#just shows the desperation in just the setting and the costume | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soulwrencher · 7 months ago

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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.

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rambling-at-midnight · 9 months ago

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Second Chances

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

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

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

Word Count: 4.8k

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

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

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

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

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

He recognizes that voice.

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

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

“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is never getting back his security deposit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “Running late.”

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

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

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

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

“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.

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

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

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

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

You and Robin share a guilty look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”

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

You look up and wave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too quiet.

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

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

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

“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.

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

He groans. Drops to one knee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t listen. You just drive.

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

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

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

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

He snaps your neck.

“NO!”

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

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

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

The Pit surges.

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

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

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

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

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

Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.

“Don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re not.”

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

Something clicks behind them.

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

He hasn’t.

So what made the noise?

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

Robin lets out a low cry.

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

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

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

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

Robin freezes.

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

“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.

“What is going on?” Robin demands.

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

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

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

Now you’re breathing and alive.

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

Oh.

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

“Which is technically true—”

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

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

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

Jason bristles with indignation.

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

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

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

"Woah, bud, you okay?"

"He's concussed," Jason says.

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

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

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

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

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

You're alive. He can hardly believe it.

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

"What?" Jason startles.

"For not telling you about my abilities."

"Y/N—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"

You blink. "What?"

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

"A date?"

"Only if you want to."

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

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

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

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

Your face flushes and you look away.

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

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

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

He definitely will.

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

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

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

DC Taglist

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever tag list

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

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

#jason todd x y/n #reader insert #jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #damian wayne #damian wayne & reader #vigilante reader

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luna-azzurra · 9 days ago

Text

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.

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starryeyedjanai · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddieholidaydrabbles #st ficlet #janai.doc

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artsyannierose · 29 days ago

Note

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

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)

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

Starfall - by super_tails ❌

A full fledged fic set just after Sonic Frontiers, where Sonic has to face a new foe looking for the chaos emeralds. tbf this just started but im interested at the moment so ill keep it here for now As of the moment that I’m writing this, the first chapter starts off with obvious romantic tension between Sonic and Amy, and a near-kiss, but idk where this is headed. Seems promising though!

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.

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.

My Fics:

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

Catching Up (with an umbrella) ✅ ☁️

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

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”

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

#sonamy #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #sonamy fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfiction recommendation #artsyannierambles #amy rose #this took so long help #im such an avid fanfic reader i need to stop #ao3 is my best friend #i barely look on other sites bye #again happy reading guyssss

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 months ago

Text

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.

#dungeon #city dungeon #city #town #fey #treasure hunt #mystery #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #pathfinder

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evieelyzabethh · 4 months ago

Note

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.

#arcane #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane x you #eviesmadness🪻#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane headcanon #viktor smut #arcane smut #streamerau🎮

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tossawary · 5 months ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#file this under: me banging on random doors demanding to be given a fortune to make an animated Hobbit movie again #I would kick so much ass; I would make Choices; the design of my adaptation would be the Most #tossawary tolkien #the hobbit #smaug #fic ideas #character death #gimli takes legolas to a very classic very famous very high art dwarvish opera once and it's five hours long and 1/12 in a cycle #long post

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

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Stages of Shadows:

R O U N D 7

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

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

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

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink, gone

I can’t let it go

Blink and gone”

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

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

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

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

“The clock goes tick-tock, tick-tock

Just enjoy this

Blink, gone

Oh, in a blink, gone

Let’s go”

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

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

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

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

“Today, this moment

Won’t ever come again

The party’s getting started

And let’s go crazy high”

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

“Wave both hands

Let the rhythm take over

This music

On and on”

(credits to @ilriyum on X/Twitter)

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

“The verdant lights

They tickle my eyes

Before this piercing, radiant moment

Fades away”

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

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

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone

Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink and gone

Relish the present

In a blink, gone”

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

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

“Clear your mind

Leave the burdens behind”

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

“Make this party yours

And no, don’t look back now”

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

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

“Neither yesterday nor tomorrow

Exist for me

It’s this moment, or no”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This dark, crimson air

Embraces us

And lifts our spirits”

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

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

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

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

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

“And this hot, fiery thrill

Blazes up in the sky till the end”

(credits to @sviteer on X/Twitter)

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

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

“Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone”

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

“Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock

Blink, gone”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay alive…”

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

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

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

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

“I won’t stop… I can’t stop.”

