#just shows the desperation in just the setting and the costume

[invisible-pink-toast]

very specific trope i love: dramatic running through scenery in improbable dresses

[soulwrencher]

minors and men dni!

ೃ⁀➷ellie and you go costume shopping for halloween, but you take a detour to the changing room, i guess ellie's costume is wearing you on her fingers... (getting fingered in a changing room? hell yeahhhh).ೃ࿐

"costume shopping is silly?" ellie whispers into your neck, hot air tickling your skin as she scoffs at the sight of you. you are pushed into the corner of the changing room, one hand pressed against the mirror smudging it and the other digging into her back, you just got a new set of stiletto nails ellie has been begging you to get and try them out on her. however, this was not how you have been imagining to leave scratch marks on her back, it was more of a 'you and her in bed', horizontally, or you on her lap. but it doesn't matter, your mind is occupied with figuring out how many fingers are inside of you and remembering the question ellie just asked you all while trying to keep quiet. and in result of that, only a mindless 'hmm?' escapes your mouth—if the auburn-haired woman wasn't asking you a question, then it was a moan for sure.

but it only makes ellie more cocky, you know by the way she curls her fingers inside of you, the way her grip around your waist tightens, like you're her possession. her face draws closer to your neck again, repeating her question, dragging word for word over your sensitive skin, you jolt back, eyes widening in surprise as your ass bangs against the wooden wall of the changing room.

"fuck," you mutter, but ellie slowing down her thrusts and whispering an 'it's okay' before kissing you softly makes you forget about possibly everyone hearing the two of you fucking. her fingers are still deep inside of you and she has no plans of getting them out of you anytime soon and while you don't like to show it, you don't want her to stop either. in fact you are so wet, you wish you could simply absorb her, you want more, you need more. so you pull away from ellie's soft kisses and slowly start thrusting your hips towards her, desperation overcomes you and you suddenly pick up the speed, making ellie lose her balance.

you watch her cheeks turn red and ellie looks so cute all flustered, but you are too horny to keep on waiting to cum.

"keep up," you whisper, eyes rolling back as your hips rock back and forth, fuck does she feel good. she blushes a little harder at your words, there's nothing else on this world she'd rather do than make what's hers feel good, hit that sweet spot of yours and watch you fall apart at her touch. your pussy clenches around her fingers, your teeth dragging at her lips as she glides her free hand over your body to squeeze your tits.

little moans escape from you, but you aren't the only one huffing and puffing, ellie's breath stagnates with every kiss she drags from your lips to your collarbones. it just makes you want to release, all the sloppy wet kisses and her fingers pushing inside you, filling you up. ellie could swear that you were dripping down her forearm, most likely leaving stains on her sleeves she forgot to cuff. but she doesn't care, all she cares about is making you cum.

"is three okay?" she asks, you nod hastily.

ellie is watching you, holding eye contact while she inserts another finger, your mind is far too gone to hold up eye contact, your eyes roll into the back of your mind.

so she leans in, her breath is steadier than yours, lips devouring you. ellie's fingers start out curling slowly and you push your pelvic harder into her hand.

you can't help it, your body just reacts to her and you are desperate, in a way ellie rarely gets to see. and it is exactly what keeps her going, your desperation for her, the way your body moves against hers, the taste of your lips and the sound of your breath. you are perfect and watching you struggle with every thrust satisfies her immense hunger. you feel so full but so weak, you can't keep up rocking your hips against her any longer, your legs begin to shake, nails digging into her arms to keep yourself from sinking. but you start clenching around her fingers harder and faster while it's getting more difficult to stay quiet being so breathless. you nuzzle your face into her neck in attempt to muffle your moans but she is fingering you so good, how could you not gasp for air? your movements become wilder, almost there, you think to yourself as

you try to ride her fingers, but ellie won't let you have it your way. you glance at her for once, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead, rosy cheeks and sweat pearls rolling down her neck, she looks so pretty like this. she's been putting a lot of work into you so instinctively you want to reach for her face and stroke her cheekbone, however your hand makes a full stop at her nape and your expression clarifies at the realization that you're about to cum. you're out of your mind, ellie pushes her fingers in diligently, the way you clench around her fingers makes her go insane. she nibbles on your ear, "you're doing well," she says.

you roll your eyes and before you're able to leave a snarky comment, your breaths become shorter, deeper, you drag out your exhales—you're just a hot mess of needy hums. all tensed up, your back is arched, you're sweaty and breathless.

and it doesn't take ellie long to figure out how to release all of that tension, just one look at you and she knows how to curl her fingers, how to fuck you. and she takes pride in that, it takes just one right angle for you to momentarily hold your breath, look into her green eyes, "go ahead," she whispers. and you do, your eyes roll back as you exhale shakily, unclench around her fingers and your legs completely lose its strength, she makes you cum just like that.

your body is twitching, her fingers are still inside of you and she stays inside for a second before taking them out to show you how wet you are. ellie pulls you closer and sucks her fingers clean, making sure you watch before she leans in for a kiss, slipping in her tongue for you to taste yourself. you pull away, "you're getting good at this," you whisper, her eyes light up before overconfidence plasters over her whole face.

"i've been telling you," she says, but asks in the same breath if you really thought so, she's adorable.

and then she helps you pull your pants back up, you adjust your hair and pull on your clothes to make sure you look less like you just got fucked well. the two of you leave, power walking out of the store avoiding eye contact from anyone, costumes long forgotten in the changing room.

"just wait until we get home," you say, not giving anything away. you just can't let ellie get away with the games she likes to play with you but luckily, the wand and the rabbit you charged this morning were awaiting the auburn-haired woman for a long and steamy night.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Second Chances

Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.

Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)

DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)

Word Count: 4.8k

Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.

Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.

He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.

This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.

He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.

He recognizes that voice.

Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”

Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.

Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?

You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”

“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”

He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.

It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.

“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”

“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.

He is never getting back his security deposit.

You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”

Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.

Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.

Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.

As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”

Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.

To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”

“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”

Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.

“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.

There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.

It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.

Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.

Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.

His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.

Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.

Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach

He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.

You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.

Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”

You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.

Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.

After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.

“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”

“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”

Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”

You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”

Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.

The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.

Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.

The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.

He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.

Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.

“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.

Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.

And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.

It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.

“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.

You shrug. “Running late.”

Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.

And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.

“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.

“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”

You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”

You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.

You and Robin share a guilty look.

Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.

It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.

“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”

Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”

You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”

“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.

“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.

You look up and wave.

Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…

As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.

You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.

It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.

“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”

“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.

In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.

Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.

Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.

Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.

He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.

“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.

He groans. Drops to one knee.

Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.

That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.

He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.

The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.

Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.

Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.

The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”

Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.

Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.

Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.

Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.

But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.

You don’t listen. You just drive.

Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.

Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.

“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.

“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.

He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.

Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.

The Pit surges.

After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.

Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.

His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.

“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”

The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—

Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”

“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”

“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.

He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.

“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”

“They’re not.”

“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.

Something clicks behind them.

Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.

Robin lets out a low cry.

Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.

Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.

“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”

Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.

Robin freezes.

“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.

Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.

Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.

Now you’re breathing and alive.

It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.

Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”

“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?

You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”

Oh.

“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.

“Which is technically true—”

“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.

“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.

The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."

Jason bristles with indignation.

Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."

"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."

"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"

"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.

"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.

It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.

When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."

All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."

You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."

Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"

"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"

Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."

"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."

"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.

Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.

Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"

Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.

"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."

Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"

Your face flushes and you look away.

It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."

"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"

You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.

He definitely will.

"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."

Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.

Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know if there's anything you guys want to see with Jason in the future. My requests are open!

[starryeyedjanai]

bad boys do it better

rated: teen | @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: modern au tags: dating apps, innuendo, bad flirting read on ao3

✿

Eddie finally opens Tinder after downloading it in a fit of desperation.

He's tried everything but these stupid apps—bars and clubs and pottery classes and rock climbing—trying to find someone he can connect with.

But he's mostly found guys that string him along with whispered sweet nothings and half-promises they don't intend to follow through on.

So he makes his profile and then promptly fumbles and drops his phone because— no fucking way.

There's no way this is real life.

There's no fucking way the first guy to pop up is Steve fucking Harrington, his unfortunate and longest lasting crush in high school.

He picks up his phone and sees Steve's face staring back at him, unassuming, a bright, cheery smile on his face.

Steve, 28 2 miles away "Hope you like bad boys because I have it on dvd and vhs" Interests: baseball, basketball, live music, movies

He taps to get to the next photo and lets out a shaky breath—the shorts of what can only be his Halloween costume are so short, exposing hairy thighs that Eddie wants to sink his teeth into.

The next photo is a snapchat picture of him grinning wide, cradling what might be the world's ugliest dog, the text across the screen reading my nephew is so handsome 🤩🤩🤩.

The last is an obligatory shirtless mirror pic, not showing off washboard abs, but the soft, toned skin of his stomach.

He closes the app, sets his phone down, and breathes through his nose.

This can't be real, right? In what world would Steve be the first person in a sea of profiles in San Francisco of all places?

Eddie expected him to chase after Nancy Wheeler when she went to Boston, but he didn't stick around long enough in Hawkins to find out if they ever rekindled their will-they-won't-they relationship.

Maybe he's just visiting. Maybe he found his match and just forgot to delete Tinder. Because there's just no way Eddie has this kind of luck.

He opens up Instagram and searches for Steve and finds him right away because they're probably still Facebook friends.

He scrolls through his profile and deflates a little, because all of the pictures on Tinder are from his Instagram. Which means it's probably much more likely that someone is catfishing using Steve's pictures.

Because the Steve from high school wasn't into men. And he's hot enough for someone to use his pictures to scam people or whatever.

He opens up Tinder again and his thumb is swiping right before he thinks about what he's doing.

It's a match!

Okay, now he knows it's a catfish. Or maybe it's a bot.

There's no world in which Steve Harrington would swipe right on him in the twenty minutes it's been since he created his account.

He types a message to "Steve" saying so are you a bot or just a catfish?

He doesn't get a response right away, so he clicks out of the messages, looking at profiles of what are hopefully actual people he can connect with.

His phone buzzes when the message from Steve comes in.

Hi3 Eddiems, cl!ck th3 linkin my proffile to . achat I am waitin9

He rolls his eyes and goes back to perusing profiles. It's not like he thought it was really Ste-

His phone pings with another message and he clicks back into the chat immediately.

That was a joke. There's not even a link in my profile

Eddie's heart beats a little faster, his fingers typing out a response.

So a catfish then?

Why do you think I'm a catfish?????

Because I know the guy in those pictures and there's no way hes into men. That guy was a jock extraordinaire in high school and very straight

You're awfully judgey for someone who was so anti-conformity in high school. Whos to say I haven't changed?

Or like, learned new things about myself?

Eddie's breath stutters in his throat.

Also you didn't really know me since we never talked.

Okay, I mean. It's pretty easy to guess that I was counterculture in high school by looking at me. So I'm still on the fence about the catfish thing

How about we meet up then? So you can see me in all my nearing-30 glory

And watch bad boys on dvd and vhs with you?

Dude, I am not inviting you to my house on the first date

That's a third date kind of thing

Oh yeah? Is it a back-to-back feature? We start with the vhs then move to dvd?

He can't believe he's entertaining this. A catfish wouldn't offer to meet up unless they thought Eddie wouldn't call their bluff. He kind of wants to see where this is going.

No see, we start with the dvd playing in the living room and then when we inevitably start being bad boys🥵 in the middle of the movie, we can pick it back up on vhs in my room later

To be clear, we stop the movie, right? I'm not sure bad boys has a soundtrack meant for the kind of activities we'd be doing

Oh for sure. I'd even put on my "let's get it on" playlist. As a treat.

Eddie can't help but grin. Even if this guy is a catfish, this is maybe the most fun he's had talking to someone in a long time.

Are you serious about meeting up?

Uh yeah, I can't have you thinking I'm a catfish forever

What's your favorite brewery?

Cellarmaker

Wanna do tomorrow afternoon at like 2 when it's not busy?

That sounds perfect

He isn't sure if it's really Steve or if he's going to be met with someone else or stood up, but at least he'll get to drown his sorrows if it doesn't work out.

Well—he's unsure until he gets the 'stharrington started following you' notification on Instagram a few minutes later.

He screams into his pillow so loud his neighbor thumps on the wall.

