#now maybe this idea will stop HAUNTING ME

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #49

Kill me

Imagine dis…. You know what, despite me crying over the angst and cursing the authors to let my fav characters to at least have some fluff moments. But then again angst IS the whole spice rack of a fanfic.

….

Danny Phantom, a prince, a king, a ruler, and the High King of the Infinite Realms. By his side are his friends who have been with him through thick and thin. They're always beside him, though sometimes they're occupied in different parts of the Infinite Realms — and the realms are truly infinite.

He knows that his friends and sisters love him, even adore him, but sometimes Danny yearns for the parental and familial love he never experienced as Danny Fenton.

Maddy and Jack Fenton, whom he loves dearly — the parents who took him on space programs and even included him in their ghostly hunting sessions to bond with him. But these are also the same parents who strapped him to a dissecting table the moment they discovered what he truly was.

Seeing their lonely ghostly king and his inner turmoil, the council, his advisors, and Clockwork all agreed to send him away — far from home, to a place where no one would ever haunt him. A place where he wouldn't question whether he was alive enough to be part of their family or dead enough to be mourned.

A place where he would finally find a family, a parent who would truly love him.

When Danny first opened his eyes, he noticed how his ghostly powers had been sealed — likely by Desiree’s magic — a subtle wish twisted into a delay. It didn’t take long for Danny to realize the cruel condition: he would need to die again to unlock them. For the first time, he felt truly human. Vulnerable. Breakable. And somehow… freer.

It was in that fragile beginning that he found the love he had longed for — in the form of an emotionally repressed vigilante, Bruce Wayne, who—against all odds—loved him wholly, fiercely. Danny had been born to him in this life. A son in every sense of the word.

Then came Dick, with warmth and understanding; and Jason, intense and wild but kind. Jason’s death shattered them all — and Danny, devastated, had been ready to burn down the Infinite Realms and give up his crown to bring his big brother back. His advisors, his friends, and even the Ancients themselves stopped him. But they could not stop his heart — so he slipped a sliver of his essence, a stolen flicker of power, into the void to help guide Jason’s soul home.

And it worked.

Now, with Jason alive once more, Danny finally felt whole — happy and content. The aching loneliness that had lived inside his chest for years began to quiet.

…..

In the eyes of the vigilantes, Daniel “Danny” Wayne was a rarity — the only family member, aside from Alfred, who didn’t actively participate in Gotham’s nightlife of crime fighting. And, in Bruce’s own quiet confession, that fact brought him unparalleled joy. A child of his that didn’t feel the need to wear a mask, didn’t throw themselves into battle night after night. A child who simply wanted to live a normal life — that alone made Bruce feel like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t failed as a father.

The others, too, were quietly elated. To have a brother — a sibling who wasn’t destined to fall, who hadn’t had his wings broken just to learn how to fly. Danny was proof that that their blood and sweat that they give to the city that seem to only to know hot to tak is worth it. He was their calm in the storm, their anchor, their constant. And they loved him for it.

In this life, Danny didn’t have to question whether he belonged. He simply did.

And for the first time in a very long time — he was loved.

Unconditionally.

Unquestionably.

Completely.

….

But it all came crashing down when an unknown villain named Oblivion emerged from the shadows.

This was no ordinary madman. Oblivion was methodical. Precise. Intelligent enough to uncover the true identities of Earth’s greatest heroes — and heartless enough to make a plan that would break them.

In one swift, coordinated strike, he kidnapped their greatest weaknesses: their families.

The Flash’s wife and twin children. Superman’s beloved wife and two aging parents. Aquaman’s father. Hawkwoman’s child. Green Lantern’s brother. The list went on — young and old, blood or bond, as long as they had a familial connection to a Justice League member, they were taken.

Including Alfred. Including Danny.

Each hostage was restrained, forced to wear thick, high-tech metal collars around their necks. Explosive cuffs — sensitive, voice-activated. One word from Oblivion, and the cuffs around their necks would explode and they would all die instantly.

The hostages were terrified, but seasoned. They’d been here before. They’d seen villains monologue before the inevitable rescue. Most of them had faith — they'd seen their loved ones tear through concrete and space to reach them before. So they waited. Comforted their children. Held trembling hands. Stayed strong.

But the rescue never came.

Instead, the screen in the middle of the room blinked on, showing a one-way live feed of the Justice League’s communication hub. The heroes could see their families. Hear them. But they could not talk back.

And then Oblivion gave his final instruction — one that sent the room into stunned silence.

Pick one, and I’ll add more time for them.

Gesturing to the hostages who looked at Oblivion wide with fear.

The screen showed the chaos on the League’s side. Superman was shouting. Batman’s hands were clenched, face unreadable. Heroes paced, screamed, slammed their fists into walls. Helpless.

Back in the room, the hostages looked at one another. The parents hugged their children tighter. Some whispered soft goodbyes. Others quietly debated sacrificing themselves, eyes already distant with resignation.

Then one voice broke the silence.

Kill me.

Daniel Wayne — Danny — the oldest biological son of Batman, stepped forward with calm resolve.

Alfred, who had been sitting beside him, eyes vigilant and watchful, widened his eyes in horror and tried to pull him back down. His hands trembled as he gripped Danny’s sleeve, voice caught in his throat.

But Danny just offered him a small, apologetic smile, gently pried his fingers off, and shook his head.

Then he turned toward the monitor, looking directly into the camera.

Kill me

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[wickedsmille]

batman, robin, sentient super suits, oh my!

I got this idea stuck in my head and rather than committing it to the 15 page graveyard of other story ideas, I actually wrote it! (I'm so proud of me :'3) The aforementioned is. . . . The suits/costumes are sentient! With limited autonomy!! And their own personalities!!! So, yep. This one might actually make it onto AO3 when part two is done.

Probably rated T because Jason. Did not edit because nope. Sillies at the end because of Jason's Tim!feelings and stellar repression skills.

(Here's Part 2!)

-----

Imagine Jason’s surprise when Bruce leads him down to the Cave, the Batcave, and he spots the costumes of Batman and Robin innocuous in their cases. The bright lights above them shine down, illuminating the bright colors of Robin and glistening off the dark planes of armor of Batman. All four feet of Jason was vibrating with excitement. Patiently with a small, private smile, Bruce guided him towards the cases.

The closer he gets, Jason notices how they’re not on mannequins. A few more steps and he can’t spot any internal structures keeping them up or wires suspending them. Curiously enough, the costumes seem to be standing of their own accord. He didn’t question it as he came to stand right before the glass. His hand rose to press against the case, mouth open wide in awe and eyes about the size of dinner plates.

Now, just picture how a tiny, baby Jason reacted when the Robin suit recoiled. The fabric gathered together and plastered itself to the other side of the case away from Jason. The neck of the suit shifted back and forth like an invisible body was shaking its head. Pulling his hand away as if he’d been burned, Jason took a staggering step back and looked to Bruce for answers. The man stared at the case, eyes narrowed and mouth pinched into a thin line of disapproval.

It was then Bruce explained the nature of suits and the heroes they choose. Here Jason had thought Bruce created Batman and Robin, not the other way around.

Apparently one night, after getting the hair-brained idea to take to the night to fight crime with nothing but his wits and an arsenal of R&D weaponry, Batman came to him. The suit was in his study hanging off the clock. As he stepped inside the room, the suit slithered off the clock to stand before him. Tall, dark and imposing. Written in quickly disappearing fog on the glass of the clock was the name Batman.

Robin was all Dick until he decided to leave it behind. It came to Dick mid-swing from the chandelier. One second he’s flipping through the air to reach the banister, the next he’s flailing wildly after misjudging the distance. Robin caught him, the sleeve of the suit wrapped tightly around his wrist. Then the suit skittered down the stairs to the main foyer, wild and energetic as it seemed to do a round-off, onodi, bridge, illusion and finished with a needle. Again and again till Dick’s face lit up like the sun itself. Robin became a permanent fixture next to Batman from then on.

Robin was devastated after Dick left it but it still took months for Bruce to coax the suit into engaging with Jason. He did everything he could to help. Sitting and even sleeping in front of the case. Whispering his secrets and wants to the layers of kevlar and nomax. He told Robin things he could barely admit to himself let alone anyone else. It was after Jason confessed how much he loved his mom and dad in equal measure that Robin finally accepted him. That night, when Bruce opened the case and once more tried to take the suit out, it came easily where normally it was immovable. 

The tight fabric slipped on like it had been made for Jason and Jason alone. Deep down, he knew it hadn’t been. The suit made his chest hum and his skin tingle but it was like wearing someone else’s skin. The discordant feeling didn’t stop Jason from fully losing himself to the magic of Robin. Even when Dick loudly protested Jason using the suit but what could he do? Robin chose Jason, eventually, even if Dick hadn’t. 

Maybe that’s why Robin couldn’t as effectively protect him from the Joker as Batman did for Bruce night after insane night tangling with the rogues. 

For a long time, Jason didn’t have a suit aside from the grave clothes he clawed his way back to the land of living in. Time gets fuzzy from there but he doesn’t remember another suit coming to him. Not then and not after Talia took him in, healing his body while his mind stayed locked up till she tosses him into the Pit against her father’s wishes. Jason suffered under the League and its training, shuffled off periodically to one master or expert or another to learn more about demolition and explosives, firearms and sharp shooting, spy craft and more. 

When Red Hood comes to him, Jason is just coming back to his clay walled room with its moth bitten wool blanket and wood cot, blood on his knuckles and the beginnings of a nasty shiner. He’s who-the-hell-knows where. Talia never did see fit to keep him in the loop no matter how loudly or persistently he pestered her for details. She dolled out what she wanted when you wanted to achieve whatever twisted goal she’d cooked up in her head. Like siccing him on Bruce and the whole of Gotham like a living nightmare tailor made to make Bruce hurt.

Seeing a suit laid out across his cot has been the most significant deviation from his routine in a long time. Long enough the site of the black tactical gear and heavy armor visibly startles him. His hand tightens around the handle of his door as he stares unabashedly at the suit. 

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, pointing to the red helmet facing the doorway at the head of the bed.

The sleeve of the leather jacket raises up a couple inches. The buckle around the wrist rises up straight and Jason doesn’t need to be a genius to know his suit just flipped him the bird. He returns the gesture and the lenses of the helmet flare a bright white before going out again. 

“Well, aren’t you cheery.”

The entire upper part of the suit shudders in what he assumes is a shrug. Cheeky. He kind of hates it.

He’s trying very hard to not look a gift horse in the mouth despite his suit’s apparent attitude. It’s not as showy as Robin, thank god. There’s a cliff with his name on it, ripe for pitching himself off of, if he got a gimmicky costume. He’d take his chances rolling back into Gotham in a t-shirt and jeans then toss on another pair of undies and tights. The mercenary look is much preferred and appreciated.

Besides, despite the attitude, this suit is his. Not some hammy down Bruce needed to coax into accepting Jason.  

“What am I supposed to call you?”

The lenses of the helmet light up again but this time they stay on. Cautiously, he takes a couple steps closer. The suit doesn’t move again, patiently waiting for him. Nothing happens so he closes the distance and gingerly picks up the helmet. The metal of it is warm beneath his fingers and a hum starts deep in his chest. The helmet slips on easily and fits like a glove. A wash of colors and symbols scroll across the HUD as it springs to life. 

The screen blanks out entirely then a burst of red that settles into the words Red Hood. Then Lets fuckin do this bitch it reads.

“Huh,” Jason says. “Huh.”

Red Hood is an asshole apparently though he can’t deny the poetic justice of taking on the old name of his murderer. Terrorizing Bruce is going to be so fun.

