#lace wig grip

[wig-supplies-and-more]

Exploring Different Types of Wig Grips: Ensuring Security, Comfort, and Confidence

Wig grips play a crucial role in providing a secure and comfortable fit for individuals wearing wigs, whether they are dealing with hair loss or simply experimenting with different hairstyles. These essential wig accessory items can make a world of difference in terms of confidence and peace of mind. In this blog, we will delve into various types of wig grips, highlighting their benefits and how…

[comatosebunny09]

backstage performance | sylus q.

— cw: female!reader, dancer!reader, lap dance, pole dancing, thigh riding, pet names, smutty things, pretend the reader’s wearing an expensive-ass lace front wig, shower sex, explicit language, praise kink, voice kink, aftercare, mdni — wc: ~2k — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — tagging: @world-of-hearts because they always entertain my madness. — now playing: don't worry about it - clara la san

One performance ends, freeing you up for another, more important gig. 

A smile rounds your lips as your audience erupts into a series of whoops and whistles. It’s almost deafening, their praise. 

The stage lights overwhelm your vision as people applaud you, some swiping at the stage to touch you. Everyone wants a chance at you—a taste of Lux’s main attraction. It’s flattering, but this isn’t the attention you seek tonight. It’s merely a preemptive strike for the grand finale.  

You duck backstage after wiping your pole clean. Sweep hair from your face, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. A member of the backstage crew appears behind you to drape your shoulders in a fur coat. You wave her off, giving her an omniscient look as you shrug away from it. 

Her smile is cute, bashfulness swelling her cheeks. She knows what’s amiss—or about to be—bringing you a bottle of water instead. You gratefully accept, the crisp liquid a welcomed reprieve, cooling your insides. You thank her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

You dip into one of the club’s many winding hallways, bathed in the red lighting cast from overhead, skin shining with body glitter. Your heels click against the floor, accompanied by the dull throb of music playing throughout Lux’s halls. 

You reach your destination, your heart racing as you push through the swinging door leading to a quiet, tucked-away room.

Despite how long you’ve done this, you always get the pre-dance jitters, specifically when putting on a show for him. So, you tamp down your inhibitions as he comes into sight, a shock of white hair arresting your vision through the crimson hue of the private room. 

He looks up when you near him to get to your new stage, that customary smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sits back in an easy slouch in the leather armchair, watching you with half-slit eyes and a muted smugness that sets your body alight.

You haul yourself onto the raised platform using the pole, an effortless display of your flexibility and strength. If at all possible, his smirk grows tenfold. He shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking when he grips the arms with long, slender fingers. He’s settled in for the long haul; your private shows never disappoint.

Whatever kind of day he’s had, you want to ease the tense set of his shoulders. Erase the lines forming between his brows despite the mask of nonchalance he dons. His negotiations must’ve gone south.

Music spills from the speakers in the form of soft crooning over a chill beat. It assuages your nerves a little, prompting you to begin your show. 

You grow more confident as the seconds pass. Warm up a little, grinding your ass against the pole, thighs spread wide whilst you simulate grinding on him. 

He watches you with quiet reverence, mouth slightly open. His gaze always drifts back to yours as you entice him with the salacious wind of your body. The attention makes your throat grow dry. You’ve danced for him many times before, yet it always feels like the first when he looks at you like that. Like you’re something to be devoured, bones licked clean.

You pull out all the stops once you mount the pole, sprinkling in your favorite tricks, guided by the music and the hungry wash of scarlet watching in your peripheral. You spin here, flourish your fingers there. Smooth your hands over the contours of your body, playing up your allure. 

At some point, you end up on the floor propped on your elbows, the stage glacial beneath your bum. You cross your ankles and flex your feet. Splay your legs wide and jiggle your thighs. Spin each leg in a rehearsed fashion before clapping your heels together, the sound commanding in the stilled space. 

From there, you maneuver yourself into a split, isolating your cheek muscles to twerk your ass. You couple it with a sultry look at the object of your desires, and he lifts a brow, clearly enjoying the show. 

You ease onto your knees, gyrating your hips whilst combing your fingers through your hair. You flatten against the floor onto your palms, crawling toward him with the finesse of a prowling feline. He sits up to meet you halfway, and his eyes track to your lips when you tug at the collar of his shirt, drawing your chests together. 

“How did your meeting go,” you ask in a vain attempt at small talk. His breath is hot, sifting through your lashes as he slowly exhales. It’s dizzying, being so close. Smelling him, feeling the heat radiating off his skin, studying the pucker of his lips.

His lips graze yours with the tease of a kiss. “Flawlessly.” You taste the double entendre.

“That well, huh?” He helps you dismount the stage with wide palms clasped around your waist, drawing you into his lap. The air is pinched from your lungs when you bounce on his thighs from the motion, his need for you hot and weighted against your inner thigh. 

“Sure,” he says, hands making several expeditions over your sides, stomach, and the small of your back. He doesn’t want to talk business when such a delicious spread is laid out before him. You can’t blame him.

You decide not to pursue the conversation, instead raking your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He groans something guttural and appreciative. It’s amusing watching the big, bad Boogeyman fall apart in your hands. Baring a side of himself he reserves only for you.

You try to get up to finish your performance, but he snatches you back onto his lap, a warning brewing in the gleam of his scarlet eyes. 

You chuckle, admiring the scowl-turned-pout that descends on his lips. “Will you ever let me finish a dance?”

“Someday,” he counters, lazily studying your features. Smiles. “For now, why don’t you take five? Or ten? Or perhaps, twenty…”

You roll your eyes, draping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. It’s a brief, sticky union. Quick pecks evolve into something more heated, more possessive whilst he moors you to his lap, pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

It’s a greedy exchange, his tongue seeking out yours, stealing your breath from your lungs sip by sip. It’s enough to make your head spin, the apex of your thighs throbbing with anticipation against the stitching of his trousers. 

Deft fingers tiptoe up your back, grabbing the zipper of your bodysuit. He pulls back momentarily to watch your expression as he sluggishly draws the zipper down. Quietly gives you an out in case you’re not in the mood for this. Always so considerate, even whilst in the throes of passion.

You say nothing, instead gathering his cheeks in your palms once he’s freed you of the tug of your costume. He bunches your bodysuit around your hips, wrapping virile arms around your middle to keep you fastened to him. He peels back to smooth his palms over the sides of your ribs, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He’s insatiable, like he’ll never see you again, emblazoning the feel of your body into his memories forever.

Reluctantly, he tears away from the hot suction of your mouth to nip at your neck. Your lips part with a sigh-turned-breathy laugh, and you crane your neck back to grant him more access. The worn pads of his thumbs ease over the swell of your tits, find your nipples. He ducks to lick one into his mouth, paying the same homage to the other until they’re ramrod stiff and sensitive.

Unconsciously, you grind against his thigh, the rough material of his slacks bumping against your clit just right, sending delightful shockwaves throughout your body.

“That’s it,” he croons, molding a hand around your ass to encourage you. Sighs hot and open-mouthed against your hinged open mouth. “Ride me. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

The low gravel of his voice spurs you on. You glide your sticky, clothed cunt over his quad, and he squeezes your ass in one hand whilst kneading your breast in the other, drawing your nipple back into his mouth. 

“Fuck me, baby,” he urges on a strained groan. “Take what you want from me. Use me, sweetheart.” 

You do as he pleads, clinging to him whilst you seek your pleasure through the sluggish grind of your hips. You pant in unison, his palms perched on your hips, encouraging you to ride his thigh faster. He sucks on your neck, breathing obscenities and praise against your skin, pushing you further towards that edge of that blissful void.

“Fuck me. Take me. So good. Such a pretty girl. Cum for me. Want you to. So, so badly.”

Your ragged breaths progress into loud, bitten-off moans of his name. Your hips stutter as the world slides into white. Your orgasm spills through you like a warm liquid pooling in the chasm of your belly, your nails scraping over the nape of his neck. He holds you as you shake and whimper. Paints the sweetest words against your slick neck, encouraging you to come down from the clouds.

You curl into him as the last vestiges of your peak ripple through you, willing your breaths to even out. He eases soothing hands over your body, your thighs. Slides gentle fingers under your chin, luring you into a kiss that’s sweet and coaxing.

He’s patient as you finally come down. Chuckles low in his throat, thinking you’re just the sweetest thing. Your cheeks prickle with warmth as realization slams into you. You peer into his eyes when his girth brushes against your swelling sex. His gaze is mirthful, knowing.

Your mouth trembles around words. He didn’t get his. He traps the question in your mouth with another kiss, the loud click of your mouths parting making you heady once more. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of me later,” he rasps. Your belly swoops at the implications. At the tenderness. The fragility in his smile, the affection blooming in his gaze. “In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up.” He is, of course, referencing the sweat and glitter still clinging to your skin from your show before this one.

You nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder when he lifts you into his arms bridal style. Soundless, he walks you out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. You’re bare from the waist up, your nipples puckering beneath the cool rush of air as he maneuvers you through the hall. But you’re not all ashamed, knowing no one frequents this side of the club as much as you do.

He cradles you to him like you’re made of porcelain. Doesn’t set you down even when the elevator pings at the top floor, emptying the pair of you into his penthouse. 

A bout of exhaustion washes over you. Maybe you were more exhausted than you let on. He chuckles something fond, glancing at you as he carries you to his en suite bathroom.

He takes his time divesting you of your costume after he sets you on the brisk countertop. Slides your heels from your feet, holding your gaze with a predatory gleam whilst he kisses the notches of each ankle bone. The mirror is a welcomed, glacial reprieve against your back when you lean against it, watching him rid himself of his suit. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of him, hard and swollen red in the wake of your teasing.

He scoops you back into his arms when he’s done, carrying you beneath the warm spray of his shower. Only then does he reluctantly set you down, turning away to squirt some body wash onto a towel to clean you. He takes his time scrubbing away the sweat and glitter, touching you with such admiration, like you’re a deity worthy of praise.

Once you’re both thoroughly scrubbed, he’s sure to thank you for such a wonderful performance in the shape of his hot mouth and artful fingers moving between your thighs.

[earthchica]

On The Run

terry richmond x black, fem! reader

summary: Terry is hired by Mara, your queenpin stepmother, to track you down in exchange for intel on his cousin Mike's killer. But once he see you, he becomes captivated and torn between his task and his feelings. When he uncovers the real motives at play, the question remains: will he save you or abandon you to danger?

warnings: light smut 18+, lapdance, kissing, dirty talking, angst, violence, slight AAVE, queenpin, guns, mention of blood, on the run, nicknames [ baby, baby girl, sweetheart & more ] words: 4k

note: This had been in drafts for a while lol, I know I used the picture already, but he looks so good. I hope you enjoyed it; there may be some errors.

songs darling nikki by prince grip by normani just us by DJ Khaled, SZA

-

You've been running away from the web of the notorious queen pin Mara, aka your stepmother, for almost five months now. She killed your father and took over his family business, which rightfully belonged to you, and she still hasn't stopped looking for you.

To keep a low profile, you haven't stayed in one place for too long and have used different names, jobs, and identities. During your escape, you traveled to at least 20 other states and met some great people who knew your father; they provided you with tools to survive and taught you how to fight, use a gun, and protect yourself.

You are currently in New Orleans, where you've taken a job at a strip club and changed your appearance and name to Nicole, though everyone calls you Nikki. You're friendly and kind to everyone, but you never get too close to anyone—though tonight, that might change.

You adjusted your honey blonde lace front wig in the mirror and breathed deeply to steady your nerves for the upcoming performance. The locker room smelled of perfume and hairspray, a scent you had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

Your bold makeup was flawless—smoky eyes, long lashes, and deep red lips that matched your crimson lingerie. Standing up, you admired your hourglass figure in the full-length mirror.

The push-up bra lifted your ample breasts, while the thong connected to the bra emphasized your wide hips and short legs. You ran your hands down your sides, smoothing the delicate lace.

Despite the confidence your appearance gave you, you couldn't shake the constant undercurrent of fear. How long before Mara found me here? Would tonight be the night I had to run again? You ask yourself that all the time.

A sharp knock at the door startled you from your thoughts. You froze, your heart racing. "Who is it?" You called out, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

"It's just me, love. Candy," A voice came from one of the other strippers. "Um…you're on in five,"

"Oh! Thank you," You replied, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, adjusted your wig, and headed to the main floor.

The club was dim, hazy with smoke, and pulsing with the rhythm of the music. You entered the crowd, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

As you approached the stage, you saw him—the mysterious man who had been coming here all week. He sat alone at a table near the front, his intense greyish-blue-green eyes fixed on the stage.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed he had gotta cornrow braids that made him undeniably fine; you had fallen for his strong features and full lips.

The opening chords of "Darling Nikki" by Prince filled the air, your cue to take the stage. You sauntered up the steps, your wide hips swaying in time with the music. As you wrapped your hands around the pole, you locked eyes with the mysterious man.

His gaze was magnetic, drawing you in. You began your routine, your body moving fluidly to the provocative lyrics. You spun around the pole as you twirled around the pole.

You felt his eyes following your every move. You arched your back, running your hands down my body, your fingers grazing the lace of your lingerie.

The music pulsed through you, guiding your movements as you danced for him. You slid down the pole, your legs spreading wide as you hit the floor.

His eyes widened slightly, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. You crawled towards him, your hips swaying hypnotically. The rest of the club faded away; it was just you and him.

"What's your name, handsome?" You purred, your voice low and sultry. He leaned forward, his muscular arms resting on the edge of the stage.

The beautiful man paused momentarily, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "It's…TJ," he said, his voice rich and resonant, flowing with a warmth reminiscent of aged whiskey poured into a crystal glass.

It had a soothing, almost inviting quality. He glanced at you expectantly before continuing, "And yours?" His gaze was steady, a mixture of curiosity and intrigue illuminating his features.

You rolled onto your back, lifting your leg high in the air. "Nikki, sweetie. So…TJ," you said, running your hand along your thigh.

"I've seen you watching me all week. What brings you here night after night?"

TJ's eyes traveled the length of your body before meeting yours. "I think you know, Miss. Nikki. Just enjoying the show, and maybe something else."

"Wow, really? Interesting," You drawled, rolling your hips as you pushed yourself up to a standing position. "Most fellas are throwing out all kinds of lines, but you playin' it cool."

TJ's pretty eyes never left yours as he leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk on his lips. "I ain't most fellas, mama."

You strutted closer to the edge of the stage, your movements fluid and sensual. "I can see that. You got that look about you like you've seen some thang."

"Could say the same about you," TJ replied, his voice low and smooth. "Pretty girl like you, dancing' in a place like this. Bet you got stories to tell."

You chuckled, bending down to meet his gaze. "Oh honey, you ain't even ready for my stories." You said softly. "Try me," he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

You ran a finger along his jawline, feeling the rough stubble beneath your touch. "Maybe I will if you stick around after my set." TJ caught your wrist gently, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

"You ain't gotta worry 'bout me leavin, darling Nikki'," TJ said, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly. "I've been waiting all week for this moment."

You leaned in closer, your lips barely grazing his ear. "Well, ain't you just the patient type? I like a man who knows how to wait for what he wants."

