#sorry not sorry for the length of this prompt

[rayshippouuchiha]

MHA Au where Izuku’s quirk let’s him see spirits/monsters but instead of befriending them like usual, he becomes a whole ass monster hunter. I’m talking full on spn salt and burns, illegal fire arms in his backpack, monster journals, etc.

Hmm gonna switch it up a bit but:

Izuku's neighbor is a monster.

Hands fisted tightly in the length of his Mama's skirt, Izuku watches, wide-eyed and trembling, as his Mama chats softly with the thing in the elevator with them.

"Say goodbye to Akuhara-san, Izu-kun," Mama prompts gently.

But all Izuku can do is clutch tighter to her and whimper.

"I-I'm sorry," Mama frets softly as she ushers him out of the elevator. "He's not normally this shy."

"Adorable little thing," the thing called Akuhara croons, voice whispery and soft in a way that makes the hair on the back of Izuku's neck stand on end. "Could just ,,, eat him up."

When Izuku manages to peek around his Mama's leg and look Akuhara-san grins at him with too many teeth, one spindly hand raising to wiggle long gnarled fingers in Izuku's direction.

Izuku squeaks and hides his face again.

But even after he's back in the safety of the apartment he can't help but wonder just how someone with antlers as big as that thing's had been could fit inside the elevator.

~~~ Later, when it's time for bed, Izuku tries to tell his Mama about what he saw.

"Scary," Izuku manages to whimper, remembered terror tracing down his spine.

"Izuku!" Mama gasps, one hand coming up to press against her chest. "What a rude thing to say, young man! I don't want to hear anything like that out of you again, you hear me?"

"Y-Yes," Izuku whispers, unsure of what, exactly, he's done wrong.

The kiss Mama presses to his forehead is a bit shorter than normal.

Sleep is a long time coming for him that night.

~~~

He tries again though, after another run in with the monster.

Tries to tell her about how wrong Akuhara really is.

How that thing, whatever it is, is dangerous.

But ,,,

It doesn't go well.

~~~

Izuku looks at Akuhara and he sees something more than a man, something twisted and wrong, staring back at him.

But the problem is ,,,

Izuku's not the only one looking.

~~~

"I see you, little morsel," Akuhara whispers to Izuku, mouth split wide in a vicious grin as a long, black tongue slides out to flick almost teasingly in Izuku's direction.

Izuku can't help it ,,,

He screams.

~~~

"-ever been more humiliated in my life!" Mama says, hand tight around Izuku's wrist as she drags him into the apartment.

Izuku cowers just a bit when she finally releases him, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

Mama is never really angry with him, not like everyone else, so for Izuku this is just ,,,

Bad.

So much worse than Kacchan or the sensei at school being mean to him. So much worse than anything and everything the other kids have ever said or done to him.

"You will apologize to Akuhara-san," Mama finally huffs, hands planted on her hips and face flushed.

And Izuku ,,,

"No," It's a whisper but in the tense silence of the apartment, it might as well have been a shout.

"What did you say?" Mama blinks, obviously shocked.

He just can't anymore.

He's tried so hard to tell her, to make her see, and she still won't ,,,

"I-I'm not saying s-sorry to that, that thing," Izuku manages to shove the words out. "It's a m-monster. It's ugly and scary and you shouldn-"

The slap catches him off guard.

He yelps, hands flying up to clutch at the familiar throb of his cheek.

He's been hit before, gets hit often really these days, but never here, never at home where he's always been safe, and never by her.

"Y-You can't say things like that," Mama whispers, expression stricken as she clutches the hand she'd hit him with to her chest. "Y-You, Izuku, you can't just," she heaves in a shuddering breath, "just because you don't have a quirk doesn't mean you can say things like that about people who do."

Izuku's hands fall down to his sides as he stares up at her in horror.

And then he turns on his heel and runs to his bedroom.

Inko doesn't follow.

~~~

That night, with the bedroom door locked, his cheek still throbbing, and his chest heaving from the force of his sobs, Izuku tucks himself down in the darkest corner of his closet and cries himself almost sick.

~~~

It's not a quirk.

Izuku knows that.

Whatever it is about Akuhara-san that sets Izuku off so deeply isn't a quirk.

Izuku might only be nine years old and he might be quirkless but he knows quirks.

Whatever Akuhara-san is?

It's not natural.

~~~

Except, as Izuku learns through hours of research, hours of study and computer time when his Mama isn't home, maybe it is.

Maybe whatever it is that's pretending to be a regular man named Akuhara-san is actually very very natural.

And maybe that's not a good thing at all.

~~~

Izuku kills his first monster at 9 years old.

He comes out of the encounter bruised and bloody but alive and satisfied.

Come to find out, no matter how big a Jubokko's branches, not antlers as he'd first thought, are they're still vulnerable to salt and fire just like any other tree.

Inko never looks at him the same, never actually asks the questions Izuku can see lingering in her mouth but, well, she's alive and well and really that's all Izuku wanted in the first place.

~~~

Teeth gritted against the pain and careful of his bandaged arm, Izuku pulls a black-covered notebook from his desk and grabs a fresh pen.

Monster Analysis Vol 1 he scrawls across the front cover before he flips it open.

Akuhara-san might be gone but Izuku refuses to be caught unaware and vulnerable ever again.

[iam93percentstardust]

Are you still taking kiss-prompts? What about thigh kisses? 👀

More kiss prompts! Sorry it took me a while to get to this one; I've been busy these past few weeks <3

~

Tony’s building, the overpriced monstrosity that it is, has a rooftop pool where he had lured Steve by hinting that sometimes, he sunbathes there naked because, according to him, he doesn’t like tan lines.

“And your neighbors don’t mind you sunbathing naked?” Steve had asked.

“Please.” Tony had rolled his eyes. “Everyone there is just as rich and eccentric as I am. They have their own idiosyncrasies, and if I don’t want to be bothered I just pay them off.”

“Oh,” Steve had said. He thought paying off the neighbors to get some privacy was a little out there, but given that Tony was a billionaire’s son, trying very hard to get rid of his fortune, he wasn’t that surprised. He frowned. “You’re not eccentric.”

“Steve,” Tony had said, giving him a Look. “I sunbathe nude.”

Long story short, Steve had been unable to stop thinking about Tony stretched out on a lounge chair, miles of golden skin on glorious display, so when Tony had asked him if he wanted to spend the day at the pool with him, he’d jumped at the chance.

Tragically, when Steve got there, Tony was not stretched out nude in one of the lounges.

He is, however, wearing the tiniest pair of red swim trunks known to man. So small, in fact, that Steve isn’t sure they’re not secretly bikini bottoms from the women’s department. Not that Steve would complain even if they are from the women’s department. Dating Tony has opened his eyes to the benefits of his partners wearing what would traditionally be classified as women’s lingerie—albeit made for men—namely, that it’s very sexy and Steve would worship at the altar of Tony’s ass in black lace for the rest of his life if he could.

“Good morning, beloved,” Tony drawls from his floatie in the middle of the shallow end. “Imagine seeing you here.” He raises his eyebrow above his sunglasses and crooks his finger in Steve’s direction.

Steve makes some kind of noise, strips out of his shirt, heedlessly dropping it… somewhere, and dives in, traveling half the length of the pool before he surfaces right in front of Tony.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his hand around Tony’s ankle and tugging him closer so his gorgeous thighs bracket Steve’s head—exactly where he wants him to be. “I thought you were going to be naked.”

