#this was the second drawing I was talking about

[princesssmars]

dry humping with abby aka car sex 2.0

nsfw, fxf smut. dry humping, boob stuff, scratching and pulling. just quick and freaky.

wc : 1.100

“yeah, just like that baby, fuck- show me how much you want it.”

look, you didn't start the day thinking you'd be dry humping your girlfriend into the driver's seat of her car until you were both breathless, but sometimes things like this just happen.

it was no fault of either of yours, anyway. you were equally dedicated to your studies as you were to each other, even holding hour-long study dates every thrusday that you'd yet to miss in months. but with finals just around the corner, both of you were strung thin, barely having the time to greet each other on the phone, let alone spend some quality time together.

so, of course, that had both of you very pent up. you were both studious, yes, but that didn't mean you didn't rock each other's worlds on the frequent occasion. but for the past three weeks, all you've gotten were rushed moments in the dead of night with your moans shared over a phone, hands aching with the force of your thrusts, and hearts aching at the shared sadness of not having your girlfriend there to soothe the ache for you.

so the second you finish your last final, you truly didn't have only sex on the brain when you told abby to pick you up afterwards, ready to spend the rest of the evening in the comfort of her bed and arms as you caught up over everything else that had happened in your lives recently.

but after stopping for some quick dinner and snacks at a store, you can't pretend to ignore how her large hand rests on your thigh, fingers inching higher and higher the closer she gets to her apartment. all it takes is a flutter of your lashes and a throaty moan before the blonde covers your entire cunt through your panties with her hand. and all it takes is a whimper and a buck of your hips before her other hand is roughly serving the steering wheel, finding an empty parking lot and parking the car near the back, away from the streets and any prying eyes that could witness what was going to happen.

it's rough and fast how she grabs you, unbuckling your seat belt for you and literally picking you up from underneath your thighs and dropping you in her lap, cutting off your surprised cackle with her lips crashing into yours.

“abs, fuck, abby-”

“i know, baby, god, i missed you-” she groans into your mouth, a large palm coming up to the back of your neck, pushing and gripping like she mesh the two of you together is she tries hard enough. it's not like you're any better, hands in a similar position on her bare shoulders and scratching at the freckled skin to draw more whines from her throat.

it's not even a few minutes before the sloppy make-out session isn't enough for you anymore, desperation taking hold as your hips start to grind down into hers, the friction of your jeans pushing into your clit sending pleasurable shocks throughout your entire body. abbys hand travels from your neck down to your chest, squeezing your breast through your shirt while her other hand anchors itself on your hip for leverage as she grinds herself up and into you.

seeing abby below you, writhing and panting as her head drops back onto the seat, adorable blue eyes lidded as they stare up at you on top of her only makes you feel hotter, hands rushing down to tear off your shirt to alleviate the heat and so that she can fully grasp your tits in her hand.

“god, you wanted this to happen, huh?” abby breathes, voice light as she takes notice of your very braless chest.

“says the one about to cum in her pants, ohhhh-” your rebuttal is cut off with a drawn out moan traveling up and out of your throat, head tilting back when abby’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples and starts to bite.

she always reacted when you talked back to her.

it's almost like a challenge to see who can bring the other over faster, with abby continuing her sucking and biting on your chest as you continue to scratch at her arms and pull at her hair. it's when her palm sneaks its way down to your behind and squeezes before giving it a harsh smack that you realize you're close to release, deciding some near-orgasm rambles are just going to have to do the job.

“abby, abby, feels s’ good, you make me feel so fucking good-”

“yeah? you like that, beautiful?” her voice is strained, hips bucking at an angle that you know feels just right on her oh so sensitive clit, her freckles barely visible with the intensity of her flush.

“yeah. missed you, missed your talking, your kisses, your fingers…”

“ohh, shit, nghh- baby…”

using the last bit of un-fucked out intelligence you have left, you wrap a hand around her wrist and yank her hand up to your mouth, keeping eye contact as you envelop two of her thick fingers into your mouth.

“missed having you inside me, absy.”

your shared orgasms are a quick sequence of intense events, abby’s moaning combined with her fingers thrusting deeper into your mouth triggering your own muffled cries as you use that last bit of energy to keep humping until you’re thoroughly satisfied.

when it ends, you're left lying on her chest, bodies at a slightly odd angle as she pushes the seat back as far as she can to make space for you without removing her skin from touching yours. after a minute of catching your breaths, you look up at her with your chin rested on her chest.

“guess we were a little pent up, huh?”

she laughs, a breathy and sweet sound that makes your heart flutter in your chest. “yeah, guess you could say that. someone seemed to enjoy it, though.”

“oh please, my throat is still sore because someone got a little too excited at the end there.”

“oh yeah?”

you don't get a chance to respond before you're somehow being lifted and placed in the backseat of the car, abby’s frame placed above you as her hands rest on either side of your head.

“then it’d only make sense if i made some other parts of your sore then, yeah?”

[fwaist]

COUNTRY CLUB!DILF!ART x BEVERAGE GIRL/WAITRESS!FEM!READER HEADCANONS

warnings: oral sex (f&m receiving), semi-public sex / risky sex, softdom!art, praise kink, age gap (mid 30s art, early 20s reader), masturbation (m), aftercare, intimacy under power imbalance, slow burn situationship, emotionallyunavailable!art

tags: @pittsick, @bambiangels, @talsorchard, @destinedtobegigi, @angeldoll1e, @itachisank, @tennisprincess, @lexiiscorect, @esotericgirlwannabe, @lovefaist, @won-every-lottery, @zionna

⟡ art is the kind of dilf who doesn’t even know he’s the fantasy. thick wrists, slow laugh, cologne like cedar and wealth. he tips heavy without looking at the check, calls everyone “bud” or “darlin,” but there’s something sharper under the sweetness—an ex-athlete’s ruthlessness tucked beneath the golf polos and polite smirks. he doesn’t brag about money. it’s just there. in the way he talks. the way he moves. like he’s never had to worry. like he’s always known what he wants.

⟡ art cooks exactly two things: steak, and eggs. both to perfection. everything else he orders out. but when he does cook for you—shirtless, barefoot, pan in hand—he insists on feeding you the first bite. presses it to your lips with a little smirk like, “told you i still got it.”

⟡ he notices you on your first week. not because you flirt—everyone flirts—but because you didn’t. because you got flustered and dropped a cocktail napkin when he looked at you too long. because you said “sir” like it embarrassed you. and he likes that. likes watching the way you try not to stare when he laughs with the ex-tennis crowd. likes how you shift your weight from foot to foot, trying not to draw attention, knowing you already have his.

⟡ he starts sitting on your side of the terrace. alone at first, just a whiskey and the sports page, but then: a casual “how’s your day been, sweetheart?” that turns into you blushing. and then: him staying after hours. lingering too long. one night he walks you to your car. just to be polite, he says. and then he leans against your window after you unlock it, eyes heavy, voice low, and says: “you’re real pretty when you get shy like that.”

⟡ he calls you “sweetheart,” “baby,” and “my girl” in public—but in private, when he’s got you naked and gasping, it’s rougher. “gimme that pussy, angel,” he growls into your neck. “y’know you were made for me, right?” and when you moan, soft and ruined, he smiles like he just won a bet.

⟡ he likes to spoil. not with flashy gifts (unless you ask). no, art is more insidious than that. he sends you home with his cashmere sweater one rainy night and never asks for it back. orders you things to the club anonymously: better shoes for your shifts, the good lip balm, chocolate covered espresso beans you “mentioned liking once.” if you act overwhelmed, he cups your cheek in his warm palm and says, “you don’t have to earn this, baby. i just like seeing you taken care of.”

⟡ you fuck in strange places. the backseat of his car parked in the maintenance lot, your legs thrown over his lap as he grips your thighs with strong, veined hands and mutters “good girl, good girl” into your throat. the staff bathroom when you’re supposed to be restocking—your back against the tile, panties pushed aside, his tongue lazy and heavy between your legs like he’s savoring every second. he doesn’t rush. he never rushes. you come on his mouth with your fist in his hair, crying out his name like a confession.

⟡ he smells like cigars sometimes. not from smoking—he quit years ago—but from being around the kind of men who still do. when you climb into his lap at his place, it’s always warm leather and expensive bourbon and a little bit of old sin. you grind against him while he holds your hips and just watches you. he says things like “god, you feel so good. look at you. look at how sweet you are like this.” and you try to hide your face and he grabs your chin and says “nah. none of that. let me see you fall apart.”

⟡ the man lives for casual PDA. big hand on the back of your neck. warm palm sliding down to rest on your hip while you stand beside him. kisses to your temple when you pass by with a tray. and if someone else is looking? he doesn’t care. in fact, he likes it. he wants people to see. wants the guys he drinks with to know you’re his girl.

⟡ he’s really, really good with kids. not performative or pinterest-y—just patient. kind. when tashi drops off lily for a weekend while she’s away, he gets the good snacks. lets her talk for hours about horses or space or whatever third-grade obsession she’s on. he lets her decorate his face with glitter stickers. teaches her how to hold a tennis racket like a real pro. makes her pancakes in animal shapes and acts like he’s bad at it so she laughs. she adores him. and when she’s asleep? he checks on her twice. closes the door soft.

⟡ you don’t always know what this is. he doesn’t promise anything. and he never says the word relationship. but he calls you his girl. he brings you to quiet dinners at the steakhouse three towns over. sometimes you stay the night and wake up to him already dressed, buttoning his shirt and saying “go back to sleep, honey. i left coffee on for you.” and sometimes you ache with how much you want it to mean more. but you don’t say that. not yet.

⟡ he loves when you call him mr. donaldson, but only in private. not during sex—though that’s hot too—but afterward. curled into him. breathless. when you whisper it in that sweet, tired voice and his arms tighten around you like instinct. “that’s my girl,” he’ll murmur, kissing your forehead, like it’s a secret only you two know how to keep.

⟡ he’s careful with you. not condescending. not controlling. just attentive. he notices when you’ve had a bad shift before you say a word. undresses you slowly like he’s rewinding the day. lets you cry into his shoulder, never asking for an explanation. just strokes your back and murmurs, “you don’t have to be tough with me. i got you, alright?”