The music faded, signaling the end of your set. You pulled back, giving TJ a wink before sauntering off the stage. You could feel his eyes burning into your back as you went to the dressing room.

Once inside, you took a deep breath, your heart racing. Despite your better judgment, something about TJ drew you in. You quickly freshened up, changed into a short black dress, reapplied lipstick, and brushed your hair.

When you emerged, TJ was waiting by the bar, and you ordered a drink, and he offered you a toast. "Preciate you, boo," you said, taking a sip.

The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat.

TJ leaned against the bar, his eyes roaming over you. "So, Miss Nikki, you gon' tell me what a fine thang like you is doing in a place like this? 'Cause I can tell you ain't like these other girls."

You took another sip of your drink, savoring the burn. "What makes you say that, TJ? Maybe I'm just tryna make a livin' like everybody else."

TJ chuckled, the sound profound and rich, making your heart flutter. "Nah…you got that look in your eye. Like you runnin' from something Or somebody."

You felt your heart skip a beat but kept your face neutral and cleared your throat. "You sure think you know a lot about me, considering we just met."

TJ leaned in closer; his cologne smelt so damn good that you had to bite your lip. "I'm good at reading people. It's what's kept me alive this long."

"Oh yeah, really, huh?" You challenged, arching an eyebrow with a light smile. "And what exactly have you been doing, that's got you worry 'bout stayin' alive?"

TJ grinned, revealing a perfect set of pearly whites. "Now that's a story for another time, baby girl. Tonight, I'm more interested in hearing about you."

You laughed, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "You sure know how to sweet talk a lady, right? But I ain't spilling my secrets to anybody, no matter how fine they look."

TJ's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Aight, aight, I see how it is. How 'bout private dance?" he asked with a smile, and you smirked, considering his offer.

"Alright, big spender. Follow me." You led TJ to one of the private rooms in the back, your hips swaying with each step. Once inside, you gently pushed him onto the plush velvet couch.

"Now baby, you just sit back and enjoy the show," You purred, dimming the lights. As the sultry beat of "Grip" by Normani filled the room, you began to move.

Your body was rippled to the rhythm, hands sliding down your curves. You turned your back to TJ, looking over your shoulder as you slowly unzipped your dress.

"Damn," TJ breathed, his eyes glued to your every movement. "You finer than frog hair split four ways."

You chuckled, letting the dress fall to the floor, revealing the beautiful black lineage that highlighted your curves. "You got a way with words, don't you?"

You straddled his lap, grinding your hips against him, and you could feel him hardening beneath you. "Mmm, somebody's excited," you teased, running your fingers through his cornrows.

TJ's hands gripped your waist as you rolled your hips slowly and sensually, feelin' his grip tightened on your waist. "Shit…you gon' be the death of me," he groaned, his voice husky with desire.

"Oh baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet," You purred, running your hands down his chest. You could feel his heart racin' beneath your fingertips.

You stood up, turning your back to him as you bent over, giving him a perfect view of your ass. You looked over your shoulder, catching his hungry gaze.

"You like what you see, handsome?"

"Shiiit," TJ breathed, adjusting himself in his pants. "You know I do, baby girl."

You straddled him again, this time facing away from him. You ground your hips in figure eights, feeling' his hardness pressed against you. TJ's hands roamed your body, caressing your thighs.

You continued to grind against TJ, your movements slow and deliberate. "You like that, baby?" You purred, looking over your shoulder at him.

"Mmm…yes," TJ groaned, his hands gripping your hips tighter. You chuckled as your body undulating to the rhythm. You ran your hands down your sides, over your breasts, down your stomach.

TJ's eyes followed every movement, his gaze hungry. "Damn, girl," he breathed. "You finer than frog hair split four ways," You smirked, stepping closer.

"You already said that, baby. You runnin' outta lines?" You teased, and TJ grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Nah. I got plenty more. You just got me, girl."

You laughed, the sound low and sultry, pressing your ass against him as you started to twerk. Your cheeks clapped against his lap in time with the beat.

"Sweet Heaven," TJ muttered. "You shakin' that thang, shaking that ass for me" You looked over your shoulder, giving him a wink.

"You like that? Want some more?" you whispered in his ear, brushing your lips softly against his ears. "Yes," he breathed, eyes glued to your ass.

You stood up, turnin' to face him again, and bent over, puttin' your hands on his knees as you shook your chest in his face. Your breasts bounced against his chin, and TJ's breath hitched as he struggled to stop himself from what he was about to do next.

His phone buzzed, reminding him of his purpose for being here. You looked into his eyes, already locked on you, and you grew confused by the change in his expression.

The door swung open with a smash that echoed like thunder in the small room. My heart dropped, and you whipped around to see your half-brother, Myles, striding in with an intensity that could slice concrete.

Two bodyguards flanked him. "Good job, Terry," Myles said, his voice calm and composed despite the intensity in the room. You got off TJ—or Terry, whoever the hell he was—and put your dress back on.

"Hello, Y/N… it's so great to see you again, sister," Myles says bitterly. Your heart begins to race as fear crosses your face, and you look between Myles and Terry in disbelief.

You tried to escape, but Terry grabbed you by the arm. You looked up at him in fear and pleaded, "Please don't do this! They're going to kill me. You don't know-."

"Hand her over, Terry. You're working here; it's done," Myles said, moving in closer, but Terry was hesitant and still looked at your pleading eyes.

"What do you plan to do with her?" Terry asked, looking at Myles with his jaw clenched. Myles laughed as he glanced between the two guys behind him.

"Why does it matter to you?" he replied, puzzled. You were looking between Myles and Terry, your heartbeat racing and struggling from his grip, and Terry's eyes frowning.

"A deal is a deal. You want Y/N; I need that fucking information now." Terry said, raising his voice. Myles pulled something from his jacket and tossed it onto the ground.

"There, now give me her; I'm not about to ask again," Myles demanded, stepping closer while his bodyguards braced their guns. Terry appeared conflicted.

You couldn't wait for him to decide whether to help you. So, you bit his arm, punched him in the gut, and made a run for the other door to the dressing room.

You escaped, quickly grabbing your bag before you bolted toward that exit door, your heart racing still like a wild stallion, and chaos erupted behind you.

The sound of gunshots rang out, sharp and jarring, slicing through the air like a knife. People screamed, their voices blending into a cacophony of panic.

You could feel the chaos vibrations pulse through the floor under your feet—like an earthquake of fear. Finally, you skidded to a halt outside, breathless and wide-eyed.

You ran and ran until suddenly, a hand clamped over your mouth from behind, pulling you into the shadows of a dark alleyway. You fought against it instinctively, adrenaline surging through your veins.

"Relax, it's me, Terry!" Terry hissed urgently, his breath warm against your ear. His grip tightened momentarily before he loosened it slightly.

He said it like you should be happy.

You shoved him away and punched him in his jaw, and Terry grunted in pain. Terry asked, "Fuck, what did you do to make going through all this trouble over just you."

"You should know since you were hired to find me," You snapped, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "Don't play dumb now, not after all this."

Terry's eyes narrowed, searchin' your face like he was tryna solve a puzzle. "I swear. I was hired to find a girl who ran from her family. Knew nothin' 'bout any of this. This is some next-level shit."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, so now you wanna act like you don't know? You think I'm gonna fall for that…I know my psycho stepmother hired you. Fucking bitch killed my daddy and took over his business. Now she wants me dead, too."

Terry's eyes widened slightly. "Damn, that's some heavy shit. I swear on everything, I ain't know none of that." you stared at Terry, your mind racin' as you tried to understand what he was sayin'.

"You didn't know, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms while looking him up and down, and Terry winced. "So what are you…shitty…bounty hunter from Craigslist?"

"You know what…" Terry grunted, his breath coming out in short gasps. "I'm not trying to get caught up in no family drama with psycho killers. This way above my pay grade."

You noticed the dark stain spreading on his shirt, realization hittin' you like a ton of bricks. You covered your mouth, "Shit, you have been shot!"

Terry looked down, seemin' surprised by the blood. "Dammit," Terry grunted in pain, his face contorting as he pressed his hand against his side.

He muttered something under his breath, stumbling slightly as he turned away from you. "Where you goin'?" You called out, your voice echoing in the dark alley.

"Away from you," Terry growled, his voice strained. "This whole situation's more trouble than it's worth." You reached out, grabbing his arm.

"Hold up, you can't just walk away. You need a doctor, Terry. You're bleedin' bad." You said softly, and he yanked his arm away, wincing at the movement.

"No doctors. They ask too many questions." Terry grunts; you can see the blood seeping through his fingers, staining his shirt a deep crimson.

"Then let me patch you up, " you said, moving before him. Terry's eyes narrowed as he studied your face. You could see the internal struggle playing out in his expression.

"Look… I get you don't trust me, and I don't trust you, but maybe we can try; both of us need each other right now," you assured him, raising your hands in a calming gesture.

Finally, Terry let out a long, heavy sigh and nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "Alright, then. Fine. Follow me." Both of you moved through the city's shadows, Terry leading you down a maze of back alleys and narrow streets.

The neon signs and distant sirens faded away as you both delved deeper into the forgotten corners of the urban sprawl. Finally, you stopped before a dilapidated brownstone, its windows boarded up and its facade crumbling.

Terry fumbled with a set of keys, his hands shaking slightly from the pain or blood loss - maybe both. He managed to get the door open and ushered you inside.

The interior was a stark contrast to the building's exterior. It was clean, if sparse, with mismatched furniture and a few bare necessities scattered about.

Terry collapsed onto a worn leather couch, his breathing labored. "The First aid kit's in the bathroom," he grunted, gesturing towards a door on the far side of the room.

"It's under the sink."

You hurried to retrieve it, your mind racing with questions you knew better. You rushed to the bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

The first aid kit was right where Terry said it'd be, and you grabbed it, hurrying back to the living room.

Terry had removed his shirt, revealing a muscular torso and a few tattoos. The gunshot wound was on his left side, still oozing blood.

"Alright, big guy," you said, kneeling beside him. "This is going to hurt, but I gotta clean it first," you added, and Terry nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

You poured some antiseptic on a cloth and started cleaning the wound. He hissed in pain, his muscles tensing under your touch. "So," You said, tryna distract him from the pain. "How'd a fine thing like you get mixed up in all this mess?"

Terry chuckled, then winced. "It's a long story, sweetheart."

"Well, we got time," You replied, focusing on the wound. "That bullet's still in there. I'm gonna have to dig it out." You said, grabbed a pair of tweezers.

You sterilized the tweezers with some alcohol, your hands shaking slightly. "This is gonna hurt like hell, Terry. Are you ready?"

Terry nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "Do what you gotta do, baby girl." Your heart flutters at the nicknames, and you take a deep breath and start probin' for the bullet.

Terry's body rigidified, and a low groan escaped his lips. You could feel the sweat beading on your forehead as you concentrated and tried to be gentle.

"Almost got it," You murmured, more to yourself than to Terry. "Just a little bit… there!" You pulled out the bullet, droppin' it into a small dish with a metallic clink. T

Terry let out a long, shaky breath. "Damn, girl," he panted. "You got steady hands. Do you do this often?"

You chuckled, applying pressure to the wound. "No…now hold still while I patch you up, " you said, working on cleaning and dressing the wound and stitching him up.

Terry watched you intently; his eyes were clouded with pain, but there was a mixture of something else there: lust and curiosity. You finished patching up Terry's wound, securing the bandage with medical tape.

"There," you said, sitting back on your heels. That should hold for now, but you really should see a doctor." You said, taking a breath, and Terry flexed his side gingerly, testing the bandage.

"Where'd you learn to patch up bullet wounds like that?" Terry asked, and you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as you packed up the first aid kit.

"Let's just say I've had practice," you said with a light smile, and he returned. "Thanks," Terry said softly, his hand touching your arm.

"I mean it. You didn't have to help me after everything." Terry said gently, and you nodded, finally meeting his eyes. "It's fine! If you don't mind, I need to change out of this dress, and I'll be on my way."

You stood up and paused when Terry's hand tightened on your arm. "Wait," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You can't go out there alone. It ain't safe."

You scoffed, pulling your arm free. "My life ain't been safe for a long time. I can handle myself." You turned to face Terry, your eyes searchin' his face for any sign of deception.

All you saw was genuine concern and maybe something else, a spark of interest that made your heart skip a beat. "Look," Terry said, his voice low and deep.

"I can't let you walk out that door knowing what's waiting for you out there. You need protection, and I can offer that," Terry explained. Of course, you hesitated.

"And what makes you think you can protect me any better than I can protect myself?" you questioned, and Terry stood up slowly and towered over you.

His broad shoulders blocked out the dim light from the single bulb overhead. "Because I know things, I can help make you disappear. And right now, that's what we both need."

You chewed on your bottom lip, considerin' his words. The smart thing would be to walk away, to disappear on your own like you'd been doin' for months.

But somethin' about Terry made you want to stay. "Okay." Just as you said that, you felt Terry's hand on your shoulder, gently leaning down towards you.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours. Terry's kiss was surprisingly gentle, his full lips soft against yours. You found yourself leaning into it.

Your hands reach up to caress his cornrows. The tension that had been building between you both finally broke like a dam bursting open.

Terry's strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his body. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin and smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the metallic tang of blood.

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, asking for entrance, and you granted it with a soft moan. As the kiss deepened, Terry backed you up against the wall, his body pressing into yours. One of his hands tangled in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back. His lips left yours to trail hot kisses down your neck, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Mmm," Terry murmured against your dark brown skin, his voice low and sexy. "I've been wantin' to do that all week. Watching you up on that stage, movin' like you do… you had me mesmerized."

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tracing the muscles of Terry's back. "I… I thought it was all an act," You admitted softly. "That you were just playin' a part to get close to me."

Terry pulled back slightly, his intense eyes searching yours. "No! That wasn't an act. I was hooked when I saw you up on that stage. Couldn't take my eyes off you."

His thumb caressed your cheek gently, and you leaned into his touch. "But… your job. You were hired to find me," You whispered, still struggling to reconcile everything.

"Yeah, I was," Terry nodded, his expression serious. "But I didn't know the whole story. And the more I watched you, the more I realized there was so much more to you than what they led on."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "I saw the fire in your eyes when you danced. The way you carried yourself with such strength and grace. And I knew… I knew I had to know you."

Your heart raced at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest as you gazed up at Terry, your heart pounding. His words had stirred something deep inside you, awakening something.

You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. "You don't know what you're gettin' yourself into," You whispered, your voice husky with desire.

"They won't stop coming for me. Am I worth all the trouble ahead?" You asked, and Terry's eyes darkened as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Baby girl, I think you're worth every bit of trouble and then some." His words sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your head back, exposing your neck to him.

Terry took the invitation, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. His hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Terry," You gasped, arching into his touch, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Do you want me to stop?"

You bit your lip, deep in thought. Every instinct told you to run and protect yourself, but how Terry looked at you made you feel like the most precious thing he had ever seen. It was as if he was determined to protect and cherish you.

It made you melt. "No, don't stop, Terry, please don't stop!"

Haha cliffhanger, I'm so mean, lol part 2??