“It’s just such a beautiful day,” Tony says carelessly, but his stomach tenses under Steve’s gaze, betraying how affected he is by his nearness. “I couldn’t possibly be expected not to get in the pool.”

Steve hums and kisses Tony’s right thigh, sloppy and open-mouthed. Tony tastes like chlorine and sunscreen, and Steve ignores both of those in favor of leaving a livid red mark on his skin. Tony sighs sweetly, muscles bunching under Steve’s teeth.

“You’re a tease,” Steve murmurs, tilting his head in the other direction to leave a matching mark on Tony’s other thigh.

“Mmhmm,” Tony agrees breathily. “An absolute menace. That’s why Natasha thought we’d be good together.”

Steve chuckles. “Sweetheart, please don’t talk about Natasha when I’m kissing you.”

“You’re not kissing me,” he points out. “My mouth is up here, and until such a time as it’s occupied, I can talk about whatever I—mmph!”

Steve kisses him again and pulls him fully off the floatie, kicking backwards to pull them back out into deeper water. Tony wraps his arms and legs around him, clinging to him as they kiss again and again.

[da-proti-toku-grem]

17 Jance mayhaps (if you already did it I'm sorry, I love ur style and reading your prompts!!)

Thank you so much 🥰. I think I've officially lost the battle with my “I'm keeping these short” thoughts because this is almost 1.8k oops 😅.

As always, ao3 link at the bottom if you prefer to read it there <3

(Rating: Mature)

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

17. … to distract.

“Please, Nacko,” Jan begged from his place on the couch.

Knowing that they had an interview the next morning, Nace had offered Jan to stay at his house. After all, it was no secret that the guitarist was by no means a morning person and, being the one who lived closest to where the interview would take place, it seemed only reasonable to offer him a place to sleep without the need to drive from Vrhnika to Ljubljana in the early morning.

And maybe – and just maybe – something inside his chest was also tickling under the pretext of seeing Jan's gorgeous face when Nace inevitably woke up before him, his features relaxed and his hair tousled. No one needed to know that, though. He was more than willing to take the secret to his grave. It wasn't like someone like Jan would ever look at him that way, anyways.

Once they arrived at the apartment, Nace offered Jan a glass of wine. The bassist himself didn't drink anymore, but he liked to always have something to offer to his guests – in this case, a bottle of red wine.

And that's how they had gotten to this situation, Jan sitting cross-legged on the couch, an empty glass on the small table in front of him and looking up in the direction of Nace, who was standing on the other side of the table, with his pajamas already on and holding the bottle in his hand.

“I've already told you, Jan,” he said, a hint of tiredness in his voice. “You know that on any other occasion I wouldn't mind you drinking more, but we have an interview tomorrow and we can't risk you having a raging hangover because you drank the whole bottle of wine by yourself.”

“...Please?” Jan asked again, pouting and looking up at him with those beautiful dark puppy eyes that had no right to be so adorable. That, combined with the fact that his improvised pajamas were his boxer shorts and one of Nace's old t-shirts that was definitely too big on him – the length reaching almost halfway down his thighs and the collar being so wide that it left one of his shoulders exposed, as well as a bit of his chest hair – was definitely not helping Nace keep his thoughts pure.

He thought about how his hands would feel exploring the skin under the t-shirt or pulling on those gorgeous black locks, how he'd look up at him with his big brown eyes just like that while Nace fucked his mouth, taking it all like the good boy he knew he could be; how he’d love to kiss and bite and mark that exposed skin on his shoulder and neck until everyone knew who he belonged to, how he'd beg even prettier for Nace to touch him, to make him feel good; how he'd look all sweaty and ruined with his head thrown back, moaning Nace's name at the peak of his pleasure as he pounded into that sweet spot inside him over and over and-

Nace really needed to stop his train of thoughts right there before this ended in a terribly embarrassing situation.

“I'm sorry, okay?” He smiled at him apologetically, setting the bottle down on the table as he took a seat on the other side of the couch, hoping the other didn't notice the slight blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. “I know you probably don't want to go to sleep yet so… anything else you want to-”

The question died on the bassist's lips as he suddenly felt Jan straddle his thighs, resting his hands gently on his chest.

Nace simply remained still, his body a bit tense and his eyes wide open in surprise. He still didn't look at the guitarist's face, a million questions running through his mind when all of a sudden the weight of the younger man in his lap and the burning touch of his hands on his chest clouded his senses.

Eventually, he dared to look up, finding Jan's eyes, those eyes that made Nace's knees go weak and that accompanied him in his most sinful fantasies, looking back at him with that smirk he always had plastered on his face when he had an idea. He knew exactly what he was doing and Nace had fallen right into his trap.

“Hello there, Mr. Jordan,” Jan said, his deep voice reverberating in Nace's brain, as his hands went up to cup his cheeks.

He didn't respond, his own hands moving to Jan's thighs, over his t-shirt, while his eyes were flicking from the other's eyes to his lips and then up again and oh how much he'd like to send it all to hell and close the distance between them and-

Before he knew it, Jan's lips were on his.

Nace didn't move his hands, the uncertainty of not knowing how far Jan was willing to take this surpassing the urge to touch every single part of the other's body; but he started to reciprocate the kiss, taking everything Jan had to give him and trying to burn it into his memory, almost as if he was afraid that it was all a dream product of his treacherous imagination and he might wake up at any moment.

Their lips moved slowly against each other, his mouth opening in a silent invitation that Jan didn't hesitate to take, tongues dancing together in a rhythm known only to them.

Everything was so sultry, so sensual, so… Jan. It was intoxicating. And Nace didn't think he would ever get enough of this.

All too soon, the guitarist broke the kiss, pulling away completely and taking his place back on the couch. Nace immediately missed the warmth of his body pressing against his own.

“W-what was that for?” he asked after a few seconds, trying to sound nonchalant despite the deep blush he felt covering his face.

“Nothing,” Jan shrugged. “Can't I just kiss my really hot friend?”

At that, Nace looked up, meeting that mischievous grin before his gaze finally fell on the bottle that had somehow ended up in Jan's hands. Little shit.

“Oh hell no, come here,” he tugged at his arm and in one swift motion took the bottle from him, setting it safely on the table, and took him back into his lap, making him let out a surprised gasp.

“Well, I guess this will do too,” Jan smirked, moving his arms up to wrap them around Nace's neck, tangling his hands in the soft curls at the nape of his neck and drawing him into another kiss.

Nace didn't hold back this time, all the blood he had been trying to suppress from traveling south now rushed to his cock as his hands began to caress the body of the man on top of him.

The touch of his cold hands against the warm skin of his thighs sent a shiver down Jan's spine. Nace's hands traveled up his thighs, slowly slipping under his shirt until they reached his waist, grabbing it and moving his body so they could start grinding against each other.

Deep groans escaped their mouths the moment both of their already half-hard dicks brushed against each other, making them break the kiss, their foreheads pressed against one another as they breathed heavily into each other's mouths.

Without halting his movements, Nace leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Did you just want to distract me so you could get another glass or are you just a horny little slut, baby?”, catching the lobe between his teeth to emphasize his words before starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses and little nibbles along his jaw and neck.

The sound the younger man let out and the way Jan's hips jerked forward of their own accord, beginning to grind down more desperately, told Nace everything he needed to know.

