#the haunted house haunted mirror haunted face

[prompt-heaven]

the ultimate list of AUs, kinks and tropes to inspire you for kinktober 

some of these are darker in nature since that is fitting for the spooky season. 

AUs

academic / teacher / professor / tutor 

addams family

babysitter / nanny

bartender

biker

bodyguard

bonnie and clyde

bounty hunter

boxer 

camp counselor

circus / carnival

cult 

demon / angel

fairytale retelling

fantasy 

farmer

firefighter

guardian angel 

historical 

hybrid

mafia / mob 

magic 

maid / butler 

mechanic 

modern 

monster / mythology / supernatural

paranormal investigator 

pirate / mermaid

post-apocalyptic

priest

prison

rockstar 

royalty

serial killer

sex worker / porn / camgirl/boy / stripper 

slasher

soulmate

spy / secret agent

steampunk / cyber punk

sugar daddy

tattoo artist 

time travel

treasure hunter 

vampire

werewolf 

wild west

TROPES

a/b/o

against a wall 

age gap

amnesia / memory loss

anonymous sex

balcony sex

boss x employee 

brothers best friend / dad’s best friend (dbf)

car sex

cheating

clothed sex

comforting sex

coworkers to lovers

cursed / fuck or die / sex pollen

dark / soft!dark

enemies to lovers

exes to lovers

fake relationship

forbidden romance

friends to lovers

friends with benefits

game gone wrong

hate sex / make-up sex

huddle for warmth

just the tip

library sex

loss of virginity

mirror sex

neighbours to lovers 

only one bed

opposites attract

period sex

pool / hot tub sex

predator / prey

professor x student

public / semi-public sex

revenge sex

reverse harem

romantic sex

roommates to lovers

rough sex

seduction

sex in an alley

sex in exchange for a favour

sex while camping

shower / bath sex

stalker

stepcest

table sex

unrequited love

yandere

KINKS

aftercare

anal 

begging

being recorded / taking pictures

body worship

dom / sub / bondage / bdsm / shibari

breath play / choking

cheating

cockwarming

corruption kink 

costumes / uniforms

creampie / breeding / forced breeding

cuckolding

cum in panties

cumplay

cunnilingus / face sitting / rimming / blowjob / deep throating / gagging

dacryphillia

dirty talk / voice kink

double penetration / double penetration in one hole 

dry humping / thigh riding 

dubcon / noncon / cnc / drugging

dumbification

exhibitionism / voyeurism

fingering

fisting

flashing 

food play 

footjob 

forced orgasm

formal wear 

free use

glory hole

glove kink 

hand kink

handjob 

hole inspection

humiliation / degradation

hunter / prey

impact play / spanking / whipping / hair pulling / pain kink

jealousy / sharing / possessive

knife kink / gun kink

lingerie / stockings / socks

massage

masturbation / caught masturbating / mutual masturbation

medical kink

monsterfucking / tentacles

multiple orgasms

orgasm denial / overstimulation / edging

threesome / orgy / gangbang

partner swap 

pegging

piercings

pillow humping

praise kink 

premature ejaculation / cuming untouched

pussyjob

roleplay

role reversal

ruined orgasm / cuming without permission

sensory deprivation 

sexting / phone sex 

facial / swallowing / bukakke

size kink / size difference / belly bulge

skirt stays on

somnophilia / getting fucked to sleep

spit kink

squirting

stripping / lap dance

teasing 

temperature play

thigh fucking

throat training

titty fucking

toys / object insertion 

OTHER PROMPTS

a ritual gone wrong 

a string of unexplained deaths

a summer fling gone horrible wrong, or right

alian abduction 

art come to life

basement wife 

being paralysed 

blackmail 

caught trespassing on private property

college party gone wrong

crazy ex

curiosity killed the cat

fate worse than death

final girl

getting stranded in a little town that’s not as wholesome as it seems

ghostface

halloween party

haunted house / abandoned house 

haunted object 

hitch-hiking gone wrong

hot neighbour that has an obsession with you

i was sent here to assassinate you but now i think i might be in love with you

Items moving and/or going missing

i’ll find you in every universe / century

kidnapping

lost in a maze

mad scientist 

magical healing 

marriage / wedding / arranged marriage/ forced marriage 

mind control / telepathy

mirrors playing tricks on the mind

oh, you had a long day? use me as your personal sex toy in order to unwind

oops, i summoned a demon 

oops, i’m dating a serial killer

playing games (like seven minutes in heaven, spin the bottle, hide and seek, etc.) but they have a slutty/dark twist to them

possession (ghost or demon)

power outage

ritual / sacrifice / blood magic

road trip

secret room

serial killers fucking in front of hostages

stalker landlord

stalker wearing the same costume as your partner 

stockholm syndrome

the return of a villain thought dead

torture

toxic frat boy

waking up from strange dreams and seeing bruises and marks on your skin that correspond exactly with the dream you just woke from

we’re the last people on the planet and you will be mine

you wake up strapped to a table just as a fuck machine is turned on

[novaursa]

The Crown of Winter Roses

- Summary: Rhaegar starts the Rebellion by stealing his sister, you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 18+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Rhaegar sat alone in his chambers. The silence of the Red Keep was stifling, yet he welcomed it, for it was in these moments of solitude that he could allow himself to be truly vulnerable, to grapple with the emotions that he kept so tightly locked away.

He thought of you, his sister, Y/N. The memory of your face haunted him, a ghost that lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He could still recall the first time he had held you, a small babe with a crown of silver hair and eyes that mirrored his own. He had been only a boy then, but even at that tender age, he had felt an overwhelming protectiveness. You were more than just his sister; you were a part of him, as if the gods had split his soul and given half of it to you.

He had watched you grow, seen the child you were slowly transform into the woman you would become. The court whispered of your beauty, the poets sang of it. “The Jewel of Westeros,” they called you, and not without reason. But it was not just your beauty that captivated him. It was your spirit, the fire in your eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence beyond your years. You were the only one who could calm the storm within him, the only one who could make him forget, even for a moment, the heavy weight of prophecy and destiny that lay upon his shoulders.

But then, the gods – or perhaps it was his father’s madness – had intervened. Aerys had refused to wait, refused to allow you to come of age. Instead, he had bound Rhaegar to Elia Martell, a match that, while strategic, felt like a betrayal. The memory of that day still burned in his mind. He had stood before the Great Hall, the words of his vows leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Elia had been kind, gentle even, but she was not you. The thought had shamed him then, and it shamed him still.

His father had sent you away not long after, to Storm’s End, to serve as Lady Cassana’s ward. It was a cruel twist of fate, separating the two of you when he needed you most. He had protested, of course, but Aerys had been adamant. He had raved about alliances and security, about keeping you safe from those who would use you against him. But Rhaegar knew the truth. His father had seen the way he looked at you, had seen the way you looked at him. And Aerys, mad as he was, could not abide the thought of losing control, not over his son, and certainly not over you.

He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking in the quiet. He had tried to be a good husband to Elia, tried to fulfill his duties as prince and father. But there was always that emptiness, that hollow space where you should have been. He had convinced himself, for a time, that it was for the best, that you were safer far from the intrigues of King’s Landing, away from the poisonous whispers and plotting eyes. But in his heart, he knew that he was lying to himself. You were his other half, the light to his shadow, the calm to his storm. Without you, he was incomplete.

And then there was the prophecy, the haunting words that had plagued him since he was a boy. “The dragon has three heads.” He had believed, with all his heart, that you were meant to be by his side, that you were the key to unlocking the secrets of the past, to ensuring the future of their House. But instead, you were betrothed to Brandon Stark, a match that made him seethe with a jealousy he could not control. Stark was a brute, a man of the North, with no understanding of the fire that burned within you, the dragon’s blood that coursed through your veins.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the small table where his harp lay. The strings were cool beneath his fingers, and he plucked at them absently, a soft, mournful melody filling the air. He had written this song for you, though he had never played it where others could hear. It spoke of loss and longing, of a love that could never be. His voice, when he sang, was low and rough, each word a plea to the gods who had denied him what he desired most.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he whispered, the words breaking like waves against the shores of his despair. “And now you are lost to me.”

He thought of you in Storm’s End, surrounded by strangers, your laughter no longer echoing through the halls of the Red Keep. Did you miss him as he missed you? Did you think of him in the quiet moments, as he thought of you? He did not know, and that uncertainty was a blade that twisted in his chest.

He set the harp down and turned away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. Duty and destiny, love and loss – they were chains that bound him, unbreakable and cruel. He had tried to be strong, to be the prince his people needed, but he was only a man, and men were weak, fallible. They loved, they lost, they yearned for things they could never have.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw your face, your smile, heard your voice like a whisper on the wind. “Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Forgive me for not being strong enough, for not being able to fight for you.”

But it was too late for forgiveness, too late for regrets. The path had been set, and he was bound to it, as surely as he was bound to Elia. All he could do now was move forward, step by painful step, and hope that, in the end, the gods would grant him some measure of peace.

But deep in his heart, he knew that peace would never come. Not without you.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was filled with the roar of voices, the excitement of the crowd palpable as the knights readied themselves for the next tilt. Yet, amidst the clamor and the spectacle, Rhaegar Targaryen found himself strangely detached, his thoughts drifting far from the tourney field.

It had been years since he had last seen you, years spent trying to bury the longing that never truly left him. He had told himself, time and again, that it was for the best, that you were safer away from him, from the web of power and madness that ensnared their family. But the distance had done nothing to quell the ache. If anything, it had only deepened it, the emptiness in his heart growing more profound with each passing day.

The knights before him clashed, steel against steel, but Rhaegar’s eyes were drawn inexorably upward, to the royal stands. There, amidst the fluttering banners and the noble lords and ladies, he saw you.

The sight of you struck him like a blade, sharp and sudden. You had changed, as all must with the passage of time, but the essence of you remained the same. Your beauty, once remarked upon by the poets and whispered about in the courts, had only grown, maturing into something almost otherworldly. You were resplendent, a beacon of silver and violet, your hair catching the sunlight as it streamed through the high windows, your gown a cascade of pale blue and gold.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to still, the noise of the tourney fading to a distant murmur. It was as if time itself had paused, granting him this fleeting, stolen moment to simply look at you. He drank in every detail, the curve of your lips, the grace with which you moved, the way your eyes sparkled with a light he had not seen in so long.

He could see the way others watched you, their admiration barely concealed, but none dared approach. There was something untouchable about you, something that set you apart from the rest. You were a Targaryen, with all the fire and blood that name carried, and you wore it like a mantle, like a crown.

It was then that his gaze met yours. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away. He saw the recognition in your eyes, the soft widening as you realized who was staring back at you. In that brief exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between you. There was shock, yes, but also something deeper, something that stirred the embers of hope he had long thought extinguished.

He could not look away, even as his heart hammered in his chest. The years apart had not dimmed his feelings; if anything, they had only grown stronger, more desperate. You were not just his sister; you were his other half, the missing piece that made him whole. Seeing you now, after so long, was like stepping out of a darkened room and into the light. And he knew, in that instant, that he would do anything, anything, to have you by his side once more.

But then the world rushed back in, the cheers of the crowd, the calls of the heralds, the thunder of hooves as the next pair of knights charged. Rhaegar tore his gaze from you, the loss of your eyes on his a physical pain. He tried to focus on the match before him, but his mind was a tumult of emotions, his heart warring with itself.

He had a wife, children. His duty lay with them, with his family, with the kingdom. But the gods were cruel, and they had given him a glimpse of what he could never have. It was a torment, one that he bore with quiet anguish.

When his turn came to ride, he moved almost on instinct, his mind still consumed by thoughts of you. The lance felt heavy in his hand, the armor a suffocating weight. As he rode onto the field, he felt the eyes of the crowd upon him, but there was only one pair that mattered.

He did not know what possessed him in that moment. Perhaps it was the need to show you, to prove that he had not forgotten, that you were still, and always would be, the center of his world. Or perhaps it was something deeper, something primal that he could not control.

