#but this is what I wrote with the prompt so…

[tame-the-lion-writes]

favorite CoD headcanons/prompts

konig

I love pathetic König drabble. I love when people write him as a massive pathetic wet cat of a man. He’s a loser and a simp, but he’s sweet, but he’s socially incompetent and what a moood. Yes, he’s frighteningly competent on the field, but he practically lives in war and doesn’t know how to connect with people outside of that life. So enter this pretty little thing and he’s all stumbling over himself—a massive creature who just wants to hold someone so tiny

And speaking of tiny!— the headcanon that he’s a cat/bunny person! That he’s supposed to be this battering ram brute but he’s also learned to be gentle when it really counts, and he scoops up adorable animals whenever they’re in sight

Also the idea that König is particularly weak to bakers. Baking means home, and so does the smell of whatever you’ve put in the oven. It’s the ✨domesticity✨ and he’s practically floating in midair like a character in an old cartoon. In short, big man following after smol baker. Perfection.

Price

Bear!Price! Literally and figuratively! He’s so round and warm and he’s got the kindest eyes, and he will wrestle his cubs soldiers into place! I don’t want him to have a six pack. He’s got strong arms, hair all over, and a belly. That’s all he needs

Dark(er)!Price, too. And I don’t mean that in like a possessive, obsessive smut sort of way. I think a lot of fluffier fanfic surrounding Price has him characterized as super soft (which I still love—don’t get me wrong). Still, while he’s very much the dad of the group and openly loving/caring towards certain people, he’s still a morally gray character because (even in his own words) he HAS to be. This man is a captain and he gets 👏 things 👏 done 👏 AKA making tough choices and justification over idealism

Ghost

Fics where Ghost gets married before Price. Cause everyone thinks Price would find a wife first, but I think Price would like the slow roll whereas Ghost would finally, finally find someone and latch on. Because yeah, he’s definitely afraid of losing you—he’s lost a lot of things in this world, and the 141 and war seem to be the only continuity, BUT!— once that wall is broken down and he allows himself to have something, he’s making sure he won’t ever let go. Because that love is his, his, his. In the purest, most selfless way possible

Ghost being characterized not as pretty, but someone who was pretty. I forget who wrote the blurb about it, but I just love the idea that he used to be conventionally attractive, and now his face is carved in, scarred, etc. He’s got burn marks littered up and down his skin, and it’s angry and red, and all the parts that weren’t burn were somehow torn apart anyway. He’s a man with too many stories to tell, and it shows but we love him anyway

[starhvney]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd laurance x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when your lover can’t calm himself from a nightmare, you try to calm him through a connection only you can give

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst with comfort, shadow knight laurance, once again i present laurance angst, yet another fic where i write laurance obsessing over reader’s safety, do i have a thing for it? yeah, do something about it, also can you catch the canon line i slid in here? i couldn’t help myself

𝐂𝐖: nsfw/smut. unprepped sex, large size difference, does this count as monster fucking? not really? but he’s a big boy

𝐀/𝐍: thank you to @thebunnednun for giving me this prompt!! shadow knight laurance *convulses* anyways i hope this is coherent guys i wrote most of it last night while half asleep ahshah

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑵𝑰.

you had been just there.

right at his fingertips.

at the comfortable distance where he knew he could protect you if something went wrong.

but it’s never enough, is it?

one second you were next to him, the next you were separated by what could practically be considered a herd of shadow souls. he didn’t know where they came from. he hadn’t even sensed them. but now they were overwhelming him, and overwhelming you, too.

he had even transformed, using every ounce of power he could to tear through the shadows around him. his movements still somehow managed to be too slow—too sluggish. each one he cut down it seemed like two more were on him, and two more were on you.

your screams were haunting. over everything he could hear, your cries for his help echoed against his eardrums, shaking his head like a bell.

“laurance, please!”

he has to get to you. he has to. he thinks he can as he slices through several of them, before one of them leaps towards him, knocking him down onto the ground with a groaning screech.

“no! get off of me!” he groans, struggling to push it away enough to grab his sword.

immediately it digs its claws into his cheek, and despite trying to turn away the sensation doesn’t leave his skin.

“laurance!” the soul cries, the empty and dark void of its mouth mimicking your voice. your distress.

it was mocking your pain in his face.

his vision is tinted red.

“laurance!”

he’s going to kill it. he has to. he has to kill.

“laurance, get up!”

his vision goes dark, but he can move again, and he lunges forward, pinning down the soul closest to him and keeping it there. he’s going to kill it once his eyes focus again.

he got it. where’s his sword?

“laurance?!” the soul asks in a panic, its voice clearer and a lot more like yours than the warbled disjointed one from before.

it felt smaller, too.

his hands squeeze against the arms of the creature to keep it in place. he knows he has to kill it, but there’s a part of him screaming at him to stop, but it’s drowned by the echoes of your screams for his help. what’s happening? why is it so dark right now?