It was still fun to tease him, though.

“I need words, honey. Or do you want me to stop?” he said teasingly. As if you'd be able to stop now that you finally have what you've been dreaming about for so long, the rational part of his brain told him.

“Please don’t stop.” Jan whined. “F-fuck, God knows how long I've been waiting for this.”

That sound, that plea, the meaning those words entailed all sent an electric jolt straight to Nace's cock. He sounded so beautifully desperate and– God. Jan Peteh was going to be the death of him.

“Oh yeah? Do I make you hard, baby?” he punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust of his hips.

“So damn much, you have no idea. Fuck, have you seen yourself?”

Jan buried his face in Nace's neck, exploring his skin with his lips and teeth, careful not to leave marks in a place that would be visible during the interview and paying special attention to discover the bassist's most sensitive spots. Nace tilted his head to the side to grant him more access.

Neither of them could stop the soft little noises escaping their mouths, getting increasingly louder as Nace's hands started to roam all over the younger's back. They came to a stop at his ass, cupping Jan's cheeks over his boxers and pulling him even closer.

The increased pressure on his crotch caused the guitarist to pull away from Nace's neck, throwing his head back and exposing his throat as a sinful moan escaped his lips. It was probably the most erotic thing Nace had ever seen in his entire life.

However, as heavenly as the dry humping felt, Nace wanted – needed – more. He needed to feel skin on skin with the man that had been occupying his every thought ever since he officially joined the band.

He slowly licked a strip up his deliciously exposed throat, a smug smile spreading across his face at the shudder that ran through Jan's body.

“Shall we take this to the bedroom, kitten?” he asked, his deep voice accompanied with a little squeeze on his ass making Jan blush furiously.

Instead of answering, Jan smashed their lips together in a hungry, passionate kiss.

Nace took that as a yes, placing his hands under Jan's thighs and lifting them both off the couch to start the short walk to his room, grinning into the kiss when he felt Jan's dick twitch at the casual demonstration of strength as he wrapped his legs around his waist.

As he closed the bedroom door and threw a very flushed and now fully hard Jan unceremoniously on his bed, Nace made a mental note to treat him to all the red wine he wished for the days to come.

masterlist | ao3

[miloformula123fan]

Could you do fic for James Vowles with wife reader? With her being in the Williams garage, she witnessed Alex and Danny incident at the Japan GP and was so worried about them that she ended up going to James at the pitwall for his comfort. He decided to hug her while calming her down and going to both of the drivers to make sure they're okay. Just something fluff and little angst. Add something if you want to. Thanks!! :)))

what is it with me only getting these fics out like 2-3 weeks after the race, anyway, it's again so short but my mental health is suffering right now, so, and im happy with it the length it is.

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist let me know :)

---

“Come on Logan, show ‘em why you deserved to be in the car last weekend.” 

Logan nodded as he pulled his helmet on and gave a thumbs up and a fist bump to Y/N. It was her first weekend at the grand prix, as she preferred to stay at home, and let James call her to give her an update. But James had been pleading with her to come ‘just once’ and after the disaster weekend they’d had in Australia, she had braved the timezone and flown out for Japan.

She sat down on the folding chairs with the rest of the pit crew, while PR managers and assistants and anyone who liked James, which was 90% of the garage, was trying to persuade her to sit on a more comfortable chair. She shook her head smiling, insisting she was fine as long as she wasn’t in the way, on the folding chair, with the pit crew. 

James shook his head fondly, gazing at his wife as she chatted to Alex’s race engineer, before he slung his headset on and walked out to the pit wall.

Unfortunately the joy in the Williams garage lasted all of about 1 corner. A cheer erupted as they all got through turn 1 okay, but it was yelled too soon.

“As they make their way through AND OFF INTO THE WALL, off into the wall goes the 2 cars, and a big crash into the tire barrier,”

“Yeah, that’s going to be an immediate safety car, a heavy impact for Ricciardo and Albon…”

“Red flag, red flag.”

Y/N could see the anger as the mechanics grew angry, yelling stuff, but it all felt muffled underwater, as the camera cut to a replay of the crash. She sat there, staring as she watched Daniel and Alex’s cars clobber the barriers again.

So much for good luck this weekend. She watched as Daniel hopped out of the car, and she saw that Alex was having a little trouble due to the tyres almost balanced perfectly on his halo.

She heard the other cars filtering into the pits and as the pit crews dash around the cars Y/N escape through the garage and up to the pit wall, where she spotted James chatting to some of the other mechanics. She quickly crossed the pit lane and hopped up to the pitwall.

“Hey darling, what are you doing here?”

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. What was she doing here? She looked at her husband trying to convey all of her current thoughts through her eyes. Thankfully he seemed to get the message and embraced her in a hug.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, they’re both fine, they’re both okay. The red flag is because the barrier is destroyed and they’ll be here before the end of the red flag, okay? I’m sorry darling, that must have been terrifying to see that crash, especially when you have no information. How about you stay here, I think Alex and Daniel will come from there,” he pointed somewhere, Y/N wasn’t paying attention properly “so they’ll walk past here and you can see that they’re completely safe and sound.”

Y/N nodded at that, and snuggled in further to her husband’s embrace as he asked about tyres for Logan’s restart and discussed new strategy, keeping an eye out for the 2 drivers.

come walking down the pit lane. She careful extracted herself from James’ embrace, he nodded as he saw the 2 drivers arriving.

Y/N ran over and embraced them both in a hug, ignoring the commentators comments of ‘mom’ and ‘awwww’ and she pulled them in close and started rambling

“Oh my god, are you okay, that was a big crash, are you sure you don’t need to go to the medical centre, wait, hang on, what’s the test, uuhhhh, how many fingers am i holding up?”

“2, Y/N, relax, we’re okay.” Daniel put a hand on her shoulder

“Y/N breathe okay, I know that was a big crash and that I think was your first big crash while being here, so I’d imagine it's a little scary, but it’s okay. We’re both okay, Daniel and I in one piece.” Alex pulled her into a hug, before releasing her.

Y/N didn’t trust her voice, just nodding and furiously wiping away at the tears falling down her face.

“C’mon, I’ll get you back to James and then by the time the red flag is over, I’ll be back from media and we can watch the race together, okay?”

Y/N nodded again, smiling more than she was as Alex led her back to James.

“Keep her safe until I get back, yeah boss?”

“Oh come on Alex, you don’t trust me with my own wife?”

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

[agirlcandream84]

Every Time with Frank is Like the First Time

Sorry but I'm just imagining that taking Frank never gets easier, especially until you've had a chance to get accustomed to his size.

"Fuck," he hisses out, "I know baby. I feel it too. Goin' as slow as I can."

"S'ok. Just wanna feel you," you whine, eyes squeezed tight at the sting of him, finger nails sinking into his biceps.

"Fuck doll, you're so fucking tight. Don't wanna hurt you," he grunts. He looks down to watch the length of him ease in your walls, inch by inch.

"Doesn't hurt Frankie," you assure him though that wasn't strictly true, "feels nice."

"You lyin' to me honey?" he grunts in response, restraining himself to fill you up slowly, but you don't reply, concentrating on a slow deep breath as he pushes the rest of his length inside your walls. "Need to hear you sweetheart," he prompts again, a featherlight tap to your cheek that pops your eyes open to find his.

