How do you know that name? only family knows that name!” Johnny looked at the team like they were a threat to his baby cousin, fear in his eyes.

“He’s Robin,” Artemis said. “He knows he is. Deep down.”

“That’s not possible,” Johnny said. “We’ve never even been to Gotham before.”

“You did stop in Gotham,” Wally continued as the world around them shifted . The sky darkened. The circus disappeared. A city block swallowed them whole. They were in Gotham, skyscrapers looming, horns blaring. “Five years ago. Rob, please, I know you remember.”

“Stop calling him that!” Johnny shouted.

Dick was trembling behind him, white-knuckled.

“They never fell!” he cried. “Their fine…Were a family! The—They never—”

“You remember,” Wally whispered.

“No one ever fell,” Dick said. His voice shook.

But the tent reformed. The cheers of a crowd. The drumroll of doom. The tent roared to life around them. The Graysons were in the air.

Mr. Haly’s voice echoed: “The Flight of Death!”

��No net,” M’gann breathed.

Dick was tossed from his mother to his father, then came a snap.

“PA!” Dick screamed as his father threw him to the platform. Dick lands on the platform, hitting it hard. They see him scramble to the edge.

“MAMA!”

And then chaos swallows the circus whole. The scene shifted, and the world was soaked in red. Thunder cracked. A violent downpour began to fall from a sky that had gone black without warning. The vibrant reds and golds of the circus bled into gray, into rot. The applause was gone. Now, only screaming remained. Music warped into shrieks of notes, spiraling into dissonance. The warmth, the joy, the light—it was all gone in an instant.

Blood. Bodies. Broken Bones. So much blood.

And Dick—eight years old, crumpled on the floor, drenched in red and glitter and grief. He knelt in the middle of it, gasping, eyes wide. A child in the middle of a nightmare that was all too real. His mouth was open, but no sound came out at first. Just air. Just gasps. Like his lungs had forgotten how to work.

His cousin Johnny lay beside him, neck bent at an angle that defied life. His eyes were still open, staring into the tent ceiling with a hollow kind of finality. His limbs were limp, twisted wrong. The back of his head had struck one of the metal rigging poles during the fall—there was blood everywhere.

His aunt was nearby, one leg folded under her at an impossible angle, her spine curved unnaturally as she lay half beneath the collapsed net that hadn’t been there before. Her face was slack, her body broken like a doll.

And then—then there were his parents.

Mary Grayson’s hand was stretched out toward her son, just inches from Dick’s own. Her chest glittered with sequins, now soaked in crimson. Her torso had caved in where she struck the edge of the platform, her ribs shattered beneath her leotard. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, lips slightly parted like she’d died mid-gasp.

John lay half on top of her, shielding her in death the way he had so many times in life. The side of his head had cracked against the steel pole, and blood trickled from his mouth, from his ears. His arm had broken beneath him, twisted and splintered. His body was plastered to the floor with rain and blood.

All around them were screams. Sirens. Camera flashes. People yelling. Barking orders. A medic stumbling into the ring, slipping on the slick floor. Someone calling for a stretcher. Too late. Far too late.

And in the middle of it all, Dick knelt. Not moving. Not crying. Just… frozen. His tiny frame trembling. His mouth working, but the only sound that came was a sharp, strangled gasp.

The team stood in stunned horror.

No one moved.

Except Johnny, a final twitch. A groan.

Then silence. The team tried to move but they couldn’t.

Dick scrambled forward, tried to reach them, his hands sliding in the blood. He slipped once, fell, got back up—his fingers stretching out toward his mother’s outstretched hand. His body shook with sobs as he collapsed beside her, pulling her hand into his own.

“I—I can’t—no—please,” he whispered. “Please—not again—wake up—wake up—someone—please—”

Then he arrived.

“You’ll be alright. Don’t look. Just don’t look.” Bruce Wayne’s voice. Quiet, strong. Kneeling beside him, silent as stone. Wrapping a coat around Dick’s trembling body, lifting him into his arms. cradled him like something fragile.

“Ma….Pa…” Fractured sobs escape Dicks mouth, he buries his face in his only comfort. A strange man in front of him.

“I know,” Bruce whispered. “But you’ll be alright. I promise.”

The world exploded into bats, screeching and swirling. and the team were thrown out.

The team gasps awake on the medbay’s floor.

Dick screamed and then he awoke. He couldn’t breathe.

Wally caught him, arms already around him. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“Guys—” Wally glanced up. “Give us a minute.” The team nods and filed out, each visibly shaken.

He couldn’t breathe. He was shaking, hyperventilating. His fingers clutched at Wally’s shirt like a lifeline. He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his chest, trying to find air, his fingers trembling. He couldn’t breathe. He could not breathe.

Wally grabbed his shoulders. “Hey. Hey, Dick. Breathe. Just breathe. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Dick curled in on himself, silent sobs wrecking through him.

Wally pulled Dick into his chest, resting his chin on his friend’s hair. “You’re back. It’s okay now. They’re gone. You’re safe.”

“I saw them,” Dick choked out. “I saw all of them.”

“I know,” Wally said, voice breaking. “I know.”

Later, after everyone else had gone to get food or rest, Wally found Dick in the lounge, knees drawn up to his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting beside him.

Dick didn’t answer.

“That Johnny looked cool,” Wally offered. “Taller than I thought.”

Dick’s voice cracked. “He was. He always tried to act like he was older than he was.”

Wally didn’t say anything more. Just stayed there.

That night, he didn’t leave Dick’s side.

In the morning Batman walked through the Zeta tubes.

He didn’t speak as Kaldur debriefed him.

He barely acknowledged anyone else.

Just stared at Robin, eyes shadowed.

When Kaldur was done, Batman crossed the room, knelt beside the couch, and pulled Dick into a hug.

Dick froze, then melted into him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Not your fault,” Bruce whispered. “You’re safe, you came back,” his voice cracks. “That’s all that matters.”

And for once, Bruce Wayne didn’t look like Batman.

He just looked like a father holding his son.

[sunshineangel0]

chapter eleven

pairing- bang chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) genre- slow burn, romantic comedy, slice of life word count- 1.1k warnings- mild language, sweet confessions, post-closing cafe make out (🤭) a/n- this is a little filler chapter for the story since i have a little plot hole in the upcoming plot and i have to figure this out 🤨but i hope you enjoy a small heated chi and chan moment hehehe. also, thanks to my loyal taglist readers 🥹seeing your comments under the posts literally makes my day. i hope you enjoy this story further on like i do 💕💕💕

The kitchen door slammed shut behind them, muffling the chaos outside. Chi spun to face him, hands planted on her hips, eyes wild. “Are you out of your mind?!”

Chris blinked, unbothered. “Probably.”

She stared at him. “You kissed me. In the middle of the café. In front of actual people.” He nodded. “Sure did.”

“During lunch rush.”

He tilted his head. “Wasn’t that busy.”

Chi made a strangled sound and paced two full laps around the prep table before stopping, pointing a trembling finger at him.

“You realize they all know now? Not just that you’re you, but that we—” she waved her hand between them, “—whatever this is?”

Chris didn’t flinch. If anything, he stepped closer.

“I know.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

He hesitated just enough to let the silence stretch. Then, quietly, “No. Not if it’s you.”

Chi’s breath caught.

It would’ve been easier if he laughed it off. If he made a joke and shrugged like he always did. But he didn’t.

He looked at her like this was a decision he’d already made a long time ago. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “You just went public. Without warning. With me.”

Chris gave her a small, crooked smile. “Didn’t plan to. Just got tired of pretending you’re just my barista.”

Her heart lurched. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping close again. “I did.”

She stared at him. At the guy who used to sneak in at 5:30, order coffee like clockwork, disappear without a trace.

Now he was standing here in her kitchen, unmasked in more ways than one. “I’m not exactly built for this,” she whispered.

Chris softened. “I know.”

“I don’t want cameras outside my apartment. I don’t want hate online. I didn’t sign up to be part of the Bang Chan circus.”

“I didn’t want to bring you into it.” He reached for her hand, careful, steady. “But I didn’t want to lose you either.”

Her throat tightened. His fingers brushed hers, tentative, like he was still giving her an out.

“Chi,” he said, voice low. “Tell me what you want.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—finally—she exhaled.

“I want coffee at 5:30. I want peace. I want muffins and music and mornings where we don’t have to think so hard.” She looked up at him. “But more than that, I want you. The version that walks in sleepy and soft. The one who steals pastries and calls me out when I forget to eat.”

Chris’s grip tightened just slightly. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”

“And the rest?”

He smiled. A little sad, but certain. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Chi studied him. It wouldn’t be easy. The fallout was probably already snowballing outside. Headlines. Speculation. Maybe worse.

But in here, in this moment?

It was just them.

She nodded once. “Okay.” Chris blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice steadier now. “But next time you pull a grand romantic gesture in public, warn me. I need time to mentally prepare.”

He grinned. “So no flash mobs?”

“Absolutely not.”

Chris laughed and finally, finally, pulled her into a real hug—tight, grounding, familiar.

Outside, the world might’ve been losing its mind.

But inside this kitchen, wrapped in the arms of the boy who used to be just her regular?

Everything made sense.

The café was dark except for the warm glow of a single light above the counter, casting golden shadows across the room. The air was still thick with the scent of espresso and sugar. Outside, the world had gone quiet.

Chris leaned against the counter, eyes locked on her.

Chi stood a few feet away, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she was trying not to say something reckless.

"Say it," he murmured, voice low, rough.

She didn’t move.

Chris stepped closer. “Chi.” She looked up at him.

