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构图有参考

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thank uuuuuuuuuuu

for a friend.

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Happy Birthday to Carter Hall🎂

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pegging

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这篇文的配图

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57763333

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12 for Etrigan/Jason!!!!!!💓💓💓💓🥰🥰I love your writing!!!!!!

I'm glad you enjoy it!

I wrote a fill for 12 already, but I did have another idea so I hope you enjoy this one too. I had fun writing it. =)

First fill for 12 here.

Number 12 from this prompt list. Other prompt fills tagged with Soft Prompt Fics, or here.

12. “You could say I’m fond of you.” - Etrigan/Jason II

It happens a handful of times throughout the week. Warmth blooming against his stomach, on the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades. Brief, without any kind of pressure or proof, always lingering just long enough to be noticed. Jason pays it very little attention at first. Certain that he’d imagined it.

Frustration and anxiety buzz under his skin while he sits curled into his reading chair. The problem is long resolved even if the after effects of it linger. There’s warmth at the back of his neck again. The ghost of a heavy hand, resting under the soft collar of his sweater. A light prickling sensation curls under his hair, and Jason breathes out hard. The anxiety doesn’t vanish, the frustration still burns, but he can focus on something beyond them. Something grounding for all its insubstantial illusion.

It doesn’t fade like the other instances. Those other fleeting sensations he’d brushed off as completely imaginary at times. And it’s unmistakable. The breadth of that touch, the feel of claws that exist nowhere but in his mind. It can’t be anything but his demon.

Etrigan who is aloof and silent in his mind.

Jason curls a little tighter into himself. Gripping his own arms, pulling his knees up into his chest. Socked feet digging into the cushion as he presses his heels down. Forcing himself as tight to the back of the chair as he can manage. That warm weight flexes against the nape of his neck. Claws scratch against his scalp and he doesn’t want to admit that it’s soothing. A gentle prickling sensation that can’t ruffle his hair, but it still feels real.

Just as real as the hand against his belly had been when he was cold and exhausted. As real as any other thing he’d ignored. He can’t ignore it here in the safety of home. No, he could, he had ignored more than that before. He just doesn’t want to.

The soothing sensation shifts, passing up the back of his head and lightly scraping back down. Settling again against his neck. Fingers curled against the join of his shoulder, spanning over a clavicle, thumb resting firmly along the back of his neck. The focus of it grounds enough for the anxiety to bleed away somewhat.

“Why do you do that.” Jason mumbles against his knees. Not how are you managing it, not stop or don’t or any other of the dozens of denials or complaints. Just why.

Etrigan rumbles in the back of his mind. Almost dismissive. That thumb strokes against his skin and Jason waits.

Another sound vibrates against his skin. A grunt that is dismissive. As though Jason was foolish to ask at all. But that comforting weight stays, warm thumb stroking more gently than Jason had ever considered the demon could be.

‘Are you so dense it must be said? I had thought my intent was easily read.’

Jason hums aloud, grip slackening around his own arms. Still tense, pressing himself tightly into the soft upholstery. As though that could shield his back from lingering emotion anymore than it could hide him from Etrigan.

The demon growls low in his head, the sensation flickers, stuttering like a bad connection, before it settles again with a bit more weight.

‘You ask me why, is it truly not clear?’

Jason frowns at his knees. Pushes curiosity back at the demon in his head. He suspects, deep down he’s sure he knows, but he wants to hear it. Needs that little assurance just once, but he won’t ask for it. Can’t ask. For fear he’ll get exactly what he wants and know it isn’t true.

‘Because I’m fond of you, Jason dear.’

“Are you.” Jason mumbles.

‘You know I do not lie, not when our bond I fought to keep, this truth you do not deny, why now does doubt creep?’

“Could you…Just keep doing that? For a little while longer?”

Etrigan doesn’t answer, but the heavy hand at his neck flexes again. Resuming gentle stroking against the back of his neck. A familiar rumble against his jaw. Jason doesn’t put his feet down, but the tension unspools little by little. Those contrary, awful thoughts that Etrigan has no part in slowly diffuse. Bleeding away with the anxiety.

“You know,” Jason says, “I’m fond of you too.”

Jason finally lets his feet down, padding slowly through the dark of the house. With a warm hand heavy on his shoulder, and another band of heat firm around his waist.

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My old arts PART 2 LEEEET`S GOOOOO

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36 for Etrigan and Jason!!!!<333

Number 36 from this prompt list.

This one was really fun to write, thank you for the prompt!

Nsfw addition to the soft prompts list.

36. giggling during sex

There had been some consideration earlier about a chair, but nothing Jason owned would hold up to Etrigan’s weight for long. Certainly not long enough to enjoy themselves. Etrigan seems perfectly happy to lounge on the floor. Rumbling lazy, praising lyrics while Jason sets the pace.

