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

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

One thing that most fans of the show do is leap into conclusions that are not really implied anywhere or make any sense whatsoever, just so they can justify how “genius” the storytelling is. I kid you not, in most social media spaces they’re are lots of viral posts of people saying they saw the Kerri scene as a foreshadowing to Rogue One in the sense that he found a sister in Jyn (not that she’s actually Kerri but she’s a “representation” of her role on his life) which is not only dumb but also cheapens the narrative from both the show and the movie - not to mention this weird idea that women are all interchangeable and replaceable. But they can all pat themselves on the back to say how smart they are for “figuring it out”, while calling everyone else “media illiterate” with their full chests.

Oh God, the Kerri thing is so frustrating. I'm actually not super shocked that people who are desperate to like the show are making up stuff in their head about it. Because uh, let's look at the facts here:

Kerri is central to the opening of the show. A lot of people who barely cared about Cassian in R1 are basically introduced to him as "the guy who is looking for his lost sister". In a brothel, of course, because this isn't your dad's Star Wars! We look at all the ways in which the world is real and that means mostly implying nonconsensual sex with Latina women, apparently. Anyway.

Cassian is really intense about finding out her whereabouts in that scene. We see how he has made himself extremely unsafe to follow up this lead. This must be really important to him! Next, even as we mostly deal with the fallout of the cop killings, the show gives us a whole scene to introduce us to who Kerri is and why Cassian feels so badly about not having found her. Again, this must be really important to him!

And it's not just in the moral or interpersonal implications, by the way. It's also that we as the audience are introduced to Kerri with a scene that took a considerable part of the budget to film. Most people will not think about that consciously, but this still lets you assume "oh, this scene looks important!". It's in a completely new setting (jungle/forest setting. expensive to film. you have to lug all your equipment and cast and crew to the location). It's all-new, child actors in elaborate costume (for real, this looks expensive. filming with kids is notoriously expensive because of work-hour constraints, they had to cast all these kids, and make all those costumes and put them in make-up etc.). The planet has wide-shots with fully animated landscapes (again, looks expensive!). And then the planet has its own language. And all the child actors are speaking it. Someone got paid to create that language, and all these kids had to be taught that language, which I assume is paid work-time for them?

So, again. Wow, this girl must be really important to the plot of the show I've just started watching! ...nope.

Halfway through the first season, we get that one really strange line from Maarva, telling Cassian without any prompting not to look for his sister anymore, because she's for sure dead. I think all this was is a lazy fix when they realised at the end of the season they had completely forgotten about that whole plot line. But because it's so weird and sudden and we have been so primed to keep an eye out for this plotline, I straight up assumed she knew something she wasn't telling him, and this was going to become plot relevant. But no, Maarva dies off-screen and we never look back at Kerri this season. Huh.

There was a way to spin dropping this storyline completely, and they were clearly trying to go that route: Since they're so dead-set on telling us that losing Cassian Andor was a tragedy to the galaxy and he sacrificed all his potential on the altar of being a Force-sent messenger (in the strangest read on Rogue One's message I could have ever imagined), I think they were going for making Kerri's fate part of his tragic loss. Implying that, if only he had survived Scarif, he could have found his sister!

The trouble with that is that with the exception of the literal first scene, the show completely fails to convince me that Cassian is even trying to find her, or thinking about her at all after the first arc of the show. When he meets Luthen, we learn he was out of prison and out of the fight in his late teens. And yet, he makes a complete fool of himself when trying to find out about Kerri a decade later. This is not a man who has spent the past ten years doggedly searching for his sister! This is an idiot who got a lead for the first time and is fumbling it! And they clearly knew how to do visual shorthand of "Cassian is haunted by his little sister" - show her in brief flashbacks intermittently! But they immediately stop bothering to do that, so she disappears from his narrative completely. The only time someone brings her up is when Bix refers to her during a fight, to pay lip service to how he maybe feels like he failed to protect Kerri and is projecting on Bix. But that's such a stretch, because he was taken away from his sister against his will - yes, he may feel, irrationally, that it was still somehow his fault. There is a way to read him remembering her asking him to take her with him as that. But when you've invested so little time into it, that's a pretty big stretch and lot of telling instead of showing going on. And he doesn't even react to it!! He seems completely uninterested in the topic of his sister!

And then, maybe in the attempt to somehow turn their dangling thread into a tragic missed opportunity for Cassian, they briefly splice a shot of her into the final episode montage. But it fell completely flat for me. We haven't heard about Kerri in half a season. We have not seen evidence that Cassian has wasted a single thought on her in literal years. Why is he thinking of her now? What are we supposed to connect this to? Maybe saving Kleya made him think, well, at least I saved that one? If so, I genuinely don't like that, because it makes the case that Cassian sees all women in his life as vulnerable, exchangeable damsels whose fate depends on him saving them. Which could be an interesting character trait! I've actually used that in my own fic! But you can't suggest that at the end of your show and then move on - unless you think that's a correct view of the world and you, the writer, have nothing to add to it... almost like... you don't think of women as complex three-dimensional people...

Also, "Jyn reminds him of his sister" is a wild take. This woman is presented to him in shackles with a laundry list of crimes and has just knocked his buddy out with a shovel. She steals a gun from him and says the mission is only fair if she has equal means to murder him as he does her. Impossible to distinguish this from his angelic little sister, who we know absolutely nothing about except that she was cute and tiny and is probably dead! Then he watches Jyn be competent in both defending herself from imperial violence and dealing with extremist - both things that Kerri emphatically couldn't because she was a child, which is why he may feel like he is at fault for not protecting her. Then they have a difference of political and philosophical opinions. Pretty unlikely this reminded him of his pre-school-age sister? Then he's clearly shown being flustered and elated and affected by her physical presence in a way that I would find deeply concerning re: "spiritual sister".

(Look, we all know why a certain group of people is so adamant to connect Kerri and Jyn. They're trying to put Jyn in some kind of sibling category so that it becomes "gross" and "out of character" to imagine Cassian having a thing for her, because they feel that possibility would threaten their read on the character and his relationship with his ex.)

But the thing that is the most frustrating about dropping Kerri completely is that, again, they primed us to believe she and Kenari were going to be extremely important. They leaned on it hard in the promotion, too, about Cassian being "a migrant" or "a refugee" and all that lipservice to Mexico-US relations... and it went nowhere. It wasn't important at all. It wasn't a main part of the plot and we never saw it being a motivator for Cassian. And, what's worse - finding Kerri was the only thing we've ever seen Cassian do because he chose to. In the whole show. (One could maybe count rekindling his relationship with Bix, except... he did that off camera. We didn't see it. And when he did try to choose her, she didn't let him.) It's the one stated goal he had, it's how we are introduced to the character, and the show fucking forgot about it. That is terrible writing.

[invisible-pink-toast]

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

[mygoeswrongblog]

Jonathan and Trevor have such a fun dynamic, because its the chaotic duo of 'actor who struggles to stay seen/heard/etc on stage' and 'stagemanager who struggles to NOT be seen/heard/etc on stage' and I think that's silly.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I'm so heavily anti-advertising that all pitches sound goofy silly to me/I can never take them seriously, so I have no idea how I'll manage to to advertise my game even if I do finally finish it soon-ish lol...

[luna-azzurra]

10 Secrets Your Character Is Desperately Hiding (and Probably Will Until They Die or Get Drunk Enough to Confess)

╰ They moonlight as an absolutely awful stand-up comedian.

They don’t just tell bad jokes, they commit to them. We’re talking full costume, dollar-store wigs, a fake name like “Chuckles McSuffer,” and punchlines that make people groan so hard their souls briefly exit their bodies. And....they love it. The stage is the only place they feel weirdly free… which is why no one in their real life can ever know. Ever.

╰ They can dance like their life depends on it, but they never do it in public.

We’re talking footwork that would make a music video jealous. Rhythm in their bones. But they’ve decided the world isn’t ready. Or maybe they’re not. So they only dance alone in the kitchen at 2 a.m. Or in the middle of a supermarket aisle when they think no one’s looking. And when they do get caught? “Nope. That wasn’t me. That was… a spasm. Mind your business.”

╰ They’re secretly freakishly good at imitating animals.