[dunzella]

Yandere! Serial Killer

♢ Yandere! Serial Killer whose on the run from the police, "she" had been careless with one of "her" victims, a rare slip-up for someone who prided "herself" on precision. Evidence left behind, a single, damning thread now had the authorities breathing down "her" neck.

Yandere! Serial Killer who isn’t new to the game. "She" had been turning victims into works of art for years, taking people who were in horrible accidents barely clinging onto life before "she" takes them and turns them into dolls.

Now "she's" forced to lay low, with a disguise. A wig cascaded down "her" back, pastel highlights blending effortlessly.

Dainty hands adjusted the straps of a tight pink corset while "she" checked "herself" in the mirror. Thick thighs hugged by stockings, soft pink lips curling into a knowing smirk.

The police would never suspect "her." No one ever did.

Yandere! Serial Killer wandered into a coffee shop one day, and spotted you. Instantly remembering you as "her" high school crush, never really spoken a few shy 'hi's' here and there. "She" mainly just observed from afar since you was always surrounded by people.

You was a senior and "she" was a sophmore, so when you graduated and left the school it broke "her" heart. Never able to confess to you about "her" feelings or even managing to court you.

Yandere! Serial Killer who thinks this was fate, a second chance and was about to walk over to you until "she" froze. All of a sudden remembering "her" current situation, you wouldn't even recongnize "her" because of the disguise.

It's not like "she" could walk right up to you without it either "she's" a wanted criminal. And "she" highly doubts you haven't seen "her" actual face on the news.

Yandere! Serial Killer who scans your face with the same precision "she" uses to memorize her victims’ features. But you’re different. You’re not a victim. You’re special. There’s a maturity to you now, a depth that makes "her" want you even more.

Yandere! Serial Killer who bit "her" lips, and decided to take this chance, "she" can’t let you slip away again. Not this time.

Yandere! Serial Killer approaching you and striking up a conversation, "she" felt a familiar shiver down "her" spine when you had stated "she" looked familiar to someone you remembered in high school. Asking if "she" had a brother.

Yandere! Serial Killer who dreamt of this moment over and over finally able to have a real conversation with you, instead of shying away. Feeling very giddy unable to hide "her" excitement.

Yandere! Serial Killer who suddenly felt hot beneath the tight corset, feeling how "her" body betrayed "her". "Her" plush thighs pressed together as "her" mind wandered to places it shouldn’t, not here, not now. The pink lace of her stockings suddenly felt too tight, feeling a familiar pressure between "her" legs.

Pretty manicured fingers gripped the coffee cup a little too tightly as "she" forced "herself" to focus. "She" couldn’t scare you away, not yet.

Yandere! Serial Killer who nearly combusts when you exchange numbers. You think "she’s" just a bubbly, harmless old acquaintance from high school. How could you have known the truth?

Yandere! Serial Killer who as soon as "she" got back home "she" needed to take care of "her" growing problem. "She" couldn’t stop thinking about you. Replay after replay of your conversation danced in "her" mind as "she" stroked "herself", soft moans of your name muffled by "her" pillow.

Yandere! Serial Killer who after coming down from "her" high decided on that day "she" won’t lose you again. This time, "she’ll" do it right. "She’ll" worm "her" way back into your life, just like "she" always dreamed of in high school.

Yandere! Serial Killer who becomes your best friend. "She’s" bubbly and sweet, always making you laugh. "She" agrees with everything you say, knows just what you’re thinking before you say it. You’re amazed by how connected you feel to "her"—like "she" knows you better than you know yourself.

You didn’t know it yet, but your other friends were disappearing. They were vanishing. And "she" was collecting their pieces—literally and figuratively.

Yandere! Serial Killer who was thinking about courting you and make "her" feelings known to you, but remembered "she" was playing a character and not as "herself" due to unfortunate circumstances which never fails to piss "her" off.

Yandere! Serial Killer often wondered if you would still like "her" if "she" came clean, wondering if you’d call "her" insane if you found out the truth. Would you turn "her" in? Would you scream? "She" dreams about it sometimes, imagined your tears, your pleas.

Yandere! Serial Killer who finishes stitching up "her" latest "doll" a person who dared flirt with you and sighs. Blood smearing on the cigarette "she" lit, taking a long drag. "Her" mind drifts back to you. The thought of losing you again terrifies "her" more than the police ever could.

Yandere! Serial Killer who finally snaps when "she" stalked caught you going on a date with someone else. The sight of you all dolled up for them. Smiling, and laughing, made "her" heart shatter into a million jagged pieces.

Yandere! Serial Killer's face twists into something hideous, a snarl that looks entirely out of place on the delicate, doll-like face "she’s" crafted. This wasn’t just jealousy—it was betrayal. An ultimate, unforgivable sin.

"You’ll regret this," "she" whispers under "her" breath, "her" voice dripping with venom. "I’ll make sure you never even think about leaving me again."

Yandere! Serial Killer who dragged your mangled unconscious body out of your destroyed car after the brakes mysteriously failed.

Yandere! Serial Killer who immediately got to work, "her" fingers expertly weaving through "her" collection of needles and threads. The crazed grin on "her" lips only widened as "she" stitched up the injuries, "her" blood-streaked hands steady.

Yandere! Serial Killer who smiled when "she" saw your eyes flutter open, the haze of confusion clouding your gaze as you took in your surroundings. Noticing you was sitting on "her" oddly broad lap.

Yandere! Serial Killer who laughed as "she" cooed at you, as you tried to sit up, only to realize how weak you were.

"Aw, don’t overexert yourself, dear," she cooed, "her" voice now much deeper and malicious. "You’ve been through so much already."

Yandere! Serial Killer who cradled you on "her" lap, ignoring your weak protests as you squirmed against "her". You froze when you felt it. A hard, unmistakable pressure pressing against your ass.

Yandere! Serial Killer who’s playful facade cracked as "her" hands reached for "her" pastel wig. "She" tugged it off in one swift motion, revealing short, messy blonde hair. "Her" expression darkened, "her" once-cheerful smile now replaced by something dead.

Yandere! Serial Killer who wordlessly reached into his bra, pulling out the fake silicone breasts with a quick flick of his wrist and tossing them aside like trash. His movements were stiff, irritated, his patience thinning. He stared at you with a mix of boredom and contempt.

Processing how his face was bare, but he was still sadly pretty his androgynous features seemed to have helped him go unnoticed. All the pieces finally clicking together.

"Recognize me now?" he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "You should. They’ve been plastering my face all over the news."

Yandere! Serial Killer who motioned toward the table in front of you, a silver platter gleaming under the warm, pink light of the room. Your stomach churned as he lifted the lid with a dramatic flourish, revealing the severed head of the person you’d been seeing.

Yandere! Serial Killer who grinned as your eyes widened in horror, tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you like a freight train. Their severed body parts were arranged grotesquely around it, the intestines draped like an awful decoration. The sight sent a wave of nausea rushing up your throat.

"Thought we’d have dinner together," he said mockingly, "I couldn’t let them come between us, after all."

Yandere! Serial Killer who sweetly kissed your cheek seeing the look of dawning horror on your face. This was pure madness. Your heart hammered in your chest as tears welled up in your eyes.

Now noticing the overwhelming stench of death, sweat, and something sweeter like rot; clung to the air...coming from the dolls around his room. Some were disfigured, their faces distorted, stitched up where the skin had been torn or burned.

The worse part is how stiff you felt gazing at your hand you see your wrists stitched up, lifting you shirt you see large lines long, jagged stitches, crude and uneven.

You realized with sickening clarity...you were another one of his creations.

"You’re mine now," he purred, leaning in so close his breath ghosted over your skin. "And nothing, no one, is going to take you away from me."

[cindol]

જ⁀➴. ✶ — youtuber au, banter, pure fluff,

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ connie springer x black fem reader

aot brainrot is brainrotting and like, thinking about how connie, sasha and a fem reader would be the best youtube trio because it’s a fun trip of three best friends but the audience can tell that you and Connie have some obvious romantic tension in those videos where the three of you are in your jeep in some parking lot.

you and connie are aware of the whole fandom shipping, in fact you both playfully feed into the silly shipping. With clickbait thumbnails in the youtube videos what looks like Sasha’s exaggerated facial expression in the back car seat and connie gripping your chin like he was gonna kiss you. Only for the actual video to show that moment then you smacking connie’s hand away and the three of you laughing.

you just giggle while connie’s grabbing the beanie that slid off his head at your motion. “never gonna fucking happen like, ever. Con has the worst breath so you all are crazy for even having hope in us touching lips.”

connie chuckles along, looking at your two toned glossed up lips and back to the phone camera to shake his and chuckle. “we had to take that entire photo like two times because that one in the back,” pointing at sasha snacking on some bag of chips she found in the backseat, “sucks at photos.”

then pointing right at you, “and this woman here had her entire damn wig almost in my face.” making you gasp and hit his arm while sasha’s laughing her ass off in the back.

“it’s called a lace front you buzzcutted asshole, i would’ve tied it into a ponytail but you just insisted the photo had to be natural.”

connie only laughed some more, adjusting his black beanie.

[ivelle-serenity]

Skateboard 14

Wind breaker

fem bodied reader | smut | action | pwp | jayjo/fml | vinny/fml | wooin/fml | joker/fml | hyuk/fml | owen/fml | enemies to lovers | angsty | the other woman (?) | reverse harem | fluff | SLOW BURN! | all characters featured are 18+

author's note: this part uses third-person POV.

✧˖° — windbreaker men

✧˖° — mdni, smut, description of not safe for work content.

✧˖° — this is a story not one shot.

Wooin's vision darkened as he saw the two bouncers assigned to his condo sprawled on the floor. Joker's eyes widened in shock at the sight, and he rushed inside to check if Demitra was still there. He nearly broke down every door in his frantic search, desperate to see if anything had happened to her. But there was no sign of her anywhere. Wooin clenched his fist, knowing immediately who could be responsible for this.

"What’s going on here?" Hyuk asked, his voice dripping with boredom. He seemed unfazed by the sight of the two large men on the ground. "That looks bad," was all he managed to say, eyeing their battered faces.

"That bastard," Wooin growled, making his way down the stairs to find the man he suspected was behind it all. When he reached the bottom, he spotted Vinny sitting on a counter stool, casually drinking alcohol at this early hour, his gaze fixed on the TV. He was watching the race.

Rage surged through Wooin as he recognized Demitra on the screen. He knew it was her, even with the wig. No one could identify her like he could.

Without a word, Wooin grabbed Vinny by the collar and punched him hard in the face. Vinny didn’t even flinch, as if he had anticipated the blow. Instead, he just grinned. It wasn’t long before Joker and Hyuk appeared behind Wooin.

"You let her escape? Do you really want to die?" Wooin challenged, his voice laced with a threatening edge.

"I didn’t let her escape. I helped her get away," Vinny replied, his tone dismissive.

Joker’s ears perked up at that, and he stepped forward, gripping Vinny’s shirt tightly. "Why did you do that? Why?" he demanded fiercely. Vinny looked back at him with a blank expression.

"The girl wanted to go to the race. Who am I to say no? Besides, you keep telling me she’s a princess. A princess should be obeyed," he retorted arrogantly, tilting his chin defiantly.

"You piece of shit," Wooin spat. "Is this your way of apologizing for messing with her? Let me tell you, you’re a fool for doing that. She’s in danger and shouldn’t be involved in races, you asshole."

Vinny’s expression remained surprisingly neutral, despite the intensity of the situation. "That’s not my problem anymore."

Hyuk shook his head in disbelief, scoffing. "Idiot," he muttered before turning away.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

"I don’t know why I’m so nervous. We can’t possibly be picked, right? With so many crews, it’s practically impossible," Dom tried to reassure himself, laughter escaping his lips. Demitra was focused on the MC at the front, who was mixing the papers in a box. Jay couldn’t help but think she looked like she was performing some sort of ritual to ensure their team wouldn’t be selected.

June, on the other hand, stared intently at the large screen, swallowing hard as he considered whether he could really make it to the finish line. Deep down, he knew he was the most likely to lag behind. Jay glanced at the other crews and spotted the Monster team. Some members grinned smugly, while their leader wore a serious expression. Where was the Sabbath crew? Jay wondered, unease churning in his gut.

"I’m sure the Monster team will go first—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the first team to race is the Hummingbird Crew!"

"Oh, fuck," Dom exclaimed, his shoulders sagging as disappointment washed over him. Demitra sighed, tightening her grip on her face mask. June took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Jay, however, remained focused, his bike ready for action.

Based on what Demitra had watched, Shelly had stretched before her race, so she decided to do the same. She extended her arms while glancing at the large screen, where their team was being featured. She caught Jay looking at her for a moment, but he quickly averted his gaze. This left her confused—should she approach him and pretend to be Shelly?

"Just remember what I told you guys. We're going to win this," she declared, mounting her bike with a serious focus on the road ahead.

"I’m gonna mess this up, I just know it," Dom muttered under his breath.

"Stop saying that, Dom. We can do this," June reprimanded, though the nervousness in his eyes betrayed his words. Dom slapped his mouth, then shouted as if to motivate himself.

Demitra glanced at Jay, who appeared deep in thought. She had noticed his distracted demeanor since they arrived, as if he were lost in another world. She shrugged it off. Maybe he was just missing Shelly. Her gaze fell to the necklace he wore, but as soon as he caught her looking, she quickly averted her eyes.

"WOW! WE'RE TRENDING ON SOCIAL MEDIA! THIS IS SO EXCITING! IT LOOKS LIKE THE HUMMINGBIRD HAS PLENTY OF FANS!" the MC announced to the crowd, laughter evident in his voice.

A man stepped to the center of the stage, holding a small flag, ready to signal the start of the event.

Demitra tightened her grip on the handlebars. As the man in the center signaled the start, Dom took off first, followed closely by Jay, June, and finally her. The road was filled with large trucks, leaving barely enough space for them to race together. Demitra cursed under her breath as she realized the different types of trucks blocking the way. The organizers had clearly invested a lot of time and money into this race.

"And we can see that the Hummingbird team remains calm as Dom kicks off the race! Let’s see how long they can maintain that composure as they reach the most thrilling part of the competition!" the MC shouted, his voice booming over the crowd.

"Oh hell nah," Dom muttered under his breath as he spotted a truck with a trailer and an empty orange platform blocking the road. That was the only route available. He came to a halt, causing Jay to stop beside him.

"Show him first!" Demitra yelled to Jay. He immediately understood her cue and pedaled faster, lifting his bike to reach the truck's platform. There was only one way back to the road, and that was to ride up to the edge and drop down onto the ground below.

Now Demitra understood why Dom had hesitated. The drop from the platform was dangerously high.

"WOOAHH! THE SUPER ROOKIE DOES IT AGAIN! HE'S FLYING!" the crowd erupted with excitement. From a distance, Demitra saw Jay actually make it to the edge and drop his bike onto the ground. He stayed airborne for a moment, which only fueled the crowd’s cheers.

Demitra quickly glanced to the side of the truck, hoping for a way out for Dom and June. She knew they wouldn’t be able to handle such a high drop. A grin spread across her face when she noticed the truck's door was slightly open, offering a narrow escape route for them, even if it was a tight squeeze.

"Fuck it."