[evieelyzabethh]

If it’s okay to request, may I request something in modern au (viktor x reader, established relationship) where jayce is hosting a costume party and reader dresses in something that makes her look super pretty (maybe I even suggest, her dressed as cowboy barbie, cause my bi self is obsessed with that look) and viktor gets handy with her. If you’re comfortable, can you make it nsfw or at lesser suggestive?

Definitely projecting as someone whose personal fav holiday is Halloween, but I imagine reader to be super stoked about it. Like the set up gets a big makeover that she forces Vik to help her with, there's a bunch of spiders and skulls and spooky decor all over the place, the ambient music transitions to creepy organs or the instrumental soundtrack of one of those old Hollywood horror movies. You definitely spare no expense when it comes to costumes, sometimes even going as far as to make it yourself.

Jayce isn't the biggest Halloween guy; he just likes the decor and the movies. While you went as cowboy Barbie, he definitely went as a plain cowboy, walking around shirtless with a huge cowboy hat atop his head and a lasso attached to the leather belt he's wearing. The denim jeans he wears are flared, just barely showing the brown boots that he bought to match with the suspenders the rest on his bare chest. The party is rather intimate, nothing more than a bunch of mutual friends, a bunch of pizza, and at least a gallon of Jungle Juice.

Now, you knew that Viktor wasn't going to be Ken. Even though his costume wouldn't be a matching hot pink, he thinks the fringe is silly and totally not his vibe. To be fair, he hasn't done a matching costume with you since you went as a Playboy Bunny, and even then, he only showed up in a suit and tie. He didn't even name the costume; he just went along with what everyone else assumed. That year, he was a man of many costumes: Men in Black, James Bond, Hugh Heffner, a bodyguard. Someone even thought it was a Legally Blonde reference, and he was Emmett. This being said, he has no issues with you going as cowboy barbie or any of the other skimpy costumes you've worn throughout the years, as long as he gets to tag along and see you in it.

He doesn't even have to worry about jealousy, it's incredibly clear who you came with. He doesn't force you to stay by him, but the way your gaze travels to him at parties, the pretty curls you spent hours on bobbing around as you move around to find him in the crowd makes it incredibly obvious who you're tethered to. The pink, starred ascot that had been around your neck had been undone by a bathroom make out session and could now be found around his wrist. When you talk to friends, you make yourself cozy next to him, the drink you've been nursing for the better part of an hour in your hand as you lay your head on his chest, squirming deeper into him as what he whispers in your ear makes you shiver.

And you think you're being slick, but the way his hand plays on your thigh and the look in your eyes getting farther away says everything. So, when you abruptly say your goodbyes, no one is surprised that your car stays parked out front for at least a half hour.

It's really not the most comfortable arrangement, knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever Chapel said. Your head keeps bumping into the steering wheel, even with the seat being pushed as far back as it'll go, but his hand at the back of your head absorbs most of the impact. You hear it in his voice when he hisses extra loud, his eyes closing as he weighs out whether or not it's worth it to pull you off and drive home. He knows if he asks you, you'll just tell him to drive as he sucks you off and he is desperate enough to do just that.

Especially with the way you look right now. He's always been the type to initiate eye contact, and with how good you look right now, your make-up miraculously intact thanks to whatever waterproof mascara you use, spit dripping from your chin to the top of your tits, your cheeks red, eyes a bit gone from the lack of oxygen, he could cum just by looking at you. His little reminders, "Don't forget to breathe, doll. Through your nose, you can do it.", are quite necessary with your refusal to pull off until he spills down your throat, and fuck is he thankful. If you were in a teasing headspace and decided to edge him now, tears already in his eyes, half his energy going to steadying his own breath so he didn't pass out and the other half trying to keep him from bruising the back of your esophagus, he would probably cry.

You'd been going at it for a while already, pay back for all the lingering touches throughout the night and looking too good in that suit. The languid licks trailing from his leaking tip to his balls couldn't even be hurried along by his hips shallowly bucking into your mouth. You were in your own little world, moaning around his cock, hands pressed firmly in between your thighs as you buck into nothing while his honeyed praise goes through one ear and rattles around in your brain and spills out between your legs.

"Just a bit more. Doin' so good. So close.", he groans, so good. And he really doesn't last much longer, spurts of his cum shooting down your throat as he shudders and whimpers through the aftershocks. That post-nut clarity hits like a semi-truck when he looks out the very foggy windows to see Jayce out the window holding the clutch you left behind, looking entirely too shocked to have just walked up to the window. It's the scariest thing he saw all Halloween.

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows:

R O U N D 7

(Special thanks to Natto for graciously allowing me to use their incredible artworks. Please support their amazing work by following them on Instagram: @yattapan. Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you! I hope you enjoy this!)

The atmosphere was heavy, the tension almost suffocating as the stage transformed into the grand finale. A shimmering, otherworldly glow enveloped the set, mirroring the heightened stakes of this final performance. The audience, now deathly silent, awaited the clash of wills between two souls fighting for vastly different reasons—Aventurine, the desperate gambler with nothing left, and Sunday, the serene dreamer with everything to prove.

The spotlight fell on Aventurine first. His usually flamboyant demeanor was absent, replaced by an air of exhaustion. Still clad in the tattered remnants of his costume from his performance with Veritas Ratio, he looked dejected, his movements sluggish. The loss of his only true ally weighed heavily on him, and the brutal pace of the competition had left him unprepared.

But even in his brokenness, Aventurine stood tall, his voice carrying the raw, unfiltered emotion of a man with nothing to lose. The music began—a haunting melody of sorrow and defiance.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink, gone

I can’t let it go

Blink and gone”

Each word was drenched in anguish, his voice cracking as memories of Ratio and [Name] flashed in his mind. The stage darkened, flickers of dice and shattered mirrors reflecting his inner turmoil. Aventurine didn’t need theatrics—his pain was the performance. He sang as though tearing his soul apart for the audience to witness, and with every note, his desperation bled through.

His body swayed with the rhythm, unsteady yet deliberate, as he painted a picture of a man grasping for control in a world that had long abandoned him. The final crescendo left the stage in silence, save for the faint echo of his voice.

The spotlight on the stage shifted, bathing in ethereal light. Sunday emerged, calm and composed, his eyes glowing with an unearthly intensity. His tailored suit, immaculate and adorned with intricate golden patterns, gave him the air of a divine figure descended from the heavens.

The opening notes of his song resonated like a ticking clock, a calculated prelude to the grandeur that followed. Sunday’s voice soared—smooth, commanding, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“The clock goes tick-tock, tick-tock

Just enjoy this

Blink, gone

Oh, in a blink, gone

Let’s go”

Where Aventurine’s performance was raw and chaotic, Sunday’s was ethereal and methodical. Each movement was a carefully choreographed expression of his ideals—a vision of a serene, pain-free world. Illusions of a tranquil paradise filled the stage, showing a dream-like utopia where suffering ceased to exist.

The audience was mesmerized as Sunday’s voice carried them through this perfect world, but beneath the beauty lay an undertone of melancholy. He wasn’t just singing about peace—he was mourning the sacrifices required to achieve it. His sister Robin’s face flashed in his mind, followed by memories of their lost family.

Aventurine stumbles slightly, his steps faltering as Sunday’s voice soars above the audience. The exhaustion from his back-to-back performances and the emotional toll of losing Veritas Ratio weigh heavily on him. Yet, even in his weariness, there is a flicker of defiance in his eyes. His voice, though strained, refuses to falter completely, cutting through the symphony of cheers and Sunday’s ethereal melody.

Aventurine extends both arms outward, his body swaying slightly, drawing on every ounce of strength he has left.

“Today, this moment

Won’t ever come again

The party’s getting started

And let’s go crazy high”

The audience begins to clap in rhythm with his movements, their energy reinvigorating him slightly. It’s not enough to match Sunday’s grace, but Aventurine’s raw, unfiltered passion keeps him in the game. His performance feels less like a show and more like a cry to the universe, a desperate plea for freedom, hope, or perhaps just acknowledgment.

“Wave both hands

Let the rhythm take over

This music

On and on”

(credits to @ilriyum on X/Twitter)

Sunday glides effortlessly across the stage, his every move a calculated display of elegance and precision. He feeds off the crowd’s energy, his ethereal voice carrying a hypnotic quality that captivates everyone watching.

“The verdant lights

They tickle my eyes

Before this piercing, radiant moment

Fades away”

Meanwhile, Silver Wolf’s hacking progresses, bypassing layer after layer of security with calculated precision. The Stellaron Hunters work in perfect synchronicity—Kafka provides cover with an unnerving calm, Blade slashes through attackers like a phantom, and Firefly moves with steely efficiency, clearing paths for the others.

[Name] stands frozen, their eyes locked on the screen. The duel between Aventurine and Sunday plays out like a tragic opera, each note, each move, a battle of wills. Robin’s words echo in their mind: “Please, take care of my brother.”

Aventurine, clearly struggling, still manages to force a grin as he raises his head toward the dazzling stage lights, as if mocking the Aeons themselves.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone

Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets”

Sunday’s voice carries the final note of the verse, and the crowd erupts in cheers. He glances at Aventurine, his expression unreadable, but there’s a moment—a fleeting one—where his calm exterior cracks, revealing something close to pity or regret.

As the spotlight turns fully to Sunday for the next refrain, Aventurine falters, his exhaustion nearly bringing him to his knees. The crowd senses the shift in momentum, their cheers leaning heavily toward Sunday.

At that moment, a small yet defining gesture happens. Aventurine lifts his hand again, not in defiance but almost as if reaching out—for guidance, for strength, or perhaps even for forgiveness.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his voice too faint for the audience to hear. “Lady Luck, don’t leave me now.”

Blade pauses for a split second to glance at the screen. His expression, usually impassive, hardens slightly, as if recognizing Aventurine’s desperation.

The cacophony of the performance and the roaring audience was deafening, but all of it faded into the background as [Name] made their decision. Their heart raced, each beat like a war drum echoing in their ears. The sight of Aventurine faltering and Sunday’s silent yet relentless push drove them to a boiling point. They couldn’t just stand idly by anymore—not when their friends were being crushed under the weight of this twisted spectacle.

Just as they moved to intervene, a firm, unyielding hand clamped onto their arm. They spun around to see Blade, his face as cold and impenetrable as ever, his crimson eyes locked onto theirs with a silent warning. His grip was iron, unrelenting, and his intent was clear: Don’t do this.

“You’ll get yourself killed.” Blade said in a low, cutting voice, his tone almost a growl.

But [Name] didn’t flinch. Their resolve was a wildfire, blazing brighter than the fear Blade tried to instill.

“I don’t care anymore,” they shot back, their voice trembling, not with fear, but with determination. “I’ve already lost enough. I won’t let them lose their lives because of this sick game!”

They yanked their arm free from his grip with surprising strength, their eyes meeting Blade’s in a clash of willpower. For a moment, Blade’s expression flickered—was it frustration? Pity? Respect? But before he could react, [Name] turned and bolted towards the backstage area.

“Foolish.” Blade muttered under his breath, his knuckles tightening around his sword’s hilt. Yet, despite himself, he didn’t chase after them.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink and gone

Relish the present

In a blink, gone”

The music thundered in the distance as [Name] crouched behind the wall, their breaths coming quick and shallow. The smoke bomb felt heavy in their hand, not because of its weight, but because of what it symbolized: the line they were about to cross. They stared at it, their fingers trembling. ‘What happens after this? Will anyone believe me?’

But there was no time for doubts. Their friends were in danger, and hesitation wasn’t an option.

“Clear your mind

Leave the burdens behind”

With one last deep breath, they pulled the pin and hurled the smoke bomb toward the guards. It hit the ground with a clink before releasing a thick, choking cloud. Startled shouts erupted from the guards as the smoke enveloped them. [Name] seized the moment, springing to their feet and dashing forward.

“Make this party yours

And no, don’t look back now”

The haze blurred their vision, but they kept moving, their instincts guiding them. Their heart pounded in their chest as they reached the next door, yanking it open and slipping inside before the guards could recover. They slammed it shut behind them, leaning against it for a moment to catch their breath.

“I can’t look back now,” they whispered to themselves, their voice barely audible over the muffled music and the chaos outside. “My friends come first.”

“Neither yesterday nor tomorrow

Exist for me

It’s this moment, or no”

Silver Wolf grinned as the loading bar finally filled. “And boom—we’re in.”