“it’s me!” you hiccup, eyes wide and breaths short.

this wasn’t him right now.

no, not when your body was telling you to run. that you were in danger. not when you look up to see unfocused and rageful dark red irises trying to focus on something, his chest heaving as a whirlwind of unstable emotions seemed to batter against his rib cage.

you knew something was wrong when you had woken up so suddenly and so late, your skin sticky with sweat and feeling strangely on edge as your mind wandered to the possibilities.

why do you feel like you’re in danger right now? was it a predator? something lurking in the shadows of your room?

when you’d turned to get a look at your lover, you had your answer. he hadn’t completely transformed in his sleep, his armor hadn’t formed against his body and he still wore the thin and loose linen sleepwear he’d gone to bed with last night.

but it wasn’t loose anymore—he was nearly bulging out of it his already tall legs now hanging over the edge of the frame. his skin wasn’t that beautiful olive shade, but rather a desaturated almost deathly pale color. and his eyes. they weren’t open, but the skin underneath them showed unnaturally red veins that webbed from his eyelids just under the skin.

what was he dreaming about that had him transforming into a shadow knight in his sleep?

after some hesitation, you had reached out to his cheek to wake him up, calling out his name as he seemed to almost growl in his sleep. you almost regret your decision when blood red eyes snap open in a frenzy, and a split second later you find yourself forcefully pinned against the sheets.

you can see it. the instability on his face. he wasn’t here with you in this moment, his judgment was clouded by whatever rage had overtaken him in his dream. but what could you do? he already had you, his hands holding down your arms rather painfully and heavy body pinning you in place. the only thing you could possibly be capable of was to soothe him with your words.

“laurance… it’s me. it’s me.” you whisper, cursing at how your voice was the least bit assuring as it shook. “you were dreaming. you’re here with me.”

his chest heaves with ragged breaths, expression twisted in a lost and distressed frenzy. the startling blood red of his eyes dart across your face, before locking onto your eyes.

there he is.

you see a piece of him return, as rage turns to horror and realization.

“you—it’s you.” he manages to get through disjointed breaths, whatever scene that was looping in his mind clearly still clouding his ability to calm down.

“it’s me.” you whisper.

he closes his eyes, pulling in a sharp breath as he lets go of your wrists and moves his hands to beside your head. he ducks his head, shoulders shaking and mouth curling in an expression that could only be described as pure self loathing.

“…it’s okay.” you breathe, your words quickly cut off by his own.

“it’s not.”

it’s harsher than he probably intended. his voice is hoarse and deep, an underlying growl there that he can’t seem to get rid of. you watch as a few sparks of ember float up into the air, fizzling out thankfully before it could hit your sheets or spark the wooden ceiling.

he was going to hurt you. you. you. you.

a second goes by and shakily you raise your hands, cupping his cheeks. “laurance. look at me.”

his jaw clenches and unclenches. once, twice, three, before he cracks open his eyes again, focusing on you.

“i’m okay. see?” you keep your voice hushed, thumbs running along the red veins beneath his eyes. “you need to calm down so you can transform back.”

“i ca—i can’t. you should’ve heard—no. no.” he shakes his head, lowering it again—but this time resting his face into the crook of your neck.

your heart sinks. he sounds so unstable. so panicked.

fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, massaging into the tense muscles there and drifting to the now impossibly broad expanse of his shoulders. they seemed to double your own, his form completely swallowing yours as he leaned over you. he breathes in, taking in your scent as his lips pressed against the juncture of your shoulder and neck. it makes your heart rate involuntarily spike, a shuddering breath leave your lips in a mix of fear and something else you don’t want to admit to.

a few more beats pass like this, you frozen under him like prey caught in the jaws of a predator, before his lips part and he bites down onto your skin.

his teeth were sharp, and a small whimper of discomfort involuntarily leaves your lips at the feeling.

it makes him flinch back and freeze in place, like once again he hadn’t even realized his own actions—the primal part of him taking over his rational thoughts.

“i can’t.” he mutters lowly, moving to get up, like he was going to leave. “

“no.” you quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to pull him down to you but instead pulling yourself up to him.

“i’m going to hurt you. i don’t have… control over myself right now—“

you gulp, before slinking your legs around his waist and pulling your hips up to connect with his.

he inhales sharply. “what are you doing?”

“you’re here with me. let me show you.”

“no. no, i’ll hurt you.” he says, groaning as you pull yourself closer and roll yourself into him.

there’s a low warning of your name from his lips, forehead dropping to rest against your collarbone. “you don’t know what you’re doing—”

“i do.” you reassure, cutting him off. “i want you.”

he settles back down with a groan, lifting his head to look at you. “i’m dangerous to you right now. why can’t you understand?”

leaning up, you connect your lips with his and he groans against you. you can feel his self control beginning to crumble, and the much thicker bulge pressing between your legs through the material of his pants and your nightgown.

“i understand.” you say. “i understand that i love you more.”