Jason leaves for Gotham that night. 

Within three months, he has his claws in Crime Alley and a burgeoning drug empire. It takes him six months to properly align the pieces around the board so he can set his plans for Batman into action. He’s a veritable force of nature when he’s wearing the Red Hood. Bullets glance off the armor, knives slip right past and the brass knuckles sewn into the gloves teach as effective a message when he needs to get up close and personal. It allows him the space and strength he needs to wrestle the city under his control so he can start making moves.

He becomes the Red Hood.

Things don’t go as planned though, per say. 

He barely hobbles away from the confrontation with Batman and the Joker. At least this time, with the Red Hood, he does walk away. 

The world is a whirlwind of sights and sounds, colors and impressions. He works himself down to the bone till the bitterness and anger dissipate enough for him to feel like a person again. Separating Jason Todd from the Red Hood, making the distinction rather than losing himself to the suit, is one of the most difficult things he’s ever done. 

Red Hood isn’t happy about it and makes it known with the hard hits he takes. Not enough to threaten his life. Until Jason is facing down at least thirty heavily armed guys and the building is rigged to blow. The suits can do a lot of things like help Batman become one with the shadows and keep the laws of gravity from gripping too tightly to Robin. Red Hood is built for protection through thick armor for Jason and a nasty assortment of weaponry for those who hurt others. 

But they do have their limits. 

Jason just never thought he would reach it except he does and it leaves him bleeding out in some dingy back alley in Gotham. He presses hard against the wound on his side around the jagged piece of metal sticking out to stem the bleeding. His head is throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. The harder it pounds, the more it slows, the less Jason thinks he’ll make it out of this one. He’s fuckin’ clawed and crawled, sweat and bled and turned himself inside out again and again and this is how he goes? Bullshit. Straight up bullshit.

He blinks the sweat out of his eyes and forces himself to focus as the HUD flickers on and off. The light of it is faint as the air filtration system hums loudly. A tiny icon pops up in the corner that hadn’t been there before. Some simple silhouette of a person’s bust. It clicks open without his say so and the screen darkens before it springs back, determined and stubborn. 

Pictures and words flash across the display, too quick for him to properly make any of it out since his brain is as good as scrambled eggs at the moment. It centers on a cartoon version of Batman’s face, complete with comically severe scowl. Jason frowns and shifts, wincing at the white hot flare of pain shooting up his side. And his arm. Shit, guess he’s not just dealing with the shrapnel in his side.

“Don’t you dare,” Jason rasps in warning. 

In answer, his suit selects the icon and, to his immense surprise, it immediately connects to the comm network the Bats use. You know, the heavily encrypted one only the masters of top tier hackers have ever been able to get into. The one he isn’t supposed to have access to. At least, he didn’t think so. Things haven’t been bad with Batman and his clown car of other bats and birds. They haven’t been good either. 

“Hood,” Batman acknowledges with a hint of confusion and trepidation. Jason groans but it tapers off in a pained grunt as he shifts and the metal lodged in side moves with him. “Hood, report,” Batman demands, confusion abandoned for concern. 

It’s touching in that I-wish-this-weren’t-happening-but-since-we’re-here kind of way. 

He doesn’t say anything so his voice modulator whirs loudly in protest of his silence. Fucking suit. Civilians truly don’t know how lucky they are to not be dogged and bullied by sentient costumes and, wow, when he thinks about it that way it is incredibly weird. He may not be thinking clearly either since he’s pondering the very existence of the hero communities suits rather than answering. Concussion, maybe? Probably, he decides as a wave of nausea rises up.

Swallowing past the bile, Jason projects as much chipper nonchalance as he can when he replies, “Not much going on here. Might’ve gotten blown up. A little. Tis but a flesh wound.”

“Location,” Batman growls. 

“The intersection of Nun-ya-business and Fuck-off,” Jason says because he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t take every chance to be a shit to Bruce. Although, now may not be the time for it since black spots are dancing across his vision and he feels the bad kind of numbness sneak in. 

Jason’s locator flips on and a message goes direct to Bruce with his coordinates. Red Hood is a traitor. He’d rage at his suit for being so presumptuous and taking liberties. Most suits back down on playing such an active role after they choose their wearer. Maybe an automatic switch in imaging or restocked first aid supplies in a pocket. Never this. His suit is a busy body. To think, the fearsome Red Hood with all its holsters and extra layers of armoring and plating, a mother hen.

Not the worst thing, he guesses, as he loses consciousness.  

Coming out of a three day sedation to the bright overhead lights of the medical bay in the Cave with Batman looming over him, fully suited up and staring, a traumatic enough experience Jason readily steals his alternate-universe’s Red Robin suit. Unlike his own universe, this one doesn’t have to deal with fabric capable of higher thinking. The Red Robin suit is just that. A suit and nothing more, nothing less. It’s simple and perfect when he’s still angry at the Red Hood suit.

Running a few patrols back in his Gotham proves him wrong. Very, very wrong. 

He forgets to restock his belt and his hand meets an empty pocket on the belt where there should be smoke pellets. Except he used them the night before when breaking up a gang initiation. The armor plating doesn’t shift the quarter an inch Jason needs to avoid getting nicked with a knife. Plus switching between lenses in the mask manually is annoying. And needing his hand to work the comms? Horrible. 

Playing as Red Robin, the incredibly unexceptional and totally normal super-suit, shows him how spoiled he was with the Red Hood. 

Thoroughly frustrated, Jason tears into his safe house and tears out of the suit. He kicks it off into the corner then kicks it again because fuck this. He’s over it. So over it. Hopefully Red Hood isn’t salty about being benched and relegated to the cache he has hidden in the ceiling. 

Moving aside the ceiling tile and sneezing from the dust and what he hopes isn’t asbestos, Jason grabs the lock box. He pulls it close then lets it drop unceremoniously onto the floor. Sue him, the thing is heavy. A ball of writhing unease makes a home in Jason’s gut as he kneels next to the box and starts methodically disarming the security on. His hands hesitate opening the lid. 

What if the Red Hood decided to fuck off to parts unknown wherever these things go when they get retired?

Then he realizes how stupid it is to be mostly naked aside from his undershirt and shorts, scared to face the consequences of his own actions. He built the mythos of the Red Hood on forcing the human shaped garbage of Gotham to pay up on their moral debts. Being brash, antagonistic, caustic and aggressive he’ll own up to but Jason has always prided himself on shying away from hypocrisy. So he holds his breath and flips open the lid -

To the suit, crammed in the small metal box, lifting the sleeve of the leather jacket on top and flipping him off with the wrist buckle. Again. 

“You son of a bitch,” Jason laughs, back handing the buckle. Looking over his shoulder at the disarray of the Red Robin suit, he adds, “Look, it’s not me. It’s you.”

The next night, when he gets suited up and pulls the iconic red helmet of the Red Hood on, Jason stands over Gotham and feels whole. Jason and the Red Hood and Jason-as-Red-Hood, co-existing peacefully within and around one another. The pieces click together, making him feel lighter than he has in years. He thinks this must be how Bruce feels when he’s Batman or Dick when he’s Nightwing. When you know who you are. Robin was an ideal he clung to desperately even if it never quite fit right and Red Robin was a bad idea he needed to understand the nature of suits.

They weren’t his, not like the Red Hood is because it’s an autonomous extension of himself.

Because he’s not completely heartless even if the Red Robin suit lacks any sort of intelligence, Jason takes pity and dumps it in the Cave. Let Bruce or Lucius dissect the thing so they can unlock the secrets of suits. Or use it to mop the floors. Whatever, he doesn’t really care. At least it’s not his problem anymore. 

Then Tim steals the suit. It’s a theme with Tim, apparently. Jason would take it as a goad and beat his ass if Tim didn’t leave and come back different. As is, when he first sees Tim looking pale and world weary in the Cave with an equally exhausted looking but alive Bruce next to him, Jason is feeling too many things too quickly to focus on Tim’s sticky fingers. In no way does looking like warmed over shit excuse Tim for constantly taking his stuff but he can delay payback. There’s feelings he needs to repress at seeing Bruce whole and right there.

Tim doesn’t abandon Red Robin like Jason did. No, he keeps it. Why, Jason has no clue. It’s punishment enough to wear a plain Jane suit like Red Robin so Jason elects not to confront him. If Tim wants to punish himself, it saves Jason the time he would take to do it. As time goes on, they start to get along so why shake it up for something stupid like the Red Robin suit, he thinks. 

Landing softly on the roof Tim’s crouched on, Jason’s heavy boots barely make a whisper of noise as he creeps up on Red Robin. He’s bent over with his arms extended so he can scare the shit out of him. 

Jason doesn’t get the chance to. About five feet away, back still turned to Jason, Tim asks him dryly, “Can I help you?”

With a sniff, Jason straightens up. ���Yeah, by not being such a fun sucker.”

“Oh, so sorry,” Tim says while not sounding at all sorry, “next time I’ll let you jump scare me so I totally blow my stake out.”

“Thank you,” Jason replies.

He can feel Tim’s eye roll even if he can’t see him. “Did you come here because you’re bored or do you need something?” Tim asks.

With a shrug Tim can’t see, Jason answers, “A little of column A, a little of column B.”

“As you can see, I’m indisposed at the moment either way.”

“Alls I see is you sitting on your ass.”

“Exactly, now shoo.”

“I will not be shoo’ed,” Jason says as he comes around and sits down next to Tim. “I am un-shoo-able.”

To prove his point, Tim twists so he’s facing Jason and makes the actual shoo’ing motion with his hands. It says a lot that Tim will give him a hard time considering their past. Never once has he shied away from Jason since he and the others got chummy again. If it were him, Jason would incessantly badger and pester and be a complete dick. But Tim has never been like that, even when he should. Like he should with Jason.

Quiet reigns over them. Tim goes back to surveying the building across the street and Jason absently watches too for lack of anything better to do. Truly, he was bored. Patrolling Crime Alley was slow, for once. Who would’ve thought? Tim happened to be the first person he came across as he was traipsing the city just because he could. Lucky him. 

“How’s the suit treating you?” Jason asks casually, honestly curious. Tim has been wearing it for months now.

A subtle tension stiffens the set of Tim’s shoulders. “Fine,” Tim says cautiously. 

“Why even keep it on? I tried since it’s all, ya know, not a semi-conscious being literally handling my tits and bits for hours a night. Didn’t work out so well for me, obviously.”

Tim chews on the inside of his cheek while his hands tighten around the binoculars pressed to mask. It’s a testament to Jason’s growth that he lets Tim think through his answer without disrupting him with a heckle or five. Plus he’s invested. He really wants to know why the hell Tim is keeping Red Robin when the alternate-dimension suit is so sub-par compared to the costumes they have. 

“I don’t have any others,” Tim finally replies, voice quiet and tight. 

Oh, oops. Looks like he stepped on a landmine without meaning to. The thought that a suit wouldn’t immediately choose analytical, ambitious and surprisingly badass Tim Drake hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

“I get that,” Jason says. “Can’t tell you how many times I’d turn a corner when I was with the League and hope there’d be a suit. Some signal like, yeah, you’re ready to leave these shitheads behind.” 

Man, he did not mean to share some deep-down, touchy-feely bullshit. But that doesn’t make it any less true. Waiting for the Red Hood was agonizing. Empty days spent learning how to snap a person’s neck and the most painful bones to break, how to engineer car bombs, what kind of scope it takes to blow someone’s brains out from five hundred yards. Never feeling ready because he didn’t have anything but his ratty jeans and tee and standard issue League garb. Wishing he’d be released from the never-ending violence that is the League because nobody else seemed keen on letting him go easy. At least with the Red Hood, he was able to convince Talia it was a sign from a higher power on how truly ready he was to ditch them and enact her not-at-all-subtle machinations.