She tapped the final key, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. The screen before her flickered, revealing a flood of hidden files, video feeds, and data logs. “We’ve got everything: backstage feeds, audio recordings, the works. This show’s dirty laundry is about to go viral.”

Kafka, standing guard nearby, tilted her head with an amused smile. “Efficient as always. But let’s not celebrate too soon. We’re still not out of the woods.”

Blade, stationed near the entrance, cut down another approaching security guard with cold precision. “Focus,” he said, his voice sharp. “We don’t have time for games.”

Firefly, her eyes scanning the area, frowned as she noticed something amiss. “Wait—where’s [Name]?”

Kafka’s smile faltered, and Silver Wolf glanced up from her screen. “Didn’t they stick with us?”

“Yes,” Firefly said, her tone tense. “But, they were just here a few minutes ago…”

Blade’s grip on his weapon tightened but he didn’t open his mouth.

“This dark, crimson air

Embraces us

And lifts our spirits”

Sunday’s movements were fluid as he closed the distance between himself and Aventurine, his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic intensity. With a deft motion, he pulled Aventurine’s microphone down to rest against his neck, switching his and Aventurine’s off. As the crowd roared in anticipation of what seemed like a dramatic pause, Sunday leaned in close, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for Aventurine.

“Why fight it, Kakavasha?” he whispered, his tone smooth, almost coaxing. “You’ve already given everything to this game. Let it consume you, let them adore you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Aventurine froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening. The words slithered into his mind, planting seeds of doubt and exhaustion. Sunday’s voice carried a dangerous allure, like a siren song laced with manipulation. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure—might pull him under.

But then, like a flame rekindled, Aventurine’s resolve surged. He shoved Sunday away, his frustration clear as his hands trembled while fixing his mic. “Don’t you dare.” He hissed under his breath, his voice low enough that the audience couldn’t hear.

Straightening up, Aventurine turned back to the crowd, forcing his lips into a defiant smile as the music swelled. His voice cut through the air with renewed strength, even as anger simmered beneath the surface.

“And this hot, fiery thrill

Blazes up in the sky till the end”

(credits to @sviteer on X/Twitter)

Sunday staggered back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The crowd cheered wildly, oblivious to the tension crackling between the two performers. To them, it was all part of the act.

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

Sunday’s presence was almost otherworldly as he moved effortlessly, his voice slipping into a haunting melody that seemed to lull the entire audience into a trance. Every note was perfect, every movement graceful and hypnotic. His eyes glinted with an ethereal intensity, as though he were above it all, controlling not just the music, but the very atmosphere.

“Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone”

The crowd’s cheers swelled, their adoration for Sunday palpable, but for Aventurine, it felt like the walls were closing in. His breath was coming quicker now, his exhaustion seeping through despite his best efforts to hide it. Sunday was a master of this game, effortlessly gliding through the performance while Aventurine fought to stay afloat. The gap between them was widening, and the weight of it was crushing.

“Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock

Blink, gone”

Aventurine could feel his grip on the performance slipping. His voice was strained, each word a battle against the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. Sunday’s power, his control over the stage, was too much. And yet, Aventurine couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when Ratio’s memory burned in his chest like a fire that refused to die. Not when he had to prove that he was more than just a pawn in this twisted game.

His frustration bubbled over, the momentary doubts clawing at his resolve. Why was he even still here? He should have been able to defeat Sunday. Why couldn’t he just be free of this… this pressure?

But the moment he faltered, he could almost hear Ratio’s voice, that quiet reminder of the bond they shared, and his resolve hardened once more.

Sunday, however, was watching him, his gaze almost calculating. He knew exactly what was happening. He could see Aventurine’s struggle, the cracks in his composure starting to show. Sunday’s lips curled upward, an almost imperceptible smile. He was enjoying this, watching Aventurine wrestle with his own limitations. To him, it was all part of the game.

The crowd erupted as Sunday’s performance reached its peak, his ethereal grace pulling them deeper into his web. But Aventurine… Aventurine was falling further behind.

“Don’t let it go…” Aventurine murmured to himself, his fists clenched, trying to find that last bit of energy within him to push through.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus, to fight past the fatigue. For Ratio. For [Name]. He couldn’t stop now. Not when the finish line was in sight.

Aventurine’s vision blurred as the memory of Ratio’s final words flooded his mind, louder than the pounding music, sharper than the pain in his chest.

“Take care of yourself, Gambler. Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

The words echoed over and over again, a reminder that had become his burden, his motivation. The bittersweet final smile Ratio had given him just before slipping away was the last thing he could remember of his friend—of the person who had believed in him when he had nothing left to offer.

The memory of Ratio’s fall, crumpling to the stage, blood staining the ground, was a haunting image that would never leave him. Every detail felt like it had carved itself into his soul.

“Stay alive…”

The thought carried weight now. It wasn’t just for himself anymore. He could hear Ratio’s voice as clearly as if he were standing right there. It was a voice that reminded him that, despite all the pain, there was still a purpose, still a reason to fight, to survive.

But the effort to keep going, to push past the crushing exhaustion, was too much. His legs wobbled beneath him, and without realizing it, blood began to drip from his nose, staining his lip. It was a sign of how far his body had been pushed, how much he had neglected his own well-being in the pursuit of something more.

His head throbbed, a deep, pulsing pain, but Aventurine didn’t falter. Not yet.

With a gasp, he shook himself out of the memory, forced himself to refocus.

“I won’t stop… I can’t stop.”

He looked over to Sunday, whose effortless performance was only pushing the gap between them. But not today. Not today, he swore. For Ratio. For [Name]. For the promise of something better.

He wiped the blood from his lip, still shaking, but his gaze remained steady. Aventurine was going to finish this—no matter the cost.

The music blared, a feverish beat that rattled through the air, echoing the tension between them. Sunday’s performance had become a carefully crafted illusion, mesmerizing the audience, but it was the vision of Aventurine—slumped and struggling—that broke the illusion. Every step, every strained breath, was a silent cry of defiance.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

Aventurine’s vision swam. The figure in front of him, wearing the same pristine white suit he had seen so many times before, was none other than Ratio. Sweat glistened on his brow, his posture firm as though the events of hours ago never happened. As if he hadn’t been shot and left to bleed out on the cold stage. Aventurine’s heart twisted.

“Doctor…”

But as the hallucination blinked, it shifted—flickering like a faulty signal—and Aventurine realized the truth. This wasn’t Ratio. This was Sunday, playing the cruel game of the mind. Sunday’s voice, soothing and familiar, had been twisted into something else entirely. A manipulation, not of words, but of perception.

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

Aventurine’s throat tightened, his breath ragged, but he refused to look away. His mind was clear now, more than ever. The hallucination was just that: a ghost, a reflection of the pain, the guilt that haunted him. He tore his eyes away from it and, through the haze, saw them.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it”

[Name].

‘My God, My Universe…’

His heart surged. They were back. The figure he’d longed for, the one who had kept him tethered to this fleeting world, stood there, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. His pulse raced in recognition. But they weren’t alone.

Beside them stood someone else—a figure he never thought he would see again.

Robin.

Her eyes locked onto Sunday, filled with a strange, unspoken message, her presence more powerful than any weapon. She had come back, alive. Somehow. And Sunday saw it too.

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

Aventurine didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, every step toward [Name] a prayer, a plea to not let this moment slip away, to not let the chaos of the show swallow him whole. His hand reached out, desperate, trembling, but his heart was full of determination.

“Don't miss this moment

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

Sunday, watching with wide eyes, understood the unspoken challenge. He had no time for hesitation. His sister, Robin, was watching, waiting for him to make his move. He couldn’t disappoint her. The scoreboard flickered, a stark reminder that time was running out.

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

Time was up, and it was clear who had won.

“Blink, Gone”

The shot rang out so suddenly, a deafening crack that seemed to tear through the very air, freezing everyone in their tracks. The audience gasped, the music faltering as the blood splattered across the stage in a violent burst. For a moment, it was chaos—confusion, panic—but for [Name], everything slowed to a horrifying crawl.

Their eyes locked onto the figure, standing just a few feet away from them, his form poised in a way that seemed almost serene. The bullet had hit him before anyone had even seen it coming. His body jerked, a sharp intake of breath, and then he crumpled, falling to the ground as the crimson pool spread beneath him, staining the stage.

The scream tore from [Name]’s throat before they could even think.

(credits to by @yuun0110 on X/Twitter)

[Navigation]

[tossawary]

I don't have a solid plot attached to this idea, I don't currently really have the desire to drop everything to go write "The Hobbit" fanfiction, but for a while I've had the idea of *gestures vaguely" some post-canon story (probably some form of fix-it) taking place before, during, and after a grand dwarven opera performance in Erebor.

Because I am absolutely certain that the Lonely Mountain had an absolutely stunningly beautiful Royal Opera House (and plenty of other, less grand performance halls) that, at the city's height, was putting at least one show every single day. Orchestral symphonies, operas and operettas, dramatic plays, dance performances... you name it, they had it and more. The various cultures of Middle Earth evidently ADORE music, dwarves absolutely included. The Company all bring instruments to Bag End to play and sing themselves off before their quest!

Also, beyond the music side of things, with how dwarves are named as master crafters? Smiths and toymakers and magicians? No way that they did not have some of the most gorgeous costumes, sets, and effects on the planet. Dwarves would go WILD with their articulated stage puppets, I know it.

One of my biggest issues with the film trilogy is that it failed to deeply explore the Company as people who had lost their home, beauty and culture included. Smaug not only killed countless people, entire families, and leave many of the survivors poor and desperate, the dragon went on to hoard their heirlooms and life's work and leave these priceless gold treasures UNUSED. It is an additional heartbreak to imagine Smaug tearing through Erebor neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, so that he could tear out every gemstone in, say, mosaic made by someone's grandmother that sat above the breakfast table every morning. To think that Smaug in the aftermath tore magical lanterns off the walls, the sort that might have been decorated with animals or flowers, to make some daycare walkway just a little more cheery for the children, and in his greed left a dead city in the dark.

The live-action movies put both Smaug and the Balrog in these... absolutely enormous chambers that serve somewhat unclear purposes. The king's treasure vault and a former marketplace, I think? (Moria has been raised by goblins, I can forgive the emptiness.) It's a quick visual depiction of Thror's uncontrollable gold lust to give him a Scrooge McDuck room, sure, instead of anything with an actual organizational system (normally, I assume dwarves are big on sorting their vaults if they have one). Super big columns and hallways and staircases do somewhat effectively communicate the "lost glory" of Moria (I am very fond of these movies!!!), even if I also think it's not as interesting as it could have been. And the other obvious purpose of big, open warehouse-like spaces is 1) it's easier to animate the big creatures moving around in them generally and 2) it allows the films to show off the full-bodied visual spectacle of their big creatures.

But I think it would have also kicked ass to put Smaug in Erebor's former Royal Opera House or something, some enormous theatre decorated across generations. That could be big! The ART (statues, fountains, banners, windows, general architecture) that you could put on the exterior, which has had its face ripped open for the dragon to get inside? The ART that you could put INSIDE (mosaics, murals, and more) as Bilbo sneaks inside? Ohhh, you could include so many potential lore references with thematic relevance!

Also, Bilbo could get jump-scared by old articulated stage puppets or something. IT'S THE DRAGON-! Oh, no, it's some old opera prop. (Yes, we're talking more about an actual adaptation of "The Hobbit" rather than fanfiction concepts now.)

Sure, there's raw material treasure and coins hoarded here in this place, but there would also be musical instruments and toys and household tools and cookware and fancy dishes, wedding jewelry and anniversary gifts and family shrines and festival costumes, fountain statues and street lamps and mailboxes and business signs, and other evidence that people really LIVED here. These are all ordinary objects that Bilbo recognizes from the Shire.

We could tie these objects directly back to objects we saw featured in Bilbo's home early in this adaptation, which he was trying to "protect" from the dwarves during their "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" song. There are half-burned portraits of people's late parents here too. Did he think that there weren't any dwarves who made doilies or handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers? Of course they made things like that too.

It's perfectly symbolic to, say, place Smaug's bed in an area like the king's throne room. The dragon is now the King Under The Mountain. But I think it would be deliciously haunting to have the throne room of Erebor be empty, the throne half-broken, the silver stripped from the walls and moved elsewhere, because Smaug doesn't care about Thror's old audience chamber. What's a dwarf king to a dragon? He burns the same as all the others. The dragon has instead made his bed in a beautiful public place of art and culture that was for the people, by the people, surrounded by the lovingly crafted belongings of the ordinary people he killed. Gold is gold to a dragon whether it's in a coin or a candlestick.