“you’re going to be,” he groans, the deeper timbre of his voice sending a shock of electricity down your spine. “the undoing of me.”

he rolls his hips down into yours, and you gasp. regularly, what was under his belt was nothing to scoff at—his flirtatious remarks irritatingly wasn’t just all talk. but now? in this form where he towered not one but two heads taller than you? just from him pressing into you alone you could tell he was huge.

this is what he needed, though. you can already feel the tense trembling of his muscles beginning to calm, his ragged and uneven breathing turning to just a shuddering tempo.

his hands find themselves on your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin. “is this… what you want? tell me right now, because i’m losing my grip.”

you were almost ashamed of the damp spot that had already begun to form on your panties, and how just his touch was enough to send shockwaves through your nervous system.

“yes.”

it’s like a switch is flipped, whatever wall of self control his conscious had put up crumbling to the ground. his hips push down into yours, harsher this time, while his lips press into your skin. he begins to pull your skin between his teeth, suckling bruises against it while his hands no less than tear your nightgown from your body.

cool air hits your skin, a small gasp leaving your lips at his sudden eager need to have his skin on yours. his hands briefly leave your side, only to pull his own clothes and briefs from his form. you don’t dare to look down, the length that was pressing against your thigh enough to intimidate you.

“i—“ he stutters, the internal war being fought in his head stopping his movements. “i’ll hurt you. i don’t know if i can control myself.”

tilting your head up, you kiss him once again, fingers threading into his hair and massaging his scalp. “you won’t.”

he shudders against you, breathing in your scent and deepening the kiss. eagerly he shifts your hips, moving you closer with one hand and dragging the fat tip of his cock against your clit. you were already well lubricated with the slick that covered your folds, but you still weren’t sure if it would fit. regardless his lips continue to devour yours, pulling each breath from your lips and leaving you dizzy as he shifts his hips up, dragging the length against your folds and pulling back. the mere girth of it was startling, but you don’t get to think about it for long until you’re subjected to it, the tip bullying it’s way through your entrance.

he slowly keeps pushing in, making you feel like you were going to split in half by his size. the stretch was entirely new, an uncomfortable one you hadn’t felt before. it was almost too much, but you didn’t want him to stop, either.

but you needed to breathe. managing to part from the messy lock of your lips with a gasp, you throw your head back with a shuddered moan. he keeps pulling out just so he can push back in deeper, each thrust somehow filling you out impossibly more. your body was protesting against the push, squeezing against his length like your insides were trying to shove him back out. each time you fluttered around his cock he’d groan lowly under his breath, the noise a gravelly sound that rattled against your ribs and send a lightheaded wave of pleasure up your spine.

your eyelashes flutter down, a shocked gasp leaving your lips when you see he’d barely pushed halfway through. he pulls his attention from the spot on your collarbone he’d been leaving bruising kisses on, eyes darting across your face as he keeps bullying his way inside. it was bordering on being painful, but the shocks of pleasure shooting through your nerves overpowered everything else.

the veins under his eyes had begun to recede, the red of his irises now dulling in color. his nose wrinkles for a moment as he looks at you, his hands cupping your face as a conflict of emotions crosses his face. you can tell what he was thinking, with the look of guilt that crosses over his eyes at the sight of your smaller body trembling underneath him.

he was meant to protect you. and everything in his nature now wanted him to do the opposite. even as he fought against it, it still wasn’t enough. your screams, real or not, still echo in his head.

he was always so gentle with you. always taking his time to make sure you—the most important thing to him—felt safe and comfortable. the thought that he was possibly hurting you right now was revolting to him, even though he needed you close right now. you have to reach up to his face to snap him out of his thoughts before he spirals once again.

“it’s okay. i’m okay.” you whisper.

he presses his face into your hair, before a shuddering sob leaves his lips.

“i couldn’t protect you.”

you reach for his face pulling him up to look at you. his eyebrows are pulled together, red glazed over in angry and distressed tears.

“laurance, my love. it wasn’t real. i’m safe with you.” you tilt your head. “you’ll always protect me.”

he shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “but what about when i can’t? when i fully lose control? when i finally lose you? it would be my end. i couldn’t handle it. i can’t. i can’t.”

“you’re not going to lose me.”

“you don’t… you don’t understand…”

“yes, i do.”

your voice is firmer, and it snaps his attention back to you.

“i know you. i know what you’re capable of.” you gently brush your hands across his face, and his eyes slowly shut, taking in your words. “i know your strength, and your values. i know you’d rather throw yourself into the worst pain imaginable before letting something happen to me. even now, when you claim you’re so dangerous, i know i’m safe.”

his breath shudders as he hunches over you, seeming to feel a pang through his chest that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“i love you.” you whisper, before the breath is knocked out of you as he gives a harsh thrust of his hips, rocking you up against the pillow.