Whatever restraint was holding her back? It snapped.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that,” she breathed.

He blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for permission.”

That broke him.

In two steps, he was in front of her, hands gripping her hips, lips crashing into hers before she could say anything else. No hesitation. No space left between them. His mouth was hot, demanding, and she gave in immediately, arms winding around his neck, pulling him in like she needed him closer.

He lifted her, breathless, and set her on the counter in one swift movement—his hands spreading her thighs so he could slot himself between them, chest pressed to hers, heart pounding against her ribs.

Chi moaned softly against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging—just enough to make him groan.

His hands dragged down her sides, over her hips, gripping tighter than usual, grounding himself in the feel of her. She was soft, warm, completely wrapped around him, and he wanted more.

He kissed her like he was starving.

Like he had gone days pretending not to want this.

His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, then lower—nipping at the skin just under her ear, dragging a shaky breath from her chest.

“Chris,” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathless.

He pulled back just enough to look at her.

Eyes heavy. Lips swollen. Face flushed.

And that look—the one that said you’re mine right now—that almost did her in.

“I’ve been trying to be patient,” he said, voice low and dark, “but you keep looking at me like you want me to lose control.”

Chi’s fingers gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him back in. “So lose it.”

He kissed her again—deeper this time. Rougher. His hands slid under her sweater, fingers tracing hot paths along her waist, her back, making her shiver beneath his touch.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him flush against her, and he exhaled a sharp breath against her mouth.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he muttered, lips brushing hers with every word.

“Then stop pretending you don’t want to go crazy for me,” she whispered back.

His answer came in the form of another kiss—hot, possessive, all-consuming. One hand braced behind her, the other cupping her jaw as he tilted her face up to meet him, deeper, harder, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.

The air between them turned molten.

It was teeth and tongue and quiet groans. It was fingers dragging along skin and heat pressing into heat. It was all the tension they’d buried coming undone in a single moment—on a countertop, behind a locked door, in a café that had no idea what it had just witnessed.

And when he finally pulled back, breath ragged, lips still brushing hers, he rested his forehead against hers and whispered:

“I’m not walking away from this. From you.”

Chi’s heart was still thundering in her chest.

Neither was she.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx

Mochi and Bean: @offl-ine @missvanjii @watchingover-hypegirl @namchanhyung @d0nnie---dark0 @queenofdumbfuckery

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[thescarletnargacuga]

It's Showtime!

After the events of yet another, scary adventure, the group wakes up the next day to see- wait... Caine? Hellooo? You there?

Caine is gone, and the day remains without an adventure. This isn't like him. Pomni sets out to find him while the others kick back and enjoy life without the annoying pair of dentures.

Pomni's now... Worried. Extremely worried. Her head begins to spiral... But she soon finds Caine... Sleeping? He can sleep now? And why on the floor-

A message pops over his head.

"Low Power. Charge in Progress."

After a whole day of running... Maybe she could use a nap too...

The two settle down for a nice cuddle.