The silence makes Jason feel awkward and uncomfortable but Tim is thoughtful when he responds, “I’ve never been chosen by a suit before.”

“Really?” Jason can’t help but ask. 

He thought Robin would’ve been scrambling to claim Tim. Robin did give Tim pants, after all. He’s always wondered if Robin kept the scaly panties just to troll Jason since it wasn’t happy with his wearing it. 

Tim nods. “I, well, Dick and Bruce were in trouble and I was there but Robin didn’t. It didn’t want anything to do with me. Alfred tried getting it to see some sense but I eventually had to wrestle it on. Robin wasn’t happy with me.”

“Huh,” Jason says because he doesn’t actually know what to say but leaving Tim hanging feels like a crime in and of itself.

Like the psycho he is, Tim laughs. “Yeah, pretty much. Robin fought me my whole tenure but I like to think I did alright. Besides, I don’t think Robin is very happy with Damian either after he forced it on. You should hear the arguments he gets in with the suit.” A vicious little smirk curls up the edge of Tim’s mouth. It’s a ruthless thing Jason likes the look of. 

Now Jason really can’t cash in Tim’s debt to him for taking yet another suit from him. Tim repurposed what was essentially his garbage because he had nothing better to use. Kind of sad, now that he thinks about it. And Tim fucked off to parts unknown with a regular ass suit to do the impossible. Actually did the impossible. Tim really is the best of them, in Jason’s humble and will-never-be-voiced opinion.

“I can imagine. You got some video footage of one?” Jason questions, steering the conversation back to safer waters. 

“No, I would never keep something like. Come on, I’m a good guy,” Tim says sarcastically.

“The only thing good about you is that mouth.”

Even though he’s the one that said it, Jason’s brain overloads and crashes all in the span of a nano second. That was definitely flirty. In no possible universe, dimension or other-world would that line not be considered flirty. He didn’t mean to do it. Right? Right, because flirting with Tim would be weird enough Jason would need to submit himself to a litany of invasive tests just to figure out what in the hell is wrong with him. Slips of the tongue do happen-

Bad analogy to use now that he’s thinking about Tim’s mouth.

“I get that a lot,” Tim says, brushing off Jason’s folly easily. 

“Get some,” Jason encourages lamely. 

In another feat of extraordinary social ineptitude, Jason reaches up and ruffles Tim’s hair but he does it too hard. It ends up being some weird combination of a noogie and hair pet. He stops that right away and instead uses Tim’s head to lever himself up. Obviously he’s not going to recover from this interaction. Several fatal blows have been dealt. The only sensible thing to do is escape as quickly as he can and go scream out the embarrassment into the void. 

Tim squawks in protest and bats away Jason’s hand. His brows are furrowed and sporting a deep set scowl as he no doubt glares at Jason for using him as a hand hold. Whatever, all the better if Tim is pissy. It means he hasn’t noticed Jason being a complete and total moron. Or picked up on the way the shivering, shimmying pool of warmth building in Jason’s belly is making him grimace and sweat.

Hands up in a gesture of surrender, Jason backs away. Satisfied, Tim goes back to watching his building. Jason backs up another step when, weirdly enough, Tim’s cape moves. Like a full on flap to the side. It opens up a brief glimpse to Tim’s backside, boots and belt and skin tight leggings, before the heavy material settles again. There’s no breeze tonight though Tim might have been fiddling with it or something. 

Jason can’t be sure. Doesn’t really care. He has a hasty retreat to get to. 

He means to retreat but Red Hood, the motherfucking, traitorous dickbag the suit is, must take some measure of joy in Jason looking like an idiot because Jason trips on the laces of his boot on his next step. Now, he’s sure he tied them. Double, triple, quadruple knotted with a complicated pattern Bruce taught them all so this exact thing wouldn’t happen. Yet, flailing and just barely saving himself from belly flopping onto the roof, when Jason looks back his laces are definitely undone and the culprit of his current predicament.

The one in which Tim turns oh so slowly with an eyebrow so high it disappears into his hairline. Judgement is pouring off Tim in palpable waves. He meets Tim’s gaze and wants to melt through the roof. 

“That wasn’t me,” he instantly denies.

“Uh huh,” Tim says dubiously which makes Jason glower. “Thanks for reminding me why I like having a regular suit.”

“You sure you don’t want to take Red Hood for a ride?” 

Jason decides he’s going to stop talking for the rest of ever. He had wanted to annoy Tim for lack of anything better to do. Not test the limits of how much mortification a person can feel before their will to live force quits. Things have gone so, so wrong. 

Tim wrinkles his nose at Jason’s offer. “No thanks,” he says simply. 

Nothing in his tone gives him away so Jason isn’t even sure if Tim picked up on the accidental and subtle as a sledgehammer come ons. He’s not about to point them out so he rolls over, ties his goddamn shoes and gets up. Carefully. In case his suit decides to do something else unforgivable. Thankfully, he doesn’t have any issues getting to the edge of the roof or setting himself up to grapple off. 

“We can play How Much Gasoline Until the Nomax Melts if you want,” Jason threatens his suit, voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder, to Tim Jason says, “Okay then, see ya, Red.”

While Jason has been preoccupied with the simple task of traversing the roof, Tim has already gone back to his task. Binoculars up, body pitched forward as he intently watches something, he waves lazily over his shoulder.  No indication is made that Tim needs him to stay and act as back up. Must be a survey and report only kind of night. All the better because Jason would rather eat concrete and sleep on glass than stay with Tim for a few hours.

He has some more emotional repression to get to in the form of whatever he’s feeling about Tim. Very important stuff.

Stay tuned for a part two! (For real this time.)

[elsinorerose]

“𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹.”

Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

“𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚗𝚘𝚠 / 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚍”

“The Modern Prometheus” Frankenstein: A New Musical

[angrythingstarlight]

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Like he's still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Shut. Up."

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs sadly, head lolling to the side. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine of me in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to focus," your breathless giggle lost under a grunt when you try to shove him to the side. Nothing. Damn it.

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body, you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble and ache. He slides up a centimeter.

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Be quiet," you start. Releasing his arms, you wince when they hit the floor with a thud. You'd have better luck moving a pile of bricks than your man. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously.

He doesn't play when it comes to you. Or his burial requests.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently. "No guy will even breathe in your direction by time I'm done with them. You're going to have a rep because of me."

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted—somehow he manages to squeeze your ass a couple of times—until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Well maybe that could be fun. Wait.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Look at Me Like That Again

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Waitress!Reader

Summary: Bucky desperately needs your attention while you’re on shift in his bar.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: so much longing; Bucky is a man in love; mild alcohol use; bar setting; Bucky being a dramatic kicked puppy

Author’s Note: Oh I enjoyed writing this so much. Thank you for the idea, my lovely!! I hope you like what I made of your cute little prompt ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

It’s the fifteenth time you've passed him.

Fifteen.

And Bucky Barnes is counting.

Because you don’t look at him when you pass.

And it’s been over an hour since you walked in wearing that stupid little apron that hugs your waist and the shirt he hates because it’s too tight and too low and everyone looks at you too long when you wear it. Everyone except him, of course.

Bucky doesn’t look.

He watches.

There’s a difference, you see.

You breeze through the bar as though you’ve got the whole damn place in your pocket, and maybe you do. These guys love you. They light up when you laugh, when you lean in to hear them over the music, when you call them hon in that voice soft enough to sew people back together.

You’re the only brightness in this place and you don’t even know it.

Your hair is already starting to come loose. You are balancing three empty glasses in one hand and a notepad in the other, reciting someone’s order from memory while still smiling, still glowing.

Bucky is leaned up against the bar like a damn decoration. He’s been standing here, useless, for at least twenty minutes. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes strained on your every step. You haven’t spared him so much as a glance since the jukebox changed songs, now crooning some worn-out rock ballad from two decades ago. Since the light shifted and the golden hour crawled in through the windows as if it was chasing you.

God, you look good in gold.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He’s cleaned the same spot three times. Cleaned the same glass four times before he realized he wasn’t even holding it anymore. He doesn’t even drink soda but the can of Coke next to him has been sweating beside his hand for half an hour. Warm now. Forgotten.

Just like him apparently.

You walk by. Don’t see him. Or maybe you do - but you don’t stop. Don’t smile just for him.

He can’t have that.

Not when you just smiled for that asshole in booth seven who licked his lips when you placed his beer.

He doesn’t know what his expression might look to others but he doesn’t care. He is sincerely displeased.

Sixteenth time. You float past, apron flaring, pen poised, eyes stitched to your tray or the screen or the sticky table by the window, but it’s never him.

He doesn’t like that. At all. He needs your attention, and he needs it now.

So when you swerve past again, too busy balancing an order for the back booth where one of his patrons is dramatically retelling some story to the others like he isn’t loud enough for the whole bar to hear, Bucky does what any reasonable man would do.

He pokes you. Right in the side.

You jolt mid-step, the drinks on your tray tilting before you balance them out. “Bucky.”

But he doesn’t hear the warning edge in your tone. Because your eyes meet his and suddenly everything inside him goes very, very quiet.

“I've been standin’ here,” he says, calm as ever, trying to sound like someone who isn’t folding from the inside out. “Watching you walk past me like I’m invisible. That’s cruel, sweetheart. Cold-blooded.”

You roll your eyes, though there is amusement tugging at your mouth. “You’re not invisible.”

“Oh, good,” he drawls, leaning forward, eyes shining beneath dark lashes. “Then I don’t have to haunt the place. Thought maybe I died and no one told me.”

You sigh. “You’re a child.”

“You’re the one ignoring me in my own damn bar.”

“I’m working, Barnes,” you emphasize.

He shrugs, a slow, unapologetic shift of his shoulders. “And I’m just standin’ here. Bein’ patient. Watching you ignore me in new and creative ways.”

You step back, turn, face him fully this time. He meets your gaze like he’s been waiting for it all night. Maybe all week. Maybe always.

You stare at him as though he’s something between a hurricane warning and a kicked puppy at your feet.

“You poked me,” you deadpan.

“Did,” he says, grinning. Not even a little sorry. “Would’ve waved, but my hand’s all tired from waiting.”

You huff. But it’s not annoyance. It’s the laugh you’re trying not to give him. The soft kind. The one that lives behind your teeth when he says dumb things with that mouth that should know better.

His chest warms. Truly warms. As though someone struck a match behind his ribs and the light spills into his bloodstream.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, Bucky. But I do have work to do, alright? So you’ll have to excuse me.” You don’t look that apologetic either when you turn around again and trek down the bar to the booth where people are waiting for you.

But he’s waiting for you too. Tragically so. He doesn’t take his eyes off you when you place the drinks, when the guys thank you, when you smile that smile back, when you turn and walk away, when you are about to pass him again.

Poke.

You sigh as if you expected it.

He leans in slightly, as if he could soak in your heat and keep it. But your smell already makes him dizzy. “I’m not gonna stop poking you until you give me some attention, doll.”

You stare at him as if you want to throw a napkin at his face. Or kiss him. He prefers the latter. Although the former surely would be a privilege since it’s you throwing it.

“I do give you attention, Barnes. I’m literally talking to you right now,” you counter, slightly exasperated, but there is that fond smile forming, you just don’t let it out fully.

But it still does things to him. Hits his heart first, then spreads - to his cheeks, his fingertips, down his spine. That smile is a gift, a spark. It makes him foolish. Hopeful. It makes him dream in full color.