⟡ the angst lives under everything. you feel it in moments where you laugh too hard at his joke and then remember he has a kid. an ex. a real life. you feel it when you leave through the back gate instead of the front. when he introduces you as “a friend from the club” and your stomach twists even though you understand. because you do. because you signed up for this. but still. sometimes you wish he’d ask you to stay.

⟡ the first time you touch him—really touch him, strip him down piece by piece and crawl into his lap with a desperate little “wanna make you feel good”—he goes quiet. still. then threads a hand into your hair and mutters “jesus, baby. you don’t have to.” but when you do? when you take him in your mouth, eyes wide and obedient, he groans like he’s dying and says your name over and over like it’s saving him.

⟡ he’s never rough unless you beg for it. and when you do, he checks in without words. just a hand on your thigh. a kiss to your wrist. a pause. and then: fucking you hard over the kitchen counter, one hand pressed flat to your lower back while you choke on his name and the sound of your own breath. you leave the club the next day sore, glowing, and dazed.

⟡ he keeps things. a receipt with your number on it, folded into his wallet. a half-empty body spray you left in his guest bathroom. he doesn’t say anything. just uses it when he’s alone. sometimes he closes his eyes and jerks off with it in his hand, breathing deep, thinking about you calling him “sir” all innocent in your tennis skirt while he imagines flipping it up and wrecking you.

⟡ he smells like a warm blend of cedarwood and vetiver, something a little spiced and clean with a hint of tobacco that lingers in his collars. expensive without being loud. comforting. like polished wood and dry bourbon and warm sheets. sometimes, when he’s freshly showered, it’s just skin and soap—plain, masculine, irresistible. but when he’s been outside, golfing or doing yard work? he smells sun-warmed, like earth and grass and that faintly smoky leather note from his belt.

⟡ you make him feel young. not because of your age, but because of how you see him. like he’s someone worth craving. worth needing. not just a rich man with a good tailor and a good watch, but a man you ache for. and he feels guilty, sometimes. like he’s taking something he shouldn’t. but he can’t stop. not when you look at him like that. not when you moan his name like a promise.

⟡ he never asks you to quit. never asks you to hide. but one night after he’s fucked you slow and long on his balcony, the club lights in the distance, he murmurs, “you ever think about doing something else, baby?” and you freeze. because he doesn’t say with me. he just says it like he’s imagining you somewhere safer. cleaner. richer. and you want to cry. but instead, you say, “sometimes.” and he kisses your shoulder and holds you closer like he’s sorry for even asking.

⟡ he takes you on a weekend trip once. nothing flashy. just a cabin by a lake. he pretends it’s casual. but you find a stocked fridge, your favorite brand of shampoo, and a soft robe in your size. and when you thank him, he just shrugs and says, “i like watching you relax.” you fuck for hours in the wide, creaking bed. he makes you come until you’re boneless. then runs you a bath. scrubs your back like it’s a ritual. like this is something he wants to remember.

⟡ he’s not flashy with love—but it bleeds into everything. he changes your oil before you can ask. puts your favorite drink in his fridge. gets you that necklace you casually mentioned once while tipsy. never says those three words outright, but when you’re sick, he cancels a golf weekend and lays next to you with his hand resting on your thigh, watching reruns until you fall asleep.

⟡ he doesn’t say he loves you. not yet. maybe not ever. but he watches you like he might. like he could. and sometimes that’s worse. sometimes that’s better. sometimes you just want to believe it’s enough.

[toytle]

my little sister asked me to draw “barry and hal and batman as friends when they were younger,” and who am i to deny a childhood friends au

[ID in alt text + readmore]

IMAGE 1: Fan comic of Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, and Hal Jordan in a childhood friends AU. Bruce has dark slicked back hair, bat-motif eyebrows, a grey button-down, dark slacks, and dark dress shoes. Barry has feathery blonde hair with strands behind his ears resembling wings, lightning motif eyebrows and blush, white short sleeved button-up, a blue vest and red bowtie, light blue jeans, and white winged sneakers. Hal has short fluffy brown hair, freckles and an off-center tooth gap, a pilot jacket over a green T-shirt, dark baggy jeans, and brown sneakers.

Bruce: [knee to ground, observing a feather through a magnifying glass]

Barry: [crouching, concentrated expression, nodding with finger to lip]

[vague word bubble behind them reading: *sleuth sleuth* *ramble ramble ramble* *science science* *blah blah blah*]

Hal: [head thrown back in exasperation, holding toy airplane] This is so BOOORRIIING.

IMAGE 2:

Hal: [bored frustrated expression, arms out] Can we play something else now?

Bruce [rolling eyes] and Barry [furrowed eyebrows]: [simultaneously] No.

IMAGE 3:

Hal: [shaking Barry by the shoulders] Barryyyy

Barry: [undisturbed, hands on hips still deep in concentration]

-

Barry: [unchanged pose] Hal, I already said no. It’s not fun when you’re the only one with the plane.

Hal: [frowns]

-

Hal: [forward facing unamused expression] Hrmm.

-

Hal: [puts hand on Barry’s shoulder as if making a pitch] Well… who said it had to be airplanes again?

Barry: [eyes light up with curiosity] ?

IMAGE 4:

Hal: [on monkey bars, wearing a green rubber band as a ring] My power ring lets me fly, so good luck reaching me now!

Barry: [looking up at him with a pokerfaced pout]

-

Barry: [viewed from above, awkward determined smile] Uh, well, I can run so fast that it creates a tornado that pulls you back down!

-

Barry: [starts to run in a circle, tongue out of determination]

Hal: [holding on to monkey bar with one hand, pointing his “ring” at Barry with the other] Oh yeah? Then I’ll just stop you in your tracks before you can even take the next step!

-

Barry: [stops, looks up at Hal in irritation, hair swooshed back from running] What? That’s cheating.

IMAGE 5:

Hal: [hopping down from monkey bars] How is that cheating? You literally just used time travel, like, a second ago!

-

Barry: [counting off his fingers] But you can fly, AND use telekinesis, AND shield yourself, AND create anything, AND—

Hal: [throwing arms up in disbelief] Barry, you TIME TRAVEL.

-

Hal and Barry: [blurry foreground bickering]

Bruce: [deadpan annoyed expression] <- Chose a superhero persona w/ no powers

IMAGE 6: Barry Allen narration boxes from The Flash (2016) #21: “Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The day I joined the Justice League was the first time in my life I felt like I had real friends I could relate to… But when I talked forensics… I could see in their eyes that I might as well have been speaking another language. Except Bruce. We could talk about evidence for hours.”

IMAGE 7: Hal Jordan narration boxes from Legends of the DC Universe #33: “Just seeing Barry lifts my spirits. He always had a knack for doing that. I don’t know if I was ever truly innocent… but handing out with the Flash sure made me feel that way. We were like a couple of kids—playing at being super-heroes. So I don’t think anyone’ll mind if we play again…”

[poisonedbrainrottenapples]

Help me I let my inner demons win again XD

Initially I was just gonna draw my boy Pluto, but as I was researching references, I had an idea. You know how in episode 83 (Pluto's past episode), he says he wants to go to Paris to see the lights??? I started to think, what if he found Duke????? and then I thought if I'm going to add Duke, I have to add Eulalie, I couldn't draw Berenice, Pluto, and Duke and leave Eulalie out. That would just be cruel and wrong! and then my brain started to go into overdrive and basically ignoring the temporal inconsistencies for a second. Hear me out:

Pluto, after his father attacks him, manages to escape and takes the train to Paris. On the train he meets Eulalie who, when her friends left her alone, decided to investigate the paranormal activities around the world, and at the time was on the train to explore the legends and hauntings of Paris. Eulalie being herself starts to talk about everything and more with Pluto who was next to her on the train, and being herself, she ends up captivating him just like in Nevermore. When they arrive in Paris, the two end up walking together, considering that neither of them is looking for any specific destination or know anyone there. As they wander the streets they find Duke doing his magic show and of course Eulalie is mesmerized, and even Pluto who is more cautious is still captivated by Duke's charisma and shomanship, Duke immediatly notices they are not from there and calls them over Eulalie is delighted about being a part of the show and Pluto reluctantly joins in too, after the show they end up talking a little and Duke sort of appoints himself as their guide to take them around Paris at night to see the sights the lights and the alledged most hauted places…

Well that's it for me, I think i don't wanna touch another architectural backdrop in the near future XD this one was painful to render, If somehow there is already a fic out there like this please send it my way and if there isnt and someone wants to take the idea please let me know if you do it cause now I lowkey need this.

[lili-home-to-embraces-and-hugs]

Jason knew damian from the league BEFORE he knew he was his little brother and it is… so much worse

Okay so. listen.read.

jason todd. 17. freshly lazarus-pitted. feral. the human embodiment of “i lived bitch” with rage issues and a 72-hour insomnia streak. the league takes one look at this hot mess of trauma and goes “yes. this is exactly the energy we need in our murder boy band.”

enter: tiny baby assassin gremlin™ damian wayne. 6 years old. fluent in six languages, can kill you with a butter knife, has already named his sword and buried a man for disrespecting alfred the goat.

and someone. SOMEONE. in the league decides, “you know what would be funny? pair the murder toddler with the zombie disaster and see what happens.”

Heres how that went

ra’s: jason, your assignment is to supervise damian.

jason: you want me to babysit.

ra’s: guide.

jason: babysit.

ra’s: test.

damian (deadpan): i don’t need a babysitter. i need a better sparring partner. the last one cried.

jason: okay i like this kid.

they do missions together. which is to say, they cause crimes while technically completing the mission. jason teaches damian how to actually knock people out without breaking his own fingers. damian shows jason how to poison a blade using pomegranate juice and pure spite.

they bond over shared trauma and mutual hatred of everyone else. jason steals food for damian. damian teaches jason new ways to dismember people. it’s beautiful.

damian (6, holding a flaming knife): i’m going to defenestrate that man.

jason (17, holding a mango): hold on i’m eating.

damian: that’s MY mango.

jason: finders keepers.