- 🪿

SLEEP MODE

A SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: none

~~~

"WATCH OUT!" Ragatha called out to Pomni as she dodged the flying bouncy ball. The ball bounced and nearly hit the jester in the face, but she managed to suck just in time.

The ball ricocheted off of a wall and smacked Gangle in the face, breaking her comedy mask. "Ow..." She held her non-existent nose with a whimper. "I don't wanna play this game anymore."

"Too bad, Gangle! Caine is taking forever and I'm bored!" Jax tossed another extremely bouncy ball. It bounced wildly all over the open space, knocking Kinger over, and flew at Zooble.

Zooble held out their clawed hand, stopping the ball dead on the sharp tips. It's slowly deflated and flopped to the floor. "At least this is more entertaining than whatever Caine comes up with. I could watch you idiots knock each other around all day."

Pomni got up from the floor. "None of you find it weird that he hasn't shown up yet? I mean, it's kind of hard to tell how much time has passed but... it's felt like a lot."

Ragatha picked up a bouncy ball. "I'm sure It's nothing to worry about. He's never done this before, but Caine is always trying to surprise us with something new." She gives a forced laugh. "It's fine. Everything is fine. Right guys?"

No one answered her. This was a weird situation, but denial was the first course of action for many of them. Kinger sat up, his eyes rolling from getting hit. "Did someone say something about an insect collection?"

"No Kinger, but I did say HEADS UP!" Jax launched a ball at full speed at Ragatha. She brought her arms up, still holding her own ball, out of reflex. The two balls collided, sending Jax's back at him and slamming him in the face. Ragatha was pushed back, but not hard.

The ball bounced off of every wall at blinding speed. Pomni had enough and ran from the chaos as the others sought cover. She ran all the way out of the circus tent. Taking a deep breath of the "fresher" air, she looked around. Nothing seems different or out of place. The sky was still half day and half night, the digital lake was undisturbed, and the carnival played inviting music.

The sun and moon stared back down at her, but said nothing. She felt awkward so she walked around avoiding eye contact with the celestial bodies. "Caine..? Hey, Caine? You out here? Uh... Everyone's getting pretty antsy, and I- uh, we were just wondering if you're okay?"

With no answer, she walked a bit faster. "Caine!? Caaaaaine?? Ca-"

A snore caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks and listened. Another snore sounded from the digital tree next to her. "Caine?" She looked up, unable to see the top of the branches. Determined to see if it was him, she climbed. The fluffy green top of the tree felt oddly solid, she could grip it like an overfilled bean bag.

At the top, she found Caine lounging on his back. His teeth were closed and he cradled the back of his head with his hands. Cartoonish Z's lazily floated off of him. His chest rose and fell as though he were breathing.

Pomni scooted closer to him on her knees. "Caine?" She said softly, gently nudging him. A red loading bar of some kind popped up, it indicated something was low.

"Huh...guess even AIs need sleep." She looked at the circus tent where the others were still likely trying to end each other with bouncy balls. She didn't feel like going back to that. "Mind if I join you?"

She laid down next to him and closed her eyes. This was a rather nice napping spot. The tree was comfortable and the grounds were surprisingly peaceful when Caine wasn't blaring thematic music. She scooted herself just a little closer, feeling his relaxed weight press down the leaves on his side. There was a comfort to it.

~

The bar reached green, making a light ding sound, and the Z's over Caine's head popped out of existence like balloons. Caine yawned and stretched. He hasn't had a recharge that nice in a while. He felt rested and ready to make another adventure!

Just as he was about to summon his cane, his hand touched an unexpected texture next to him. He startled and flew away a few feet, making all kinds of surprised garble. Seeing a still sleeping Pomni silenced him real quick.

He slowly flew back down to her, his eyes taking in her peaceful disposition. He's never seen her so relaxed. Resting down on the tree top again, he carefully reached out to tuck away the hair that fell in front of her face. "Wow..."

Maybe the next adventure could wait just a little longer. Pomni wasn't done recharging. He took off his tux coat and draped it over her. She couldn't be cold, but it felt like the thing to do.

Pomni stirred lightly, and he was afraid he accidentally woke her up, but she rolled into him and buried her face into his chest.

It took very ounce of willpower for him to not have an over-the-top reaction. He managed to keep it to a blush on the outside, but on the inside he was doing backflips amongst fireworks while singing Ode to Joy.

Caine snapped quietly and shooed the sun away. Humans preferred night, he'd been told. Nighttime ambiance played a soft symphony of crickets and frogs. He smiled and cuddled Pomni. This felt so nice. He hoped it would last. "Sleep well, my dear. I will wait for you."

[covetyou]

send in the clown

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, dubcon, unprotected P in V, anal play, grinding, titty play (clown motorboating), drug use, hotboxing, the shoes stay on, unconventional use of grease paint word count: 4.1k summary: You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

A/N: Happy Halloweekend, friends! Originally this was going to be some dark evil fic with a murderous clown and some non-con, but basically I can't do that. So here you have washed up actor clown Dieter instead, and he's going to rock your world. You're welcome.

This is not inherently scary, but probably something to avoid if you really hate clowns. It's essentially just clown porn. I'm not sorry.

10 points to anyone who can spot the Oscar.

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Want Dieter at the carnival, but don't want the clowns? Check out Candy by @secretelephanttattoo

Loud noises and knives and fire and bodies bent into strange shapes.

It sounded more like a horror movie down on paper, but the lights and music were dazzling, amazing, turning something terrifying into something beautiful.

You sipped too sweet drinks and munched on overpriced snacks as you watched on with your friends, laughing and gasping with them as the sights before you unfolded. A tiny woman bending herself over backwards, shooting apples off of people's heads with a bow and arrow clenched in her delicate feet. A couple swinging through the air, no wire in sight, fabric fluttering along behind them as they flew. Sword swallowers, fire breathers, acrobats, magicians, clowns.

Clowns.

You were mesmerized by it all, taken in so completely, that when you all stumbled out after several hours and made your way home, you didn't even notice you'd left your scarf until you moved to pull it off as you stepped in your front door. They weren't in town for long, things like this never were, so you turn around and head back to your car, driving back the way you came until the big top comes back into view.

It had been almost an hour since you left and the parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few cars closer to the entrance. The sign was no longer illuminated, but lights shone brightly from inside the gate as a handful of people bustled around, packing up for the night.

You make your way to the ticket booth, spotting a grizzly old man with a toothpick between his teeth closing up, pulling a small box filled with ticket stubs and loose change out from the desk.

"We're closed," he grumbles, not bothering to look at you as he turns the key, locking the booth, and stomps away.

"I know," you shout, feet squelching in a wet patch of grass as you stumble after him. "I lost something, left it here. Do you have a lost and found?"

He stops, eyes you up, then sends you inside, directing you to an open sided tent. You walk in semi-darkness, listening out for the shouts and jokes of the cast and crew ending their day.

Two people sit there, feet up on a box and cards in hand. One has a threadbare sweater thrown on over a skimpy lyrca outfit adorned in sequins, the other looks like he could have been in the audience if it wasn't for the peak of tattoos from the top of his hoodie and across his hands.

They don't notice you standing there, so you clear your throat. Sequins is just about to play a card, but halts mid way through the movement and looks up, raising his painted on eyebrows at you.

"We're closed," Tattoos repeats, not bothering to turn to look your way.

"I lost a scarf. Was told to come here," you explain. You just want your scarf back.

Sequins slaps the card down on the box then sits back, eyeing you up and down just as the grizzled old man did, crossing his toned arms over his chest. "What's it look like?"

"Woolen, red and brown kind of checks. It's pretty big, almost like a blanket?"

Tattoos scoffs, finally turning to look at you. "Oh yeah, that one. Bravo the Clown took it. No one ever comes back for shit they lose at the circus, toots. If you want it back you're gonna have to go ask him."

"Okay, and where can I find this Bravo the Clown."

They send you off to a trailer on the other side of the camp. You hear their laughter as you turn your back and walk away, squelching back through patches of wet grass that hadn't been boarded over.

The trailer is worn and old, a colorful tarp covering the front window and stapled into the ground. "Bravo" is scrawled on the door in sharpie, scribbles of other color around it so it looks like the name has exploded from the door. There's a faint light from inside, and you can hear music playing, but there's no answer when you knock.

You try the handle, the door opening a crack before jamming. You tug harder, and the door swings open, nearly knocking you down onto the wet ground.

Smoke billows out. You almost think there's a fire when you smell something earthy and herbal. Definitely not a fire.

You call out over the music, a repetitive carnival jingle, and when there's no response, you climb up the few steps and step foot into the trailer of Bravo the Clown.

It's dark inside, the smoke barely cleared and the tarp masking any light from outside in a red haze. The herbal stench in the air is thicker inside, covering the stale musky smell of sweat and dust.

When your eyes adjust to the dark through the haze of smoke, you see the place is a mess. Wigs of all shapes and colors are thrown haphazardly onto a crooked shelf on the wall, something shiny hidden behind a puff of rainbows. Shoes litter the walkway, and clothes and costume pieces are strewn over a bench seat. There's a patch where it looks like someone has been sitting, and next to it, your scarf, screwed tight into a messy ball and pushed down into the rest of the clothing.

You approach, going to grab your scarf and leave, when you're distracted by a long mirror sitting to one side, a worn chair in front of it. There's a vanity where brushes and pallettes are thrown, pots of grease paint left open and discarded.

You drag your fingers across the worn wooden vanity. Picking up one pot of paint - a vibrant white - you are moments from swiping your finger across the pristine surface when a gruff voice startles you.

"What the fuck?!"

You spin, paint falling from your hand and clattering to the ground. Stood there is a half man, half clown, joint perched between his lips, makeup smudged over his face. His hair is sweaty, sticking up at all angles, wig nowhere to be seen. You cast your eyes down him. An oversized striped shirt is pulled open, graying undershirt beneath on show, sweat stains at the armpits and a wet patch on the hem. His red pants are unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, his suspenders unclipped at the front and hanging down low behind him. Large shoes jut out from the bottoms, bulbous and curving slightly upward.

"What the fuck are you doin' in here," he says from around the joint, throwing his hands up in the air.

You stumble over your words, stuttering a few times before you can spit it out. He looks at you like you're stupid, like you're the one with paint smeared over your face.

"I- I lost my scarf. They said you had it, I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Do you think breaking and entering is okay because I'm a fuckin' clown," he yells, pulling the door closed and slamming it hard when it gets jammed again.

He stalks toward you, blowing a puff of smoke into your face, making your eyes water, before he flops down into the worn chair in front of the vanity. It creaks as he stretches back, the tip of one of his too big shoes running up your leg.

"Do you think stealing is okay because you're a clown?" you retort, hands on your hips, shaking your head in disbelief. You never pictured your evening ending in an argument with a half-dressed clown.

More smoke puffs from his mouth as he laughs at you, face contorting strangely as he smiles with a down turned red mouth smeared across his own.

"What're you going to give me," he says, pulling his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile on the bench.

"What?"

He takes another long drag on his joint, and lets the smoke billow from his lungs before he sits back and replies. "For the scarf. What's it worth to you."

You watch his hand stroke down his belly, past the wet patch on his t-shirt and down to the front of his pants. He adjusts himself, rolling his hips as he palms his cock through the fabric.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe it's the smoke going to your head, the haze of the room making you feel stuffy and floaty, clouding your judgement. Or maybe you've always had a fucking thing for clowns, you flithy b-

"Anything," you say, before you can stop yourself. He laughs, throwing his head back as he flicks ash onto the floor.