Bucky taps the counter, shaking his head. “You know you’ve walked by eighteen times now?”

“Eighteen?”

“Eighteen. I counted. Steve’s my witness.”

You glance behind the bar. Steve’s got two glasses in his hands and is pretending not to watch. Is pretending not to smirk.

There’s a pause. You’re still close enough to touch. The fabric of your shirt brushes his arm when you move. You smell like citrus and cinnamon gum and whatever soap you use that’s probably way too fancy for a dive like this.

But you don’t belong in places that are easy.

“You’ve been runnin’ around like you’re holding the ceiling up,” he says quietly, not even meaning to. “Just wanted to remind you I’m still here.”

And for a breath - a half-second crack in the wall you’re keeping up - you look at him. Really at him. He might even believe you see the thing he’s too afraid to name, but you don’t run from it.

“I know, Buck,” you say, smiling sweetly. Like a secret sunrise just for him.

And his body shuts down. Doesn’t even let him take in some air. Who needs that anyway when he’s got you?

Your eyes catch and hold. The noise of the bar slips sideways. Everything tilts.

Then someone calls out your name - loud, without the care he uses when saying your name, just another order. You turn with a smile already forming on your lips, moving back into your orbit, back into theirs.

But before you go, you look at him over your shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough to ruin him for the rest of the night.

He watches you walk seven steps to the bar's edge.

He grins. Leans back. Taps his boot against the counter.

That’s alright, baby.

He’ll be here waiting.

Poking.

Always.

[himasntgod]

Azul x reader where the reader read that octopus die after mating and so she refuses to even KISS him by fear of hin dying (if reader is a bit cold/grumpy I would love it even more tysm)

AZUL X READER

Where you don't want to kiss him

How would Azul act if you flatly refused to kiss him because you read that octopuses die after mating?

"Can I ask you something, dear?" Azul said with his usual smile, courtesy carefully disguised as sweetness.

"No," you replied, without even looking at him, turning the page of your book with a sigh.

Azul blinked, but he wasn't discouraged. If he had anything, it was patience…

And a dangerous stubbornness.

"Come on, it'll just take a second. I promise not to talk about last week's contract or the little favor I asked Jade for…"

"I'm not kissing you."

That really stopped him in his tracks.

"Sorry?"

You closed the book with a thud and looked at it for the first time all afternoon, frowning.

"I read something. About octopuses."

Azul blinked again. Twice.

"So… what does that have to do with me?"

"They die after mating."

Silence. Long. Awkward.

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard. After mating. Phew. Goodbye. Dead. And you… you're an octopus."

You pointed an accusatory finger at him, as if you'd caught him stealing babies or something.

Azul honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I'm an octopus-mermaid, a merfolk, not an aquarium octopus, by the Seven," he complained, pinching the bridge of his nose as if just having this conversation was draining his life (and patience). "

"And besides, that's after mating, not a simple kiss!"

"I'm not taking any chances."

"What do you think is going to happen? That you're going to kiss me and I'm going to disintegrate in your arms?"

"Yes."

Azul stared at you, shocked.

"…You're cruel."

"And you're dramatic. Perfect for dying if I get too close."

"That doesn't even make sense biologically! Technically, I'm more like a merman than an octopus! And we're not even talking about mating, we're talking about an innocent peck on the cheek! Are you telling me I'm forbidden from that too?"

"Especially that."

Azul slumped down onto the chair across from you, defeated.

"I can't believe you're letting an internet article ruin our relationship. What's next? You're only going to feed me once a day for fear I'll get fat again and float to the surface?"

"Mmm… good idea."

"...!"

"I'm looking after you, don't thank me."

You patted him nonchalantly on the head.

"Now stop bothering me. I'm on the best part of the book."

Azul looked at you with a tragic expression, as if he'd just been informed that the Monster Lounge had run out of reservations for the entire month.

"I can't believe this… Rejected for fear of death by mating. This is the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. And Floyd once forced me to do a show dressed as a giant squid…"

"Yeah, Azul. If you can convince me with scientific proof that you won't die after kissing me, maybe I'll consider it. Maybe."

Azul narrowed his eyes.

"What if I get a medical certificate?"

"Then maybe I'll let you kiss me on the hand. With gloves. And disinfectant."

Azul sighed so deeply it felt like his soul was leaving his body.

But deep down, he couldn't help but smile.

After all, you were his favorite paranoid grouch.

You were so engrossed in your book, completely ignoring Azul, that you didn't notice him leaning toward you across the table.

"Besides, I don't even know where you got that information…" he muttered as you turned another page. "It could be a myth. Or an exaggeration."

"But still, better safe than sorry."

And that's when it happened.

Without a word, Azul cupped your face in a gentle hand and leaned in. A kiss. Quick, precise. Right on the corner of your lips.

It took your brain two seconds to reboot.

"AZUL."

He had already sat back down, adjusting his gloves as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, look at that. I'm still alive. What a miracle."

He smiled at you with that damn smug expression that you knew was going to haunt your dreams tonight.

Your heart was pounding like you'd run ten flights of stairs. The heat in your cheeks was so evident that even Grim could have pointed it out between jeers.

"That was… That was an attack!" you exclaimed, placing a hand over your mouth.

"It was scientific evidence, as you requested." He nodded solemnly.

"Hypothesis proven. I didn't die."

"I'll kill you if you do that again!"

"So I do die after a kiss?"

"AZUL!"

"You're blushing, by the way. Adorable."

You threw the book at him.

He caught it with ridiculous ease.

"Want to read to me for a bit?" he said, winking at you. "I promise not to die mid-chapter."

Your face burned. Your pride screamed. But your lips… well, those were dangerously tempted to break another rule.

And Azul knew it.

[darkbluekies]

Hi , I hope you’re doing well! I just had a question about how would the yanderes would react to their darling doing the “im here with my current boyfriend/ girlfriend” trend.

Warnings: jealousy, very dramatic yanderes, possessiveness

Silas:

Hearing you introduce him as your 'current husband' in front of his business partners during dinner, as a cheeky joke, makes him furious. Not only deminishes it his devotion for you, but also his position as a mob boss. His eyes darkens and latch onto you, hand holding your thigh tightly under the table. A subtle, but extremely clear warning. A promise that the two of you will talk later ... and as soon as the guests have left, you're grabbed.

"Remind me again of the ring on your finger. Nowhere in that damn engravement does it say 'current'. Until death does us part, right? And beyond that, fucking trust me. If I hear you say that I'm your 'current husband' again, as if I were some stupid boytoy of yours, I will remind you, in front of all of them, just how permanent I am."

Dr Kry:

It was a simple question: "How does it feel to be my current husband?" meant to joke ... but oh, how he did not find it funny. He stops in his tracks and turns to you. Narrowing his eyes.

"Repeat that? What do you mean 'current', Y/N? You have someone else tucked in the closet? Tell him to come out, I'd like to meet my future replacement. Or better yet, you can admit that your joke is not funny and I could go back to making you lunch."

King Edmund:

Okay, so, in retrospect ... maybe telling the nobility that Edmund was your 'current' husband ... was not the brightest idea you've had. The dungeon seems extra rat filled today.

"Oh, so now we're just humiliating ourselves in front of the entire aristoracy? You're not only humiliating me, but also yourself, Y/N. WHat do you think they'll say if their queen tells them that I'm just here for shits and giggles? You think they'll respect you? You think they'll respect me? What kind of king keeps his wife knowing she will leave him? No, actually, let me rephrase that: think she can leave him. You're not going anywhere. And I'll be damned, if I let you out of here until you understand that you're stuck with me forever. Not 'current', not 'temporary', not 'for funsies'. I'm your husband, and I will stay your husband, you ungrateful girl, until I fucking die. And I better not die before you, because I am not letting you put that 'current' to test. I'm going to haunt you like a damn ghoul."

Jerry:

Her colleagues thought it was hilarios. Jerry? Not so much. You know you've fucked up the second you meet her eyes. The "i'm about to discipline you in front of all of them"-eyes are well known. She stands, grabbing your hair and tilts your head backwards.

"Someone should send you back to preschool because I don't think you've learned your tenses correctly. Why should I care so much about you if you just see me as some pathetic thing to pass your time? Should I show you how I treat people that aren't you? Since you seem to want that so badly?"

Hedwig:

She frowns immidiatly, grabbing a hold of your arm before she can react. Her eyes are wide, disbelief that you could even joke that. She is not one to let things go easily and will think about this for the coming month.

"No. What do you mean? Why would you say that? We're going to get married one day ... are we not? Stop saying such things, they're not funny. It's not something you joke about!"

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star- chap three preview

Pairings- Pornstar! Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings - mentions of fingering and sex, reader is in her head, yearning, mutual pining. light angst as the two of them are just very different (FYI Satoru won't be having sex with anyone but reader from last chapter on - his dick quit working lol) preview is 1k words god lmao, this chap is gonna be LONG fyi

“Ah!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you.

You’ve lost it.

You tip him as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.

Did he do things off camera with-

Stop it!

The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.

Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.

Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.

Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury himself in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.

Date- he doesn't date- how could he, what was he thinking lately?

He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.

He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.

Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.

You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-

Why is he thinking like this!?

He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”

“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!

“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.

“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”

“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.

Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?

“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was.

“Isn’t your co-star waiting?”

“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”

“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”

“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth Pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate?

HURT FEELINGS AHEAD for both of them actually. These cuties suck at feelings. Don't have an exact date but it's in the works. Taglist is closed by you can sub on Ao3 or follow me here for updates! I don't tag anyone but perm tags in my previews so if you're on the list dw I will tag you in 3!

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[ponderingmoonlight]

How you accidentally made Dante look like a hero again

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: All you wanted was to outsmart Dante and prove he was setting you up for demon attacks in order to get closer to you. Instead, you ended up buried under library rubble, fighting off scorpion demons, and getting saved by him — again. This is why you have trust issues.

Warnings: swearing, kinda enemies to lovers dynamic, I just love Dante y'all need to have mercy with me lol

You’re starting to think you’re cursed.

That’s the only explanation for it. How else do you keep ending up in demon-infested alleys, haunted casinos, and - once - dangling upside down from a stolen motorcycle, twice in the same week? No average person deserves so much distress.

But even worse: every time - every damn time - there’s Dante.

Bursting in like he’s auditioning for an action movie. Guns blazing, coat flaring behind him, a cocky smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face.

God, how much you hate that guy.

…do you?

"Oh no," you mutter under your breath when you spot him swaggering through the chaos yet again.

"Not this asshole."

"Miss me, babe?" he calls, spinning his sword once before cleaving a demon in half like it's no big deal.

You barely dodge a flying claw, pretty used to almost dying by now.

"Dante, why are there hellhounds in the laundromat?! I just came here to do my laundry!"

He winks at you like this is all part of some grand romantic plan.

"You know. Crazy city. You never know what’s gonna happen. Nice panties by the way, wish I could see them up close."

You stare at him, sceptical to say the least, as he shoots a demon that was two inches away from biting your head off.

"This is the fourth time this month. And every time you're 'coincidentally' nearby!"

He strolls over, casually beheading something with his sword like he's just stretching his legs. How many times have you seen this already? Probably like a hundred times.

This month.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, sweetheart."

You gawk at him. No, the thing he calls fate can’t be an accident. There is literally no way in hell that you get attacked even more often than himself. There has to be another reason. Could it be that…?

"Are you setting this up?!"

He gives you a look, all fake innocence and devilish grin.

That bastard.

