#[ a friend: prompt anon ]

[creativepromptsforwriting]

friends to lovers prompts? some where they're arguing about why they can't date too pls

Friends to Lovers Prompts

Arguing about why they can't date edition

"I'm just scared that it will change everything."

"You say you love me and then you say we can't be together. That is not fair!"

"If we don't work out... I can't risk losing my best friend."

"We can't go on like this! We'll be miserable."

"I don't understand you! I thought you loved me too!"

"This could be so easy... two people liking each other. But it's a very hard decision."

"It's not that I don't like you. I do. Maybe even too much. But I value our friendship and I don't want to lose it."

"You want to just try and see if it works? What if it ruins our friendship? Is our friendship not important enough for you?"

"It would be weird." "How do you know that?"

"I know you're scared, me too. But it can also be the beginning of something really great."

"Let's ruin our friendship." "Is it that easy for you?"

More: Reluctant allies to friends to lovers dynamic | Flirty friends to lovers Prompts | Friends with benefits to lovers Prompts | Best friends to lovers Prompts | Childhood friends to lovers Prompts

Have fun!

- Jana

[new-revenant]

I had a crack idea of since Danny likes to do time missions sometimes for Clockwork on one of those missions he ended up meeting an 8-year-old Ra al Ghul who ended up becoming obsessed with the powerful 14-year-old Danny believing him to be like a god since if you saw a glowing floating teenager 500 years ago you would probably think it's a God too

Ever since Ra al Ghul has dedicated himself to being phantoms worshiper seeing him anyone that's connected to him as a God of the Lazarus pits

Danny calls him his creepy stalker that somehow is still alive and Danny's pretty sure it's only because of spite

So two years for Danny he ends up being summoned by the Justice League and being asked to make a a partnership with the Justice League and they asked Danny what he would like in return

Danny pops out a bunch of boxes and it's like can you help me get rid of my stalkerish cult leader named Ra al Ghul Danny uses each box to pull out a piece of evidence of Ra al Ghul just being stalkerish and creepy

Some things in the Box are sacrifices are wrong letters about Danny that Ross have been doing into the Lazarus pits at Danny has been getting heck Ra al Ghul has even found someone named Tim Drake that looks like him and Danny's incredibly worried about poor guy because of Ra al Ghul

Danny's rent including being worried about Talia, Dusan, and Damien since they were named after Danny's family Friends he accidentally mentioned to Ra al Ghul back then

To the Justice League especially the Batfam members are they are just watching this definite God like being be like just stop Ra al Ghul from stalking me and I'll be able to help you whenever you need me to help

Crack, crack, crack, crack! Aight time to actually read this

omg that’s hilarious, I love it. I love when gods or god-like beings are like “please help me this guy is freaking me out” to just some other guys. I’d image that once he learns that Ra is messing with Batfam as well, before he would ever get summoned by the JL, he would definitely try to warn them of Ra’s weirdness(that they likely are already aware of, but Danny want to make extra sure they are safe). If anyone asks why Danny isn’t just dealing with Ra himself, it’s because he feels bad. That Ra al Ghul guy just seems so sad, and lonely, and pathetic, worshiping this random ghost teen(in Danny’s mind). Danny just needs help with letting Ra down easily that no, he’s not a god, he (probably) just the king/prince of ghosts and is also just friend with a time god(clockwork). Just go worship that guy instead.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier never makes promises. He literally never says the word “promise”, and he swears no oaths.

It’s a subtle quirk. It takes Geralt years to notice. When he points it out, Jaskier says with false levity, “I guess I don’t.”

From the bard’s body language, Geralt can see he doesn’t want to talk about it, so the topic is dropped.

Years later—after Geralt screams his fury at Jaskier—the bard says in a broken voice, “Don’t worry, Geralt. I promise not to bother you anymore.”

The promise sears itself onto Geralt’s soul like a brand. One made of chaos, and he can feel it become binding.

Geralt whips around, but Jaskier was gone.

There are a few moments of confusion before Geralt realizes what just happened. Jaskier had promised, and that promise was sealed with chaos. Only the Fae have such an ability.

YESSSSSSS i love this Geralt has to track down Jaskier and prove that Jaskier doesn't bother him, and thus the promise is still ringing true, even as they continue traveling together

[the-broken-pen]

love your writing yo can I ask for a little hurt-comfort mlm

“Oh. Oh. That’s—that’s a lot of blood,” the voice above him sounded strangled, like they were choking on every word.

The hero cracked an eye open, dizzy and cold and tired, and hummed something that could have been an agreement.