"Then take that coat off and come here. Show me them pretty tits."

You unbutton your coat, throwing it onto the bench with your scarf. You look down, thick sweater obstructing any view he'd have of your chest, and decide to yank that off too, pulling it over your head and discarding it with your coat. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoke and the sweaty smell of Bravo the Clown, before you pull down your tank top and bra, pushing your tits out of their cups and exposing them to the cold air.

"Can I have my scarf back now?"

"No! I want a closer look," he pats his lap, visible tent now forming in his red pants. "Come sit down on Bravo the Clowns lap, sugar tits," he says with husky laugh.

You shuffle forward trying not to trip over his shoes as you wonder how you'll perch on his lap with his knees spread so wide. You don't have long to think when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you onto him, your knees straddling either side of his thighs on the chair. It creaks and groans, and you shift on him, terrified the old chair is going to collapse with the weight of you.

He takes a final long drag from his joint, before snuffing it on the vanity and blowing the rest of the smoke into your face. You cough and splutter, blinking back watering eyes, when two large hands come up and grab your tits, massaging them as your chest heaves.

"Nice."

You blink again and look down to see him smiling at your tits, nodding as he massages them. He squeezes them together, watching as the skin squishes and puckers under his fingers. His hands are rough, fingernails painted with chipped polish that glitters in the dim lighting of his trailer. The grimace painted onto his face a stark contrast to the man underneath having the time of his life.

He's entranced, looking at your tits as he squeezes them. Painted fingertips come and pinch your nipples, pulling at them and making you gasp. Your back arches as he tugs, jiggling both as he pinches and laughing as they ripple with the movement. Your hips shift forward, nudging the hardness in his pants, and you fight to still yourself and not grind against him.

Before you know it, he's mashing your tits together again and shoving his face between them, rubbing the scruff of his jaw across your delicate skin, smearing paint all over your chest. He breathes in, and you feel him start to nip and suckle at your flesh as he rubs from side to side, burying his face in you as you push your hips down hard onto his cock.

As quick as he started, he flops back with a sigh, letting your tits fall heavy from his grasp. He smiles serenely as he looks at his handiwork, white and red and blue smeared into a mess of lavender across your tits.

"Think you liked that as much as I did," he taunts, gesturing to where your crotch sits flush against his stiff cock. "Shame you're in so many fuckin' layers." He runs a hand up your thigh, pinging the thickness of your tights against your leg before fingers play with the edge of your skirt where it's bunched around your thighs. He tugs it higher, pulling it to your waist.

He slides his hands back down, thumbs tracing down the front of your tights, teasing the apex of your thighs. One hand holds you there, stopping you from rocking into him again, whilst the other slides between you, rubbing broadly over your damp, covered crotch.

You close your eyes, letting him massage your pussy with his large hand, the sensation muted by so many layers. You rock into his palm as you float along on his lap, lost in his heavy breathing and the monotonous music still jingling along in the background.

He starts muttering, playing with the waistband of your tights, looking for a better way in, a way to get to your cunt that means you don't have to get off his lap. Your eyes snap open, you watch as he shrugs, a wicked smile pulling smeared makeup across his face. He pulls at your tights, gripping in both hands, tearing the fabric and exposing your inner thighs and panties to him. You can't help but moan as you feel his hand find your bare skin, and push against the wet front of your panties.

He lets out a low whistle, he'd barely touched you and you're dripping, grinding against his hand. "I can do one better than my hand," he says, waggling his eyebrows and looking down to his crotch. He's fully hard now, tent more impressive than the big tops outside.

Before he can say another word, you're reaching for his pants, pulling the zipper down and fishing out his rock hard length. He pulls both his arms back holding them up in mock surrender.

"Woah, woah!" he laughs.

You start to stroke his cock, pumping up and down, drawing the precum dripping from his tip over your palm and down his length with each stroke. He's watching you as you play with him, teasing his tip, reaching down into his red pants with your other hand to stroke his balls. They're heavy in your hand and sticky with sweat, but you squeeze them as you jerk him, making him groan, throw his head back and grip the arms of his chair.

Your pussy is cold without his hand, neglected. You don't want to let go of the weight of him, so you rub his tip over the front of your soaked panties, dragging it over your clit and applying pressure as you circle it with his head. You need more, more friction, so you hold him against you, rocking your hips against one side of him as your palm holds him to you in the other.

"Oh, hell yeah. Are you gonna come just from grinding on me?!" he says in disbelief, listening to your desperate moans as you jerk him against your pussy.

"No," you gasp, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face over the layer of greasy paint. The look of him alone is almost sending you stratospheric - the hair, the paint, the sweat - but the friction against your pussy isn't enough. "I want to put it in me."

He looks like he's won the lottery, wide eyes and thrilled face covered in paint nodding back at you, gesturing down to his dick as if to say help yourself.

You yank your panties to the side as you rock your hips into his cock, still holding him tight to you. Your slick pussy glides up and down his length, his head rubbing directly over your clit with each cant of your hips. You're moaning, wiggling on him as he watches straight down at his cock gliding against your bare cunt.

"Do you have a...?" you say, looking around the room for anywhere where he might stash a condom.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "If you want it, you gotta take it like this."

You don't even consider any other option, you simply plunge your two middle fingers deep inside you, gathering your slick before smearing it around yourself and down the other side of Bravo the Clown's cock. You raise up on your knees, the chair creaking again as you move, and tease him against your entrance before taking him inside you.

"Oh, Bravo," you moan as you sink down onto his cock.

"Thank you, I'm here 'til Tuesday," he jokes, miming a bow from where he's seated. You bet he uses that on everyone. You soon wipe the smug grin off his face when you lift up and slam back down onto him, moaning his name once again before you begin fucking yourself on him in earnest. "Fuck."

"Dieter," he whines as you bounce on him, chasing a high that seems so out of reach with the high already muffling your head, "Name's Dieter."

"Dieter," you groan, bottoming out and groaning as you rock your hips over him, his cock seated deep in you.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," he grunts, clown shoes planted flat on the floor giving him leverage to pound up into you as you meet his every thrust. The chair is creaking, the trailer shaking, your lavender colored tits bouncing with each pound. His glazed over eyes watch them bounce in front of his face, a frown knitting his brows together and creasing the paint slathered on his skin as he tries to focus on your jiggling breasts. You think you see him go cross eyed as he tries to look at both of your nipples at once.

You're about to reach your hand down, circle your clit and bring yourself over the edge when arms wrap around you pulling you toward him, face falling into his neck. You can smell him more strongly here, the smell of sweat and weed clinging to him like a second skin. He holds onto your ass as he pounds up into you, pulling your cheeks apart. From this angle you can feel the grind of his hair against your clit with every thrust, and you muffle your moan into his neck.

"Ohhhhh."

"Gonna have to give me more than that, ain't been long since I last came," he huffs into your ear as he pulls you apart. You can feel the slick smear of grease paint on the side of your face.

There's another loud rip, your tights being torn again, this time from behind to expose more of your ass. He slows down the roll of his hips into yours as he pulls you deeper, and deeper, letting you grind down onto him even easier, the rub of him against your clit almost perfect now. The feel of his throbbing cock deep in your pussy, rough hands pulling your ass open and the scratch of his pubic hair on your clit feel so good, but you can't quite get there, whatever end you're trying to reach chased away by the fuzz in your head.

You whine from his neck, shifting your hips, trying to see if another spot would work better. Bravo - Dieter catches on and you hear his voice rumble from his chest as you rock on his lap.

"What's your favorite color?"

Now hardly seems like the time to get to know each other, but you humor him. "Blue," you breathe, rubbing your nose against his cheek, the smell of grease paint strong.

"Blue it is."

One arm lets go of you and you hear something on the vanity. You keep rocking your hips, still so close but not close enough. He brings his hand back and you gasp at a foreign sensation between your cheeks.

It's thick and slick, swiping smoothly across your asshole. You moan and gasp against his face, halting your movements and lifting off him a fraction. He laughs, swiping his slicked finger back and forth over your ass, circling the tight ring before dipping a fingertip in just as he pulls you back down flush onto his cock.

It's intense, and you moan so loud Tattoos and Sequins can probably hear you.

"And that's improv," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again.

"Fuck, more," you beg, as he slips more of his fingertip into your ass, fucking you hard now as you grip his neck and bring your face in line with his.

He laughs at you, panting with the effort of fucking you. "Oh you're freaky, I like it."

"Watch who you're calling a freak, clown." Your grip his neck, holding on for dear life, unphased by the spread of his face paint onto your own skin.

Both arms are wrapped around you, one feeling at your entrance where he pounds into you, creamy slick coating his fingers with each thrust, the other between your cheeks, finger hooked into your tight hole. His finger tugs at you with each bounce onto his cock, stretching you and making you feel fuller than you are. You tilt your hips again, clit colliding with his thick hair, gridning against you, and you see stars glitter around your vision. They're so close now, the haze in your brain diffusing the light as it draws closer and closer.

"Hnnnng, I'm so close," you groan, rubbing your nose against his.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you pull his mouth onto yours. You kiss him, moaning and grinding against his lap, his tongue flicking against the seam of your lips just as the stars align and burst in your vision.

You come with a deep groan into his mouth, clenching tight around his cock as he frantically pounds up into you, hips stuttering as sweat drips down his face. You feel him start to twitch and then his cock is slipping from you, the remnants of your own orgasm fading as his cock slides against the outside of your cunt and spurts thick ropes of cum up against his belly, catching the already damp hem of his t-shirt.

You sit, faces together, panting for a moment, kissing him again just before he slides his finger from your ass, wiping the slick onto your exposed skin. When he looks down at his spent cock, he groans and huffs.

"Not again. I like this shirt."

He tuts at himself, flopping his arms down and looking around for something to tidy up with. He gives up, instead grabbing a tin from the vanity, popping it open, and starts to roll another joint on his chest.

You take that moment to climb off him, covering your pussy with the scrap of fabric of your panties, tugging your skirt down and your tank top up to cover as much of you as you can. The paint on your chest will stain, but you'll think about that later.

You throw your coat back on, not bothering with your sweater or the mess on your face, when Dieter addresses you again.

"Don't forget your scarf."

You roll your eyes, casting an exasperated look at him only to see him looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You take your scarf, unbunching it and immediately sticking your hand in something wet and sticky. Even in the darkness, you can tell it's almost definitely cum. You look over to Dieter, disgusted look on your face as he shrugs his shoulders.

"If I'd known you'd come here begging for some of this," he gestures down his slouched body, "I never would've done that sweet cheeks. That one's on you."

"You're an ass."

"I'm not an ass, I'm the one and only Bravo the Clown." He spreads his arms wide, looking obscene with his flaccid cock hanging out of his bright red pants, belly covered in cum and face paint smeared all over his face. He places the unlit joint between his lips and you walk past him, pushing open the door to his trailer and stepping outside into the clear air. You take a deep breath, head already feeling clearer when you turn back, a question on your lips.

He's stood at the door of his trailer, tucking his cock back in, looking even crazier now that your head is clearer.

"The music?" you ask. It'd been playing this whole time, the same tune over and over.