[30 seconds later jason is bleeding and laughing]

but then jason leaves the league. rage. escape. redemption arc pending. damian stays.

and they don’t see each other for years.

until jason storms into the batcave like:

jason: not here to bond. just stealing med supplies. don’t talk to me or my trauma.

damian (offscreen): you dare show your face here, todd.

jason (freezes): oh my god. oh my god. i KNOW that voice. i KNOW that gremlin growl. there’s no fucking WAY

bruce (tired): jason, meet your little brother. damian.

jason (SCREAMING INTERNALLY): THAT’S MY EX-TINY MURDER ROOMMATE?!

damian (smirking): i see the pit didn’t fix your face.

tim (whispers): what is happening.

from that day forward: chaos.

damian starts following jason around like a very stabby duckling. calls him “akhi” in the most possessive tone known to man. sharpens jason’s knives without being asked. threatens the replacement on his behalf.

jason pretends to be annoyed but teaches damian how to make homemade explosives and saves him the last slice of pizza.

jason (grumbling): you’re still a brat.

damian: and you’re still emotionally unavailable.

jason (softly): shut up.

one day jason finds a drawing on his fridge.

it’s two stick figures. one has a red helmet. the other has a sword. they’re both labeled “BROTHERS – THREAT LEVEL: MAXIMUM.”

jason doesn’t talk about it. but he frames it.

bonus: group chat

dick: wait. you guys KNEW each other before this family?

jason: yeah. i babysat him once. worst two years of my life.

damian: i tried to stab him over a mango. it was glorious.

tim: that’s the most terrifying sentence i’ve ever read.

cass: ❤

bruce was like “you’re brothers now” and they were like “we BEEN brothers?? get on our level B/father”

[hyukalyptus]

humbly asking (if it inspires you) for more hairy pussy content 🤭

of fucking course~ i love love love hairy pussies :3 i'll do a little thought for each member :D

cw. hairy pussies ofc, sex implied in most of them but there's no super intense smut, swearing, a smidgen of cunnilingus, lingerie, kissing, smelling lol,

yeonjun waking up next to you after a cute night of ~love making~ teehee and the morning light spills in through the cutains and blinds, catching the little curls between ur legs and fuck he just can't help but let his mind wander back to last night. to going down on you, tasting you, feeling you all over his face, loving every inch of you. and no matter how hard he tries, he can't hold back from inching back down there to give u a cute little kiss right on top of ur hair. you don't even wake up, he's so gentle. and it's like a little secret he keeps between himself—not that you'd disapprove, just thinks its cute that the gets to give ur hairy pussy secret lil kissies in ur sleep <3

maybe soobin's gf always, always keeps it shaved—nothing wrong with hair in your mind, just ur preference—but you decide to grow it out. and it slowly keeps growing but he hardly even notices it. until one day, he does. pulling ur panties off and o.O why hadn't he noticed before? nudging ur hairy spot with his nose while he's kissing all over ur thighs, because he wants to take. his. time. tonight. wants to savor every fucking second of looking at you, feeling ur hair on his nose and lips, inhaling ur scent, he wants to draw out every last second.

beomgyu goes crazy at the sight of ur hair through a pair of lacy panties. i mean, his head is already spinning at the sight of you in the sexiest set of black lingerie the man's ever seen, but noticing the lil curls through the lace sends him right over the edge. he sits on the edge of the bed, pulling you closer by your hips, kissing ur tummy while his eyes quite literally buldge out of his head just staring at ur beautiful hairy pussy. he can't even decide if he wants to take them off ur body or not; just such a perfect frame to ur hair.

taehyun is laying in bed with you on a lazy morning off, ur laying back against his chest while both of u stare up at the ceiling, just talking about your days or whatever you wanna. and he's tracing little shapes all over ur tummy with his fingertips, ur stomach jerking every so often at the tickle. then his hand sneaks down a little further, letting his fingers sift through the hair in slow, gentle, rhythmic shapes that mimic what he was doing earlier, its just that much more intimate.

hueningkai hasn't seen u in weeks and the moment he sees u, he's undressing you—just like ur doing to him—but he buries his face against ur hairy pussy, breathing you in, letting the familiar texture ground him and he finally feels like he's home. and maybe you think its a bit odd, but you still love the way he rubs his entire fucking face—cheeks, chin, nose, lips, forehead, the whole thing—all over ur hairs, just wanting to feel you in the deepest way he can. just thinks ur so cozy and makes him feel soso close to you.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Iced Coffee (Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary:

In which Dick Grayson tries to give Jason some relationship advice. And ends up learning a few new things about his little brother.

Pairing:

Jason Todd x Reader

(AO3)

Imagine Dick Grayson wanting to talk to Jason about his new girlfriend. That is, you.

Imagine Dick Grayson, talkative Dick Grayson, whose laughter and words bubbled easily from his throat, like air released from an opened soda can.

Imagine Dick Grayson, who's used to going into any situation utterly confident in his ability to coax a smile and a story out of even the grumpiest civilians.

And now imagine him being utterly on the back foot ever since Jason came back.

The smile that's more reliable to him than his own mask now feels more like a grimace whenever Dick is around his little brother. His jokes and short little stories meant to put people at ease dry up on his tongue, and he's often left with his mouth hanging stupidly open like a fish washed-up on Gotham Bay.

For all of his hard-earned people skills, Dick Grayson simply couldn't find the right words to reach his little brother.

Perhaps it's because his last image of Jason Todd was that of a prepubescent boy, growing so fast that their father barely had enough time to put clothes on his back before he's outgrown them again.

And now, in his place was a hulking giant that Dick had to crane his neck to look in the eye.

Perhaps it's Jason's voice, and the fact that before his kidnapping, he hadn't come into adult voice yet. It was still high-pitched and bright and excited whenever they bent their heads to look over maps of Gotham. This new Jason, on the other hand, had the voice of a man, harsh and gritty, like stone grinding against stone.

One that often made him seem far too old than his actual age.

Or perhaps it's the simple fact that a decade ago, the Joker took away Dick Grayson's little brother.

And the man who came back was now a stranger.

Dick tried, of course.

He tried his best, like anyone would, given his position. After all, how many people were given a second chance to make their family whole again?

It's just that he didn't know how.

While the previous Robin had been talkative and curious and hung onto every word Dick said as if it was gospel, this new Jason was quiet, taciturn.

He spoke with a wince, as if every word hurt him, and Dick had to work hard not to wonder why this was.

He wasn't usually interested in drawing up battle plans, often choosing to do missions alone.

Now imagine Dick Grayson, crammed in what feels like the world's tiniest Jetta during a stakeout, quietly trying not to go insane. He had never done well with silence, even before Jason had been kidnapped. He hated the idea of sitting in it, stewing in his own thoughts until he could feel them scratching along the inside of his skull.

But try as he might, Dick just couldn't draw his little brother into conversation. His answers, when he bothered to give them, were short and irritated. As final as a door slammed shut.

"So, you know much about this guy we're staking out?" Dick tried.

"About as much as you. Wanted for human trafficking." Jason paused, massaged his throat as if speaking two whole sentences hurt him.

Someone's phone pinged. They both looked at theirs.

After a minute, Dick tried again.

"Barbara said he used to work out of Peru. I wonder what made him move to Gotham. Got any ideas?"

Another ping. Jason looked down at his burner phone. Caught Dick's expression out of the corner of his eye and mutely shook his head.

"Well," Dick pretended to stretch, more to have something to do than anything else.

He decided to try a third time.

"Seen the Bloodhounds’ game last night?"

Jason looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, and Dick decided that it was high time he tried shutting up for a while. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, fidgeted with the radio, trying to decide which station was the least likely to drive him insane over the course of what seemed to be a very long, very boring stakeout.

Dick settled on easy R&B. Leaned back in his seat, or at least pretended to, as he watched Jason fiddle with his phone.

"Barbara got any updates for us?" he asked as Jason read over a text.

There was an awful moment when Jason startled, and the first thing he did was reach for his guns. It must have been instinct, his hands flowing smoothly from one location to the next. And it was only the quiet click of the safety turning off that seemed to bring Jason back to himself.

Dick could practically see his little brother forcing himself to relax: the visible unclenching of his jaw. The conscious decision to let go of his guns.

And Dick tried, very, very hard not to think about how he must have spent the past few years, if his first reaction to being surprised was violence.

If he could somehow revive the Joker just so he could kill him again, Dick would do it. He could have sworn he could hear his own teeth grinding. The air in the car suddenly felt thick, the silence suffocating, as both of them tried not to acknowledge what just happened.

And just as Dick was mentally rehearsing his speech to get coffee and stale donuts from the shop across the street, Jason spoke.

"It wasn't," he said.

Dick blinked. The number of times that Jason initiated conversation was few and far in between.

"Pardon?" Dick said, wondering if he heard it right.

"It wasn't Barbara on the phone," Jason clarified, this time slower, as if he was talking to a particularly dim child.

"Alfred, then," Dick guessed.

"No. And I didn't."

"Didn't what?'

"I didn't watch the Bloodhounds' game last night. I was on patrol and must have missed it."

"Oh."

Dick wasn't even sure if Jason watched baseball anymore. It was just another conversational Hail Mary he threw out there. But at least Jason seemed willing to talk, even if it was in broken fragments. But if Jason was on patrol the night before, and he was on stakeout tonight then he must not have gotten much sleep.

"Want to get some coffee?" Dick said, jerking a thumb at the corner store he was eyeing earlier. "My treat."

While Bludhaven didn't have the abundance of street vendors and overnight kiosks that Gotham City offered, it at least offered similar 24-hour joints that could offer the same overpriced, watered-down coffee that one could get in Gotham City.

And in its own small way, it was like Dick Grayson never left home.

Josiah Johannes Salazar was almost certainly the made-up name of the man they were staking out. A small-time thug, at least by their usual standards, he mostly dealt in human trafficking and came under Barbara's radar after a rash of missing person reports were linked back to him.

A gifted art student from the local college.

A stand-up comedian who often performed to packed bars on rowdy weekends.

A used-car salesman from the Burrows.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Just your usual run-of-the-mill scumbaggery. Kidnapping people to be bought and sold on the flesh market. Or so, that was Barbara's current theory. An easy enough case. Sure to be closed by the end of the week. In fact, Tim already had several hopeful leads on the victims' possible locations.