When he unhorsed his opponent, the cheers of the crowd were distant, hollow in his ears. His gaze sought you out again, and when he found you, he saw something in your expression that made his heart clench. There was pride there, yes, but also something softer, something that spoke of shared pain and longing.

Without thinking, he dismounted and approached the stands, his steps slow and deliberate. The murmurs rose around him, whispers spreading like wildfire as the crowd sensed something unprecedented was about to happen. His heart pounded, each beat a drum in his ears, but he did not falter.

He stopped before you, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. He could see Brandon Stark’s eyes burning with anger, Robert Baratheon’s face twisting with something darker, but they were of no consequence. Not now. Not in this moment.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the crown of blue winter roses, the flowers fresh and vibrant against the silver circlet. He could feel the tension in the air, the breathless anticipation of the crowd, but he did not care. This was for you, for you alone.

When he placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushed your hair, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. He held your gaze, his voice a low murmur that only you could hear. “For the queen of love and beauty,” he said, the words heavy with a meaning that went far beyond the ritual they were meant to serve.

For a moment, he allowed himself to hope, to dream of a world where you could be his, where you could stand beside him as you were always meant to. But the dream was fleeting, shattered by the reality that loomed just beyond this fragile bubble of time.

He saw the fury in Brandon’s eyes, the confusion and hurt in Robert’s. He knew what they would say, what they would think, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with you looking at him the way you were, as if you, too, felt the same unbearable pull that had haunted him for so long.

He wanted to speak, to say something, anything that could convey the depth of what he felt. But the words would not come. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, of devotion, and then turned away.

As he walked back to his horse, he felt the weight of what he had done settle upon him. He had defied convention, defied expectation, and in doing so, he had set events in motion that he could not control. But for that single, shining moment, he had been true to himself, to what he felt. And as he rode away, the image of you crowned with winter roses burned bright in his mind, a beacon of hope in the gathering storm.

For good or ill, he had made his choice. And whatever came next, whatever price he would have to pay, he knew it would be worth it, if it meant having you, even for just a moment, in his life once more.

Rhaegar’s pulse thundered in his ears as he waited in the shadows of the godswood, his hands trembling beneath his gloves. The cool air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by what he was about to do, the irrevocable act that would change the course of their lives forever. He could hear the distant sound of laughter, of celebration, the wedding feast in full swing. Lyanna Stark, the Wolf Maid, would be wed to Robert Baratheon tonight, and the halls of Storm’s End would echo with the revelry of that union.

But Rhaegar had no place among the revelers. His heart, his soul, his very being was elsewhere—focused solely on you. The thought of you, promised to another, made his blood boil. The pain of it was unbearable, a gnawing, relentless ache that had driven him to the brink of madness.

It was madness, he knew that. To steal you away on such a night, under the very roof of the man who would wed Lyanna, under the watchful eye of your betrothed, Brandon Stark. But he had no choice. He had tried to resist, had tried to stay away, to let you go, but the gods—those cruel, capricious beings—had bound his heart to yours, and no force in the world could sever that bond.

He had watched you from afar, seen the way you carried yourself, poised and proud, even as you stood beside the Stark boy, your future husband. It had taken every ounce of his will not to storm the hall then and there, to tear you away from the one who claimed you. But he had waited, biding his time, knowing that this was his last chance to act.

He thought of the prophecy again, of the words that haunted his every waking moment: “The dragon has three heads.” He needed you, not just as a man craves a woman, but as a king needs his queen, as a dreamer needs his vision. You were part of his destiny, the key to everything. And if he let you slip away now, if he let you be bound to another, all would be lost.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred him from his thoughts, and he tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. But then he saw you, slipping quietly through the trees, your face pale in the moonlight, your eyes wide and searching. You had come. He had not been sure that you would, had not been sure that you would heed the message he had sent. But you had come.

“Y/N,” he breathed, your name a prayer on his lips as you drew closer. You looked at him, and in that moment, he saw everything—fear, hope, confusion, love. The conflicting emotions in your eyes mirrored his own, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated. What right did he have to do this, to tear you away from the life you knew, from the family who loved you?

But then he thought of Brandon Stark, of the vows you would be forced to speak, the life you would be forced to live. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on madness, that he could not let that happen.

“Rhaegar, what are you doing?” your voice trembled, a note of desperation creeping in. You had always been strong, unyielding, but now, faced with the enormity of what he was about to do, he saw the cracks in your armor. “This is insane. If they find us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm, resolute. “We will be gone before they know it. I’ve made arrangements, planned everything. We can be across the border of Stormlands by dawn.”

You shook your head, taking a step back, and his heart lurched in his chest. “And then what? We run? We hide for the rest of our lives? What about the realm, Rhaegar? What about your children? What about—”

“I love you.” The words burst from him, raw and unguarded, and he saw the shock in your eyes. He had never said it before, never dared to, but now, standing here in the dark, with everything on the line, he could hold it back no longer. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t let you go. I can’t let you marry him.”

Your eyes softened, the fire in them dimming for just a moment. He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed your cheek, and you did not pull away. “Please, come with me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t be who I’m meant to be without you.”

He saw the conflict in your eyes, the war between duty and desire, and he held his breath, waiting. For a long, agonizing moment, you said nothing, your gaze locked on his. And then, slowly, you nodded.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Alright, Rhaegar. I’ll go with you.”

Relief, so intense it was almost painful, flooded through him. He took your hand, gripping it tightly, and together you turned toward the waiting horse, your steps quick and silent. He glanced back only once, at the great, shadowed bulk of Storm’s End, at the hall where Lyanna Stark would be married to Robert Baratheon, where Brandon Stark would soon discover that his bride had vanished into the night.

He knew what would come next. Knew that Robert would not let this insult stand, that Brandon would be furious, that Aerys, his father, would react with the same madness and cruelty that had come to define him. He knew that blood would be spilled, that the realm would be torn apart, that everything he had tried to build would come crashing down around him. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not with you beside him.

He mounted his horse and reached down to help you up, his hands steady now, his heart calm. This was right. This was what was meant to be. You fit against him perfectly, your body warm against his, your arms wrapped around his waist as the horse moved beneath you.

He glanced back once more, a final farewell to the life he was leaving behind, and then turned his gaze forward.

He knew, deep down, that there would be no forgiveness, no redemption for what he had done. He had stolen you, taken you from those who cared for you, had set a flame to the tinder that would ignite the realm. But he could not bring himself to care. The thought of you with Brandon, with anyone but him, was a torment he could not bear.

And so he rode on, his arms tight around you, his mind a storm of guilt and desire, fear and hope. The rebellion would come, and with it, death and destruction. But for now, in this moment, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

The journey south had been a blur, days and nights merging into one endless ride. He had spoken little, lost in his own thoughts, his guilt and desire warring within him. He knew what they would say, what they would think: that he was mad, that he was his father’s son. But this was not madness, not truly. It was something else, something far more terrible. He could not live without you, could not let you be bound to another when you were meant to be his. The gods themselves had decreed it, and who was he to deny their will?

The feeling of you now, riding with him, was both a comfort and a torment. Your face was pale, drawn, but there was a strength in your eyes that had always been there, a fire that burned even in the darkest of times. He wanted to speak, to tell you that he was sorry, that he knew what he had done was unforgivable. But the words would not come. How could he explain what he barely understood himself? How could he make you see that this was the only way, the only path left to him?

He glanced down at you, his heart aching with a pain that was almost physical. You were staring straight ahead, your posture rigid, your hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of your dress. He could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way you held yourself as if preparing for some unseen blow. You were afraid, and that knowledge cut him deeper than any blade.

He had sworn to protect you, to keep you safe from harm. And now he had become the very thing you needed protection from. It was a bitter irony, one that left a foul taste in his mouth. But he could not, would not, let you go. Not now. Not when he had come so close to losing you forever.

The inn where they would rest for the night loomed ahead, a small, nondescript building nestled among the trees. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, turning to help you down. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something there, something that gave him hope.

“We will rest here,” he said softly, his voice rough with fatigue and emotion. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. No one will find us.”

You nodded, saying nothing, and he felt his heart twist in his chest. He had expected anger, rage even. But this silence, this quiet acceptance, was worse. It felt like a condemnation, like you had already resigned yourself to whatever fate he had chosen for you.

Inside, the inn was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a soft, golden light across the room. Rhaegar watched as you moved to sit by the fire, your gaze distant, unfocused. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything would be alright. But he knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever be alright again.

He turned away, his hands trembling as he poured a cup of wine. He needed to think, to clear his head. But his thoughts were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of guilt and desire, fear and hope. He had done this, had set this course, and now he must see it through. But the cost, gods, the cost was more than he had ever imagined.

He thought of his children, of Elia, of the family he had left behind. What would they say when they learned of what he had done? What would they think of him, the man who had torn his family apart for the sake of a love that could never be? The thought made him sick, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. But even that was not enough to change his mind.

He took a long drink of the wine, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to be strong, had to see this through. For you. For the prophecy. For the future that only the two of you could create. He would be remembered as a villain, a madman, but if it meant having you, if it meant fulfilling the destiny that had been written in the stars, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

The door to your chamber stood open, a dark, yawning void that seemed to beckon him. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to make you understand. But he knew that he could not. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he turned and made his way outside, the cool night air washing over him like a balm. He stood there, staring up at the sky, the stars bright and cold above him. He had read once that the stars were the tears of the gods, weeping for the fates of men. He wondered if they were weeping for him now, for what he had done, for the path he had chosen.

He thought of you, lying alone in the dark, and his heart ached with a pain that was almost unbearable. He had wanted to save you, to protect you from the cruelty of the world. But now, he was the one who had brought you pain, who had torn your life apart. And for what? For a dream, a prophecy, a destiny that he could not even begin to understand?

He sank to his knees, the cold earth hard beneath him. He had made his choice, and now he must live with it. But gods, it was hard. Harder than he had ever imagined. He had thought that love would be enough, that it would carry him through the darkness. But now, he was not so sure. Now, he wondered if he had been wrong, if he had been a fool.

He looked up at the sky, at the cold, distant stars, and he felt a despair so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. He had done this for love, for a dream of a future that only the two of you could create. But now, standing here, alone in the darkness, he wondered if he had not, in truth, destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. “Gods forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

But there would be no forgiveness, no absolution. Only the long, dark road ahead, and the terrible, inexorable march of fate. He would be remembered as the prince who loved too much, the man who brought the realm to ruin for the sake of a woman he could never truly have.

And yet, despite it all, despite the guilt and the pain and the fear, he knew that he would do it all again. Because you were his, and he was yours. And in this world of fire and blood, that was all that truly mattered.

[steddiebang2024]

In A Mirrored Room, Talking To Myself | Explicit | 62k 

Author: @entanglednow (AO3/Tumblr/Twitter) 

Artist: @maikaartwork (Tumblr) 

Beta Reader: @spectrum-spectre (Tumblr) 

[Link to fic] | [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve/Eddie 

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley, Jeff, Jonathan Byers, Dustin Henderson, Freak, Gareth 

Tags: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Mystery, Suspense, Haunted Houses, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Sexual Content, Getting Together, Happy Ending 

Trigger Warnings: None 

↳ Keep reading below for a sneak peek!

Summary: The Corroded Coffin members made a name for themselves investigating the paranormal, they have a fairly successful show that brings in some extra cash. Eddie's not sure if he really believes any of it, it's been eight years and he's only managed to record a few pieces of evidence he can't explain. He's not expecting much from the investigation of the Harrington house, even laughing at how serious the man sounds about their safety. Steve Harrington himself and his stupid beautiful face is a big draw, he's not going to lie, but the stories he's telling about the haunting he's experiencing sound far-fetched even for them; particles of darkness, doors that lead nowhere, voices from rooms that are empty and visions of other places filled with black vines. He'd assume the whole thing to be a hoax, if Harrington wasn't offering them a sizable amount of money to spend the night, and there's more on the table if they can rid him of his haunting for good.