Birds. Dogs. Goats. Snakes. They’ve got the sounds, the gestures, the whole weird little zoo living inside them. It’s the kind of skill you don’t admit to having because it’s impossible to explain how it started or why you’re so good at it. They only let it out when alone… or, let’s be real, when they’re trying to impress someone and immediately regret it.

╰ They are the office prankster. And no one suspects a thing.

Every missing stapler, glitter bomb, whoopee cushion, and mysteriously replaced family photo? That’s them. The mild-mannered barista/accountant/space pilot you’d never suspect. They’ve got an entire prank calendar hidden in their sock drawer and a spreadsheet of targets and outcomes. But they also have boundaries. No emotional damage. Just chaos.

╰ They have a full-on karaoke alter ego.

Different name. Different voice. Whole new personality. They sneak off to karaoke bars in the next town over wearing sunglasses indoors and croon power ballads like their soul is trapped in a 2005 romcom montage. Their go-to number is “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Their real friends have no idea. And if they ever found out? This character would simply evaporate.

╰ They collect the weirdest sh*t you’ve ever seen.

Not stamps. Not coins. Try: novelty rubber ducks. Ugly fridge magnets. Cursed porcelain dolls. Empty chip bags from every country they’ve visited. Their closet is one shelf away from being a museum of “What Even Is This.” No one knows. No one must know. It brings them joy. It’s their version of peace. And yeah, it’s a little creepy. But it’s theirs.

╰ They cannot cook to save their life. Like, not even toast.

They once set a salad on fire. The microwave fears them. Every “simple recipe” turns into a crime scene. But instead of admitting it, they just… lie. Constantly. “Oh yeah, I made that!” (They did not. Their neighbor did. And their neighbor swore never to speak of it again.) They’ve mastered the art of deflection, distraction, and showing up with “store-bought but plated nicely.”

╰ They live their life by a bunch of completely nonsensical superstitions.

Never wear green on Wednesdays. If a pigeon looks at you sideways, cancel your plans. Salt must be thrown over the right shoulder or the demons will know. They’ve got a ritual for everything, from writing emails to picking socks. But no one knows they believe this stuff, because they make it look casual. Strategic coincidence. That’s the game.

╰ They throw underground dance parties in their basement. Alone. In costume.

Disco ball? Check. Fog machine? Obviously. Elaborate themed playlists? You bet. Their Tuesday nights are sacred: just them, their playlist called “Sad but Funky,” and a new costume every week. No one suspects. Not the roommates. Not the neighbors. If anyone ever found out, they’d lie and say it was for a friend’s child’s birthday. Every week. Sure.

╰ Their hobbies are… specific. And objectively hilarious.

Like, not “I read books and do yoga” hobbies. More like: competitive pillow fighting. Binge-watching bug documentaries and taking notes. Collecting socks with political slogans. Writing erotica starring finger puppets (don’t ask). They act normal, mostly. But their browser history is a carnival. And their heart? Pure chaos.

[starboye]

starring: vinnie hacker x male reader

request: roommate!vinnie x reader where they are showing off their Halloween costumes and vinnie is being ghostface and reader is a school girl with the skirt and Vinnie can’t help but get hard and reader notices and walks up and starts teasing Vinnie like asking does he like what he see and Vinnie picks him up by his legs and carries him to the room and throws him on the bed and lifts up readers skirt to see his favorite colored thong and vinnie just snaps and dives face first into readers ass and then fucks him in his costume

warnings: smut, cursing, neck biting, mentions of belly bulge, ass smacking, ass eating, femboy reader, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk

halloween was one of the best nights of the year, i mean you get to dress like a slut and no one can judge you for it and tonight you decided to go all out, dressed in a slutty school outfit, wearing a skirt, some stalking, and kinda short heels while vinnie wore a ghostface costume.

"you just had to dress all slutty" vinnie laughs as you walk out your room "this is the one night a year i get to dress like a slut, im gonna go all out" you reason doing a little spin "you can dress slutty anytime of the year, preferably in the apartment" vinnie bites his lower lip as he gets a hard on from seeing a bit of your ass in that cute skirt.

you taking notice to this and being the great roommate that you are, you start teasing him "so what do you think about it vin" you ask walking closer to him and turning around to give him a full view of your ass before rubbing it on his bulge which sets him off just enough to grab you.

"i think we're gonna be missing that halloween party tonight" he says taking you to his room and throwing you on his bed, making hasty work of his costume until he was standing naked in front of you with a hard on, walking closer to you ass up face down ready for him "good slut" he smirks getting on his knees and lifting your skirt to see his favorite colored thing under it.

"what do we have here" he chuckles "oh how did that get there" you tease him pushing your ass further back to him "you whore" he says before diving face first into your ass, eating you out so good you're already moaning out, gripping the sheets in your fingers and begging for more.

vinnie was smothering his face in your ass as his tongue plunged in and out of your hole, tasting that deliciousness until it was engraved on his taste buds before pulling back "shit" he huffs catching his breath "fuck me vin" you say breathless "your wish is my command" he says standing up and giving your ass a nice smack.

"you wanna be my naughty school girl" he rubs his hand over your ass, giving it another nice smack "mhm" you whimper "speak up" he gives your ass another hard smack "yes sir i wanna be your naughty school girl "good slut" he says before slipping his cock in and thrusting into you.

his hips were moving on their own, fucking you nice and deep while holding a chunk of the skirt in his hand to continue pulling you back "yeah take that dick bitch" he groans throwing his head back and letting you do some of the work, backing your ass onto him, desperate for his cum to fill your needy pussy.

"mhm just like that" vinnie hums holding your waist to go back to fucking you, his cock was hitting all the right stops of your gummy walls so much that it was impossible not to moan out his name "yeah keep moaning, im so close" he mummers pulling you back to his chest while still slamming your ass.

putting his hand over your stomach to feel himself giving you a slight stomach bulge until he was unloading his cum into your with a load groan, hiding his face in the crook of your neck before coming back up after riding out his high.

"don't tell me that's all you got mr ghostface" you joke running your fingers through his hair "the hell it is, you're gonna hate me by the time im done with you tonight" vinnie bite and nips at your neck "then do it" you rut your ass on his already hardening dick, it's gonna be one long night for you.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[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

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

[whateveriwant]

The 141 being freaky in bed

18+ only. GN!Reader.

I’ll be honest, most of the time I headcanon the guys as pretty vanilla in the bedroom, but I do think they have a few instances where they’ll embrace their nasty freak tendencies.

Ghost

This man is such a freak in his day to day life that, comparatively, I don’t think he’s very freaky in the bedroom

That being said, one thing he does really enjoy is degradation. Things like making you hump his boot while he yawns boredly or leaning against the headboard as you ride him, crossing his arms behind his head, tutting as he mocks, “Y’ call that puttin’ your back into it?” (But he never lets you embarrass yourself for too long before he’s flipping you onto your back to show you how to really fuck)

In a similar vein, he loves to talk to your genitals like they’re their own person, e.g. “Is this needy cunt/cock desperate for me? She’s/He’s drippin’ like she/he is. Tsk, poor thing.” Sometimes he pretends like you’re not even in the room with him – that it’s just him and your holes he can’t wait to stuff

He’s also a big fan of spit play. Whether it’s spitting on your groin as he stares you deep in the eyes or spitting in your mouth while he pries your jaw open, letting out a string of cigarette-flavored drool. He uses it almost like a stake of ownership, not unlike when someone licks their food to stop others from stealing a bite

Above all else though, he likes having control. There’s the usual things like deciding the pace, the position, and so on when you fuck, but then there’s other things he also takes upon himself. Things like carrying you to/from the bed, stripping/dressing you like a doll, bathing you, shaving you. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.