“Hey,” he said, voice raw, and his friend stifled a sob as they collapsed onto their knees at his side.

Their hands pressed hesitantly against the wound, and they were trembling. His hands were slick with blood. It took everything in them to drag them, shaking, to rest on top of his friends, and press down hard.

The pained noise he made caught in the back of his throat. Just barely.

“You have to press harder,” he managed. The pain had swelled to something almost unbearable. He was drowning in it, to the point where it was almost the kind of pain where it became something wretched, something else that swallowed you whole. “The bleeding, it—“ he had to stop, gasping for a breath.

His friend had started crying, but they pressed harder, dutifully. He loved them for it.

“I don’t know what to do,” they sobbed. “You don’t do hospitals. What do I do.”

He let go of his friends hand, digging for his pocket. His grip slipped the first two times; he managed it on the third, sliding his phone onto his stomach.

“Speed dial,” he offered, and closed his eyes before the look on his friend’s face made him vomit.

“Speed dial? Speed dial. Okay. Okay,” his friend said. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” He was certain his friend wasn’t saying it to him. Their free hand scrambled for his phone.

By the time they managed to get it to ring, the world around him had turned into something muffled and cotton around him.

“You? You’re his speed dial—don’t…I don’t know what….bleeding…not responding…please, just….”

A crack cleaved the air, the smell of ozone suddenly stronger than the smell of his own suffering, and then a hand was replacing his friend’s. The other found the side of his face, thumb curving under his jaw.

“Hey,” and oh, he knew that voice—something raw in his chest eased. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

He managed, just barely, and the villain peered down at him.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“You’re bleeding out,” the villain said, and it was the softest he’d ever heard him. “You need care, or you’re going to die. Can I move you?”

Do you trust me?

“Always,” he tried, but it came out weak and desperate.

The villain pressed harder, and he keened high and pained in the back of his throat. On instinct, his hand darted up to the villain’s wrist, latching on too tight for anyone without superpowers to handle. The villain didn’t flinch.

“You’re okay,” the villain murmured. His thumb brushed over the hero’s jaw, soothing.

There was something the hero was forgetting—

“My friend,” he choked out. “Where—are they—where—“ he struggled to sit up, and the villain simply guided him back down.

“They’re fine,” the villain promised. “I sent them home. Maybe a little traumatized, but they’re okay.”

“Okay.” The hero nodded to himself, or he tried, or he didn’t. “Okay. They’re okay, okay, I’m—“

“Okay,” the villain finished for him, and even half sick in pain the hero could tell he was intentionally keeping his voice easy. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

His hand shifted underneath the hero’s back.

“Breathe for me?” The hero tried, and managed a half wheeze. The villain just nodded. “Good. This is gonna suck.”

His other hand wormed its way underneath the hero’s knees. He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision, and the villain stared at him. Barely disguised concern was written into every inch of him, like the only thing his bones could remember was panic. For him.

The villain was scared for him.

That was bad.

“What’s going to suck—“

The villain hauled him upwards, and his vision went white.

He woke up some time later, chest heavy and head floating somewhere above his body.

He hummed something that might have been a question, and the villain was above him in an instant.

“Are you in pain?”

The hero blinked at him for a moment. Mostly because he couldn’t really remember how to do anything else. The world felt sluggish. A second delayed behind normal. Which should have been concerning, panic worth and world ending, but it simply just…was.

“No,” he said finally, and his voice sounded weird. His throat ached, separated from him by a wall of warmth. “I was screaming?”

The villain swallowed, hard, and the hero managed to drag his gaze down to the needle and thread clutched in the villain’s hand.

“Yeah.” The villain sounded like he was choking on the words. “You were screaming.”

He opened his eyes whendidheclosethem and peered upwards again. He was on a couch. Or a bed? Bed, he decided a second later. The villain was kneeling next to him, and there was something soft tucked around his legs. He went to sit up, look down at his stomach; the villain’s hand came up to rest on his forehead, gently keeping him down. He must have made some noise of displeasure, because a moment later, the villain’s hand carded through his hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, focusing back onto the hero’s side. He heard the snip of thread; the sound of the villain throwing something onto a side table without care.

“What did you give me?” The hero’s tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Lots,” the villain said.

“Lots,” he said back, managing to sound more incredulous than he actually cared to feel at the moment, and the villain snorted. “Haven’t heard of that one before.”

“Had to make something special for the boy wonder,” the villain smoothed a hand down his side, and the hero half leaned into it. Mostly he managed to sink further into the mattress. “You burn through shit fast, you know?”