Which was why it was such a mystery that Jason insisted–insisted!–on accompanying Dick on this particular stakeout.

It wasn't like he was unwelcome–Dick would jump at any chance to bond with his little brother again–it was just unexpected. Certainly, when he had rounded the parking spot where he kept the second hand Jetta, he hadn't expected Jason to be there, a duffel bag slung across his shoulder and a scowl on his face.

And as soon as Dick unlocked the car, Jason opened the door and planted himself so firmly in the passenger's seat that for a moment, Dick wondered if they really did have a prior agreement he forgot about. But now in the garish yellow light of the donut shop, one fact was becoming increasingly obvious–his little brother was tired. The lighting made him look positively jaundiced, and the shadows under his eyes were as fat as bruises. His clothes were rumpled, and Dick found himself wondering if he had changed into them immediately after his patrol.

The scar on his face looked more terrible than ever.

There was a sudden tension in Jason's shoulders that made Dick realize he was staring.

He immediately dropped his gaze.

Only to find an even more incredible sight.

"Hey, Jason..."

Jason frowned at him, and glanced around the shop to see if anyone was listening. But apart from the cashier, a pimply teenager flicking through skin magazines, the place was empty.

Jason never did like hearing them use their real names while out on missions. And it was only after careful assessment of the area did he finally speak.

"What?"

His response was short and irritated, a clear sign that he was beginning to weary of conversation. But Dick couldn't help himself.

"Are you drinking iced coffee?"

The cups in their hands were nearly identical, condensation beading on the cheap plastic surface, although Dick was sure that Jason didn't have the same obscene amounts of caramel syrup pumps in his. But back when he lived in the manor, Dick was sure that Jason was strictly a hot coffee kind of guy.

A hot black coffee and cigarette type of guy. The result of spending most of his childhood in East End. Alfred despaired at the state of his diet, and Dick would often hear him lecturing Jason on the dangers of nicotine and caffeine addiction.

Jason glanced down at his drink, seemingly unbothered. "Yes."

He seemed content to leave it at that, despite the fact that this new information had hit Dick with the force of a bombshell.

Jason drank iced coffee now?

What else did he like?

Did he like matcha? Chai? Perhaps those overpriced flattened croissants dipped in chocolate? Did Jason still like soft tacos from food trucks? Or did he prefer burritos now?

For a moment, Dick envisioned inviting Jason to go shop-hopping with him and Barbara, the way they used to back when Jason was Robin. Maybe even invite Tim along, now that Jason was finally speaking to him.

Eat questionable street food until their stomachs roiled with grease. Or even better, haul it all back to the Clocktower and make a movie night out of it.

He could even imagine Alfred, somehow unchanged, hovering at the edges, making sarcastic comments about everyone's cholesterol level.

Maybe he could even convince him to try a fry or two.

Maybe Bruce–

The ping of Jason's phone broke Dick out of his thoughts.

"Not an update," Jason muttered at him, before opening his phone to take a look at it.

There was the barest flicker of emotion on his face before he was deleting the message and pocketing it. But not before Dick caught a glimpse of what was on the screen: a grainy image of the interior of a pizza parlor outfitted like it was from the 70s. A bottle of cheap beer and what looked like someone's Scrabble tiles were front and center.

Dick blinked. "Jason..."

The iced coffee. The constant texts from someone.

How could Dick Grayson, son of the world's greatest detective, had missed it?

"Jason, are you texting your girlfriend?"

It was like an explosion had gone off in Dick's chest, like someone had shaken a can of soda and pulled the tab to watch the glorious release of carbon dioxide and sugar. Finally, after struggling all night to find something that he and Jason could talk about, finally Dick found something that he could relate to his little brother about: women.

"Fuck off, Dick," Jason muttered, but he knew his little brother enough to realize there was no heat in it. "It's none of your business."

"Holy shit, you totally are. And while on a stakeout, too!"

Dick felt giddy.

It was unfamiliar, this ribbing. But it was welcome. It felt like the sort of thing that a big brother should do.

"You know Bruce wouldn't approve," he prodded.

He made his voice sound deep, mimicking their father, "Distractions on the field can be a fatal mistake."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what Bruce approves of," Jason said with a shrug, but he failed to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Besides,” he added. “He flirted with Selina Kyle all the time. In full costume, the hypocrite."

Dick laughed, partly because it was true, partly because he was actually bantering–bantering!–with his little brother again.

Jason's phone pinged again, and this time Dick couldn't resist another jab.

"She's got you over a barrel, huh?" Dick said.

"What?"

"Are you in the doghouse?"

Jason frowned at him, and Dick decided to elaborate. "Whenever I took missions one after the other, Barbara would let me have it. Especially if it made me miss date nights. She used to send me these walls of text..."

Jason shook his head. "She's not angry with me."

"Oh." It was nice of you to be such an understanding girlfriend. "It's good that she understands. How long has it been since you took her on a date anyway?"

Jason looked uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

"Two weeks," he muttered.

"Two weeks?" Dick was flabbergasted. "Dude, Barbara would definitely have put me in the doghouse for that."

A night on the couch at the minimum.

"I've been busy," Jason said defensively. "We're nearly closing in on this case."

Right. Dick nearly forgot. Josiah Johannes something.

"Well, maybe you should do something nice for her, at least," Dick insisted

"You know, remind her that you care."

He thought of his father, who used to buy bouquets of flowers for his mother, to give to her after every successful performance. The night of her death, there had been a large bouquet of orchids left in front of her dressing room mirror that went unclaimed.

Dick shook his head, dusting away the mental cobwebs.

"Got any ideas?" he asked.

Jason shook his head mutely.

"Come on, give me something," Dick said. "You must have some idea growing up."

Bruce, he knew, was notoriously tight-lipped, so it was unlikely that Jason got any ideas from him. But maybe, once upon a time, Willis Todd did something nice for his wife.

"The men in East End would tip an extra five dollars to whores they like,” Jason snapped.

Dick felt his heart drop to his stomach. He could feel a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Yeah, don't...don't do that..." he muttered.

They grow quiet for several minutes, sipping their coffee and occasionally throwing glances at the building they were supposed to be staking out. It was Jason who eventually spoke first.

"She's not upset," he said quietly. "I just...feel like I should do something for her."

It struck Dick then, that Jason looked woefully young. It was likely that this was Jason's first real relationship. And he had nothing to go on except what he had seen men do to sex workers in East End.

And Bruce...wasn't exactly a model for healthy relationships.

"How about flowers?" Dick suggested gently. "Those are always a classic.

Do you know what kind of flowers she likes?"

A pause.

"No."

"I used to date a girl," Dick began. "Bit of a gardener. She loved roses. She'd snip the ends and put them in water to make them last longer. She loved white roses best of all, because she'd try all sorts of experiments with dyes."

Jason didn't answer, fiddling with the straw of his drink. And when he next spoke, it was in a painfully unsure voice.

"Is that...something I should know?" he asked quietly. "Her favorite flowers?"

Suddenly, Dick hoped–wished–violently that this wasn't Jason's first relationship. That sometime after the Joker and before the Arkham Knight, he carved some semblance of peace for himself. Maybe met a girl or a guy during those few sunlit months in Santa Prisca. Dated. Fooled around. The kind of things that he should have done growing up. The kind of things that Joker stole from him.

"Not necessarily," Dick said, his voice soft. "But it doesn't hurt to pay attention. Girls like that sort of thing. Well, people, really. If she ever mentions something like that, just make sure to take a note."

The nod Jason gave him was oddly solemn, and Dick realized, with heartbreaking clarity, how much his little brother wanted to make this work with you.

"What about chocolates?" Dick suggested again, not wanting to dwell on darker thoughts. "I'm sure we can find a confectionary here somewhere..."

Jason snorted. "Sure. In Bludhaven, the peak of romance."

He grew quiet again, before saying, in hesitant voice: "She likes old movies. There was that one about an urban legend..."

"There you have it," Dick said, trying not to let the relief show in his voice.

"You can have a movie night or something! Hell, you can even go now. Make a surprise out of it–”

But the contemplative expression on Jason's face–the one that made him look so young–suddenly fell away, and what was left now was pure Red Hood.

"Can't," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "We're on a mission."

"For some two-time smuggler? Please, I can solve this case with my eyes closed."

Jason looked at him as if he was insane.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick," Jason said slowly, with gravity. "What do you know about Salazar?"

"Hm?" Dick was still mentally going through the catalogue of nearby confectioneries the two of them could go to. "Some human trafficker...don't worry we got Tim tracking down his victims."

"A sculptor who's selling out entire galleries as a student because her work is so lifelike," Jason said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "A comedian who's always performing to packed crowds because everyone says his jokes make their entire week. A used-car salesman who never misses a sale."

Jason paused, waiting for Dick to put the pieces together.

Dick had never thought of the victims that way, and now that Jason was pointing it out, it all did sound rather strange. The realization came to him with slow dawning horror.

"Jason..." he said. "You think he's trafficking metas?"

Jason sighed, and there was something weary in it. Dick remembered that his little brother hadn't seen you in two weeks.

"You think he might target her," he concluded. "That's why you're working so hard on this case."

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"Does she know?"

"No." Jason's answer was immediate. "It's just...a working theory, anyway. I don't want her scared over a theory."

"It might make her a little more careful if you told her," Dick nudged Jason with his shoulder. "It wouldn't hurt. Plus...well, it's not nice to keep her in the dark, you know?"

Jason looked at him, and for a moment, Dick could see the boy from the manor. The one that used to hang on to his every word as if it was gospel.

He pulled out his phone.

And sent you a quick text.

"Thanks," Jason said quietly. "I'm still...getting used to...all this."

And he gave Dick a small, grateful smile. Just the barest quirk of the corners of his mouth.

But it was there.

Dick smiled back. "You're doing great. Besides, working for two weeks straight on a case to keep your little girlfriend safe? You're a regular romantic. She's going to think you're from one of those old movies she likes."

The smile was gone. The scowl back in place. Jason shoved him, with perhaps more force than he intended to, but Dick rolled with it, laughing.