“i love you.” he groans back. “so much. you’re my everything.”

you can’t respond to that, can’t even think of the words as he fully pushes himself in, his pelvis meeting your ass. his hands grip onto your waist like you would disappear between his fingers if he let go, head dipping down to your chest as he begins to set a rhythm. pain has faded to pure pleasure at this point, the stretch of his girth and the veins that dragged along your walls with every thrust left your mouth gasping for air and back arching up into him.

his tempo was rough and sloppy, leaving you unable to catch your breath and stirring your head into a mindless haze, your fingers grasping onto the firm expanse of his shoulders for any sense of stability as you’re knocked into oblivion.

his mouth latches onto your neck once again, but unlike his brutal thrusts his lips are soft against your skin. that was your laurance. the one that laced his hand with yours as he took you in a slow and sensual pace. the one that whispered sweet nothings in your ear and treated you so gently—focusing on pleasuring you until you couldn’t think before even beginning to focus on himself.

despite how much you loved how he treated you regularly, you couldn’t even try to deny how good this felt.

he lifts his head up, fingers brushing along your breasts and up against your collarbones, taking you all in as he sped up the pace. you can tell he’s already close to his release from the way his chin tilts up in the air and his glazed-over eyes roll back, his lips parted as he pulls in ragged breaths. suddenly he’s pulling your thighs up, large hands squeezing into the plush skin and hitching them up against his shoulders.

“so beautiful. and mine.” he murmurs, voice a deep rasp. he turns his head down, leaning back over you and staring at you through hooded eyes—practically folding you in half. “don’t you dare ever run where i can’t protect you.”

you’re close, too, and the way he looked at you now was about to send you over the edge. the mix of the new angle his dick was brutally drilling into you and his possessive and borderline wild need to protect you has you squeezing against him, your cunt sucking him in deeper and not letting go.

he moans out lowly, his hips stuttering into yours and slamming to a sudden stop. it’s so much, in more ways than one, when his hips grind in a slow circle and the heat of his cum overflows into you. you swear you feel it in your guts, with how much of it keeps coming, and how he jerkily pushes it back into you. it snaps you over the edge, vision going white and limbs turning shaky and weak, the mix of both of your releases spilling from your stuffed cunt and creating a sticky mess where your skin connected.

when you regain your vision again you find yourself looking back into gray-blue eyes, his eyebrows turned up and under eyes wet with tears. his skin had returned to its normal tone, but he still looked so pale, still so filled with a fear he couldn’t swallow.

you bring a hand up to his cheek once again, wiping the stray beads of sweat away from his face and leaning up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“there you are, my love.”

your voice is merely a hoarse whisper, but it’s enough to knock him down. he crumbles onto you, forehead landing on the pillow next to your head, breaths shaky and fanning across your skin as his arms circle around your waist and pull you tight. slowly, he pulls out, leaving the both of you softly groaning in discomfort at the absence of each other’s warmth. his cum continues to spill out from inside you, dripping onto the sheets in a messy mix.

“…did i hurt you?” he whispers, voice trembling in the fear of it being true. his hands feel so very gentle on your waist, like he was holding fragile porcelain in his hands.

“no.”

his breath hitches in something like relief, a choked sob leaving his lips. “i love you more than anything.”

“i know. and i love you.”

his shoulders relax, and he rolls to the clean side of the bed, pulling you right into his chest and hugging you close. strong arms wrap around your shoulders and waist, leaving you little wiggle room against him. with the fragile state he was in, though, you don’t dare to say a word about it.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what happened—” he starts, his voice an exhausted and hoarse whimper as he buries his face in your hair.

“laurance. i’m safe.” is all you say, silencing the self-deprecating thoughts he wished to express.

in the quiet dead of night, you both lay there, limbs tangled and pressed together as the moonlight filtered through the window and illuminated your sweaty skin—shining from the afterglow. the fears that plagued your lover’s mind melted away for now, his breaths evening into a deep and steady cycle and mind lulling into a peaceful sleep.

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch (if you are a minor or uncomfortable with being tagged in nsfw please let me know immediately and i will take you off of my taglist for nsfw works in the future)

[desertfangs]

An Evolution of Intimacy [AO3]

Armand/Daniel - Explicit - 3999 words

A series of vignettes about Armand and Daniel being intimate in all the eras of their relationship, from the Chase Years through Post Canon. This was written for the @vamptember prompt "Eras." My original plan was to write a 100 word drabble for each era but uh... I was not able to keep them that short. So I gave up on that and just wrote a short little vignette for each one instead.

Very short preview:

1. The Chase Years

Daniel is relieved when the vampire slides into the booth across from him. His pulse jumps but more out of surprise than anything. He should be afraid but it’s been over two years of this and not seeing his immortal stalker for long stretches makes him far more nervous than anything. 

Armand is beautiful and terrible, with ivory skin that’s nearly bone white and soft-looking russet curls that bounce around his cheeks. His eyes are amber and glow with a preternatural light. Daniel is always captivated by him but tonight he looks extra pale—maybe it’s the dim light of the bar, or maybe he hasn’t fed.

The idea that Armand may be bloodthirsty sends a spark shooting through him. He swallows uneasily. 

“That man is watching you,” Armand says, nodding to a man at a table across the way. He is looking right at Daniel and he’s handsome: brown bell bottoms that hug his thighs, a nice mustache. But Daniel is more interested in the creature in front of him.