The hero did know. He knew very well, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” he managed. His head lolled to the side without his permission, resting against the villain’s arm.

“You’re going to pass out again,” the villain informed him. He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. The villain seemed to understand regardless.

Am not, he tried to say.

The haze of medication and blood loss stole him first.

The next time he woke, he was half sprawled against the villain’s side. Something cold was set onto his cheek, and he reached up to remove it, hand clumsy. The villain caught it before he managed to remove anything.

“You spiked a fever,” he said quietly. “I just got it back down. That’s probably why you woke up. How are you feeling?”

That was…a lot.

“No pain,” he said eventually. He thought he felt the villain give a heavy sigh of relief.

The world was clearing itself up bit by bit, settling the furniture back into the correct places until it no longer felt like things were sliding around him.

The villain’s hand was back into his hair again.

“Good,” the villain said, but the hero wasn’t really sure it was meant for him.

Something in his chest loosened.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted, and he wished his tongue was still numb, because the villain stilled, hand curled in his hair.

“That’s not what you told your friend.”

And yeah, the hero half remembered the pieces of that. A promise he was okay. Everything would be fine. He was always fine, wasn’t he? How strongly do you have to will to will someone to stay. Exactly how many pounds of force does it take to stop someone from bleeding out—

There was a chill curling itself around his ribs.

“I thought I was going to die,” his voice was raw. It wasn’t because of his throat. He sounded afraid, even to himself.

“I would never have let you do that,” he managed a moment later. His hand resumed in his hair.

And somehow, despite the knowledge of how hard it truly was to save someone, how long it took to learn that kind of information, the knowing of exactly what was survivable and what couldn’t be escaped, how strong you had to be to shift through rubble—the hero believed him.

“I know,” he said, because the villain had to know. That he believed him. That he would always believe him.

He melted into the villain’s side.

I trust you, I trust you, I trust you

The villain hummed, in that way of his that told him he understood exactly what the hero couldn’t vocalize.

“I’m your #1 speed dial?” He questioned after a moment.

The hero huffed a laugh.

“You’re my only speed dial.”

The villain froze.

And then he was shifting, pulling the hero closed to him. The villain tucked him close, chin settling onto the top of his head. The hero pressed his face into the hollow of the villain’s neck.

“I will always come,” he said, and this time, his voice was the one that was raw. “You call, and I will be there.”

He said it like it was easy. Like it was that simple.

Maybe it was.

Maybe for them it always had been.

A fondness he couldn’t put words too settled onto his shoulders.

He simply breathed into the villain’s neck, and the villain’s arms looped around him a bit tighter.

“You’re okay,” the villain said into his hair. Like he was confirming it.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky you have super healing.”

“I’m lucky I have you.”

The villain laughed softly.

“Suck up.”

“And what? You gonna stop me?”

He could practically feel the eye roll. “Been trying for years. Hasn’t stuck.”

“Well, you had the perfect opportunity—“

The villain hushed him.

“Just. Shhh for a bit,” he said softly.

The hero, obediently, shhh’ed.

The villain’s hand ran through his hair again, and his eyes shuttered closed, settling further against the villain’s chest.

“Cheater,” he murmured, and the villain huffed a laugh, but didn’t deign a response.

And together, comfortably, curled around one another like two halves of a whole, they just breathed.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentines Day Shana!! 💕💕 Sybok and Jim contiuation? I wanna see more of Sybok teasing the shit out of Spock for his oblivious crush

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

It's rude to speak in a language not everyone present speaks, however Sybok became immune to social niceties around the time his father stopped bringing him to official functions. He switches to High Vulcan to say, "We can tell her I picked you up off an Orion slave ship."

Uhura's right eye twitches.

"She can understand you," Jimmy says. "She's a xenolinguist."

Bones's eyes narrow. He's so much more indignant in person than in the background of Jimmy's video calls. "What are you going on about now? I hate when you do this. I always feel like you're planning how to dispose of my body."

Jimmy had told him that Bones had started studying Vulcan. He'd also told him that he was incredibly bad at it, but not everyone can be Jimmy, which was realistically probably for the best.

He drops down to standard Vulcan to say, "Ah, so you have a talented tongue," since there's really no way to say that in High Vulcan that's a double entendre. It doesn't help that most of their potentially risque phrases are hand rather than mouth oriented, but he's learned to make do.

Spock turns an unhealthy shade of pale as his eyes widen the tiniest amount in abject horror.

Uhura raises her eyebrow in a way that reminds him of his brother. "To master a language is the study of a lifetime. I would be most appreciative if you were to give me a hand in achieving this endeavor."