You shake your head no, letting out a breathy, "uh huh, not lying. promise."

"Attagirl," he rumbles as he starts his steady rhythm, your fingernails sinking that much deeper at the stretch of him. Your body is still tensed and he knows it.

"Breath for me honey, gotta relax remember? Deep breath. There we go baby," he coos, feeling your walls make space for him as he finds his pace.

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

I CANNOT. I CANNOT. I need him carnally.

[livannasalinger]

DP AU Prompt

Just putting together some of my favorite ideas that I've seen around here on tumblr, but I've never seen them together so... it's kind of big, but since I'm sure I'm not going to write I'd like to share it at least. So it starts like this:

Danny dies at age 14 and comes back different, but that would start as a nobody knows AU, not even Danny, because he doesn't come back transformed, Sam and Tucker are confused but happy that Danny survived. Danny starts to notice some changes (physical, sixth sense, etc), and the presence of ghosts starts to be stronger in the city in different ways. The powers that begin to manifest themselves first in Danny are those that allow him to see and communicate with spirits, he begins to perceive the presence of people that no one sees, and to feel things that he cannot describe, a presence, an instinct, an emotion that is not his. (more obvious powers later, perhaps only when he is in the Zone initially.)

Lunch Lady appears but the battle plays out differently. She lashes out because she's confused and disoriented and someone has changed the recipe she's spent years perfecting when she senses the presence of something dangerous, something powerful. A child that looks human but fells like a ghost child. The attack stops abruptly when she realizes that she is in the territory of a child who has recently died. I want signs that a ghost child is somewhat important even if not sacred to ghost culture.

Danny manages to talk her out of it (and maybe even fight her) and takes her back to the Zone, but obviously she doesn't stay there, she goes back to feed the child because if not how is he going to get the proper food a Ghost child needs?

Danny and his friends continue to explore the supernatural, other attacks happen, each adding to the experience and showing that after all ghosts are more than what their parents refuse to see. Ghost are good, bad, both, neither. Danny begins to gain respect from the ghosts he helps despite the havoc they wreak in his Haunt. News of the ghost child reaches the government and higher entities of the infinite realms, attracting those who are good, bad and chaotic neutral... Danny increasingly embraces the characteristics of his new culture, and his physical appearance begins to take on ghostly features.

Let's put the first contact with Clockwork differently. I think CW could have disguised himself as an old grandpa who owns an antique shop (with lots of clocks) from a slightly dodgy road that not everyone can find (danny can always find it and clockwork is very proud of it). Danny starts working part time in this shop and feels that clockwork is something else but doesn't say anything because he likes the place, the protection it offers from his boss / adoptive grandfather.

Pariah dark happens and Danny finally appears as Phantom (Phantom may have appeared before perhaps, but more as a rumor or new urban legend). This has consequences because the town now has definitive proof that the Fentons were right, but at the same time everyone knows they were saved by a ghost.

Things get complicated, GIW starts to get involved, Danny starts to see that he will have to make a choice (still unaware that he is the new king).

He has friends and enemies in both worlds, he is starting to understand his obsession and accept his own death, Danny, his sister and his friends know they need to prepare for the worst.

Dan happens, but with some variations. In the end Danny goes back to the CW shop to talk to Clockwork about his true intentions. Clockwork explains that the hoax was meant to save him from the Observants, even if it had benefits (not becoming Dan). CW secretly adopts Danny as his grandson officially and explains the true nature of being chosen as Ghost King.

I like the idea that the definition of Ghost king does not refer to what humans understand a king to be, unlike Pariah Dark (who was not a king but a tyrant) the true King being chosen by the Infinit Realms itself to be the one who you'll be a part of it  (the idea that the realms is actually a semi-sentient eldrich God is always cool). 

Last idea I would put together would be the DPX DC cossovers, with Danny moving to Gotham to get away from the Fentons, and also to train. He (plus Jazz maybe) try to remain in Gotham unnoticed under the protection of the spirit of the city, while Danny finishes high school, spies on the GIW's movements, and is trained by his grandfather and allies (pandora, frostbite, Dora, nocturne, etc). Of course, somehow he ends up involved with the batfam, I particularly like the stories of Damian paying attention to Danny because Danny lives so much with ghosts that he ended up forgetting a little bit of the common sense of the living over the years, but it could be anything , serious.

[josibunn]

quickies with jack, anyone?

jack thurlow loves quickies. he wants you all the fucking time. he’s the guy where you in your natural state turns him on. seeing you in the morning right when you wake up, boom morning wood. hell, just domesticity with you excites him. you’re in the kitchen and he’s watching from the distance, arms crossed and head titled. “the hell are you lookin at me like that?” you eye him with a smile as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “just..so beautiful baby. so beautiful.” he whispers into your neck, and before you know it he’s sucking on your neck and digging his fingers deep in you. “jack—the food,” you mewl, though you push back on his fingers, asking for more. he mumbled a short “fuck it well order in,” before holding you closer and digging into you deeper, making you moan out.

jack thurlow loves quickies. he loooves when you deliver his lunch to him at work. it’s such a nice day out, you come in wearing a little sundress all dolled up, bright smile ready to see your hardworking husband. he almost can’t stand how worked up you make him, because you come in so innocently and he’s ready to devour you at his little cubicle. he’s got you in the backseat of his car, broad fuckin daylight, you on your back with your legs clutching his sides. “y’so fuckin nasty,” you whimper, your dress hiked up as he fucks into you with need, eyes never leaving you. “someone’s gonna see you,” you say quietly trying to contain yourself but he always hits it so fucking right. “don’t care baby, can’t let you leave without gettin a taste, fuck,” is all he says before continuing grinding his cock into you, windows beyond fogged up.

jack thurlow loves quickies. he absolutely loves watching you get ready in the morning. on the rare days he’s actually off he still wakes up in the morning to spend the morning with you, watching you get all dolled up in your little office wear, pencil skirt and your cute little blouse, making you breakfast. he’s on the edge of the bed watching you get ready, hard dick poking his pajamas as he watches you apply lipstick. “you gonna be ok all by yourself?” you joke as he comes from behind you, hand rubbing down to your ass as he watches you from the mirror. “think i’ll manage. how much time you got baby?” he asks and you already know what he’s insinuating as he speaks into your neck, placing light kisses on your jaw. “not enough jack,” you whine, though you feel yourself giving in already when he pulls you back on him and grinds his cock against you. “i’ll drive you it’s ok, i’ll be quick promise,” he says, and before you can form a rebuttal he’s hiking your skirt up and rubbing your clit.

jack thurlow loves quickies. he also loves when you initiate it. you guys go on a little date, give yourselves a break from work and go see a little movie. the theatres relatively empty and you start cuddling against him, rubbing his leg higher and higher, causing him to hold you closer, rubbing your back. he only starts paying attention to you when you start to kiss him cheek, whispering a sweet “I love you,” to him, grabbing his dick through his joggers, causing him to buck up to your touch, leaning into your kiss a little as he looks at you. “love you too mama,” he says softly, his breath picking up when you move from stroking him through his pants to stuffing your hand down his pants, making him wince. “yeah?” he breaths before you capture him in a kiss, “you’re nastyy baby,” he smiles before holding your cheek and kissing back as you continue on.