A gasp echoed through the crowd as Demitra stood up on her bike, determination etched on her face. With swift precision, she lifted one foot from the pedal, shifting her weight to the left side. In one fluid motion, she swung her left foot toward the truck's door, kicking it with all her might. The sound of splintering metal filled the air as the door broke free and swung wide open.

She quickly lifted her bike to avoid any damage, her eyes darting back to Dom, who was still trailing behind. With a fierce look of encouragement, she signaled him to move forward.

“What just happened? Did she really break that door so easily?” Mia exclaimed, disbelief flooding her voice as she watched the unfolding drama on the screen.

Minu’s face lit up with amusement. “She saw that the door was old and weak. She took the opportunity to break it, creating a path for Dom and June.”

“How did she even think of that?” Aria asked, eyes wide with surprise.

“Because she’s a princess,” Minu replied nonchalantly, causing his girlfriend to furrow her brow. He glanced at her, a silent understanding passing between them, but then looked away. Mia sensed there was something deeper between them that she couldn’t quite grasp, and she was eager to uncover it.

Meanwhile, in the office, Nick sat with Mr. Nam, watching the spectacle unfold on the TV. “She hasn’t changed at all,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"One minute and thirty seconds left!" the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, and the tension surged.

Chaos rippled among the crowd. The spectators, engrossed in the race, didn't know where to look—at the ticking timer displayed on the screen or the Hummingbird crew racing against time. Teams who had already been disqualified from League of Street watched intently, their attention riveted on the extreme round, where Hummingbird was the first to take the plunge.

Then, the atmosphere shifted as Wooin arrived at the event. Eyes shifted toward him, murmurs spreading through the crowd.

"They're late. Good thing their team wasn't drawn from the box, or they'd be disqualified," some whispered.

But Wooin ignored them, his gaze locked on the screen where the camera focused on Jay Jo. His fist clenched at the sight. He knew this man was the reason his plans for Demitra had crumbled.

Joker appeared at his side. "We can't risk her being in trouble. We can't talk to her now," he reminded Wooin in a hushed tone.

Wooin smirked darkly. "Who said I'd talk to her?" he replied, his voice ominous as he glanced at Joker. "Soon, she'll realize we were right. She'll come crawling back, crying for us. I'll make sure of it." A sinister laugh escaped his lips.

"She will," Hyuk agreed, nodding beside him.

Meanwhile, on the track, Demitra licked her lips behind her facemask, eyes sharp with focus. "Dom, go!" she called out. Dom’s eyes blazed with determination as he accelerated toward the bowl area, June close behind him, and Demitra bringing up the rear. Jay was already near the finish line.

"We're right behind you, Dom!" June's voice broke the tension, steadying Dom's nerves as he began to falter, his pace slowing. The fear of not making it out of the bowl gripped him. But June’s encouragement gave him the strength to push through, despite the burning in his legs.

Finally, Dom burst out of the bowl, followed closely by June and then Demitra.

"Thirty seconds!" the announcer shouted.

Dom gritted his teeth. "Here we go, fuckers," he muttered, picking up speed, his bike roaring as he pushed forward. They were closing in on Jay now, the finish line coming into view.

"You can do it..." Mia whispered to herself, glued to the screen.

"They’re not gonna make it," Aria muttered nervously, her hands gripping the phone tightly.

Just as Dom and June neared the finish line, a loud horn blared, echoing through the track. Dom's eyes widened in horror as a massive truck sped toward them from the left side, aiming straight for Jay and Demitra.

"Watch out!" Dom screamed.

The truck was enormous, barreling down with terrifying speed. Demitra's heart raced, adrenaline flooding her veins as the looming vehicle threatened not just their bikes but their lives. Jay reacted first, jerking his handlebars to the side, riding up the wall to narrowly escape.

Demitra followed suit, leaning hard into a curve as her bike slipped just beneath the truck. She felt the sting as her elbow grazed the ground, the bike so low that it scraped the asphalt. She cursed under her breath, pain shooting through her arm.

"With 10 seconds to spare, Hummingbird crossed the finish line!"

[mynameismisty]

MINE|JOHNNY CAGEX FEM!READER

☆SUMMARY: Johnny wasn't a jealous man, but you with his co-star seemed a bit too over the line.

☆ORIGIN: I don't really have a song for this LMAO btw this came from a request, thanks anon! The request is rlly long soo💀

☆WARNINGS: NSFW, obvious p in v, jealous sex, creampie, praise

MINORS DNI

You knew Daniel. He was one of Johnny's co-stars, and a friend of yours. You had come to know it after he flirts with you multiple times, knowing you were with Johnny. But Johnny didn't seem to mind at all, you knew he wasn't jealous, he was just a bit protective. He knew when it went too far.

On a day where you got to the set first before Johnny, Daniel was on the set filming a scene and apparently, the girl he was supposed to make-out with... wasn't there! And who was?

You.

"It'll just be a small little session, darling." Daniel purrs, holding you by the shoulder after convincing the director to just put a wig on you. "C'mon, aren't we friends?"

"I don't wouldn't want to-"

"But we won't kiss anyway! Just some good ol' hollywood fake-a-roo."

Still, it weirded you out that he'd be presumably slobbering over your cheek in attempts to make the scene look real. You hoped no one would tell Johnny.

So they filmed the scene, and just like you thought, you had Daniel making out with your cheek and the Camera behind him where they could only see your hair and kissing noises.

After, it was like nothing happened. You went back to Johnny's trailer to just hang around until he came. Going over to the sink, you washed your face thoroughly, turning off the faucet and getting a scare.

"Johnny, baby!" You let out a yelp, holding onto your chest.

He stood, just beside the locked door of the trailer. You must've not heard him due to the water running.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" He said, it was obvious venom laced around his words.

"Huh? Enjoyed what?"

"That little make-out session you and Daniel had."

"Johnny-"

"Oh, but you enjoyed that, didn't you? Liked him kissing all over you?"

"No! We just filmed a scene since the other girl was gone!"

"Still," He walked over to you, managing to pin you on the small counter in the trailer, you leaning back in fear that he might bite. "Does it give you any permission not to talk about it to me first?"

"But, baby! It all happened so quick- I-"

"I- I- I-," Johnny imitated in a mocking fashion. "Answer me, does it give you any permission not to talk to me about it first?"

"N...No.."

"You know I'm not a jealous man, right, sweetheart?" You nod weakly. "But that just crossed the line."

You knew you were definitely in for a wild ride.

“Oh fuck, Johnny, I can't!" You moaned into the pillow, gripping the sheets tightly.

"You like that?" He pants, holding you by the hips with a death grip as if you were going to run away any minute. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Ah! Yes, Johnny, yes!" You felt a hand smack over your ass as he pushed his dick undeniably deeper into you. You felt Johnny slap it again and again, watching it jiggle, loving the sight of you squirming and moaning uncontrollably.

"You like that, huh? You like making me show my limits?" And you could only moan in response.

Johnny's pace slowed down as you whined. "Come on, baby, if you wanna cum, work for it."

"Johnny!"

"No buts, c'mom pretty girl. But you tell me who's the only person to make you feel like this and I'll help you out."

You moan, pushing your pussy back to him. "You do— ahh— please—!"

"Good girl," He cooed, this time lightly pulling you by the hair (but still having his other hand on your waist) gently and increased his pace. "Go on."

"Y-You! Only you can make me f-feel like this!" You stuttered over your own words, writhing and moaning uncontrollably.

"Mhm."

"Ahh! Please, make me cum!" You felt the familiar knot in your stomach tightening, about to rip into two pieces as you try to hold onto the damn bed.

"Yeah, baby, just— fuck— keep talking."

"Only you, J-Johnny! I love you, n-not anyone else!"

Your ass, moans and arched back were just too much for him, burying himself into you as you felt that knot snap in two "Ahh- fuck, Johnny!"

Your orgasm washed over you, thighs trembling, threatening to give out on you, your pussy clenching around him and your juices dripping down the sides.

He wasn't done though.

"Such a good girl for me." He pounded into you, over and over again until small tears started to flow from your eyes. "Yeah, I know baby, you're sensitive?"

You nod, too tired to have anything else come out your voice rather than moans.

"Come on, make those sounds for me, pretty girl, don't hide 'em."

That made you moan even louder as he pushed into you back and forth, leaning over you so his mouth was just next to your ear. "You like that, baby?"

You felt your second orgasm approach, clenching your pussy around him and tensing up a bit.

"My girl gonna cum on my cock again?" You could feel his smug grin pressed into the back of your neck. "Fuck, yeah, hold on." He still pounded into you but you felt him reach out for something and opening it, rubbing over your back.

Then you realize. He's writing his signature on your back. In Sharpie.

"You look good like this, babygirl— shit!"

He felt you cum again, juices slipping iut faster this time and he couldn't hold back.

"Ahh, fuck, shit, baby!" He pushed your head into the pillow as he came inside you, shoving all of his seed into your stomach that it made you feel full.

"J-Johnny..."

"I know, baby, I know.." He kissed you on the forehead. "You're sorry, right?"

You give another weak nod.

"Mhm, don't worry, baby, just don't let it happen again, yeah?"

You give a sigh and fall asleep, body plumping to the side as you hear Johnny get up to go grab a towel.

"Think I'll need a talk with Daniel."

💚

[sadhours]

Hii!!! Can i uhh be really weird and request a joe/baron smut of getting freaky with him while he is dressed in drag? Im salivating after seeing him in drag, my brain malfunctioned 🫠

absolutely… I’ve been having thoughts too

baron x f!reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, marmalade spoilers, smut, cross dressing, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

he’s still the pink babydoll dress when he walks through the door, hot pink balaclava in his fingers. wig still on and you gaze up at him from the floor, where you were waiting very impatiently. flicking through magazine after magazine as a distraction, mind worried and racing. panicked that this time would be the one where baron gets caught. but there he is, fishnets and boots on. he drops the balaclava and unzips the duffel bag, dumping out the stacks and stacks of cash on the floor.

“baby!” you squeal, the crisp bills completely camouflaging the area rug you’d been lounged on.

baron smiles, all innocent but you know better, before he dives down into the money. back flat on the floor, waving his arms and legs in the loot. scoops some of it up with his hands and tosses it up, making it rain down on the pair of ya.

it’s strange, the way he looks when he’s dressed as her. the way it makes you feel. how pretty he looks. heavy makeup clouding his sharp and wide features. you crawl over and hook a leg over his waist, grinning down at him as you straddle his hips. baron giggles, all sweet and full of adrenaline. still has the rush. you smooth your hands up his chest, over the bra under the dress and mesh long sleeve. you lean down and smush your lips against his, spreading and sharing lipstick. getting it all over with the feverish way you make out with your boyfriend.

you don’t ask him how much is here, it’s not your concern really. not your money, could be shared but you’re too scared to join him and really, you think baron doesn’t want you to. he’s protecting you this way. and maybe you don’t share the loot but baron takes care of you, keeps you comfortable and fed. and honestly, you don’t care about the money. just as long as you get to have him.

pulling back from the kiss and peering down at a dreamy baron in drag is the best sight in the world. he’s a boyishly handsome man but with the make up and hair, he makes the prettiest woman you ever seen.

there’s not much to say, baron’s usually riled up after a job and you get just as excited seeing him in the get up. you kiss him some more, tasting his waxy lipstick as you knit your hands into the fried, pink ends of his wig. you grind down against him, feeling his cock hardening in the fishnets which the thought of seeing has your head spinning. his hands find your hips and he grips them tightly, spewing whiny little moans into your mouth as your kiss gets sloppier. hard to keep everything contained when he looks like this, you act a little feral. rubbing your aching core down on his barely constrained erection. you break the kiss, giggling excitedly as he blinks up at you, red smeared all over his chin and nose from the kiss. he looks perfect, moves his hand up and pulls the wig from his head, tossing it aside and runs his fingers through his shoulder length brown locks, same color as his eyes. looks even prettier.

you inch down his body, pushing the ruffles of his dress up just enough to hook your fingers in his fishnets and tug them down his thighs. his cocks strained behind a pair of your panties, lacy pink ones and your breath catches in your throat. never used to how aroused it makes you. the fact that he wears your underwear when he’s fucking robbing banks. leaning down, you mouth at his shaft, wetting the lace. a moan heaves from your chest as his length twitches beneath the fabric and the hem of his dress falls over your head. baron makes a frustrated sound, hands grabbing the pink ruffles and pulling the dress up above his hips. he props himself up on his elbows so he can watch you, hands holding the dress up.

dragging your tongue up the curve of his cock under the panties, you hold your eyes on his. baron’s eyebrows furrow, teeth digging into his red stained lips as he watches you. god, he’s so pretty. you can’t help yourself as you tell him so, babbling out your thoughts as they come to you.

“god, baron, look so pretty right now,” you scratch at his thighs watching the way his eyes roll back.

“you look pretty, doll,” he mumbles out in return, voice already wrecked and you haven’t even done anything, not really.

you pull off the lace panties he stole from you, his cock springing free and bouncing before you wrap your fingers around the base of him. the tip is just as pink as the rest of his clothes, leaking steadily and making the flushed skin shiny. you lick up the side of his shaft, following the pulsing vein and he moans out pathetically. he’s always pretty vocal but his voice is higher when he’s wearing this, like he’s still in character or something. you and baron haven’t ever talked about why he cross dresses to rob banks. or why he even does it really, you know he supplies an old folks home with pills but you didn’t go into the details ever. you think baron likes it better that you don’t ask questions. likes that you blindly follow him, helping in the small ways you can.

swallowing his tip, you can’t help but hum around him. hot and heavy on your tongue and his face gets contorted all pretty, but you take your time with him. because baron’s gorgeous with his makeup but he’s even prettier when it gets ruined and smeared all over his face. so you tease, suckle on his tip and squeeze the base and drag your tongue against the shaft. do it like until tears make his mascara run and he begs for more.

“p-please, doll—“ he gasps, “can’t take it no more…”

“had enough?” you pout, lips pressed to his swollen head as you slowly stroke his length.

“need more— needa cum,” he pleads, looking so desperate and sweet.

“you want my pussy, baby?”

baron’s pupils widen, nodding at you enthusiastically with his gorgeous puppy dog eyes. you can’t deny him. so you get your underwear down your legs and hold your skirt up as you hover over his thighs. inching closer, line his eager cock with your drenched hole and sink down in one quick motion. the pair of you gasp in unison, eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the stretch. it’s a beautiful stretch but it always takes a second to adjust. then, as your eyes open, your arousal takes over. bouncing on him like a mad woman, hands grabbing his face as you connect your lips in yet another messy, heated kiss. all tongue and teeth, animalistic to match the way you ride him. baron’s hands find your asscheeks, squeezing and kneading as he aides in your thrusts. his hips jerking up to meet yours. the room stinks, like sex and money, a heady scent that fills your senses.

baron’s moans get louder, his body tensing all over, his tell. he’s close, so you egg him on, mumbling encouragements into his mouth, “cum for me, baby, wan’ you to fill me up.”

he whimpers, grips your hips and holds them still as he thrusts up into you roughly. it’s sudden and overwhelming but it makes you cum, hard. shocked, you wail, eyes clenching shut as you grab into his hair and pull, writhing against him.