Spock's skin flushes and he looks around like he's seriously considering running away from this conversation.

Sybok is delighted.

"Uhurua!" Jimmy shouts, hands on his hips. "Come on! I say that to you and you don't even let me buy you a drink, but you'll just proposition Sybok in the middle of the hallway?"

"She did what?" Bones hisses.

That is one possible interpretation of her words.

"I might have gotten around to propositioning you too," she says, "if you hadn't gotten your ass beat."

"Okay, I think I did okay, actually," Jimmy argues while Bones's face morphs into an expression eerily similar to Spock's.

He loves Earth.

[moxfirefly]

I would like to ask for delicate hugs, but they linger longer the more both of you do it from the prompt list for Raphael if that is ok.

I love your blog and your writing! ❤️❤️

To have those big ol’ arms tight around you 😮‍💨

Love this anon! Let see how this goes.

Rated Feels/Romance/Tension.

The first thing that hit him was that fucking shower gel. It had the ability to linger so deliciously on your skin, mixing with your own scent. It was a punch to his senses, a good sucker punch that left him a little too giddy and ready for more.

This always happened when you two hugged.

So it was normal to press you against his chest and give a gentle squeeze, because you liked it when he did that.

It was fine to linger.

Right?

There was something natural to Raph’s scent, something between laundry detergent, some type of lotion and something so very him. You quite liked it, it was easy, you could tell it was him before you even turned to say hello.

What you liked though? What you enjoyed was how he could press you up against himself and squeeze. You loved weighted blankets but it paled so the pressure Raph’s arms could supply, the effortless way he lifted you off your feet several inches.

He always set you down, placed his hands on your shoulder before give them an affectionate squeeze. The fluidity of the motion is comforting, something to be expected whenever the two of you embraced.

With time the song and dance would change, small little intricate details that could’ve remained blind to the naked eye.

But you felt it, Raph felt it.

It was a greedy tune up, his arms fell a little lower to your waist, his chin rested more relaxed on your shoulder. The strands of your hair fanning his face and drowning him in the scent that very much had him mesmerized from day one.

You became more aware of his physique, the strength that lay within those arms, the press of his biceps and how nice it felt to run your hands down the obliques on the side of his torso. He was just to big and so strong.

Raph likes the small scattering of pink when he pulled away. The way your eyes stole a glance at his body, something about that filled him with so much pride, it left him a little dizzy with the ego rush.

As more time passed, and more time progressed, every little moment spent with each other, those embraces continued to evolve.

They evolved into something that left more questions than answers.

But god, did they supply another rush to his bloodstream, and left your skin all goose flesh.

That very night, when he went to see goodnight, make his way out of your window, the usual practiced motions…

He couldn’t pull away.

He held you close, chanced a soft caress to the back of your head. He felt your sigh more than he heard it, the small gush of air against his chest where you had glued yourself to. He was so firm, like stone, the scales a little cold against your skin. It was comforting, felt nice to have him life this.

It was the circles he drew on your back.

It was the way you reached up to the backs of his arms, fingertips running around the edges of his shell.

It was the fact that time continued to pass and yet neither of you could pull away.

[miakate-writes]

Denial prompts!

friends to lovers denial prompts 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“whether i’m gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike i haven’t decided yet” જ⁀➴ ♡

[a/n: denial is a river in egypt, guys. turned this into a friends to lovers thing, hope that’s ok 💌]

a does NOT like b

b does NOT like a

but when a where’s a cute outfit b doesn’t stop staring the whole day

and when b runs their hand through their hair a can’t seem to look away

both of them have dreams about each other, stupid dreams that definitely have meanings neither of them want to unpack

they are so so clearly in denial that it’s actually painful to watch

c practically begs b to just confess to a

but whenever anyone mentions this “crush” to them they turn into a red, blabbering mess

[whump-in-the-closet]

Kinda random but one of my FAVORITE tropes is when the hero and villain were friends but then an accident occurred and hero was under the assumption that their friend died right in front of them. (Whether they actually died or not may vary)

And then, years later, villain shows up and they’re angry or apathetic or maybe even they don’t remember (but they ARE a villain), but the hero just feels relieved, almost selfishly. They want to save their friend, but it’s more like they want to reconcile with their own survivor’s guilt. They want to save the memory of their friend.

YESYYESYYES YES YOU GET IT

ESPECIALLY THE RETURNING

I have some ideas for how this would go

Hero sneaking into Superhero's complex, finding Villain completely by accident. Villain looks fine. Just sitting in a dimly lit room, staring off into nothing, an empty glass in their hand.