jack thurlow loves quickies. babyboy will allow you to fuck yourself on him anywhere you please. pregnant reader anyone? you’re a few months swoll, wanting to be comfortable as possible so all you’re in is long skirts and slip on dresses and maybe some sandals. you guys get caught up in a little get together party situation, and you’re having a great time until you’re just..hit with a dire need for your boyfriend. you’re holding your stomach when he comes back with two solo cups, smiling at you. “gotta stay hydrated. you ok baby?” he watches your eyes go big as they bounce around his body. his abs that poked through his tight black shirt, his arms, his beautiful hair to his pretty smile casted to you. you sigh through your nose, feeling your panties dampen and nod. “can..can we go somehwere private?” you whisper. he jumps to worse case immediately, “something wrong? are you hot?” he’s holding your stomach and crouching a little to your eye level. “no just..needa be alone with you for a sec..” you say, and next thing he knows he’s leaned back on his elbows, pants pulled down to his knees as u sink down on his cock, dress hiked over your swoll belly and hands planted on his firm chest, trying your best not to moan too loud. his brows bunch together as his mouth falls open silently, head throw. back to the ceiling. “fuck mama yer’ so damn wet,” he’s quiet, almost shaky as you bounce on his cock eagerly. he’s got a hand on your hip, trying to keep you from hurting yourself, having power over you even on bottom. “look so good daddy, just needed you so bad,,” you sniffle, bunching up his shirt as you mewl n moan quietly. “you got it baby, take what you need,” he pats your ass softly before you kiss him on the lips softly. :3

guys I have real fics otw I swear…..don’t leave me🙏🏽💔💔 just got a lot goin on but i’ll bounce back!! euro, kap, and a third secret guy otw!!🤗🤍

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sorry I post so late I finish these at like 1 am lolz😭

[my-lovely-writing]

(Note: as always, please check the tw tags before clicking read more. Also, if formatting isn't the same for every post, I'm experimenting, but it should be relatively the same.)

"I've always held fast to the belief that we're reborn. That we live in the world we created." The hero circled the villain, dragging their nails across the dining table with a sharp screech. "You better pray I'm not right, [villain], because the only thing you've ever created is massacre."

The villain paused, fork and knife hovering over their steak as they chanced a glance at a nearby booth of curious onlookers. They turned back to the hero. "Sit down. You're drawing attention to yourself, to us."

"And why should I?"

"I just said, you idiot. Are you going to eat that or what?" The villain sat down their fork and reached for the hero's salad, who smacked away the villain's hand, glaring.

"It's mine."

"Then sit," the villain growled, careful to keep their voice quiet.

The hero rose taller. "Not with you."

At the commotion, a few hushed murmurs rippled through the room. The villain exhaled through their nose. Their voice was a whisper, but it dripped anger: "I swear to whatever almighty being you believe in—are you here only to make a fool of me?" They shoved the knife into their steak. Possibly a threat.

"No," the hero said, a bit more quietly. Their jaw clenched.

The villain narrowed their eyes and stared at them for a long, silent moment. Their next bite felt hard to swallow. "Then why, [hero]?"

The hero shook their head, as if that was an answer. Why would they, of all people, accept the invitation, much less show up? The question left them reeling just as much as the villain.

Perhaps it was the idiocy of the moment. Of spitting out blood and shaking on their knees, their body so wracked with pain that the pouring rain felt like a thousand shards of glass embedding into their skin and hearing the villain ask, not unkindly, "How does dinner on Monday sound? Olive Garden at midnight?" Or maybe it was the comfort of somehow waking up the next morning, safe in their bed, a bottle of painkillers tucked beneath their pillow.

The hero frowned. Maybe it was the creepiness of the villain knowing where they live. At least there was nobody else they could hurt with that, but still.

"What's that look?" the villain asked.

The hero blinked and snapped back to reality. "You know my house, and that's creepy."

"Your house—that's what I was going to discuss, if you would ever sit down." The villain pointed a sharp finger at the chair.

Their house? That was worth all this? The hero crinkled their nose. For a moment, they gauged the villain—they looked sincere enough, slightly less ready to murder. And they did pay for the food. But on the other hand, the villain had caused so much pain and suffering, all for a reason the hero couldn't name. They struggled with themselves. The villain waited patiently for a few moments, before shooting them another scathing look. The hero sat down.

"I know what you're thinking," said the villain. "Why is this evil man/lady inviting me out to dinner? Why do they want to talk about my house?" They nodded towards the salad. "Eat that—I know you're starving. And the truth is, I don't really want to talk about your house, that was an error of phrasing on my part. I want to talk about your home life."

The hero's frown deepened. They were starving, but how did the villain know that? The villain seemed to pause and wait for the hero to follow the command, and curiosity got the better of them, so they did. An acidic taste filled their mouth—tomatoes. The hero would have spit it out if they weren't so hungry.

"I've noticed that you always show up to stop me, no matter when I decide to blow up the next building." The villain arched an eyebrow. "Getting enough sleep? You're getting weaker."

"I don't see how any of that is your business."

"I'm not much of a villain if my arch-nemesis can't take a hit, now am I?"

So that's why they asked: villainous pride. The hero snorted. Of course.

"Something funny, [hero]?"

"Hilarious, actually."

The villain's lips quirked into something like a smirk but not quite, at that, deep green eyes slowly roaming up their face. The hero felt, distinctly, like the villain could see every microscopic muscle and twitch like a one-way mirror to the heart beneath their skin, all with the poise of a cat. No need to bloody their claws ripping out their ribcage, for that.

"You're adorably misguided, [hero]. I mean, veganism? Really?" The villain chuckled. How terribly casual they were, signaling the waitress over in the midst of this. "Starving your body of nutrients and being a hero don't go together well."

"What do you want?" the hero demanded. They were getting sick of this one-sided game. They were so infuriated they barely noticed the clacking of the waitress's heels as they suddenly appeared beside them—if they had, the hero would have wondered why they were so quick, if the waitress knew the villain was [villain]—but they didn't.

The villain took their sweet time in answering the hero, first telling the waitress to bring [hero] crackers for their salad—crackers, of all things to interrupt them for!—and then went even further in annoying the hero by taking long, slow bite of their steak before responding with a lithe smile, "For you to eat your dinner."

"Bullshit. You want something more than that."

The smile never left the villain's face even as they turned their attention to the returning waitress, going so far as to take the crackers and crush them into [hero's] salad themself. [Hero] never said they wanted them, but they politely thanked the waitress anyway, even as they seethed at the fact the waitress hadn't double checked with the hero themself. Children are usually provided that courtesy.

"So, what's your favorite color?" the villain asked.

The hero was caught off-guard. "Excuse me?"

"Your favorite color. What is it?"

And, perhaps in defiance of such inanity, the hero jammed a bite of their salad into their mouth. And then another and then another and then another until the conversation had long since died. They kept expecting [villain] to reiterate their question or order them to answer, but the villain didn't seem to mind at all, and instead merely turned back to their steak.

When their bowl was finished, the hero took the liberty of gritting out an insult at the villain who, despite everything logical and sane that would contend otherwise if there was anything logical and sane about them, seemed to be expectantly awaiting their answer still. "You have no taste. You said this restaurant is the best in town, but the crackers here taste fucking stale."

"Huh." The villain's hand slid underneath their chin, elbow resting on the table. "I've always wondered what it tastes like."