"Who, me? Nahhh. Demons just have a thing for damsels. Lucky for you... I'm a professional knight in shining armor."

A piece of ceiling collapses dangerously close to you. You flinch for once. Dante doesn’t even blink, just throws an arm around your waist and throws you out of the way with way too much enthusiasm.

You land on your back with a grunt, staring up at the cracked ceiling and wondering what life choices led you here. Where did you take a wrong turn to deserve this? Being liked by a hot guy is all fun and games until the name of that jerk is Dante Sparda, apparently.

Dante leans over you, upside-down, grinning like a maniac.

"You good? Need mouth-to-mouth?" he offers helpfully.

You shove him off you, the heat of his body almost devouring you whole.

"I’m getting a restraining order."

"You say that, but then who’s gonna save you next time you almost get eaten by a possessed vending machine?"

You open your mouth to argue - and realize you have no idea how to deal with possessed vending machines. You groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Maybe you’re the one who possesses everything around me…”

Dante pats your head fondly like you’re some kind of beloved but very dumb kitten.

"You mean like your thoughts? Most definitely, yeah. But don't worry, babe," he coos cheerfully, "I'll always be there to save your pretty little ass."

You’re pretty sure that’s supposed to be comforting. Instead, you start mentally drafting your will.

“Get off me now, I need to get going jerk. And stop staring at my panties”, you hiss through gritted teeth while getting up, packing your things and leaving.

No, this isn’t an accident, not your fault by any means. Dante is the one who sets all of this shit up.

“That fucker…”, you mutter to yourself, slamming the door shut in fury.

You can’t do this anymore, can’t take seeing a demon each time you leave your house. You’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Yes, there has to be a way to stop this madness once and for all.

“I’ll catch you mid-act, Dante…”

You hatch a plan.

A pretty simple one: bait Dante into showing up, catch him red-handed, and finally prove he's arranging all this chaos.

You pick the most boring, demon-unfriendly place you can think of: the public library. No shady alleys, no creepy neon signs, no way in hell anything supernatural is hanging out between the tax law section and the dusty romance novels.

You text him a fake tip, something about "possible demonic activity" near the library, totally urgent, definitely needs his professional attention.

Then you sit back, tuck yourself into a corner with a stack of books, and wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Thirty.

No Dante.

You start to relax. Maybe he finally got the hint. Maybe he's actually busy for once. Did your words from yesterday finally stir something inside of his brain?

And that's when the ceiling caves in.

You shriek as a massive scorpion demon crashes through the roof, scattering books and terrified civilians everywhere. Librarians are running for their lives. An entire row of encyclopedias explodes in a puff of dusty chaos, taking your sight while you desperately try to crawl out of the scene.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That definitely wasn’t written on your bingo card for today.

"What the hell?!" you shout, diving behind a bookshelf just in time before a whole fucking shelf bumps onto the ground next to you.

"HEY BABY!" a too-familiar voice yells from somewhere in the smoke.

You peek out and see Dante standing atop the checkout desk, dual pistols in hand, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

"Miss me?"

You stare at him, speechless. No, this has to be a dream. This was supposed to be a trap, you set him off in order to finally find him guilty. And now this?

"HOW?!"

He jumps off the desk, unloading a round of bullets into the demon's face like it’s a casual Tuesday.

"You sent me the text! Good instincts, by the way - I was gonna ignore it, but then I figured, ‘Hey, if my girl’s around, probably gonna be some action.’ And look! Action!"

You dodge a flying claw and seriously consider strangling him with a library card cord.

"I SENT YOU A FAKE TEXT!" you shout over the sound of gunfire.

"THERE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A REAL DEMON!"

"Aw," Dante replies, kicking a demon minion into a copy machine, "you’re so modest. You’re like a magnet for this stuff."

You have no time to argue. The giant scorpion is bearing down on you. You grab the nearest weapon, a hardcover dictionary about curse words in Spanish, and hurl it at its head. It bounces off harmlessly. Yeah, what a surprise, actually.

Dante whistles low, impressed.

"Good arm, babe. But here - lemme show you how it's done."

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, sword flashing, doing some ridiculously show-offy spin move that absolutely wasn’t necessary but looks cool as hell anyway.

The demon collapses with a final screech.

Silence falls over the destroyed library.

Books smolder, paper flutters in the air like sad confetti. Somewhere, a printer makes a pathetic beep before dying.

You sit down heavily on the floor, dazed.

Dante strolls over, all proud, offering you a hand up.

"No need to thank me. It’s kinda my thing."

You stare at him, mind still processing what just happened. Your mission failed – miserably, so say the least.  

"I literally TRIED to set you up."

"And look how well it worked!" he declares brightly.

"You lured out the bad guys! You're a natural at this demon-hunting stuff. I'm so proud."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him then kiss him.

Instead, you let him pull you to your feet, dusting off your scorched jacket.

"I'm never texting you again," you grumble.

"Sure you will," Dante coos, flashing that stupid, charming grin.

"You can't resist me."

You open your mouth to argue - and immediately get tackled to the ground as a second, smaller demon leaps from the wreckage.

You land with a painful thud, pinned beneath Dante’s weight as he shoots over your head, finishing off the last monster.

When the danger’s over, he stays there for an awkward beat too long, smirking down at you.

"See? Told ya. Always there to catch ya when you fall."

You groan, covering your face with your hands while absolutely hating how good his body weight feels on top of you, how surprisingly good that asshole of a man smells.

"I'm going to die of second-hand embarrassment."

"Nah," Dante retorts confidently, getting up and pulling you with him again.

"If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be something way cooler. Like a demon. Or a possessed espresso machine."

You squint at him.

 "You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulders like he owns the place, like the ablaze library isn’t his fault at all, and leads you toward the exit.

"Nope. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

You sigh.

Maybe getting a new phone and a new name wouldn’t be the worst idea.

…Or just giving in.

[zhelin-thames]

Hi! I absolutely adore your stories!! 💖💖💖💖 I don't know if you are taking requests (idk if this counts as one or not) but could you possibly make a part 2 of Tiny Baby Ghost?? It was so funny and cute!!

Heres part 2. I'm open for any requests, including different crossovers(ill only write them if i know the shows tho).

read part 1, part 3 is also out

Danny floated out of Pariah’s hand with a sigh, brushing green ectoplasm off his suit. “Okay, everyone just… chill for two seconds. No smiting, no world-ending threats, no awkward death stares.” He turned to Pariah and Fright Knight. “Dad, Sir Glowstick, I’ve got this.”

Pariah scowled but crossed his massive arms, radiating reluctance. Fright Knight gave a sharp, reluctant nod, fading back into the shadows. Pariah, however, loomed protectively behind Danny like a vengeful thundercloud, making the Batkids visibly tense.

Danny turned to Constantine, his hands on his hips. “Alright, magic man, what’s the ‘big emergency’? Why’d you summon me, specifically?”

Constantine, cigarette now burned down to the filter, pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re dealing with a dimensional tear. Nasty bit of magic, ancient stuff. Needs a Ghost King’s touch to fix it before it swallows half the world.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “A tear? Like, between dimensions?”

“Yes,” Superman answered, his voice calm. “It’s growing larger every hour. We believed the Ghost King would be the only one capable of sealing it.”

Danny groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I’m not the Ghost King. I’m not even remotely qualified for this. Did you not read the fine print on your summoning ritual?”

“You were summoned by name,” Wonder Woman pointed out. “Surely there is a reason the ritual chose you.”

“Yeah, the reason is: the universe loves torturing me,” Danny muttered. He began pacing, muttering under his breath. “Okay, think… dimensional tear, ghost powers… I’ve done that before, sorta…”

Jason, leaning against a table with his arms crossed, snorted. “So, what, Casper? You’re just gonna wing it?”

Danny stopped pacing and glared at him. “Do you have a better idea, Red Hood? What’re you gonna do, shoot the dimensional tear?”

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Jason shot back, smirking. “Who knows, maybe the bullet’s haunted.”

“Is he always like this?” Danny asked, gesturing at Jason.

“Yes,” Damian said flatly. “And he’s right—your incompetence hardly inspires confidence.”

“Okay, first of all,” Danny snapped, pointing at Damian, “I’m not incompetent. Second, you’re one to talk, kid ninja.”

Damian bristled, stepping forward. “Do you truly believe you could intimidate me, ghost child?”

Danny blinked, then smirked. “Oh, I don’t need to intimidate you.” He snapped his fingers, and his ectoplasmic energy surged, making Damian’s cape float dramatically behind him. The youngest Wayne’s eyes widened before he quickly turned to look at his cape, trying to snatch it down.

Jason doubled over laughing. “That’s perfect! Oh man, I think I like you, kid.”

“Enough,” Batman growled, cutting through the banter. “If you know how to fix the dimensional tear, we need to act now.”

Danny sighed. “Fine. I’ll try something. But no promises this works, because I am not the king.”

“You keep saying that,” Nightwing said, tilting his head. “If you’re not the king, why does the summoning work for you?”

Danny hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Pariah, who was watching silently, his expression unreadable. “Because technically…” Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… uh… kinda the ‘heir.’ Sorta. By accident.”

Jason whistled. “You’re the heir to the Ghost King? That’s hilarious.”

“It’s not hilarious!” Danny snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a massive headache!”

“You have no idea how hard it is to get through high school when random cults keep summoning you to fix their magical problems!” Danny continued. “And now I’ve got Batdad over here grilling me like I’m some supervillain, and Red Riding Hood cracking jokes, and Damian ‘Stabby McSword’ Wayne calling me incompetent! I’m doing my best, okay?”

Jason tried and failed to suppress a laugh at “Stabby McSword,” while Damian’s scowl deepened.

Danny huffed, spinning back to Constantine. “Where’s this tear? Show me, and I’ll try to patch it up. But I’m not promising anything. And when this is over, you’re sending me back home. I’ve got a chem test tomorrow.”

Constantine muttered something about “teenagers” and gestured, summoning a glowing portal. “This way, then.”

Later, at the dimensional tear:

The tear was massive, swirling with chaotic energy that sent Danny’s ectoplasm buzzing uncomfortably. He floated closer, squinting at it. “Oh yeah, this is bad. Super bad. But… I think I can close it. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Batman asked, his voice sharp.

“Well, unless someone else here has experience closing portals between dimensions,” Danny shot back, “I’m your best shot.”

Damian stepped forward, his expression skeptical. “And if you fail?”

“Then we all die,” Danny said bluntly. “So how about you zip it and let me work, okay, Junior Ninja?”

Jason snickered in the background. “Man, I hope he sticks around. This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

Danny ignored the bickering Batkids, focusing his energy. With a deep breath, he reached out toward the tear, letting his ghost core resonate with the chaotic energy. The others watched in tense silence as ectoplasmic tendrils extended from his hands, wrapping around the edges of the tear.

“It’s… working,” Constantine muttered, his eyes wide.

Danny gritted his teeth, sweat forming on his brow as the tear began to shrink. “Just… a little more…”

With one final surge of energy, the tear sealed shut, leaving behind only a faint green shimmer. Danny staggered back, panting. “There. Done. Crisis averted.”

Superman smiled. “You did well, Danny.”

Danny waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t call me again unless it’s an actual emergency. I’ve got enough stress in my life.”

Damian stepped forward, arms crossed. “You were adequate. Barely.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks, mini-Batman.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re alright, kid. If you ever want to ditch Ghost Dad and hang out, give me a call.”

“Pass,” Danny said dryly, rubbing his temple. “I think one Jason Todd is enough for the multiverse.”