“Where have you been?” he asks. It’s been weeks since he’s seen Armand, and he was started to get worried. Even now, a jolt of fear runs through him that perhaps Armand is here to end this game. Maybe that’s why he looks at Daniel hungrily. 

His heart pounds. 

“I had business to attend to,” Armand says.

Daniel laughs. “Business! Says the guy who needed help making a long distance call! What business?” 

Read the rest on AO3

[detectivebambam]

For the writing prompt thing, can I request Andrew with a child and injury?

hi I love Andrew with kids and I hope you don't mind it's Hailee (if you don't know Hailee Josten-Minyard she is tagged on my page)

also reading over this I noticed I talked about Lola. this is Hailee's friend, NOT Nathan's accomplice

I hope you like it, it's super short and I wrote the whole thing in 3 minutes <3

Andrew turned his head at the sound of the door opening. He and Neil had practice at the same time as Hailee, so Lola's mother had taken her home.

She had come in the door with a smile but couldn't hide her limp from Andrew.

"What happened?" He asked in an accusing tone.

Hailee shook her head.

"Bullshit."

"Fell off the bars during warm ups. I'm fine."

Andrew excused himself so he didn't yell, and went to grab his main suspect.

He walked into the bedroom where Neil was sat doing work on his computer.

"You know, when you work yourself to death, your daughter's gonna do the same thing."

Neil looked up and cocked his head.

"She fell during warm ups and practiced the whole day with an injury."

"Shit."

They went to the kitchen together to find Hailee sitting on the counter with a bag of peas on her ankle.

Neil gently lifted it to examine the damage.

"What happened sweetheart?"

"Nothing!" She snapped. "I just fell at practice, I'm fine."

Andrew had to leave the room again.

"It looks swollen," Neil said, turning her ankle this way and that. "Did you practice all day on this?"

She rolled her eyes.

Neil put his finger under her chin and met her eyes.

"No attitude. Answer me."

She only nodded.

"You can ask your dad what he thinks, but I don't want you putting weight on this for a while."

"Until gym tomorrow?"

She really did take after Neil.

"At least a week."

"Dad!" She shouted. "That's not fair!"

Neither of them heard Andrew come in, but he was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Maybe it wouldn't have been as bad if you'd have stopped when it happened. Lesson learned."

The poor girl looked devastated. Puppy dog eyes didn't work on Neil, but Andrew always fell victim to them. It was how Kevin got things from him back in college.

"Do you need me to carry you to the couch so you can eat ice cream and watch Dance Moms?"

Hailee smiled and nodded. "Mint?"

Andrew faked a gag and picked her off the chair.

"You're just like your father."

Neil smiled to himself as they left and got to work making three bowls of ice cream.

[youcouldmakealife]

Are there any characters where you've thought: in another universe, if these two had met first, they might have been interesting to write about?

There are a few, honestly. Every time I write Robbie and Willy interacting, I'm reminded that they get along famously. (Not surprising, really, considering Willy and Georgie have a lot in common with each other), and Robbie/Matty was genuinely considered. I could be convinced to ship Jared Matheson with half of his friends if Bryce hadn't been so clearly it for him.

And of course, it's a setup was originally intended to be Joey/Owen. It genuinely was. But then Scratch started talking and his banter-y chemistry with Joey was so compelling and fun to write that it changed the entire direction of the series.

Growing up in fandom, I'm pretty mellow about pairings (not an 'OTP or death' shipper here), especially with small fandoms where you can't be picky or you'll have nothing to read.

In fact, back in the day, when I was feeling stuck on what to write I'd write a bunch of names on strips of paper, separately do the same with some prompts, pick a couple names, a prompt, and boom, there was my fic writing exercise for the day.

Some combinations really didn't work, and the writing was deleted at the end of the day. Some surprisingly did, and became proper fics. Either way I had fun, wrote more than I would have otherwise, and usually learned something new about the characters.

I think that exercise would apply itself pretty nicely to the YCMAL 'verse, especially since, with very few exceptions, every character already has a pretty major thing in common. Well. Two. Hockey and also, with even fewer exceptions, being completely unreasonable people.

[whosbloom]

“Do you always watch these movies when you’re high?”

Your voice caught Warren’s attention, turning over his shoulder to look at you, a smile toying at his lips. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit down next to him, picking up the VHS tape case to see what he was even watching.

“Billy Madison? Really?” You held it up to him, lightly smacking his forehead with it before putting it back down.

“It’s funny! You know I love Sandler movies.” He swatted your hand away from him, sinking further into the small couch as he let out a soft sigh.

“Did you smoke or eat edibles?” You questioned, to which he held up two fingers. “Edibles.” He nodded as you confirmed, prompting you to stand up and walk over to his dresser, rummaging through drawers until you found the bag he had ate from.

“Warren, how many did you have?” You turned to face him, seeing him hold up four fingers, before dropping his hand back in his lap. “Idiot.”

You sighed and walked back to the couch, plopping down and brought your focus to the TV.

“I’m no idiot.. I just felt like getting high. Is that such a crime?” He teased quietly, nudging your side lightly. “It could be if you’re not getting it legally.”