"Good god."

Villain bolts out of the chair. "Get out! Get out of here right now."

Or.

"You're...alive?" The rush of relief is tainted with horror. Villain doesn't look the same. Their face is scarred, white lines slicing down their chin and around their eyes.

Hero and Villain staring at each other. Neither move, but every moment is laced with tension.

Hero turns, without a word, and leaves. Their head throbs and a wave of sudden nausea shakes them to their core. They can't look at Villain like...this. They look too fragile, too different. They can't take it. They convince themselves they'll come back at another time.

There's a sinking feeling of guilt they can't shake, though they try to vomit it out, bent over a toilet at their apartment. They grip the rim with shaking hands until their knuckles whiten. It's not my fault. It's...not.

Or.

They rush forward and yank Villain into a tight hug. "Let's get you out of here," they whisper.

Villain is unresponsive.

They take Villain back to their apartment and care for them, but constantly push them into their old self.

"Remember the time we fought outside the gas station?"

"What are you still doing in bed? Get up already."

"I thought you liked this movie. Watch it with me. Villain, you're watching it. I'm not taking no for an answer."

The friendly banter turns to something more demanding the more Villain remains apathetic. They do as Hero says with a heavy silence, the light in their eyes completely gone.

"You used to be so fun, Villain. You were never like this...before."

At some point, Villain snaps. "Before what, Hero? Before you left me for dead? Before Superhero did this to me?"

"Fuck you, Hero. Fuck you and everything you stand for." Villain rakes their hands through their hair, exasperated and tired and embarrassed to be seen like this until it boils over. "You weren't fucking there. I'm not some dumbass lapdog who-- who licks Superhero's boots like you apparently are. I'm glad you're okay, I really am, but I never want to see you again." Villain slams the door behind them as they leave, leaving Hero wracked with a guilt they can't quite place.

[hanasnx]

dragging your louboutins up peter’s leg under the dinner table at a five star restaurant that you’re paying for, but peter will be making up for it later. he’s gonna be kissing your neck and sucking on your diamond studded earlobe

he’s tensing in place, clutching onto the white tablecloth, getting all flushed. “your foot is so far up my pant leg you can count the change in my pocket.” he says in typical peter fashion. he’s uncomfortable bcos it’s so public and it seems like there’s a hundred people just waiting on the two of you someone’s gonna see you teasing him under the table like this

and yea :) he licks the perfume off your neck and he sucks on your earlobe and he bites onto your shoulder and makes it allll about you when you get him back to your place <33

[butterflyprompts]

Can you do a prompt list and/or dialogue where two enemy soldiers have to work together in order to find safety/refuge? Except, they actually get along together and would do anything to protect the other? It's okay if you're not comfortable doing this. If you are comfortable writing this, take your time! Your mental health is more important.

⚔ Prompts for Protecting Your Enemy ⚔

(thank you so much for the request anon! and for being so kind as well, i appreciate it! i hope you enjoy! ^u^ i tried to include a mix of ideas that would work for friends & lovers, since you weren't specific!)

Prompts

Character A and B are caught in the middle of a storm. There's nothing quite like arguments in the rain! Or maybe they're snowed in... Platonic/Romantic cuddles...

Character A having slight doubts about Character B's intentions. They care for them, of course, and they feel that Character B cares for them as well... But they are still on opposite sides of the battle. When push comes to shove, will Character B do anything for them, the same way Character A would?

Alternatively, Character A having doubts about their own allegiance at Character B's kindness.

Perhaps Character A and B are childhood friends. What drove them to be on opposite sides of the war? Do either of them feel any sort of bitterness? Pity? Anger, either at the other, or themselves for letting their friend get into this mess? Do they wonder if things could be better another time, another place...

Teasing each other about their abilities. While they get along, perhaps they have a sort of friendly rivalry with each other. When rations get low, do they make it a contest to see who can bring in the most food? Do they get into dumb arguments about where to find shelter? Do they pass the time by playing games with each other, or making up competitions?

Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort! Does someone fall sick? Do they have injuries? (Injuries they might have been hiding, even! They've suffered worse, and there's no point making the other worry... Until it gets worse.) Or is it something more mental? Trauma from the battle, from something in their past... Let them find comfort in each other!

When they say they will do anything to protect each other, how far does that go? Is Character A horrified by what Character B has done? Have they become desensitized to it? Could be a great character study, how hard will Character B snap when it comes to Character A's safety and happiness?

Dialogue

"It's going to be a long night... I'm glad I have you here with me."

"Where did you get that wound?"

"Are you still hungry? Here, have some of mine. No, take it, I insist."