[arggghhhsstuff]

@foursaints post about ideals jobs for barty send me on a loop, for here's my quick barty analysis. i have more if anyone's interested.

his full name is Bartemius Crouch Junior. it means that not one, but two women made the decision to call their son Bartemius. it drives him crazy

he’s a weirdo. a fucker. an irreverent piece of shit. a criminal. an arsonist. he speaks Italian with his mother because it’s the only thing his father can’t touch. he hates him so much he became a terrorist, isn’t that cute?

he’s a line cook at a shitty diner, but he’s also dj-ing in his free time. he’s great at teaching but he hates kids- but he loves his niece, she’s his everything. he contains multitudes.

when he was a teen, he worked as a cashier and never checked the amount or what people were hiding in their purses. he stole from the liquor section but never got caught. he was eventually fired for smoking weed on the job.

he has burn marks all over his arms from playing with cables and electricity and fire. the older ones are from his dad, though. they're the only ones that aren't incorporated in his tattoos designs

speaking of tattoos: he’s covered in them. shitty tattoos, intricate pieces of art, some of his own design. most of them were done when he was drunk, or high, or both. He got one for every person he loves: evan’s initials on his hipbone and his bite mark of his arm, where everyone can see it. a snake on his left arm for regulus. runes for pandora. some motifs are recurrent: snakes, knives, bats, skulls.

he drives like a madman, it’s a miracle anyone ever sold him a car.

(they didn’t, it’s a shitty truck he got from the nephew of the neighbor's cousin of his mom’s boyfriend from when she was in college)

he has that look of hunger on his face, like he was starved for too long. of what no one knows. food, sex, love, drugs, answers, forgiveness? all of that is kind of true anyway.

he doesn’t believe in magic or fate and is the most sinful man alive, but he gets weirdly silent inside of churches. no one knows that his deal is, but they've learned to leave him alone.

When he looks into the mirror, it's his father who looks back.

[theworldisabrokenbonebutitishome]

Kang Yo Han is the walking embodiment of I'm Not Okay (I Promise) and relates to Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge far more than is healthy. In this essay I will-

[scottstiles]

WHY DONT PEOPLE LDKFJGKDSFGJDFGL DFGPUTTHEIR MAIN BLOG’;DLFGJKLFHG FSOMEWHERE ON THEIRSIDEBLOGSO I KNWO IFYOUREFOLLOWIN ME OR NOT

[monoghosttv]

Echos arc is so so silly because like, yeah Greer and Echo were meant to be siblings, that was the original intention, but i couldnt bring myself to do it which is why they are not related in the slightest anymore, i want to explore my own trauma thru storytelling but i still genuinely cannot even look at incest without feeling like actual shit

im exploring my trauma with boundaries so that i dont harm myself while doing it, and thanks to that i have actually felt safe while writing my story, but also Greer is also a youth pastor so thats one thing him and my abuser have in common

[heytheredelulu]

Little Bookworm 18+

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, size kink, dubcon kink (as long as Bucky can keep a straight face), tummy bulge, language, a good ole coochie slap (once), cum play, a little fluff, some aftercare

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Inspired by my IRL husband’s reaction to my smutty reads.

Note: I don’t own any characters or works referenced in this oneshot and shout out to H.D. Carlton for creating Zade Meadows and giving us the house of mirrors chapter that’s been living rent free in both me and @lilacka’s head for over a year.

Bucky absolutely loved to watch you read.

The subtle way your expressions changed as your eyes would glide across the pages made his heart swell with admiration.

He found himself entranced with your concentration, your eyebrows knitting together in thought, your lips quirking up into a smile and even the soft laughter that would sometimes escape you as you delved deep into the world you held in your hands.

He was always more than happy to accompany you to the bookstore, leaning against the shelves and observing you as you thumbed through new titles, stacking your choices in his strong arms before darting down the next aisle to browse further.

He looked forward to the evenings where he could lay his head comfortably in your lap, his arm draped across your thighs as you worked your fingers lazily through his hair while you read quietly above him.

Tonight he lay in bed with his hands folded behind his head, listening to the gentle sound of the shower from the bathroom as you bathed when his gaze fell on your most recent read on the nightstand. The cover was dark with a skull and roses, something about a ‘Haunting’ and an absurd amount of sticky notes jutted out from the pages. His curiosity overtook him and he sat up, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He thumbed through it carefully before letting it fall open to one of the tagged pages, his eyes scanning the text and widening slightly at the content.

He flipped to another tab, quickly reading through the passage, his breath quickening as he took in the words.

“If I catch you, I fuck you.”

Jesus Christ.

The bathroom door creaked open and he slowly lifted his gaze up to you.

Your damp body wrapped in a towel with your wet hair against your neck and shoulders did absolutely nothing to combat the heat that was already rising within him at what he’d just read.

Your eyes connect for a beat before you glance down to notice the book in his hand, opened to one of your tagged pages.

It was hard to discern if the flush across your cheeks was remnant of the heat of the shower or from the slight embarrassment of feeling caught by your boyfriend discovering the absolute filth you’d been reading.

He raises a brow at you, lifting the book and tapping on the open passage.

“If I catch you, I fuck you?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “Really?”

You huff and roll your eyes, stepping forward and reaching to snatch the book from his hands but he’s quicker, snapping it shut and holding it just out of your reach.

“No, no. We’re gonna talk about this, doll.” He says, his lips curling into a smirk. “This is what you’ve been reading?”

You shift from foot to foot.

“Sometimes.” You reply with a weak shrug.

He turns the book over in his hands again and idly runs his palm back and forth against all the flags poking out from between the pages. “And do you.. like this stuff?” He asks, not looking up. “Does it turn you on?”

You swallow hard and nod despite the fact he’s not looking at you.

“Sometimes.” You repeat quietly.

“Huh.”

He purses his lips and nods thoughtfully, standing up and tossing the book onto the bed. “I guess you oughta run then.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hair line.

Did he just?

Is he going to?

“W-what?” You stutter out, taking a small step back as he closes in on you.

He tsks and reaches out, brushing your wet hair back off your shoulder with two fingers. “You heard me, baby.”

You open your mouth to reply but the words are lost the moment he seizes the edge of your towel in his large hand.

Your eyes connect for a brief moment before he yanks the towel free of your body and discards it on the ground, leaving you exposed, confused and incredibly aroused.

His hand settles on your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple and sending a rush of desire straight to your core. He dips his head to nuzzle his forehead against your temple, his tongue flicking against your earlobe.

“You should probably run now.” He warns in a whisper, taking a step back to give you space for a head start.

You stare wide eyed in disbelief, your head barely able to wrap around what was happening.

“Five.” He says in a threatening tone, bringing his hand down to palm his growing erection under his sweatpants.

You’re frozen to the spot.

There’s no fucking way he’s about to do this.

“Four.”

Okay, maybe he is.

You take off at a run, reaching the bedroom door and flinging it open with him hot on your tail.

Your bare feet pound against the hardwood floor and you rush down the hall towards the staircase, making it only two steps down before his strong arm catches you around the waist and picks you up effortlessly.

You wiggle against his hold, kicking your feet and thrashing.

“You’re not very fast, you know.” He teases, tightening his grip on you, his cock straining against his sweatpants and pressing into your backside.

He carries you back into the bedroom, his arm locked around you in a vice grip and tosses you onto the bed as if you were weightless. He tugs his sweatpants down and kicks them off, his cock bobbing with every step as he stalks towards you.

He braces his palms on the bed, preparing to climb up and pin you but you scramble backwards off the bed and take off again. He pauses, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what-?” he straightens up and turns, watching as you sprint across the room and he frowns, realizing you weren’t going to let him catch you that easily.

“Damnit.” He grumbles, launching himself up over the bed.

He chases you with heavy footsteps towards the bathroom and you rush to shut the door but his hand catches it and forces it open, leaving you completely cornered with nowhere else to turn. “Shit.” You breathe out, looking around for a possible way out. He laughs, a cute and genuine laugh that is just so Bucky, completely betraying the role he was attempting to play.

You cross your arms over your bare breasts and frown. “I’m sorry.” He says, shaking his head. “I- just.. why did you run into the bathroom?” He asks, gesturing around the small room with amusement. “I don’t know!” You huff, your lips pressing into a pout. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you definitely weren’t.” He agrees, swinging his foot back to kick the door shut behind him. “Guess you’re trapped, huh?”

You nod, letting your arms fall away from your breasts. “I guess I am.” You breathe out, your body thrumming with a mix of excitement and desire as your eyes trail down his toned body to land on his fully erect cock. He’s on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and tossing you to the ground.

You fall hard on your hands and knees onto the plush bath mat, barely able to steady yourself on all fours before he’s on your back, arm hooked around your waist and sinking his cock into your wet, throbbing cunt. You arch back into him, fingers digging into the bath mat and a choked gasp catches in your throat as he pulls you flush to his pelvis, burying himself to the hilt. He snakes his free hand up your abdomen towards your chest, a trail of goosebumps following in his wake, dipping his forehead down to rest against the back of your shoulder. He palms your breast roughly, rolling your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Bucky..” You whisper, your head falling back.

His forearm tightens around your waist and he releases your nipple with a gentle tug, sliding his hand up to curl around your throat. You moan and wiggle your hips, desperate for him to move, but he holds you still, lifting you up with him as he leans back on his heels.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” He whispers, unhooking his arm from your waist and resting his large hand over the slight bulge in your abdomen. “That’s my cock.” He murmurs, squeezing your throat gently before grasping your jaw and tilting your chin down to look at how he’s stretching you. You whimper and he moves your hand to press down on the bulge of his cock in your belly. “And this is my pussy.” He growls, delivering a slap to your aching clit before he draws his hips back and begins to thrust himself up into you at a steady pace.

A string of soft curses falls from your lips and your head drops back against the crook of his neck, your hand leaving your abdomen and reaching backwards to fist in his hair. “I didn’t realize you were such a freak, baby.” He whispers, his hand tightening around your throat. “I shoulda thumbed through one of your little books sooner.”

His free hand kneads at the flesh of your thigh and he groans, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks up into you. “I- I-“ You stutter, unable to think straight as your head grows dizzy with pleasure. “Oh no, am I fuckin’ my baby stupid?” He asks with a grin, bringing two fingers to tease at your bottom lip. You open on instinct and he slips them into your mouth, letting out a shaky breath as you suck and swirl your tongue around the digits.

“Fuck.” He hisses, pressing his slick fingers to your clit. You gasp, your fingers curling around his wrist as he strokes your sensitive bud, pulling you closer towards your impending orgasm.

“You gonna come, little bird?” He whispers, trying to reference your book and quickening his fingers against your clit. “It’s ‘little mouse’.” You correct, your lips quirking up into a smirk at his admirable attempt. “Whatever.” He hisses, pinching your clit between his fingers and sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure through your body. You choke out a strangled cry as you come, your legs trembling and back arching against him as your cunt clenches around his cock.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He grunts, shoving you forward to the floor and falling to his knees. You scramble forward, his cock slipping from your dripping hole as you try to steady yourself in the dizzying wake of your orgasm.

“Oh no, no you don’t.” He growls, grabbing your ankle and dragging you back towards him. You lose your balance and fall flat, your breasts smashed against the cold tile as he presses his weight down on you, running his cock back and forth along your folds before thrusting back into you. “T-too much!” You whine, squirming underneath him.

“Tell me to stop.” He grunts, knowing damn well you never would. He hooks his forearm under your waist again and angles your hips upward, taking you deeper than you even thought possible.

Choked sobs of euphoria escape your throat as your cheek rests against the floor, dragging back and forth across the tile from the force at which he’s fucking into you. Your limp body shakes uncontrollably as your pussy spasms and waves of ecstacy crash over you faster than you can count them. Your orgasms explode through you like a string of firecrackers as you curse and mumble incoherently.