I think if you really want to sell one of the key messages of "The Hobbit", which in my opinion is: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." then you ought to throw yourself behind EREBOR being a place where food and cheer and song had value, not just the Shire. Thorin isn't lost at the end because he's a dwarf and dwarves don't value such things, but because he as a specific person who makes the mistake of weighing pride and gold over people, and he comes to regret that on his deathbed.

So, back to the fanfiction idea, I think that Erebor had music again in it as soon as dwarves started living in it again. It will take decades and decades before the Royal Opera House is half as splendid as it was before, and there is a performance there with beautiful costumes and puppets and sets comparable to those that came before, some traditional historical show that is part of specific seasonal holiday for dwarves. But that very first winter, when the future still looked grim, I think the dwarves cleared out a small stage and cast the roles of this traditional musical retelling of their history among them, based on who knew the parts best, because they aren't just miners and smiths and soldiers, and there was music again in Erebor that winter despite all the damage that the dragon did.

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Trick Or Treat

Request from Wattpad-

Pairing: Wanda X G!p Reader 18+

Set in Ep6 of Wanda Vision, could you do reader getting turned on by Wanda's Halloween outfit and leaving to sort themselves out with Wanda coming to 'help' (1.4k words)

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Smut MDNI, Girl Penis Reader, Hand jobs, Blow jobs, Orgasm delay/Denial, Masturbation, Caught, Dom/sub undertones.

---

Reluctantly walking down the stairs, you let out a huff as you entered the living room, the boys giggling at your ridiculous outfit. Dressed in a tight green spandex shirt with a yellow diamond at your chest, green leggings under vibrant yellow shorts and a matching cape chosen by your lovely wife, had you questioning many things, complaints on the tip of your tongue until your mouth parted at the sight of her.

Wanda walked over to you, nose scrunched and a smile playing on her lips while she was dressed in a stunning outfit. She wore pink leggings that showed off her long slender legs and the curve of her hips, a tight red corset that slightly pushed her breasts up, her red scarlet witch crown and a matching cape that fell to the ground. You were speechless as she stopped in front of you, a perfect view of her chest as you looked down at her. Her hands ran across your waist, the touch along with her outfit causing a spike of arousal to shoot down you, the spandex feeling even tighter at a certain area.

“Thank you for humouring me and wearing this ridiculous get-up, Detka,” she murmurs softly, eyes raking over your body making you let out a shaky breath. Her fingers dragged across your abdomen through the green spandex, her nail scratching slightly making your untimely arousal even worse. You absolutely lost it when she peered up at you, lip caught between her teeth with a smile.

“No problem love,” you sighed out, needing to find somewhere to get rid of the little, well the big problem that was growing in size. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom,” you quickly excuse, making your way through your house till you were in the ensuite bathroom you and Wanda shared.

“Fuck,” you groan when you pulled your cock out, your length hard and aching at the sinful costume your wife was wearing. You knew you had to be quick and swiftly spit on your hand before rubbing up and down your length, a sigh leaving you at the pleasurable feeling shooting through you.

You imagined Wanda’s hand wrapped around you, her mouth crashing against yours as she jerked you off expertly, her fingertips teasing your tip before running down to the base of your cock, her other hand cupping your balls and squeezing gently. You moved your hand to her core, circling her clit through her outfit while your mouth descended down her neck, kissing the top of her exposed breasts and desperately wanting to tear the item off her.

“Oh god,” you moan quietly, one hand frantically sliding up and down you while the other grips onto the countertop nearby to support you. Your mind flashes through sinful scenarios with your wife, imagining her on her knees for you, bent over the countertop as you pounded into her from behind and even you on your knees for her, fingers tangled in your hair as she tugged you where she wanted you.

“Trick or Treat, Detka,” she rasps out at the shell of your ear, teeth nibbling on it gently while your body jumps at her sudden presence. You relaxed when her hand replaced yours, firmly gripping you and teasingly moving up and down you at a torturous pace. You lean back against her body, groaning at the way her fingers glide around your tip, smearing the small bit of precum that’s leaked out of you before sliding down to the base.

“Trick,” you jokingly sigh out, moaning at the way she kissed the back of your neck, a breathy moan escaping her at the way you twitched in her hand. You missed the way Wanda smirked behind you, unaware completely of the mischievous glint in her eyes as her hand relentlessly jerked you off.

“Oh Detka,” she husked out lowly before she made you turn around, pushing you until your back hit the countertop and swiftly dropped to her knees. “Do you like my costume?” she innocently asks, peering up at you as her mouth ghosted you, her hand moving to cup your balls as her tongue teasingly swiped over your tip, moaning at the taste of you.

“Fuck, love,” you groan when she takes you briefly into her mouth, your hips bucking at the action. “I love it, it’s so hot, you look beautiful,” she smirks at your affected tone, licking up your cock and spitting on it to make it easier for her.

Wanda’s lips then wrap around you, taking you down her throat as far as she can before bobbing her head up and down your length. You groan at the warm and wet feeling of her mouth, pleasure clouding your mind as you look down at her. She pulls back, panting for breath while she licks her lips, her eyes darkening as she sees your head loll back when she kisses the tip.

“Wanda,” you moan out when she takes you down her throat again, moaning around you making your hips buck, cock going even deeper down her causing her to gag a little. Your hands grip the countertop as she hollows her cheeks around you, not wanting to thread your fingers through her hair and mess up the hairstyle she spent ages doing.

A guttural noise escaped you when she moves to just suck on your tip, her tongue running over the sensitive head while her fingers moved to hold your hips still, not letting you fuck her face this time. “I’m so close,” you groan out, Wanda looking up at you to see the desperate look in your eyes.

Wanda waits until she can practically feel you throbbing and twitching in her mouth, pulling away just before you could crash head first into your orgasm and leaving you to pathetically buck your hips in the air as she returns to her feet. You whimper into her mouth when she keeps your hands trapped on the countertop, not letting you finish yourself off.

“You asked for trick Detka,” she rasps out against your lips, you panting as your orgasm is gradually taken away from you. “If you want the treat later, you’ll be a good girl and not come until then, do you understand?”

“Please Wanda,” you beg, desperate to feel your release as she still keeps you pinned.

“I asked if you understood,” her tone dropping an octave, one hand moving to teasingly run down your length one last time, your hips stuttering as you twitch in the air. You ignore her words once again, looking at her with a pathetic gaze.

“Please just let me come now,” her hand wraps around you once again, jerking you off firmly to have you moaning into her mouth as she tries to quieten you. You practically thrust your hips into her hand as she loosens her grip to let you, teetering on the edge of your orgasm once again until she stops again, a frustrated groan leaving you.

“Are you going to listen to me now Dekta?” her tone condescending as she tilts your head to look at her, “If you want to come tonight, you won’t touch yourself until I say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you sigh out, “I understand,” body trembling from being denied twice now.

“Good girl,” she whispers against your lips, kissing you softly and letting your hands go, them immediately wrapping around her waist and pulling her close for an embrace. Her lips place a gentle kiss to your cheek, her mouth opening to say something else but the sound of the twins interrupts her.

“Mom!” Tommy shouts from outside your bedroom door, knowing he’s not allowed to just walk in, “Can we go trick or treating now?” Wanda chuckles against your hair at the impatient tone of one of your sons, pressing another soft kiss to your face.

“Yes, I’ll be out in a second Tommy,” she calls back, cupping your jaw and murmuring softly, “I’ll let you calm down for a bit,” she looks down to your still hard and aching cock. “Meet us at the town centre,” you nod at her words, watching as she quickly fixes her appearance in the mirror of the bathroom before starting to walk out, pausing at the door frame and giving you a smirk before leaving you, frustrated and desperate for her. 

---

I hope you enjoyed :)

Masterlist

[alacetor-the-duckies-deer]

I have this headcanon for Alastor's back story where he's trans, and just as himself, as he is in the show, even as a kid. So his parents sent him of to a convent, were upon ww1 breaking out in his late teens, he ran away, forged a new identity as a man, got found out once he was already over seas, blackmailed a superior into letting him stay on, where he was introduced to radio communication, and the rest is history.

But all that to say, I like to then imagine, whenever anyone tells him something mildly outlandish, but definitely true, he likes to respond with "Yes, Vox, and I took a vow of celibacy when I was a catholic nun"

To which of course people think, "so you don't belive me? I mean but aren't you a virgin? Are you not????"

And of course, this never gets asked because who's gonna ask The Radio Demom about his Sexy Life.

Angel Dust that's who.

I imagine him doing an interview on Al's Show, just a mix of publicity for them both, hanging out because they're friends, and it's all a big middle finger to the Vee's.

Maybe it's pride month and so they were planning some talk about that, Alastor joking about a possible comming out, even though its plenty well know Alastor is some where on the ace spectrum to anyone with eyes.

They get on the topic somehow, Angel says something like, "I never laid myself across the bar like that! Second set of arms at most! Never my butt, never mind my legs! not after the first time!"

"Mh-hm. You got desperate in your flirting, and I took a vow of celibacy, when I was a nun. We all do silly things, Angel."

"Well, maybe I've laid out on the pool table, but it makes for good pictures. Anyway, I been meaning to ask you about that."

"About being a nun?

"No," angel laughs, plays it off, thinking he's joking. "About your being ace and all. No pressure, but like, you really never even wanted to try?"

"No, I find it quite repulsive. The idea even,"

"You don't watch nothin'? Read nothing either?"

"Ha! No! The filthy little novel Sister Amillia sneaked in the once was quite enough- are you okay Angel?"

Angel had infact just chocked on his latte. "Wait? Sister Amillia? Sneaked in? To where!?"

"The convent, Angel. I was 14, she was 16. Wonderful woman, taught me how to handle a knife, she left shortly after the novel was discovered- Sister Tabitha was as squeaky a little rat as she looked- never saw Amillia again, though."

"Wait, sorry. You were a nun, like, actually? What the fuck?"

One of the little lights that says they have a caller lit up, but Alastor ignore it for now. "Yes, Angel, do keep up."

"Wait, so like that nun costume you wear on halloween?" Angel blows right past the fact Alastor just came out as trans, because yeah. Didnt see it comming but, the trains already wizzing by, and more importantly- "Is that like your actual nun costume?"

"Ha! No, I flung that horrid thing in a garbage can on my way to the enlistment office when I was 17."

"Enlistment?" Angels begining to see what Alastor meant when he said this episode was going to be a unique experience for his listeners at the start of the braodcast. "Like world War 1, right? You were alive for that..."

"Yes, I figured with all the confusion one little girl-"

Angel's phone goes off. It's Val. Angel hits ignore.

"Fuck off Val, I'm off today" Angel says into his mic.

But they get interrupted again and again until Angel turns his phone off.

At which point all twelve of the little light that indicate the show had callers on the line, light up.

"Ah fuck. What does he want that bad? Can you just answer it real quick?"

Alastor flips a switch and answers.

"The fuck you want Val-"

"I'm not calling for you!" It's Vox on the other end, his voice booming from the speaker "Alastor! Are you fucking serious? You were a fucking nun?"

"Yes, Vox." He says with faux patience. "My goodness, did you all stuff your ears with cotton this morn-"

"So you DID actually take a vow of Celibacy? The other day at the meeting during my presentation, you said "that'll work, Vox, sure- and I took a vow-"

"Yes. I was there."

"And!?!"

"Celibacy, among other things. If this is a dig at my sexuality than-"

"Nah fuck that, hang on I'm doing math! Okay you were born in 1901, makes you 17 in 1918, yeah that tracks. Okay so 2024 make you 123, minus the 17 years to be conservative, thats 106 yeah?"

"I was 15 when I took that vow, and under threat of being institutionalized, if that's what you're getting at-"

"108! Ha! Oh my God! 108 years! That's gotta be a record!"

"What are you getting at Vox?"

"You took a vow!" Vox screams through his laughter. "All the pomp and circumstance! On consecrated ground! before god!? To abstain from sex! And even here in hell, were sin and blasphemy are rampant and free-"

"Careful Vox, your televangelist is showing-"

"Who gives a fuck!? You're the one whos upheld their vow to God for over a century like some devout saint!"

