#SO IG I CALLED IT???

[sophfandoms53]

“You took everything from me.”

SONIC MOVIE 3 WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU-

[manitapaleta]

Gelphie normal high/boarding school au and it’s like a slice of life roommates to enemies to friends to lovers romance anime-**i get sniped before I finish my sentence**

[quiescentdestiny]

so many people out here saying Neil lied about going to California, but low-key I assumed it was more of a "didn't ask" type situation.

Even Kevin says "we knew who he was meeting, so we assumed he was going to Baltimore."

Neil is the king of "ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies".

Andrew wasn't angry because he didn't care that Neil had lied. Because he technically didn't, and Andrew lives on black and white and technicalities.

[kermdoeswriting]

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[just-null]

I’d like to think that the hantengu clone’s darling would actively try to avoid anything with the colors red,yellow,green,or blue to “not send the wrong message” to the other clones

Them: "Choose whatever color you want. You deserve to have all of them <3"

Also them: "Why that color specifically..........."

[cupidsworstcrime]

Knight!John Price x Princess!reader

inspo - honestly shameless , i wanted this

werewolf smut werewolf smut

contains chasing to fuck , monster fucking , cnc (if you squint) & knotting

The moonlight slashes through the dense treeline like a blade, silver and cold and watching.

Sir John Price, noble knight captain and sworn protector of your kingdom’s bloodline, stumbles against a tree, his breathing ragged, uneven. His armored gauntlet splits against bark as claws push through, twisting bone and sinew. His growl isn’t human anymore.

You shouldn't be watching.

But gods, you are.

“My lady,” he rasps, voice strangled and wet with the growl curling in his throat. “Run.”

You don’t. Can’t. Your eyes are locked on the way his jaw cracks open, lengthening, sharpening, his teeth catching the moonlight. His armor creaks and groans under the pressure of his expanding body, the beast beneath the steel.

He snarls, turning away from you, fangs bared to the forest, to anything that might distract him from the scent of you.

“I said run,” he growls again, lower this time, desperate, trembling. “I won’t be able to stop. If you stay—if I catch your scent again—I’ll take you.”

There’s a flash in his eyes. Hunger.

Your heart slams in your chest. You take a step back.

His ears twitch.

“I need you to run,” he groans, clawed hand gripping his chest, as though he could anchor the man inside a body that’s no longer his. “Please, princess. You need to run.”

You whisper his name.

His eyes snap to you. Glowing. Predatory. Wicked.

Another heartbeat, and you’re sprinting through the trees.

Behind you, metal crashes to the ground, followed by a guttural howl that shatters the stillness. The kind of sound that promises teeth on your throat and hands gripping your hips.

You don’t dare look back.

Because if he catches you—

��no knight in the world could save you from what he’s about to become.

And he will catch you.

Of course he will.

You're fast—gods, you're fast—but you're not him. Not with your skirts bunched in your fists, breath burning your throat, heart thundering like war drums in your chest.

The woods blur, and still you run.

But you feel it when he gets close.

The heat of him. The thudding weight of paws behind you, impossibly silent for how large he must be now. The low growl that slips into the wind and curls around your spine like a hand.

And then—

You're gone from the ground.

A cry tears from your throat as you're swept off your feet, tackled into the moss with shocking gentleness for something that had sounded like a monster moments ago. You're caged beneath him—bigger now, broader, his skin half-shifted, half-wolf, glowing eyes staring down at you as his claws press into the earth on either side of your head.

He pants above you, chest heaving, sweat and fur and musk curling thick in the air. Drool drips from his snarl onto your cheek.

"You should've run faster," he growls, voice rougher now, lined with hunger, with need.

"Y-you caught me..." you whisper, breathless, trembling beneath the weight of him.

He leans down, nuzzles his nose to your throat, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through your skin.

"You wanted me to."

And gods help you—

—you did.

There's no pretending anymore—not for him.