"What wh—" And then it hit them, and the hero's head was swimming with tired and dizzy and the world was a spinning blur of the villain's signature black and blue—and how horrifically funny to notice now that the restaurant was a black and blue thing. A heartbeat and [Hero] was up, stumbling away. They fell like a newborn doe.

The villain watched from their seat as the waitress caught them—no need to bloody their claws.

The hero awoke, alive, on something soft. Their body was coiled like a boom of thunder, fast and furious and inconsequential, but the hero was wise. They waited, eyes closed, for the sound of breathing, but none met their ears. They slowly peeked an eye open—no one that they could see, and they didn't feel anything around their wrists or ankles. Only after their eyes were adjusted and they were absolutely certain no one was with them did they slip out of the unfamiliar bed, testing the cold wooden floorboards beneath them before surrendering their weight. They didn't creak.

The hero's hand twitched at their side. They wanted to test if the door was locked, but they didn't put it past [villain] to wait in the hallway for that tell-tale half twist of the knob and really, they already knew the answer to that question, didn't they?

So instead they decided to search the room on the off-chance that the villain had accidentally left anything useful—and froze as they spotted a neatly folded up note on the nightstand, a small circular mirror beside it. They—the hero—was dressed in a stunning dress/tuxedo of black and blue. Faint taste of bile of their tongue and hands trembling, the hero unfolded the note.

"Good morning, [hero]. Since you didn't tell me your favorite color, I thought about it for a while and I decided that you'd look amazing in mine. I'll be home at five, okay? :D"

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1037

So your character has matured over the last few years. As they’ve grown up they’ve come to realise that maybe rushing their past recoveries was actually a terrible idea, as they suffer consequences to this day (aches and pains, flare-ups, repressed trauma etc).

So now they listen to doctors when they’ve been injured/sick - they dutifully take their medicines, force themselves to go to physical therapy on time (they even try to be nice to the PT on occasion!), they take the full amount of leave/bed rest (though they do sneak some paperwork in), and they don't try to push themselves. 

Such maturity is commended by the team/family/friends as it goes to show how far your character has come, as well as easing their worry of them. 

However. (And there always is a however in these situations)

What if a rival or a group of reckless newcomers see this as your character just being lazy or trying to get out of work? Maybe they take this to the higherups (but the higher-ups just laugh because your character is ‘actually doing as they’re told’). Maybe after this they go directly to your character and attack them in some way (verbally or physically) - or maybe they’re sick of seeing them be more cautious on missions and decide to throw them in danger. 

Of course this takes a huge toll on your characters confidence... so what if they decide to go back to their old ways? 

[chaoslynx]

So glad ur back & I hope you’re doing well! I recently have been listening to a lot of Alex G and his song No Bitterness is so ash coded… “my teacher is a child with a big smile, no bitterness”… ash healing his inner child by being a good big brother to Michael :’) could be a good idea for a fic <3 your writing is amazing and I hope life is treating you better!!!!

Ash knows that jaded isn't a bad word to describe him, in more ways than one.

There's the color, of course. Jade. His middle name. But beyond that, Ash knows that he's ... disillusioned, shall he say, with the world around him. Jaded. It makes sense, when you've seen the things he has.

Ash wasn't out of place with this, at least not for a long time. Most of the people around him were also disillusioned. They'd all seen shit in some way or another, though hopefully few as bad as Ash. They saw past the sparkling NYC lights and into the filth coating every inch of the city, no matter how high the tax brackets became in some areas. They saw past the smiles to the teeth, and past the outstretched hands to the claws.

Ash tried to protect Skip's innocence in as many was as he could, but he was always a bit late to that. And Ash got Skipper killed in the end, so maybe he didn't do much good.

Eiji was one of the first people Ash met—past Griff, at least—who didn't share that same jadedness as he did. But there were more, after him. Well, not after, because Eiji stayed by Ash's side. But there were more people since meeting Eiji who also seemed ... hopeful, almost.

Max, stupidly, despite the war he'd been a part of. Jessica, despite the harm Ash just existing caused her. Ibe, who always seemed more than a touch overwhelmed by everything taking place in the States.

And, of course, Michael.

Michael is a little younger than Skip had been, and around the same age that Ash gained his current perspective on life. Ash is determined to not let the same happen to Michael.

When he stays over at Max and Jessica's place, Ash has his own room—the guest room, really, but they always tell him it's his whenever he wants it. This guest room is upstairs in the house, and shares a wall with Michael's room. Ash worries about this sometimes, since he knows his nightmares aren't always quiet. After the time he punched Bones' teeth out when the kid tried to wake him up from a nightmare, Ash made sure the gang stayed away from him when he was asleep, no matter how much pain he seemed to be in.

Max and Jessica told Ash that he was welcome to use the lock on the guest room door. At first, Ash was hesitant. After all, this isn't his house. This isn't his room. How could he lock the people who live here out?

It was Michael, in the end, who changed Ash's mind. Not that Michael actually did anything, but Ash realized that with them sharing a wall, there was a chance Michael would hear one of Ash's nightmares and go to check on him. Ash, of course, couldn't let that happen, so he started locking the door.

It didn't occur to Ash until it happened that he might be able to hear Michael's nightmares through the wall, too.

Stupidly, it didn't really occur to Ash that 'normal' kids like Michael even had nightmares. Not that Michael hasn't had more than his fair share of pain, much of it due to Ash's influence himself. He really should have known better ...

Still, the first time he hears Michael cry out in his sleep, Ash finds his hand reaching for a gun that's no longer there.

"Michael?" Ash calls, cautiously. Is there an intruder?

"M-Mommy," Michael says. His voice is muffled by sleep and the wall between them.

Without another thought, Ash makes his way toward Michael's room.

He might not have his gun anymore, and it might be too late for him. But as long as there's still goodness in this world—as long as there are still kids like Michael, and the potential for them to grow into adults who are better than Ash—

Then maybe Ash can push aside his own bitterness, those past memories that have jaded him, in favor of learning from someone who's never tasted their own blood on someone else's tongue.

[doverstar]

hhhhHHHHHH - ELEVENROSE.

[starrystevie]

25 for steddie? ❤️

25. playful biting

the first time eddie bit steve, neither of them really expected it. the party was all crowded together in the wheeler basement, loud and wild and palpable energy as they started steve's first ever campaign. he was seated next to eddie in a folding chair, much to mike’s chagrin (it’s his first game, michael, he gets this privilege. now roll or your paladin will face unknown horrors). they were damn near in each other’s laps with how tight the table was and steve’s arm was pressed against eddie’s, a welcome constant pressure.

and steve, he did extremely well for being a newbie. call it beginner's luck or the fact that he had eddie blow on his dice before every roll (which absolutely didn't make his heart flutter every time, no way), but each of his turns had the whole crew cheering. it was a fast campaign, a one shot to see if he would want to continue, and boy was eddie glad he had planned it that way. seeing the way steve concentrated on everyone else's moves, plotted with them to finish out the game with a victory, the wide and bright smile that broke out over his face when he landed a hit, it was intoxicating. steve was intoxicating.

at the end, it all came down to steve and his barbarian. everyone looked at him with big eyes, waiting to see if he would be the hero in the game like he was outside of it. he brought his hand up to eddie's face for one final blow, his eyebrows quirked and smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"that better work, munson." he murmured, low voice sending a jolt of electricity down eddie's spine. "i'm trusting you."

the dice rolled across the table as if in slow motion, everyone's eyes following its path before it stopped at the end of the table. erica was the first one to react, leaping up out of her chair with a deafing yell that spurred everyone else into excitement. "what did i do?!" steve yelled, his face nearly ripping in two with how wide his smile was. as he turned to look at eddie.

it was breath taking, the way steve looked at him. the way steve jumped in head first to play this game only because the people he loved wanted him to. the way steve could make everything exciting and fresh and overwhelmingly right. a laugh escaped eddie as he watched his party, his team, celebrate a well deserved win but what really had him going was the way steve had grabbed onto him, pulling him into a tight hug.