His smile faltered slightly, turning away and cleared his throat for a moment. “Narc.”

“Am not.” You scolded him, a smile toying at your lips as you looked back at him.

“Are to.”

@marchsfreakshow I know you love Warren so I wrote this with you in mind 🫶

[callalillywrites]

Surprising His Omega

I've been surrounding myself with so many wonderful alphas in one of my all-time favorite verses. It made me a little sad that I couldn't have an Alpha!Steve in that verse even though I adore my Beta!Steve.

So, I decided to make a new verse just for Alpha!Steve (Nomad look). What better way to debut him than with the lovely challenge of the Horny Hoes Hootenanny by the amazing @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'll admit this got away from me a bit, but I do hope you enjoy.

Relationship: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader

Prompts Used

🍁 A: "Oh, come on, grump. It will be fun, I promise” / B: "What do I get if it's not?" / A: " What do you want?" (small tweaks)

🍁 A/B/O

🍁 partner plans surprise event/night

🍁 autumn Getaway

Extra Wheel Prompt: A Quickie

Word Count: ~1850 + Bonus at end (355 words; based on this post)

Summary: You've been feeling pressure for too long, and your alpha is determined to transform your grumpiness back into the sunshine you typically are. So, he decides to surprise you with a little autumn getaway.

Warnings: implied smut/allusions of it, grumpy reader, sweet and doting Steve Rogers, some spanking, some teasing, mostly fluff though, let me know if I missed anything

A/N: I wrote this story in a fit of inspiration. It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own. Please be kind as this is the closest I've gotten to writing smut in such a long time, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

It’s been a long month.

Between the heatwave that descended on your city and the trials and tribulations heaped on you at work, you’d hit your limit. Your usual sunshine demeanor has taken one too many hits until all you want to do is grump and grumble. Maybe hide away until life decided to be kinder to you.

But that wasn’t possible.

Your alpha would never allow you to wallow. That wasn’t his style.

Sure, he’d let you rant and vent to your heart’s content when you needed it, but he never let you stay low for too long. He needed and loved your sunshine too much to see it dimmed or diminished due to life.

No, your Steve always came up with a plan to bring your bright smile back on your face. He liked that bounce in your step and the cute wiggles you did whenever you were truly happy.

So, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise when he leaned in the doorway of your shared apartment’s living room. His arms crossed over his broad chest while he regarded you for a moment before saying, “Get up, sweetheart. We’re going out.”

You glanced at the smile on his face and burrowed further into the blanket covering you.

“No thanks.”

“Oh, come on, my little grump.” He pushed off the wall and dropped next to you. His hands made quick work of removing the blanket from you and tossing it across the room. He ignored your glare as he pulled you into his lap and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You couldn’t help grumbling, “I’m not a grump.”

That earned you an eye roll and a huffed laugh.

“I could smell your grumpiness from the hallway, sweetheart. So, get up. I have a little surprise for you. I think you’ll really like it. At the very least, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

You did like his surprises.

Yet, you resisted, which really wasn’t like you. That told you more than anything that you needed whatever your adoring alpha had planned for you.

It didn’t stop you from asking, “What do I get if it’s not?”

“Hmm,” Steve pressed another kiss to your nose this time as he considered you. A chuckle slipped out when you wrinkled your nose because of his beard.

You had to fight not to squirm when he rubbed his beard down your cheek to your jaw, little kisses and nips tickling your skin. It grew worse when his lips and beard found your mating gland. On his way, he made sure you saw the playful twinkle in his gaze.

His teeth nibbled along his old marks. Shivers danced along every nerve and had you unable to sit still in his lap. No doubt by design with the way he kept doing it.

When you made to get away, he tightened his hold on you but finally relented.

You gave him your best reproachful look as you crankily mumbled, “You never answered my question.”

“I don’t need to because I know you’re going to love it.”

Your look turned withering at his teasing assuredness.

As much as you wanted to be mad at him for messing with your perfectly acceptable plans to sulk, you couldn’t. He was a good alpha who always did his best to make sure you never lacked for anything, especially his love and attention.

After another moment passed in quiet, Steve relented again. “Okay, okay, beautiful. What would you want?”

Well, you hadn’t expected him to actually answer your question with one of his own. That wasn’t his style, so you had to make sure your answer would be a good one. It needed to be something you actually wanted while also having the power to surprise your alpha. If you didn’t keep him on his toes, then what was the point?

While you continued to ponder how to answer, Steve kept himself distracted by moving one arm so he could trace patterns where your hoodie’s sleeve had hiked up. His lips resumed their earlier teasing with little nibbles and nuzzles against your neck until you couldn’t take it another moment.

Gripping handfuls of his hair, you tugged his head backward until he could no longer reach you with those sinful lips of his.

“If I don’t like whatever you have planned,” you tightened your hold in his hair to make sure you had his full attention while also pulling a groan from him, “then you owe me one of the best quickies wherever you’re taking me. Don’t care where you do it or how, but I want you to rock my world in the shortest amount of time possible.”