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

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

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

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

“Doctor…”

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

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it”

[Name].

‘My God, My Universe…’

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

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

Robin.

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

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

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

“Don't miss this moment

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

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

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

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

“Blink, Gone”

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

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

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

(credits to by @yuun0110 on X/Twitter)

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itsalliny0urhead · 1 month ago

Text

Good Boy (Dick Grayson x fem!reader)

💀🖤 I think this is my favourite one I’ve written so far. Do you want more parts? You left the League and never looked back — trading justice for blood and silk and the thrill of taking exactly what you want. When Dick shows up at your door years later, rain-soaked and desperate, asking for your help… you decide to say yes.

For a price.

Dick Grayson x fem!reader — enemies to lovers / ex-lovers / villain!reader

The penthouse is decadent.

Moonlight spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the city in silver at your back. Crystal glasses glint on the bar. A man’s wristwatch ticks softly on the marble countertop — its owner nowhere in sight. The whole place hums with something warm and wrong, like luxury pressed over rot.

He steps inside uninvited, though the lock’s already broken. You never leave doors intact. They don’t deserve that kind of mercy.

Then he sees you.

Reclined on a velvet chaise like a serpent in silk, legs bare, neck glowing in the pale light. Wine glass in hand, fingers lazy around the stem. A bloodstained blade resting on your thigh. Casual. Intimate. Like it belongs there.

There’s a smear of red across your collarbone. Still wet.

“Grayson,” you purr, not bothering to look up. “I was wondering when you’d come crawling.”

His mouth goes dry.

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

Your gaze lifts — slow, deliberate. Your eyes gleam like a blade unsheathed.

“Which ones?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

This penthouse belonged to someone else — their coats still hang in the entryway. A framed photo smiles from the wall. A child’s drawing on the fridge, curling at the edges. You haven’t erased them. Just claimed the space like a queen conquering a kingdom.

You’ve never tried to be clean. You made yourself unholy.

“I need your help,” he says, jaw clenched.

That earns him a laugh — low, husky, deliciously cruel. You tilt your head, silk slipping lower on your shoulder, revealing the edge of a bruise or maybe a bite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathe, “you must be desperate.”

You set the glass down without looking, the clink of crystal against marble slicing clean through the quiet.

Then you rise.

Slow. Languid. Every movement deliberate. Your bare feet whisper across the hardwood, silk sliding over skin like it was poured there — clinging to the swell of your hips, the line of your thighs, the sharp curve of your collarbone still kissed with blood. Not a costume. Not armor.

You wear danger like perfume.

And he — he stands frozen, soaked from the rain, boots bleeding water onto the polished floor, pulse hammering under his skin like it knows.

You stop in front of him, not touching. Just hovering. Close enough that he can smell you — not just wine and something floral, but something darker underneath. Copper. Smoke. A hint of gunpowder that makes his stomach twist.

This close, you’re both everything he remembers and nothing like the girl he used to know.

Once, you used to laugh when you sparred — wild, breathless, too sharp for your own good. He used to call you reckless. You’d grin and say he was just afraid to lose.

Once, you used to braid your hair before missions. Sit on the edge of the rooftop, tongue caught between your teeth as you wove it tight with shaking hands. He’d watch you from a distance, pretending not to care.

Now? Now your hair’s loose — wild, untamed, drying in waves that frame your face like something feral. Your eyes glint like broken glass.

“You look good,” you say, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “Little worn. Little wet.” Your gaze drops, lingers. “Still pretending you’re not exactly where you want to be.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“No,” you hum, “you came to beg.”

You take one slow step closer, and he doesn’t stop you.

Your fingers trace his jaw — featherlight, but it burns. Like contact with something holy and forbidden. You touch him like you have a right to. Like you still own the map of his skin.

“You want my help,” you whisper, thumb dragging over the edge of his lip, “but you’re choking on it. On me.”

He doesn’t breathe.

There was a night — years ago — after a mission that went sideways. You’d stolen a bottle of vodka from the med bay. Pushed it into his hands. Sat beside him on the floor, your backs to the wall, your knee pressed against his. Your voice had gone quiet when you’d said, “We’re not built to be good forever.”

He hadn’t believed you.

Until you proved it.

“You’re not the same person,” he says now, barely audible.

You smile — slow, sharp, brutal.

“No,” you murmur. “I’m better.”