Maybe getting to know his little brother all over again wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

[slapmeshigaraki]

ICE CREAM CAKE

♡ warnings: fratboy!caleb x cheating fem!reader, drug use, dirty talk, caleb is kind of an asshole, condescension, mild bratting, a little degrading, daddy, pretty mild for me honestly

♡ summary: you and caleb hate each other... so of course you fuck.

It was hot—too hot. Every inch of your skin was sticky with sweat as you desperately tried to focus on your breathing, worried that everyone else could hear how loud your heart was beating in your chest.

“She’s gone, man.” One of the voices spoke out from the couch on the other side of the tiny room that you couldn’t be bothered to try and identify. You gently tapped your foot in time with the song that played softly from someone’s phone —you wanted to ask someone what the name of it was, but every time you tried, you’d lose your train of thought, the cloud of smoke taking over all of your senses.

“Told you she was a lightweight.” This voice, you did recognize, and despite how calm you’d been only a few seconds earlier, your mood was ruined immediately.

“Shut the fuck up, Caleb.” Your tone lacked conviction. It came out as more of a question than an order, making the dark haired boy across the room smile as he inhaled another round of smoke.

“Ouch… you’ve wounded me,” he said, slamming his hand against his chest, biting his bottom lip in a clear attempt not to laugh in your face.

“Be nice, babe. Caleb’s just fucking with you, right?” The man next to you spoke up, languidly rubbing your shoulder as he leaned back into the beanbag the two of you shared in the corner. Caleb held his hands up in surrender,

“You know me—a jokester.” You rolled your eyes, scrunching your nose in annoyance at the sight of him, but he couldn’t have been any more amused as the rest of the guys in the room laughed at his comment, your boyfriend included, much to your irritation.

“Fuck…I’ve gotta’ eat something.” The topic was instantly changed, incessant chatter filling the space about what everyone was in the mood for, but all you could focus on was the pair of eyes watching you through the smoke. There was a glimmer of something in his gaze, a hit of a challenge, like he was daring you to say something, but you didn’t. Instead, your eyes were too busy studying the way his arms looked draped over the back of the sofa, the veins in his biceps evident, hands drawing an imperceptible pattern on the fabric…he was annoying, but god he was so fine.

Apparently more time had passed than you’d initially thought, because your eyes had already moved all the way down to focus on the way Caleb’s legs spread out wide in his seat, toned thighs peaking from beneath a loose pair of basketball shorts, before you’d felt a small peck on your cheek, “Do you want to ride with us?” You shook your head in disgust, the thought of being in a moving vehicle instantly making you feel queasy. The weight was quickly gone from the opposite side of the beanbag, making it tilt a little as your boyfriend stood up along with everyone else in the room. There were only six or seven of you, a bunch of your boyfriend’s fraternity brothers and two girls that you’d never seen before and you’d probably never see again—they all stood, pulling on their jackets and slowly making their way to the door as you snuggled down further into your seat.

“You not coming, Caleb?” One of the short-haired girls shouted out, louder than necessary, but the doe-eyed look on her face suggested that this reveal was rather disappointing to her. You shared a similar sentiment, as you finally realized that Caleb was that only person that hadn’t gotten up, in fact, he looked more comfortable than before, sitting up as he got ready to roll another blunt.

“Nah, motion sickness y’know. Could you bring me a taco or two back though?”

“Oh, sure! Don’t worry about cashapping or anything, I got you.” She squealed, seemingly grateful to have received such a task.

“Aw, that’s my girl, always looking out. Thank you, baby.” You couldn’t help but to contort your face, the sickeningly sweet sound of his voice combined with the way the girl practically skipped out of the room made your stomach turn as she slammed the door behind her. It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone’s engine revving up through the window that you’d thought about it, damn, a taco would’ve been really good right now.

“Don’t sit still too long like that, you’ll get stuck, y’know?” The smirk in his voice was evident even as you stared up at the ceiling, counting the popcorn stars in the paint.

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” He stifled a laugh at your statement, which only annoyed you even more. It was impossible for you to get under Caleb’s skin the way that he did yours. It was effortless almost—ever since the first time your boyfriend invited you over to one of the frat’s parties, Caleb’s attention was on you immediately, his gaze following you through the house all night. The first few times you’d met, he wouldn’t even talk to you, just watching you from across the room, smirking anytime you opened your mouth to speak like he was just itching to say something back. Then, seemingly overnight, he’d gone from ignoring you to incessantly bothering you—he was like a gnat that just wouldn’t quit buzzing around. He’d tease you endlessly, under the guise of you being ‘like a little sister to him,’ but in reality, you couldn’t stand him, and he knew it—he just didn’t care.

“Not really, no. I’ve been told I have a nice voice actually—maybe I should take a poll.” You couldn’t get a witty response out back to him as fast as you’d wanted because unfortunately, he was right. You were stuck—you felt glued to the cushion, slowly sinking into the beanbag chair more and more with every breath. The lack of rebuttal caught Caleb’s attention instantly, knowing you were physically unable to hold back that smart ass mouth of yours.

“Keep talking to me. You’re too high. I told you not to sit still.”

“I hate you.” You just said the first thing on your mind, mouth moving uncontrollably. He let out another laugh.

”Yeah, that works. Pick your head up…you gotta’ move around. Why do you hate me, hm? Keep talking for me, c’mon.”

"You're just so...ughhhh!" You writhed in frustration, sluggishly, your brain unable to focus long enough to form an explanation. This wasn't from your high though, you wouldn't have even been able to explain why you hated Caleb so much even while you were sober.

"Wow, what a profound statement. So, this is the intellect your boyfriend is always praising you for... I see the appeal."

"Don't wanna talk about him," It was quiet, barely above a whisper under your breath, but this caught Caleb's attention. He adjusted in his seat, eyes fixated on you so intensely, you could've sworn his stare was going to burn a hole into your skull.

"Why is that, hm? All he ever wants to talk about is you, after all." He took a pause, that same sinister grin creeping back onto his face as your eyes wandered around the room, looking anywhere but in his direction.

"You wanna know why I think you hate me so much? It's because I. Turn. You. On." Now it was your turn to laugh.

"Caleb... the sound of your voice quite literally makes my clit retract into my body. I promise you... you do nothing for me."

"You don't have to lie, you know? No one else is here. I see the way you look at me... biting your lip, staring at the print of my dick in my sweatpants whenever we're across from each other. When you come over to visit him... do you listen to me fucking girls on the other side of the wall? Do you wish it was you that I was touching like that? Do you wish that I'd whisper nasty things in your ears while you scream and moan and cry like they do?"

"God, I knew you were full of yourself, but this is a new level Caleb. What is it? Did you not get enough attention from mommy growing up, hm? Is that why you're so obsessed with trying to fuck everything on two legs." You weren't stuck anymore, sitting all the way up in your seat, eyes locked on his, chest puffed out, an unusual bass in your voice that made his smile grow so wide he resembled the Cheshire cat.

"You know," he was interrupted by another thick puff of smoke escaping his full lips, "In that entire speech you just gave, not once did you deny it."

"Oh, I'm sorry was that not clear enough for you? Let me say it slowly so you can get it through your head." You stood up, legs trembling at the sudden change of position. The sound of your heels clicking against the wooden floor accentuated every step you made and every word that fell from your mouth as you grew closer and closer to the infuriating man, "You. Don't. Turn. Me. On." It was a lie--a confidently delivered lie, but a lie nonetheless.

"Prove it." Your brows furrowed in confusion, face scrunching up at the odd command.

"How the fuck do you prove something like that?" He leaned forward, the lit blunt still expelling smoke as he held it languidly between two of his fingers. His hand reached out to you, rough palm gripping your exposed thigh just beneath hem of your skirt.

"If I slide my hand up," He inched his fingers closer to your heat, daring to brush against your panties. "You won't be wet, right? Since I don't turn you on." Your bodies were so close to each other's, too close, as you stood between his legs. If the door flung open any second, this position would be impossible to deny from any accusations of something inappropriate occurring, so why weren't you moving away from him? Why weren't you pushing his warm hand off of your leg? Why weren't you cussing him out or slapping him? Why were you soaked through your panties?

Without warning, you felt the pads of his fingertips beneath the fabric, pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the cool air. "Tell me to stop," He said, looking up at you, his eyes low and dark. You should've told him to stop, but you didn't. You felt it again--you were stuck.

His middle finger slid between the folds of your lips with far too much ease... you were unbelievably wet. So wet, that the laugh that Caleb let out upon making the discovery made your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. "Is this what your pussy feels like when your 'clit has retracted into your body?'"

"Fuck you." Your voice was so shaky you had to hang your head in shame, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

"It certainly seems like you want to. What would your boyfriend think if he saw you like this? His perfect girl being such a slut for my fingers..." It didn't take long for him to find your clit, but he wouldn't touch it. His finger just kept missing it ever so slightly... this was your punishment--for making him wait so long to get you like this, you both knew he wasn't going to let you off easily.

"You keep bucking into my hand, baby? What is it, huh? Am I not touching you right?"

"Caleb...please."

"I just don't know want you want. Is that a please stop?" He didn't bother giving you a chance to object before pulling his fingers away, leaving your chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut in agony, but he couldn't have been any more entertained by the sight. He leaned back once again, his hand, now slick with your wetness, slid beneath the waistband of his shorts, wasting no time pulling out exactly what he knew you'd been desperately waiting for. His dick was pretty, just like everything else about him. He was so painfully hard, the tip of his cock dripping precum as you watched it rhythmically disappear into his fist. He never put down the blunt, taking hits every now and again between moans.

"Fuck...you made my dick so hard it hurts. You're so mean. Won't you come kiss it better?" His eyes widened as he saw the quickness with which you fell to your knees. He leaned the head of his cock down towards you. You watched as it throbbed only an inch away from your lips--you were salivating.

"Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and kiss him for me." You did--plush lips pressing against the head of his cock ever so lightly, but it was enough to make him shudder against you.

"Fuck, come here." His free hand gripped the sides of your face, bringing you back to your feet before pulling you into his lap. Another cloud of smoke escaped his lips, blowing directly into your face before he tossed the roach into the ash tray on the coffee table. Your foreheads rested against each other, both slick with sweat, your eyes looking into one another's, both dark with desire.