"You know your way around that [weapon of choice], don't you?"

"Perhaps some day, when this is all over, we'll get to do this every night."

"It's okay to cry. I'm here for you."

"You're shivering... Here, let me check your forehead."

"How did someone like you get tangled up in a line of work like ours?"

"The stars are so beautiful tonight."

"I'm a bit jealous of you, you know."

"I can't sleep with all of your snoring!"

"It's okay. You're safe with me."

[hungharrington]

[ CONTROLLED ]  receiver stops stimulating sender and tells them the have to be still if they want to continue

i love sub steve sm and you write him so well !🩷

gosh... two request for sub!steve.. i didn't realise i was known for my lil sub!steve <3 MDNI this entire blog is 18+

You're feeling a bit mean tonight, so it seems.

Steve's not entirely sure where the dominant streak is coming from, nor the cooing condescending voice you put on that makes his tummy throb hotly — certainly not anything from earlier. Before you'd both shed your clothes and swapped spit, hands roaming desperately, you'd been so nice and loving. Doting even. It makes this even hotter to Steve, knowing you're doing this just because you adore seeing him fall apart for you.

"That's it, aw, you look so cute when you're all frustrated." You say sweetly. You're pouting, perched in his lap with one hand holding the side of his face gently, your thumb tracing over his freckles. The other hand is wrapped around his cock, fisting it in the space between your bodies. You're being mean.

Steve can feel his hold body shudder when you hand twists up and you start thumbing over his slit, a loud cry coming from his mouth. His hands, twisted in the sheets on either side, wind up tighter. You've told him he's not allowed to touch you.

"Please," Steve says breathily. He's fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to stop his hips from bucking up and chasing your touch but fuck, you're teasing him hard tonight.

You remove your hand completely for a moment, delighting in how Steve deflates with one big jagged exhale, before you hold your palm out flat. You rub it over the tip of his cock slowly, arousal sparking and catching at how it drags the most pitiful noises out of Steve. It's the barest touch and yet, you finally get to hear the sound you love from him most. A loud and needy whimper.

"Please, please, please," He whines, one of his hands flying off the duvet to hold your hip — and your hand on his cock stops moving. Steve groans, loud and long, already aware of the mistake he's made. His hand retreats off your hip and grabs the sheets again, chest heaving as he tries to rein in his breath. He opens his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them.

"Stevie," you start, another loving swipe of your thumb along his cheekbone.

"I know, I'm sorry," He gasps, hips shifting beneath. He can't help it, he's so keyed up, just aching for you. His cock bobs between you, the tip of it flushing red. "Please touch me again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Sh sh sh," You hush him softly, leaning in to dot his nose with a kiss. Steve's head tilts up instantly, searching for your lips and you grant him them, kissing him deeply, tongue swiping against his own. You can feel the vibrations of his moan into your mouth. Breaking the kiss you pull back, "Y'gotta be still, baby. Think you can do that for me? No touching or I stop touching, okay?"

Steve's nodding fervently as you speak, his hair flopping over his eyes. You push it back without being asked, not daring to hide any of his beautiful blush. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry, please- please— ngh—"

His pleas drown into another moan, as you hand reaches back down— ignoring his cock and rubbing against his balls gently, fondling them in the way you know drives him mad. Steve leans forward, hands still at his side, his head bowed as he presses his forehead into your shoulder. Weak pants laced with whimpers escape his mouth as you tease his balls so more, driven by his sweet noises.

"Stevie," you murmur, your hand on his face nudging him to sit back up. He does reluctantly, putty in your hands when you finally curl your fingers back around his cock tightly. He keens loudly and you coo in response, adoring how his cheeks glow brighter.

"That's better— mm, yeah, look at me, okay? I wanna see how I make you feel good..."

[creativepromptsforwriting]

can i pls have prompts abt two estranged best friends? trying to reconnect and try to be pals again?? thank you so much!!!

sksksk, this is the same anon that sent the estranged best friends request! forgot to add that i'm specifically asking a second chance friendship sort of prompts. ty, sorry for this extra ask.

Reconnecting Friends Prompts

Meeting someone again that you once knew everything about and not knowing anything about their life at the moment was a weird feeling.

Reconnecting with your estranged best friend was a bit like getting back with an ex. There was a reason why it didn't work in the first place, but being friends again felt like coming home.

There hadn't been a big fallout between them. No big earth-shattering fight that broke them up. Just life getting in the way and taking them to different places.

"I'm sorry we stopped being friends." "I'm sorry it took so long to get back to being friends."