"i can't believe we won!" steve screamed out, too close to eddie's ear, but if that was the cost to holding steve then he was willing to pay it. the other man pulled back the slightest bit and looked eddie directly in the eye, his face flushed and eyes shining.

"thank you," steve said with a sincerity that felt too big that eddie didn't know what to do with the way it ran through his veins like lava other than to get his mouth on him.

he didn't mean to bite him, really. he didn't know what came over him but there was just something about how steve was lit up that made him do it. it wasn't hard for eddie's brain to go blank when he was around steve and that was the only excuse he could think of when the other man's eyes got wide as his teeth sunk into the skin at his wrist. steve was there and steve was this bright star that he had in his reach and steve was never something he thought he could ever let himself hold onto.

they didn't say anything afterwards. eddie jumped away almost as soon as it had happened, corralling the kids upstairs after karen wheeler yelled at them for the ruckus and telling them it was time to go home anyway. it wasn't until after everything was loaded up that steve stopped eddie as he got to his van.

"wanna tell me why you bit me?" he said a bit breathlessly, not accusing, not judging, just asking as if he was asking about the weather. he stood close to eddie, close enough that it made him want to wrap his arms around steve and never let him go again, but he knew that he was pushing his luck.

"just... wanted to."

there was no way to put into words how crazy he could make eddie feel. like he had to have him under his teeth to make sure he was real and not this perfect mirage in a desert that would fade away once he came to his senses. the forbidden fruit in the garden just waiting to turn eddie's whole fucking world upside down.

steve grinned, almost menacing in the dark with streetlights flickering off his pearly white teeth and eddie was struck with the idea that maybe he wanted steve's teeth on him instead.

"wanna do it again?"

and if steve showed up to hellfire the next night with a new character sheet filled out and a dozen purple bite marks hidden under his shirt then no one had to be the wiser.

[theragethatisdesire]

I’M ACTUALLY EARLY ENOUGH TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS YAY 😭😭

okay okay okay so i’m thinking 236 with plug!eren. i feel like he’d love to see you wearing his things like wearing his hoodie after six could easily start up a round two.

and then that last chapter got me thinking abt 116 w/ him too, i can’t wait to see a more possessive/protective side to him in the future possibly 👀 that “my girl” had me feeling things lol

and then 8 for jean. i have no specific reason, he’s just sexy and i’m impulsive so i wanna fuck him there, but he’s also tall as hell so it would be a struggle for him LMAO

this was just an excuse to talk to you abt plug!eren and jean, please don’t think i’m expecting drabble from you i just wanna ramble 😭😭🥹

DLFADLFDA hi bestie!!!! you're so full of ideas i literally love it so much i just.....you're so right. ESP about plug!eren he's so possessive on the low and he tries to hold himself back but he can't always help himself. like, he def has you dressed up all in his little hoodies and t-shirts and you're always covered in little bites and bruises and hickeys and going through dozens of bottles of concealer and he absolutely gets you a little necklace with an E charm on it like that's not canon but it's canon <333 i LOVE him!!!!

but your idea with jean....i....i simply couldn't resist....

NSFW below the cut >:)

The first thing you learned about Jean Kirschstein was that his ego knows no bounds. He isn't a selfish person, quite the opposite, actually, but as the starting pitcher for Paradis University's top-ranking baseball team, he has a constant supply of ego-fueling screams from the stands to keep his self-image bloated and well-fed.

Hundreds of girls screaming their name would make any man unreasonably confident, but Jean has the gall to blame his borderline-conceit on you of all people. You expect me not to have a big head when I have a girlfriend this gorgeous? C'mon babe, be serious.

Jean's favorite way to feed his ego, by extension, is by taking you anywhere he wants, any time. Considering that he leaves your legs shaking and your voice raspy, you're not one to complain, but this tendency of his does force you into some rather suspect situations.

Take tonight, for example. The Paradis Devils pulled a 5-3 victory off over the Marley Warriors, their conference rival, and it was, frankly, mostly thanks to Jean's signature curveball pitch. When he eyed you in the stands from the pitch, a toothpick sticking out from his smirk and a dark glint to his smile that only you knew how to interpret, the deafening cheers in the stadium faded to a low hum in comparison to the rush of blood to your face.

"Jean, we're going to get caught-"

"Sh," Jean hushes you, shoving you none-too-gently against the door of his flashy pickup truck, "who cares?"

"Me," you whine pitifully into his mouth, already limp and malleable in his strong hands.

"Not going to help me celebrate my victory? You know you're the reason we won," Jean mouths his way down your neck, pulling a whimper from you, "do it all for you, baby."

"But there's people around Jean, the game just let out."

"Hop in, then," Jean smacks your ass playfully, "windows are tinted, remember?"

As if you don't know the windows are tinted, not after Jean's last game, the baseball banquet, your Honor's Society awards dinner...you acquiesce him with a roll of your eyes, clambering up into the backseat.

Jean follows you, hazel eyes hooded and hungry and hat backwards on his head, never letting his hands drift from you for long. He wrestles his jersey off before climbing in, tossing it carelessly into the passenger seat and laying his long body over yours. He reaches back and fumbles for the door handle, finally finding purchase and swinging it closed, only to accidentally thwack his leg, shooting his body forward and consequently knocking your head into the opposite door.

"Fuck."

"Ow!"

"Car sex always looks so much easier in the movies," Jean winces, shaking his head.

"Then why can't we just wait until we get home? Your apartment's only five minutes away," you giggle, only half-meaning your words when Jean's muscled torso is pressing into your heated skin.

Jean doesn't answer at first, instead dipping his hand down to rub insistently over your clothed, pulsing cunt. He chuckles darkly at your responding moan, the way your hips buck up desperately into his hand, betraying your words.

"If you think you're getting out of this car without my cum dripping down your legs, you've lost your goddamn mind."

[meatbricks]

I was curious but maybeee like a fic where the reader ( 5’1 Cis femme) is discovered by the painter (but she doesn’t know since it’s during one of his stalking escapades) and he becomes fixated on her due to her almost innocent appearance. It’s messed up because he probably just wants to “corrupt” her 😭

HI ANON!! thank you for the request!! i'm glad that, in your curiosity, you decided to request your fic here!! it's been a while since i've written a female reader, so i'm sorry if the "femme" part isn't exactly accentuated all that much.. i tried to mention it a little bit, and the reader is seen as traditionally feminine and "cute" in a really fucked up sense, so i hope that makes up for a lack of specific detail on how the reader looks!

with that being said, though...!

warning: implied nsft, mentions of pedophilia/incest, implied imminent noncon, mentions of stalking, implied necrophilia(?), implied canon-typical violence, uhhhhh. painter being absolutely fucking delusional

fic is under the cut!!

Everything started with just a small glimpse.