“uh-uh-uh, fuckfuckfuck— I..” Baron babbles out, then his hips still and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him as he empties inside you, coating your walls. you hum happily, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. give him a second to come down before kissing him softly.

“love ya,” you whisper, feeling as baron squeezes you tighter.

“love ya more,” he whispers back, smiling softly as he gazes up at you.

[cemeteryspider]

Oh No!

Warnings: Heavy Sibling x Sibling implications. HL is gross and has an odd obsession with himself which will be a part of the story a little bit going forward. There will be nothing explicit but for reference Reader-Insert is of age and I'm thinking mid-twenties and Homelander is a little bit older since I'm pretty sure his age is never stated in the show. If you are looking for a Homelander x Reader THIS IS NOT IT!!!

Summary: You attend and event and try your best to sabotage yourself, Homelander, and Vought in the process.

Trigger Warnings: Abuse, Violence, Mental Health Issues, Controlling Relationships, Gross Sibling Relationship

Word Count: 785

Weeks passed and slowly you started recognizing yourself in the mirror again. You started with the small things at first like the old lipstick you pushed to the back of your cosmetics drawer because John said it made you look like a cheap hooker. Or the perfume he said invaded his nostrils and made him want to laser his own brain.

Still it wasn't enough to satisfy your insatiable need to piss off your brother and Vought International. So, you went all out. 

For the premiere of some stupid movie or other you wore a sheer dress with black lace swirls that left little to the imagination. Tall golden heels and had your makeup done by someone who did professional pornstars makeup. It made your back straighten and a real smile across your face for what felt like the first time in an eternity. You felt nothing like yourself, but at the same time you looked nothing like the mannequin Vought often used you as.

You loved it and hated it at the sametime. Nothing was going to get in the way of your night of crossing the line out from under Homelander and Vought’s shadow. Vought would later call this "little stunt", "unbecoming of America's number 2 supe", but you didn't care anymore. So you kept going above and beyond the outfit and makeup, you played the part of a ditzy beautiful drunk. 

More importantly you were showing the world you weren't John's little toy to play with nor were Vought's puppet they could make dance. You were someone with thoughts and feelings, and you were going to make sure the world did not forget this.

That night you were all over the big wigs in Hollywood, constantly drinking different drinks from dirty martinis to fruity pink cocktails to Miller Lite to get a buzz that your powers constantly wanted to stamp out. Walking around the party wondering who you would walk up to next, the man in the burgundy suit or the woman with diamond studded earrings. You felt intrigued by these regular people only here because of their lined pockets, and wanted to be able to know them and what their normal lives were like.

Still you went on, laughing too loudly at jokes made by people who didn't like you because they didn't know you. Drinking anything offered by anyone with a tray and casually avoiding your brother who seemed to be tailing you waiting for the right time to stop you from ruining the empire he and Vought had delicately built.

"You know," You slurred to an attractive woman on the red carpet, "We could make out higher than Vought Tower after this. You'd just need to hold on tight."

Her face flushed and you giggled at her sweet tomato red face. Then you felt a rough hand grip your upper arm tightly, "I think it's time to go."

You tried to wrench your arm out of his grip but nothing was working. Short of an all out fight you were not going to be able to free yourself, so you let him drag you out, grabbing a delicate glass of champagne on the way out the back, and waving to the pretty girl you had been flirting with for the past few minutes. 

"What the fuck do you think your doing. You're slobbering over our stockholders," He whisper-shouted at you once he dragged you out outside of the event by the dumpsters, but you just let a grin split your face in two.

"This is me John! You're just upset because I know exactly what I want and exactly who I want to be and you're not a part of either of those things. How does that feel, John? Not even your own genetic equal wants anything to do with you!" You full on shouted at him. Part of you hoped that a journalist was on the other side of the door recording the whole thing but you couldn't hear a heartbeat.

"You're drunk, Y/n. I'm not having this conversation with you. You're never going to get anything better than this," He scoffed and gestured to himself and the door. At this point the strong drinks were wearing off and leaving your system to deal with reality as it was and the puny flute of champagne was not cutting it anymore.

"No, John, I'm not. I'm done with this and I'm not going to be Vought's machine pumping out propaganda and fake saves anymore," He laughed in your face.

"Good luck with that. You're nothing without me." He took the door back to the event and you started to walk away.

"Yeah I guess we'll see about that."

[pretty-batty]

Loosen Up

Eddie x Original Female Character Pt 3 of Eldath's Priestess 3966 words

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation, Mental Illness. Judy jokes about quitting the game early, if you know what I mean. Tags: First Kiss, Fluff, Stress, guitar struggles, little bit of exposition dump by Steve Harrington. Now on ao3

Summary: Judy reminisces on her and Eddie's first kiss. She encounters the Upside-Down crew and learns a terrible truth.

Notes: I think you're gonna like this one.

Judy’s fingertips sweat against the neck of her electric guitar, vice grip on her pick. Only open strings, the fingerings would come later. Over and over. But never in time, after each round of the same phrase she got more and more frustrated.

Her pick got stuck, one fumble and she is off beat.

“FUCK!” she shouted, tearing off her electric guitar and setting it on her bed as aggressively as she could without damaging the instrument. Her best friend, shirtless, acoustic resting in his lap as he flawlessly finished the phrase, looked up. His sweet gaze landed on her as she sat down on her rug, knees to her chest, face buried in her limbs. “I wanna kill myself.”

“Nooo…” Eddie immediately answered, sighing, “you’re just stressed.” He shifted the instruments around so he could free himself from her bed, resting beside her. His naked shoulder bumping into hers. “Hey…”

She looked up, a soft “hm?” coming from her throat.

“You know what you gotta do?” He smiled, twisting himself to meet her hidden gaze. Shooting to his feet, he stood before her, hands reached out. “We gotta loosen up.”

Judy sighed, fighting back a smile. Her hands grasping his as he helped her to her feet.

Face to face, a foot apart, Eddie pulled her arms back and forth. Left and right, in a sort of simple dance. “Loo-sen up. Loo-sen up. When you’re wigged out you gotta loo-sen up.” He chanted, dipping down slightly to meet Judy’s cool eyes as she forced herself to look at the carpet.

She knew that if she looked up at him, the battle against her own lips would be lost, and she would break out in a smile. It just took one-

A flash of brown, deep and warm.

There it goes.

She locked onto his gaze, lifting her head up to look at him. Her lips pulled up into a soft smile.

He grinned back, teeth sparkling in the dim lamplight. “There she is. My beautiful girl.”

“You can’t” She looked away for a second, shaking her head as her smile widened, “you can’t keep saying stuff like that.”

“Why not? I am beholden to beauty and truth.” He repositioned their hands, fingers lacing together, clutching them to his chest.

“Yeah, a true bohemian. And what do artistes do when they have a friend of the opposite sex?” She smirked, “Flirt mercilessly?”

“If they are beautiful, then we say so. If they are ugly, then we say so.” He brought her knuckles to his lips, fixated on her face as he said, “and if we believe they are the most precious creature, majestic being, divine and golden, we say so.”

A kiss from his plush mouth warmed her knuckles.

Judy’s eyes widened, his breath against her skin sparking heat in the pit of her stomach, spreading to every inch of her body. “Eddie…what?”

“Pbbbbt.” His lips buzzed against her skin, a raspberry covering her fingers in spit.

“EW EDDIE!”

He let her go as she threw herself back, rubbing her hands on her sweatpants as she leaned against her desk. His laugh erupted from his lips, closing the distance between them again. Wrapping his arms around her, trapping her against his chest, loose enough to give her room to toss and writhe.

“Eww, no! You’re gross.” She laughed, squealing and wiggling her hands from their place at her sides, pressing them against his bare chest. Has he always been this warm? She asked herself.

“I’m serious though.” He said, rocking side to side with her. “This is borderline romantic.”

“This?” Judy pressed further, “friends? Friends since childhood? Seen each other naked more times than we should? Popping each other’s back zits? Holding each other’s hair back during a bender?” She shrugged, scoffing, “that’s romance right there.”

Eddie’s smile slightly faded, still fixed on Judy, letting her leave his arms, dropping them to his sides. It was like her words had smacked the joy right out of him. He shuffled back, leaving Judy cold. He blinked once or twice, before returning to the same smile he always had. “Yeah…weird.” He blew it off. “How about that riff, huh? Ready to try again?”

She followed, taking her guitar as he offered it to her. He repositioned himself on her bed, back against the headboard, guitar in his hands, like a shield in front of his aching chest. Judy nervously set her guitar on its stand, crawling into bed and taking her place beside him.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” she said, listening to him gently pluck away. “I don’t think what we are should stop us from…being smitten…with each other.” Stream of consciousness was easier said than done. Usually, she would have prepared a speech. In fact, she had. She had prepared her profession of love for Eddie hundreds of times before. None of them had him half naked in her bed, playing her guitar, after being seemingly jilted by her.

Eddie’s finger slid up the fret, gliding up as if to form a question. His eyes tilted to her, a twinkle of hope.

Judy picked at her fingers, “God…you make me feel…so tingly and warm. And I want to touch you all over.” She refused to look at him, worried she would make a move that would scare him off. “So, when I hold your hair back when you vom, and treat the monster pimples that grow on your shoulders, I’m more than happy because I just get to touch you.” She was met with silence, muttering to herself, “God that sounds weird.”

The whole time, so engrossed in her nails and swirling thoughts, Judy did not notice the acoustic guitar placed at their feet and the pick being set on the nightstand. Eddie’s hands and arms were free. He sat, legs folded under each other, elbows to knees, propping his head up as he continued to gaze at Judy, waiting for her to notice.

“Just…I wanna touch you so bad right now.” She sighed, finally turning to face him, dark eyes shining up at her, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Then do it. Touch me, buttercup.” He said plainly. Judy froze, chest rising and falling as Eddie reached for her hand again, taking it. Slowly, he brought her index finger to the pulse point in his neck. His blood pumped away hard and fast. “Feel that?”

She swallowed audibly, “Mhm.” He further guided her fingers, her fingertips guiding up his stubble and into his hair. Her palm caressing his jaw, he could simply turn his face and press a kiss against the base of her thumb. But he simply paused, waiting for her to make the next move.

Her tongue passed over her bottom lip, gently sucking it between her teeth for a moment, scraping it across before releasing it. A nervous habit. She knew it was gross, even giving her a fat lip a few times during really stressful situations. Her eyes were trained on his lips.  His breath was sweet and a bit spicy, cinnamon chewing gum, no lingering nicotine. He hadn’t smoked nor eaten, his teeth were nearly perfect. “Wait…did you brush your teeth before you came here?”

“Yes, I did, in fact, brush my teeth. I do that regularly.”

“No…before you came here, like in the middle of the day? And you didn’t smoke. And you didn’t get a pop or snack.” Her lips parted in a silent gasp, lips curling into a smile. “You’re chewing gum.”

Eddie grinned before licking the gum from his cheek, reaching down to her bedside trashcan, and tilting it, spitting the pink wad into the trash. He turned back to her, “that better?”

In that instant, her lips gently pressed against his, just a gentle sweep and caress before letting go. Her whole body buzzed as she waited for him to respond. And to her relief it took no time at all. His face instantly mashing into hers with the patience of an exited puppy.

Judy landed back on her pillows. Her smile breaking their kiss. Eddie found himself on his side, lips mashed against her cheek. She turned her head, eager to feel his kiss again.

=

Cold, nothing there, Judy turned to be met with air. She sighed, whispering to herself, “I gotta stop doing that. It only makes me feel worse.” She sat up once again, feet finally on the rug beneath her. “Fuck I gotta take my meds.”

Wayne was at work. Margie was out with her co-workers in a desperate attempt to drink away the pain of losing their students. All that was left was Judy, alone, in her old house. Dressed in her dead brother Joey's clothes for comfort’s sake, she meandered through the hall, turned down the stairs, creeping to the main floor. A buzzing following her to the kitchen. Each light she switched on took 30 seconds to gain its full glow, flickering with all its might. The whole situation filled her with unease.

Her feet slapped across the linoleum as she made her way to the counter. Since her hospital stay at the age of 10, she always had a feeling something was wrong. Not all the time, but enough for it to be a problem. She would get creeped out at random times. Her skin would bristle when she was alone, always on edge, finally breaking into full blown panic attacks in her near teens.

She started on Zoloft after that. And it worked, for a time.

Then kids started going missing. Then she saw her brother die in a dream, only to find his dead body an hour later. While Pittsburgh gave her some relief, her mother’s grief overtook any peace she could have had. Then hell opened up in Hawkins and swallowed her boyfriend whole. Her mental health was never good, manageable, but never optimal.

But this anxiety, this was something else entirely. There was something pressing through the ether. So, she talked to herself, just in case there was someone else with her. Setting a glass on the counter, she opened the fridge and reached for the cold water before pausing.

“Water…oooorrr,” she muttered, opening the freezer to snatch a bottle of vodka, “potato juice wiiiith,” she retrieved a can from the fridge, “sprite?” She set all of the options on the counter, glancing over her shoulder as if to scratch a paranoid itch. Nothing.

The lights flickered again, sending a cascade of chills up her spine.

She drew in a deep breath. While a vodka-sprite would put her to sleep faster, water would allow her to take her antidepressant. “Or I could drink a vodka-sprite and take my antidepressant, have a fucking wild time.”

A slight puff of air knocked a strand of hair over her shoulder. She twisted around on instinct, a short cry leaving her lungs. She was hit with a smell. Marlboro Reds. It sent a pain straight through her temples, causing an ache. Then cinnamon Dentyne.

Eddie.

Bam bam bam.

Three knocks in quick succession jolted her back into reality. She walked briskly to the door, peering over the window to see a helmet of perfectly coiffed hair. Unlocking the door, she opened it to reveal, “Steve Harrington. How can I help you?”

“Would you like to…” he glanced over Judy’s shoulder to the kitchen window, “go find frogs with me?” His cadence was stunted slightly, as if reading from another's lips.

Judy blinked, poking her head out to see only his car parked in her driveway. “Frogs…?” She asked.

“Uh yeah…there are some uh, super cool frogs out tonight. Since it rained and stuff.” Steve continued, “they are attracted to the moisture in the air.”

She felt a creeping up her back again, the buzzing continuing before overpowering the porchlight with a pop, leaving them in darkness. “Yeah, lemme put on a bra.”

Within less than three minutes, Judy had her bag in hand, breasts contained behind fabric and underwire, flip flops smacking across the sidewalk. Her bedroom light flickering in a discernable pattern as Steve pulled out of her driveway.

Lover’s lake was gone, and in her opinion that would have been in poor taste anyway. Steve, instead, took her to the stream to the west of town, which fed into Loch Nora. Parking his BMW on the bank of the small body of water.

“You really keeping with that whole, frog spotting thing, huh?” Judy asked, exiting the car as Steve did.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that was the idea.” He said, still keeping a causal demeanor.

“Honestly, I’m glad you did.” She said, taking off her flip-flops before crawling up the hood of his car, sitting on the roof. She heard him cringe slightly, considering getting down before Steve did the same, kicking off his sneakers and joining her. The car creaked slightly under their joined weight. She pulled out a pack of chewing gum, offering him a piece, “the house was starting to wig me out a bit.”