"This may sound strange, because we haven't seen each other in a while, but would you like to go to our favourite café soon? Like in the old days?"

"Probably sounds kind of weird, but I was dreaming of you a lot. Just like background character in my dreams, not anything creepy. Probably just my brain remembering that we used to see each other almost daily."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I was a bad friend and I recognize that now." "Thank you for apologizing. I needed that."

"Do you still like [artist]?" "You remember that?" "You were singing their songs all the time, I still hum them from time to time, because of that. And there is a concert coming up soon."

"I never stopped thinking of you as my best friend. We haven't seen each other in a while, haven't talked for months, but... we're still friends, right?" "Right."

More: Rekindling Friendship Dialogue (College Friends)

Have fun with them!

- Jana

[new-revenant]

During patrol Nightwing found a handmade doll that resembled his hero persona, this wouldn't be so weird if it weren't for the fact that he finds dolls resembling the other members of the batfam's hero personas scattered in odd spots throughout Gotham and Bludhaven. The weirdest thing happens when one night he finds a doll of someone he doesn't recognize. It's a pale teen with white hair and bright green button eyes wearing what looks like a black and white hazmat suit. Nightwing picks it up and the doll immediately bursts into Lazarus green flames. Nightwing finally decided to tell the fam about the dolls not knowing that Phantom, who was sealed in a sarcophagus by treacherous observents several years prior, was now awake. The problem is that the sarcophagus is in the batcave as a trophy, needless to say everyone was surprised when the lid suddenly blew off and out stepped a teenager. Danny is a mix of anger and confusion because this definitely isn't Amity Park

You know. This is almost the exact plot of another, non-dp-related-AU I’ve seen. It’s @/ovegakart doll AU, it’s an AU of Linked Universe, which is itself a LoZ AU where a bunch of Links have come together across time because reasons I won’t get into. In the second ever LoZ game, Adventure of Link, there are these dolls that are scattered across the map. They give you an extra life. So, in ovegakart’s AU, the Link from the first game and AoL(it the same link)finds dolls of himself and the other Links while in his own time. Then, in a well, he finds a doll of a Link none of them have ever seen before. He picks it up and it bursts into flames. I checked, that’s what happened, here is a link to the page. Oh, and Nightwing not telling his family about the dolls until he gets Danny’s? The same thing happened in this AU, where AoL Link doesn’t tell the other Links about the dolls until he comes across the mysterious Link doll. That mystery Link is the First Hero btw, he’s from the Skyward Sword manga.

I would’ve liked it if you, I dunno, credited the idea? Or at least make it not so obvious by changing the doll into something else? Or make it so that Nightwing only finds a Danny doll? Maybe have it melt into ectoplasm even? I have a couple posts already about how I’m a LU fan on here, and if you’ve seen that before, then did you think I didn’t follow ovegakart, one of the biggest LU/LoZ creators? Listen, I’m not mad at you, I’m just confused at your thought process here. This AU idea wasn’t made for dpxdc, it doesn’t even make much sense for it. Yeah yeah, people can do whatever they want, whatever, but at least credit it my god. Or change it up to suit dpxdc more, or both.

How many other people have just taken AU ideas from others and pawned it off as their own, thinking that no one would find out since they’re from another fandom? It makes me feel gross. Please, just credit the idea. If I just posted this with some writing adding onto this, not knowing about this idea coming from another fandom and another person. I think I might need to close my asks for a bit, I don’t feel great, sorry.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

I think it would be neat if Geralt had synaesthesia.

It would make his sensitive senses even more overwhelming, and it would add a new layer to how he views Jaskier's voice.

At first, the garish, distracting colors are worse than the voice itself. How does someone's voice have so many different colors? Why do they have to be so bright and eye-catching?

Then, they just become a part of his world. An extra layer to existence.

But, after the mountain, his world is literally less colorful. More dreary.

THIS IS SUCH AN OLD ASK I'M SO SORRRYYYY I like the idea of him finding his Jaskier and getting his colors back 🥺

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride! Jim & Spock? Can be in the Sybokverse or on their own eitherway is perfect!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

“I believe I have the right to face my accuser.”

Jim is going to tear this asshole apart.

There’s muttering throughout the crowd, the auditorium filled to the brim for one cadet’s academic dishonesty disciplinary hearing. These are always open to be attended by the accused’s peers, but usually no one bothers, having far better things to do on a Friday morning. Jim is flattered, honestly.

Admiral Archer nods and everyone turns as one of the instructors stands and walks stiffly to the other podium.