"It's called method acting, sweet cheeks," he says with a wink, lighting his new joint and tilting his head back to expel a plume of smoke into the night sky.

You laugh, you can't help it, the man is a caricature even of himself, but there's something so intoxicating about it.

"Goodnight, Dieter."

You walk back to your car to the tinkling of fairground music and Bravo the Clown's raspy laughter.

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[spectreofgreengables]

My First Actual Post And of Course It's Stolitz Fanfic

Anyway here's the beginning of the Stolitz fic that came to me in a dream :)

Synopsis:

17-year-old Blitz is one of the top circus performers in Hell, and that should come as no surprise, since he’s spent his entire life performing with his father’s circus. Behind the facade of dazzling glitter and daring feats of strength, however, the circus was no place for a young imp dealing with deteriorating mental health after the loss of his mother. Blitz’ father is determined to hide his son’s worsening mental health and confines Blitz to solitude when his panic attacks manifest. 

Meanwhile, as Stolas approaches the date of his preordained marriage, he begins sneaking into the circus to spend his last moments of freedom watching his one and only friend shine on stage. One night, he notices that one performer fails to make it on stage during the second act, and decides to find out what has happened to his childhood friend. On discovering Cash's cruelty to his friend, he helps Blitz escape his dangerous home life.

...

Fifty feet in the air, suspended by nothing but a hoop on a wire and his own strength, Blitz was in his element. His entire life had been spent swinging from ropes, scaling daunting poles, and diving into open air to the uproarious cheers of the circus audience. He’d been able to suspend his own body weight from his arms before he’d learned to walk, and for the past decade he’d been drawing crowds every night to witness the Amazing Blitzo fly through blazing lights illuminating the vast drapery of his father’s big top.

Why then, was he now filled with dread as he prepared to execute an acrobatic routine that he could have performed in his sleep? Blitz took a shaky breath and offered a coy smirk to the crowd below, though from this height he could only see vague circles indicating the hundreds of heads gazing up at him, rapt by the bold imp’s performance. 

“Two minutes and thirteen seconds of music,” the boy reminded himself, “and it’s not like you’ve ever missed the hoop,” he added, muttering under his breath. 

Blitz wiped his sweaty hands on his jumpsuit, covering his anxious habit with a flourish of his arms, and swung himself under and around the hoop, preparing to execute a complicated maneuver that required splitting his legs and letting go of the hoop, using his momentum to fling his body around before catching himself back on the cold metal ring. He exhaled as he released the hoop, timing his momentum with his breath, but as he reached to take hold of the metal once more, his breath caught in his throat. His vision danced. The sounds around him faded as though he had been submerged in deep water. Suddenly he couldn’t focus on the hoop. His music was gone. A flare of panic seared through his body, all at once hot and red and undefinable. 

Then it was over. 

His hands reached to grab the hoop, just as they had done hundreds of times before, but never before had he been so shaky, palms coated in a sheen of sweat. He grasped for the ring, but his left hand slipped, unable to find purchase on the unforgiving metal, and he was left suspended, dangling from one arm high in the air for all to see. 

“Dammit, Blitzo,” he chided himself, the gravity of his predicament setting in. His body swung wildly until he was able to reach the hoop with his tail and swing himself back into the relative safety of the ring. From there, he just had to finish the routine. Once he was back on the floor, he could worry about his father’s outrage. 

 He spun himself, twisted, swung, and dove to catch onto his partner’s arms before swinging safely back to his platform at the top of the tent. From there, it was time for the girls below, dancing on horses in sequined leotards, to draw the audience’s attention back to the floor and away from Blitz, who now sat, chest heaving, against the pole at the top of the tent. 

“You absolute idiot,” he thought to himself, “If Papa saw that, you'll have to find a new costume to wear to cover the lashes on your back.” His stomach dropped, dread coiling its frozen tendrils through his skin. It had been months since he’d messed up badly enough for his father to take off the belt, but Blitz knew from experience that messing up during a performance could mean sleeping on his stomach for a week. 

Since his mother had died, the beatings had become more frequent, and Blitz had less and less control over the manifestations of his own anxiety. It was easy enough to keep himself out of his father’s scornful eye during the day, but mid-performance, with all eyes on him, Blitz couldn't hide the fact that his panic attacks were becoming frighteningly consistent. The last time he’d broken down in public, his father hadn’t let him back on stage for a week, until he’d sworn he could stop “freaking out,” and Blitz fully intended to keep his promise. Embarrassing his father was the last thing he wanted to do, if not out of hope for gaining his father’s approval, at least because his mother would want him to be strong. 

This time, however, his freak out hadn’t just impacted his performance; it had nearly led to a fatal accident in the middle of a show. 

The cold, hard reality of the very tangible fear of his father dissolved the remaining effects of the panic attack and Blitz scurried down to the circus floor and readjusted his costume, ready to make his final bow at the end of the show with the rest of the performers.

 Safely back on the ground, he dazzled the crowd with a roguish grin and flick of his tail, making young imps blush at his posturing. Blitz’s mind wasn’t in it at all, though. The panic from the trapeze had wiped his energy, and he felt as though he was floating behind his own body, watching the world go on around him, watching his own body perform without him. As he followed his showmates backstage, he dug his fingernails into his palms so hard he felt blood begin to prickle from his skin. Good. It was much better to be firmly grounded in this reality than floating along in a haze of some unspoken worry. 

“Boy!” The summons came from the corner; gruff, unwavering, and sent a pang of dread through Blitz’s exhausted body. 

“Here. Now.” 

Blitz obliged, rubbing his hands together to disguise the gore that he’d sliced into his own hands as he made his way over to his father. 

“The fuck was that, huh?” Cash Buckzo growled under his breath. Blitz flared his nostrils, but fought to keep his nose from scrunching. The words were unmistakably laced with the reek of booze. 

“According to the posters, we call it a circus,” he retorted, not sure exactly how much of his blunder had been seen by his father, not wanting to admit aloud how perilous his situation had been. 

“Think you’re being clever, huh?” Cash growled under his breath, and Blitz tensed. “You certainly didn’t look so clever when you fucked up that aerial act tonight. Nearly dropped to the floor, you did. And with a fuckin sold out audience, too” 

“I didn't -” Blitz began, but his father held up a fist. Blitz immediately quieted. 

“I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve got goin’ on in that idiotic head of yours, but I swear to Lucifer if you don’t straighten up and get over your pathetic ass, Fizarolli is in for a hell of a raise.” 

“I -” but the words were gone from his throat, gone with the breath and and the world around him again. 

No no no. Not now. Blitz fought to keep his composure, but his father’s face was swimming through an inky whirlpool. His hearing was pulsing from distant and heavy to loud and sharp and biting. Somehow the stitching on his costume was digging into his skin and simultaneously pushing him out of his own head all at once. 

“No boy of mine is going to embarrass me like that in front of my live audience.” A hand grabbed his forearm and suddenly he was pitched headlong into an empty stable. Had they been walking outside all this time? 

He was falling, and just had time to fling out his arms before he collapsed into the rough concrete, skinning his knees and palms. 

“What do you want from me?” He screamed, voice pitching in his throat as the coldness, hardness, and sharpness of the world refocused in his mind all at once. 

“You’re embarrassing me.” His father replied, shortly. “If you’re going to act like a fucking addict to your own selfish woes, then you’ll sit in here alone until you can behave.” 

Blitz registered the irony of the accusation, but the words stung nonetheless. His father was cruel, yes, but had always taken out his anger with a bout of violence. A few lashes, a blow to the leg, a smack on the cheek if he was really drunk. But then it was over. 

Not this time. 

“Something is up with you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I let the fits slide when your mother first passed, but it’s been months. This is ridiculous. If you’re going to keep having these… episodes,” he spat the word out like a wad of stale gum “then you’ll have to sit here and work out how to stop them. Man up, or get out.” 

Blitz looked into his father’s face, searching the cold eyes for so much as a hint of empathy, compassion, parental worry, anything. Instead, he was met with a face of stony sobriety that would haunt his mind until the day he died. 

“You’ll get over this bullshit, or you’ll go to the streets. Either way, I’m done looking after your pathetic ass. My employee you may be, but you certainly aren’t worth calling my son.”

The wooden door of the stable slammed into place, iron bars rattling in place, a mocking grin against the lamplight from the street outside. Blitz sat on the ground, unmoving, until the light flickered out and his legs had gone numb from the unforgiving concrete beneath him. Then he backed himself into the corner of the stall and held his breath, feeling silent sobs wrack his insides while hot tears slid down his face. 

“I will do better.” he whispered to no one when the crying finally relented. Then he faded into a fitful sleep. 

… 

“Three months left,” Stolas whispered to himself as he crossed out another day on the calendar pinned to his wall. He wondered vaguely if any other boy had ever dreaded his 18th birthday with as much apprehension as himself. As he sat on the side of his bed, staring drearily at the makeshift countdown he’d created to his own wedding, Stolas felt his eyes begin to sting. He didn’t want to be a prince. He didn’t care about performing some kind of grotesque masquerade of royalty for the other Goetia. He wanted to read; to learn about the world around him. To experience life without the shroud of upholding some ephemeral ideal of wealth or class or prestige. He wanted to feel alive again like he hadn’t felt since the day he’d learned of his betrothal to some frightful,  indistinct princess. 

He wanted to feel alive like the circus imps. 

Stolas still remembered his first visit to the circus, all those years ago. The way he had felt watching the actors dance, flip, twist, and contort like nothing he’d ever seen before. The raw energy of pure excitement had been intoxicating to the young prince, and he’d spent most of his teen years searching for something that could replicate the feeling of elation he’d felt with the swell of the music, the dazzle of the costumes, and the aura of the performers all those years ago.

He’d tried running away, but he was never quite able to feel confident on his own outside of the safety of the palace walls. 

He’d tried to make friends, but nobody was interested in listening to him prattle on about his lessons, and he could never quite bring himself to care about anything the other kids around him were interested in. He wasn’t excited about girls, or planning camping trips, or bragging about how much he could knick from convenience store shelves. 

Sighing, Stolas slid from the edge of his bed to the floor, crashing rather more abruptly to the ground than he had intended. 

Somewhere on the other side of his bed, he heard a thump and the tinkle of breaking glass. Stolas stood to find whatever he had broken in his moment of melodrama. He stepped around the corner of the bed to find that a small crystal pendant had fallen to the floor from where it had been suspended on the wall. He bent down to pick it up, and realized with a pang of nostalgia that it was one of the decorations he’d gathered from around the castle on the day he’d spent playing pirate games with the imp boy from the circus. 

“Blitzo,” he whispered, the name equally as foreign to his lips as it was familiar to his heart. 

Stolas straightened up with a start. Blitzo had been his friend for an entire day, and he hadn’t been boring at all. The imp from the circus had been crude, to be sure, but they’d had fun together — a real, silly, honest, and authentic kind of fun that he hadn’t experienced since. 

When his father discovered that Blitzo had convinced Stolas to help him steal from the castle, he’d had the imp thrown out and grounded Stolas for a month, but Stolas hadn’t minded. He already spent his days locked in the library whether he was allowed out of the castle or not. It was the fact that, for the first time in his life, he’d actually had fun with another kid that had been the most exciting part of his birthday. For a while, calling Blitzo his friend had been enough to keep him going, hoping that one day he’d be able to reunite with his childhood friend. 

But as the lonely weeks turned into months and then years and his funny, brazen friend never returned for more mischief, Stolas resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to see the imp again. 