He pulls out abruptly, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back, moving to straddle your chest while he frantically fucks his fist. He comes with a shout, gasping as he paints your face with ropes of hot, sticky cum. “Fuck.” He pants, looking down at you in admiration as he brushes his thumb along your cheek, gathering up his seed.

He pinches your flushed, sticky cheeks together with his free hand. “Open.” He says softly, slipping his thumb into your mouth when you do. You suckle his thumb, greedily cleaning it with a swirl of your tongue, looking up at him through half lidded eyes. He sighs contentedly before moving off you and rising to stand, reaching into the shower to turn on the water.

“And I had just showered.” You mumble as you take the hand he offers you and pull yourself up on wobbly knees. “Don’t you dare bitch about the water bill when it comes.” You tease.

He chuckles softly and pulls you into him, holding you against his chest with one strong arm while the other reaches out to test the temperature of the water. “I won’t.” He says, stepping in first and gently helping you in after him. He wraps his arms lovingly around you and rests his chin atop your head as the warm water cascades over you both.

“Let’s clean you up, doll. It’s late and we have plans in the morning.” He says quietly, his eyes slipping closed as his hand runs idly up and down your back. You lean back and look up at him with your brows furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have plans tomorrow.”

His eyes flutter open and he grins. “The hell we don’t.” He replies, reaching for the shampoo bottle and squeezing the contents into the palm of his hand. You open your mouth to protest when he doesn’t answer your question but he simply twirls a finger, gesturing for you to turn around.

You sigh, turning your back to him and he begins to lather the shampoo in your hair, gently massaging your scalp with his fingers. “So what’re these plans?” You ask quietly after a long moment of silently enjoying his hands tenderly working through your locks. He leans forward, his broad, wet chest pressing against your back and brings his mouth to hover beside your ear.

His breath sends a shiver down your spine as he lets out a low, breathy laugh and whispers, “I’m taking you to buy more books.”

[deadsetobsessions]

I just really like the trope of Danny getting summoned, alright?

——

After he shoved Pariah Dark in his coffin shaped locker what what Danny hoped to be for all of eternity, the half unfortunately inherited all of Pariah’s responsibilities.

“What was it again? With great powers comes great responsibilities?” Danny let his head hit the table with an audible thunk. He’s in his “office,” the ghost zone’s approximation of where he might be able to do work seriously. The house- the extension of his haunt- had added the room right next to his bedroom. Danny had to lift all of the paperwork from Pariah’s castle (that’s now also a part of what’s considered Danny’s but he doesn’t think about that) and move it to his main haunt.

He prayed to the universe at large to let him off. Danny hated doing homework- science not withstanding because at least he understood that- let alone an asshole’s centuries worth of work. Danny bemoaned the fact that he was elected the King. He didn’t even defeat Pariah all by himself, so why couldn’t the others do it?!

Like a wave of merciful fate, the beginning tugs of a summoning pulled at his core.

“Thank Ancients!”

Danny scrambled to grab a sticky note, unfortunately glowing green as things tended to in the Ghost Zone, and scribbled down that he’s been summoned and to not look for him until his vacation work was done.

With that note done, Danny decided to bring his A game to the summoning. Allowing his secondary form to wash over him, Danny quickly checked the mirror to make sure he was presentable. A bright glowing ice crown- not the crown of fire, because it was essentially useless without the ring and Danny wasn’t keen on being a king, let alone a near infinitely powerful one- settled across his brow showed his status. A cape, this form’s best feature, made of an expanse of galaxies, nebulae, and frost cling at the end was swept over his shoulders and pinned together with a cloak pin made of clusters of black holes.

A couple of additions to his normal hazmat suit and his trusty thermos at his side, Danny all but dove into the summoning magic with an excited whoop of glee.

As Danny got closer to the magic-made portal, he could hear the whispers of the living presences beyond it.

His summoners! Hopefully it’s not a cult again, even if he thought they were pretty funny trying to summon the king of the dead to kill more people. Not funny “haha,” funny weird.

How should he do this…? Scary? Funny? Oh! Or maybe he should ditch the crown!

Danny grinned, waving his hand to dispel the crown of ice. It was nice, but he was in a dungeon critter mood today.

“Oh, this is going to be gooood.”

Danny cracked his knuckles and put on the most dead-inside-and-outside expression he could manage, modeling it off of the Nasty Burger workers during closing shift. The halfa stepped through the portal.

——

“The ritual is completed! You will all face the might of Pariah Dark, the eternal king of the dead!” The villain of the week cackled as his cult cheered. Wonder Woman, scuffed and injured from the magical bolts these magic users had shot at her earlier, grimaced and raised her sword.

“We will defeat Pariah Dark,” she proclaimed. Her allies rallied at her proclamation and readied themselves for another fight. “This world will not bow to the likes of you!”

“We are all but mere ants before the king of the dead! Pariah Dark will bring forth the reckoning this shitty world deserves!”

“Actually, Pariah Dark’s kind of busy, so you’re gonna have to leave a message.”

Green Arrow’s arrow jerked towards the new voice. Batman paused, hand holding batarangs at the ready. He, out of all of them, knew better than to underestimate a young voice.

A gloved hand shoved through the green portal, using the edges like a door frame to heave itself through. A humanoid shape, with sharp ears all but crawled out of the Lazarus green portal. Batman wondered if this was what Jason saw when he came back to life.

"Lord Pariah Dark is busy?!"

The figure- a boyish not-human- heaved a sigh. "Do you people seriously think that the High King of the Infinite Realms isn't swamped with work?"

"And who are you supposed to be? His secretary?" Hal asked, Ring glowing and at the ready. Wonder Woman tensed and mentally struck Hal away from the list of people to consider for diplomatic missions.

"Me? I'm a glorified paper pusher." The being turned back to the cultists, his cape containing the universe swished behind him. "Did you have a message for Pariah Dark?"

"He was meant to rain down death and destruction!"

"Okay, first of all, I feel like you guys are missing a really important point." The being pointed at the cult leader. “It’s not called the King of the Dead for no reason, you know. Death comes for everyone eventually. Also, I have to do a seriously giant amount of paperwork every time one of you fruitloops gets the bright idea to cause an influx of deaths.”

Danny stomped across the circle, grabbed the collar of the cultist leader’s cloak and yanked him down. He shook him. “Do you people have any idea how annoying it is?! Huh?! Do you know how long the A-354 Form is?! Stop trying to get Pariah to kill people! I’m sick of the paperwork, dammit!”

"How- how did you get out of the circle?!"

The cultists and the heroes squared up, ready to fight the possible common enemy: Danny.

Danny is having the best time of his half life. Screw kingly dignity, Danny’s gotta de-stress somehow! He had a whole bag of complaints!

"You wrote the circle wrong, idiots! Ancients, are you people even literate? What even are those scribbles?" Danny kept shaking the cultist. Wow, what an amazing stress ball!

“Uh- hey, he looks kind of sick…” The Flash said, trying to be a good hero and mediate before escalating. Danny snarled and Flash held up his hands, gulping in fear as Danny’s eyes narrowed at him. “Did I… do something?”

“You,” Danny hissed. “You mother- fruitloop! Stop screwing with the timeline, you giant red-! Do you know how annoying it is to readjust the death count every time one of you little merry red jesters takes a jaunt through time and space?! Do you even know how many complaints I had to field?! Oh, boy you’re all going to regret summoning me today, because I’ve had a long time to think about what I’d do to everyone who made me work overtime!”

Danny bared his teeth, eyes sparkling with mirth as he froze the cultists.

"We're not letting you take over the world," Hawk-Woman said, raising her mace that pulsed with electricity.

Danny snorted to hide his wince. "I'm not interested. Just let me punch him once. Just once." Danny pointed at the Flash.

"Honestly, I can't even blame you," Black Canary muttered, fists raised.

"Wha-! Canary! That's so rude! You traitor!"

"Shouldn't have put skittles in my shoes then. Those hurt, Flash."

"Enough." Everyone shut up at the sound of Batman's command. "What do you mean they wrote the circle wrong."

Danny, who was watching the byplay with interest, shrugged. "They wanted to summon the Ghost King, right? We've had a... change of leaders recently."

"Who is the leader now?"

Danny waggled a finger at Batman. "Nuh-uh. I'm gonna collect my over-time compensation, which is punching the Flash, and then we can negotiate for information."

"Flash."

"I don't want to get punched, Bats!"

"The alternative is that I let the current Ghost King have a go at you."

"Flash."

"Oh my god, just get punched, Barry!" Danny heard Green Lantern Hal Jordan whisper.

"Ugh, fine. No one video this."

Immediately, three phones go up to record the Flash getting decked by a teenage looking ghost. Danny floated closer and wound his fist back, letting loose some of the ghost strength he normally keeps restrained. "This is for my overtime and for Clockwork, you jerk."

The halfa slammed his fist straight into the Flash's face, knocking him clear into the air. Superman catches him but Danny no longer paid attention to the Flash, petty vengeance enacted.

"Honestly, I don't have a problem with you as a person. You're kind of cool. Break the timeline again in the next three months, though, and you're on my shit-list."

"What do you want in exchange for information?"

Danny hummed. "Depending on the level of information, and I reserve the right to not answer any questions. For the name of the current Ghost King..."

He did want that new gaming console. And Jazz could use some help with her rent.

"I want $5,000 and a plate of really good spaghetti."

"I have cash."

Danny nodded at the Dark Knight. "You just carry $5,000 in cash on you? Who does that?"

"I like to be prepared."

"And he's rich," Superman chimed in.

The Flash reappeared with a plate of spaghetti from an Italian place he teleported to. "Here you go. Fresh, and pleasedon'tscrewwithmyafterlife."

Danny shoveled the spaghetti into his mouth, jaw unhinging like a particularly disturbing snake right before he dumped the whole thing- plate and all- down his throat. "Thanks! The food didn't even try to kill me this time! You're good."

"Does your food try to kill you all of the time?!" The Flash- Barry, apparently- asked.

Danny nodded as he took the cash from Batman's gloved hands. "Totally. It sucks."

"Identity." Batman demanded.

"Oh, yeah. The current ghost king is me."

"...What."

"You have been swindled. Bamboozled. Outwitted and outsmarted," Danny snickered, shoving the bundle of cash in his chest. "But seriously, I'm the king. We got rid of Pariah a while ago."

The crown of ice materialized.

"You said you were a glorified paper pusher!" Hawk-Woman chortled.

"I am! I'm pushing so many papers across my desk, it's unending, I swear!"

Batman growled. "You tricked us."

Danny smirked, "You got tricked." Red Robin, in the corner, snorted quietly. "Anyways, if you've got more interesting things around here, I'll considering busying myself with that instead of sentencing you to an afterlife of paperwork."

The adults straightened, grimacing. "Beast Boy is green," Hal offered up.

"Hey!" Beast Boy shouted, offended at the easy way Hal offered him up. He turned to Danny. "But have you ever seen a green chinchilla? Super cute. Watch!"

"Woah!" Danny clapped. Yes, he'll hang out with them before dragging himself back.

[suguae]

Haunted

જsynopsis. If it was a dream, then he would never want to wake up.

જpairings. Z. Toji x F. Reader

જcontents. Mention of self harm, weight loss, mild smut.

Final part.

“Y/n…” He whispered. 

Megumi, with his chubby cheeks flushed with excitement and his bright eyes sparkling with joy, ran towards you with arms outstretched. His tiny feet pattered quickly across the wooden floor, and his soft, tousled hair bounced with each enthusiastic step. When he reached you, he wrapped his small arms around your legs, squeezing you tightly in a deep warm embrace.

"You come back!" he exclaimed with a mix of relief and happiness in his voice. His words tugged at your heartstrings, and you could feel tears brimming in your eyes. The pure, unfiltered love and innocence in his voice overwhelmed you.

"Y/n," Toji repeated, his voice more certain this time, though it still carried the weight of his remorse. "I... I didn't think I'd ever get to see you again." His eyes softened as they met yours, searching for any sign of the forgiveness he was too afraid to ask for.