Jim is honestly taken aback. A Vulcan giving him shit over this? He squints, trying to place him, suddenly sure he’s seen him somewhere before. Possibly just in the halls, but the familiarity feels deeper than that. He’s met a lot of Vulcans, to be fair.

“Cadet,” he greets.

“Defend the logic of your accusation,” he says, falling into familiar vernacular and only barely keeping himself from saying it in formal Vulcan. This guy might appreciate it, but Archer won’t, and Chris had told him not to be too much of an asshole.

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. “The purpose of the test is to assess your response to no win scenarios. Altering the parameters, while admittedly an impressive feat of programming, shows both your lack of understanding and your casual disregard for the institution of Starfleet.”

“I don’t believe in no win scenarios,” he says confidently, flashing a smile to the assembled admirals that, in different circumstances, tends to get him laid.

He stiffens. “Your belief in them does not change their existence. In an impossible situation, you must react to the circumstances given to you. Anything else is entertaining delusions.”

“Bullshit,” Jim says immediately and sees Chris pinch the bridge of his nose. Oops. This is a perfect time to go into the speech that he has prepared, about how if he was actually trying to cheat he would have been more subtle about it, about how cheating was his answer to the question presented by the test, and how that applies to how he would really react as a captain.

But then the Vulcan gives him the bitchiest look he’s seen in – well, about four days, but he’s suddenly so sure where he knows him from.

~

Spock doesn’t understand how someone with so little regard for both etiquette and moral standards has survived this long in the academy. He’s intimately familiar with the doors that having a famous father can open, but surely there must be limits.

James Kirk opens his mouth, presumably to continue his insulting and inappropriate defense of his actions, then his eyes narrow, widen, and he demands, “Spock? S'Chn T'Gai Spock? Son of Amanda Grayson and S'Chn T'Gai Sarek?”

For a moment, all he can do is stare. “Have we met?”

His syntax when first faced with him had made him think that James Kirk was familiar with Vulcan, as unlikely as that seemed, but now he’s sure. Not only because of the correct pronunciation of his family name, but in how he has addressed him. Vulcan society is matriarchal. It is correct to identify him first as his mother’s son, and also appropriate to leave off his father’s title as ambassador when identifying his family origin, as his father’s position is supposed to be secondary to his mother’s. His mother married into his father’s clan, but that doesn’t change formal conventions.

Even on Vulcan, he is rarely identified correctly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” James Kirk says, then takes out his communicator and starts typing.

What.

“Cadet Kirk!” Admiral Archer barks. “Put that away and comport yourself as your position demands or we’ll be here for more than accusations of your cheating.”

“Apologies, Admiral,” James Kirk says, placing his hands behind his back and looking like he’s taking this seriously for the first time. “If you’ll just allow a couple minutes-”

Spock’s communicator goes off.

“Commander,” Admiral Archer says warningly.

“One moment, please,” he says, his stomach rolling as he takes out the communicator. He’s hoping that this is another of James Kirk’s tricks, because when he’s placed it on silent only his family can contact him, and his mother marks all of her correspondence as non urgent. There is no good reason for his father to contact him.

He opens it up and blinks twice, to be certain of what he’s seeing.

Sybok has sent him a text base message. His elder brother never sends him text based communication, as he believes that Spock will not respond timely or authentically, and so only video calls him. Usually at inopportune times.

stop being mean to jimmy :(

He is a genius. Several things suddenly make sense all at once.

He is of course aware of his older brother’s dear friend who he only refers to as Jimmy. In the tragedy of Tarsus IV, when all should have been lost and the corrupt governor threatened to kill half the colony and did kill a not insignificant amount of them, it was Jimmy and Sybok who worked together to create a sort of resistance and keep people alive long enough to for their jury-rigged signal to make it through.

Receiving that strange message from Sybok after years of silence had let him, and their father, know that something was wrong and alert Starfleet.

Jimmy, who had been a minor at the time, and so his identity had been kept from the public at his request, and who had visited Sybok on Vulcan but Spock had examinations at the time and had not been permitted to travel across planet to meet him.

James Kirk looks at him, a smile hovering around the corners of his lips.

James Kirk. Colloquially known as Jim. Jimmy.

Spock had designed the Kobayashi Maru with his brother’s experience at Tarsus IV in mind. He had been different after, just as prone to arguing with their father, more prone to arguing with everyone else, but he’d been sturdier too. As if that experience had at once confirmed and destroyed all of his worst expectations of people.

James Kirk does not believe in no win scenarios and he has demonstrated that more aptly than any simulation could.

“I rescind my accusation of academic dishonesty towards Cadet Kirk.”