[itsnotsunnyy]

what we never said

pairing: jacob black x female!reader

word count: 5,2k

summary: fate tied your soul to his—but he looked the other way. now you’re gone, and the silence you left behind echoes louder than his regret. some bonds don’t break. they just haunt.

content: one-sided love, slow burn, unrequited love, second chance, heartbreak, regret, angst, bittersweet ending, distance makes the heart grow fonder…

a/n: english is not my first language, so i’m sorry if there are any mistakes. please feel free to point them out so i can learn and improve. this is also my first work, so please be kind—i’ll get better, i promise! hope you enjoy it <3

jacob never meant to hurt you.

it’s the thought that circled his mind like a curse, looping endlessly, whispering itself in the space you left behind. but it didn’t matter, what he meant. it never did.

intentions don’t erase pain.

and pain, in your absence, was all he had left. you had walked away without slamming a door or raising your voice. you hadn’t cried. you hadn’t begged. that, in a way, was what made it worse.

you had simply… let go. you had loved him, waited for him, stood by his side while he chased after someone who never saw him clearly. and when it was too much, when it broke you—you did what he never expected:

you walked away.

and jacob wasn’t ready to let you go.

it had started years ago, subtly. a glance here, a brush of your hand against his, the sound of your laughter lingering a second too long in his ears. you were the imprint, it hit him harder than anything else ever had.

he remembered the exact moment it happened: the way his heart stopped for half a second, the way his whole body quieted, centered around you like the world had finally focused. it was terrifying. beautiful. overwhelming.

and yet, he ignored it.

because bella still haunted him like a ghost.

even as the pull toward you grew stronger, even as his instincts screamed to protect you, be near you, choose you, he clung to bella. to what he thought he was supposed to want. to the idea that if he just loved her enough, maybe she’d finally look at him the way he looked at her.

you never asked him to stop loving bella. you never demanded anything. you just waited.

until waiting became survival. until survival became silence. until silence became goodbye.

he still remembered the last time he saw you.

it had been raining. forks always smelled like rain and woodsmoke, but that day it felt heavier—thicker in the air, like even the sky was mourning. you stood under the overhang outside your house, arms crossed, eyes dull. you didn’t look angry. you just looked tired.

he hated that more than if you had screamed.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you said quietly.

he had blinked, dumb, confused, heart already pounding.

“do what?”

“this. us. whatever you think this is, jake.”

his throat had gone dry. “you’re my imprint.”

“and i’m still not enough.” you gave a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “do you even hear yourself? i’m your imprint, jacob. and it still wasn’t enough to make you choose me.”

“i didn’t—”

“yes, you did,” you interrupted. “every time you ran to her. every time you told me i mattered and then looked at her like she hung the stars. i waited. i gave you everything. and you gave me just enough to keep hoping.”

you hadn’t yelled. but every word hit him like a blade.

“you never let me in, not fully. you never let yourself feel what the imprint gave you. you were too busy chasing someone who never loved you back.”

his chest ached. “i didn’t mean to—”

“i know.” you swallowed, voice soft now. “but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

and then you stepped back inside.

you didn’t slam the door.

you just disappeared.

weeks passed. then months.

he didn’t see you in town anymore. you’d stopped coming to la push. the others asked about you in hushed voices, like even they could feel the hollow space you left behind. the bond—the imprint, was still there. but where it used to feel warm and steady, now it felt frayed. like a lifeline unraveling strand by strand.

he dreamt of you constantly. of your voice. your smile. your touch.

of the way you used to sit beside him during bonfires, your shoulder brushing his, always quiet but never absent. you had been the constant in a world that shifted like sand beneath his feet.

and yet, he had let you go.

bella married edward.

jacob went to the wedding. he smiled. he wished them well. he stood there and realized how empty it all felt. the finality of it hit like a storm—but instead of feeling the ache of loss, he felt relief. because for the first time, he could stop pretending.

and all he wanted was you.

but you were gone.

he didn’t know where you were living now. he didn’t know what you were doing, who you were with, if you were okay. and the not-knowing was killing him.

so he ran.

in wolf form, the world was simpler. he couldn’t forget you, nothing could make the imprint fade, but at least he didn’t have to feel the ache of your absence in quite the same way. not while the wind was in his fur and the ground moved beneath his paws. but even then, your scent haunted him. his mind wandered. always to you. always.

one evening, he caught your scent near the forest line. faint. old. but unmistakably you.

and it knocked the breath from his lungs.

it wasn’t recent. maybe days old. maybe more. but it was real.

you had been here.

you were close.

he waited three more days before finally giving in and going to your old house. the lights were off. the porch was quiet. the air smelled like damp pine and silence.

he stood at the door for a long time before knocking.

no answer.

he knocked again.

still nothing.

so he sat on the steps and waited.

he didn’t know what he’d say if you did open the door. all he knew was that if there was any chance, any hope left, he had to try.

the door never opened.

but it didn’t matter.

because the next morning, he found a note on the porch.

jake,

i heard you knocking. i wasn’t ready to see you. i don’t know if i ever will be. but i need you to know… i never stopped caring. i just stopped waiting for you.

—Y/N

he stared at the paper for hours. read it until the ink blurred.

“i never stopped caring.”

it wasn’t a goodbye. but it wasn’t a beginning either. and maybe that’s what he deserved.

sometimes, late at night, he still feels the imprint burning under his skin. it’s quieter now—less like a pull, more like a shadow.

a reminder.

of what he broke.

of what he could have had.

and what he might never get back.

but he still whispers your name like a prayer. still dreams of you smiling. still hopes, quietly, that somewhere, no matter how far—you feel the echo of him.

because Jacob never meant to hurt you. but that didn’t stop him from doing it.

and now, all he can do is wait.

just like you did.

[sunshinesfreckless]

Drive Me Crazy

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Felix x Fem!Reader

Summary: Watching Felix in his Truman outfit does things to you. The see-through top, the black jacket—it’s too much. You can’t stop staring. And Felix? He notices. He always notices. When you admit just how badly you need him, he makes sure you feel every second of his hunger.

Warnings: Oral (F receiving), overstimulation, public teasing, Felix being an absolute munch, backseat oral sex, aftercare.

A/N: The Truman outfit haunted me. I had to write atleast one short Fic. This is my tribute to its power.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Y/N was obsessed with this outfit. She couldn’t stop watching him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as Felix rapped next to Han. The black jacket fit him too well, and the sheer top underneath? It was downright unfair. Her heart pounded, heat pooling in her stomach as she sat among the staff, the laminated tag around her neck reading “Felix’s Girlfriend” in bold letters.

When they paused for a break, Felix’s stylist fussed over his hair, but Y/N barely noticed. She knew Felix had caught her staring—the way his lips quirked up slightly told her everything.

As soon as he had a moment, he walked over, his presence alone making her breath hitch. “Hey, my love,” he greeted softly.

She smiled up at him, practically glowing. “You look so good in this outfit, I can’t stop staring.”

Felix chuckled, his eyes filled with knowing amusement. “Angel… is that why you’re all fidgety?”

She sighed dramatically, grabbing the edge of his jacket and pulling him closer, her fingers curling into the fabric. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper, just for him. “Felix, I‘m so horny…” She hesitated before biting her lip, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “I need you.”

His expression shifted instantly, amusement melting into something darker. The change was subtle, but she could see it even through his colored contacts—the way his pupils dilated, the way his grip on her tightened ever so slightly.

“Don’t say things like that,” he murmured, his voice a little lower, a little rougher. “I still have two hours left. You want me thinking about you like that while I’m on set?”

Y/N leaned in just a fraction, her breath warm against his collar. “Maybe.”

Felix exhaled sharply, squeezing her thigh once before pulling away with a smirk. “You’re trouble.”

“Felix! We need you back!”

“Coming!” he called back, though his fingers lingered for a moment longer, pressing into her skin in a silent promise before he finally left.

Y/N exhaled shakily, shifting slightly in her seat, thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. Two hours. She didn’t know how she was supposed to last that long.

────୨ৎ────

Waiting for him felt like an eternity. Every passing second stretched unbearably, her body still buzzing with the heat he’d ignited earlier. When he finally emerged from the dressing room, she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Gone was the sheer top and black jacket, replaced with something more comfortable, though his hair remained perfectly styled. He didn’t say anything at first, just grabbed her hand, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Sorry, had to leave the outfit. They need it for tomorrow,” he said, voice casual—but his eyes? They were anything but.

“You still look sexy,” she murmured, her voice softer now, dripping with unspoken need.

Felix huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but she saw the way his fingers twitched. He was holding back.

Han rushed past them with a quick, “Bye, guys! Gotta go!” before disappearing.

“Huh,” Y/N blinked after him. “What’s so important?”

Felix barely spared a glance. “No idea. He’s taking a different car today.” He led her toward their ride, where the driver was already holding the door open. Y/N slid in first, settling into the plush seat.

Felix followed, but the moment he shut the door behind him, his entire demeanor shifted. He reached out, pressing a button on the console. The dark-tinted divider between them and the driver slid up with a quiet hum, sealing them in. They could still see the driver but he couldn‘t see them.

Y/N barely had time to react before Felix turned to her, his expression dark and unreadable.

“You drove me fucking crazy today,” he muttered, his voice dangerously low.

Her breath hitched. “What?”

Felix leaned in, fingers trailing up her thigh, slow and deliberate. “You know exactly what.”

Felix leaned in, fingers trailing up her thigh, slow and deliberate, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of her dress. “You know exactly what.”

She swallowed, pulse thrumming. “Felix, I—”

He didn’t let her finish.

With a sharp tug, he pulled her across the seat and into his lap, her knees pressing into the leather on either side of his thighs. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, sliding under the hem of her dress, tracing the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“You sat there all day,” he murmured against her neck, his breath hot, sending a shiver down her spine. “Looking at me like that. Shifting in your seat. Acting all sweet and innocent when I knew exactly what was on your mind.”

She whined softly, fingers curling into his shoulders. “I couldn’t help it.”

Felix’s lips ghosted over her jaw before pulling back, his eyes locking onto hers, intense and unrelenting. “You think I could? You think I could just stand there and rap, pretend I wasn’t picturing you like this? Desperate and needy in my lap?”

Y/N whimpered, hips instinctively shifting against him. He groaned, gripping her thighs tighter.

“Angel,” he warned, his voice strained.

She bit her lip, hands sliding into his hair, tugging lightly. “Felix, please…”

That was all it took.

With a quiet growl, Felix lifted her just enough to reposition her beneath him, pressing her back against the seat. His hands pushed her dress up higher, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, lower—until he was exactly where she needed him.

His fingers pressed into her thighs, gently spreading them apart. “You’ve been impatient all day, haven’t you?”

Y/N nodded quickly, breath shaky, anticipation making her entire body tremble.

Felix exhaled sharply, his grip tightening as he leaned in, lips just barely brushing against the heat of her skin.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then don’t hold back for me now.”

Felix exhaled slowly, his breath hot against the thin fabric of her string, and Y/N whimpered. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air, and he groaned, pressing his nose against her, inhaling deeply like he was getting drunk off her.

“You smell so fucking sweet, angel…” His voice was dark, rough with restraint. “You’re intoxicating.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his hair as she looked down at him, her thighs trembling in his grip. Felix kept his gaze locked on hers as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss over the damp lace before dragging it to the side with his teeth.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as he finally saw just how soaked she was for him.

“Shit, baby…” he murmured, his fingers brushing against her slick folds before pulling back teasingly. “You’re making a mess. You probably ruined the leather seats already, huh?”

She whimpered again, shifting her hips toward him in desperation, but he only smirked, dragging his tongue along the crease of her thigh instead.