Not with the way he snarls low against your throat, like he's trying to taste your pulse before he even sinks his teeth in. Not with the way his claws dig into the dirt, holding himself back by a thread, trembling from the effort. He's not even fully shifted—can't be, not with how badly he wants to feel you with his hands, not paws. Not with how badly he wants your skin on his, not fur.

He’s not gentle. Not after all that. Not after the chase.

He ruts against you, desperate, grinding hard through the layers between you, shuddering when you squirm—when you press your hands against his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer.

"Tell me no," he growls, but his hips say something else entirely—rolling down slow, then slamming forward hard enough to make you gasp.

You whimper something—maybe “stop,” maybe “don’t,”—but your legs are already spreading, traitorous, trembling, welcoming.

Your nails bite into his arms. You turn your face like you don't want this—but your body arches into him, not away.

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, voice shaking with the strain of holding back. His fangs are bared, but his mouth is at your ear, and you whimper when his breath hits your skin. "You're mine, princess. Say it."

You don't. Not with words. But your hips tilt, just enough, just right.

He growls like something unholy.

You love this. Even when you act like you don’t. Even when you cry and whine and call him a monster.

Because you're the one who's still clinging to him.

You're the one who's dripping before he even claims you.

He’s got you flat beneath him, skirts shoved up around your waist, your thighs trembling against his sides. His hands are huge, rough from years of sword and steel, and now they’re claiming every inch of you like you’re a battlefield he owns. One stays planted on your hip, the other cradling your jaw, thumb dragging over your lip like he's daring you to bite.

"You're gonna scream for me, sweet thing," he mutters, voice rough and ragged, half-man, half-creature. "Not because you're scared—because you're mine."

He starts slow, grinding against your slick heat through your ruined underthings, just to feel the tremble, the way your breath catches. Then he pulls away—and spits in his hand, like a brute, slicking himself up before dragging the head of his cock along your folds.

Not pushing in. Not yet. Just teasing.

“You’re gonna remember this, princess. Every. Fuckin'. Inch.”

And when he does finally sink into you?

He’s ruthless. Long, hard thrusts that force breathy gasps out of your throat. No soft kisses. No gentle words. Just the slap of skin, the growl in his chest, and the slick wet sounds of him fucking you like he was meant to.

He uses one hand to pin both your wrists above your head, the other sliding down between your thighs—finding your clit with practiced fingers.

And when he hits just the right spot, when you squirm and cry out and your walls clench tight around him, he leans down, growling into your mouth:

“There she is. There’s my good girl. Scream for your captain.”

And god, you do. You scream his name like it’s the only thing you know.

Which, by the time he’s done with you, it just might be.

"What would the king think? Seeing his little princess be such a whore?"

He’s not asking—he’s taking, like his body’s driven by instinct and the only thing it wants is you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips tight enough to bruise, dragging you down onto his cock with a growl that rumbles through his chest. You’ll feel him for days, the deep ache between your legs, the ghost of his fingerprints on your skin. When you cry out, he smirks, and his hand slides up your throat, thumb pressed gently beneath your jaw, just enough pressure to remind you who’s in control.

“Look at you,” he rasps, hips snapping into yours so hard that you swore the earth would split beneath you. “Takin’ it so well. So desperate for your captain’s cock, aren’t you?”

You nod, gasping, but it’s not enough for him.

“Say it. Say you want me to ruin you.”

And when you do—when you whimper out that you want him to break you—he fucks you for real. One hand on your throat, the other gripping your thigh and pressing your knees back, folding you open for him.

“You’re mine,” he snarls into your ear. “Say it again. Say it while I breed you full.”

And you do, because how can you not? When he’s buried so deep, when every thrust punches the air from your lungs, when your entire body is his—yeah, it’s rough, claiming, filthy. And you love it. Even if you act like you don’t. Even if you cry a little. Even if you’re already begging him not to stop.