Stroking along scaled thighs and appreciating the difference of musculature. Jason hums and presses the palm of his hand firmly against the base of Etrigan’s cock. He knows it’s just a matter of time before Etrigan’s patience with this runs out, but he enjoys it while he can. His own patience for it isn’t limitless either.

Jason moves slowly, climbing up to straddle Etrigan’s waist instead of his hips, fingers still tracing along seldom seen scars and golden skin. Fascination that he can’t seem to be truly rid of keeps his attention. Heat and a rumbling purr under his hands, large, clawed fingers curling loosely against his thighs.

‘Sweet as your appreciation is Jason,’ Etrigan’s tone is low, uninterrupted by that deep rumbling sound still vibrating in his chest. ‘Could it wait until after we’ve had out fun?’

Jason’s gaze flicks from the curious gilt-seam scars under his fingers, to the possessive claws flexing at his thighs, and up to Etrigan’s taunting smile. It could wait, he supposes, but…

Jason leans forward on his hands, resting the length of his body against Etrigan’s torso. Crossing his arms under his chin to look at the lounging demon. Squeezing with his thighs just a little, rocking his hips forward into unyielding muscle. He can’t help but chuckle at the way Etrigan’s nostrils flare.

The demon’s eyes flash and those dangerous claws curls firmly around Jason’s thighs. An anchor that keeps him from sliding as Etrigan sits up.

‘You play a dangerous game. Little man, you’re not so tame.’

“If I were, you wouldn’t have any interest, and I’d never agree to any of this.” Jason says, dropping his arms to better balance in the demon’s grip.

‘You’d not be half as enticing, it’s true, if e’ry whim was mine, no challenge due.’

Etrigan grins at him and let’s Jason slip down a little. Slotting their hips together as much as their position and differing sizes will allow. Holding Jason firmly against himself with one large hand on the human’s backside.

Jason makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat. Rocking with the slow rhythm Etrigan adopts. Tilts his heads to one side when the demon leans down to purr in his ear. Jason flinches and squirms when a rough tongue drags against his neck. Slow and ticklish.

“Eti wha-“ Jason chokes on his words, question cutting off in a fit of laughter as the demon picks out those ticklish places against his neck. A strong arm around his back keeps him close while Etrigan chuckles and makes him squirm with ticklish laughter.

Etrigan keeps rocking against him while he squirms, breathing hot against sensitive skin. Delighting in how the man squirms and giggles. How he can feel Jason tensing in his arms.

Jason claws at the demon’s shoulders. Blunt human nails doing little against the tough hide. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes, and that ticklish sensation finally stops. Replaced by hot breath at his ear and filthy lyrics as heat flares against him. Pulling Jason over the edge he hadn’t thought he was so near to.

“You.” Jason says breathlessly. “Are a bastard.” Another soft laugh as Etrigan draws the backs of his claws up Jason’s side.

‘Were I not, you’d not fancy me. We’re finely matched, aren’t we?” Etrigan trails his hands up Jason’s sides again.

Jason squirms under rough fingertips. They are well matched, and he’s admitted it more than once. He suspects Etrigan just likes saying it, or hearing Jason agree. He can’t decide which it is. Perhaps both.

“I suppose so.” Jason says. Enjoying the softer expression that doesn’t quite manage to be smug.

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Happy Women's Day

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亲一下

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给大家整个活

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That late 1960's piece I've been working on. Jason's a bit restless toward the end of the decade, trying to decide what to do with himself.

At the End of a Decade

He’d hoped it could be mitigated a little more than this. That restless energy that precedes a shift in his life, whether dragged across the map by Merlin’s will or that strange inclination that had taken hold to keep him from settling indefinitely. He once blamed it on the demon. On Etrigan’s own restlessness rattling his bones and boiling in his veins. It isn’t just the demon, more often than not for the last four or five centuries it’s been all him. Just Jason rankling at the stagnation of being an unmoving piece of a changing world. Accumulating knowledge and little pieces of history, no different than a gargoyle gathering moss.

He had hoped he could stifle it. Wear it out for a little longer with activity, with research and organization, bury it with whatever substance would keep him calm. It’s never worked indefinitely. No matter what or how much poison he took into himself to quiet the buzzing.

Books are rearranged on their shelves. Dusted, lightly aired out, checked over for anything that would survive the ever-present miasma of his home. They’ll smell of sandalwood more than anything, as much of his house does now. Candle wax is carefully cleared from drip trays, old pools from the mantelpiece, and the odd spatter here and there on the floor or on tables.