Your hand trails lower — down his chest, over the line of his belt, not quite touching. Teasing. Threatening. You’re not sure which would be worse for him.

“And you,” you continue, voice a blade wrapped in silk, “still clinging to that broken little moral compass like it ever pointed north. But you came here. To me.”

You lean in — lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and cold all at once.

“So say it, Grayson. Say the words. I want to hear them bleed.”

There’s a version of you in his memory, sitting cross-legged on the Watchtower floor, humming under your breath while disassembling a prototype bomb — hands steady, eyes shining, voice soft when you said, “Do you think we’ll ever get out?”

That girl is gone.

And yet — when he looks at you now, standing there in blood and silk and sin — he’s not sure you didn’t become something more terrifyingly honest.

“I need you,” he says, broken and raw.

Finally.

You exhale like a slow smile, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Good boy.”

You move like you own the room. Like you own him.

He doesn’t follow when you turn away — just watches you glide toward the bar again, silk whispering over skin, blood still drying on your shoulder. The room smells like wine and metal. Like sex and death.

You finish your drink in a single, slow swallow, red lips staining the glass. Then you set it down, turn, and lean back against the bar — arms folded, head tilted, smiling like you’re already undressing him with your eyes.

Because you are.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” you say. “I’ve killed for less than the way you looked at me when you walked in.”

His voice scrapes low. “You’ve killed for less than everything.”

You grin. “Exactly.”

There’s a flicker — just a breath of memory:

You were sixteen the first time you went off-mission. The intel was bad. The target was worse. You slit a man’s throat in an alley while Dick watched, stunned, heart thudding in his chest. You didn’t flinch. Just wiped the blade on your sleeve and said, “If we leave him breathing, he follows us.”

He hadn’t slept that night. You had.

Now, you step forward again, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving his. Your fingertips skim along the back of a leather chair as you pass it. You’re circling him again — like hunger in human skin.

“But I’ll help you,” you say, almost sweetly. “For a price.”

You stop behind him. He can feel the heat of you, the press of the silence between.

“I want a night,” you whisper — right at the edge of his ear, voice thick like molasses, like something you drown in. “With you. Not Robin. Not Nightwing. Not whatever mask you’re wearing this week.”

Your hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms — slow and teasing and cruel. “I want the part of you that still wants me,” you breathe, “no matter how hard you’ve tried to forget.”

His hands curl into fists.

He remembers the night before you left. No uniform. No orders. Just the two of you on the Watchtower roof, watching Earth rotate in silence. You’d kissed him like it was a secret. Like you didn’t know when you’d get the chance again. And when you pulled back, you looked him in the eye and said:

“One day, I’m going to do something you can’t forgive.”

He hadn’t said anything.

Maybe you were waiting for him to ask you not to. Maybe that’s why you left.

Now you pull around in front of him again, your lips so close he can taste the wine on your breath.

“When this is over,” you say, dragging one finger slowly up his chest, “you come back here. And I’ll ruin you properly. Take my time with it. Peel off every pretty lie you’ve wrapped around yourself just to breathe.”

You lean in — tongue flicking the edge of his jaw. Your lips graze his skin like a brand.

“I want you kneeling. Bleeding. Mine.”

His voice is rough. “You always wanted ownership more than love.”

You smile. “Ownership is love, darling. You just never learned how to take it.”

And god help him — something in him still aches for you.

Still remembers the way you used to laugh when you trained together. The thrill in your eyes when you landed a hit. The sound of you, breathless in the dark, whispering:

“We could be legends, Dick.”

He wanted to be a hero. You wanted to be a god.

“…Deal,” he says again, quieter. Like a confession.

You step back — satisfied. Triumphant.

“Good boy.”

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 2 years ago

Text

Trick Or Treat

Request from Wattpad-

Pairing: Wanda X G!p Reader 18+

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I hope you enjoyed :)

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda x you #eventual smut #smut #wanda smut #g!p #gxg #g!p reader #marvel fanfiction #intersex #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximommy

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

Text

lessons in anatomy V

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) ->chapter map

“You missed all the fun,” Matt tells you with a shy smile the next time you see him. “Our van wouldn't start. We spent half the night getting it running again.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Sorry to hear that. What was wrong?”

“Dead battery. And a flat tire.”

“Tough break.”

“Yeah. Kinda weird though, right?”

“A little.”

Professor Wick listens with half an ear from across the room, fighting to suppress a smirk.