Angel and Alastor sit there staring at eachother while Vox laughs his head off around them

"Saint Alastor the Abstinent! The pantron Saint of Virgi-"

Alastor hangs up. "Well that was informative!" Alastor chirps "Well, What's to be done about this? Hm, Angel?"

And for some reason, an unholy one, surely, the first thing out of Angel's mouth is "I could suck you dick? If that- would count?"

And it's a testament to how far they've come as friends, or pooooossbily Alastor's nerves, or maybe his sheer unwavering bravado, but Alastor only bursts out laughing, shaking his head as he get out between laughter "I don't- have one!"

And then they're both laughing and laughing and laughing, and eventually they calm down, and Alastor gets a thoughtful look. "Though, Vox did have one good point."

"Oh?"

"That does have to be a recorded, at least among sinners. Why! I very well might have redeemed myself! We should certainly bring this up with Sera at the next conference!"

And then their off both laughing again, imaging Serra's face when she realises she's going to have to look into yet more research onto the workings of redemption from Heaven's end.

[rui-xyz]

《Backstage Pass》⇝♡

⭒Synopsis: How your favorite boys dick you down in the dressing rooms 🤭🤭

⭒Characters: 3/4 Fantasia Squad (Rui, Tsukasa, Akito) SORRY TOYA LOVERS :(( HOPING TO WRITE HIS LATER!!

⭒Warnings: NSFW, AFAB Reader, possible ooc Akito (still getting used to him), p in v, oral (m and f receiving), semi-public sex --- mentions of a character from my wattpad fic in Tsukasa's, feel free to ignore it 🥰

⭒Setting: Dressing rooms in Wonderland/Street Sekai

⭒Notes: WHAT the title IS NOT inspired by Cupcakke??? (I'm a filthy liar) --- Aged up characters ofc!!

Tsukasa Tenma! ~♡

☆ Starboy's libido doesn't usually act up while his mind's on the show. Seeing you in your different outfits can make his heart flutter, yes, but anything dirty went out the window.

☆ Except today. He had no idea why, either. Yuuki had just finished everyone's costumes for the upcoming show. Yours was no more flattering than any of your other costumes. He's seen your hair styled like this before. And while your makeup was a little different, there was nothing particularly special about it that could cause this sort of reaction.

☆ And yet, he found himself hot in the face and struggling to hide how tight the front of his new slacks were feeling.

☆ Of course, there was no way he was performing like this. So he pulled you aside and bashfully asked for your help, his request being met with a loving smile and a nod.

☆ So that's how he got you bouncing in his lap, sitting on the armchair in his room, and, God, were you merciless.

☆ Your lips were locked in a tight kiss that muffled both your moans. After all, Tsukasa would absolutely crawl in a hole and die if anyone heard, but fuck did this feel amazing.

☆ Your lips were just as relentless as your bouncing, so there was no way to warn you of his nearing orgasm other than to slap the back of your shoulder frantically.

☆ When his release finally hit, his hands grabbed your hips with desperate strength, planting you completely down in his lap and holding you there so tightly his arms trembled. He squealed against your lips, hips twitching up against you with every spurt of his fluids up into your heat.

☆ You were both quick to go limp against each other after, gasping heartily for breath. As usual, once he was breathing steady, Tsukasa's arms wrapped around your waist as he shoved his head into your shoulder, giving your neck a soft kiss and murmuring his love and thanks.

•••

Akito Shinonome! ~♡

▪︎ It was one of those practices where Akito would sing and sing, until his voice became too hoarse to continue. By some magical sixth sense, you always found a way to show up at the stage whenever he was doing this, and had a habit of cutting his practice short.

▪︎ This time was no different. He had been singing full volume when a hand landed on his shoulder, spooking him half to death. He whipped around, ready to punch and kick at whoever thought it was a good idea to interrupt, and by startling him no less, only to see your concerned face.

▪︎ The usual back and forth ensued, with him irritably trying to shoo you off whilst you ignored him and took his hand to drag him off. Except he was feeling particularly feisty tonight.

▪︎ Turns out, all it took were a few special words to get him walking off the stage with you. Namely the promise of, "I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

▪︎ That's what took the two of you to his dressing room. It was nothing particularly fancy, but he did have a stool in front of the mirror he did his hair in. Perfectly fine seating for getting a blowjob.

▪︎ His hand rested on the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair and tugging on it to move you how he wanted. He'd coo mean things to you as his tip hit the back of your throat.

"Hmn, is that really all you can take? C'mon, open up a little more."

▪︎ Soon, he's barely able to keep talking, moaning under his breath as he leans his head back on his shoulders. Your drool had long since started dripping down his balls, and your throat was probably as sore as his, not that you intended on stopping before you saw this through.

▪︎ He gave only a few words warning before he tugged your head down and came down your throat. As soon as the feeling had started to decline, his hand released your hair, and you swallowed down the bitter liquid filling your mouth.

▪︎ He leaned back with a sigh, relaxing for a moment while you caught your breath. Once the two of you were cleaned up, he offered his arm to you to walk you home, making a sly remark about just what else he'd do to make good on your promise once the two of you were home.

•••

Rui Kamishiro! ~♡

¤ Rui's heart would always beat faster when he saw you all dolled up for a show. Only this time, perhaps his heart was overflowing a bit too much with his affections for you. This overwhelming love for you had no place to go but down.

¤ And, on the topic of "going down", as soon as Rui was able to get you safely alone in his dressing room, under the guise of "fixing your eyeliner", he decided to go down on you.

¤ He lovingly laid your back down on his vanity, your head pressed to his mirror, and made quick work of absolutely devouring the sensitive space between your legs.

¤ He wasn't aiming for you to finish from his tongue and fingers alone. Well, perhaps we was at first, but once he was hearing you struggle to muffle your moans and feeling your thighs twitch on either side of his head, fuck did it make him hard.

¤ Rui had you on the verge of cumming when he decided to pull away with a teasing chuckle. As you whined, asking why he had stopped, he tugged his pants and boxers down, and the moment you felt his tip brush against your drenched lips, lined up with your hole, your voice died in your throat.

¤ You grabbed onto his shoulders desperately as he slid in, fast and eager to start. You swallowed nervously, moaning softly at the intrusion. This was likely to be a quickie you wouldn't soon forget.

¤ He fucked you silly on that vanity. Well... he could probably do much better in bed, taking his time and absolutely making you lose your mind under him. But for a quickie, God was it good. You hoped, prayed, no one outside had heard you, but... only the heavens knew for now.

•••

Can anyone tell who my favorite is? :3 take a guess

[aventoru]

photobooth

“look satoru! a photo booth!” you say as you drag your boyfriend towards the booth in the street.

you two are leisurely walking when you spotted a photo booth nearby. what better way to spend time with your cute boyfriend? you’ve always wanted both of you to take pretty pics, and now you’ve finally gotten the chance.

“are you that desperate to take pics with me? i mean, i know i’m hot but—“ you smack gojo on his arm, which he dismisses with a laugh. “shush and go choose your accessories,” you scan the array of accessories displayed.

gojo begins skimming through as well, trying on various headbands, glasses, and even costumes. eventually, you two settle for a simpler yet cute style, sporting matching bunny headbands.

you enter the room, the pink background highlighting both your features. (should you be thankful it’s not grey, washing out gojo’s hair?) you both stand facing the machine, choosing the photo booth settings. you look through the frames and styles, opting for a simple vertical black frame with 4 pictures.

“right satoru,” you say as you insert the corresponding bills into the machine, “what poses should we do?”

“hmm,” he ponders, scrolling through pinterest for inspiration. after a few more seconds, he looks up, turning his phone screen for you to see. “something like this maybe?”

“yeah, i also found some more poses on pinterest,” you show him your findings as well.

you both nod, agreeing on the poses for the 8 pictures you were allowed to take. but your gut feeling tells you that gojo is spontaneous (and crazy) anyway, so there’s no point in planning beforehand. and unsurprisingly, you’re right.

the result is nowhere near what it looks like on pinterest.

the first one was…decent. you two choose the most basic pose: a peace sign. it’s simple enough, but with satoru, you never know. the next five pictures are cute as well. with you both executing a variety of cute couple poses, from making joined hearts to posing as spies.

for the seventh one, he decides to hug you from behind and put his chin on the top of your head (ugh tall people). he knows this level of intimacy is unplanned. but he’s sure you’ve gotten used to it by now considering how he’s all over you every time you both get the tiniest bit of privacy. and sure, you do return his affections, but it’s obvious who’s the more touchy one between you. and unsurprisingly, this time you stayed still as well, not moving even an inch from your spot. what he doesn’t know was that you have a surprise planned for him in the last frame.

you two are posing, your faces right next to each other, cheeks touching and eyes smiling. just at the last moment, you grab his face, turn, and kiss him on the cheek. looking at his reflection on the screen, you can see his eyes widen for a split second. yet his surprise quickly morphs into satisfaction as he closes his eyes and smiles contently, leaning into your touch. the camera successfully captures the sweet surprise you gave him.

two minutes later, you two exit the photo booth, printed pictures all sleeved up in your hands. “so, are you finally returning my affections?” he tries to act nonchalant. but you can see the obvious skip in his step. “no, i just did it for the cute couple aesthetic,” you shrug, trying to play it cool. “yeah sure, i believe you,” he dismisses your excuse with a smirk.

“no, you don’t understand,” you grab his collar and pull him down to eye level, “i would do anything for a good pic. so don’t get the wrong idea.”

gojo contemplates whether or not he should point out your reddened cheeks to contradict your statement. but he decides to keep quiet for now, there will be other times to embarrass you anyway.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Attention to Detail (M!Reader x M!Demon)

Pairing: Male!Demon Cosplayer x Male!Demon

Genre: Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Flirty, Fluffy

Word Count: 2563 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Halloween is a great time to subtly flex your cosplay skills, pouring hour and hours into your costume. You’d even found an occult book at a second-hand store for reference! At a house party, someone pays special attention to all your hard work.

Request: I’m so glad you’re doing well and good!

Can I request a Male Demon x Male Demon Cosplayer on halloween night? Cosplayer could think that the demon is just another dude unaware of the actual danger he’s in?

and maybe could the demon praise and love cosplayer for cosplaying their kind and getting all the little details just right? 🥹

Sometimes, house parties aren’t so bad.

Sure, they could be crowded, smelly, and way too loud. But that was often a by-product of teenage stupidity and desperation; too many bodies crammed into one place, scrambling for beer and faking adulthood. As an adult they get a lot more tolerable. Comes with practice, you suppose.

This halloween house party has been great so far. You’d come with a group of friends who'd all split up, leaving you to find more drinks in the kitchen, but it wasn’t super stifling. You’d actually gotten a lot of compliments on your costume too, a little ego boost to ease you into socializing with all the strangers.

This kitchen is nice as well. Spacious, lots of counter space, some really nice cooking ware. The kinda thing you appreciate more as an adult. The walls helped block out a lot of the music as well, a perfect hiding hole to refill your beverages and recharge your battery for a second. And adjust your costume. God, leather and sweat do not mix.

You take the time and admire your costume-paint, several runes decorating up and down your bare arms. The paint held up pretty well after dancing for so long, the intricate lines still being cohesive. Your body paint had begun to chafe and smudge a little at your knees and elbows, but luckily were hidden beneath your many leather accessories. 

“Ow, fuck!”

A voice snaps you from your admiration, a shadowed figure with a red solo cup in his hand, now rubbing his forehead.

“Damned horns. These infernal houses are too small…” He doesn’t seem to notice you at all when he ducks his head and enters the kitchen. It makes sense, you’re probably under his line of sight because holy fuck this guy is tall.

You're not the best frame of reference, still sitting on the counter as you are, but he’s pushing 6 '6, maybe even 6' 7. Not including the horns, which seemed to add an extra 3 inches of height alone. You wonder what they’re made of to support their bulk. They stay pinned to his head well too, despite the bump. His paint is immaculately done, dark purple showing no signs of fading or chipping away.

“You need some ice?”

That catches his attention, your quiet voice somehow making this absolute giant of a man jump out of his skin. His eyes are wide, yellow sclera glowing in the dark.

Gotta ask where he got those contacts. They look so real.

Said eyes go up and down, his nose twitching as he takes a deep breath. His face crinkles. Jeez, did you smell that bad? You’d made sure to wear deodorant!