Jason sighs and closes up the windows. Having had more than enough of the late spring breeze that’s cleared out the stale air. He’s long since run out of things to organize or dust. Run out of active distractions unless he wants to leave the house, and that just doesn’t have much of an appeal. Maybe later, when he’s in a better mood.

He stands facing the minutiae of his library. Hundreds of books spanning his topics of work, from the historical to the occult, all familiar and well-tended. Jason breathes forcefully out through his nose. Hands flexing idly at his sides for want of a task. Any task. They don’t shake at least, but Jason holds them out in front of himself to check anyway. Looking over the calluses and shadowed creases as he turns them in the low light, they don’t shake.

It is a practiced thing, if not an easy one, to turn on his heel and surrender to a lack of activity. Idle, restless fingers tug his hair free from its tie. Tumbling in loose, messy waves that smell a bit too much like dust and sweat from the day. A simple fix, soothed under hot water and shampoo, and his mind is a blank through it.

That restless buzz hasn’t gone down the drain with the dust and the sweat. He hadn’t expected it would, but that little hope had been there just the same. It still hums along in his head, itching under the soft robe, and he knows it will only get worse over time. Until he’s driven out again.

Jason reclines in the low light behind heavy curtains. A decanter of something sweet and ruby red at his side, sweet and tart fruit set aside. The fortified wine doesn’t hold much interest. Brought out by habit more than any desire for it. It helps. Soothes that thing that makes him want to move and change. The soft strains of the radio mute down his own thoughts. One more deep breath, one more sip of sweet, thick wine, and something uncoils. Relaxes without fanfare.

Without the buzzing urge to move or change, Jason relaxes and lets his mind drift. To contemplation of the world as it is now. How it is still changing. How perhaps, he will change too. Without the urgency, the strange anxiety of it, it doesn’t sound so terrible. Perhaps that’s just the wine talking. Or maybe, he thinks absently, it’s something else. The sweet and bitter herbs gently smoking in the censer to his left are masked in fragrance by the thick plumes of sandalwood incense. Their effects aren’t in any way diminished for it.

He lets his head tip back over the pillows, watching the lazy silver trails that pool against the ceiling. The thick, sweet taste of port still clinging to his tongue while the air grows hazy around him. Something else, sharp and bitter, clings to the back of his throat. Jason sighs with it. Lets himself unwind just for a little while. Thinking about all the noise of the world, how familiar some of it was, how new and strange different aspects were no matter how long he lived.

The low light of late afternoon slowly fades. Leaving that fragrant haze to play strange shadows in the dark. A dense fog of sandalwood and lavender, masking something that might, to any other person, feel so distinctly sinister in the dark. That heaviness that laced along through the sweet incense, inducing lethargy and a lightness of mind. So much stronger than anything he could temper through a hookah.

Jason stretches out in the dark. Slowly depleting the decanter one delicate glass at a time, the restlessness is present again but distant. A reminder more than a demand. He watches the ember glow of the incense still pouring silver plumes into the room. Twisting in pleasing shapes against the shadows of his home, losing themselves in the cloud above.

In the dark he thinks about other shadows. Those of a heavy, dark city he hasn’t been back to in some time. Gotham pulled at him. Finding something there to occupy himself would not be difficult. It would have to be more than shadows and horror to soothe that restless thing burgeoning in his chest again. He has the credentials and breadth of knowledge to perhaps share that knowledge to some extent. That might not be such a bad change of pace.

He pushes his hair back out of his face. Uncaring of how it curls without a comb to tame it down or direct it. A spill of dark red indistinguishable from the glittering hue of the port he’s been favouring of late. Flickering gold candle flames cast pleasing shadows in the rising smoke, gleaming ruby and garnet in the decanter, in the idle swirl of his glass, caught in his hair. He catches flickers of the last in his periphery, spilling down over his shoulder as he shifts to face the candles properly.

Gotham University might accept him, he has the right documentation to apply, and the idea soothes the restlessness. Soothes something else deep down too. The possibility of sharing something of what he knows, preserving it outside himself for even a little while, sits warm and sweet. To show a new generation the literature and poetry of a bygone era, share it with the understanding of context. To share history fleshed out with understanding and context he can never fully give…There is an edge of vanity there. Dull, long ignored.

Jason sets down the glass. Still half full in the candlelight. He’ll finish before too long, but for the moment his thoughts have turned elsewhere. To planning and moving and changing. Back into the dark with a lantern in one hand for the things he’ll let other people see. Everything else will hide in the shadows of his library. To the ways in which he can interact with the world in something approaching a normal manner in the daylight.

A little grounding in the current century as it ticks by, and wondering how much will change in the coming decade alone. Maybe worthwhile, maybe not, but he has to change a little here and there too. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing remains completely unchanged in time. Not even the gargoyles in their coats of moss are exactly as they were when freshly hewn.