Now he sat alone on the floor of his room, counting down the last days of freedom before his wedding to Princess Stella, grasping for memories with any trace of genuine joy or connection he could hold onto in the days to come. He allowed himself a moment to imagine his once-friend performing outrageously daring tricks in his father’s circus as crowds watched in awe, dazzled by the imp’s talent. He knew Blitzo would have grown up by then, just as he had, but could only picture him as the young boy he had been as they raced, giggling through the palace on that one lovely afternoon. 

“Stolas!” came the shout of the butler from the hall, breaking him from his reverie. “Your father is waiting for you in the sitting room, and I believe you’d find it prudent to not keep him waiting.” Stolas listened for a brief moment more, waiting for the sound of footsteps to recede down the passage, away from his room, but he could only hear the thumping of his own heart inside his chest. He groaned, not caring to stifle the sounds of his annoyance. Then he pulled on a shirt, heading into the hallway to face whatever incessant, performative task his father had for him today. 

When Stolas entered the sitting room, he found no one. He glanced over his shoulder at the butler, who just nodded and indicated that he should take a seat on the sofa facing a rather large mirror on the opposite wall. As he did so, the mirror shimmered and his father’s face appeared, wearing an expression that could only be described as utter apathy. 

“Oh good,” came the voice from the mirror, all at once booming and eerily flat. “Glad you could make it, ah, son.” 

“Stolas, Dad,” came the muttered correction from the sofa. Stolas did not meet his fathers gaze. 

“Right, right. Stelis, of course.” The king glanced down at something not shown on the mirror’s surface. Notecards, maybe. 

“Well, as you know, your engagement period is soon ending, and it’s my job to make sure that you are well prepared for your new responsibilities.” 

Stolas continued to look down at his lap, determined not to make eye contact. 

“ I just wanted to make sure you’d finished reading that book we gave you, and a reminder that you are obligated to produce at least one heir in this marriage. Stella assures us that she is excited as ever for your union.”

Stolas huffed, letting out a puff of air from his beak so strong that it ruffled the feathers on his leg. 

“Hm. right. Well, I believe that is all I’m legally obligated to say. I will be in attendance at the wedding next week and —”

“Next week?” Stolas nearly choked out his surprise. “No, Dad. I don't turn eighteen for another three months.” 

“Right, right, and we know that. But Stella is eighteen next week, and it’s really only the bride’s age that matters in things like this, so I  will in fact see you at the wedding next week.” 

There was a distinct Shhhtikk as the king tapped his notecards on the desk in front of him, and the mirror went blank once more. Stolas was left staring into his own reflection, realizing with a start that the face in the mirror looked far too young to be getting married. The round face before him belonged to a scared little boy. Stolas shook his head, ruffling the feathers around his face as he did so, which only accentuated his juvenile appearance. 

He stood abruptly and ran from the mirror, racing through the entryway, past the courtyard, and through the gate at the end of the driveway. 

Stolas ran down the street, ignoring the ache in his side until his legs were jello. He stumbled into the first business he found with an open door.

 It was still early in the morning, but the cafe smelled like warm cinnamon toast and roasted espresso. Stolas drifted up to the counter, ignoring the stares from the cafe patrons around him. 

“Good morning!” came the cheery albeit well-rehearsed greeting from the barista. “What can I get started for you?”

“I..I don’t like coffee.” Stolas admitted quietly. The girl behind the counter looked him up and down. 

“No worries! I have just the thing.” She smiled. She turned away from him and started pouring, steaming, and mixing away behind the bar. Stolas just stared blankly out of the windows, looking through posters from local businesses taped to the windows to the street beyond. 

“Here ya go!” The bright voice brought the prince back to the present. 

“No coffee. I promise.” she pushed a cup into his hands and turned to help the next customer. 

Stolas found a seat in a corner of the shop near the bathrooms and collapsed into the booth. One week. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Nobody had said anything to him about his marriage since the first time his father had brought it up on his tenth birthday all those years ago, and now, they had decided to change the entire timeline of his youth without so much as pretending to consider his feelings.

Not that anyone ever gave him a choice. His entire life had been prescribed for him, and he was just expected to go along with it. Constantly. Not to mention the fact that his own father couldn't even do him the decency of remembering his name. 

Well, if he was going to be married in the next week, then the next six days were going to have to be entirely his own. Stolas took a tentative sip of the drink in his hands, and instantly felt warmth seep through his body, reinvigorating him. 

“Hot chocolate!” He tittered to himself, and looked up to give the barista a grateful smile. As he finished sipping his drink, Stolas found himself absentmindedly looking over the posters taped to the window in front of him. One in particular stood out to him amongst the clutter. A poster with alternating red and grey stripes arranged at an angle, fanning out from the center of the ad like a sunburst. “The Greatest Circus in all of Hell!” the text proclaimed, displaying a location and series of showtimes in smaller text near the bottom of the ad. Stolas smiled and pulled down the poster, pocketing it before anyone noticed it was gone. One of the times was listed for that very evening. 

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] Keep Me From a Thief [1/1]

Rating: T Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Gale, Lae'zel Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Word Count: 6k Notes: The last of the prompt fills from Tumblr, combining a number of suggestions. From @compels, Tav getting stuck in Chult alone; from @athousandotherfaces, "love lies bleeding" for hopelessness; and from @cheesiestart-redux, "Queen of the Meadows" for uselessness. Summary: After foiling the djinni's plan to cheat them at the circus, Tav is whisked away to parts unknown. Astarion, as always, manages the worry with perfect grace and aplomb—right up until he starts bleeding. An exploration of the Warding Bond rings when worn by two people with completely unhealthy relationships to pain.

—

“You absolute wanker,” Tav said, incensed, and with a sudden sound like a joint popping, she disappeared in a puff of violet smoke.

For a moment Astarion could hardly understand what had happened. Mere seconds ago he’d been happily watching Tav lift every item not nailed down from the shelves, the tent, and the djinn’s own silken pockets. Now, with a snap of the djinn’s oversized purple fingers, Tav was simply gone. More than gone. Vanished as if she’d never existed, Lae’zel and Gale staring back at him across the empty space, violet smoke dissipating between them with a smell of rain. Automatically he reached for Tav with the worm, only to find a yawning void where her mind had been. The sounds of the circus floated over them: laughter, cheers, strains of music, all undisturbed by this feat of hocus-pocus from a sideshow djinn and his cursed, rigged wheel.

A djinn, Astarion realized, who was looking smug as a cat in the cream.

—

Links: FF.net, AO3

[acehazbin1]

Newcomer 🌸

Summary: The GN reader is a new comer and Caine is showing them around but the reader gets overstimulated; Caine tries to figure out how to calm them down while the reader is frazzled.

………………….………………….………………….

“Welcome to the Amazing Digital Circus!” A strong voice says as teeth with a ringmaster suit fly in. “My name is Caine! I'm your ringmaster, and I'm here to show you, the most jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, mind-bending paraphernalia you've ever laid your eyes upon!” He went on his introduction as something slowly, well not slowly… fell from the sky. The voice was getting louder and louder but so was the theme song.

“Ragatha, Jax, and there's Kaufmo-” A person at full speed fell into the cardboard cut of Kaufmo, words popped up on the screen but the theme song suddenly stopped as the person who landed on the cardboard was a newbie. “Fuck my back” The person blinked their eyes a couple of times as their eyes readjusted to the bright colourful background.

“Now, now, now, my dear.” The giant teeth flew down beside, “We can't have any of that foul language around here.” The person jolted back, they were still on the ground scrunched up into a near ball. “What's wrong with them?” A lanky purple bunny asked with no concern in his voice. “They just landed here, give them a break, Jax.” The red-headed doll pushed past Jax and walked towards them.

“What is happening? Where am I?” The person, or were they even a person at this point asked frantically looking around at the weird people. The doll opened her mouth but was cut off by the ringmaster grabbing the person's hand and dragging them up. “You are at the Amazing Digital circus, a place to be enjoyed by all ages!”

The teeth pulled them close to his side as he pointed with his cane to the ‘people’ “That Jax, Ragatha, Zooble, Gangle, Pomni, inside that pillow tent that's Kinger, I’m Caine and this is bubble!” He pulled them away and looked at the others. The bunny called Jax walked up to Caine pushing the ribbon out of the way, making her comedy mask fall onto the floor. “So Caine, We are having a new adventure today for the newbie, or what?”

Caine tapped his cane against his teeth, as he thought for a second. “I'd like to give our new member a tour of the circus grounds!” He twirled his cane around and grabbed the person's wrist. “Off we go!” The person's face twisted uncomfortably as he grabbed them.

At light speed, Caine dragged the person out of the circus tent. “Here we have the TENT” Big bold letters appear making their eyes not focus right, as Caine continued. “This is where your living quarters are! as well as all sorts of other activities! These activities may include..” A dial-up tone blares as the sound makes their ears feel like they're burning, they push their hands against their ears to try to make the sound quieter. Their eyes still couldn't focus with all the colours and their ears couldn't focus with the music in the background plus the dial-up tones blaring in their ear.

“Ball pits, mini golf, and more!” Caine kept moving close to their face and away making their body tense, Caine grabbed their arm once again and dragged them forward making them feel like their insides were about to come up. “Here we have the GROUNDS” the yellow writing appeared again. “Drown yourself in the digital lake or-” “Stop.” They cut him off as they sank to their knees putting their hands on their ears once again, “Please stop.” Caine looked confused as they slowly lowered them, “Are you alright, human?”

“Im- I-” Tears swelled in their eyes. “Eh- take your time” Caine awkwardly tapped their back waiting for them to say something. “I just don't know who I am, no matter how hard I think I can't remember my name or life before this-” Caine jumped to the front of them. “Dont worry my dear everyone feels this way as they enter the amazing digital circus!” They looked down again. “It's not just that…” Caine looked confused again using his cane to scratch his head. “Then what is it? Do you need a new name?” He clicked and a name generator appeared in the air. He spun it, and it landed on “Y/N, what do you think of it?”

“Caine it-” “You alright it is horrible, terrible even let SPIN again!” He twirled around as he was just about to spin again when Y/N stopped him. “Caine, no it's not my name it's… everything my eyes can't focus, my head is spinning and my ears feel like they are bleeding.” Caine appeared by their side and looked into their ear. “Well Y/N your ear is not bleeding-” “No it feels like it, it- just-” Y/N started to get frustrated with Caine not hearing her. “It feels like it, just please, lower your voice.” Caine's face went oh, “Oh, I mean oh, alright y/n, do you need anything else to make you feel better.”

“Could you bring me to my room, so I can lie down for a bit.” Caine nodded as he slowly took y/n hand and again quickly brought them down. “Caine, could you go slower?” He stopped at their voice. “Oh yes, sorry about that.” he brought them down slower and landed in their room. “This should be your room, call me if you need anything.” He floated off, “Caine.”

“Yes?” Caine looked back, “Could you give me a hug?” Y/n looked hopefully as Caine floated down next to them. “Im legally able to do that,” Y/n and Caine hugged awkwardly but it was nice nonetheless. Y/n rests their head on his shoulder making her eyes focus on the door on the other side of hers. “Thank you,”

“No problem my dear.” y/n walked into their room closing the door behind them. Caine watched them and used his cane to lower the music in the background. “Rest well.”

[backtothedrawingboard]

Saw the aroace jax x aroace reader you pinnned so...

Please and pretty please do a story where like jax is just being jax and reader is being a grumpy person like jax were tormenting others and readers just cursed him out when they find out

Please with a cherry on top🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

%#?!ing Behave

Aroace!Jax x Aroace!Reader

Summary: Your haven't adjusted well to your new home in the Amazing Digital Circus, and Jax just keeps pushing your buttons by harassing everyone.

CW: None

TW: None

AN: I apologize for the delay, Anon! Work's been busy lately! I kept this one short and sweet since I thought it would work better! Enjoy! :D