“No…I am alright.” He rubs the sore area again. “It’s just the third time it’s happened. Who lives in this house? Imps?”

That gets a snort from you.

“I think you're just tall, dude. Those horns are killer though, totally worth a casual head injury.”

The tall cosplayer stands a little bit taller, finally relaxing and properly looking you in the eye.

“Thank you. I like..” His eyes narrow, “..yours too.”

You brush a hand across your clip-on horns, gentle enough to not mess with the paint. You had set it, but those hours of shaving down the foam and painting were not to go to waste. “Thanks, not that sturdy but I figured I wouldn’t be headbanging too much tonight.”

The man goes silent, eyes now locked on your arms. You twist your forearm, wondering if maybe the paint had smudged while you weren’t looking.

“Those are incredible.” The man is able to cross the length of the room in just one stride, now firmly in your bubble. You figure he must be a little tipsy and not realize, so you brush it off. Hard to be mad when you’re getting complimented.

“Thanks, man. It was hard getting the shapes just right in the mirror. But I think I did an okay job.”

“You did a fantastic job.” He eyes the specific curves of one rune, the more intricate one on your inner wrist. “People often mess this one up, you see. They forget the toz’goth.”

He gestures to a small arrow-like shape protruding out of the side of the rune.

“Is that how you say it?” The book you had copied from hadn’t had many English sections, most being in a script unrecognizable to you or Google Translate. “Good to know.”

“May I?” The man gestures towards your forearm, palm out and stretched open to hold. You quirk up an eyebrow. You don’t even know this guy's name and he’s already asking for a feel?

But he has been giving me a lot of praise, sooooo.

It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the need for approval that has you nodding, setting your arm into his palm. You finally notice his long, sharp black nails as they gently wrap around your wrist, hand ensconcing it in its size. A textured thumb brushes across your inner wrist. A (hopefully) impercitable shiver runs down your spine.

Can’t say I hate this.

The man mutters under his breath as he traces more and more of the runes, nodding approvingly. You try not to shake with giddy.

“The detail you’ve managed with just a paintbrush is astonishing.” His low voice does pleasant things to your stomach, eyes still locked in thought. 

“Thanks, I got a nice set for Christmas. One benefit of being the ‘artist’ of the family, I guess.” You snort, thinking back to all the cheap sets you’d gotten over the years. The thought was appreciated, if nothing else. “I buy the paint in bulk, it does great for really long wear time. I can send you the link, if you want.”

The man just hums, eyes now crawling farther up your arm to your biceps, then to your shoulders. It lands on your neck and you swear the man darts out his tongue to lick his lips when he lands on your pulse. Your stomach flips again.

“My name's ____, by the way. What’s yours?”

The man's eyes go slightly wide, a smirk curling up the sides. 

“Galvith, the Torturer.”

“Ah, much cooler than mine already.” You play long, a little salty he didn’t give you his real name when you gave yours, but whatever. Maybe he’s just really method with his cosplays, or a more private person in general. “It’s a shame, left all my torturing stuff at home. Otherwise us demons could have had some real fun.”

That gets a laugh, a shockingly boisterous laugh. You see the hints of sharp canines, surely fake, that almost glint in the low light.

“Yes, I bet we could.” Galvith chuckles to himself, almost like he’s remembering an inside joke. “I’d be the brawn, you’d be the brains behind the operation?”

“Well, if you insist.” You throw your hand in a faux sign of humility. “Just didn’t want you to waste all those muscles, big guy.” Patting his chest is a good way for you to subtly feel his chest, and wow are those pecs prominent. Gotta respect the hustle, Galvith is a brick shithouse.

Galvith takes the compliment easily, going the extra mile and flexing his bicep, which is almost as big as the honeydew melon sitting not too far from you. Thank god you’re sitting, or else you’d have probably swooned already. 

“Think we’d have to get you a different outfit though. Cargo shorts and a graphic tee aren’t really giving ‘torturer’.”

“And I suppose all of this  is?” Galvith flicks at a tassel on your leather vest. “Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of leather?”

“Hey man, don’t hate the look! What kind of torture-expert would I be if I didn’t bring style to the gig?”

“A messy one, that’s what.” Galvith takes a step back eyeing your whole outfit, from your vest to your ripped jeans to your combat boots with studs. “You’re less tortue-expert and more Incubus. All style and,” He eyes up your exposed clavicle, tracing it with his eyes, “-debauchery.”

The word feels so perfect coming out his mouth, like it was molded by it. This hard seltzer must be stronger than you thought, cause you can’t remember the last time a total stranger had you this horny.

“Well maybe I’m looking to change positions. Heard it’s much cushier, being an Incubus and all.”

Gavith chuckles, eyes once more rolling up and down your body. Goosebumps pepper the back of your neck, a primordial something settling in your gut. You're not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

“You’ve certainly got the looks for it, little one.” He clicks his teeth, fake fangs and all. You’re impressed by the durability, and how he doesn’t seem to speak with a lisp with them in.

You find yourself getting lost in his contacts, yellow and slitted. They don’t seem to be irritating him at all, and you add it to the list to ask what his prescription is. It’ll be hard to remember though, when he places a hand right by your thigh, enclosing into your space.

“Do you like to dance, my little Incubus?”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow the lump in your throat, once again getting lost in his hot gaze, in that sultry look. “Yeah, I like to dance.”

“Good.” A clawed hand settles on your lower back, pushing you off the counter and practically in his arms. On the ground, it’s even more noticeable just how big Galvith is. “Let’s test out that body paint, shall we?”

—

It’s hot on the make-shift dance floor, despite just being a mat laid out in the backyard, a wireless speaker pumping the top 100 over the party noise. But with Galvith’s hands on your hips, those fangs nipping at the top of your ear, you're steamy.

“I must admit, I’m a fan of this new genre of human music.”

Galvith whispers in your ear, swaying your bodies to the drum beat. 

“I think they call it ‘pop’.” You play along, adding an extra haught to your voice, as if you're really 100 plus years old.

“Hm, like the pop of a vertebrae when you snap it in half. Or a bone being forced out of the socket.”

That has you both laughing, that shared dark humor coming in clutch. You could get down with this kind of roleplay.

“Exactly! The most pleasant sound around.”

Galvith swings you by the hips, your feet nearly lifting off the ground. Your head gets thrown back in a giggle. Seems like those muscles aren’t just for show.

“Oh, what is this?”

Galvith grabs at your necklace, now untucked from your high collar and free flowing. His eyes go slightly wide at the intricate design, composed of several small circles and wrapping lines. 

“A friend made it for me actually. She makes jewelry and I offered to trade some leather pieces for a custom design.” You look at the emblem, wondering if he recognized whatever series the book you found came from. It was extremely detailed, and although a bit on the older side, was full of information too niche to be from any religions you’re aware of. You double checked and everything. 

“Asmaes.” Galvith purrs, twirling the sigils between his fingers. The silver chain rubs against the back of your neck. “Fitting piece, you chose well my little Incubus. Superb craftsmanship as well, kudos to your friend.”

“Thanks, I’ll let her know.” 

Before you can ask him more about the book, he spins you around once more, the world turning as he drops you into a dip. Galvith pulls you up with just as much ease, your ankle hooking around his calf so you don’t collide face-first.

Hot breath blows across your lips, your tongue darting out for just a second. Up-close, those fake fangs look even more real. The closeness is almost too much, your eyes darting to look away. But a calloused thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“So…delectable.”

Sweat pools at your clavicle as Galvith kisses you. Your costume fangs clank together, almost coming loose in your mouth, but it’s hard to care. Not when his hand comes down to your hip, grabbing you and pushing you against him.

It’s easy to fall into the kiss, for that sense of shame to fall to the wayside, even as he practically devours you in front of all these people. You’re not usually like this, you don’t come to these parties for someone to kiss and grind against. But there’s something about him, something thats drawing you in. It’s hot, like a moth to a flame.

The only thing that drags you out of the lust-bubble is the vibration of a phone in Galvith’s pocket, resonating against the thigh you currently have pressed up against him. He growls into your mouth, pulling back at the very last moment.

Galvith curses in a foreign language, you think, grabbing the phone with one hand, the other still swaying you side to side.

“What?”

You swallow down a weird jump of fear. Jeez, you would not want to be on the other side of that phone call.

An unintelligible voice babbles something from the speaker. The vein in Galvith’s head begins to bulge.

“Fine. Whatever.”

He hangs up as the other person is mid-sentence. You don’t even get a chance to ask who it was, before he steals you in another breath-taking kiss.

“Sorry, little human. I have to go.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sorry.” You try to unlodge yourself from his arms, the haze of kissing fading and feeling a little more than embarrassed. God, what came over you? But Galvith’s grip is tight, keeping you in place with an alluring smirk.

“Do not worry, we will meet again. Sometime soon.” 

You try not to let your smile get too wide, to seem too eager. “Sure thing. Do you want my phone number, or-”

Galvith digs his face into your neck, taking a deep whiff. You nearly squeak. He pulls away with a shuddering breath, wetting his bottom lip.

“I’ll know where to find you.”

Finally, Galvith unwinds his arms, letting you free. You find yourself almost lurching forward, desperate to feel that heat again.

It’s gotta be the alcohol, right? That’s the only logical explanation.

Galvith gives you one last peck to the cheek, a cheeky squeeze of your ass.

“Goodbye, my sweetling.”

With that he’s sauntering back into the house, leaving you speechless and breathless. All alone in someone’s backyard.

I gotta find my friends. They gotta hear about this.

—

Galvith has to sneak into a broom closet to teleport, just barely large enough to fit him. It’s demeaning, even if the spell takes just a second to go through.

Ugh, the one time he finds an interesting human, and he’s called in for an ‘emergency.’ He had wanted to scream at the amatuer demon over the phone. “It’s torture! How hard could it be to figure it out!?”

Galvith steals himself. It will do no good to be angry. Save it for the poor soul currently strung up by his ankles. He takes a deep sniff of the palm of his hand, the smell of leather, denim and your sweat still lingering.

He’ll come back for his little human. One day.

[vanfleeter]

Halloween Affair

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ || Fluff. Smut. Grinding. Sex. Oral sex (f receiving). Penetrative sex.

A/N: Uploading from my phone. No editing, apologies for any grammar mistakes 😅

🎃

You never saw him coming, but how could you? The music was blaring and your senses were clouded. His hands slide over your waist and he wraps his arms around your body. You jump in fright, nearly spilling your drink. You feel the vibration of his laugh against the back of your neck before the soft feel of his lips press against your skin. “You look sexy..” He says loud enough for you to hear over the music.

Jake.

Turning around to face him, he gives you a grin. One full of a plastic set of vampire teeth. The kind you would find at a party supply store. You can’t help but to giggle seeing how swollen it makes his mouth look.

“Decided on Count Dracula for your costume?” You say as you remove the teeth from his mouth.

“I heard you like vampires.”

“Well you heard correctly.”

The two of you have only been going out for a few months but it didn’t take him long to confess his attraction to you in more than just an emotional way. He shamelessly professed it to you in your kitchen one night a few weeks ago. He threatened to throw away those skimpy pajamas shorts that you so boldly wore in front of him. It was that night that you let him have his way with you. You weren’t shy about your own attraction and wouldn’t deny him the chance to be with you.

Tonight, however, proved to be difficult for him to keep his hands to himself. He promised to be on his best behavior but seeing you walk into his brother’s home and wearing a sexy pirate costume, he couldn’t quite make himself behave. You were testing him and he knew it.

The people around you were quite immersed in the dancing and the loud music that no one paid much attention to the two of you. His hands move down your back and he grabs your ass, pushing your bodies together. You can feel a small bulge beneath the pants of his costume, and when you look back up into his eyes, you can see just how lustful they are.

“Would you like to leave?” You ask him.

He shakes his head before gently grinding himself against you. “I won’t make it back home,” He says. “Plus, we always have such a bad time in the car. One of us always gets hurt.”

You giggle at the thought of car sex. It never went smooth for the two of you. One of you either hit your head, or knocked them both against each other when trying to shift your bodies. Once your ass hit the horn, completely blowing your cover. His knee jerked one time and hit the steering wheel, resulting in the car going completely haywire.

“Josh blocked off the stairs.. But we can sneak up there.”

“Oh?”