You took a step closer, the child clinging to you with an unspoken trust that seemed to break down the barriers Toji had built around his heart. "It's been a long time, Toji," you said gently, your voice carrying a mix of warmth and caution. "A lot has changed."

Toji was content, but his heart still swelled with emotion. One thing he couldn't ignore was the drastic change in your appearance: your body was thinner than before you left, and the bags under your eyes were impossible to miss. He sighed quietly as you spoke to Megumi, who nestled comfortably in your arms.

"Daddy missed you a lot, he was crying sometimes," Megumi said, his small voice full of sincerity as he nuzzled closer to you. You smiled gently at his words before looking up at Toji, your eyes meeting his with a mix of affection and concern. 

You both knew that you needed to clear things up, but with Megumi excitedly being all over you, it was impossible. “Will you come home with us?” Megumi asked, causing you to look back down at him.

“Yeah…” you whispered, your voice soft and tinged with emotion. Megumi's eyes lit up with joy, and he hugged you tightly. You glanced back at Toji, who gave you a small, hopeful smile. Despite the changes and the unspoken words between you, there was a sense of relief in the air. For now, being together was enough.

With Megumi pulling you around the house to show you his new toys, you noticed Toji hovering nearby with a soft smile glued on his face. Seeing the effect you had on Megumi made his heart swell with pride and affection.

“Now we can watch a movie?” Megumi asked, throwing his body onto the couch with a cheeky smile plastered on his face. You couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Sure, we can watch a movie,” you replied, your smile mirroring his.

As Megumi nestled closer, resting his head on your lap, he whispered, “You stay here forever with me and papa…” His words were filled with innocence and a longing for permanence. You smiled tenderly, brushing his hair soothingly as his eyes drifted closed, succumbing to sleep.

Toji's gaze lingered on you, his eyes burning with emotion as he watched the interaction between you and Megumi. The warmth of your presence, the familiarity of your bond with their son, it all served as a healing balm to him. The sight of you back here with him, it felt like a salve on old wounds, like a promise of better days ahead.

But beneath the surface, there lingered a question, unspoken yet palpable: Were you going to stay forever? It was a question that hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty and hope, waiting for an answer that only time would reveal.

"Toji, I wanna give it another chance…” you sigh, feeling the weight of your words as they hung in the air. You threw your head back, a mix of uncertainty and hope swirling within you. “But I don’t wanna mess it up.”

Turning to look at him, you found Toji already staring back, his expression a mix of understanding and anticipation. “I’ve been through a lot of stuff that changed me mentally," you continued, your voice soft with vulnerability. "I mean, what if I’m not enough for you?”

Toji reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “You are more than enough,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. “We've both been through our share of ups and downs, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. We can work through whatever comes our way, together.”

"And how are you so sure?" you asked, your voice trembling with emotion as tears welled up in your eyes.

"Because," Toji replied, his hands reaching up to gently cup your cheeks, his touch warm and reassuring, "I love you, and I don't want to let you slip away so easily, again."

After so long, he had finally said it. "I love you." Those words, so simple yet so meaningful, meant everything to you. Coming from Toji, they carried even more weight, knowing how it was never easy for him to express his feelings so openly.

His words washed over you, carrying with them a sense of sincerity and devotion that you couldn't ignore. As he wiped away the small tear that slipped down your cheek, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his love, you knew that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

You couldn't help but notice the small promise ring wrapped around his finger—the one you gave him, the one he never wore because he was too busy wearing his old wedding band. But here he was, wearing the promise ring now.

The sight filled you with a mixture of surprise and warmth. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about his commitment to you, about his willingness to let go of the past and embrace the present with you.

As you looked at the ring, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you reached out to take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his. "You still have it..." you murmured, your fingers gently tracing the ring on his finger. “Why would I not?” Toji replied, his eyes filled with sincerity and love.

"We can't change the past," you said softly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of sadness and determination. "But we can choose how to move forward from here."

Toji couldn't believe his luck. Here you were, back in his bedroom, with his clothes on, fresh from the shower. It felt surreal, like a dream he never thought would come true.

As he watched you, a sense of gratitude washed over him, mingled with a hint of disbelief. The past had been filled with so much pain and uncertainty, but now, in this moment, there was only the soft glow of the lamplight and the comforting presence of you beside him.

With Megumi peacefully sleeping in his own room, the house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the night outside. It was a moment of stillness, of peace, that Toji knew he would cherish forever.

As he moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around you in a tender embrace, he whispered  "I love you, and I was a fool for letting you go," Your heart swelled at his words, hearing the vulnerability and honesty in his voice. It was a confession you had longed to hear, a validation of the love that had never truly faded, despite the distance and the pain.

"I love you too, but it was best for me to leave. You needed to heal," you replied softly, your voice filled with a mix of love and sadness.

Toji's expression softened as he listened to your words, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I know," he murmured, his hand reaching out to gently brush away the tears that fell down your cheeks. "And I'm sorry for everything you had to go through because of me."

You shook your head, leaning into his touch. "It wasn't your fault," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We both needed time apart to find ourselves again. And now, here we are, together."

Toji's eyes traced every feature on your face, filled with admiration and longing. Leaning in, he pressed a small, tender kiss on your pink, plump lips. The kiss was filled with longing and desire, a silent expression of the love that had never truly faded.

Pulling away, he looked into your eyes, his gaze filled with affection and a hint of uncertainty. But before he could say anything, you leaned in again, your lips meeting his in a passionate embrace. The world around you faded away as your bodies pressed against each other, the sensation of his lips moving against yours sending shivers down your spine.

His body hovered over yours, the cushion beneath you sinking as you melted into each other's embrace. In that moment, there was only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment and the intensity of your love. 

Toji's hands made their way under the shirt you wore, gently sliding it off you, revealing your bare breasts. His eyes wandered over your exposed skin, filled with desire and longing. But then his gaze landed on your wrist, something he hadn't noticed before due to the coverage of your shirt.

"Toji..." you whispered, your voice filled with apprehension.

His heart felt heavy as he saw the burn marks on your wrist, a painful reminder of the struggles you had faced in his absence. Guilt gnawed at him as he realized the depth of your pain, the scars left behind by wounds he couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion as he reached out to gently trace the marks with his fingertips. "I never knew..."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked at him, seeing the regret and sorrow reflected in his gaze. You caressed his cheeks, your touch gentle and reassuring. "I'm better," you reminded him softly, wanting to ease the weight of his guilt.

You leaned in to kiss him, the urgency and intensity of your desire evident in the messy, passionate embrace. Your tongues danced together, a symphony of longing and love as you lost yourselves in each other's embrace.

You tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, a silent invitation for him to slide them off. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. You eagerly nodded, your desire evident in the way your eyes met his with unwavering determination. There was no doubt in your mind—you wanted this, needed this, more than anything.

With a small smile, Toji reached down, slowly sliding off his sweatpants, revealing his cock. The air between you crackled with anticipation as he moved closer, his body now fully exposed to your hungry gaze.

As he hovered over you, his eyes filled with love and desire, you felt a rush of excitement course through you. In this moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both.

With a passionate intensity, Toji thrust into you, his movements filled with love and urgency. As he kissed your scars tenderly, each touch was a silent declaration of his love and devotion.

With each thrust, you felt the weight of his love pressing into you, a reminder that you were not alone, that he was here with you, sharing in every moment of pleasure and intimacy.

Your soft moans filled his ears, your voice whispering his name like a prayer. "Ah, Toji..." The sound of your pleasure sent a shiver down his spine, his heart fluttering with a mixture of desire and disbelief.

He had dreamed of this moment, of having you here in his arms, but now that it was real, it was more than he could have ever imagined. The intimacy between you was a testament to the depth of your connection, a bond that had endured despite the trials and tribulations you had faced.

As his lips moved over your skin, tracing the marks left behind by your past pain, you felt a sense of healing wash over you. In his embrace, you found solace and reassurance, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, stronger than ever before.

That night, after the heat of passion had cooled and the world outside faded into darkness, Toji held you tightly in his arms as you both drifted off to sleep. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you again, the fear of being apart from you once more haunting his thoughts.

With you nestled against his chest, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, a reassurance that as long as you were here, everything would be alright. He held you close, wanting to savor every moment, every breath, knowing that tomorrow wasn't promised.

As he listened to the steady rhythm of your breathing, he whispered “I love you”. In this moment, there was only the two of you, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace and comfort in the warmth of your love.

Toji's heart sank as he woke up to find no sight of you beside him. For a moment, panic gripped him as he feared that you might have left. But then, to his relief, he heard laughter echoing from the kitchen, the sound of your voice mingling with Megumi's.

As Toji stood from a distance, watching you and Megumi messily making pancakes together, a warm feeling spread through his chest. Megumi sat on the counter, attempting to mix the batter while you smiled, taking pictures, your laughter filling the room.

Toji couldn't help but smile to himself as he watched you, wearing his shirt that barely reached your mid-thigh, with flour messily in your hair, likely due to Megumi's enthusiastic mixing. The sight of you, so carefree and nurturing with his own child, stirred something deep within Toji.

It was a moment of realization for him, a moment when he knew with certainty that he wanted to have his own children with you. Seeing you act so motherly towards Megumi filled him with a sense of longing and anticipation for the future. He imagined how wonderful it would be to have a family of his own, to see you as the mother of his children, to share in the joys and challenges of parenthood together.

"Daddy!" Megumi's excited voice rang out, and Toji couldn't help but smile as he watched his son.

You turned to Toji, your face lighting up with a radiant smile that seemed to glow like an angel to him. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you greeted him affectionately as he approached, your warmth wrapping around him like a comforting embrace.

Toji's arm instinctively wrapped around your waist as he leaned in to leave a gentle kiss on your shoulder. In that moment, surrounded by the love of his family, he felt a sense of contentment and gratitude wash over him.

As he looked at you and Megumi, he knew that this was where he belonged, with the two of you by his side. And as he savored the warmth of your embrace and the love that filled the room, he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Epilogue 

"DAD! SHE'S WALKING!" Megumi exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement. Your eyes glistened with tears of joy as your beautiful daughter took her first steps towards you.

Toji felt his heart warm at the sight, a sense of pride and love swelling within him. He quickly took out his phone to record the moment, just as he had done when Megumi had started walking.

As he watched his daughter take those tentative steps, her tiny hands reaching out for support, Toji felt a sense of wonder and awe. In that moment, he realized how much his life had changed, how much richer and fuller it had become with you and his children in it.

As his daughter finally reached you, her face lighting up with a smile that mirrored your own, Toji knew that this was a moment he would cherish forever. And as he wrapped his arms around you and his children, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the family he had been blessed with.

taglist. @maliakealoha @dreamlessnight @mikyapixie @slowlyswimmingmoon @needsleep3000 @blueberryblood11 @ryumurin @adreamingpendulum @aechmea01 @r0ckst4rjk @wr4inn @khaleesihavilliard @sidelnes @nxxun-blog @imnotabot28 @my1guilty1pleasures @ssc7514 @mob1lecatcher @little-duck @i2innie @that-goth-bisexual @kt-willson @swanyie @painted-hills @lunamoons-posts @thekidscallmebosss @furrynightthing @zoemaelol @mochii-13 @mellowarcadefun @kitkatmochi @pega7sus @mitsuki123sstuff @4-gojo @milkm4nz @meandmyhomieshateshibuya @kidd3ath @chadychadyy2k @iamtheunkown @0range-juiceee @kxllanxtdoor @moonchildlv @mimisxs @venus1224idkpleaze @batw1ngz @gothifiedrei @asceluffy @rhialazyreader @burningwiitches

[allurilove]

Yandere clown x you?

I hate clowns omhogmgkgmgkgk i’m like scared of them 😭😭

Yandere Clown x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

You’re at a carnival where you meet the hottest clown you have seen. A short drabble, and fucking in front of the funhouse mirror! Fem reader.