Freak-o-meter rating: 3.8/10

Gaz

Don’t let his boy-next-door looks fool you. This man is more than capable of getting down and freaky when he wants to

For example, he’s a deviant for public sex. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the backseat of the car in a packed parking lot, in the bathroom at your family get-together, or even in the stuffy janitor’s closet at base when there’s a meeting happening right next door. For him, the riskier the sex, the better

He also loves to mark you up. Whether it’s a small love bite on your chest or a hand shaped bruise on your ass, he lives for seeing his marks on your skin. But one thing to note – those marks are for his eyes only. Don’t be going around showing them off to everyone. And also, don’t worry about them ever fading. He’ll make sure to apply new ones before the old ones can disappear

Now, some might consider this cheesy, but he really enjoys roleplaying in the bedroom. It can be as subtle as a single word huffed in your ear or it can be as extensive as a stage production – complete with costumes, props, and plot. By far, one of his favorite scenarios to play is the injured soldier being “tended to” by his slutty nurse

Building off that last point, not only is my man a bit of an actor, but he’s also a director because he loves to film you two having sex (Martin Scorsese, eat your heart out). His POV is his preferred angle to film from because it puts him right back in the moment when he watches it again, but really, any angle where he can watch you come apart on his cock is grade-A wank material for him

Freak-o-meter rating: 5.1/10

Price

I think of him almost like a sleeper cell freak. Most of the time he goes about his business very mild and vanilla, but then something will set him off and then all of a sudden he’s going full blown freak

While he is first and foremost a man of obtaining consent, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a little free use when you permit. Especially if he’s had a long day at work or if he’s just finished a tough mission, having you ready and willing to take him whenever he wants is precisely what he needs to wind down

Say it with me, folks: creampies, creampies, creampies. To him, there’s nothing better in this world than stuffing a nice tight hole full of cum. He loves to dump multiple loads in you and then have you hold it, before pushing it all out in one thick glob. Bonus points if he shoves it back in with his fingers so you can do it over and over again

One nasty habit he has is taking your cum-stained underwear with him whenever he’s away for work. So when he misses you or needs a reminder of home, he holds it up to his nose (or cock) and remembers what he’s got waiting for him. (By the time he gives them back to you, those drawers are so stiff they can stand on their own)

As you’ve probably already guessed, this man has a big scent kink. When you come home after the gym or after doing a double at work, he loves to bury his face in your chest, pits, crotch, etc. and just inhale. That natural tang of your sweat is an aphrodisiac like no other to him. It very much gives Napoleon telling Josephine not to bathe before he returns from war

Freak-o-meter rating: 6.8/10

Soap

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. This man is a capital-F Freeeeeak!

Foot fetish, ‘nuff said. He likes to admire your feet, pamper them, massage them, kiss them, put his cock between them and fuck them, etc etc. Once, when he was really down bad, he had you don a pair of strappy heels and stomp on him (best night of his life if you ask him)

As long as he can remember, he’s liked to play with his food, and the bedroom is no exception to that practice. Whether it’s feeding you sensual staples like strawberries and champagne or drizzling his cock in chocolate syrup and having you suck it off, he’s not one to shy away from mixing food with sex

However, one kink he does get a little nervous about sharing is his interest in pet play – him being the pet, that is. It’s not that he has any real shame in it, but more so he never knows how the other person will react when he brings it up. If that is something that interests you though, he’ll be absolutely thrilled. There’s nothing he’d like more than to be led around on a leash by you. (And might I say, he looks great on his knees)

But by far, without a doubt the number one thing that gets his rocks off is group sex. There’s just something about getting to share in multiple people’s pleasure simultaneously that excites him beyond comparison. So whether it’s cucking, partner swapping, an orgy, etc. he’s down for it. He’s truly the inspiration for the phrase “guys literally only want one thing and it’s fucking disgusting”

Freak-o-meter rating: 9.99999/10

[itoshiierae]

Shidou Ryusei x Therapist!Reader 😳😳🥵💳💳💳💳

PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE SEEING THE VISIONNN TOO 😧😮‍💨🙏🏻

࣪𖤐.ᐟ shidou ryusei x therapist!reader ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 notes: OHHH I AM SEEING THE VISION ALRIGHT 💀🥵 this was supposed to be a slowburn but then he showed up dripping wet and everything went downhill from there.. therapist!reader has absolutely no self-control, shidou is the embodiment of chaos, and professionalism is just a myth at this point.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: mdni! 🔞, nsfw, smut, therapist/patient dynamic, f!reader, power imbalance, oral (f receiving), office setting, dirty talk, shidou calls you ‘doc’, emotional tension, unprofessional conduct, obsession/possessiveness, desk sex, forbidden relationship themes

shidou ryusei. he was late — again.

and now he stood in your doorway, soaked to the bone, dripping chaos onto your tile like it was a gift. he’s dripping — rainwater trailing down his collarbones, outlining every lean muscle and scar like a confession he didn’t mean to show. it’s the kind of sight that makes your clipboard feel useless and your ethics paper-thin. he steps inside like the room belongs to him, each wet footprint dragging disorder across the sterile calm you’ve spent years trying to protect.

and you?

you made the mistake of looking up.

“missed me, doc?”

his voice hits low, smirking around the edges with that same drawl he uses when he wants to test your patience. but today, something about it is different, less teasing and more… dangerous.

you should ask about his week. steer the conversation somewhere safe. reach for your clipboard, anchor the moment in protocol. remind yourself of the boundaries etched into your license, the title behind your name, the rules meant to keep the lines from blurring. you should remember why he’s here and everything he was never supposed to become.

but instead, you say the words that will ruin you both:

“so… what are you afraid of, Ryusei?”

he blinks — then grins like a man who’s just found your softest spot before answering,

“being this close to you and…. not fucking you senseless.”

you freeze.

but he doesn’t.

he rises slowly, crossing the space between you with that same predator grace that should’ve had you recoiling, and instead, he sinks to his knees beneath your desk, gaze locked on yours like he’s daring you to stop him.

“…you’re shaking,” he murmurs, lifting your calf like it’s sacred, trailing his lips along the curve of your thigh. “that means no? …or does that mean you want me just as badly???”

you should’ve stopped him. but when his hands trail beneath your skirt, warm palms grazing your bare thighs and his gaze locked on yours like a dare, you only spread your legs wider for him as he tugs your panties down like they’ve personally offended him, eyes fixed on your cunt like it’s a masterpiece he’s been waiting to defile.

“…so wet already,” he says, voice low.

“what would they think, huh??? all those patients who would come in after me? …if they knew you’re leaking onto your chair for the guy they think you’re fixing?”

you don’t answer. or maybe you can’t, not with his tongue dragging over your cunt like he’s been starved for it, each lick laced with heat and filth, reverent like prayer but ruthless like sin. he devours you with the desperation of a man convinced that your ruin is the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

his fingers dig into your thighs as he licks you through your first orgasm — no warning, no slow unravel, just devastation. and when you cry out, spine arching off the chair, hand clamping over your mouth like you can muffle the ruin? he moans into your pussy like he’s the one being blessed.

“you taste like sin, doc.”

he stands abruptly, hands already at his zipper, like the only thing he came here for was to bury himself inside you. he takes you on the very desk where you once held sessions; bends you backward like your profession was just a costume he’s stripped away, then fucks you until his name only sounds right when gasped through your parted lips or moaned around him with tears in your eyes.

“you like this, don’t you?” he grunts, driving into you so hard the clipboard slips from your desk, papers scattering like broken rules — every thrust rewriting what you were never supposed to want.

“getting fucked by your patient like a desperate little whore.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[artsyannierose]

Hii!! In response to your recent post: I know you asked for fic recs but what are some fics that you've enjoyed and could recommend?? Any weresonamy fics are ESPECIALLY appreciated LOL

FIC RECS ACTUALLY I’VE BEEN MEANING TO DO THIS FOR SOOOO LONGGGG

SonAmy Fic Recs!!

__

Key:

✅ - Finished

❌ - Unfinished

☁️ - Fluff

💔 - Angst

🫂 - Comfort

🫶 - my favorites

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Oneshots ⬇️

Canon Compliant:

Canon compliant is like i can kind of see this happening even if its a bit of a stretch

Reaching Out - by overdoxicity ✅ 🫂 🫶

Have I mentioned that the Metal Virus is my all-time favorite Sonic storyline? Unsurprisingly I love a fic where Sonic comforts Amy in her distress about the whole situation.