Jake nods his head and leans down to kiss you. The kiss was hard yet passionate, showing you just how desperate he’s been all night for you. He rolls his hips again, pressing himself harder against your body. Feeling him rub against you in the right place made your head fall backwards. He was practically dry humping you in the middle of the crowded living room. Still, not a single soul there even looked in your direction. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning, though you’re pretty sure that the music would only cover it up.

He pulls you flush up to his chest and moves both of your bodies in a languid manner. He wanted to get you just as desperate as he is so he has an excuse to be dragging you upstairs. This also wouldn't be the first time that he’s fucked you in his brother’s house.

As the music slows, he halts his movements and starts to sway the two of you in time with the beat. He keeps you close, only to conceal his true intentions should there suddenly be any lingering eyes.

“Come with me upstairs..” He whispers to you, his lips ghosting over yours. “Or so help me, I will lay you out on this floor and fuck you in front of everyone.”

“Such lewd behavior,” You tease. “But you wouldn’t..”

“I wouldn’t?”

You shake your head. “No, because as much as you would want everyone to know just who I belong to as I scream your name, you also want to just keep all of me to yourself. Those pretty sounds I make should only be heard for your ears.. Am I right, Jacob?”

Immediately he turns on his heels and drags you through the living room and over to the stairs, not giving a damn if his brother saw him or not. He helps you over the rope before stepping over it himself and proceeding to pull you up the staircase. Once out of the eyesight of others, he pins you against the wall, pressing his body against yours once more and kissing you. He hikes your leg up on his waist, granting him access to grind his hardened member against your core.

Attaching his lips to your neck, he sucks gently before nipping your skin. “Living up to your costume, are you?” He smiles against your neck before pulling away and brings you into the nearest room before closing the door and pinning your back against the wall. He drops to his knees in front of you and works quickly to pull down your sheer tights. He forces your underwear to the side and doesn't waste a second as he dives into your folds.

Your hands found a quick home in his hair and gave the locks a tug making him groan against you, the vibration alone making you moan. You can feel the tightness in your core growing as he brings you closer to your release. His hands hold tightly to your legs as they shake uncontrollably. Pulling out from beneath your skirt, he gasps lightly for air, his chest heaving ever so slightly as he runs his hand through his hair, pushing away from his face which glistens.

He gently lowers your leg before standing back up to his feet. He reaches over to the door and turns the lock on the knob before taking you off the wall and walking you back towards the bed.

It took some time for the both of you to shed the layers of clothing you both wore but by the end of it, he had you pressed against the mattress and on your stomach. He made quick work of himself before leaning over top of you and thrusting himself inside of you. The sting was indeed painful but welcomed pleasure shortly after he began his steady pace. One hand was planted firmly on the mattress to keep himself up right while the other dug deep into your hair to hold you in place.

The warmth of his chest against your back made this moment even more pleasing. His skin was soft, baring no chest hair. But his necklaces were enough to add just a little bit of scratching on your back.

Soon he became less than gentle as he pounded himself deep inside of you, chasing the high that was consuming both you and him. Though his actions were rough, his words were gentle as he spoke to you in dominance.

“You’re taking me so well–just like you always do..” He presses a kiss to your head as he massages the pads of his fingers against your scalp. “Such a good girl for me..”

Soon he has you both crashing into your climaxes, his body now a sweaty and hot weight upon yours.

A loud knock comes on the door followed by Danny’s loud voice. “No one’s allowed up here!”

Jake covers your mouth with his hand and he clears his throat. “Uh yeah,” He says in a deeper voice. “Sorry man, we’ll be down.”

“You’ve got five minutes!”

Jake stays still, holding you close with his hand still covering your mouth as he waits for Danny to really be gone. Once he was sure that he was gone, he slowly pulled out of you and the two of you quickly got dressed again and fixed up your appearances before descending the stairs quietly. Jake cautiously peered around the corner and when he deemed that the coast was clear of any of the guys, he helped you back over the rope and pulled you back into the living room, mixing back into the dancing and mingling bodies of the party goers.

A few minutes later, Josh appears beside the two of you. “You will never believe what happened..”

“Hmm, what?” Jake indulges.

“Danny caught people upstairs totally going at it in the guest room..” Josh explains before taking another drink from his beer and rolling his eyes. “So disrespectful.. Anyways, have you two been enjoying the party? You look a little sweaty–dancing too much?”

“Oh, we’ve definitely been dancing too much.” Jake nods his head. “We've been doing nothing but dancing.”

“Well, you two keep enjoying the party–I am going to find something to eat.”

“You do that.” Once Josh is gone, Jake pulls you closer. “So disrespectful..” He repeats in a mocking tone making you laugh. He draws you in for a kiss and grinds himself against you again. “I like being disrespectful with you.”

“Hey.. You didn't put your fangs back in,” You say.

“Hmph.. Must have left them upstairs,” He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh well.. He’ll find them later..”

“He’s going to be so pissed..”

“Well lucky for me, I’m not the only vampire here,” He winks. “There’s at least ten here. So unoriginal.”

You giggle and playfully push him away but he pulls you back. “You are crazy..”

“Mmmm, but you love me anyways.” He says as he nuzzles the side of his face against your head.

“Unfortunately..” You sigh. His hand slaps against your ass and you laugh. “Of course I love you.” You turn your head to the side and he takes the opportunity to kiss you.

🎃

be sure to like, reblog, and comment! ♡

@writingcold @losfacedevil @hollyco @tinydancer40 @edgingthedarkness @takenbythemadness @ignite-my-fire @earthgrlsreasy @dancingcarbon @josh-iamyour-mama @katiegvf @jordinlkiszka @cheersdannyx2

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[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 6, Lilia's history edition:

(previous part of headcanons, here.)

Lilia wasn't born into sicilian aristocracy. She was born in the carpathian mountains. Her parents were romani, victims of persecution, and so she was orphaned & taken in by her maestra.

As a little girl, Lilia was insanely self-conscious, shy and withdrawn.

She used to have a pet goat. Hence my username. Now, she's upset that it's become some sort of satanic-associated stereotype that witches talk to goats.

When she started showing signs of her forgetfulness, her visions, her flashes—people will have treated her as 'defective' and 'faulty.' One of those kids that just 'isn't very bright.'

She hated the texture of those darn dresses. Her Maestra eventually noticed her discomfort and passed down the shirt and coat we see her wear on the road—since the costume designer said they were indeed passed down to her.

Her maestra taught her how to sew, knit—and a great deal of sicilian, Italian and greek recipes. Her maestra enjoyed cooking, and she enjoyed drinking tea.

Her maestra also taught her a little pan flute. It was many years kater that she studied the zills by herself. She had a lot of free time as a hermit, okay?

She'd get easily distracted, she wouldn't pay attention when others spoke. She'd struggle with eye-contact. Her voice would trail off. Once in a while, she'd get really excited about something and go on a long rant, until breathless—which would be met with judgement. She'd space out and others would laugh at her.

But despite the fact she was considered strange, even by her sister witches—her covenmates did love her. Like you live siblings even as you tease them—and she was one of the youngest, if not the youngest.

The maestra was undoubtedly a strict, no-nonsense woman. But she was also the first, perhaps the only person, who sat down to understand Lilia's unique condition. Whenever she'd catch her 'visiting,' which was often, she would focus on guiding & keeping her calm.

She was desperate to toughen Lilia up, seeing how afraid and insecure she was. The maestra worried for her and didn't want her to end uo helpless. So, she taught her everything she knows—like a mother—even if everyone else thought she was wasting time, since Lilia struggled a lot initially. (“tea-leaves, i was bad at tea-leaves...”)

Lilia's Maestra had known about the fever that will wipe out their coven since before little Lilia hot the vision—since on their first lesson, 450 year old Lilia time-slipping from the Witch's Road told her. Despite this, the maestra didn't tell Lilia, because having seen how dark and sad her future is, she wanted her to feel safe and happy for a little while longer.

The first time Lilia met Jen (and afterwards, the rest of them) was exactly then. As adult Lilia was talking to her maestra, little Lilia was in the tunnels, experiencing her life out of sequence as she always had. She simply couldn't remember the flashes of her future coven or make sense of anything.

Lilia tried to warn everyone of the fever despite the fact it was set in stone, because of her own denial. None of her covenmates believed her—'Looney Lilia is at it again'—but her maestra, who already knew it would happen, simply repeated that death comes for us all.

Lilia would see Rio all the time in her full-skull form when she was young, in flashes. Rio's been following her! She thinks they're besties! Lilia is scared shitless!

Lilia's first girlfriend was one of the Doñas de fuera. In the historical folklore of Sicily, Doñas de fuera (Spanish for "Ladies from the Outside"; Sicily was under Spanish rule at the time) were supernatural female beings comparable to the fairies of English folklore. In the 16th to mid-17th centuries, the doñas de fuera also played a role in the witch trials in Sicily. In historical Sicilian folklore, the doñas de fuera} would make contact with humans, mostly women deemed to have “sweet blood”, whom they took to Benevento ("the Blockula of Sicily"), by mounting them on magical, flying goats.

Compared to surrounding countries, the witch trials in Sicily were relatively mild: in most cases, the accused were either freed, sentenced to exile, or jailed, rather than sentenced to death.

In Lilia's case, after the death of her coven, when she was left alone, she was eventually put to trial and exiled from Sicily.

She traveled from medieval village to medieval village across Europe, chased with pitchforks each time. She thought every tragedy was her fault.

She was in Strasbourg, France, to witness the Dancing Plague. She tried to warn everyone, but they called her crazy.

Another old friend of Lilia's, while in France, was Carabosse, based on whom the wicked fairy/Maleficent was created. Lilia watched once more as she turned into a racist caricature after her death. MANY years later, she went and watched Tchaikovsky sleeping beauty ballet—and then proceeded to go and punch him also.

Heinrich Kramer tried to hit on her. If you don't know, he was a German churchman and inquisitor. With his widely distributed book Malleus Maleficarum, which describes witchcraft and endorses detailed processes for the extermination of witches, he was instrumental in establishing the period of witch trials in the early modern period. Professor Malcolm Gaskill has described Kramer as a "superstitious psychopath."

And Lilia, in fact, was good friends (potential fling??) with Helena Scheuberin, an Austrian woman who stood trial accused of witchcraft just because she herself had rejected Henrich Kramer's advances. During the trial, thirteen other people were accused. Lilia was one of them. Luckily, the trial was dismissed.

She stayed in Germany for a while, to live with her good friend (perhaps even girlfriend.) Aka, the witch from Hansel & Gretel. She watched her, later, be put to death in her own over—persecuted for witchcraft. And then, she watched again as her tale was combined with other medieval stereotypes and bastardized into an antisemitic stereotype that painted her as a cannibalist, child-stealing villain. Lilia hates it. She says it's a tale that celebrates the order of the patriarchal home, seen as a haven protected from the dangerous characters that threaten the lives of children outside, while it systematically denigrates the adult female characters, which are seemingly intertwined between each other.

She met Evanora Harkness when she was pregnant and deeply disliked her.

While in Germany, she was subjected to yet another witch trial. She survived, hasn't talked about how, but she has scars from it that she will not show. (Würzburg witch trials. The Würzburg witch trials of 1625–1631, which took place in the self-governing Catholic Prince-Bishopric of Würzburg in the Holy Roman Empire in present-day Germany, formed one of the biggest mass trials and mass executions ever seen in Europe, and one of the largest witch trials in history.)

After Germany, she went to England to escape that mess of trauma. And so she witnessed the Great Plague of London, lasting from 1665 to 1666, was the most recent major epidemic of the bubonic plague to occur in England.

She lived in Styria for quite a few years, where she dated Carmilla, from the lesbian vampire novel. Eventually, they broke up. Lilia had been empathetic at first, but grew tired of being fed off of and punched her.

Out of spite, she spent a decade or two in Transylvania, helping other vampires escape vampire hunting trials. She witnessed a lot of friends be killed.

She lived in Greece for a few years after the Greek War of Independence. Later spent time in Asia Minor, until she had enough of Greek and Turkish witches arguing about who coffee reading belongs to.

She became an opera singer in spain, for a while. One of the many jobs she took over the years. It's when she met Tchaikovsky, in a trip to russia, as mentioned earlier, and bitch-slapped that twink into oblivion.

While in russia, she also met Alexandra Kollontai.