~~~~~~~~~~

Jax was...usually tolerable at best. He was rude and standoffish towards everyone in the Digital Circus and acted narcissistic at times. Despite this, you were still best friends with him. You were also only tolerable. Being stuck in the Circus soured your personality from friendly and bubbly to bitter and hostile. You reined in the hostility to the best of your ability and still tried to be friendly to your friends. You really did care about them. But everyone knew to back off if you were stressed or irritable. Even Jax slinked off if he went too far around you.

You were listening to some of your favorite music and taking a walk on the grounds. You hopped a little on your toes as you walked. Music always put you in a good mood. You skipped along the outside of the tent to the rhythm of the beat and occasionally did a little hop. As you passed the entrance of the Circus, you heard a shriek. You paused the music and looked up, taking an earbud out. No other noise. You shoved the earbuds and mp3 player into your pocket and jogged into the Circus to find the source of the scream.

It took a few minutes, but you finally found who caused the sound. Ragatha was standing outside her room in horror. Inside, centipedes were crawling around the floor and under the bed. You just sighed heavily. "Jax?"

"Y-yeah!" the doll responded. She was clearly upset. You couldn't blame her. You weren't afraid of centipedes, but it was still pretty gross.

"Of course it was him."

"Do something!" Ragatha yelled. "You're all buddy-buddy with him!" You sighed heavily again.

"I don't know why I'm close to that motherf-" You were cut off by the sound of Gangle wailing in the distance. You and Ragatha exchanged glances before racing to the common area. Gangle was on the floor holding her broken comedy mask.

"My comedy mask..." she whimpered. She looked up at you and the doll and wiped her eyes. "Oh. H-hey. J-Jax came through, and-" You growled. The ribbony girl went quiet with a squeak. You stomped away, causing Ragatha and Gangle to flinch and exchange looks.

You marched through the Circus to find a certain purple rabbit. "Jax!" Smoke was practically coming from your ears in rage. Jax slinked out of his room with a smug smirk.

"What's up, doll?" he asked with an obnoxiously proud voice. You stomped up to him and grabbed him by the neck, throttling him. His mouth opened as he choked.

"What the $&!? is wrong with you?!" you shouted. The rabbit grabbed your wrist to try to pull your hand off his neck.

"What the...&!$? is...wrong with you?!" he retorted in a choked tone. You let go of him and allowed him to drop on the floor. Despite your rage, you felt a little guilty for hurting him. He was still your friend after all.

"Why do you always &$!?ing do this?!" you continued shouting. "They weren't even doing anything!"

Jax swallowed and rubbed his neck, his ears laying back in irritation and slight anxiety. "Cause it's funny." Oh, yeah. That was the last straw. A series of bleeped cursed left your mouth as you grabbed the straps of his overalls and yanked him up. He grabbed your wrists and forcefully pulled them off, causing the straps to snap back painfully. "$!?&ing b&@!$ !"

The rest of the Circus was drawn over by the commotion. You and Jax were tumbling on the floor in a flurry of fists, shouting and cursing accompanying the chaos. After a bit, the two of you flopped on the floor in exhaustion. Neither of you were injured. Just a bit of throbbing pain here and there. Jax looked over at you, panting and rubbing his head. "Ugh. Truce?"

"Yeah. Truce."

[moshi-roulette]

O-06-602 (The Eternal Parade)

Title: The Eternal Parade

Subject Classification: O-06-602

Attack Type: Black

Risk Level: Aleph

Description: The abnormality takes the form of a large humanoid creature with a circus-like attire, with its lower torso appearing as a circus tent and its face a white mask with a permanent smile grinning ear-to-ear. It is said that this abnormality can look into someone’s mind and bring all of their dreams and nightmares to life, whether good or bad. Its power grows with the number of dreams it acquires. Those with a low Prudence say it's almost hard to resist its temptation to join the happy yet bittersweet spectacle. After getting either three Good Results or three Bad Results, it will escape its containment and roam the halls in search of more dreams to grow its parade. The employees who worked on the abnormality will suddenly combust, leaving either a dream-like or a nightmare-ish creature in their place (depending on the work result). The dream-like creatures dish out Red damage while the nightmare-ish ones use White damage. If an employee were to perish at the hands of the abnormality, they too would turn into a creature themselves (Fortitude>Prudence Dream-like creature) (Fortitude<Prudence= Nightmare-ish creature).

Quote: “Time for the greatest show on earth!”

Extra: Based on the song “Parade” by Susumu Hirasawa and the movie “Paprika”

Flavor Text:

- “The sun during midday will light up the dark night. Night dreams of day. Light dreams of darkness.”

- “The Eternal Parade seemed to dance and march around it’s containment room, humming along to unheard tune”

- “But the ignorant sun will chase away the darkness... and burn the shadows, eventually burning itself!”

- “The Eternal Parade stares down at <name>, as if looking into the depths of their mind from that eerily smiling face”

- “The shade of the tree with the flowers that bloom at night is where the residents of darkness rest.”

- “If <name> listened hard enough, they could swear they heard the sounds of loud, cheerful music and a whole lot of nonsensical chanting coming from somewhere”

- “The people of daytime are not allowed!”

[hazbincalifornia]

Cages of Iron and Gold

Summary:

Stolas, a royal alpha who seemed to have the world. Blitz, an omega who had always been seen as third best. Cages are prisons no matter what they're made out of.

Wordcount: 2750

Rating: M

Warnings: Omegaverse, implied/referenced sexual assault and underage prostitution. Nothing goes into detail, but the topics are there. (The ‘assault’ tag is the canon-typical moment between Stolas and Stella trying to conceive, which is the section starting with ‘Stolas wanted this to be like the stories.’ The Blitz moments aren’t described but are mentioned.)

Ao3 link

Stolas presents at age twelve on the morning of his birthday. It’s a simple spell for royalty- bow your head, fold your hands, and an elder will set their palms on the top of your skull as the magic scurries through your blood before blooming teal, lavender, or silver.

Stolas is teal- an alpha, befitting the son of a King. His father sounds pleased as he pats his head, and his destiny can continue undeterred. (They had suspected his designation even before his birth, but sometimes the stars ducked and weaved in unexpected ways.)

He is to be given a duty to the future, to the stars, and to sire a precautionary heir with an omega who would become a princess as his future bride. A good role. An important role.

(He curls away at the picture, hugging the book for stability. Tears roll down his cheeks and he’s told that alphas don’t whimper and cry, but he’s offered a chance to go to the circus, and to meet an unexpected friend.)

___

Blitzo presents at age sixteen. It’s a more gradual sort of thing for imps, dependent on how hard puberty hits you, but your smell comes in over the months at sometime after fifteen and is solidified by first heat or rut, or the absence of either. Barbie and Fizz’s scents had already grown strong enough to cement their designations. Alphas, both of them.

Blitzo expected the same- twins of different designations were uncommon. But the days ticked on after Barbie’s first rut (spent in the ‘go mess with the toy chest and don’t get somebody pregnant unless you mean it, dammit’ tent), and he didn’t feel the slight minty chill in his chest, or the protective buzz around packmates, at least not any more than he had since he was small. There was only a roiling churn of lava in his stomach that worsened by the day, and the scent of sweet butter and sticky fruit that clung to his skin like the sweat under his costume.

He wanted to pretend it could be just a fluke or a fever as Barbie pulled his head into her lap, dizzy and nauseous, before sending him out to the tent with slick between his thighs and a black hole in his gut.

___

Stella is, objectively, beautiful. She knows how to fluff her tail behind wide hips as they circle each other with the ceremonial dances, even if she digs her talons into his arm as they whirl around the floor. Her feathers are preened just so with eyelashes fluffed to extend like feathers of their own, and the jewels that glitter on her tiara and her necklace and her rings catch the light in a way that would be beautifully enticing if on a marble statue spinning under a spotlight.

Stolas wants to be happy, wants to enjoy the party the way that other couples seem to. He can hear sparks of laughter tittering on the floor, even if most of the pairs around them are focused on keeping the motions correct, but Stella clicks and steps on his foot when he looks away, and he barely manages to catch himself before he would have tumbled into the table with the prepared meals.

She’s quick, dances half a step off but with strong arms and legs as they take in each other while the music crescendos. Her eyes are cold but she smiles with a beak that suggests a knife, and Stolas has never felt more like a mouse going into a stew.