He doesn’t just want to make you scream, sweetheart. He wants to make you remember.

When it happens—when the last shred of control slips and the shift fully takes him—it’s violent. Bones crack, skin tears, fur bursts across his body like wildfire. His snarl becomes a growl, low and guttural, vibrating through your chest as you lay beneath him. His eyes glow gold now, no trace of the man you once knew… but gods, he’s still inside there. Still watching you. Still wanting you.

And he doesn’t stop.

He’s bigger now. Stronger. His claws scrape the ground on either side of your head, holding himself over you, caging you in like prey. His muzzle brushes your throat, and you feel the heat of his breath, the tension in his jaw as he fights not to bite—not yet. Not until he’s claimed you properly.

His thrusts are deeper, more forceful, hips snapping into you with inhuman power. You cry out, nails digging into whatever part of him you can reach, but he just growls in approval. The slick, obscene sounds of him inside you echo louder now, more primal, more filthy. Every motion screams mine.

“You should’ve run faster,” he huffs, voice distorted and monstrous but still his. “Would’ve probably gotten away.”

But he doesn’t regret that you didn’t. Not one bit.

Because now? He can knot you. Fill you. Mark you inside and out until there’s no question who you belong to.

And when you sob his name—when your body breaks open for him again and again—he howls, the sound shaking the trees, the sky, you.

You're his. Forever now. And he’s going to make damn sure everyone knows it.

At first, you think he’s done. His pace slows, almost tender for a fleeting second as he pants above you, still trembling with the aftershock of the shift. But then—then—you feel it. That slow, thick swell at the base of him starting to press insistently against you.

He growls when your body tries to resist it, claws digging into the earth beside your head as he forces himself deeper. You cry out, overwhelmed, stretched too wide, and he groans—deep, guttural—as the knot pops inside. Locked. Stuffed. Filled.

“Shhh,” he rumbles, voice animal-thick, muzzle nudging at your cheek, “s’alright. You’ll take it. Gonna keep it all in, yeah?”

The stretch, the burn, the way your walls flutter helplessly around him—it’s too much, too perfect. He can feel everything, and so can you. That throbbing knot pulsing against your insides, his release locked deep where it’s meant to stay.

No escaping now. Not for hours.

You whimper his name, and his voice rumbles with satisfaction: “Good girl. That’s it. Take my knot, princess. Take every bloody drop.”

And you do. You have to.

tagging my favorite sicko - @goatgoesmbe

[thecursedcreator]

The absolute audacity of him to say this after my 4 hour, 616 doors endless run

[acoraxia]

me when i make an au centering around eclipse and shadow but instead i focus on the two gay hedgehogs even tho one of them barely makes an appearance in said au

[guhbwuh]

testing new brushes so orc ghost and soap.

[off-mozzarella]

(From the body swap AU)

Hii! I'm very happy to see that my body swap comic was so well received, so here's a little something as a thanks for all the support <3

I'm excited to keep sharing my drawings, I hope you like what I make!

[quimiri]

ouueghh moutwash or somethine

various unfinished things that probably will never be finished or I am not super happy w/ anymore :p

[imvec]

Sequel to Sunshade

[voidcat]

— in your hands, i see the light

info: smt smt kaiser's awful bed hair and brushing his hair... please save me. characters & notes: michael kaiser x gn!reader. (nothing established- they're like at this passing stage of from hostile to accepting each other's understanding and love idk man. This is self indulgent kinda sorryhdjfjfjf ) title stc

For all the qualities he possesses, one thing that always sticks out like a sore thumb for Michael Kaiser is his bed hair.

Something he was notorious for in his early years in Bastard München in fact.

Strands poking out left and right, refusing to be tamed with hands pressing down or going through them, he finds the solution to be dipping his head under the sink, or take a quick shower in the early mornings just so it will behave. Barely.