All you'd done was step out of your car and walk to your front door after a wild night out with your friends. You were quite easy to notice, admittedly, both due in part to your natural beauty and your choice of style, but such things couldn't be blamed. After all, brightly-colored attire was all the rage amongst your peers these days, and you both enjoyed such an aesthetic and wore it well; at least, according to you and those around you. That withstanding, however, you still had no reason to believe you were in any danger. You knew nearly all of the people in your surrounding neighborhood, and decidedly, none of them posed any threat to you. All things considered, you felt safe. You felt confident. You felt satisfied as you entered your house, closing the door behind you as you flicked on the adjacent lightswitch.

Well, of course you felt safe. After all, the two men passing by your house weren't particularly known for making themselves obvious to their future victims.

Unbeknownst to you, two rather notorious figures walked past your house; back to their own car after a particularly lengthy session of stalking a would-be target. If the smaller-framed and more fragile of the two hadn't turned his head at just the right second, then likely, you really would have been safe. No additional thoughts would have been put into his head. No horrid fate would have been written out for you. No harm would befall you in the days to come.

But he did turn his head, and he saw you.

The other didn't; he paid no mind to your fleeting visage entering a doorway, passing a threshold which barred all following access to your form through any means. He simply kept walking forwards, trying to find where exactly he'd parked his car. The first, however, was already forming a vision in his head. An artistic vision of sorts; at least, that was what he decided it was, and it had all began with the mere sight of you.

Initially, he took note of how radiant you seemed at this time. The dead of night and its accompanying darkness seemed to do nothing to quell the apparent glow about you. A particular glow that couldn't be emulated by any other living thing... at least, not intentionally. A glow that drove people to do extraordinary things; to protect, to corrupt, to create, to destroy. A glow that was unlike any other form that the concept of beauty took, one that was a rarity and a delicacy and a complete pleasure to anyone who came across it, no matter their intentions or morals.

The glow of... innocence.

Yes, that's what it was, he decided to no one but himself. Innocence. He recognized that glow. He'd seen it emanate from many before. As he decided what it was that he saw in you, he was instantaneously reminded of another. Someone he'd come across in recent years. Someone he'd killed. Someone he'd known rather... intimately.

Margaret Beck, aged 11. Just as pure as her brother, whom he'd been acquainted with long before he even knew of her existence. He knew nothing of her, and yet the moment he saw her, he believed himself to know exactly who she was: a happy, cherished, darling little girl. An innocent. A beautiful creation. To him, she glowed just like her brother had in the cabin that night, like a man-made star of Bethlehem. They were twins in the truest form, he'd mused to himself upon observing them. They would serve as proof of his hypothesis. They would show the world what it truly meant to be a sibling; to have a sibling. He just knew it. No one would stop him. They couldn't. Not after he'd obtained his perfect accomplice. He smiled at the memory of his realization, and yet he couldn't help but feel that his attachment to that glow ran deeper. It was as if he needed to reach into his soul to find what made him so drawn to you and your luminescence.

And so, he did.

He found himself within a memory of warmth. Familiarity, although what memory wouldn't seem familiar? Yet there was no word he could think of to accurately describe the sensation of this memory besides, simply, "familiar". He stood in a modestly-decorated bedroom, one within an old, white house on the countryside. Hovering over the bed, staring downwards, he was not alone. Laying in the bed was a small girl; her blonde curls sprawled over her pillow and her pale skin appearing incandescent in the dark. She looked like a porcelain doll, or a corpse at a funeral, motionless and breathing so quietly and softly that you could barely tell she was breathing at all. In his memory, he had to stifle a chuckle at the thought. Her tiny, little lungs couldn't hold so much air. He wasn't sure why he found such a notion so elating. Perhaps it was simply the effect she had on him. How he adored her so deeply that he felt the need to drain the life from her; extract her innocence so that, maybe, he could keep it for himself. Not to attribute it to himself, he reasoned with his own mind. Simply to keep it locked in a little glass box for him to look at whenever he pleased. To turn it from a finite quality soon to be shed to an eternal masterpiece, forever immortalized within himself.

As he envisioned watching over his sister as she silently dreamed, his infatuation with you suddenly made sense to him.

At once, images of you began flashing in his mind.

You stood in a pale pink nightgown, its trim lined with lace just falling past your knees as you slowly backed into a wall, into a corner; your eyes wide and terrified and brimming with tears as he drew closer and closer. He could sense how you were feeling. He could see you just barely trembling as you cowered. His only response was to continue forward.

You lay on a canopy bed, first posed like a fashion magazine covergirl and then like a corpse in a coffin, your hands crossed over the middle of your chest and your eyes closed. He was kneeling over you, looking down at your face before stroking your cheek and making you flinch.

Your eyes were wide as his fingers were placed in your mouth. He slowly pulled downward. You stayed still. He watched your mouth open wider, wider, and still wider yet, until finally a sickening crunch could be heard and blood began to trickle down from where your jaw was connected to your face.

You feebly rose to your feet in front of a wall, just barely able to stand upright and having to press your hands against the surface behind you to keep your balance. Your legs shook. From between them, streams of blood trickled down onto the floor, staining the matted carpet beneath your feet. He stared into you, as if he could see right through your exterior and into what you hid within your soul. As if he was familiar with every inch of you, and everything you had to offer as a human being.

He saw your visage on a canvas, contorted and broken and utterly beautiful to him.

It was undeniable now. You had to be his.

You had to, and you were going to.

Returning to reality proper, he found himself in the passenger seat of his colleague's car, having just arrived back home. He blinked, and then turned to the man behind the wheel.

"Did you see that girl going into her house on the walk back to the car?"

[c-optimistic]

I’m sorry you’re sad my friend, sending you love and positive vibes! 💛 I feel the same atm, I can’t wait to get back to writing something other than depressing thesis stuff.

If you’re up for it, maybe a little supercorp snippet of how Lena would try to comfort and cheer Kara up when she is feeling down (Or vice versa)

It’s late, most of the building has emptied, and even Jess had reluctantly left after Lena’s insistence and threats of forcing her assistant to take a well deserved week off.

Thé television in her office is on, but muted. It’s a repeat of one of the news casts from earlier, and despite the fact she heard the words many hours ago, it’s as if it’s blaring in her ears right then.

Lena Luthor’s Position Imperiled

She wants to scream. No, she wants to hit something. Or perhaps what she really wants is a moment to just…be. To let herself feel everything without having to worry it would be used against her.

She’s feelings more than a little sorry for herself when she hears Kara (and of course it’s Kara, no one else would dare approach her when she’s like this), but she doesn’t move, doesn’t even look up.

“I’m a failure,” she says flatly. She feels Kara’s warm hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she says, her voice doing what nothing else has ever seemed to be able to do: make her feel as though everything would be okay. “It’ll be okay, Lena,” Kara promises, rounding Lena’s chair until she’s standing in front of her, and taking a knee. “You’re going to be okay. I’m sure of it.” Kara takes Lena’s hands in her own, leaning up a little bit to press the gentlest of kisses to Lena’s forehead. “Let me take you home. Rest. Then tomorrow we’ll deal with this together. Okay?”

Tears finally escape, despite Lena’s best efforts to keep them at bay, and she nods shakily. “Okay,” Lena responds, tightening her grip on Kara’s hand, relieved to know she can feel anything and everything and Kara would keep her safe.

[foreveranevilregal]

Am I actually gonna attempt encantober this year?