This might as well be canon in my eyes

Amy’s Happy Place - by MakutaMatata ✅ ☁️ 🫶

Just Amy’s thoughts about being in Sonic’s arms SHES SO CUTE THEYRE SO CUTE AAAAAAA

The Cards Never Lie - by MakutaMatata ✅

Small fic riding on nostalgia where Amy decides to visit Little Planet but is interrupted by Eggman, but luckily a certain blue someone is there to fret about her

FLUFFF THEY’RE SO CUTEEE

The Test of Love: A Novelization - by BigKlingy ✅

As the title suggests, this fic is Sonic 06’s “Trial of Love” in the format of a novel, and I’m particularly fond of the way that Elise isn’t demonized, yet Sonic realizes how Amy is a perfect fit for him

Too bad he doesn’t remember any of it smh

Debí Haberme Decidido Antes - by BronySonicFan ✅

This is in Spanish, but for those who can read it, it’s Sonic inner thoughts regarding Amy whilst running around the Starfall Islands during the events of Sonic Frontiers, especially following those open world voicelines about her.

gossamer love - by shizuumi151 ✅ ☁️

Fluff fic where Sonic stays at Amy’s house to ride out a storm and with the amount of romantic tension and flirty banter they have you’d be convinced that they’re dating by now but ofc they’re not because we love torturing ourselves with “PLEASE JUST KISS ALREADY”

Unseen Passion - by FlashDriver ✅ ☁️ 🫶

A little heavy on the flirty Amy here but Amy finally gets those glasses that she honestly desperately needs, and Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles argue about which is the perfect view on Angel Island to show her first with her new glasses.

one rose-tinted morning - by shizuumi151 ✅ ☁️

Sonic surprises Amy on her birthday with quite a few sweet gifts.

more fluff (surprising that i have so much fluff on this rec list)

The Rains of Kronos Island - by MakutaMatata ✅ ☁️

Set right before the Core Four leave the Starfall Islands, Amy and Sonic finally get to share that umbrella…and a little heart-to-heart

more fluff nom nom nom

Silver the Shipper - by FlashDriver ✅ ☁️

Silver practically causes Sonic’s heart to go into insane tachycardia with the simple question “Do you love Amy Rose?”

insinuated silvaze

A Measure of Trust - by FlashDriver ✅ ☁️

Maybe a bit OOC but I love my overtly doting Amy

Knux (and by knux i mean rouge) is having a costume party and Sonic’s just going to have to trust Amy to pick out a good costume for him.

Just A Latte - by EssyCogany2047 ✅ ☁️

Cute little oneshot with extremely good characterization if i do say so myself

Amy wins a bet to have Sonic get lattes with her, but of course their dates are never normal (he’s Sonic the Hedgehog after all)

Blossoming Alone Over You - by mapetitecherie ✅ 🫂

Almost 1 to 1 retelling of Episode 52 of Sonic Prime

jkjk Sonic X

But its always the fluffiest feeling to relive the moment, this time told through Amy’s eyes and the thoughts going through her head during the whole thing starting from when she made the decision to wait for her darling Sonic to return home to her <3

Radiance and Resilience - by ApronBurn ✅ ☁️

It’s Amy’s Birthday again! The year after TMOSTH, and everyone wishes Amy a happy birthday except one…

“it reminded me of you….and it’s super pretty-”

“You think I’m pretty??”

CAUGHT IN 4K SONIC THE HEDGEHOG 🫵 🫵

the intention of love - by sensitivesensibilities ✅ ☁️ 🫶

When I tell you i GIGGLED LIKE MAD reading this

ITS SO SHORT BUT ITS LIKE FLUFFY BUT TEASING AND IM ABSOLUTELY EXPLODING AUGH SONIC MISSES AMY SO MUCH (post-frontiers)

total must read ↑

Canon Divergent:

either there’s a kiss or it’s undeniably romantic in nature, or not something i see happening in canon

Fading - by bouquets ✅ 💔🫶🫶🫶

Probably my all time favorite SonAmy oneshot, a small, angsty one where Amy gets hurt on the battlefield and Sonic’s with her.

Sonic also thinks a bit more about his feelings about Amy but imo the way he perceives her in the beginning is so, so perfect.

Love You Like You Love Me - by RebieaZ ✅ ☁️ 🫶

Again, a fic about Amy returning from her spreading-love trip, and Sonic couldn’t be more thrilled to see her.

He’s also ready to finally admit a few things to her…and maybe give some other things a try

Rememberance - by Skyelara ✅

A little bit of a romanticization of Sonic and Amy’s past experiences together across different timelines, but with some sweet nothings thrown in there to sweeten the deal hehe

also i love it when they think the other is crazy for being willing to sacrifice themself for the other but would absolutely do the same

At The Edge of a Cliff - Luescris ✅ 🫂

The guilt of letting such horrible things happen by the hand of Eggman gets to Sonic, and Amy is the one to remind him of the hero her is to her, and to everyone else.

approximate proximity - by windwhisper ✅ ☁️

Sonic and Amy aren’t dating but if you looked at them you’d probably think they’re dating CAUSE THEY TOTALLY SHOULD

idw sonamy my beloved

The Red Thread of Fate - by Jouska_the_Deer (Angst and Alliums) ✅ ☁️

Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for the whole red thread of fate trope (heck i made a whole dtiys about it)

Sonic planned to ask Amy out but instead gets dragged into a wild goose chase looking for the ancient matchmaker (which kinda ends up being a date in of itself) because Amy is tired of not knowing whether or not Sonic and her will ever be a thing.

Cinematic Universe:

Sonic 4: A Fan’s Hypothetical Ending - by Anonymous567 ✅ 🫂

Bittersweet prediction of how the 4th movie might end

If you know me, you know I'm a sucker for bittersweet/angsty fics, but taking a relatively wholesome and fluffy couple (furthermore movie sonic, the most innocent incarnation) and giving them angst?

HECK YEAH GIVE IT TO ME

Alternate Universe:

Serendipity - by KokoLockhart ✅ ☁️

Cute lil fic about Sonic running across a drenched Amy in the rain after having a horrible date, and he offers her an umbrella cause what’s SonAmy without umbrellas <3

Snapshot - by FlashDriver ✅

Amelia Rose and her dad set out to find the mythical Blue Blur which everyone else thinks is a phony but ofc Amy and her dad don’t

idk if this is a full blown AU but its certainly interesting

Multi-Chapter ⬇️

Canon Compliant:

Steal You Away - by luigi-is-stellar ✅ 🫂🫶

One of the first sonamy fics i ever read if iirc, but it’s about what Sonic and Amy do in their downtime, or offscreen lol

Set during season 3 of sonic x, how i miss x sonamy…

i LOVE their banter in this, and Sonic is just SOOOO sweet to Amy i feel like my stomach contents are going to end up on the floor from how sweet he is and also how it all fits neatly into the inbetweens of each episode is stellar

Leftovers - by stagemanager ✅ 🫂

Becoming a werehog didn’t leave Sonic without lingering effects, and Amy and Tails are the ones to find that out

here’s ur weresonamy lol sorry i don’t think i have any more :(((

Canon Divergent:

Breaking Point: A Sonic Forces Rewrite - GoldRingsAm3 ✅ 💔 🫂 🫶

This isn’t necessarily a SonAmy centric fic, but there’s a good amount of SonAmy in it. The beginning follows Sonic and his awful experience in space during Sonic Forces, then later follows his recovery when his friends finally rescue him. Real cute how Amy wakes him up 👀

Sry i really like my angst and comfort fics

The Wind and The Rose - by Skyelara ❌

Collection of SonAmy drabbles for a 100 theme challenge, but they’re all adorable

little difficult to generalize a summary since they’re all pretty different

Miscellaneous ⬇️

Sonic Boom:

Boom Boom Into My Heart - by gojos_favorite_girl ✅ ☁️

Who doesn’t love them some good ol’ boom sonamy

Fic in which they FINALLY get together, but not without the inevitable bickering and banter.

“Boom Bet” - by Dann_danoninoo ✅ ☁️ 🫶

Y’all should know how much I love Boom SonAmy and their stupid banter, and this fic is the epitome of that Sonic and Amy make a bet on whether Sonic can give Amy the worse date ever but it turns out….maybe not so bad…

Alternate Universe:

What Was Stolen - by Beeextraordinary ❌ 💔 🫶

i’m sure every SonAmy fan has heard of this one by now but it doesn’t make it any less good

AU with Princess Amy training for a championship battle and she’s trained by delinquent thief Sonic with whom (whoopsie daisy) she falls in love with, and they’re trying to fight the unfair system imposed upon those like Sonic.