The only clown you have ever seen is the stereotypical white face, dramatic makeup, suspenders, and a huge red ball for a nose. They weren’t really your thing, and you were used to them waddling around with those big shoes, and honking their horns at you.

Since when did they have any sex appeal?

The moment they decided to take off their shirts, you understood why people were fawning over them. You came here to be scared—not wound up and aroused. He had fake blood splattered on their chest, their pants low enough that you see their v-line, and you see a tattoo that presumably continues even lower down his body. His face is painted white, red lipstick painted messily on his lips, and dark eyeliner making their eyes pop out. He carries a toy machete in one hand that looks unreasonably sharp.

He carried a small ice-cream cone in his other hand, and he noticed you eyeing it up and down. It was getting late, and all the little food stands were shutting down, and that treat in his hand was the only food you have seen in a while. You were quite hungry—borderline famished after screaming in haunted houses. He approached you, your mouth automatically just dropped open for him to feed you. The creamy vanilla melts around your tongue, and you can’t help but to lock eyes with him as you ate the ice cream. His lips part, his eyes becoming lidded as you were becoming a bit more risqué. It drips down to your chest, you pull back to see it follow the curve of your breast. He raised his brow, his tongue out as he bends down to lick it.

The moment his tongue was on your body— you became putty in his hands. He pulled you into the wonky mirrors exhibit, it’s a tiny tent with a bunch of mirrors that makes you look weird— and you watch as he bends you over, your reflection of your face is of a swirl. He pulled up your costume, his hand touching your ass before giving it a harsh slap. He pulled down your panties, just enough for him to align the head of his cock to your slit.

“Spread your legs a bit more for me…” He mumbled, his knee already pushing them more apart, and he pressed your face into the mirror. The clown slowly slid himself inside you, a slight hiss escaping his lips as you instinctively tensed around his cock. “Oh god…” He groaned, moving in and out of you.

He watched in marvel as you threw your hips back to meet his thrusts, a smirk on his face, “That’s right, fuck yourself on this dick. Show me how much you want it.”

“You feel amazing…” The clown wrapped your hair around his hand, he made you arch your back, and his cock hits into you so deliciously. Your eyes roll back, your thighs shaking and you try to avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. You look weird—obviously—it made your body squiggly. But he thought you looked good— sexy even.

He has a scary wide smile, his other hand repeatedly smacking your ass as his thrusts become harsher. “You wanna cum? Tell me you wanna cum then.”

[loveshotzz]

We’re supposed to be eating breakfast

older!steve x fem!reader an AIRWIY oneshot

summary: You wake up after your first sleep over at Steve’s house feeling bold.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ older!steve, smut, p in v, cream pie, breeding kink, mentions of past drinking, reader is wearing Steve’s baseball jersey but it’s not really described how it fits on readers body, no real descriptions of readers body.

authors note: this took me over a month to write with everything going on in my personal life, so I’m excited to finally give it to you. thank you all for your patience and encouragement to keep coming back on here every day despite me not writing as much as I used to and to keep me opening my word docs. this one was spurred my @palmtreesx3 brilliant mind and an idea that’s haunted me day and night. This takes place in the All I Really Want Is You universe, but can be read as a stand alone. Just know you’re wearing Steve’s personalized cubs jersey. :)

The harsh sounds of the coffee grinder is what wakes you up, but the golden rays of morning sunshine that leaks through the cracks in the blinds is what gets your eyes to open. Slow soft blinks, with fluttering lashes and brain still fuzzy from the kind of sleep that makes you temporarily forget what year it is, you need a moment to recognize the unfamiliar, much nicer surroundings.

You were in Steve’s room.

A smile you can’t contain spreads wide across your face, butterfly wings tickling at your rib cage. Stretching your still sleeping limbs, your body melts into the soft cushions of his mattress. The feathers that fill his pillows contour to your head perfectly, and the memories of the ways he had you pressed into it resurface, skin igniting with the ghost of his hands on your curves. Biting your bottom lip, the kind of nerves that you haven’t had since the Fourth of July make themselves known again, having never spent a morning with him at his home.

Rolling over, your face hits the cotton of his pillowcase that you’re not surprised is cold. Shamelessly you inhale the cedar and spice that still lingers on it, and the faint ache between your thighs, along with the clinks of glass you hear from his sink, reminds you that he’s just down stairs. It takes a little bit of willpower to leave the cozy cocoon you’ve found yourself in but the need to see him over powers the comfort of his duvet that feels like just the right amount of weight against your body.

Shuffling out of the covers, your bare feet hit the cold hard wood of his floors, a shiver crawling up your spine that you tell yourself is from the chill of the winter air that seeps through his unsealed windows, definitely not your nerves catching a glimpse of your naked body in his dresser mirror. The same mirror you’d seen him in almost five months ago.

Padding across his bedroom you wonder if he can hear your steps as you search for any sign of your clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around after an old bottle of red wine. The clean white color of his jersey catches in your gaze, the blue bold lettering that spells out his last name has your thighs pressing at the memory of your second date as it sits folded on top of his dresser.

The thought of how good he looked with it stretched across his broad shoulders, and the top two buttons undone, teasing the chest hair that your nails dragged through last night makes your skin warm. The praises he whispered in hot merlot against your lips, your neck, and between your legs is what gives you the confidence you need to slip it on instead.

The stairs creak under each step, but the popping grease of the bacon that fills his house with the smell of maple lets you go undetected. Familiar voices of who you’re learning are sportscasters, spill out from the small speaker on his phone that you know is propped up on the little plastic holder he always sets it on when he charges it. He mumbles something in response to the commentary under his breath, and you hear the beeping of the oven telling him it’s finished preheating.

Your cheeks hurt from how high they push up when you realize Steve’s making you breakfast.

A little shy from his affections already, your fingers wrap around the wood frame of the entryway with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. With his back to you, it gives you a perfect view of the way his white cotton undershirt stretches tight over his shoulder blades that move with every flick of his wrist, forearms flexing as he whisks whatever is in the bowl in front of him. Black sweats sit low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of his boxer briefs underneath, the font across the top of his waist band says Burberry, making your palms sweat. A personal favorite pair.

He turns his head to look at a replay of a game he missed in favor of spending time with you on his phone screen, still completely unaware of your presence. The new angle reveals the silver glasses he wore a few weeks ago in his office, dark chestnut and peppered hair sticking out wild at the ends, a mess you know was made by your hands.

“Seriously? Keep him on the bench.” He grumbles, shaking his head before bringing his attention back to the bowl.

You watch him for a few seconds longer, but his butt jiggling with the force of his whisking makes a giggle slip past your lips blowing your cover. He jumps at the noise no matter how sweet it is, meeting your eyes from over his shoulder. Steve gives you a smile that you’re learning is only reserved for you and sometimes Eddie, punching the air out of your lungs. Watching the way it only continues to grow across his stubble covered face makes your heart swell even more.

It’s only when his gaze finally lands on the only thing you’re wearing that the gold shimmering inside his eyes darken, a starless night lingering where the bottom hem of his jersey sits at the very tops of your thighs.

“Jesus honey, look at you.” The metal whisk hits the glass of the bowl with a loud clink as he turns around to really drink you in, “good morning to me.”

“I hope this is okay,” your voice comes out smaller than intended, suddenly self conscious you might have overstepped despite the way he watches you take your first steps into the kitchen like he wants to eat you alive.

“Okay?” His huffs out a breath like he’s wrecked, long fingers coming up to scratch at his jaw, “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to wear anything else in my house ever again.”

You giggle again, and you swear you hear him groan because of it.

“I think we might be able to arrange something, a deal, an agreement of some sort.” you smirk, tapping your nails along the smooth black marble of his kitchen island, giving your hips a little extra sway with your slow steps.

Both his palms curve around the counter behind him as he leans back, chest puffing while he licks his full pink lips. They pull up into a lopsided grin, a hungry gaze roaming freely as you come to a stop right in front of him. His confidence only falters a little when he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, but the gesture only makes your heart swell especially when the tops of his ears redden.

You lean against the island with a smile that tells him you’re up to no good. Heat from the oven and the man across from you warms your legs against the chill that bounces off all the glass and stone in his kitchen. Electricity sparks in the space between your bodies making the tips of your fingers and toes buzz, your pulse jumping when he reaches a big hand out for you.

“Just a little bit too far for me still baby,” He wiggles his fingers at you making you smile shyly before you slip your hand into his palm, your eyes glaze over watching it disappear in his grasp.

His gentle tug makes you squeal, hitting his chest with a soft thump, he grins down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Wrapping an arm around you to keep you from leaving, he lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb traces the length of your cheek bone, and he smells just his pillow. Your hands find themselves tangled into the cotton of his shirt, leaning deeper into his touch. It makes the playfulness that dances in the chestnut of his eyes turn soft with something lovesick.

“Good morning handsome,” you say in a content sigh, and the hand that's spread across your back starts to work a path up your spine pulling the fabric of his jersey with it.

“I could really get used to this you know,” He hums, dipping his head down so the tip of his nose runs up the length of yours, mint and coffee on his breath “waking up to you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when you feel the cool breeze hit where your underwear should be.

“Oh yeah? What about Bandit?” You tease leaning closer, letting your top lip catch his bottom one.

Steve snorts a little, reminded of his dog who he knows is soaking up the sun outside, and the palm on your back squeezes you even closer.

“Are you kidding me? We’re obsessed with you over here honey.” The whites of his teeth show a little before they nip at your pout. He takes advantage of the gasp he earns, closing the gap completely in the kind of kiss that doesn’t give you any time to catch your breath before he’s licking at your bottom lip.

Your fingers untangle themselves from his shirt, and find a new home to get lost in the locks at the nap of his neck. Tongues meet in the middle with eager enthusiasm, and your front teeth hit as you push up on your tippy toes on the search for more. A deep groan vibrates from his chest, and his palm starts working its way down the dip of your back. When he’s met with the bare swell of your ass as he reaches the bottom hem of his jersey, you feel him kick up in his sweatpants.

“Tough girl.” He says your nickname like he's scolding you, leaving open mouthed kisses up your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering with the kind of gravel in his voice that makes the inside of your thighs sticky. “We’re supposed to be eating breakfast.”

You hardly register him turning the oven off beside you.

“Who says -“ your sentence is cut off by a gasp when two thick fingers trace up your slick lips with ease, the pads of them pressing down on your bundle of nerves just long enough to make you whine with shaky knees.

“Who says what huh?” He whispers against the sensitive spot behind your ear, rubbing small circles on your clit with pointed pressure, obsessed with the way your jaw goes slack, and your eyebrows pinch together because of it.

“Who says we can’t do both?” You manage to get out with fluttering lashes, as he spreads you apart.

“You’re right, I don’t think breakfast is gonna be sweet enough for me.” He tuts, letting his middle finger push just a knuckle into your already greedy walls, and the soft moan that he gets from you has him leaking in his sweats. “You gonna help me with that, honey?”

Too lost in his teasing all you manage is a nod and a breathy ‘mmhmm’ looking up at him with big glassy eyes. He lets his lips ghost over yours, with a smirk tugging at the corners of them before spinning you around. Your palms land back on the cool marble of the kitchen island while both his hands wrap themselves firmly around the soft dough of your hips keeping his Jersey rucked up with them. He pulls your ass flush with his hips, letting you feel the hard length of him that begs to be released from the fleece confines of his pants against the ache in your core.

“This is what you wanted when you came down here lookin’ like this huh?” He asks with a low voice, hooking his thumbs under the bottom of his jersey. Lifting it higher up your back, he grinds against you while his eyes drink in all the soft dips of all your curves.

“Maybe,” you giggle a little breathy looking back over your shoulder at him with half lidded eyes.

His smile steals all the warm light from the room as he looks down at you with a cocked brow.