His eyes darkened with promise at your words, but you refused to give into that look.

You arched a brow at him. “Do we have a deal, Alpha?”

The way you emphasized his designation worked the way you hoped it would. Another groan escaped him, louder this time while his lustful eyes closed.

“That’s a dirty trick, and you know it,” he growled, his voice low and almost menacing in ways that had you shifting your position on his leg. His hands moved to your hips and held you still. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feel the evidence of your effect on him against your thigh.

If you felt a bit more daring, you might’ve teased Steve some more.

When he did open his eyes again, his lustful gaze met yours.

“Yes, ‘mega. We have a deal.”

He held you another moment before finally setting you on your feet and smacking you on the ass.

“Now, love, go and get dressed in something warm. You’re going to need it for the drive. I’ll handle everything else.”

You moved toward the bedroom but turned back. “Wait, how far are we going?”

“Uh-uh.” Steve shook a finger at her. “Not going to ruin my surprise, sweetheart. Now, go. It’d be nice to get there before it gets too late.”

The sun had gone down not long ago, but it went down earlier during these late Autumn days.

Within thirty minutes, you had changed into the warmest clothing you had within your summer wardrobe. It hadn’t been much which reminded you to dig out your winter clothes as soon as you could. The nights dictated warmer pajamas though the days still held a touch of warmth when the sun shone down on a cloudless, windless day.

Trading your cami and shorts for a longer sleeved shirt and some form-fitting jeans, you picked up the hoodie you temporarily removed and wiggled back into it.

Emerging from the bathroom, you spotted your overnight luggage sitting on the bed. Your brows rose as you took in the items Steve had chosen for you while including brand-new toiletries that he must’ve picked up on his way home.

You couldn’t help wondering how long he’d been planning this surprise.

The amount of clothing wasn’t much, which spoke of a shorter surprise, yet that didn’t mean much where your alpha was concerned. He’d once treated you to a week-long trip where he’d not only bought you new clothes for the week but almost everything else your heart desired. Steve loved to spoil you with the money he made, and you’re happy to return the favor in your own special way.

“Bout ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Just need to grab my boots from the closet.”

“Already packed in the car. Came back to grab you and your bag.”

True to his word, he strode into the room, zipped up the zipper, and lifted the bag off the bed. While he had only one arm available, that didn’t stop him from swooping low and lifting you over his shoulder. As the world tilted, you could still make out the chuckle that left him at your shriek, wholly unprepared for his stunt.

To pay him back, you reached down and smacked his ass. Once for the one he’d given you earlier and another for not warning you before turning you upside down.

“Save it for our destination, love,” he murmured, another promise clear in his voice.

At the car, he carefully set you back on your feet before opening your door and helping you in. With you secured in the passenger seat, he closed your door, opened up the back door, and tossed your bag onto the seat in quick, efficient movements.

He surprised you when he got into the driver’s seat and reached behind your seat. In his hands, you found your favorite blanket and draped it across you, tucking you in. Though, he made sure to leave a space for his hand to creep under the cover and rest against your thigh after he started the engine.

The trip took you both out of the city and into the Catskills.

Soon enough, he pulled off the main road onto a private one until you came upon a modernly rustic cabin. Steps from the unpaved drive led to a wraparound porch and the large front door. The outside gave you a hint of the luxuries and open floor plan awaiting you inside. Small electric lanterns sat in the windows, giving the place an ethereal glow.

As Steve killed the engine, he turned toward you, asking, “So, sweetheart, do you like it? It's ours for the weekend.”

“No, I don't like it,” you shook your head but met his gaze while a smile emerged across your features, “I love it. And I love you.”

You leaned over the console and grabbed his cheeks in your hands. Tugging him close, you pressed kiss after kiss against his lips until you were both breathless.

Steve finally urged you out of the car and into the house, handing you the key to the front door. He would follow you after gathering your things from the car.

The earlier hints did little justice to what you found inside, wandering about the place. Your eyes couldn’t take it all in. You couldn’t help noticing how your surroundings were erasing the grumpiness that had weighed you down these past weeks.

When warm hands gripped your hips, you didn’t even startle. No, you melted into the solid chest at your back and let your alpha hold you for several precious moments.

“Happy?” he murmured in your ear.

You hummed your answer.

“That’s good, love,” he suddenly lifted you into his arms and carried you towards one of the doors down the hallway, “but I’m certain I can make you much happier in, say, five minutes. Is that too long for a good quickie?”

“But, I didn’t win our deal,” you couldn’t help spluttering though your thighs had already begun to rub together.

Steve merely grinned down at you. “Seems to me you did. I promised you’d like it. Love is not like, so I’ve got some making up to do. After your quickie is done, I’m going to make sure you’re properly fed, then I’m going to take my time tonight until you no longer remember your own name. How does that sound?”

“You can do whatever you want, Alpha. I’m at your command.”

Bonus:

Long after Steve had you forgetting your name, he had you spread across him. His hands ran up and down your back in soothing caresses while he pressed kisses to your hair every so often. Your heartbeat slowed to match his.