Her Blue Barista - by KokoLockhart ✅ ☁️ 🫶

Another one of my faves, a little meet-cute of overworked student Amy and barista Sonic, except he’s flirty asf and Amy can never help getting charmed by her blue blur in any universe <3

Enchanted - by trincie_sparkle ❌ ☁️

Both Amy and Sonic are performers, though Amy is a soloist and Sonic in a band with Tails and Knux. Sonic is selectively mute and has a difficult time talking with other people, but ends up opening up to Amy. Cute feels and romantic tension.

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My Fics:

Feel free to check out some of the stuff I write lol

Catching Up (with an umbrella) ✅ ☁️

(Pt. 1) Start of a series I’m working on where Sonic starts to seek out Amy’s attention much more than he used to

domestic sonamy, really

Catch Me If You Can! ✅ ☁️

(Pt. 2) Continuation of the above, they’re kinda just hanging out but it got a little bit feelings-oriented towards the end idk how that happened lmao

does anyone else miss Amy chasing Sonic because he sure does (i do too)

where blue burns brightest ✅ 💔

canon divergence where i associate sonamy with stars because im an astronomy nerd and i like angst and i thought i spoiled yall too much with the above fluff

sonic is a blue star, amy is a red one,

blue stars burn the brightest…but also the fastest.

Night of a Rose, Chip, and a Werehog ✅ ☁️

this is OLD. REALLY OLD. but its kinda sorta coherent and cute so ig i’ll put it here pls don’t judge 🙏🙏

It’s just if Amy was in the short “Night of the Werehog”

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I’ll update this list regularly as I read and find more fics to add to my collection heheheehehe

I hope this is helpful!! Happy reading y’all <3

And please support all these wonderful authors who write these spectacular stories for free, they are the salt of this earth <333

[excusetowrite]

Let Him In (3)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Summary: As night gives way to dawn, our actress and Jack finally cross the threshold of temptation they’ve been toeing for weeks. In the blood-smeared haze of desire and secrecy, the line between performance and reality vanishes. What begins with teasing glances and unsaid truths explodes into something primal, possessive, and deeply intimate. Behind a locked door, with their castmates just outside, they risk everything to chase the hunger they’ve been denying. But when the sun rises, it’s not just their bodies that have been laid bare—it’s their truth.

Warnings: Minors DNI. This is what you've all been waiting for. Sex, obviously, I know you'll read it anyways, so see for yourself >:) Also, do you guys think there's more to this story? Struggling to decide if I want to end it here, I've grown quite attached.

The Way We Burn

As soon as they yelled cut and Jack left to get his prosthetics removed, I bolted.

The moment I was off set, the humiliation hit—settling deep in my bones. He knew. Saw right through the last bit of composure I had left. I struggle to see if he’s acting half the time, to find the reason behind any of his actions, yet he’d figured out the one thing I was desperate to keep hidden. If it was that obvious, I must look like a complete fool—not just to him, but to everyone.

He didn’t try to come to my trailer that night. When I heard the knock, my heart skipped. Maybe it was him. Maybe he wanted to talk, to laugh it off, to say I’d imagined everything.

But it wasn’t Jack—it was just a PA coming to tell me that they had to move stuff around and we’d be reshooting some of the "Rocky Road to Dublin" scene on account of the sunrise being in some of the shots from last time. I wouldn’t even have known what to say. “Sorry for being a creep”? “Sorry for liking it too much?” At least thinking about how hard that scene was to shoot the first time helped take my mind off things. It didn’t help me figure out how I was going to manage showing my face tomorrow night. I curled up under the covers, but sleep didn’t come. I kept seeing his eyes—not the red ones, not Remmick’s. His. And I had no idea how I was supposed to look him in the face tomorrow night.

—

The sticky, sweet blood clings to my skin, and the fake teeth and tinted contacts ache in all the wrong ways. But at least I’m not suffering alone—everyone else on set is just as miserable. The first time we filmed this scene we only had an hour and a half before the sun rose. Tonight, we were able to start at midnight. Hailee and I were the last to leave hair and makeup and get to set. When we arrived, Jack was in full, glorious costume, practicing. As hard as it was for the rest of us, this was easily his hardest scene to film.

I was scared for when he’d look at me. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt—how hollow it would feel—until it happened. Not a single stolen glance, not a shared smile, not even a wave. Complete and deliberate avoidance. I must have been brooding too long while we waited on our marks in the inner part of the circle because Hailee looked between the two of us and must have sensed the tension.

She leaned in, the bustle of everyone around us covering her words. “You okay?”

I snapped my attention to her, not realizing how out of it I had been. “Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?” I rolled my shoulders back and started stretching, trying to seem as casual as possible.

“Because you and Jack have been attached at the hip for the past two months, and now you won’t even look at each other,” she said, eyebrows raising.

I let my mouth hang open a moment while I tried to think of something to say. All I could think about was how his breath had felt on my neck, how real it all had seemed. “Filming that scene yesterday didn’t go so well,” was all I managed. A half-truth. It went really well. Too well—for me at least. I guess that was the problem. I enjoyed it too much. God, he probably thinks I’m such a fucking pervert. Flirting is one thing. What I was hiding is a whole other.

Her eyes widened and she nodded, looking away before swinging back to say, “But I heard you guys actually did really good—”

“It didn’t go well,” I cut her off, glancing up at him. Still looking anywhere but where I was.

We started a few minutes later, and I knew we’d all be exhausted by morning—especially Jack. So many angles were needed. So many takes. We all moved and sang the whole time. At least this time they wanted to add some changes from the first shoot. The digital release would have extra scenes, including at this point—Stack and Mary dancing together as the circle spun around, for instance.

We’d become a real family out here. And tonight, we were having fun—the kind you only get once. I tried to forget about him, just for a little while. To enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime experience: dancing and singing with close friends, filming a major motion picture. Ryan said he loved how we were getting into it and to lean more into the enjoyment, so we did. I threw my head back in a full-bellied laugh, spinning through the circle, my skirt swishing wildly around my legs. Even Jack grinned, though Remmick's joy came with a flicker of something darker, more possessive.

The music was loud—Jack at the center, clapping and singing, leading the rest of us with infectious energy. Stack and Mary danced next to me, giggling into each other, when all of a sudden Michael passed her to Bert with a yelp and a giggle and grabbed my waist and hand, pulling me into a dance. I threw my head back and laughed, letting him lead me in the enthusiastic jig. He pulled me in close. We dipped and spun, laughing through it like kids. His arm tightened naturally around my waist, his hand resting low on my hip as he spun me again. It was genuine—we may have been covered in blood and sweating our asses off in the middle of the night, but we were doing it together. Having the time of our lives.

I didn’t feel his eyes at first. I was too caught up in the motion, in the sweat and music. When Michael spun me back into him, still laughing, that’s when I saw it. Jack’s expression had soured. Whatever flicker of joy Remmick had been wearing was gone. He scowled—at me. At us. As soon as we made eye contact, he set his jaw hard and looked away, continuing on with the scene.

We wrapped that scene in the early morning hours, completely exhausted. Everyone still clapped and cheered, whooped and hollered. We’d done it again. I watched from the sideline as so many people praised Jack, and he responded with half nods, polite smiles, and quiet thanks. He looked gracious—maybe even bashful to anyone else. But I saw it. The tension in his jaw. The way his smile didn’t reach his eyes. To anyone else, it looked like he was just being humble. To me, it looked like he was more upset than I’d ever seen him.

I waited for Hailee to walk to hair and makeup with me, needing the extra support. She made her way over, laughing as she came, and let out a relieved sigh as she linked her arm through mine and we began to walk.

We didn’t get far before he stepped into our path, eyes still averted. We stopped abruptly as he said, “Can we talk?” Hailee eyed me from the side, trying to gauge my reaction. I just looked at him, not knowing whether to be frustrated or relieved.

“I’m tired and sweaty and I want to get out of costume,” I said, landing on frustration.

He looked at me then—really looked at me. Soft, pleading eyes. “Please,” he said quietly.