___

Fizz, Barbie, and Blitzo spent a lot of time draped over each other as children, and designations shouldn’t ruin that. Blitz knows that their scent is rubbing off on him as they cram into the couch to watch a monster movie marathon, but it scratches an itch in the back of his brain, and neither of them bring it up. It keeps people from bothering them when they duck out into the city.

Fizz and Barbie both smell of rubber and ring dirt most of the time, scent muted by the equipment for the acts, and for a while, they can pretend that everything is normal. That nothing needs to change.

Sometimes, though.

The Mammon concert was crammed with the bodies of sweaty adults and sweatier teenagers, and in the aftermath, Fizz’s cinnamon aroma trailed into the night air, mingling with Blitz’s popcorn as they chatted.

He stepped in front of Fizz when that stalker fucker tried to corner him, and got a sneer that omegas shouldn’t get in the way when the alphas were talking, even as Fizz fell in step at his side after pulling away. (“Not even a real alpha if you let him fight all your battles!” was spat out, and Blitzo forced up a grin and tried to cheer him up. Fizz was better than this- all of this. Blitzo could only hope to grab a piece as he went up and up, could only hope to get a chance to keep him safe.)

___

Stolas wanted this to be like the stories.

The first night with Stella after their wedding…

It wasn’t there.

Whatever spark that was meant to alight between alpha and omega, it lay cold and dead on the floor outside of their bedchambers, and the grinding of thighs with legs pressed together to create the kiss and bring out his cock was nothing but friction that drew only the barest sparks of pleasure, drowned in her voice and her face and her movements as she grabbed him to do with as she pleased when he couldn’t force his body to move.

“Worthless, pathetic- what kind of alpha even are you?” she snarled out, a hiss at the demeaning of her own status, her own use, and all he could do was murmur apologies as he clenched at the bedsheets and wished for it to be over.

___

Blitzo wanted Fizz.

That wasn’t particularly new- he had wanted Fizz in some fashion since he was thirteen and a half and had realized that the squiggly feelings in his stomach weren’t just bad food, as they only arose at hearing Fizz laugh or having Fizz nuzzle up against him when they were sharing a blanket. (He had wanted Fizz earlier than that, really- since they’d met, he’d known that he wanted Fizz in his life for the rest of it, because they were a team and they could do anything together.)

This, though… this was for real. Forever.

He ran his fingers over the second-hand collar that had been shoved at him, the leather still stinking with the whiskey that had been spilled over it by black-tipped fingers. The charm in the center, a simple ‘O’, made his thighs clench.

(“If you’re not gonna pull in numbers with the act like Fizz and your sister, you’re gonna make money some other way, got it? No bitching.”)

A mated omega isn’t nearly as appealing as an unmated one, and there’s only one person he’d ever want. (Who might ever want him, a smartass with too-big hands and no off button, who overflowed on all edges with barbed wire and overheated honey and would only roll over pretty for green eyes.)

He set the collar aside, folded the note, and headed for the main tent.

(He opened the flap to see Fizz smiling and laughing and his father right there. He couldn't do this, couldn’t ruin this for him, couldn’t drag him into the mud, and then everything went up in smoke.)

___

It takes three ruts before Octavia is born. Goetian ruts and heats aren’t as effective as they are for other species, due to the fact that high birthrates amongst the immortal may cause issue, but Stolas had felt his heart sink to the lowest pools of Envy at the empty result from the first cycle. Stella declared that he must be faking his designation- he didn’t even try, she’d had to do all of the work, and what kind of lazy, sad alpha didn’t keen for an un-bred omega under their roof?

(Secretly, he wondered if she may be right, even as he shrunk beneath judgemental gazes and buried himself in liquor and pills, barely 18 and already far too acquainted.)

___

It’s the first week out of the hospital. He's due for heat again soon. The terror burns almost as much as the flames did, burns still painful and ragged on his skin. It's only him now. Only him.

It's loud in the wrong way, the city, doesn't smell of greasy fair food and animals but oil and metal. The fire burnt away the what had remained of the layer between him and the world, ruined his glands so no alpha could even know of him unless they were already skin to skin. He's meat. He's meat.

The heat comes and goes. He buries the memories deep.

He sneaks into a store to snatch a bottle of false scent, then slathers on an alpha spice to erase himself, dropping the busted buckle he’d snagged in the trash and the ‘o’ in his name with it.

(Blitz’s body is a commodity, and the best thing he has to offer. He learns to use it well on the streets, to steal hearts and wallets long enough to gain a bed or a full belly or a moment of comfort. Blitzo wanted a bond with his best friend. Blitz finds pleasure where he can in survival, but lives with his teeth and spines flared and ready.)

___

Stolas is told that he’s lucky to have her, a pretty and sociable omega wife that gave him a sweet daughter that looks like him. He smiles and nods and grips the stem of his glass until the wine quivers within, and looks out to the conquests of fellow alphas with a nauseous unease.

___

Blitz is told that he’s lucky he’ll always be wanted when he’s in heat, purred out by a stranger whose name he’s already forgotten as he plots how to grab more suppressants to smother his body’s cycle out of existence. (No matter how good it feels in the moment, the aftermath stings if he’s left alone. Broken and scentless when not burning from the inside out.)

___

Peahens enjoy color and noise. Even as an owlet, Stolas enjoyed the beauty of the galaxy while stargazing or spellcasting, purples and navies and deep nebula reds, while she enjoys brightness, pinks and lavenders and yellows and baby blues. He tries to plant flowers and hang banners that match her fancy, to give the garden the touch of both of them that she didn’t have to initiate, but she throws the pot of one that got too close to her dress and he cleans up the shards with shaking hands.

___

Succubi can sense designations no matter the species- it helps them adjust their own in order to wring the most bang out of their buck when feeding. Verosika likes playing alpha with him, but likes doing omega friend-fucks as well when they’re both in the mood. It’s consistent, and she doesn’t shy away despite his lack of scent.

They fit together, loud and irreverent and eager for the praise of others even as they playfully bitch at each other, conversation and cum both flowing easily. She finds him charming and funny, at least enough to want his dick stuffed in her and to stuff her own in him, and enough to share a bed and a life while on the road as her star rises.

He can feel the spiral when the fights get worse and they cling closer every time before she makes the mistake of thinking that it would be good to keep him.

He can’t stand the thought of partnering with anyone who can’t unravel him the way that she did, so he swallows down the suppressants month after month after month.

___

Octavia is born when Stolas is nineteen and a half, and when he pulls her fragile body against his chest, it is with tears shimmering in his eyes.

A reason to remain, a life that relies on him and that he can’t help but rely on in these cold ancient halls. The protection of family, of his owlet, is one alpha trait that he is more than happy to take on.

(Twelve years later, she is declared a beta, and the annoyance of his wife at the potential stunting of Octavia’s marriage prospects is nothing compared to the relief he buries deep in his chest, promising her that carrying on his duties, should the need ever arise, can be done perfectly well no matter what she is, so she tilts her head and allows herself to be pulled into his arms.)

___

Loona is curled up against the wall in the pound when Blitz passes by her, an omega and a growly thing of seventeen that could be superimposed over himself a decade ago so nearly it makes his teeth ache.

She’s his within the hour, given in a muzzle but ushered out with only the clothes on her back after he tells them to keep their chains. She’s bristly but anxious, and he offers her his scent, his camaraderie.

She gets the bed, and he takes the couch. He’s slept in far worse. In the morning, he makes pancakes before taking her to get her own things, and when she allows him to untangle her knotted hair, he can feel his soul easing as his fingers run through the fur and his pup doesn’t pull away.

A new pack of two. A new start. A new life.

___

Stolas finds routine where he can. His duties, his books, his garden, Via. His ruts are put off for as long as possible, magical delays allowing him to skip a dozen before his body aches and he’s forced to lock himself in a room with toys, discomfort a splitting seam on the edges of what is supposed to be the time of joy and ecstasy as nothing feels solid enough to pin down no matter how many words he has at his disposal.

___

Blitz finds Moxxie first, then Millie- a pair of betas underestimated by the world and by themselves. They make a name for themselves, all of them, and Blitz slathers on the scents to make his way through the world, to get him a foot in the door to rent an office space in Pride after pleading his case. An imp only barely allowed the chance to try, but he’d be blessed if he wasn’t going to give it his all for the misfit pack he’d managed to scrounge up.

___

Imps, as it turns out, display their designation largely through smell, and the scent rolling off Blitz burns brightly enough for even Stolas to be able to tell that his first friend is as boldly, dominatingly alpha as they come.

Stolas allows himself to be swept away in the rush of it all- this is what they wanted him to be, this is power and control, but as his eyes and limbs are bound, all he can do is moan for more, for a chance to see what might have been if he’d been made the way he was supposed to, a chance to feel right on the other side offered up so freely by someone who wasn’t shying away.

A chance to feel a bond that had been crooned for since time immemorial, but had always slipped through his grasp. A chance to be with his first friend again, in every way that he could be.

___

Birds, it turns out, don’t have a very good sense of smell, and even when Blitz is right on top of Stolas on the too-large bed, the false scents are more than enough to convince him, and having a Goetia moaning out ‘yes, Alpha!’ to him while squirming underfoot is intoxicating.

Stolas moans out that he was his first friend, and when he turns back, he feels a bubbling in his gut that itches at the desire to claim someone who wanted him in any way that he could. To be a friend and a playmate, to be desired for some deeper burnt and buried part of himself just for one more round, even if it wasn’t real, wasn’t the whole story.

One more round.

One more round.

One more round.