"Tell me to stop." The familiar words left his lips once again...the first time it was more of a dare, but this time it sounded as though he was actually begging you--pleading with you to be the one to put a stop to things, knowing that he couldn't do so himself.

"Please..." Your cunt ached only inches above his cock, practically dripping onto his lap... you both knew there was no stopping now. "Fuck me, Caleb."

"Shittt... you're so fucking tight." These were the words that left his lips as he slid inside of you, his gaze not leaving your face as he watched your expression change. You stretched open around him, your walls gripping him so tightly he wanted to cum right then and there.

"Mmmmh fuck, you're so--" You couldn't get it out, gripping your bottom lip against your teeth for fear that you'd say something more embarrassing than you already had. Caleb wasn't going to let this slide though as he tightened his hand's gripped onto your thigh just as you were about to grind against him, forcing your hips still.

"I'm so what? Didn't I tell you to keep talking for me? Say it or I'll hold you right here, squirming on my dick until your boyfriend gets back."

"No no no, fuck fine. You're so...big." You couldn't even look away, his palm still forcing your face against his.

"Oh yeah? Sure doesn't seem like you hate me so much now, does it? You like me, don't you, slut? Admit it." Caleb's self control was demonic and you knew that he was petty enough to pull you off of him without cumming, so neither of you could get what you wanted if you didn't do as he said. So you did.

"Yes..."

"I couldn't hear you. What was that, sweet girl?" He gently slid your hips up on his length, eliciting a nasty moan from the back of your throat before slamming his hips back up into you.

"Yes, fuck I like you. Fuck you're so annoying."

"Aw... there it is. You just can't be sweet for long, can you? That's okay, mama. I just need to show you how to be good, hm?" He pressed the softest kiss to the crook of your neck, his hot breath making your core ache even more.

"I think this pussy likes me too...she's sucking on my cock so sweetly. You just need daddy to be nice to this pussy, huh? Is that it? Will that make you be good for me?" His fingers, still soaked from both of your juices, pushed it's way past your lips, resting against your tongue as you stared at him in awe of just how good he felt inside of you. He rocked you back and forth against his lap, fucking you deep and slow...fucking you how you needed, not how he wanted. It turned you on so much the way he looked up at you, pressing little kisses against your skin as he worked himself into you over and over again. You couldn't help but to whine as he picked up the pace, already getting embarrassingly close as he kept whispering filthy words into your ear.

"Shit... you're squeezing me so tight, baby. You're not gonna cum already are you? Maybe I should slow down..."

"No no, please. Don't stop."

"Yeah? Then beg me to let you cum. 'Say please daddy, play with my clit so I can cum all over your cock.'" There was no point in embarrassment anymore...you repeated every word verbatim and it only made him fuck you faster, unable to contain himself any longer. He pulled his finger out of your mouth, wasting not time before rubbing the wetness all over your slick clit, which practically had your tongue hanging out of your mouth by now.

"Fuck that's so embarrassing--begging for cock from someone you can't stand. What a whore...go ahead then. Cum" You were close, so close... but you just couldn't get there yet. Your lips a mere centimeter away from his, your eyes tracing each other's expressions... you've never wanted to kiss anyone so bad--and Caleb could tell.

He spoke up, unable to waste one last chance to tease you. "What is it, baby? Do you want a kiss, hm? You know kissing is really intimate. If your boyfriend wasn't going to leave you for being such a little whore and bouncing on my dick...surely if I kiss you, he'll have no choice but to break up with you. You know I'd--fuckkk--I'd hate to get in the way of a happy home."

"Please...kiss me. I--fuckkk--I need you to kiss me." So he did. It was a kiss so deep and slow and sloppy, his tongue moving against yours just right, the taste of the weed still on both of your lips as you kept grinding into one another.

"Fuck, please. I think I-I'm gonna cum, daddy." You said, lips still against his, hands tangled in his hair as your walls quivered around his length.

"Yeah? That's okay... you've been so good for me. You can cum, pretty girl. Let go for me. Give me that sweet good girl cream...I've earned it, haven't I?" That was all it took. You came so hard, tears streamed from your eyes, your body trembled against Caleb's chest. As he felt your insides squeeze against him, Caleb had no choice but to do the same, his dick swelling inside of you. He came deep inside of you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, holding you against him.

"Oh my god..." As you quivered in his arms, Caleb's fingertips slowly rubbed against your spine, drawing small little circles against your skin.

"Shhhh... you're okay, sweet girl. I've got you. Breathe for me."

"I've never cum that hard in my life. Either you're that good at fucking or whatever you had me smoking came off of the black market." A light chuckle left his lips, it was soft and comforting like music against the shell of your ear.

"Probably a little bit of both. It's my first time trying it too, bought it off a guy in my chem class--shit was not cheap."

"Mmh... you'll have to put me in touch. Did he say what strand it was?"

"Some dumb shit--pretty sure he called it ice cream cake."

♡ a/n: okay, i suppose an explanation for my disappearance is in order. a lot has been going on with me, the biggest thing being burnout. i graduated from college last week and the last few months of the semester were absolute hell. also i had been writing a lot on here, so i just had creative-exhaustion, for lack of a better term. not to mention, i basically stopped playing l&ds. i find the game super draining lately and as an unemployed recent college grad... i don't have the disposable income that is required to make the game enjoyable at the moment. however,, i still love the characters and writing for them,, so i don't want to quit altogether. anywayyy sorry for the ramblings and thank you for all of the sweet messages while i was gone,, this one is a little longer, so hopefully it makes up for my absence. as always, have a good day, pretties <3

[neonbonded]

Oops! All edging

♡ ft. love and deepspace men x fem!reader ♡ cw: edging, mouth covering, overstimulation, crying, possessiveness, 18+ ♡ a/n: five different flavors of filth, one shared goal — break you slowly and make you love every second. if anyone knows the source of the pic I used, please dm me so I can credit! it’s been sitting in my phone for years now 🥺

Xavier — Quiet hands, loud need

It starts slow. It always does with him. Soft kisses. Patient fingers. A murmured “lie back for me, sweetheart” in that low, tired voice like he has all the time in the world.

You try to stay still. You do. But his fingers stroke deep and slow—two, then three—and your hips lift off the mattress like they’ve got a mind of their own.

“Xav—” “Don’t talk.” “But I—”

He cuts you off with his palm. Gentle but firm. Hand over your mouth, thumb dragging over your cheek as his pace slows even more.

“Too loud,” he murmurs. “What if someone hears you like this? All soaked and begging for it?”

You whimper. Your walls flutter. You clench around nothing when he pulls his fingers out again.

He does it four times.

Four times he brings you to the edge of orgasm and then stops—pulling away, watching your lip tremble under his hand.

“You’re so close,” he breathes, kissing your temple. “But I want you to feel it mean something.”

Your eyes fill with tears. Not sad ones. Desperate ones.

“One more,” he says. “Give me one more cry and I’ll let you fall apart.”

And when you do?

He slides inside you so slow, so deep, your back arches off the bed. His hand stays over your mouth. Your scream gets swallowed.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Take it. Just like that.”

Zayne — The doctor will see you now

You were the one who started it. Straddling him while he worked, rocking your hips against his thigh like a brat, whispering “you’re always so calm, doctor. don’t you want to ruin me?”

He lets it go. For a minute.

And then?

He grabs your waist, flips you onto the exam table, and slides your panties down with slow, surgical precision.

“You want ruined?” he says, expression unreadable behind those glasses. “You’ll wait for it.���

And you do. For so long.

His fingers are relentless—pressing into you slow and deep, curling with clinical focus, rubbing your clit just enough to make your breath catch—only to stop when your legs start to shake.

“Too soon,” he mutters, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You cry so easily. So messy already.”

You sob. His hand moves up. Covers your mouth.

“No one wants to hear how needy you are,” he says, voice low. “Be good. Be quiet. You wanted this.”

He holds you there—pinned and pulsing, trembling on the edge again and again, his palm muffling every whine and gasp as your body begs to come.

You nod frantically. Tears spill down your temples.

“That’s better,” he whispers, finally pressing his fingers just right, just fast enough. “Now stay quiet while I let you fall apart.”

And when you do? When you scream against his hand, hips stuttering, whole body arching off the table?

He finally groans.

“That’s my girl.”

Rafayel — Cutie, you’re gonna cry for me

“You’re being dramatic,” you snap, panting, legs trembling.

“You’re being loud,” he purrs.

Rafayel’s got you on your back in his studio chair, legs thrown over the armrests, shirt bunched under your arms, face flushed from the third time he’s pulled his fingers away just as you were about to fall.

“Just admit it,” he says, painting lazy circles around your clit. “You love when I tease you like this.”

You glare. He leans in. Grins.

“You gonna cry about it?”

You open your mouth to argue—he covers it immediately, palm pressed over your lips, thumb brushing your cheekbone like he’s drawing you in charcoal.

“No, no, cutie. You don’t get to be loud when you’ve been so bad.”

His fingers thrust back in—deep, slow, curved just right. Your scream gets muffled against his hand. He moans.

“That’s it. That’s the sound I wanted,” he groans. “You’re such a mess for me.”

You squirm. Your hips twitch. You’re begging behind his hand.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he whispers against your neck. “Then let me hear that gorgeous cry one more time. Just for me.”

You do. You break like wet paint, sobbing into his hand as your orgasm finally slams through you—shaking, twitching, ruined.

He kisses your forehead like you didn’t just scream his name into his palm like a prayer.

“You’re my favorite masterpiece.”

Sylus — You were warned to stay quiet

“Keep your voice down.”

That was your only warning.

But now? Your back’s arched off the bed, thighs trembling around his hips, and you’re moaning loud enough for the entire Onychinus compound to hear.

Sylus tuts above you, voice low and dangerous.

“Didn’t I say be quiet?”

You open your mouth to answer—his hand clamps over it.

Not gentle. Not sweet.

Firm. Inevitable. His.

“No,” he growls. “You don’t get to talk. Not after you’ve been whining like a needy little brat every time I pull away.”

Because he has. Again and again. Thrusting deep just until your eyes roll back—then stopping. Fingering you slow, soft, cruelly perfect—and then pulling away when your whole body tightens.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, palm muffling your gasps as his fingers return—slow and steady, curling inside you, thumb working your clit like a weapon. “Getting edged like a toy. Crying for it.”