“Be patient,” he chided, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there, making her jolt. He kissed over the mark, then did it again, teasing the sensitive skin just everywhere but where she needed him most.

Y/N was shaking now, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Felix, please—”

The second she said his name like that, his self-control snapped.

He licked up her slit in one slow, deliberate stroke, groaning against her as her taste flooded his tongue. Y/N’s head fell back against the seat, a breathy moan escaping her lips as she clutched at his hair.

Felix didn’t start off gentle—he was hungry, devouring her like he’d been dying for this all day. His tongue flicked over her clit before he sucked, firm and deep, making her entire body jolt.

A sharp gasp slipped past her lips, and Felix immediately pulled back, his grip tightening around her thighs.

“Keep quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing against her soaked skin. “Or the driver’s gonna find out what a filthy little whore you are.”

Y/N bit her lip hard, her entire body shuddering at his words.

Felix smirked, running his tongue over her again, slower this time—torturous. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her still as he buried himself between her legs again, intent on making her forget how to breathe.

Felix’s tongue was merciless, lapping at her like she was his last meal. He flicked against her clit before sucking again—deep, slow, and devastating. Y/N’s fingers twisted in his hair, her entire body shaking under his touch.

She tried to be quiet. She really did. But when he flattened his tongue and dragged it through her soaked folds again, a sharp, breathy moan escaped before she could stop it.

Felix froze.

Y/N barely had a second to catch her breath before his grip on her thighs tightened, forcing them wider as he lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze.

“What did I just say?” His voice was low, dangerously smooth.

Her breath hitched. “I-I couldn’t—”

Felix’s fingers slid through her slickness, teasing her entrance, but not giving her what she needed. “That’s not an excuse, angel.”

Y/N whimpered, her hips shifting instinctively, but Felix held her down with one firm hand, keeping her completely at his mercy.

“If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to stop,” he murmured against her thigh, his breath sending another shiver through her. “And I don’t think you’d like that, would you?”

She shook her head desperately. “No—please—”

Felix hummed, smirking against her skin. “Then behave.”

And then—he devoured her.

His mouth was back on her, hungrier, rougher. His tongue flicked faster now, circling her clit with dizzying precision before sucking, dragging moan after moan from her trembling body.

She tried—she really tried—to keep quiet, biting down on her lip, squeezing her eyes shut, gripping at anything she could. But when Felix slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right—she choked on a sob.

Felix groaned at the sound, his cock straining against his pants. “Fuck, angel… you’re squeezing my fingers so tight.”

Y/N couldn’t even respond—her mind was unraveling, drowning in sensation. Her legs started to shake, her breath coming in fast, uneven gasps.

Felix felt it. He knew.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice was smooth, teasing, so in control.

She nodded frantically, aching, desperate, right on the edge.

Felix stilled his movements—his tongue, his fingers, everything.

Y/N whined, her body trembling. “Felix—”

He smirked, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her swollen clit. “Beg for it.”

She gasped. “P-please—please let me come—”

Felix chuckled darkly, his fingers pressing deeper, his tongue teasing just enough to drive her insane.

“Louder.”

“Please, Felix—please, I need it—”

“Good girl.”

And then—he ruined her.

His mouth worked her over like he was addicted to her taste, his fingers curling harder, faster until Y/N’s entire body went tight, shattering completely.

She came with a sharp cry, muffled by her own trembling hands as Felix held her through it, his grip firm, his tongue relentless.

Only when she was completely spent, thighs trembling uncontrollably, did he finally pull back.

Felix sat up, licking his lips, eyes still dark and full of hunger.

“You’re such a mess,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Guess I’ll just have to clean you up myself, huh?”

Y/N barely had a second to breathe before Felix’s fingers were back on her—inside her—relentless.

She let out a broken whimper, her body twitching, oversensitive from her first orgasm.

“F-Felix—wait—” she gasped, trembling under his touch.

Felix just smirked, curling his fingers deeper. “Wait?” His voice was silk and sin, teasing, mocking. “I don’t think you really mean that, angel. Look at you—”

His other hand slid up her body, gripping her throat gently as he whispered against her lips, “—you’re still dripping all over my fingers.”

Y/N shuddered.

Felix chuckled darkly, he pulled himself up, pressing a slow, taunting kiss to her lips before pulling away completely.

Her breath hitched—she barely registered what was happening before his hands were gripping her hips, flipping her over onto the leather seat.

“Face down,” he ordered, voice low, rough.

Y/N’s body melted under the command, her cheek pressing against the cool seat as Felix’s hands spread her thighs apart from behind.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kneeling onto the seat behind her, caging her in completely.

She barely had a second to prepare before his mouth was back on her—

A muffled cry tore from her lips as his tongue slid through her soaking folds, licking her up like he was starving for her.

She twitched, her thighs clamping together involuntarily, but Felix growled and gripped her ass, yanking her back onto his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking run from me,” he muttered, voice muffled against her soaked cunt.

Y/N screamed, fingers scrambling against the seat, her body writhing uncontrollably. It was too much—too sensitive—too good.

Felix fucking loved it.

Her legs were shaking violently, her breath ragged, broken. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He licked, sucked, and kissed her filthy, his grip bruising on her ass as he kept her exactly where he wanted.

And then—

Y/N’s eyes flew open.

The driver.

Oh fuck—the driver.

Her entire body froze as she realized—they were still in the car, and the engine was still running.

it hit her.

The drive was taking way too long.

Her eyes flickered up, and through the rearview mirror, she could see it—

The driver’s ears were red.

He definitely heard everything.

Her entire body burned with embarrassment, but the humiliation only made the heat between her legs worse.

Felix noticed.

His smirk was deadly as he pressed a final, deep kiss to her clit before murmuring, “Guess he wants a show, huh?”

And before Y/N could even react—

Felix’s fingers plunged into her again.

She cried out, her entire body jolting violently, and Felix just groaned, his free hand gripping her ass harder.

“You can’t stop shaking,” he mocked, fucking her open with his fingers as his tongue flicked against her swollen clit. “Is it too much, angel?”

She nodded weakly, trembling, wrecked, already right on the edge again.

Felix laughed.

“Good.”

He sucked on her clit hard, his fingers pressing deep—and she shattered.

A silent scream ripped from her lips as her body convulsed, her legs shaking violently, her vision going white.

Felix didn’t stop. Not until he had licked her clean, his grip finally loosening as he pressed a final taunting kiss against her swollen folds.

Only then did he sit back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark, satisfied.

“You made such a mess, angel,” he murmured, his fingers dragging over the ruined leather seats.

Y/N barely had the strength to move, her body twitching, overstimulated.

Felix’s smirk grew.

The car slowed to a stop.

“Guess we’re here,” he muttered, leaning down to press a final, filthy kiss to Y/N’s ear.

“You can still walk, right?”

Y/N was boneless.

Felix could tell the second he pulled away, watching her tremble against the leather seats, her body still twitching from overstimulation.

His dominant smirk faded.

“Angel,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Y/N only whimpered softly, barely able to open her eyes.

Felix’s chest tightened.

Yeah, she was wrecked.

With a gentle sigh, he shifted, fixing her dress carefully, making sure she was covered before pulling her into his arms.

The car door opened.

Felix stepped out, Y/N still in his arms, cradled against his chest like she weighed nothing.

The driver—who was definitely trying not to make eye contact—cleared his throat.

Felix sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry about that, mate,” he mumbled, pulling out his wallet.

The driver blinked. “I—I didn’t see or hear anything.”

Felix arched a brow, handing him a wad of cash. “That’s what I thought.”

The driver’s ears went red. “Thanks, sir. I’ll have it cleaned.”

Felix nodded, adjusting Y/N in his arms before walking inside their home.

The second the door shut, his entire demeanor softened.

“Lixie…” Y/N murmured weakly against his chest.

His heart melted.

“Yeah, angel?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her damp forehead.

She shifted slightly, her arms weakly wrapping around his neck.

“You’re so mean, i was so embarassed…” she pouted.

Felix chuckled, nuzzling her sweetly. “I know, baby. I know.”

He carried her straight to the bathroom, gently setting her on the counter as he turned on the warm water.

“You okay, love?” he asked softly, brushing her hair out of her face.

Y/N nodded sleepily, blinking up at him with that dazed, post-orgasm look that made his chest ache with affection.

Felix sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her nose.

“Let me take care of you now, yeah?”

And as he helped her undress, lifting her into the warm bath and washing every inch of her tenderly, he couldn’t stop smiling.

Because no matter what—she was his angel.

And he would always take care of her.

[delugyu]

hueningkai humping your pillow

this idea was HAUNTING me 😵‍💫😵‍💫

(wc: 1.2k / warnings: roommate!kai, kai is a huge perv and lowkey a creep, masturbation, pillow fucking, humiliation kink kinda)

kai loves having you as a roommate. you’re clean, you never complain, and you always take care of your responsibilities on time. plus, you treat kai so nicely, and you smile at him all the time, and you smell really good, and you pretty much hung the moon in the sky. his only complaint, though he’ll never say it out loud, is he thinks you’re teasing him on purpose.

you pat his head and compliment him when he cooks something. you hold onto him when you laugh at his jokes, letting your hand clutch onto his arm as you lean into him. and every now and then, you’ll walk around in these teeny tiny shorts. on those days, kai can barely stand looking at you. he has to turn his head in the opposite direction to keep himself from staring.

he hides away in his room after you touch him the slightest bit, unable to bear staying in your presence after getting so hard. at first he’s ashamed. at first he ignores it and waits for his cock to go down, telling himself he must be going through some kind of second puberty. but days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months, and he’s still popping erections every time you praise him and dote on him, no matter how joking or teasing you are.

so, though kai loves it when you’re around, sometimes he can’t wait for you to leave. he’s found himself forming a really bad habit: he can’t stop snooping through your room when you’re gone.

you’re out with your friends, getting together for brunch or something—kai’s not really sure—and he jumps at the opportunity to creep through your stuff. he waits a few minutes to make sure you’re really gone, too scared to get caught in his perversions. he practically runs to your bedroom as soon as he’s sure you left.

his heart is racing, hands shaking as he walks to your dresser and picks up your perfume. he doesn’t spray it, too nervous that the scent might stick to him and you’d catch on, but he holds the bottle to his nose and inhales deeply. the fragrance is sweet and warm and soft and just so you.

he opens the top drawer of your dresser, where he knows you keep your underwear. there’s a certain thrill he gets just from looking at it; he doesn’t even touch it, doesn’t unfold it, just admires the cute selection you have. some are lacy and tiny, some are hot pink, some are black, some are white with little bows. they all get him hard as a rock just the same, but he likes to imagine you taking off your shorts to reveal one of your skimpier pairs.

he palms himself through his pants and brings the perfume bottle to his nose again. he chokes out a moan, shutting his eyes to envision you changing into whatever clothes you went out in today. he imagines you peeling your shirt off your body, pretty skin bared as you stand in nothing but your bra and panties contemplating what dress to wear.

he closes your drawer and places the perfume bottle back in its exact spot, making sure it sits in the same position you left it in. he’s trembling as he moves to your bed, sitting down and bending to bury his face in your pillows. he whines and grips the sheets until his knuckles are white, pathetically grinding his hips against your mattress.

you lay here every night, and some nights you’re bound to be a little pent up. some nights you lay here, where kai is now, with your hand down your pants, finger rubbing down your wet slit as you relieve yourself. maybe you’re afraid of being too loud, maybe you throw a hand over your mouth when little noises threaten to spill past your lips.