“I was trying to wait till after breakfast, which was hard waking up to you naked in my bed.” He can’t stop his heavy gaze from wandering to his last name covering the top of your back, unlocking something primal and possessive inside of him that he thought he’d lost forever. He wants you to leave it on, he’ll get it dry cleaned. “But honey, I can’t keep my hands off of you lookin’ like this.”

His palm feels heavy as it slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing at the fat with strong fingers spreading you apart a little before shoving his sweatpants half way down his hairy thighs. With hot cheeks, you flutter around nothing when the thickness of his cock springs free, standing at attention just for you. Somersaults in your stomach as you watch his tight grip pump himself a few times. Your hips wiggle in anticipation, whining when he teases more, gliding his tip through your slick, a small moan spilling from between your lips when he catches your clit.

“Always so needy for me,” he groans with a hint of disbelief, “fuck, what’d I do to deserve you?”

Steve doesn’t waste anymore time, slowly pushing in and the feeling of your walls wrapping around him while your body tries to accommodate the stretch has him chanting your name under his breath. Half way in, he regrips your hips a little rougher than before. His cock twitches watching your back bow, making his last name shine against the light while your nails scratch at the cool marble when he bottoms out.

Legs shaking, still sensitive from the night before, his hold on you tightens. You keen at the feeling of his thumbs rubbing small circles into your soft skin giving you time to adjust. It doesn’t take long for the initial sting subside, giving you the strength to rock your hips a little, a breathy sigh escaping you when it feels good.

“Yeah?” He hums, meeting your hips with his own hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

“Uh huh” You manage to utter as he pulls almost all the way out, a moan of his name long and drawn out bounces off the walls when he pushes back in letting you feel every inch.

“That’s my girl,” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes you want to turn around and see it.

Your eyes meet from over your shoulder again as he starts to roll his hips, finding the perfect pace. The sound of skin slapping fills the quiet space between moans every time your ass jiggles from the force of it. That strand falls messily over his forehead when he looks down at you, brows pinching together and jaw going slack like seeing your face only intensified everything he was feeling. He holds your stare, and the snap of his hips starts to get rougher. Burying himself deep focusing on that spot, the one he’s only ever been able to find.

“Oh, oh- Steve. Right there -shit - oh my god.” Your head falls between your shoulders, when he starts to barely pull out anymore. The tip of him making your eyelashes flutter as he reaches the spot that had you screaming his name last night, over and over again.

His eyes wander the expanse of your back, keeping his pace while his hands slowly start to slide up your sides, pushing his jersey with it. He wants to see more of you, but his hips stutter hearing the noises he’s getting out of you with his last name plastered across your hunched shoulders.

“You look so good - shiiit, like this baby. My name on your back, letting me bend you over in my kitchen while I cook you breakfast.” He babbles as your walls start to flutter, already dangerously close to falling over the ledge, your body threatening to take him with you. “Wanna do this all the time, please, let me do this all the time, honey.”

“Whatever, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m - oh fuck, I’m yours.” Your words break off in a moan when he starts to circle his hips at the same time you push yours back and he holds you there, repeating the motion.

“Yeah? You’re mine?” Steve grunts, cock twitching at the thought of filling you up, and for the first time in over a decade he feels the need to mark what’s his in the most primal way he knows. The thought of you round with his kid brings a new kind of intensity to the way he starts to fuck you, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Tell me again.”

“Mmmhmm, always yours.” You whine, feeling yourself reaching the edge. Steve leans forward, somehow going deeper. Long thick fingers find their way between your thighs, where the two of you connect and he starts rubbing messy circles on your clit, pushing you off the cliff.

You flutter and squeeze around him hard enough to almost push him out, but he continues rutting his hips fighting against it, white spots explode behind your lids, his name falling out of your mouth broken in a gasp and a shudder.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it.” He groans, watching the way your forehead hits the cold marble with another tremor that makes his cock twitch. “Gonna cum baby, let me cum inside, need it, please.”

He can make out the nod of your head, and with the little strength you have left, you push yourself further back encouraging him more. He knows you're on the pill, he’s seen you take it, but right now in the heat of it all, a small part of him hopes you missed a day. He blames the blue letters on his Jersey staring him right in the face, or the way you coat his cock with the remains of what he did to you every time you suck him right back in.

He pushes himself deep enough to make you fall forward a little, a low groan rumbling deep from his chest as he spills hot inside of you the rock of his hips slowing down as he falls apart. His forehead hits your back, with one last lazy thrust, and you can feel the heat of his breath as he pants to catch his breath. You wish the fabric of his jersey wasn’t so thick when he plants a kiss between your shoulder blades, before slowly pulling himself back up.

“Yeah, it’s official. This is absolutely the only thing you’re allowed to wear here.”

[tiny-space-platypus]

Never really fit back in

Part 1 Mirrors.

Ever since Danny died he knew something was still well wrong with him. Like something was still missing from him and he didn't fully understand what till he became king of the Infinite Realms. Only then did he remember. Remember that wasn't just Danny Fenton but also Danyal Ra Gul. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten his brother? He had to remember more..

He went to the only one that could allow him to remember, he went to Clockwork. Remembering was painfully, remembering felt like his core was tearing apart and coming together over and over but he needed to know.

He remembered his mother, her soft lullabies, her training, her love, her affection. He remembered loving her just as his brother did. He remembered his brother, he remembered caring so deeply for him. He remembered how deep he was in the LOA, he remembered trying to get his brother out, he remembered dying for it. He remembered his body being placed in the pit of toxic and decorated ectoplasm, he remembered becoming one with it. He remembered his grandfather deeming him a failure, he remembers watching his family turn their backs to him. Then he was Fenton. Was he ever really a Fenton? Was he really the same boy they lost so long ago? Was he Danyal, the failed child of the league, the failure that followed his brother? Was he neither? Was he just the poor reflection of both children lost forever?

Danny decided he needed to see his brother, he needed to at least know if he was alive and living well. He sent Wulf to find him. Apparently his brother was in Gotham, maybe that's where his new haunt could be. He couldn't really stay in Amity after all even if a piece of him wanted to. Too many GIW agents now and the house had only gotten more aggressive as he got stronger. Maybe it's time to move on from being Danny.

First Danny had to talk to Jazz, she was a therapist or well in college for it now maybe she could talk him through it. Make him see what he wanted.

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

Damian sat in his room today, not coming out once worrying the others. Though once they looked at the date it made sense. Every year a day after his birthday Damian becomes unresponsive to everyone. Once it's over they're greeted with the same response every year to their questions.

"Tsk, That is none of your concern."

Damian spent the day mourning. Morning the brother he had killed, mourning the brother who was consumed by the pit, mourning the brother who was seen as a failure. His twin brother, his twin blade, the brother that he sees whenever he looks into the mirror longer than he has to. The look of betrayal then acceptance that his brother gave as Damian coldly watched him bleed out.

Today he thought of his brother and his last moments. Today he thought of how his brother smiled at him as he died looking up at Damian. Today he thought of the last question his brother told him. "You'll be ok, ok?" The last question he answered with awful indifference and anger and shame. Damian's last words to his brother, last words to a dying brother who only wanted to spare him from the league, deeming him a failure.

Danyal wasn't a failure. Danyal was smart, picking up every lesson quickly and efficiently. Quicker to realize the league was wrong. Danyal was a killer, Danyal was lethal but kind in his way of killing making it quick and nearly painless. Danyal in times of quiet was kind and soft and comforting, things that couldn't be in the league. Danyal that could tell you everything you could have ever wanted about the stars and space and how to care for a blade. If it hadn't been for Damian perhaps his brother would have been heir, perhaps he deserved it more than Damian ever did.

Damian went to the mirror and stared into it like he did every year. Stared into the face of his brother. Stared into the face that he watched drain of life and apologized. Apologized like he did every year till he couldn't get the words out anymore. Damian didn't sleep well that night, he never did the day after his birthday, the day of his death.

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Idea bullet points!

Damian and Danny are both 16-ish

They were about 7 when Danny's first death took place (yay trauma)

Damian didn't realize the gravity of his actions till like a solid 2 days after he killed his brother. When he did he begged to have him brought back through the pit only to watch him dissolve into it and never be seen again.

Danyal became one with the pit meaning his body dissolved into it imprinting the possibility of becoming a new king onto Danny (like Royal jelly or something)

When Danny reformed as a child and not a strong Ghost Clockwork had him placed somewhere where the Fenton's could adopt him/ where he'd grow to be a good king

Danny didn't become a half when he was electrocuted he just awakened part of his power then. He was always a halfa.

Maybe clockwork locked away his memories or maybe that's just what the ectoplasm did.

Next

[choerypetal]

Sorrow / Diego Hargreeves

summary: five doesn't see you as a friend/platonic partner anymore. but to diego's eyes you are his everything.

ps; english isn't my first language so i appolgize for any grammar errors! (also i wanted to write a short diego hargreeves prompt, bc in this house, we stan diego period. and he deserves everything.)

enjoy!

“I don’t love you anymore,” 

The words still echo in the recesses of your mind, haunting you with their bitter finality. You replay the moment when the same phrase was uttered, over and over again. I don’t love you anymore. After all you've endured together in the apocalypse—surviving as a team, protecting each other—it wasn't enough for him. His desires grew, but they no longer included you. He craved something more, something that left you behind.

And for what excuse he said? To protect you. 

It wasn’t until hours later that your entire body began to feel stiff. With everyone else—Lila’s family included—watching from the sidelines, you felt utterly numb. Your lips couldn't form a final sentence, no explanation for the choice that led you here. Even your eyes refused to look away. As your fingers trembled, you struggled to hold back the tears, but that’s when you finally broke. His voice, calling out for you in despair, was unbearable. You wanted to block out every sound, including the sound of your own sobbing.

But you couldn’t escape it. Diego’s voice grew louder, angrier, until it became the only thing you could focus on. He was your voice in that moment, the one who truly understood, whose first instinct was always to check if you were okay. Yet part of you wished he would stop yelling, stop pretending he wasn’t hurt. Why feel hurt at all? The Handler had told you not to, and so had Five. Now, you stood before someone who was nothing more than a stranger. When Diego’s voice suddenly cut through the chaos, trembling with fear, he asked, "Y/N?" His voice mirrored the fear in your eyes when they met his.

Without a word, the room grew cold, the silence thick and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, and all you wanted to do was run—so you did. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you. Diego’s voice, calling your name, faded into a distant echo as you glanced back to see him chasing after you. But why? What was he trying to hold onto? It didn’t matter. You kept running until your legs gave out, your mind and spirit utterly drained. Collapsing in the middle of the walkway, you fell to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Five’s words had finally shattered you. And then, Diego’s arms found you.

“Shh…” His soft, reassuring whispers began to calm you, even as your cries of despair continued. He gently rocked you in his arms, urging you to look at him as he promised that everything would be okay—that he was there for you. “Breathe. Exhale,” he murmured, and you tried your best to follow his words. As a few tears slipped down your cheeks, he tenderly wiped them away, the warmth of your tears meeting the cold touch of his fingers. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation. “I’m here,” he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He, too, knew what it meant to lose someone you love. 

 “Nobody is going to hurt us, anymore. I promise.”

[makingqueerhistory]

Spooky Queer Books

Since spooky season is starting, I thought I would share a list of my favourite queer books that are great for this time of year.

Some of these links are affiliate links.

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror

Joe Vallese

Horror movies hold a complicated space in the hearts of the queer community: historically misogynist, and often homo- and transphobic, the genre has also been inadvertently feminist and open to subversive readings. Common tropes--such as the circumspect and resilient "final girl," body possession, costumed villains, secret identities, and things that lurk in the closet--spark moments of eerie familiarity and affective connection. Still, viewers often remain tasked with reading themselves into beloved films, seeking out characters and set pieces that speak to, mirror, and parallel the unique ways queerness encounters the world.It Came from the Closet features twenty-five essays by writers speaking to this relationship, through connections both empowering and oppressive. From Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer's Body, Jude Ellison S. Doyle on In My Skin, Addie Tsai on Dead Ringers, and many more, these conversations convey the rich reciprocity between queerness and horror.