You sob into his hand.

He grins. Leans down to whisper against your ear.

“You’re going to cum when I say so. Not before. Not after. And you’re gonna take it like the filthy little thing you are.”

You nod, frantic.

“Good girl.”

And when he finally lets you go? Lets you come with his hand still over your mouth, your scream breaking behind it— He doesn’t stop.

He just keeps going.

“I warned you,” he pants. “Now you get all of me.”

And you do. Again. And again. And again—until you’re boneless, wet, ruined, and trembling in his arms while he kisses the tears off your cheeks like they belong to him.

Caleb — You sound too good and it’s making him crazy

He didn’t mean for it to go this far. It started slow. Sweet. His hands on your thighs, his voice soft, coaxing you open under him.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmured, kissing your knee. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh?”

You were. And now you’re loud. Arching off the bed. Whining. Begging.

“Caleb—please—Caleb—”

And that’s when he loses it.

“Baby,” he groans, voice tight. “You’re too loud.”

He covers your mouth with his hand—not to tease. Not to shame. But because if you keep saying his name like that, he’s going to break.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck. “You’re driving me crazy.”

And then he starts edging you.

Not on purpose. At first.

He thrusts slow. Deep. Pulls back when you tremble. Stalls when your breath catches.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I need you to hold it. For me. Just a little longer.”

But it happens again. And again. He keeps pausing. Letting you almost tip over the edge, only to slow it back down, kiss your neck, murmur sweet things with a voice so soft it makes your heart ache.

You cry against his palm. Tears spill.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” he says, panic flaring in his eyes. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here.”

You whimper again. Try to speak.

“What? You wanna cum that bad?”

You nod, frantic.

He exhales like he’s the one falling apart.

“You sound so pretty like this,” he breathes. “All ruined. All mine.”

And then he moves—harder, faster, still covering your mouth as you sob against his hand, your body coiling so tight it hurts.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Come and show me you’re mine.”

And when you do—shaking, gasping, soaked and messy and clinging to him like you’ll drown—he kisses your cheek.

Then your jaw. Then your chest. Then your hands.

Still inside you. Still holding you close.

“You don’t ever have to be quiet with me,” he murmurs. “Just don’t ever stop saying my name.”

[irritatedlemon]

It's complete

this is the first version

and then here's the second

I couldn't decide which one is better so I'm showing both of them. The second one is technically incomplete but I've been looking at Tsumugi for too long. I'm done.

In the background of the second image from top to bottom it is: Shuichi -> Kaito -> Angie -> Kaede Himiko -> (i didnt draw anyone) -> Kiibo (you can't see him) (tbf i didnt draw him but he's there in spirit) Maki -> Gonta -> Miu -> Rantaro

I didnt have any particular reason for choosing these characters in this order i just felt like putting them there :p

Also also in total this took about 1 hour and 50 minutes (we don't talk about how i started this in January. And then finished it in May.)

The reason the shading on Kokichi is so different from the shading on Tsumugi is because i rendered her in January and him now in May :')

[nionom-art]

Hello!

I have started the second chapter, still pretty good! 😁 However, I got a bit confused on the classmates, so I have a few questions ...

Marinette seems to like Alya, but what is her reason to trusts Lila to an extent to give her the Cat Miraculous 🐈‍⬛? I mean, she seems as the lesser choice, but still.considers it, why?

It might be adressed, so than, sorry, but Adrien clearly arrives one day later than school starts... Why? (I would have assumed the akumatization, but just 10 min. after his arrival, comes the supervillain...)

How did he conviced Gabriel?Since the late, I would have assumed he wasn't sure to let Adrien go... In cannon he escaped, but here with Messaging Chloé seems intentional. Did he just escaped, but was captured -therefor wasn't the one helping Fu- and his escape convonced Gabe he should go to school, otherwhise, he will escape to it?

How did Lila know Adrien? Or did she just saw him over Chloé's shoulder?😅 (I assume on first day, Chlo did spoke about him... A lot...😅, so thrir friendship is not a secret😅)

From the quartet, I missed Nino (not a problem, these 4 makes sence, I just like him) which made me realised, Nino, Nathaniel and Rose are missing, or at least I gid not saw them... Is it intentional, or just did not put them there, and will appear in the class, they were just not in view?

Not classroom question, but is this true, or a bit of exateration? (In cannon, Scarlet fate🐞 and Dark Grimalkin🐈‍⬛ have fought, at least) If not, how come Tikki even knows about she can purifie the akuma?

That’s a lot of questions- let’s break it down

1. Marinette just made friends with both Alya and Lila in episode 1. She trusts them about equally because she doesn’t know either of them very well yet. Alya is her first pick though because Alya clearly loves super heroes and would probably be a good match.

2. & 3. So with Adrien, pretty much exactly what happens in canon happens here with his arrival (minus him helping/meeting Master Fu). He would try to go to school in Episode 1, be stopped by Nathalie, and ignores Chloe’s texts because he’s upset and being scolded by his dad (doesn’t want to talk about it). He sneaks out and goes to school anyway in episode 2. We’ll get a brief direct rundown of this in the comic in a later update.

4. Chloe bragged to Lila and Marinette in episode 1 about knowing Adrien and how he was going to be in their class. Lila just put two and two together and lied to get Chloe out of the way in that scene (I go into a bit more depth explaining Lila’s emotional state during that scene here)

5. All of those characters will still be in the class, I just didn’t feel like drawing more people than was necessary in the Ivan scenes (so I drew the people with lines + Max).

6. I could have sworn Tikki said something like that in canon. If not, eh, call it a plot hole I guess. I don’t think Tikki would count Dark Grimalkin as a real enemy in the first place, but idk- she’s technically fought him, but kinda not too? Maybe she knows about the purification from the grimoire or Fu. Purifying akumas seems like a pretty specific power ngl, and probably wouldn’t apply to fighting Dark Grimalkin anyway (I wouldn’t really know though, I haven’t watched most of season 5).

Edit: okay, so I re-watched the appropriate scene from that episode. Tikki doesn’t mention if she’s fought against the butterfly holder before or not, so for all we know in canon she has. This is what happens when I play telephone with myself instead of copying down the actual lines from the show (my apologies lol).

[ririright]

The “Hayden on Ice” Series:

“Coach Hayden vs. The Tiny Terror League”

Husband! Hayden x Wife Reader

1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

One whistle. Zero sanity.

Saturday Morning – 8:45 a.m.

The rec center rink was chaos.

Half the kids were upside-down in their gear. One had already lost a skate. Someone was eating snow.

And in the middle of it all stood Hayden. Clipboard in hand. Leafs jacket zipped to the chin. Whistle already in his mouth.

You stood on the bleachers, sipping coffee and watching him try to give a pep talk to seven tiny hockey players with the attention span of goldfish.

“Okay team! Today’s game plan is: have fun, try to skate in the right direction, and—uh—y’know—believe in yourself, yeah?”

A kid raised their hand. “Coach, can I fight someone?”

Hayden blinked. “Uh—let’s maybe save that for junior league, buddy.”

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

9:02 a.m. – The Game Begins

Team names were drawn from a hat.

Hayden’s team: The Frosty Pucks.

The opposing team: The Ice Bananas. (They did, in fact, have banana stickers on their helmets.)

Referee: A 17-year-old with AirPods in and the haunting look of someone who just wanted volunteer hours.

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First Shift

Barron fell three times before reaching the puck, then got tangled with another kid and somehow accidentally scored in the wrong net.

Hayden shouted, “That’s okay! Good hustle! Just… wrong direction, champ!”

One kid sat down mid-play and made snow angels in the ice.

Another tried to use their stick as a horse.

Hayden blew the whistle. “REGROUP, GUYS! STRATEGY HUDDLE!”

They skated directly past him and started chasing each other in a circle.

You snorted into your coffee.

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Second Shift

One of the Frosty Pucks stopped to hand Hayden a crumpled drawing mid-game.

“It’s you. As a robot.”

Hayden stared at the stick-figure sketch. “This… this is incredible.”

“Coach, I peed,” said another, skating over.

“…Okay! Time-out!”

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Mid-Game Interview (That You Absolutely Filmed)

You pointed your phone at Hayden from the stands.

“How’s the game going, Coach?”

He looked directly into the camera, eyes hollow.

“I’ve aged ten years. I gave them positions, and they made a conga line. The goalie’s doing pirouettes.”

A whistle screeched in the background. A child shouted, “VIVA LAS BANANAS!”

Hayden sighed. “I don’t think I’m winning the Jack Adams this year.”

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Final Minutes

The game was tied 1-1, entirely by accident.

Hayden dropped to one knee beside Barron. “Okay, buddy. This is it. One shot. You got this.”

Barron nodded seriously. “Can I hit the banana kid?”

“…No. Just the puck.”

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Final Play

Barron skated. Tripped. The puck somehow ricocheted off his helmet and slid straight into the net.

Hayden went feral on the bench. Arms in the air, Leafs hat flying. “GOOOOOOOAL! THAT’S MY BOY!!”

The Ice Bananas coach clapped politely. A toddler nearby cried because “the puck didn’t say goodbye.”

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Post-Game Locker Room

Hayden handed out orange slices and congratulated every single kid with the seriousness of an NHL postgame speech.

“You all played with heart, grit, and confusion. That’s what hockey’s all about.”

Barron tugged on his jacket. “Daddy, can we get ice cream?”

Hayden nodded. “You scored the winning goal with your face. You get two scoops.”

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Later That Night

You and Hayden curled up on the couch. He was still wearing his “COACH” badge sticker.

“I don’t know how actual coaches do it,” he said. “My team tried to eat their mouthguards.”

You kissed his cheek. “Still the best coach I’ve ever seen.”

He smiled. “Thanks, babe. Next week we’re working on stickhandling. And maybe, y’know… basic physics.”

[llama-bird]

Okay I dont wanna spam my blog so this will be a big thoughts dump on today's Among Us stream that I'm watching from Impulse perspective

- "Skizz is laughing" said by 4 people followed by an aggressive "HA HA HA" by Skizz is so funny

- Impulse: "You're not gonna kill me?" - Grian: "You're the first person I've seen dude." - Impulse: "Weren't you hanging out with Scar?" - Okay jealous much?