I folded immediately, nodding and slipping my arm from Hailee’s. She didn’t let go right away. Her fingers lingered against mine in a silent warning. I looked at her and said, “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

She nodded back apprehensively. As she walked away, she said, “Watch for gators. Or worse.”

We stood there in front of each other for a moment while people continued to file past us off set. He motioned for me to follow him, so I did. We walked toward the dilapidated building that was the old sawmill—Club Juke.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I looked behind us, most everyone having cleared off set. Being all alone over here by the water was creepy, and Hailee's warning rang through my head.

“A private word, please,” he said as he opened the door and let me walk in. It was dark inside, not lit up and staged for filming. The room smelled faintly of dust, wood rot, and old paint. The silence buzzed louder than the music ever had. I walked into the center of the room as he closed and latched the door behind us. I turned on my heel before he could even speak, breath already catching in my throat. 

“Jack, I’m sorry,” I blurted, guilt finally winning out. He started walking toward me, but my apology stopped him cold. Confusion clouded his face—and just like that, my courage drained away.

"You're sorry?" he asked, brow furrowed. I began to feel unsteady, the look on his face melting away the courage I had built up.

"Yeah, for—you know," I said, but he just continued to look at me the same way. I shuffled my feet and averted my gaze, heat rising to my cheeks. "For—you know, not telling you about the smut and stuff." He was silent for a few moments, which did nothing to ease my anxiety. I finally looked up at him when I really started to feel like I was melting under his gaze, and he laughed—really laughed—as soon as our eyes met.

"That’s what you think this is about?"

It was my turn to be confused. "Yes?" He continued to laugh, a sort of exasperated sound, before coming toward me. I hadn’t realized how used to him being in my space I had grown, how much of a relief it was to have him close again. I sucked in a breath and exhaled at the scent of him.

"No," he said. "I mean, confirming that it was me was part of the problem, but not like that." He was just within arm’s reach now, close but still hesitant as he looked me over.

"Then what was it like?" I asked quietly.

"Can’t you see?" he said, sighing when I didn’t respond, just stared at him wide-eyed. "I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, voice low. "Not as her. Not as Maggie. You. I’m fucking obsessed, and it’s driving me mad."

I stood there, too stunned to speak, my mouth slightly agape. My heart stuttered. I thought I was bracing for anger—mockery, maybe. But not this.

"I thought you’d think I was messed up for it—for hiding something like that. I thought you thought I was a pervert," I finally said, earning a chuckle from him.

"A pervert?" He raised his eyebrows. "I mean, you are, I guess. But I—I'm the true pervert. I can hardly be around you without feeling—feeling the way I feel. It scares me."

I stepped forward, almost closing the distance, and raised my hand to his bicep. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh at the touch, the scent, the proximity.

"How do you feel?" I asked softly, looking up at him. Both of us still in all our makeup.

He opened his eyes and looked down at me before responding in the same tone. "I can’t tell where I start and he begins sometimes." I continued to look at him, trying to understand. "You’re all I think about—all day. The next time I’ll see you. The next time I’ll touch you. I get so excited just to film scenes so I have an excuse to be near you. And I—I get so jealous. So angry. It scares me how angry I get. That’s why I’ve been pulling away. I haven’t felt normal. I’ve never felt the way you make me feel, and it terrifies me. Watching him touch you tonight—hold you, dance with you, laugh with you, fucking look at you—made me the angriest I’ve ever been. I told myself it was just the role at first, toeing the line of method acting too closely. But I realized yesterday I’d been lying to myself. I’m utterly fuckin' obsessed with you. Absolutely infatuated. You’re all I think about. All day, all night," he admitted, a slight flush blooming on his cheeks.

I blinked up at him, warmth rising to my throat. How had I not seen it? I’d been so deep in my own head, I missed all the signs. I stared up at him as his eyes searched my face for any of the answers I didn’t have.

"Say something," he begged.

"I feel the same way," I blurted out.

"What?"

"I’ve always been attracted to you, obviously. Getting this role is the best thing that ever happened to me. But ever since I found out it was you I’d be working with like this, I’ve been struggling. I was grateful just to be near you—any excuse to be touched by you, to have your attention. I think about you in ways I shouldn’t. All day. All night, too," I added sheepishly. "Yesterday was the best sex I’ve never had. And that’s saying something."

He continued to look at me as if in disbelief before sharing, "How I felt yesterday scared me. That’s why I pulled away. For the first time, I couldn’t separate myself from him—not unless I pulled away entirely."

Something in his eyes—hope or hunger or heartbreak—I didn’t know. But I wanted to give in to it. Just this once. I waited a few beats before whispering, "Then don’t."

"Don’t what?" he asked.

"We can pretend. For one night, we can pretend," I said, sliding my hand to rest over his blood-covered chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath.

He let out a deep sigh and rolled his head, fighting some internal struggle before looking down at me. Me, staring up at him—doe-eyed and full of trust and arousal. He grabbed my hips and pulled my body flush with his. I could finally feel the proof of just how badly he wanted me.

"Are you sure?" he asked, so quietly I could barely hear. I nodded up at him.

"I need to hear you say it," he demanded softly, his hand going to my hair, gripping gently but firmly.

“Yes,” I breathed out as he pulled my head to the side, “Remmick.”

He groaned, and then he was on me.

At my neck. The sob of relief I let out was palpable—a lifetime of frustration and yearning. He kissed, sucked, bit—blood and teeth be damned. I didn’t care if he left marks. I’d waited too long for this. 

His hands slid from my waist to where my shirt was tucked in and as he moved to kiss me on the mouth his hands slipped under the band of my skirt, and in one smooth motion, he peeled off my blouse and tossed it aside. I knew it was warm but the air against my suddenly exposed skin sent a chill down my back and goosebumps down my arms. The air kissed every inch of skin like it was claiming me.

We kissed fast and feverishly, his teeth gently biting down on my lower lip, demanding entrance, which I gladly granted. I could taste the blood on him—we were both covered in it. We kicked off our shoes before he grabbed me by the hips and lifted me up against him, carrying me to the only open door—the room where Sammy and Pearline fool around. I could feel his hardness pressing against me as we walked, could feel his strong arms wrapped around me. As we kissed, he made quick work of unclasping my bra and slinging it somewhere behind us. We both smiled into each other as we went.

In the room, he set me back down on my feet before him, and I stared into his eyes as he slung his suspenders off and lifted his shirt over his head. I let out a frustrated sigh at the blood running down his neck and chest—at the marks I had left just yesterday. Before he could finish, I unclasped my skirt, letting it drop to the floor, leaving me in just the red panties I had put on that morning. He groaned, low and deep, looking me over from top to bottom.

"Lie down," he demanded, and I obliged. The backs of my knees hit the table as I sat, then laid back, legs still dangling. "Put your arms above your head like you did yesterday." I did as I was told, the movement giving him a better view of the blood covering my breasts. I smiled up at him, all teeth, as he palmed himself while looking down at me. 

I went to move, to say, "Let me take care of that—" but he cut me off by gently but firmly pushing me back down and kneeling before me.

"No, I take care of you first," he said, as he slid his fingers through my waistband and pulled the red panties down my bare legs. Finally, I was laid before him in my entirety—exactly where I was supposed to be. He must have been thinking the same thing because he said, "Look at me. Don’t look away."

I did as I was told and felt two fingers slide through my slick folds. I let out a moan and threw my head back—and immediately, he pulled away. A groan left my mouth as I looked down at him, frustrated.

"I told you not to look away." I nodded in understanding and, this time, held eye contact as he reslicked his fingers. He rose above me, leaning in close as he said, "I want to see you when I enter you for the first time." He hovered just above my face—too far to kiss, just close enough to stare, enthralled. Then, slowly, he slid two fingers into me. I gasped, and he groaned.

"God, you’re so tight. So wet for me too." I nodded as I struggled to maintain eye contact. His eyes searched my face as he pumped his fingers in and out like he was fascinated—enthralled with the control he had over me.

His thumb slid up to begin rubbing circles around my clit, earning a deep moan of satisfaction from me.

"Can I please touch you?" I begged.

He nodded, so I reached up to touch him—any part of him. I tried to pull him down to kiss me, to feel more of him, but he didn’t budge. So I turned my head and began kissing his arm where it was braced next to my head. He didn’t seem to mind—in fact, he moaned at the mess I was making of his arm.