Into the Drowning Deep

Mira Grant

The ocean is home to many myths, But some are deadly... Seven years ago the Atargatis set off on a voyage to the Mariana Trench to film a mockumentary bringing to life ancient sea creatures of legend. It was lost at sea with all hands. Some have called it a hoax; others have called it a tragedy. Now a new crew has been assembled. But this time they're not out to entertain. Some seek to validate their life's work. Some seek the greatest hunt of all. Some seek the truth. But for the ambitious young scientist Victoria Stewart this is a voyage to uncover the fate of the sister she lost. Whatever the truth may be, it will only be found below the waves. But the secrets of the deep come with a price.

The Devouring Gray

C. L. Herman

After her sister's death, seventeen-year-old Violet Saunders finds herself dragged to Four Paths, New York. Violet may be a newcomer, but she soon learns her mother isn't: They belong to one of the revered founding families of the town, where stone bells hang above every doorway and danger lurks in the depths of the woods. Justin Hawthorne's bloodline has protected Four Paths for generations from the Gray--a lifeless dimension that imprisons a brutal monster. After Justin fails to inherit his family's powers, his mother is determined to keep this humiliation a secret. But Justin can't let go of the future he was promised and the town he swore to protect. Ever since Harper Carlisle lost her hand to an accident that left her stranded in the Gray for days, she has vowed revenge on the person who abandoned her: Justin Hawthorne. There are ripples of dissent in Four Paths, and Harper seizes an opportunity to take down the Hawthornes and change her destiny--to what extent, even she doesn't yet know. The Gray is growing stronger every day, and its victims are piling up. When Violet accidentally unleashes the monster, all three must band together with the other Founders to unearth the dark truths behind their families' abilities...before the Gray devours them all.

Tell Me I'm Worthless

Alison Rumfitt

Three years ago, Alice spent one night in an abandoned house with her friends, Ila and Hannah. Since then, Alice's life has spiraled. She lives a haunted existence, selling videos of herself for money, going to parties she hates, drinking herself to sleep. Memories of that night torment Alice, but when Ila asks her to return to the House, to go past the KEEP OUT sign and over the sick earth where teenagers dare each other to venture, Alice knows she must go. Together, Alice and Ila must face the horrors that happened there, must pull themselves apart from the inside out, put their differences aside, and try to rescue Hannah, whom the House has chosen to make its own. Cutting, disruptive, and darkly funny, Tell Me I'm Worthless is a vital work of trans fiction that examines the devastating effects of trauma and how fascism makes us destroy ourselves and each other.

[bigification]

Haunted

Part 1: Remi

Remi was awed as he entered the house. It was way bigger than he'd imagined, and fancier than he could have dreamed of. He only recently came into a lot of money due the death of a wealthy relative, so he wasn't used to the opulence. He grew up in a small house with 6 siblings before moving out to a shoebox apartment with Nate when he was 21. Now that he has the money though, he figured there was no time like the present and decided to hunt for a house.

A man in jeans and a black button up greeted the two young men in the lobby. Remi could feel the awkward stares from the realtor, making him feel even more out of place in this house. But he bit his tongue and pretended like nothing was wrong.

The realtor toured them around the massive house, showing off room after room. "This is a painting of the original owners of the house, they built it together." The realtor said as they stopped at a large painting of three older men. "The story is that they were forbidden lovers who built this house to escape their previous lives." He continued. Remi seemed to be drawn to the painting. He looked at the bottom of the frame and saw "Remie and Nathaniel" written on it. It's a crazy coincidence that they have the same name as the previous homeowners. "What about the third man in the painting?" Remi asked. "That was their butler, it is thought that the couples relationship with the butler was more than just platonic. That is why he is in this painting with them." The realtor responded

"I'm gonna check out the backyard, if you want to stay and see the rest of the inside." Nate told Remi as he left for the back door. Remi continued the tour through the interior. "This was Remie's favourite room, he used to spend a lot of his time watching football on this tv." The realtor explained as they entered a living room with a couch and a tv. Remi approached the tv and stared into the blank screen. Something looked off, so he inspected it closer. There was a face reflected back at Remi, but it wasn't his own, it looked like the man in the painting. Suddenly a bright energy started bursting out of the tv. Remi stumbled back as the energy started to rapidly flow into his mouth. It made his stomach feel warm.

Remi got up and stumbled around for a bit, he felt nauseous and confused about what was happening. Unbeknownst to him, his body had already begun to change. His skinny arms turned into thick biceps and his flat chest grew into two juicy pecs that burst right through his shirt. His shoulders broadened and his waist thinned, making him look like a jock. His ass perked up and his thighs thickened, filling out his jeans. His face also began to change, as he started to look older. His jawline sharpened as he grew a thick mustache and a short beard. That was only the beginning of the hair growth, however. The rest of his body quickly became covered in brown hairs.

During the transformation, Remi stumbled his way to the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of his aging body. The muscle, the hair, it filled him with a sort of confidence he had never felt before, it was intoxicating. He posed in the mirror and took a picture of himself, admiring his own body.

"Snap out of it!" He scolded himself. He found it harder and harder to focus, it's like he was losing control of himself.

He tried walking around the house to find anyone to help him, but it was no use. His body continued to age. His defined muscles got covered in a thin layer of fat and the hair covering his body became more and more dense every second. His mustache grew into a thick beard as his hair turned a pale grey, barely holding onto any colour. As Remi lost control of his body, he stumbled out the front door in a last ditch attempt, but it was too late. The now old man leaned against the telephone pole in front of his house and gained his composure.

"That's better, took' em long enough to find someone." Remie said as he stretched and cracked a few bones. He walked back towards his house and was greeted by the realtor, I mean, by his butler who was now dressed in a fancy tuxedo. But more had changed than that, the man now sported a grey beard and sizable gut that spilled out of his suit.

"Be a doll and go fetch Nathaniel, I need to talk to him." Remie stated with a wink. "Yes sir, right away." The butler responded as he heaved himself off his chair and walked toward the backyard.

Part 2: The Realtor

"This was the previous homeowners favourite room, he used to spend a lot of his time watching football on this tv." The realtor said as he entered the living room. He stood by the door as Remi looked around, but he was quickly distracted by a noise coming from down the hall. "I'll be back shortly." He told Remi, but Remi was too distracted with the tv to notice. The realtor walked down the hall and noticed the window in the butlers room was open when all of the windows should have been closed. He went to close it and stopped when he saw a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye. He looked over to see the mirror in the butlers closet, but it wasn't himself in the reflection. A bright light coming from the mirror stunned him, as a stream of energy flowed into his body.

He stepped back and leaned against the wall behind him. He felt right around his torso as a warmth took over his stomach. He looked down and let out a yelp as he saw a small bump form under his shirt. The bump swelled until he had a pot belly that made him look pregnant. It became hard to breathe from how tight his shirt was hugging him, but that wasn't the end of his problems. His ass started to fatten, filling out the space in his jeans and straining his belt. He tried to buckle his belt so that it fit his growing waist, but he just kept outgrowing it. He was so distracted from his growing body, that he failed to notice that his face began to change. His beard grew out into a thick unkept beard as his hairline receded. His facial features started to age, making him look well into his forties.

He was growing too fast, his clothes wouldn't last much longer. His shirt was the first to go. One button popped, then another, then another until none remained. His hulking gut and soft man tits flopped out of his shirt as it ripped open. Next was his pants. His belt snapped in half as his fly flew open. The seam down the back of his pants slowly ripped open as his ass grew, the rip continued all the way down his jeans until they fell to the ground. Even his arms had gotten so far that they ripped through his sleeves, leaving him completely naked.

He continued to soften and age every second. The wrinkles grew on his face as the stretch marks grew on his gut. Hairs all over his body began to go grey. Finally, the transformation seemed to slow down, leaving him drenched in sweat. He must have been nearly 300 pounds by now with a giant gut, man tits, and thighs so thick that they constantly rub together.

He gains his composure and walks into his closet, finding one of his nicest suits. He struggles to put it on, but gets it eventually. The butler has gained a lot of weight in his old age, getting dressed isn't as easy as it used to be for him. He grabbed his favorite brand of cigar before walking to the front of the house and sitting on the porch.

"That's odd." He said to himself as he saw Remie standing out by the telephone pole, without a shirt on. "He always looked better without a shirt." He said as he smoked his cigar.

"Be a doll and go fetch Nathaniel, I need to talk to him." Remie winks at him. "Yes sir, right away." He heaved himself from his chair and heads back into the house, feeling a pinch on his ass as he went. He walked all the way through the house and to the back yard. "Nathaniel, Remie is calling for you!"

Part 3: Nate

Nate slid the glass door open to the backyard and couldn't believe what he was seeing. He walked down a set of stairs and walked through the lush garden that filled the backyard. He wandered around for a moment before stumbling across a small garage near the edge of the backyard. He walked in to see an old run down car. Just as he was about to touch it, the realtor screamed out "Nathaniel, Remi is calling for you!" Nate jumped and turned around to see the realtor dressed in a full tuxedo. Nate looked closer and realized that it wasn't the realtor, though he kind of looked like him. He was a fat old man in a fancy tuxedo. "Who are you?" Nate questioned. "I'm your butler." He says slightly confused. "Remie is calling for you."

"I'll go in a minute, I just want to look around a bit more." Nate responded. "Well alright sir, if you wish." The butler said. Nate was still confused as to why he was acting that way, but chose to ignore it.

"This was the previous homeowners favorite car, though it hasn't been functional in a long time. You can go inside if you'd like." The butler offered. Nate agreed and got inside the run down car. It felt oddly familiar, like he sat in this car often. It even felt like the seat was worn in by him. He sat in the car for a moment before catching a glance of something in the rearview mirror. He looked up at the mirror and saw an older man staring back at him. He was soon blinded as a bright light shone through the mirror. The light flowed into his mouth and settled in his stomach.

Nate felt a relaxed feeling take over his body, as if all his worries had disappeared. So relaxed he failed to notice his body had begun to change. His face started to age as his patchy stubble grew into a short beard and the hair on his head shortened to a buzz cut. Within moments he looked ten years older. He started to rapidly gain muscle as his arms became thick and vascular and his chest thickened. His pecs pressed harder and harder against his undershirt until they ripped right through, leaving him in just his sleeveless sweater. Nate could feel his perspective shift higher as his body grew, making his head nearly touch the ceiling. His hand reached for his crotch as his dick grew a few inches, creating a sizable bulge in his shorts. Big enough to be hard to hide, not that he would want to hide it, given his new found confidence.

Nate pulled out his phone and opened the camera. He was a bit shocked at first at the sight of his aged face and muscular body, but the worry soon left and he only felt pride for his looks.

His looks wouldn't last long however as began to age again. His face aged until he appears to be in his 40's as his hair thins and his beard thickens. His upper body continues to grow. His shoulders broaden and thicken with muscle and a thick layer of fat, ripping what's left of his shirt. His arms grow larger and stronger, but lose their definition under a soft layer of pudge. His pecs become hairier as they grow into soft but strong looking moobs. His six pack disappears under a small belly as love handles swell over his waist. His legs thicken until his shorts look like they're about to burst, and a large bulge forms under his skin tight shorts. His body continues to grow taller as his legs barely fit in the car and his head begins to touch the roof of the car.

Nathaniel smiled at his butler and licked his lips. There was nothing left of the young man, just the strong and confident man.

"Seriously Nathaniel, I insist that you must go see Remie. He wishes to speak with you." The butler pleads.

Nathaniel quickly exits the car and sees Remie waiting for him in the backyard. The two men run to each other and embrace with a kiss.

The two now reunited after so long, held each other for minutes.

"Isn't it beautiful, just how we left it." Nathaniel says, looking at the house.

"Should we check if the bedroom still looks the same?" Remie asks with a smirk.

As the two make their way back into the house, Remie grabs the butler by his collar and drags him inside too.