- I love Grian with the frog hat I will note this for fanart because it's just so cute.

- HE ALSO HAS A CAT TAIL I REPEAT GRIAN HAS A CAT TAIL CAT BOY GRIAN ARE WE LISTENING he paid for these btw they are pay only

- I'm sad there's no wing customization option

- "You can kill me now" Oh Skizz buddy

- Scar is petty today and thats just so funny "I want you all to lose for accusing me" certainly is a statement

- "Scar lobbied so hard for those two votes." - "One of them was mine Impulse." - "Oh."

- that was about 20 seconds of pure chaos with everyone yelling lmao

- I adore Gem and Tango's friendship

- I wanna draw Etho with that cool hat and a green fur-collared jacket

- I ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED ON THE HEADPHONES WDYM I CAN ADD MUSIC TO MY TUMBLR POST

- anyway listening to Impulse talk about how everyone just throws him under the bus. I need that Impulse insanity arc please.

- Impulse is Imposter now so this will be interesting.

- "Impulse always sounds sus" - "Its JUST THE WAY I TALK. LET IT GO." he says while hes the imposter

- are Grian and Scar running around as a duo again?

- "You got it first try?" kills him casually Impulse I love you

- "you roundhouse kicked me and it was a boss move" please someone animate Impulse roundhouse kicking Skizz

- Skizz: "Wanna hang out?" - Pearl, disgusted: "No"

- Grian getting spooked and yelling "Skizz??" was the cutest

- Imposter Impulse is my favourite thing

- "Your honor, I just don't vibe with him so lets kill'em" Gem as a lawyer, probably

- its always either Impulse or Pearl

[localplaguenurse]

Hey Chex. You should tell me about Jason lore >:]

(I yearn to unleash the beast)

TAKE TWO ON DESKTOP BECAUSE MOBILE IS A BITCH (I switched to the music app for TWO SECONDS to change the music and lost an hour of progress)

Before we get into this again I am giving you three warnings and only one of them is actually important

I am running on four hours of sleep

The last time I did a Jason infodump, I was messaging @crimson-ashes and it was three hours long, and it wasn't even Jason's backstory. It was purely how he met his husband.

The actually important one, trigger warning: talks/mentions of homophobia, religion, self harm and suicide, addiction and overdoses, toxic relationships and abuse (physical, mental and sexual). I do not go into detail but they do get mentioned and they are a prevalent part of his backstory. The religion and SA are NOT related.

Everything is going under the read more. Let's see how long this gets.

So this is Jason Brodeur, originally Jason Myers. He's 5'11", has bluish green eyes, and was a blond, but has been dyeing his hair white since he was 25. All the men on his mom's side of the family go grey before 30 and he started sprouting white hair back when he was around 16-17. He's 28 now, his birthday is July 27th. He's a florist and former metal singer, husband to Olivier Brodeur (oc of @wretchedshade and the actual reason I brainrot over a certain banker), and father to a little girl named Alice. Today is actually her official birthday :D

(I don't draw him enough so most of my references are old art and picrews)

So Jason came from a Christian household and was the only child to his parents Beatrice and Matthew. Both of them are religious, but while Beatrice is the more loving/accepting side of Christianity, Matthew is your average bigot with a temper. He thinks homosexuality is an affront to god, trans people are abominations and perverts, and men should act like men and women act like women. Jason realized early on that he liked boys and wasn't particularly masculine growing up, so you can imagine what living with a father like that would have been for him.

This caused Jason to spiral into a depression and as a teen, he turned to drinking, smoking, and self harm to deal with these feelings. He also inherited his father's temper, so he'd often get into fights at school and would have these explosive arguments with his dad over everything. It all culminated in Jason running away to start his band Radium Hearts with his friends at 18.

When he was touring, his addictions and mental health kept spiraling out. He got hooked on harder stuff, mainly cocaine, and he would often hook up with fans and strangers. This led him to meet his girlfriend Paisley, who would use his addictions and mental illness against him. She'd bait him with drugs to get him to do whatever she wanted, or she would get him so drunk and high he literally couldn't fight her off. This abuse ended when she smashed a glass into his face the one time he stood up for himself, and she was arrested. He wouldn't open up about how bad it actually was for years as he was so ashamed he "let her" hurt him. She's smaller than him, he should have fought her off.

Shortly after this he would overdose on stage. It was the last time his band ever performed before they put Jason into rehab. He was 21. By the time he turned 23, he was finally sober after seven relapses. His friends opened a flower shop called Everyday Persephone and hired him on.

Little did Jason know that the tattoo parlour just across the street was run by Oli, a French transman and beloved member of the community, and his future husband. Oli has his own fucking traumatic backstory, but this is already getting long. To best describe their dynamic, they're both two broken men who don't think they're truly worthy of love, but they love each other so much and think the other person deserves the world, so they get better to love each other more. Now they have a three year old who is the light of their life, so now she is why they want to get better and stay better.

(Art by Shade and one of my favourite drawings of them uwu)

Shade and I have had these ocs for almost 6 years now. Not only is there literally too much lore to get into in the canon, but we have, I am not kidding, at least 58 aus for them. I have been keeping track of them on a note in my phone for the entire time we've had them. This is JUST the BAREST BONES of Jason's lore. I haven't even touched on Oli's ex Dima, or Jason and Oli's break up then make up arc (or "the fucking off" as we have dubbed the incident), just so. SO MUCH.

Also, while looking through old messages I actually found this ask from Ivy where I gave the even shorter and more sanitized version of Jason's lore. There's been no changes to the lore since writing this, this post is just the more in depth version of that post because I'm more comfortable talking about the darker parts of their lore.

Quick lightning round of fun facts that I feel are important

Jason's favourite band is TOOL

His favourite food/dessert is his mom's sourdough cinnamon buns

He has a three legged black cat named Brick

His husband rejected the transmasc stereotype of being short and is 6'1", which puts Jason at forehead smooching height, something Oli would take advantage of constantly

He's bisexual and nonbinary, he goes by he/they but I keep forgetting and the four hours of sleep does not help

He likes frogs

I can and will answer further questions, idk if Shade has her inbox open for oc questions but I can also answer questions about Oli because I'm the one who keeps track of the lore. Uber instincts of uber autism.

[my-castles-crumbling]

How do you feel about people offering commissions (but like, for money)?

Because I see a lot of people doing it, but I also read that it can be difficult legally because fanfic (and using the characters and such) is only fine because people don't make money off it.

So I thought I'd get a second opinion.

I'm not a lawyer, but I'm guessing that fandom in general is more chill about people charging commission for fanart because it's not all housed in one place- if fanfic writers charged commission for fics, writers of canon could all get together and take down ao3. But fanart is more widespread? Also like....people draw 'regulus' but....that's a person's depiction of him? I'm guessing? Honestly, I've never questioned it. I've paid people for commissions before, but they're usually people I already have talked to/gotten to know in fandom. And I just think that art takes so much talent that I'm like 'Yes, take my money!' ALSO maybe it's not frowned upon because like...the original canon is writing, so you shouldn't get money for writing, but the original canon isn't art, so it's okay to make art? I have NO idea about copyright laws TBH.

Yeah I've never really had an issue with it...

I don't know, what do you all think?

[betty-fran]

#my fanfiction recommendation column

ten degrees below zero by kianspo

james t. kirk / s'chn t'gai spock

This is, without a doubt, one of the best fanfictions I've read in general, especially in Star Trek, especially in K/S (it's second on my personal list and I don't think it'll be replaced anytime soon). And while kianspo is best known for her portrayal of Spock (especially in Don't Stop Believing, which I plan to reread one day and also write about), I love her for her Jim. This is honestly one of the best reads of his character overall, and somehow she manages to keep him somewhere in the middle between his representations in AOS and TOS. In general, this balancing act between the original series and the reboot is inherent in all of her works; the way she reads K/S in their unwavering absoluteness, their constant magnitude, makes her work so... fundamental, and so clear, I think.

For me, this story is special in a strange, imperceptible way. And I find it particularly comfortable in its chamberliness, in this small, closed, cold space, over which unstoppable change looms. And they wear parkas here, and it's somehow incredibly cozy. This is an exceptional AU with a beautifully constructed world that both repels and draws you in; the way the characters behave in it is an organic continuation of the environment in which they find themselves.

As always, a few (almost non-spoiler) quotes, because it's beautifully written, really beautifully, and you need to read it:

“What are you doing here, Lieutenant Spock?” he asks quietly, as if voicing his inner thoughts rather than expecting an answer. “Someone like you should be anywhere but here.” Spock puts his fork down, takes a sip of sharib. “My mother is fond of saying that, at any given time, we are where we are needed the most, and where we most need to be.”

“I have learned early on, however, that violence ultimately solves nothing, even if one is victorious.” “Really.” Kirk’s voice is saturated with intense curiosity. “So, how early on are we talking about?” Spock considers this. “I was six.”

“You are a singularly frustrating individual,” he informs Kirk. Kirk snorts. “We’re a match, then.”

He doesn’t have to look to know Kirk is grinning. “Then someone reminded me I had a duty to the people in my charge, and being righteously pissed at the way the universe is run has never gotten anyone anywhere. A pretty obnoxious someone, I might add, but—I don’t know, I seem to be into it.” Spock suppresses a smile.

“Spock, you’re the kind of officer I thought had died out with my father’s generation. If I had a starship under my command, I would stop at nothing—listen to me carefully, nothing—I would bribe, blackmail, seduce, threaten, beg—hell, I’d probably cut off my right arm to have you serving with me.” A sharp wave of heat washes over Spock at the words, the charge of absolute truth, of intent so thick it’s almost tangible against his skin.

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or kill you, but it’s…” Spock feels his eyebrow arch. “Neither would… slow my heart rate.” Kirk snorts, more laughter torn out of him, helpless and real and— Beautiful. Spock doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he remembers smiling.

Falling in love is a misnomer. It’s not a singular event; it’s an infinite process that starts once and never really stops. Well, for some people, perhaps, but not for Spock. He will never again stand on solid ground, assured of every step.