-One afternoon you are poking around your neighborhood thrift store when you see a familiar crop of raven hair through the shelves. With mischief in your heart you take down a mangy-looking jackalope taxidermy from a shelf, using it like a puppet to peek around the corner. In a funny voice you say, “Pssst? Hey mister…wanna buy some milk duds?”

You peek around a moment later to find him smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Young lady, do you have a license for that cryptid?”

You can't stop yourself from grinning at him. “I fed it and it followed me here.”

“They do that.”

You have no idea how badly this man sympathizes with a stuffed rabbit defiled with deer antlers at that moment.

You stand looking at each other for a very long, pregnant moment, which at least in your part is filled with a burgeoning longing you just don't quite know what to do with. You notice he's in the book section.

“Looking for something particular?”

“Just…looking for books to rescue. It’s kind of a hobby.” He holds up a Victorian cloth bound edition of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories. It’s seen better days.

“You're…going to fix it?”

“With luck.” He flashes a shy smile that sets off fireworks in your heart. “What are you hunting for?”

“This and that.” You show him your basket filled with bric a brac. Boxes you want to turn into dioramas, fabric with prints you like, tin cutouts and costume jewelry by the pound you intend to glue onto things…for no better reason than it makes you happy. You do have some purpose to this trip though. “I’m…working on my submission to the Monster Masque. Have you ever been?”

He shakes his head, that fluffy hair swinging into his face in an unfairly adorable way. “I’m kinda new in town.”

You sort of knew that. You found out that he’d moved here to take the place of the professor who went on sabbatical.

“Well, it's the Halloween party around here. You have to try it at least once.” Part art show, part masquerade, part rave, it takes place in a warehouse by the river, and the art scene puts on their best. No commercial costumes allowed, everything must be handmade. Part of the fun is guessing who's who beneath their masks…and part of the fun is being anything or anyone you want to be.

“Sounds like too much fun for an old fogey like me.”

You snort. “As if. You're not old.” This seems to hearten him, somehow.

“Are you submitting one of your miniatures?”

You pause for a moment. You don't remember telling him about them, but they're not exactly a secret. “Yeah. I'm making a tiny haunted airstream trailer with ghosts who are like…glamping.”

“Glamping?”

You put on a serious air. “Am I commenting on the death of the American Dream, or do I just like cute creepy things? Who can say…”

He huffs with laughter, a sparkle in his dark eyes. “Interesting.”

“Do you…have any projects you're working on?”

He shakes his head and offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I…haven't been too motivated, since my wife passed,” he admits, looking down at the stacks of books on the table before him.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, putting on a brave face, and when he meets your eyes…you don't think you imagine the warmth that kindles between you, out of your own desperation.

You don't know where you get the cheek to say, “Maybe something will inspire you soon.”

He holds your gaze, and it's like withstanding a lightning bolt straight through your heart. Yet somehow, you stand fast, resisting the urge to wilt before a wildfire.

“If I'm lucky,” he answers, and your heart lodges in your throat, tasting of ash.

You browse the rest of the store together, chatting lightly and chuckling over some of the treasures you find. By the time you are ready to leave you have filled your basket with odds and ends. He has three books–and the jackalope.

“What are you going to do with that?” you laugh as he tucks it under his arm when you leave.

“I think I’m going to make you pose with it next class,” he jokes.

You cackle with delight, your mirth filling the street. People shoot you odd looks as they walk by, and you try to look contrite, smiling sheepishly.

“Should I bring a cowboy hat?” you tease, more in the spirit of being silly than suggestive, but you can tell immediately that your offer hits a different way. You’re not sure how it’s possible for this man to appear equally flustered and wolfish, his eyes darkening to true black as his attention sharpens upon you.

“That…might be too much…for all of our sakes,” he answers diplomatically, and once again you feel too hot under your collar, wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow you. Why do you always have to ruin everything by running your mouth?

“Ok.” You look around, wondering which way would prove your quickest escape. The least painful option would probably be to walk straight into traffic. “I guess…I’ll see you Monday.”

You have to go crawl into a hole.

You have no idea how badly he does not want you to go, but before he can think of another thing to say to ease your embarrassment or possibly pry his big foot out of his mouth you’re already halfway down the block.

He watches you go with a sigh.

TBC...

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->chapter map

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #professor wick AU #yandere john wick #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #LOL do you guys know what a jackalope is??#its like...an american antique store staple 😂

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