Steve accepted the offering, unwrapping and popping the stick into his mouth. Judy did the same with hers, stowing away her stash. She chewed and thought.

“When my brother died, I had dreams about him. He would be alive, and I would shake him, like ‘holy shit I thought you were dead’.  And he wouldn’t answer that, just changing the subject, go take me to have dinner or something.” She paused, “but that would be it, I’d wake up and he’d be dead. No lingering traces of him in impossible places, no hearing him snort through his deviated septum.”

Steve stayed silent, letting Judy continue to muse and chew. He was a better listener than she had expected.

“So, I thought when Eddie was showing up in my dreams, it was the same thing. We’d cuddle and kiss… But then the dreams started to bleed into reality.” Judy said, folding her arms over her knees, forming a cushion for her face as she hid behind them. “I don’t even have to go to sleep anymore. I can feel him in my room when I walk in, like he’s been waiting for me. I can smell him. I smelled him right before you knocked on my door, Marlboro reds and cinnamon Dentyne gum. I felt his breath past my ear.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, processing her own statement as if she had heard it for the first time. “I know I sound insane. Like certifiable, admit her to a hospital, levels of insane. I know grief does things to you but…this is”

“different?” Steve interjected, “yeah…” He looked to her, hesitating for a moment before deciding that this was the correct choice. “This town is…weird. If I told you what was wrong with it, you’d rethink who the crazy one is.”

“Does this have anything to do with me pulling you, Nancy, Robin, and Dustin from a giant crack in front my boyfriend’s trailer?” She asked. “There must have been a reason, looking like a larping troupe and all.”

He didn’t laugh. His gaze extended past her eyes, empty. She knew that stare too well. Something happened, and she struck a nerve. She quickly attempted to cover her tracks, reaching for his wrist, and holding it, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“What happened, Steve?”

He let out a weary sigh, “I’m not good at this. Henderson is better. But I can give you the rundown. Basically, there was this lab doing crazy experiments, like MK-Ultra experiments, on kids. And this one girl, El or uh Jane, was so powerful she blew a hole through to another dimension, sending this one dude into it and he couldn’t escape. So, he became this all-powerful psychic demon dude, wrinkly, red…really gross.” He raised his hands and arms, slightly waving them, “has these tentacles it’s so weird.”

“Like an octopus?”

“More like fleshy vines. Anyway, in eighty-three, Will Byers goes missing. Turns out, he’s been kidnapped or something. And Barb”

“Holland, yeah Barb Holland. She was one of the kids in the ward with me in seventy-six. Did this guy take them?”

“Pretty much. The kids call it the mindflayer, this hivemind thing. Anyway, the whole time El has escaped…”

Steve continued his narrative. From year to year, Judy was able to align the various Hawkins disasters with the borderline biblical plague shit that came from his mouth. She realized her problems, especially Joey’s death, were miniscule compared to the events that took place right under her feet.

When silence rested between them, Judy finally spoke, posing a question she had never considered before, “did you get sick, when the flu swept Hawkins? You would have been nine.”

“No.”

“Because, that same lab you were talking about, with the kids and the MK-Ultra, made a drug, it was a treatment. Gave it to all the really sick kids. Do you think they did something to it?” She looked at Steve, who sat in thought, brows furrowed. She wasn’t sure if he was actually pondering or if he was humoring her. “I need to know who else. If I could just talk to someone else who got the vaccine…”

He puffed out his cheeks and sighed, getting down off the hood of the car. Judy followed. “I don’t know. But we do have people who can help.”

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

“You were in my house?” Judy was more shocked than insulted. Her aunt sat beside the group of teens, looking almost as guilty as they did. “And you let them stay?”

“Judy, sweetie, if you knew what was going on, you would have too.” Margie’s voice was insistent, but still low and calm. “And I asked Wayne to get some snacks.”

“Sn-snacks?” The young woman continued to pace, the appliances fried beyond repair. “Snacks? The-the fridge is busted, Marge.”

“We have a cooler.” She corrected, “and he’s getting ice too.”

The group of teens remained silent, the single flashlight that remained working flickered.

“What does it want? The flashli- What?” Judy, words stunted and frantic, started to yell at the appliance, “what do you want? I don’t know the boop-boop thing, the-the morse code.”

“He wants you to go to the bedroom,” Lucas said, finally pipping up from the dejected silence the trespassers were in.

“Where the girl, El…in my bedroom. They want me to go in the bedroom with the psychic teen- okay.” She sighed, another graceful whisp of cinnamon gum passing by her nose. Lucas handed her the flashlight. She slowly made her way up the carpeted stairs, turning immediately into her bedroom. Mike Wheeler sat cross-legged across from a young girl with a brown, bobbed haircut. Her nostrils red with dried blood, irritated from constantly wiping it away on her drenched sleeve. She wore Judy’s silk sleep mask over her eyes.

Judy broke the silence, “hope that’s as comfy for you as it is for me.”

“Hm?” El raised it over one eye peeking at her, “yeah it’s really nice.”

“So, you’re talking to…my dead boyfriend?”

“Not dead, he’s just stuck. He made his nest here.”

“In the…Veil of Shadows, the echo of the material plane.” Judy clarified, attempting to prove that she was up to speed, when she was, in fact, way out of her depth.

Dustin looked at her from his position in her desk chair, speaking sympathetically, bordering on condescending, “we just call it the upside-down.”

“Okay, sure, and if, big if, this exists, and you’re talking to something…how do you know it’s Eddie? Not a mimic or some other thing?” She jiggled her leg, “prove it. Make him prove to me it’s him.”

The girl slipped the cover back over her eyes. Mike turned the small radio back on, turning it to an inactive channel. The room filled with audible snow.

Judy’s foot continued to jiggle, only causing her anxiety to worsen. This was impossible. Kids in her house, either complete strangers or mutual acquaintances, all of the things she’d have to replace, the things she had to fix. She was lucky Wayne was here. For all the “Butch Power” her aunt preached, Margie was inept at basic home repair. Now Judy had backup, but the whole situation was yet another headache.

And this thing, if it was Eddie, how does he get back? How did he possibly survive? There was no way in hell he could, and so that led her to this. He was dead, and some weird psychic demon thing was tricking her, tricking everyone, and it would soon ask for the impossible.

It wasn’t him. Just a shadow, a mimic, a cosmic prank. She found herself muttering, “this is bullshit.”

“Yellow flowers…”

Judy stilled.

El repeated, “yellow flowers…small…buttercups.”

Her eyes got hot, a chill running up her spine.

“Buttercup?” El asked.

Judy clenched her jaw to keep herself from a deep, heavy sob, only managing a strangled whimper.

“He needs to hear you, Judy.” Dustin urged.

“Mhm…” She managed. A deep breath, letting out a trembling, “Ed-Eddie.” All the air was sucked out of her, forcing her to gasp and collapse on to the edge of her bed. “Oh God, Eddie…” Her face sank into her palms, sliding beneath her glasses. She removed them, setting them on the bed beside her. Then she melted into her hands. The lights flickered twice, one-two, one-two, one-two. The strange pattern and buzzing caused her frightened whimpers to erupt into full-blown, earth-shattering sobs.

“No, he’s saying ‘no’.” Mike stated, as if trying to calm Judy down.

“Please, Judy, stop crying. It’s upsetting him.” Dustin insisted.

“I’m-!” she ran her face across her hands and fingers, trying to contain herself, rubbing over and over again. Finally, she managed to speak through a tight throat, “I’m upsetting him, for fucksake. With the fucking lightshows and breaking all my electronics.”

The smell of cigarettes and Dentyne hovered right before her, as if squatting down to meet her gaze.

“He’s there, Judy.” El said, pointing at the spot between Judy and herself. Right where the scent resided. “He can hear everything. He wants you to stop crying.”

Judy cupped her hand over her mouth, wiping away any further sorrow, “sorry.” She clenched her eyes closed, forcing the remnants of the tears out. “Oh God, I’m so sorry you guys, I lost it for a second there.” She sniffed, putting her glasses back on. Their attention was drawn downstairs, hearing the front door open. “Wayne’s back, go ahead down. El, you can use the bathroom to clean yourself up, if you’d like.”

“We’re not done. He still wants to talk to you.” The girl insisted.

“And I’d like to do it alone, please.” Judy reached for the flashlight behind her, wiggling it, “we can do yes or no questions.”

With that, and a few more words of thanks, they were out of her room.

Judy returned to her bed, sitting in the center of the mattress, “Okay, one for yes, two for no. That’s what they were doing before, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is it still Eddie?”

“Yes.”

She smiled for a moment, the smell continuing to follow her. But she needed to check, just in case.

“Okay, if you are Eddie, my Eddie, yes or no game. The first time we were intimate, we were both naked.”

“No.”

“Yes or no, the book that brought us together was The Last Unicorn.”

“No.”

“Last one, my vibrator is pink, yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Judy’s smile widened, letting out a laugh, tears leaking from her eyes again.

“No. No. No.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t help it.” She wiped them away with the heel of her palm. “I miss you. This is all insane but at the same time, I’m not insane. Because there are several people who talk to you, see you. God…it’s really you. Oh Eddie, my Eddie.”

WE DID IT MY FRIENDS! EDDIE LIVES!

Thank you for reading! It's time for things to get a-movin'! Tag List: @loserboysandlithium

[cannibalcoyote]

Matt Smith: Two Face

Imagine filming a fairly violent scene with Matt Smith for House of the Dragon, what happens when you have trouble distinguishing kind-hearted Matt from cruel Daemon:

The scene wasn't supposed to be taking this long, it was meant to be quick, but the director has us repeating it a multitude of times. Something about it not being as good as it could be. I, honestly, couldn't care less how good it was as long as it was over.

My character, though not the most important, plays a role in how Daemon manages to steal the dragon egg and escape to Dragonstone. I was cast as Rhaenyra's younger sister, Seraena, who had quite the different relationship with her uncle. Where Rhaenyra saw freedom and future my character saw terror.

Daemon systematically terrorized Seraena as he viewed her to be unworthy of the Targaryen legacy, unworthy to be the rider of the vicious Cannibal.

Daemon would inflict pain upon her when the option was available, mentally terrorizing her even more-so. These abusive interactions were kept a secret from the rest of the family though, as she was not in the favor of her father or sister; she was alone.

I've been an actress for many years, and oftentimes get stuck in the mindset of my characters, but nothing as severe as with Seraena. I would only notice minor changes, usually just in my vocabulary and way of speaking, but I've become so engrained in this character that it's becoming harder for me to distinguish other actors from their characters. 

The effects are minimal with most others, but with Matt... His character is so cruel and violent that I just can't help it. If Matt raises his hand or makes any quick movements, I can't stop myself from flinching away, and I know he's noticed it as well. The concerned looks, the way his eyes linger when I step away from him, how I suddenly have nothing to say when he joins my conversation.

I try to work through this, write about it, acknowledge how what I'm doing isn't healthy, that I know Matt is a really sweet person in reality; but whenever I see him, I can't help this urge of wanting to turn and run away. How could he have such a sweet expression on his face one second, and then an empty glare the next?

_______

Fingers roughly grasp the wig upon my head, I can tell he's trying to be gentle, but he still has to make the interaction seem realistic.

He had asked me beforehand if I was alright with the physical contact the scene required, I had nodded a 'yes' even though the nausea reminded me constantly how I had wanted to say no.

The scene we were filming has Daemon battering me as a way to gain information pertaining to the dragon egg for Viserys' unborn child. It wasn't the most violent scene to have occurred between our characters, but I would say it was the most emotionally charged. 

Threats of violence slithering from Matt's lips far too smoothly for my mind to distinguish. His hand gripping my neck as his fingers laced through my hair and pulled my head back. He was right behind me, body scarily close as I was sandwiched between him the the stone wall of the castle. I can't remember what I was doing, body running on autopilot; I spoke, but I can't remember if they were my lines or not.

There was a tremor spiraling through my body, settling in my hands as they shakily grasped the hand that strangled my neck. Was I supposed to do that? Would they make me reshoot this scene? 

"Cut!" That resounding word echoes through my mind, lights being turned back on to illuminate the area. The many faces of the other cast members as well as the film crew entered my vision. It was a scene, it was a scene. 

The hands were removed as I turned to look at Matt, that cruel emptiness was gone, replaced by his calm face, eyes looking at me with worry.

"Hey, are you alright?" I couldn't respond, as I had already turned away and began to walk hurriedly towards the bathrooms. My heart felt uneasy, as though the blood being pumped wasn't enough, I felt like I was dying.

I slammed the door shut, leaning forward against the sink as I glared into the mirror.

'You're not her, you're not Seraena, you're Y/N L/N. He's not Daemon, he's Matt! He has never hurt you, this is all for a show.' 

I raise my hand up, touching my neck gently, as though the skin would tear at the slightest contact. The shaking of my hand bringing up an anger I was unsure how to handle. I couldn't contain it, my hands curling around my neck as I glare at my reflection.

My fingers dig into my skin as I drag them down, relishing in the discomfort I experience, but my hands still shake. I hit my wrists against the sink, ignoring the shooting pain as they still shake. Resorting to biting my hand, not letting go until I taste blood.

When I release, I let out an angered yell as the shaking continues. I place one hand against the sink and hit it repeatedly with the other, eliciting a crushing sensation. 

I had no intentions of stopping, but soon realize that my actions are being hindered. Two hands holding my own with a firm grip, halting their violent actions. I look in the mirror and see none other than Matt stood behind me, concern emanating heavily from him. He is speaking to me, I know this because his lips are moving, but what is he saying? What words does he think will help me?

I can't help the torture I'm experiencing, the tears building within my eyes as the feeling in my legs disappears; I would've collapsed had Matt not been there. My sobs were awful, the pain and confusion filling my mind as I was being held and comforted by a man that I could not distinguish.

His arms were strong as they wrapped around my torso, though they were soft, steady. He had lowered us down to the ground gently, cradling me to his chest as we sat on the bathroom floor. His whispers were calming, though I could not tell what was said. 

Was this man the devil? Was he who I feared yet longed for, the man that could free me from deception? Or am I all that I should fear? Do I make my prison with the words I learn, she who lives within porcelain walls that sees enemies in her own reflection?

[mothinfestedsoul]

Black Widows Descend On A Sunday; Chapter I

Copyright © @marshalleewrites 2025. All Rights Reserved.

God gave me free will, and I'm abusing it; please keep in mind that this is not edited (this is only the second draft of this chapter), so if there's spelling mistakes, sounds clunky etc that's why.

It's NSFW, so if you're uncomfortable reading smut, then I suggest skipping over this post entirely, I'm not going to be offended, I would much rather you protect your mental health. You can also find the trigger warnings just underneath this paragraph

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content; characters discussing sexual acts (such as chasing through the woods)

I.

—THE BABYDOLL dress she wore could hardly pass as a dress, but it was Halloween, meaning Dahlia could throw on just about anything and pass it off as a costume.

She tugged at the hem of the dress, white lace gripped between nimble fingers, pulling it down as far as it would go. It was just her luck that she stumbled across it last minute at the thrift store. She really should have planned a better costume, and she would have seeing as it was one of her favourite things about Halloween, but she’d put in so many hours at work that she hadn’t the time to come up with anything remotely good this year.