Lately though, he finds himself waking up rather refreshed. In a good mood, dare he says. It takes a little brain racking to sift the possibilities and narrow down until he finds the reason.

And return to it, make it his new routine.

It's not the hour of sleep he gets, as he has tasted. Nor the food he consumes in the evenings. Physical activities is a no, using blue light protection-- albeit helpful, but not for this particular reason.

It dawns on him one afternoon, by the window as a pair of eyes follow the trails of passing cars and the people in a rush, letting the mundane beauty of life bring a smile to your lips.

His final weakness has been ceasing and he has been getting better and more fruitful sleeps on the nights you stay. Or at least loiter long enough at his place.

Catching word of his complaints one time and acting on that maybe-- or something entirely different, purely driven by that 'agape' you so like to talk about; you've made it a near routinely habit to comb through his hair at nights.

Sometimes you'll bring with you a brush you've brought over specifically for this purpose, you gently comb through his hair, holding sections of it with one hand and brushing with the other. All the while entertaining whatever it is he tells you- be it a genuine conversation that has held you both on a curious chokehold or simply to make fun of your wavering resolve against him.

You just chuckle at the latter, and he can feel you shake your head lightly. Not even a claim of it is nothing personal nor special. You2ve long dropped fighting wars you seem unworthy and instead saving oxygen for yourself when it comes to Kaiser.

The following peace of the night always proves you were right to do so.

Sitting with your legs stretched, scrolling through your phone or pupils rushing word after word on boney paper, you usually reserve one hand to him then, letting your fingers dip in and slowly brush. Sometimes you'll catch a wayward strand and play with it, sliding your hand down over and over, feeling all its textures and the angles it's been bent and broken at between your nails.

A motion he has seen you do often, now passed onto him. Something that increases once you get yourself one of those page holders.

Not that he is complaning.

Else he wouldn't be resting his head to your head and let you gently guide him wherever you wish every night. No yanking or tugs, just the sounds of your breaths in sync and shuffling of pages as your hand remains in its spot. Until his breathing slows down and soon his head drops, at which you carry with your hand and place on a pillow, careful not to jolt him awake.

He notices the changes to his shower products but makes no sound. After a week or two though, you let out a content sigh with how silky smooth his hair feels with each brush.

It does catch the two of you off guard though one night, when it's been later than your usual and you're still in bed with him-- no longer his bed, it hasn't been for a long time now.

The same lull of something sweet and sound has been weighing down on his eyes. A feeling he long stopped trying to name and simply accepted as your agape.

As sleep begins to embrace him, he feels a disturbance, and feels your hand dropping by the side. Before he can shoot you a glance for this absurd pause, your fingers find his cheek and softly scratch at the skin there, then by his jaw.

Kaiser freezes on the spot, eyes wide awake and no trace of sleep left.

Your hand halts a second after when you feel his skin strain under your touch. With the realization dawning on you a little later, you break into laughter-- further confusing the man who's still between fighting the instict to lean against your touch and just shooting dirty glares at you for such an act.

"Sorry!" you yelp in between laughs. "I think this whole ordeal began to feel too much like spending time with my cats--"

(and, well) you keep on talking, trying to explain or prove something, maybe make light of the situation when you realize he has been uncharacteristically silent. Yet all Kaiser hears in that moment is your voice chanting "my, my, my!" in his head.

He mutters a grumpy "whatever" later, his back falling back onto the comfort of his pillow, but never once telling you to never do it again.

[fizkid]

bro thinks hes winning the Easter egg hunt this year …… quit smiling!!!! Eggson will wipe the floor with you!!!!

[rystiel]

idk what we’re all calling the concept of fiddlestan working together but i’m calling my version the portal partners AU 🙏🏼

[pattycake015]

"Caught a little songbird."

also would it be chill if i post in-depth lore and art/references about my touchstarved MC?? i kinda want to, i'm pretty happy with her but im also kinda shy hnnnnggg