He knew just how to touch me, like he’d spent years figuring it out. My orgasm coiled tighter in my belly, seconds away from tipping over—when he stopped. Just stopped. I gasped, then groaned in frustration. He only smirked as he began to move down my body, his hands trailing over my breasts and down my stomach, smearing blood as he went.

He began to kneel between my legs, spreading me open. The floor creaked beneath his weight, grounding the dizzying heat in something real.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m tasting you the first time I make you cum.”

The sight of him between my legs was almost enough to send me over the edge already. I half sat up on my elbows as he placed one of my legs over his shoulder, one hand wrapping under me to rest on my abdomen, the other sliding two fingers into me again. I moaned in satisfaction and threw my head back as he slowly began to pump in and out. He was so close to starting—I could feel his warm breath against where I so desperately needed his mouth—instead trailing kisses up and down my thighs getting closer and closer.

Before he began, he admitted, “I was so close yesterday. I could smell you, see how wet you were for me. I was under your skirt—no one would have known if I had just—”

And there it was, finally. The soft contact I so desperately needed. His fingers pumped into me with perfect rhythm as his tongue lapped and sucked at my clit.

I brought my hand down into his hair and tugged him closer, earning a deep growl that vibrated through me. I was already close, moaning loudly and lewdly, when I looked down and saw him looking up at me. His gaze commanded mine, like he knew every tell I had. I stared into his eyes as I came for the first time.

He didn’t stop. He removed his fingers, raising them to my lips for me to suck clean. I didn’t need him to tell me—I just did. I tried to stay still, but his tongue quickly drove me to overstimulation. That’s what the other arm was for. He held me firmly in place, my thighs squeezing around his head, my hands trying desperately to push him away as I gasped for air.

“Pl–please–Jack–I’m gonna—”

His hand—no, his palm—suddenly covered my mouth. I bit down hard as I came again, the only thing keeping me from truly screaming. White-hot pleasure burst through my body, stealing my vision, making me shake. He kept going just a moment longer, then finally stopped, sensing my limits.

I lay there, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling. After what felt like hours—but was only seconds—I sat back up on my elbows and looked at him. He knelt between my legs, smirking, blood on his face and chin now mixed with me.

“Don’t know how I’m going to explain this to the costume department,” he said.

A confused look crossed my face as I glanced down to where he was looking. His chest was dripping wet, his pants soaked. My eyes widened. “I’m so sorry—I couldn’t control it. I didn’t even know I could do that.”

His smug satisfaction only deepened. “Aye, don’t be sorry,” he said, rising to stand. “I’d rather tell them I pissed myself than have you apologize for that.”

He was still talking, but my eyes locked on the large bulge now at eye level. My mouth watered, all the relief I’d just felt was gone, replaced with raw need. He moved to grab my skirt for me, but I caught his arm.

“Jack, Jack, I need more,” I begged.

He slowed, looking at me as he shook his head. "You don’t owe me anything—"

"Please, Remmick. I need you."

His eyes darkened as he dropped the skirt, hands immediately going to his belt buckle and unclasping it in one swift motion. I reached up to grab at his pants, tired of him doing all the work. Let me do something. I needed to do something. He let me unbutton him, let me pull the rest of his clothes off and toss them to the side. Now we were even. He stood before me, hungrily looking down at me.

And I met that hunger. Reached for it. Owned it. I was fully sat up now, looking up at him wide-eyed. He wasn’t going to make the first move. He wanted me to. So, I reached out and grabbed him, stroking the bead of precum down his shaft tentatively, testing the movement. His head rolled back, eyes closed as he let out a deep groan of satisfaction. I continued for a few strokes, gaining my footing, before I took him into my mouth.

He gasped, hand flying to my hair to rest there, nestled in and guiding me. His groans were loud. I tried my hardest not to hurt him with my teeth—I must have been doing a good job because before I knew it, he was yanking my head away.

"Love, if you want to go any farther tonight, you have to stop that now. If not, I’m going to finish."

My only response was to lay back, scooting my butt as I went until I was fully laid on the table, spreading my legs wide for him and maintaining eye contact.

"Fucking Christ," he breathed before climbing onto the table and over me, nestled between my legs, one arm braced beside my head, his other hand stroking himself lightly.

"Are you sure?" he asked one last time.

I bit my lip and nodded.

"Then beg," he whispered, low in his throat. There he was above me—red eyes and all. The obsessive man I had become obsessed with.

I breathed the words into the space between us, trembling with need. "Please, Remmick. Please fuck me."

His brow pressed into mine as he slid into me, both our eyes going wide. No gasp, no moan—just my mouth hanging open in stunned, stretching pleasure as I adjusted to the size of him. Before I knew it, he was moving, slowly at first, head nestled in the crook of my neck planting kisses and love bites. I turned my head against his cheek, feeling his jaw scrape against my skin, slick with sweat, spit, blood—us. I moaned quietly in his ear. Small, lewd moans only for him.

His thrusts became harder, drawing louder sounds from me as he kissed up my neck to my ear, scraping his fangs lightly as he went.

"Tell me you’re mine," he whispered.

I turned my head to look him in the eyes. "I’m yours. I’m yours, Jack. I’ve always been yours."

I saw the softness return—the man I had spent countless nights with, laughing in my trailer and on set. I saw admiration—more than that—love, as he looked down at me. Then his lips were tenderly on mine, and we stayed there for a while, kissing passionately as our pleasure built.

"Fuck," he groaned, suddenly sitting up. He was now kneeling between my legs, hands gripped tightly on my hips, looking down at me as he thrust. So similar to the position we were in yesterday—his face the exact same, chest heaving hard. The sight of him there, still in costume as Remmick, nearly pushed me over the edge.

He grabbed my legs and lifted them onto his shoulders before leaning down over me again, the position allowing him to reach impossibly deep. I never knew I was this flexible, but God, am I thankful to find out. I was close to my third, and I could tell he was close too.

That’s when we heard it.

"Jack!" Hailee called from nearby outside. He slowed, frustration furrowing his brow. I reached for his hips, desperately grasping for him to keep going, but it was clear he was going to stop. I let out a groan—but then, my name. Not Hailee—Michael called my name from outside.

He stilled, eyes flashing with irritation, the sound of my name on someone else’s lips slicing through the air. They had come to look for us after we didn’t show up to get out of hair and makeup. Jack's whole body tensed over me—and then he began to move again, faster than before.

They were just on the other side of the door. One wrong sound and they'd know. But it did nothing to slow Jack down.

Then they were at the door of the Mill. It was locked from the inside, but they still pulled on it and tried to get in. I was so close—so impossibly close. He was pounding into me at an impossible speed, at an impossible angle. My hand flew to cover my mouth as I began to reach my climax, and immediately it was yanked away and pinned above my head. I bit my lip, hard, looking up at him, searching for answers.

He was moaning loud, seemingly on the edge, and all he said—breathless and feral—before spitting on his fingers and reaching down to rub my clit was, "Mine."

I came—hard—screaming his name. I couldn’t help it. The same white-hot flash tore through me, a thousand times more intense than the last. He must have been waiting, or the feeling of me finishing pushed him over the edge too, because as soon as I was done riding it out, he was right behind me.

From outside, I heard Michael say, "Oh, shit." Hailee's laugh followed, fading as they walked away.

My legs were gently lowered as he collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, still inside me. I breathed heavily too, my hand running gently through his hair as his head rested on my rising and falling chest. Finally, he looked up at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Was that really necessary?"

He chuckled. "No, probably not—but we were pretending, remember?"

"Hmm," I said, trailing my hand along his chest and arm mindlessly. "And are we still pretending?"

He waited a moment, trying to read my face. "That depends on how badly you don’t want everyone to know about us. Because—they’re gonna know."

"I’m fine with everyone knowing. Just feel like there might’ve been a better way to tell them, is all."

We both laughed, and he brought his hands up to caress my face. That’s when I noticed his hand—the blood. Real blood. I grabbed it to look at the puncture marks where I had bit him.

"Jack, you’re bleeding," I said, worried.

He chuckled, pulling his hand away nonchalantly. "Small price to pay for making you squirt."