some nights, you need a little more pressure between your legs, and maybe you slot one of these pillows there to soothe the ache. kai’s stomach clenches as he imagines it, and he brings a pillow down to his hips. he folds it just right, so that when he slides himself against it, he gets all jittery and buzzed.

he pants out as he fucks himself on your pillow, cock throbbing in his pants. he so badly wants it to be you that he’s thrusting against, to watch you smile prettily at him while he loses his mind above you. you’d be so good to him, hands gliding across his body, encouraging him to be a little rougher. he obliges with a grunt, hands keeping your pillow in place as he fucks it harder.

you’re always so teasing, always getting his dick so hard. he deserves to have this, at the very least, if he can’t have you. he deserves to moan into your mattress and grind against your belongings. it’s only fair. you should learn to play a little nicer and let him have these things more often.

his mind reels at the idea of getting caught by you right now. he’d be humiliated, probably unable to ever look at you again. you would be disgusted by him, think of him like some nasty vermin that nestled its way into your life. you’d have to put him in his place and make him learn his lesson.

don’t you know he’d let you do whatever you want to him? he’d love to become a vessel for your pleasure, a tool for you to use sexually. how good could you possibly be at making yourself cum? isn’t it better if someone else does that for you? you wouldn’t have to move a muscle if you didn’t want to. kai would give his body up to you in a heartbeat, do all the work and be content just watching you get off.

the idea that maybe you’d toy with his cock and give him some relief too is much more exciting, though. he wants your hand wrapped around his dick, pumping him like you’re greedy for his cum. he’d spill load after load into your hungry hands, laying back happily even if you overstimulate him for hours.

he whines as his high creeps over him. his hips start stuttering in their pace, fucking against your pillow more wildly. his ears are ringing, eyes clamped shut as he chases his orgasm. he thinks about you walking in and gasping at the sight, thinks of you pulling him by the hair until he tumbles off your bed. he imagines the disgust in your face, the tears in your eyes as you yell at him while he kneels at your feet. somehow, that’s the image that makes his hips stall, dick twitching as he releases his seed in his pants.

his chest heaves dramatically as he catches his breath. sweat makes his hair cling to his forehead, and a part of him feels gratified at the idea that his sweat will dry onto your bed, that you’ll be laying here tonight where he committed this heinous act.

what’s even more gratifying is when he fixes your pillow back on your bed, adjusting it nicely so nothing looks out of place. he sits there, staring at nothing in particular with a proud smile on his face. really, kai loves having you as his roommate.

[multific]

Bound by Midnight

Vampire!Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: Simon has lived in the shadows for centuries, avoiding love, avoiding attachment, until you.

Simon had warned you.

Over and over again, his voice was always low and edged with something close to fear.

Stay away from me. Don’t get too close. I am not a man. I am a monster.

And yet, you never listened.

Perhaps it was foolishness, or maybe something deeper, a pull you couldn’t explain, an ache in your chest that told you to stay. From the moment you met him, you knew that Simon Riley wasn’t just a creature of the night; he was something more. Beneath the mask, beneath the sharp words and cold demeanour, there was a soul.

A heart that had stopped beating long ago, but still longed for something it thought it could never have.

You.

He had tried to fight it. Had pushed you away so many times that you lost count. But you saw through him. You saw how his gaze lingered, how his voice softened when he spoke your name. How, despite every warning, he never truly walked away.

Until the night it all fell apart.

The attack was swift, unexpected. One moment, you were laughing, teasing him about his brooding nature, and the next, you were on the ground, warm blood pooling beneath you.

Your vision blurred, the pain sharp and unforgiving as a rival vampire loomed over you, his fangs stained with your blood.

And then Simon was there. A whirlwind of darkness and rage, tearing the creature apart with an inhuman snarl that sent shivers down your spine even as your body grew cold. You reached for him, your fingers trembling, and the last thing you saw was his face, horrified, desperate, as he cradled you against his chest.

Then, darkness.

And then, life.

A strange, aching hunger clawed at your throat when you woke, the world feeling sharper, louder.

Your heart no longer beat, and yet, you felt more than you ever had before.

Simon was beside you, his hands still cradling you as though he was afraid you would slip away.

His mask was gone, and for the first time, you saw him as he truly was. His sharp jaw was set, his piercing eyes were filled with something you had never seen before.

Despair.

"I never wanted this for you," he whispered, voice hoarse, raw. His fingers curled into your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground himself. "You don’t understand what I’ve done."

You reached up, touching his face, feeling the tension beneath your fingertips. "You saved me."

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "I cursed you. I’ve bound you to this life, to me. You’ll never be free of it. Never be free of me."

There it was. The truth that haunted him, the fear that had kept him at a distance for so long. He didn’t hate what he was. He hated the idea of you suffering because of it.

But he didn’t understand.

"Simon," you murmured, guiding his face to yours. "If I had to die that night, I would have died in your arms. But I’m here. And if eternity means being bound to you, then I wouldn’t have it any other way."

His breath hitched, and for the first time since you had known him, Simon Riley looked lost. As though no one had ever told him that he was worth choosing.

Worth loving.

And so you showed him.

You pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his in the softest of kisses, and he shuddered.

He kissed you back as if he was afraid of breaking you, of breaking himself. But as the night stretched on, that fear melted, and something else took its place.

As the midnight hour reached its peak, Simon led you to the centre of the dimly lit room.

Music played softly from an old record player in the corner, and though he was never one for softness, he hesitated before offering you his hand.

A slow smile spread across your lips as you took it.

The two of you danced, moving through the shadows like ghosts, yet feeling more alive than ever. His hands were steady now, his grip no longer one of fear but of something deeper.

For the first time in centuries, Simon Riley wasn’t alone.

He pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours as you swayed in the dark. "I don’t deserve this," he whispered.

"You do," you whispered back. "You always have."

And as he held you, as the stars outside shone down upon the two of you, Simon finally let himself believe it.

Because for the first time in his long, cursed existence, he had something worth living for.

And he would never let you go.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[lxvebun]

Another sleepy drabble. Ideas just come to me when I am eepy it seems.

Content: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gender neutral reader. Fluff..crack perhaps. Offputting strange simon representation🫶 he's still a sweetheart dw!!. Not proofread! Lmk if there are any annoying mistakes!♡

Dating Simon, you're going to have to get used to some of his... peculiar tendencies.

First off, Simon has a bit of a staring problem.

He doesn’t do it on purpose, and he could make up a dozen excuses for why he does it—Natural selection of the mind, making sure you’re safe, keeping an eye on you—but it really just boils down to the fact that he likes looking at you. You’re his sweetheart, his precious angel and looking at you while you do your own thing, draped in comfy clothes most likely stolen from his closet, humming a song thats stuck in your head creates this sickeningly sweet, lovesick feeling that curls around his heart and makes it beat just a little warmer and makes him feel just little safer

His expression is always loving, eyes soft and brimming with adoration when you meet his gaze, but the problem is, you constantly feel like you're being watched. The slightest shift in movement from where you're sitting on the other side of the couch draws his eyes from the TV to you. Every time you get up to go to the kitchen, bedroom, bathroom—whatever—his eyes snap towards you in an instant. And Simon's gaze is heavy, loving, but heavy and it's even worse when you can feel his eyes on you, but you don't know where he is. Which brings us to the second "problem" the constant battle of trying to convince your body while it's in its flight or fight mode that no, that’s not some sort of wild predator lurking in the shadows and stalking out it's prey. It’s just your boyfie and his unsettling ability to blend in with his surroundings🫶

You quickly realize why they call him Ghost.

For such a big guy, Simon moves incredibly quietly. His footsteps are nearly nonexistent, the only sound being the occasional creak of the floorboards as he moves through the house or a sudden thud from around the corner.

(You're honestly convinced that if you put Simon in an old empty house it now qualifies as "haunted")

He’s quiet, and he has this tendency to loom, always hovering just on the edge of your awareness. A shadow in the corner of your eye. His movements are so subtle, they feel like the softest ripple across a pond, barely enough to disturb the surface.

It doesn't necessarily scare you, you know it's just Simon but there are certain times when he does this that do give you a bit of a jumpscare.

It happens most often at night, in the bathroom when you're gently easing yourself into your night routine, movements slow and laced with sleep as you wash your face. you know he's there, you know he's near, but still, suddenly seeing his reflection in the mirror, standing behind you as if he just appeared from the shadows- your heart jumps into your throat.

“Simon…” you whine, hand splayed across your chest to calm the rapid beating of your heart "You scared me."

"Sorry, love," he rumbles, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Force of habit."

Sometimes you wonder if you'll ever fully get used to it. Then again, you don't really mind it. Even if this comes across as strange to some, you like having someone who looks at you like you're the center of his universe, even if that means constantly feeling his eyes on you, following your every movement. And maybe, one day, you’ll stop jumping out of your skin every time he appears out of nowhere. But until then, you'll just keep telling yourself that yeah, he can be a little odd but it's Simon, your Simon and you wouldn't change a thing about him.

[wakayrd]

More theatre stuff! I've started to put all the theatre doodles I do under a tag called "isat curtain call" because I wanted to be organized lol

MIRABELLE! Mirabelle is kind of a powerhouse at the theatre. She acts in a lot of the plays they put on (and gets really nervous before going on stage). She has lots of folks who are her neighbors or friends who attend shows and always overwhelm her with tons of flowers. She appreciates it but it can be a bit much! She's always around to help- She will show up for set construction, set decor, lighting design... anything- and all on top of acting! She's even the theatre's health and safety rep! (the little bit at the bottom is inspired by true events... yeah...)

Bonnie!! Bonnie started volunteering with the theatre recently after coming to see a pantomime for Peter Pan. They love to help out with the snack bar, and even wear nice clothing for the shows to look all professional. They also usher sometimes! All with adult supervision of course. They are allowed to come help with set decor (painting the set!) but NOT set construction. They sometimes convince their older sister to stop by the theatre when everyone else is working to drop off homemade goodies. They also like to hang out in the sound/light booth, the stage looks so different from up there! They're close with Odile, who shows them a ton of stuff. They hope that sometime they can also start doing the light cues during a show. They don't want to work near Siffrin backstage, even though that's something they could perhaps start doing now.

Sometimes... it feels like there's something in the theatre, hanging out in the catwalks, judging silently. Maybe... someone... But if you turn around to see them, they're gone! The theatre might be haunted, who knows. That seems the most plausible theory... Siffrin tends to spend a lot of time on the catwalks as well. Perhaps he'd know more about this mysterious spirit of the theatre?

The Spirit of the Theatre! (Loop!) They're always around. They're actually convinced that they're not able to leave the theatre. The hat? They stole it from the costume room! It makes hiding that glow ever so easy- Sometimes they steal coats or matching robes from there, just to make hiding easier. They're so knowledgeable in all things theatre, especially the theatre the group operates out of. Sometimes they spend their time alone at the theatre straightening up the props room or making sure all the actor's props and costumes are in their proper places. It really seems like they consider themselves an integral (and invisible) part of the team. They like to watch from afar, that's all. Meeting Siffrin was an accident, one that The Spirit of the Theatre couldn't avoid. Now they have to deal with Siffrin coming to talk to them often, even looking for advice. It's unclear how long they've been there, and when asked for a name, will only say they're the "Spirit of the Theatre."

And that's it from me today I promise I am normal lol I am having fun watching this all form in front of my eyes a little. It's mostly silly goofy stuff and as much as I'd love to stick to canon best I can, I may have to fiddle with it to get it to make sense... especially for Loop :) but if you have any ideas or stuff my inbox is so open I love talking about this- these drawings were stacked up from the last couple of days just me preparing to post... teehee!!