So she took a more basic route: sexy angel, complete with the silly wings she’d ordered offline, and cheap blonde wig to cover her black hair. It sat awkwardly on her head, and could have benefitted from some styling, but Dahlia knew she’d be surrounded by men and women too drunk to give a damn, so it wouldn’t matter. So long as everyone got what they wanted by sunrise, it wouldn’t have mattered what her hair looked like, or what she wore.

Some nights she wondered about bleaching her hair, but after putting on the wig, she was reminded that she was too pale for the blonde to work without making her look sick.

She brushed some of her hair out of her face, examining herself in the mirror. It wasn’t horrible. The outfit did look cheap though, and there was no doubt in her mind that there would be at least four other girls dressed similarly to her at the club tonight. Angels, slutty nurses, catwoman — typical college girl costumes that she was no stranger to. How many times had she thrown on cat ears for college parties while she was studying? She cursed herself internally for not being a tad more original, but Dahlia didn’t have more time to suppress the feeling clawing at the inside of her stomach, desperate to be released. If she waited any longer, she was apt to do away with the next stranger she saw, and that wasn’t an option.

She did a little spin in front of the mirror; the back of the dress wasn’t too low, but it did give enough of a view of the tattoo on her back; the eight, thin looking spider legs looked as if they were poking out of her spine, and curled around her body like an external ribcage. Perhaps she should have gone as a spider instead.

Dahlia giggled quietly to herself as she turned away from the mirror, and padded across the room in search of her phone. 8:00 pm flashed across her screen. If she wanted to make it home at a respectable hour, she needed to leave now. She grabbed the duffle bag off the bed, packed with everything she would need for the night, and slung it over her shoulder.

She flicked off the slights as she slipped down the hall, poking her head briefly into the guest room to check on the snakes. It was quiet in the room. She shut the door, grabbed her keys off the hook by the door and stepped out of her apartment.

DAHLIA WAS there for a total of five minutes before she ended up in a small, cramped bathroom stall with a girl dressed up as a mushroom. What mushroom she did not know, and Dahlia would forget to ask when they parted ways, but it was a very pretty mushroom that made her stand out in the crowd; the colours of her dress and mushroom cap that sat atop her head almost blended in with the neon lightning of the club that flickered in a chaotic manner. It gave Dahlia a bit of a headache to look at. She didn’t even have to approach her; they had locked eyes from across the room, and when Dahlia smiled suggestively at her, the woman sauntered across the club towards her, downed her shot and grabbed her hand, leading her off. She wasn’t exactly what Dahlia was looking for, but tonight was about letting loose and giving into the cravings she had suppressed all month. She could find someone else later.

For once it doesn’t smell awful inside; Dahlia had had plenty of escapades in a bathroom stall, and this was the nicest one yet. It smelled almost floral-like.  She pressed her lips to the woman’s, flicking her tongue over her bottom lip, asking silently for entrance. Mushroom girl gladly opened her mouth, sticking her own tongue out to taste Dahlia. She reached for her skirt, hitching it up enough for Dahlia to get her hand underneath it. She didn’t want to ruin the pretty costume, so she settled on taking her time to carefully manoeuvre around it.. She pressed several kisses down the column of her neck, before sucking softly on her collarbone, eliciting a small moan from the girl. She was tempted to bite down, stun her a little with venom, but held off. She smiled against her skin, instead, sucking a bruise into her shoulder.

“Does that feel nice?” she asked, cupping the girl’s cunt with the palm of her hand. The fabric of her underwear was soaked. It was amazing what only a couple of simple touches could do to a person. That or it was the alcohol.

“Yeah,” mushroom girl breathed, a loopy smile of her own spreading out across her face. “You’re a nice kisser,” she added. As if to prove her point, she leant forward and kissed Dahlia again, pushing her tongue into her mouth and laughing into the kiss in a drunken manner. She wondered how much the girl had had to drink before she walked in there.

“I’ve been told I’m very talented with my mouth,” Dahlia replied, when they separated.

“Show me,”

Dahlia crowded her against the stall door, and sank to her knees before the girl.

“Lift your skirt up for me, pretty girl,” she said. Mushroom girl did as she was told, bunching the fabric of her skirt up around her hips, exposing the lacy, red underwear that she was wearing. Dahlia put a hand around the underside of her knee and hooked her leg over her shoulder. Leaning forward, she pressed an open mouthed kiss to her centre, dragging her tongue over the flimsy material. Another gentle moan tumbled from her lips. Dahlia tugged at her underwear, pulling it to the side so she could lick over the girl’s wet cunt.

“Ah,” the girl’s hips jerked forward, grinding herself on Dahlia’s mouth. She placed her arm across her stomach and held her tight against the door, ensuring that she couldn’t move before tasting her again. Dahlia dragged her tongue through her folds, humming quietly against her. She peered up at mushroom girl from her spot on the floor. Her cheeks were tinted pink as she stared back down at her shyly.

Dahlia took her free hand, and used her fingers to spread the lips of her cunt so she could wrap her mouth around the bundle of nerves, teasing it with the tip of her tongue.

“Oh fuck,”

One of mushroom girl’s hands flew to Dahlia’s hair, knotting themselves in her fake wig. She rocked her hips experimentally against Dahlia’s mouth once again, seemingly testing the waters of just how in charge Dahlia was right now. Dahlia bit down teasingly on her clit. Mushroom girl let out a soft cry.

“Patience, sweetheart,” Dahlia purred, pulling her mouth away. She briefly unhooked the girl’s leg from her shoulder to tug at her underwear, pulling it down her legs. “Can you keep quiet for me?” she asked.

In truth, it didn’t matter if she could or not. The music outside the bathroom was blaring loudly that Dahlie could have torn her to pieces and no one would have heard her scream. But it was the act of keeping quiet that made things so much more intense — the possibility that someone could walk in and hear how Dahlia was making her feel, catching them in the act. Mushroom girl’s cheeks turned even more red as she nodded.

“Good girl; turn around for me; keep your skirt above your waist,”

Eagerly, she turned around, leaning against the stall door, holding her skirt up like Dahlia requested. Dahlia readjusted her position behind her, her face level with her pussy. She stroked two fingers over her folds feeling how wet she’d gotten before shoving them in her mouth to coat them with spit.

She pressed one finger into her slowly, listening to how mushroom girl’s breathing hitched as she slid in up to her knuckle before drawing it back to add the second finger. Quiet moans tumbled from her lips as she rocked back against her fingers. Dahlia did not scold her verbally, but landed a harsh smack to her ass cheek, warning her to stay still. One hand dropped the side of her skirt in surprise as her palm smacked flat against the stall door. Dahlia ignored her and pressed her fingers in as far they would go. She let them sit there for a few seconds until she felt mushroom girl relax around her fingers.

Dahlie pulled her hand back, pulling her fingers almost all the way out before pressing them back in, setting a steady pace. Glancing upwards, Dahlia could see that she was biting down on her lip, trying to suppress her moans. It seems Dahlia was making this too easy on her. She quickened her pace before adding a third finger, watching as mushroom girl’s mouth fell open, and breathless pants spilled from her lips.

“That's it, pretty girl; feels good doesn’t it?” she questioned.

“Uh huh,” she gasped. “Please don’t stop, fuck, m’close,”

“Already?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, go faster, please,” she begged.

“You sound so pretty when you beg,”

Dahlia once again picked up the pace, sliding her fingers in and out of the girl’s dripping cunt in an attempt to get her to cum. Mushroom girl found it harder and harder to keep quiet, louder moans escaping her. Her hand clawed at the stall door. When Dahlia removed her fingers in favour of her mouth, pressing her tongue inside of her, mushroom girl was gone, crying out loudly as she came.

Dahlia licked at her pussy, cleaning up the mess she had made; she gripped the girl’s thighs, holding her in place as she ate her out from behind.

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” the girl moan, pushing her hips back. It didn’t take very long for her to come a second time on her tongue; Dahlia pulled away, licking at swollen lips as mushroom girl turned around on shaky legs and held a hand out to her, helping Dahlia back to her feet. She grabbed at the skimpy, lingerie dress she wore, and tugged her closer for a kiss. Dahlia cupped the side of her face, kissing her back messily. She didn’t object when the girl's hands pulled her dress up over the swell of her ass, kneading the flesh with warm hands. Dahlia had neglected to wear underwear, so it was easy for her to slip a hand between her thighs, and push two fingers inside of her. Dahlia moaned. She tucked her head in the crook of the girl’s neck, mouthing at her skin as she pumped her fingers in and out of her. She spread her legs, giving her more room to finger her. Her rhythm was jerky, and slightly chaotic, but Dahlia didn’t care. What she cared about was the release that was building inside of her, revelling in the fact that someone other than herself was touching her and she wasn’t going to last very long.

The girl’s fingers brushed against that one spot inside of her; Dahlia could feel it shifting inside of her, as a more primal urge took over, but she forced the feeling away, focusing only on her orgasm.

Keep it together just a little while longer, she told herself. There are plenty of others out there.

It was only when she added a third finger that Dahlia let herself go, moaning into the girl's shoulder. Mushroom girl helped her ride out her orgasm, and when she did remove her fingers, Dahlia raised them to her mouth and cleaned her taste off of them.

They said nothing for several minutes, opting to lazily kiss each other for several minutes as they came back to their senses. Dahlia helped her fix her skirt before pulling her own dress back down over her body. Mushroom girl took a pen out of her top — Dahlia assumed she must have had it tucked away in her bra — and scribbled a phone number on her arm. Dahlia glanced down at the name. Perrie.

“If you’d like to do that again sometimes, that isn’t in a stall,” she said; she kissed Dahlia’s cheek before slipping out of the stall, and disappeared back into the club. Dahlia would have to remember to put the number in her phone.

She exited the stall, stopping briefly in front of the mirror to check her makeup. Her lips were slightly swollen, and she was glad she skipped out on wearing lipstick, because it would have been a bitch to fix. She readjusted the wig on her head, making sure it wouldn’t fall off before slipping out of the bathroom.

⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺ 🕷 ⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺⸺

THE CLUB felt more crowded than usual as Dahlia sat herself at the bar, nursing her fourth glass of the night; even if it was a holiday, she wasn’t used to the place being so jammed packed. It was Halloween though — who didn’t love a good costume party?

Dahlia got to admire all the costumes of those who walked past her. Her shift at the hospital had left her in good spirits for the night. She loved seeing the wards decorated, and all the staff dressed up in work appropriate costumes. The paediatric ward was her favourite; seeing all the kiddos smiling brightly as they handed out candy to them. Some of them even got to dress up and wander through the hospital with staff themselves, “trick or treating” at some of the offices where nurses and doctors put candy in little bowls for them.

Dahlia liked to think that a person’s costume told a lot about themselves, and she’d always concluded that those who never put any thought into their costumes were rather boring (though she definitely fell into the boring category tonight. She was still salty about it). Halloween was supposed to be fun — the one night of the year you could pretend to be something other than yourself and run around asking for candy.

She found most of the costumes to be boring however. Groups of college students had flocked to the club, decked out in less than creative group costumes. She doesn’t know how many sexy nurses, or spidermen she spotted. She’s counted at least 4 catwoman costumes, and several couples doing Harley Quinn and The Joker, all a different variation from the last (which was pretty cool to see). She even spotted one group dressed in tacky crayon costumes.

Even some of the more geeky guys she’d spotted at the club seemed to have toned down their ideas, which disappointed her. She loved hanging out with comic book people, or those obsessed with video games and roleplaying games because they had the most creativity when it came to cosplaying and dressing up. She did run into one Jedi Knight that she toyed with taking out to the barn with her, but changed her mind at the last minute when she caught the attention of two men near the back of the club.

Their costumes weren’t unique; it was probably as common as angels and nurses, and superheroes, but there was something about masked men that excited her — especially when the mask came from a horror film.

Men who loved to play predators made for excellent prey, and Dahlia was a perfect plaything. She downed the rest of her drink, and pushed herself from the bar, stalking towards them. She had their attention before she’d made it to their table, and by the time she had, they had already decided that they were interested in her too. The cheap Angel costume she had thrown together made her all the more enticing. If it weren’t for her need to feed, she might have drawn out the situation, had a bit more fun with it. But Dahlia was on the hunt now, having not been fully satisfied with her time with Perrie.

Dahlia took a moment to study them. One of them had short brown hair, nearly styled atop his head and a clean-shaven face. The other had dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders and light stubble. Dahlie could imagine the sensation scraping against her thighs as he ate her out. Judging by the way his eyes cast downwards to where the hem of her dress had ridden up, he was thinking the same thing too.

“You two look lonely,” she purred, sliding into the booth next to the long haired man. One arm draped around her shoulder while the other immediately found its way to her thigh, slipping under the thin fabric of her costume. His fingers grazed at her cunt, eyes widening slightly as he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath. He grinned at her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” the short-haired one said, leaning back in his seat with a dark and wild look in his eyes. They trailed down to her chest, where his friend's hand had crept closer to her chest. “We’ve got nothing going on.” He had a husky, yet pleasant voice. “What’s your name doll?”

“Melanie,” she stated. Dahlia was not stupid enough to give them her real name. Even if they did somehow manage to survive the night, she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Melanie,” he repeated. “Pretty name for a pretty girl; don’t you think so Brian?”

“I have to agree. Pretty tits too,” his friend murmured. He slipped his hand under the top of her dress, cupping her breast with a large hand. Dahlia leant her head against his shoulder, relaxing into the touch. “So obedient to — bet we could do anything with you, huh Angel?”

Dahlia nodded her head, gasping when Brian’s hand smacked her pussy.

“That’s not an answer Angel,”

“Yes,” she breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir,”

“Good girl; I think we found a keeper, Kent,”

“So it seems. What do you say we get out of here?” Kent suggested. “Have some fun?”

Dahlia nodded, flashing both men a wicked gaze.

“I know a spot,” she said. “Somewhere nobody goes — it’s out in the country; you boys can put those masks to good use. If you’re up for it that is,”

“What have you got in mind, Angel?”

“Chase me — if you can catch me, you can fuck me on the forest floor; you can have your way with me, and do whatever you want.”

Brian sucked in a deep breath as Kent let out a breathy laugh.

“I like this one,” Brian said. “Go on then, Angel, lead the way.”

Dahlia grabbed Brian by the hand, and together, the three of them filed out of the club, and into the chilly October air. Dahlia didn’t let the cold get to her. She would be sweaty and gross in a matter of hours and it would be more than enough to keep her from freezing. She led them towards her car, chuckling as they fought over who got shotgun. Brian won, leaving Kent to pout in the backseat as she slipped into the driver’s side. Dahlia glanced at them one more time with a sinister grin.

“Buck up boys, it’s going to be a wild night.”

[lismarstclair]

Everything I do, I do for you three.

When: 2nd of December, 2024 Where: The Private Residence of Lisette St Clair Mentioned: @canetetienne, @leylayilmazx, @laurent--stpierre, @val-dautremer

-----

Back and forth, on and on, the twins lobbed potential blocks at Lisette’s newly laid plan. 

“But all my friends are here,” one whined.

“You will make new friends,” Lisette retorted.

“But we train at the Academy,” came the other.