We both laughed again, and he added, "Gonna have to explain that to costumes too, ‘cause I definitely got blood on me trousers when I was admiring my work."

I smirked at him. I should’ve felt embarrassed—but instead, I just felt... satisfied. For the first time in a very long time, if ever.

We laid there for a while, me on his chest, his hand in my hair, just feeling each other breathe. Listening to the sound of his heart.

"Sun’s coming up," he pointed out. And indeed, through the open door, I could see the line of sunlight starting to stretch across the room beyond.

I began to move. "Fuck, we gotta get these costumes back—they’re gonna be pissed," I said, rummaging around for my clothes, Jack close behind me.

"Yeah, and these contacts are really starting to hurt my eyes," he said with a laugh, pulling on his pants.

I chuckled at him sideways and tossed him his shirt.

I followed him to the door. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at me before unlocking and opening it. Then he turned to me, smile softening as he reached out his hand. I took it gently—and together, still marked and aching—we stepped out and into the rising sun.

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions (Interlude) - Jack O’Connell

minors dni, 18+!! (no smut, just mention)

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Pairing: Hailee Steinfeld x fem!platonic!Reader, Wunmi Mosaku x fem!platonic!Reader, mention of Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader

Summary: After reshoots finished, you headed to the special effects artist’s station to get your makeup off from the day. Little did you know, your closest friends were to pay you a visit regarding your recent excursion with Jack.

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, swearing, rpf

Words: 762

Note: Going through a small writers block with part 3, but I owed you all a little something. So, here’s a fun little drabble moment showing reader’s friendship with Hailee and Wunmi! I haven’t gotten to show much of it, but I hope this can be a good peace offering until the next part is done lol.

As the artist removed the makeup, you zoned out, just endlessly scrolling your social medias as you thought of how excited you were. To finally get that date you hoped for, being able to finally be with him outside of filming with dozens of people around. A loud voice pulled you from your thoughts as you look up in a panic to the door, where Hailee and Wunmi now stood, smiling deviantly.

“I knew it! I knew that would happen! So when’s the date?,” Wunmi questioned, a little hint of excitement peeking through her words as she walked closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and giving a light shake. Hailee ran around the back of your chair, giggling. Your panicked face quickly morphed to a smile, your face turning bright red, and your foot now tapping. “Tonight. Actually, once we both get back to our rooms and freshen up.” Hailee let out a girlish “eeek” and Wunmi clapped. The two of them were your closest friends, and it felt like the three of you were teenagers having a sleep over, talking about boys and how you wanted to be with the one you liked oh so much. “Oh, how exciting! You two really broke the ice pretty damn good already though, huh?,” Hailee said, now making eye contact with you through the mirror. If your face wasn’t already red as blood, it definitely was now. “Hailee! Oh my God, I can’t believe you already brought that up!,” you jumped. Of course she would, you knew she would but part of you hoped she’d wait just a few days. “I mean, it isn’t exactly like you were discreet about that one. We all kinda knew where you were, but we’d been covering for you.”

You closed your eyes and took a breath, thankful they covered for you but also.. still embarrassed. Slightly. “So, you guys knew about us a week ago too?” The gasps from the women were so loud that it made your eyes widen from the change of tune. They didn’t know. Fuck. Now that’s another thing to fuel their girl talk questioning. “What? No?! What happened a week ago?,” Wunmi pushed, desperate to know what her close friend gotten up to with the man she’s crushing on a week ago. “Well, uhm, I, uh-“

“Girl, come on! Did you two do something a week ago too?” Hailee’s jaw was dropped after that question, amazed you kept that from her and Wunmi, and baffled that today wasn’t the first time.

“Well, you know how we had to refilm the Joan and Bert scene? Uhm.. On my way back to my camper I ran into him.. and we were both still in costume… and we did some things.. on the set. In character.” Your face had to literally be on fire right now. The heat was insufferable, and you could swear if you touched your face that your skin would burn, but you had to hide the embarrassment with your hands. “Shut the fuck up! In character? You little freaks! Wunmi, can you believe our sweet friend is a freak?” The two women clapped and squealed, loving every bit of the girl talk you were giving them. “I can’t! Girl, you’re going to kill us! On set, too? That’s insane work…. good for you!” With your head still in your hands, your body started to shake from laughter. “I know, I know! I was stunned too. There was just something about him in that.. outfit. I don’t know guys! I’ve been thinking about it all week. He wanted to take me out last week but I worried myself to death over it and convinced myself that he didn’t actually want me.” Their celebrating quieted, more serious emotions coming out. “So that was the distance we noticed. Neither of you were yourselves this week. But hey, now you know he was serious. Don’t worry about that, I see the looks he gives you. Sometimes Hailee and I would catch him staring at you like you hung the stars above the earth. He really likes you,” Wunmi comments, messing with a strand of hair out of place. You nod, a small smile emerging as you think of the past week in a different light, knowing tonight could be the start of your relationship. “Come on, we’ll help you get your stuff and get you back to the hotel. We’re headed there now, you can ride back with us,” Hailee offered, already grabbing your bag and pulling you up from the chair.

Taglist: @moyavsemoya , @faephoria, @carriemill, @livlifehope

[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.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: Murder in the House of Dolls

Art 1, Art 2

Though once the prize project of a master artificer famed for bringing joy across the land, the Lyrebird theatre now moulders in obscurity, its once wondrous hall now a place where strange things lurk unseen.

Adventure Hooks:

A body turns up in the party's home city, a tattooed man dressed in antiquated robes like the king of a fallen empire, exanguinated from strange cuts that encircle his major joints. Investigating the tattoos reveals that he was part of a gang that made it's coin "acquiring" things for interested parties by any means. Careful reconstruction of his trail leads to a tumbledown neighborhood frequented by artistic types. Perhaps they can point the investigators in the right direction.

If the party aren't the type to be solving crimes, a fence they know has a job for them: breaking into some boarded up building and stealing some select doohickeys on behalf of a wealthy buyer. Never mind that the last crew she sent in never came back.

Following rumors of strange music playing in the night, or their own need to aquire materials on the cheap, the party might find their own way to the Lyrebird. Sometimes you just need an urban dungeon delve on the quick, yeknow?

Background: It was a brilliant idea in concept, a clockwork playhouse, a scaled up version of music box automata that could play out entire performances accompanied by a clockwork band. In practicality, the system could only be made complex enough to alter between four per-determined plays, and after the novelty wore off no one wanted to see a theatre that could only run the same shows season after season, to say nothing of the stiff performances of clockwork actors.

And so the Lyrebird faded from grand attraction to tourist trap to derelict curiosity. The owners boarded up the building once it was too, which hasn't stopped adventurous youths and enterprising scavengers from sneaking in to take trophies from time to time.

None of this sat right with the spirits of art and wonder that'd come to dwell within the theater in its early days, born from the amazement of those first few years. The show must go on, and with a little encouragement from a fey-curse newly levelled against all the artificer's creations, the spirits got to work staging new performances of their favourite productions... even if they have to get a bit creative when it comes to replacing the damaged puppets.

Challenges & Complications

Using the marionette performers, the spirits infesting the theatre have been capturing those who break into the playhouse and using their bodies in place of damaged automata. A number of them are dead, as being jerked around on fillaments through dance routines or suspended by them for hours, but a few of the most recent band of thieves are piteously alive and in desperate need of rescue. Breaking them out immediately will see the spirits sending an army of possessed marionettes after the party, so the best course of action might be in staging one of the plays and getting all the victims on set before cutting them down and bolting for the door.

Navigating the mechanical theatre will require the party to venture through the uncanny corridors of the puppet workshop, the precarious pathways of the flyloft, and the deafening clatter of the orchestra pit. Along the way they'll face not only rogue marionettes and the hazards of a derelict building, but also fey mischief like swapping the doors around or costumes waiting in ambush that charm the victim into thinking they're someone else.

Even when the party escape, the Lyrebird theatre isn't done with them. Some time later the party will find one of their allies murdered, the death posed unusually so as to resemble the climax of one of the plays. The wrathful spirits of the playhouse have cobbled together a champion of porcelain, wood, and wire, and sent it out into the city to perform their art before a live audience.

[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.