She met Rosa Luxemburg during the First World War. She also met Clara Zetkin.

She went to Argentina for a few years, met Virginia Bolten.

So, America it is... She wasn't happy about it. She went to Massachusetts, like a moth to the flame. Not Salem, no—Boston.

She was friends with Sylvia Plath. Maybe they even kissed a little!! Lilia tried to help her, but couldn't.

Her mental health was so terrible that she couldn't hold jobs for too long. She worked as a seamstress, as a stenographer, a governess, a maid.

She got married to a gay man, one time, for a few years, because people grew suspicious. He died.

She decided she deserved to be alone, because she was a bad omen. A jinx, a habringer of doom. She chose the life of the hermit.

She was at the Women’s Suffrage Parade in 1913 in Washington, D.C.

During the roaring 20's she became a jazz singer. She wasn't able to continue, because she was getting some really bad mental health episodes.

She had to sell a lot of her old sicilian jewellery and good dresses for money after the economy crashed on 1929. The Great depression made her... Greatly depressed.

She was unable to keep paying for a house and started traveling with a caravan. If she'd stayed in Boston at that time, perhaps she could have met Jen. She didn't.

She was attacked & robbed three separate times while in said caravan.

Obviously she's a polyglot, familiar with the language of every country she's lived in. But even as she forgets words and confuses details between languages, she never forgets anything about her native tongue. She hasn't been in Italy for centuries, but all her notes & personal writings are in Sicilian. She really misses speaking it and she feels like she can never truly, genuinely express herself in English.

Before whichever war, due to all the death she was predicting, she'd scream and cry like a banshee. It's one of the reasons she repressed her magic, put it away, ignored it.

She was in The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom on 1963.

She was in the stonewall riots in 1969. She made some friends again, non witch folk.

She was also in Woodstock, again, in 1969.

She did activism during the AIDS crisis. She lost the friends she made.

At one point she got bored and got a history degree.

At another point she got bored and got a philosophy degree.

She's taught in schools, once or twice, but was deemed unfit after a few years even though the students loved her.

She moved to New Jersey, opened Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings and Lilia's Leggings, but the money from that is still not enough. I mean, her house is decomposing, her bed is her wall, and her food is scarce enough that she doesn't mind a lapsed expiration date. Girl is dirt poor.

She does a lot of children's parties. She often hates the parents, though.

She has very few clients on the daily, but one of her regulars (in both businesses) is Madisynn King from She-Hulk.

[fandomnerd9602]

All Hallows Eve

Sienna Shaw x Wolverine!Reader

Request by @tokufighter

Halloween Special

The way she smiled. The way she looked at you. Her dark brunette hair. Her brown eyes that stared at you. It was something you couldn’t deny. You were one hundred percent in love with your best friend Sienna Shaw.

But you couldn’t tell her. You were a freak in the eyes of most people. You were the teenage offspring of James ‘Logan’ Howlett - the Wolverine.

You had to keep this side of you hidden. You had hoped it could remain that way.

You helped Sienna to assemble her Valkyrie costume. She looked like a true warrior goddess in your eyes.

The more animalistic side of you just wanted to just pull her close and kiss her. But you kept that side of you at bay.

“So what do you think?” She asked you with a nervous little smile gracing her lips.

“Heavenly” you remarked with a little Howlett side smile.

Sienna gave you a gentle blush and laugh, gently tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. She looked up at you, her eyes looking back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How desperately you wanted to kiss her in that moment.

“We uhh…should get to the party” you answered before walking away.

And then came the Art incident.any you knew were slaughtered. Sienna’s brother was kidnapped. You and your Valkyrie found yourselves against the wall.

“I can’t lose him!” She told you with tears in her eyes.

“Jonathan won’t die tonight” you pull your sleeves. You tried to keep it hidden but now was not the time. You popped your sleek metal claws out of your knuckles.

Sienna gasped but a little smile made its way across her lips. “hot” she replies.

Using your incredible sense of smell, you tracked down Art and Jonathan. You burst into the room, claws drawn.

Sienna’s Valkyrie sword began to glow. The two of you charged at the maniacal clown. The otherworldly clown tried to dodge your attacks but it was no use.

Your claws cut through his chainsaw. Your claws cut through his ax and knives. His attacks had no effect on you.

You lopped off an arm and then a leg. The clown, for probably the first time in its entire life, was terrified.

Sienna jumped in and lopped the clown’s head clean off. She buries her sword right through his chest and into the ground.

You gently approached your warrior goddess, her chest heaving and her eyes burning with tears.

“Sienna?” You asked. She immediately turned around and jumped into your arms, hugging you tight.

“Don’t let go of me. Please” she begged you.

“I’ll never let go” you hugged her back. Jonathan hugged both of you.

The police and medics were quick to the scene. You set a fire on the clown, burning him and the house to the ground. The sword remained buried deep through the clown and into the earth, making sure the clown would never reappear.

The medics tended to Jonathan and Sienna’s injuries. The police took your statements.

You walked up to your warrior goddess, you weren’t about to let another moment go by.

“Shaw?” You asked, getting her attention. “Are you alright?”

“Maybe.” She responded.

“I’m sorry you had to see…well…” you gestured to your knuckles.

“Are you kidding? Those claws are amazing! Is that what you were trying to tell me?”

“No…actually it has to do with…” you sigh. “We Howletts have never been much for words”

She gives you a gentle smile, her voice has a slight purr to it, “then let your actions speak for you”

You smile. You grab her by the lower back and pull her in. She wraps a leg around your waist, letting out a soft, seductive gasp. Her arms wrap around your neck.

“I love you Sienna” you whisper

“Show me” she replies with a smile. You mirror her smile.

You pull her in, caressing her face. You kiss her tenderly and yet at the same time years of longing burst forth.

She gripped the back of your head, kissing you repeatedly and happily. You pulled back just a little, only to grab a bit of oxygen.

“My warrior goddess. My Valkyrie” you whispered against her lips.

“My Wolverine” she answered back. You give her a playful little growl.

It would take awhile but you and Sienna would build a life together. One free of fear, free of the monsters in the dark.

You were just so glad you could build it with your warrior goddess.

[cgunderwearstories]

The Lambda House Halloween Party

The Lambda house Halloween party at Ashford College was in full swing, the house decked out in its usual haunted decor—flickering lanterns, spider webs stretching across doorways, and a thick mist rolling from a fog machine. The music boomed through the rooms, and dozens of college guys dressed in everything from werewolves to gladiators packed the space, laughing and shouting. Some of the Lambda brothers had their eyes set on making the night memorable in a very different way. Every year, they prided themselves on pulling pranks that left guys feeling more than a little exposed—especially those who arrived unprepared or overconfident. Tonight, they had their eyes on Jason.

Jason is wearing a toga that is supposed to drape down to his knees, but it barely covers his meaty thighs. The material is a thin, gauzy white that shifts easily with movement, lifting higher and showing more with every step. As he moves, the toga flutters, and the sides part to reveal a glimpse of his underwear—a skimpy pair of lacy blue panties. The lace pattern is intricate, with small floral designs that contrast sharply against his skin, and they’re cut high on the sides, exposing a lot of his hips. The waistband is thin, and when the toga rides up, you can clearly see the blue lace riding above his thigh.

The guys at the party erupt into laughter. “Nice toga, dude, but I think you forgot to dress for the occasion!” one of them shouts. “Those are some fancy panties you’ve got under there!” another guy adds, grinning. A guy nearby shakes his head and laughs, “Guess you wanted to be the ‘Greek god of lingerie’ tonight, huh?” They lift the back of his toga, exposing the full lace design. “Oh man, you’re showing off more than you think!”

Jason, feels his face heat up as the frat guys start pointing and laughing at his predicament. His toga, already too short, has ridden up enough for everyone to see his blue lacy panties, the thin material barely covering anything. He desperately tries to adjust the fabric, pulling it down, but every time he does, the lace waistband peeks out even more. The frat guys are relentless, crowding around him, their laughter echoing through the room.

“Hey, man, nice choice! Are those lace panties?” one of the frat guys jeers, reaching over to lift the side of Jason’s toga even higher. “Looks like someone’s got a secret.”

Jason, flustered and trying to save face, stammers out an excuse. “It’s—it’s part of the costume! You know, like ancient Greek underwear, uh, they wore—fancy stuff back then, you know?”

The guys roar with laughter at his attempt. “Greek underwear, huh?” one of them scoffs, tugging at the back of the toga so it rides up higher, giving a full view of the lace against his skin. “Sure, dude, because all Greek warriors fought in their girlfriends’ panties.” Another guy doubles over, clutching his stomach, “Oh man, next you’ll be telling us you’re wearing a bra too!”

Jason tries to pull the toga back down, but the frat guys aren’t letting him off that easily. One of them pulls at the waistband of his panties, snapping the elastic against his skin. “Nah, man, if you’re going to wear something like this, you’ve gotta show it off!” he laughs. Another guy joins in, lifting the front of the toga to expose the full lace detail. “Check this out, boys—looks like Jason’s gone all out tonight!”

Jason’s face is burning red now as he feels the lace cling to his skin, the panties barely hiding anything. “It’s—it’s a joke, okay? It’s just for fun,” he tries to say, but the frat guys are having none of it.

“Yeah, right,” one of them sneers, pulling the back of his panties and letting it snap. “You’ve been caught, dude. Just admit you like it!” 

Another mischievously smiles, “Why not just take the whole thing off if you’re so proud of your ‘costume’?”

He grabs the side of the toga and gives it a tug, pulling it off entirely. The group hoots with laughter as Jason stands there, desperately trying to cover himself. One of the frat guys holds up his phone, snapping pictures. “Smile for the camera, lace boy!” he says, grinning.

“Yeah, show everyone your ‘ancient Greek’ look!” another guy taunts, pushing him forward so he stumbles in his lacy panties.

Jason’s attempts to regain his dignity are futile. “You know what, maybe he’s right,” one guy says, pretending to consider Jason’s excuse. “Maybe this is just how the Greeks did it. All lace, all the time. What do you think, boys?”

As Jason tries to make his escape, one of the frat guys steps up behind him, snickering. Without warning, he slips his finger into the waistband of the panties. His finger lingers for a moment, running along the waistband as if inspecting the lace pattern. “You know, this lace really suits you,” he teases, giving a slight tug that pulls the fabric into a wedgie. “Bet you didn’t think you’d be showing off your cute little panties tonight, huh?” he adds with a smirk.

Jason’s face burns as the guy continues. “Honestly, dude, you should just own it. Walk around and show off those cheeks—you’ve got nothing left to hide anyway.” The other guys around him burst into laughter, egging on the one who’s teasing Jason.

Feeling the humiliation, Jason doesn’t dare reach back or try to fix his wedgie. He walks away, face down, while the guy shouts, “There you go, show off that lace! Everyone’s loving the view!”

As Jason tries to make his way through the crowd, cheeks burning with embarrassment, one of the frat guys steps up behind him. Slowly, he slips his finger into the waistband of Jason’s lace panties, tugging them just enough to expose his ample behind. Jason feels a shiver run through him, his body betraying the thrill he feels as the lace is lowered. He knows he should push the guy away, but he’s frozen, heart racing.

The guy leans in, his breath warm against Jason’s ear. “We can all see your pretty little panties, man…and your pink hole” he whispers, his finger brushing against Jason’s sensitive hole. The light touch sends a jolt through Jason, and he bites his lip, struggling to suppress the excitement he feels. The teasing touch moves closer, grazing areas that make his knees weak. The lace panties hang below his buttocks, intensifying every sensation.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, grinning as he sees Jason’s reaction. “Bet you love showing off for all the guys.”

Around them, the other frat guys laugh, their voices echoing in Jason’s ears. “Dude, looks like you’re really enjoying this!” one shouts, and another adds, “Guess he wanted everyone to see what he’s packing under that toga!”

The guy’s finger continues its teasing journey, lingering on Jason’s hole. The sensation is electric, and Jason can’t help but let out a soft, involuntary gasp. Jason’s head spins, caught between humiliation and the undeniable thrill of being teased and exposed. The frat guy behind him presses a little closer, his finger still teasing along the edge of the panties. “I think he loves it,” he says loudly, making sure the whole room hears. “Let’s see just how much.”

Jason’s body feels alive, every touch amplified by the attention from the group. He knows the guys are watching, laughing, taking it all in—and, deep down, he loves every second of it.