“You will join a new company there,” Lisette said, countering every point. She knew well that this was not going to be an easy conversation to have. They were only eight years old, but they were intelligent. Lisette wished they used that talent of interrogation towards anyone but her most days. The twins sat across from her with varying degrees of shock and anger in their expressions. The bomb she had dropped that evening was just that— an explosion that would completely change their lives. 

“What about Éliott?” Olivia asked, looking towards the stairs that led up to the sleeping toddler.

“Quoi?”

“Who will help with him?” Olivia had taken a more maternal role toward Éliott since Lisette brought him home. Always wanted to help feed him or she would even want to plan his outfit for the day.

“His father obviously–  look girls,” Lisette scratched in irritation at the lace edge of her wig on the back of her neck, “this is not some sort of punishment–”

“Feels a lot like it,”

“Ça suffit!” Lisette slammed her hand on the table, causing a tremor to rattle the plates and glasses. “This is not a discussion or point of family debate. You have finished your Autumn term, and it will be the last one you have at that school. I submitted the paperwork for unenrollment last month when I received your acceptance letters at Institut Le Rosey. It is a wonderful school–”

“In Switzerland!” Chloé interrupts standing from the table, “Why do you want us gone? You are sending us away, Maman. Why? We should know why. Is this because of Michael?”

Lisette leaned back letting out a heavy sigh, “No, Chloé, this isn’t because of you hitting that boy,” the older woman stood up and stepped around the chair and gripped the back so tight her knuckles whitened, “This is much bigger than that. I know it is not what you want, but you just need to trust me. Trust that I -as your mother- know what is best for you,” 

With that, Chloé grunted loudly before she stomped out of sight and ascended the stairs. With closed eyes, Lisette took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. ‘Count down Lis.’ She thinks to herself ‘In, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three-’

“Are you in danger, Maman?” Eyes popped open, and Lisette looked at Olivia still sitting at the table, “That is why you want us away from you?” her continued questions squeezed her heart, “Does it have to do with where you went? Papa Etienne said you were on a work trip, and Miss Leyla said the same. Oncle Grincheux- he wasn’t around a lot –Miss Leyla said he was busy with work– but he didn’t look okay when he was home. He said the same thing everyone said, but- but I think they lied to us,”

She could feel the tears on her lashline when she said, “You are a very smart girl,” Lisette shook her head, moved around the table, and extended her hand to her daughter. They moved into the living room, lit only by the light of their Christmas tree lights and the distant glow of the dining room light left on. The two of them sat on the couch, Olivia curled aside her mother and cuddled close. It was as if she were a small toddler once again. Lisette placed a kiss on the top of her head, “I love you so much. I love the three of you more than myself,” she admits, “I need you to know, that no matter what, everything I do is for you three to live a long, happy, healthy, and safe life.” Olivia nodded, burrowing her head further into Lisette’s neck. “Le Rosey will provide you both all of those things and more. You will still come home on breaks, and between terms. You will have your school laptops, so we can call every night,” Olivia sniffled but said nothing more. Lisette wanted to tell her they could text, but then the surprise of new iPhones beneath the tree would be ruined.

“I don’t want you to be alone,”

‘Bless her.’ she thought ‘I don’t deserve her.’ Lisette could not understand how she was gifted such a pure-hearted child. “I won’t be alone, love. I have my friends, I have security, I have my work. I will be just fine,”

Pulling her head back to look into Lisette’s eyes, Olivia asked, “And will you be safe?”

“Yes,” Lisette promised, “I will do everything I can to be safe,”

They spent the next ten minutes in silence, Olivia nestled on her left side. They were joined by Chloé silently, the twin cuddled into Lisette’s right. It was clear she was still upset by the decision that was made for her, but the older woman would never turn her children away from physical comfort. Moving them to Switzerland next month will not be easy, an adjustment for all of them surely, but Lisette needed them to be away from this city when she began to step further into aiding in the Family Business. Tomorrow morning, she would call Val to set up a meeting and discuss the finer details of her contributions to the Mob.

[nelladivinita]

Dom Erik headcanons! NSFW.

Gender Neutral.

TW: slight humiliation, mention of noncon, light sadism

Enjoy! 💞

🥀 Erik LOVES it when you beg. It sets him on fire to see you, so beautiful and perfect in his eyes, so desperate for him. Usually he can only feel comfortable with you begging when he’s in his mask and wig. He’ll sit on his big fancy chair with his cock out and pulsing and smirk as you nuzzle into his thigh and cry for him. Still he is in disbelief, so underneath he feels more embarrassed and blushed than he’d care to admit.

🥀 Cockwarming!! He loves you facing him in his lap with his cock hilted inside of you while he composes music or pens his letters. He will move every once in a while to illicit a reaction from you, and will grip your chin and burn you with his gaze if you make him “lose his focus” or move more than he requests you do. He won’t give in until he’s finished with his work, though if you make a good show of it, he will have some mercy on you if you beg.

🥀 He loves near misses, fucking you in the rafters of the opera house and watching shadows of stagehands as they pass by. ESPECIALLY DURING SHOWS. So much of his life has been here in the darkness, so to take you here is thrilling for him, like a transmutation of the pain of hiding for so long. If you are bashful it makes it even better for him, because he LOVES to corrupt you. He will chuckle in your ear if you let a moan slip past your lips and someone turns to look to the direction it came from. At times he will even throw his voice, beckoning people closer. However, the Phantom knows the ins and outs of his opera house so well, that if anyone actually approaches, there’s always a secret door waiting to slip into with you. He will finish with you there, of course.

🥀 Because Erik loves control, he loves to choose what you wear when you come to see him. He loves lace and when you wear white, as your purity is addictive to him. Sometimes he will write you a letter telling you to take the long walk to his lair nude. He will watch you navigate his halls, reveling at the extent of your devotion to him (and the way the cold touches your skin). However you won’t travel alone long, he doesn’t want you getting sick!

[xamaxenta]

genderfuck sabo ..... o lord help me.

sabo who switches his entire identity for whatever the mission needs to the point he isnt even entirely sure what to call himself anymore but he knows he looks good in red lipstick and a tight blue dress as much as he does in a trenchcoat and a suit jacket

sabo on an infiltration mission for the revolutionary army with a long blonde wig and a dress slit all the way up the thigh, hes getting intel from men whose hands linger on his hips and waists and hes getting keycards from their pockets and hes drugging his dates champagne so when they stumble up to the hotel room sabo can drop his unconscious ass in the bed and get to the good stuff. he changes into a waittresses outfit and walks right into the staff only areas with a confident smile and no hesitation, he brings a plate of room service up to his targets room and the guards let him in without a second thought; hes delicate, coy, his bangs and some clever makeup hide the scar on his face so hes just a beautiful blue eyed waif of a woman with the perfect pink lips that the guards exchange a look and say Why Dont You Come Inside And Stay With Us And The Boss For A Little While, because sabo already knew what they liked from the premission briefing so of COURSE he put a little gloss on his mouth. the boss likes them dressed up so when the guards bully him out of his clothes (or so they think, but what they dont know is that theres a tracker and a denden radio in the uniform sabo leaves on the floor) theyre distracted by the long lines of his legs, wrapped in nylon leggings, a garter skirt holding them up on his little pale waist, and a silky baby blue bra on, they dont even notice the cups are padded because sabo looks so fucking good, shyly and nervously stepping out of his clothes like a naiive virgin and asking the boss to p-please be gentle... 🥺 its ok if its just you mr boss sir... right...

he KNOWS the guards are going to grab him because the dossier already told him the old man just likes to watch, and he lets them, twists and squirms and pretends until theyre both close enough--

and then he smashes their heads together, one in each palm, with so much force they both crack and dont get up, blood splatters his bra and his cheeks and the boss yells, but he cant even get the sound out before sabos sat in his lap, one finger cutely laid over the bosses lips and his other hand gripping the guys windpipe in a dragon claw so tight he cant scream if he tried. he leaves him dead in the chair and swings his heels by the straps on his finger while he searches the room for the papers he needs

he washes off the lipstick and pulls off the wig in the mirror, wipes the blood off his face and dresses like a simple maintenence man, zips his bloody sweaty body, still wrapped in silk and lace, into a baggy denim workmans suit and strolls back down the hall with a toolbox full of classified documents and no one bats an eye as he passes, none the wiser

i am just here insanely horny lol

Thank you…. Itadakimasu delicious seriously i loved all the clothing changes

Sublime…

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Ocean View

Fandom: Superfam, Batfam, DC Comics

Summary: A pair of shoes, a fragmented memory, and a collection of newspaper clippings.

An empty box of cigarettes, a second phone, and a beach house with locked rooms.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Laney Kent, Jason Todd, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Chris Kent, Tim Drake

Relationship(s): JayLaney, Clois

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Secret Identity, Social Media, Romance, Angst

Chapter Three: Beached

It rained that morning. I drove out to the beach house in swim trunks and rainboots. It was beautiful. I got out of the car and knocked on the door. "Hold on, I'll be right there," Jason panted through the intercom. I waited a little while longer, and he pulled the door open so fast that I let out a noise. "Sorry, I was getting the—. You look cute," he smiled.

I followed him into the house and took off my boots, and he offered me a pair of slippers to walk around in on the tile. I shuffled around in them as he led me to the kitchen. Jason made breakfast. I smiled at him, and we made our plates. "Did you get any sleep?" I asked. Jason shook his head gently. I noticed a piece of yarn hanging out of his pocket, and I pulled at it. "What's this?"

"Oh, I'm crocheting," Jason explained. I liked looking at him. The longer I looked at him, the prettier he looked to me. I caught a glimpse of light brown freckles just underneath his eyes. He chuckled nervously, and I looked back down at my plate. "What were you staring at?"

"You're good-looking," I whispered. Jason frowned and looked past me. "Did I say something wrong?"

"I—. No, you didn't say anything wrong. I just—. Can I show you something?" Jason asked. I finished my plate and washed my dish. He playfully nudged me out of his way and washed the dishes. "You gonna let me show you something?" His voice was soft and sweet, and I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted to breathe. I nodded. I wished he would look at me.

After he dried his hands, he took me upstairs and showed me the bedroom. "This is your room if you want to stay the night," Jason whispered. I blinked at him. "This doesn't have to be weird. I know it's still in the city, but—."

"I can stay... Jason, how many rooms does this place have?" I asked.

Jason counted on his fingers. "The attic, the basement, four bedrooms, the downstairs office... Seven technically," Jason answered. Once the sun came out and the rain let up, we went on a walk on the beach. He wore a wig and a hat out. He laced his fingers with mine, and I looked up into the sky. "Do you get to come down to the beach a lot?"

"Mostly for work stuff, but no. Even if I did, I don't think it'd ever get old," I whispered. I loved the gentle mist of the ocean blowing in the wind. I liked the chill. I loved feeling like I was steps away from being swallowed up by the ocean and spit up into the sky. "Can we go swimming?"

Jason nodded, and I took him to the ocean. The waves nipped at our ankles, and I stopped. He gave my hand a little squeeze. "Second thoughts? Too cold?" Jason asked. I took him the rest of the way into the water, and the moment I felt the cold saltwater in my hair, I turned to look at him. He squeezed my hand so tight I thought he'd cut off my circulation.

"You okay?" I whispered. I stopped floating on my back so that I could look at him. "You can swim, right?"

He nodded. "I don't think I've ever been in the ocean before. It's a little offputting," Jason confessed. I noticed that his wig stayed in place, and I laughed. "What?"

"Your W-I-G stayed on," I chuckled. He laughed with me, and his nose wrinkled up and his eyes shut. A small wave hit us, and then there was silence. Jason let go of my hand and floated on his back before grabbing my arm. I relaxed again, and I turned to him. "I've got you, you know?"

Jason loosened his grip, and we floated in the water until it was too cold to keep swimming. We bought two towels and laid them in the sand. I lay on my side, staring at him as I propped myself up with one elbow. He sat with his legs flat and his hands planted behind him. "My mom would've liked this city," Jason mumbled. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach when he said that. I didn't know what I would do without my mom. "You know, I met my birth mom a few years ago... She um... She outed me to a magazine for money. I was only fifteen."

"I remember that... I'm sorry," I whispered. He shrugged. "No, I mean it. I am sorry."

"I shouldn't have brought it up. I kind of feel stupid now for killing such a good—."

"I've never been on a real date before," I confessed. After I said it, I looked straight ahead, so I couldn't see Jason looking at me. "So, I don't mind if you talk about your moms... I just want you to know I'm having a good time with you."

"You have no idea how much that means to me," Jason whispered. I reached over and touched pinkies with him. "Do you think I'm weird?"

I laughed. "Kinda yeah, but I like weird on you... And thanks for taking me to the beach. I haven't felt this good in a long time," I whispered. I meant it. Jason closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he lay back. I got up and moved my towel closer to his, and I lay my head on his chest. He didn't flinch. Jason just laid still. I could hear his heart beating in his chest, and he draped his arm over me. The gentle rise and fall of his chest felt like waves.

I must've fallen asleep because I woke up on his couch, wrapped in a blanket while a movie played on a low volume in front of me. I sat up and looked around, and he was nowhere in sight, but I could hear ticking and buzzing coming from one of the rooms. I got up and wandered around the first floor until I found the source of the noise, and I knocked. "Jason?" I asked. The buzzing and ticking slowed to a stop, and I could hear him cursing. "You okay?"

"Yeah, hold on. Sorry," Jason apologized. After a few moments of listening to him shuffle around, I started to worry, but he answered the door. "I—. You were asleep."

"Whatever you're doing is none of my business. Unless it's illegal, then, in that case, I'd like you to tell me to leave," I whispered. Jason chewed his lip and turned away so I couldn't see him laugh at me.

"It's not illegal. It's just a secret... Which makes it seem illegal, but I promise it's not," Jason reassured me. "I think sometimes my dad thinks I'm doing something illegal here. He can think it if he wants to. I do a lot of crafting, but if I showed you what I was working on, you'd know why it was a secret."

I nodded, and he locked the door on his way out. "You carried me in?" I questioned. Jason nodded as he led me back to the kitchen. He made me a sandwich and looked over at me.

"Tell me about yourself," Jason whispered.

"Lane's my middle name... I'm a Pisces—."

"Oh, he's a Pisces," Jason teased. I chuckled. "Sorry, I'm just messing with you. I'm listening."

"I'm a risk-taker... Which also means I've been in the hospital a lot. I have three tattoos that my parents don't know about, I can only cook three things, and I've dreamt about you a lot—."

"You dream about me?" Jason interrupted. He wasn't smiling, but he didn't seem freaked out either. "You don't have to elaborate if you don't want to."

I didn't know what to say, so I changed the subject. "Do you wanna see my tattoos?" I asked. He nodded. I stood up and pulled my trunks down to my hip bone to reveal two fish circling a fire. It was a small tattoo, but I liked that one best. I knew he wasn't really thinking because he ran his fingers over it. He stopped himself once he realized what he'd done. I chewed my lip. Then I rolled up the leg of my shorts to show him a fern leaf tattoo. Finally, I moved my hair and showed him the little phoenix on the back of my neck.

"Why the phoenix?" Jason asked.

"My brother drew it. It's Chris's," I answered.