"What happened at work to have you at your grumpiest today, sweetheart?"

Heat suffused your cheeks as the memory came back. You did your best to hide your face in his neck. Maybe if you could distract him with a few strategic nuzzles and nips, then you could try to forget.

He wouldn't be distracted.

Lifting your face up by your chin, he kept his sharp, knowing gaze on you until you broke, whispering, "I had to write a company-wide memo. In the span of three paragraphs, I couldn't type hope to apparently save my life."

That got you an eyebrow lift.

Knowing your alpha he wouldn't let you get away with explaining further, so your cheeks heated more as you grumbled, "I kept typing hoe instead of hope. Happy now?"

Steve didn't say anything at first.

His brows rose though.

Then, his shoulders shook, and your head dropped back to hide your face in his neck. A groan slipped past your lips.

"Oh, sweetheart." His laughter escaped him then.

You grabbed a pillow and hit him with it, grousing, "It's not funny. Do you know what would've happened if my boss hadn't proofread it before it went out? I'm still embarrassed it happened at all."

Steve's hands came up in a surrendering gesture even as his laughter continued to escape in chuckles now and again.

"My poor 'mega, has your alpha not been taking good enough care of you?" His voice dropped to a husky timber that never failed to send a shiver of promise down your spine.

You glared at him though a smile did peek through. "My alpha takes very good care of me, but I wouldn't mind being reminded again how good that care is."

His scent thickened with his desire as he shifted until you were under him. His beard tickled your ear. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart."

*****

Main Masterlist

If you've read this far, you are absolutely my favorite. I'm opening up requests to write a few more stories for the Horny Hoes Hootenanny. Send me a few prompts from the masterlist, and I'll see what I can do.

*Now, I'm a fluff writer by nature and haven't yet ventured into the realm of smut writing. I'm working on getting there, so please bear that in mind if you do request something. Depending on the request, I might be persuaded to hint or imply such smut, but I can't guarantee I'll go in full detail.

[unpredictable-probabilities]

Intertwining Symphonies || Chapter 1: Sunday at the Park with Robyn

Summary:

A small mishap at the park leads to new friendships and an invitation.

Note:

I originally wrote this as a gift to @patchyegg87 <3

I hope you like it, too!

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,293

Square/Prompt: B2 - Free Space |  @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Family, Family Fluff, Ice Cream, Friendship, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Kid Fic, Single Parents

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59036896

—

“Can I get both vanilla and chocolate?” Robyn was practically bouncing on his heels, barely holding himself still enough to stay in the queue with Hob.

“Of course, duck,” Hob smiled at the sight of his son still bursting at the seams with energy even after running around the park for almost an hour already.

Hob had packed the usual snacks for Robyn, but today an ice cream truck stopped by and his son practically dragged him over.

It was finally their turn to place their order, and Hob ordered a scoop of vanilla and a scoop of chocolate in the biggest cone size available.

As he got his wallet from his pocket, something blunt hit the back of his head.

“Ow!” Hob instinctively put a hand up to where the pain was beginning to sting and turned around to see what happened.

A man wearing a black shirt with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows was jogging towards them. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said in a voice deeper than Hob would have expected and picked up a blue plastic Frisbee from the ground. “My son and I had been playing. Please, let me pay for the ice cream,” he took his wallet out.

“What? No, that’s not necessary,” Hob quickly paid for it himself and handed the cone to Robyn.

“Are you okay, dad?” Robyn asked in concern as he took it.

“Yeah, no harm done,” Hob smiled at his son before turning to the man. “Really, it’s alright.”

Their small group moved to the side when other people queued up at the truck, then a boy with fair skin and raven hair ran up to the man and partially hid behind him, peeking up at Hob.

“I’m sorry, Mister,” he mumbled.

“This is my son,” the man put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s our first time playing Frisbee and I’m afraid we require much practice.”

“I didn’t mean to throw it so far,” the boy looked down at his shoes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hob said reassuringly. “My son hit me with a baseball once while we were playing. That’s just part of it.”

“Ooh! Can we play Frisbee with them, dad?” Robyn asked through a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. “We’ve never played that before.”

Hob looked at the man questioningly. Robyn had played with other kids at the park before, but none of them looked as shy as the boy did.

The man looked down at his son. “What do you say, dove? Would you like to play with them?”

The boy nodded with a small smile. “Yes. I would.”

“Yay!” Robyn cheered, raising his arms in the air.

“Hey, careful not to spill your ice cream,” Hob chided fondly.

“I’m Morpheus,” the man held out his hand. “This is my son Orpheus. And yes, I am aware of our awfully similar names,” he smiled.

Hob shook the man’s hand and returned the smile. “That just means it’ll be easier for me to remember. I’m Hob, and this is Robyn.”

“Robyn with a Y!” Robyn declared, already halfway through his ice cream cone. “I know a spot where we can have lots of room to play. Come on, before the other kids arrive!” He ran off towards a clearing in the park.

Orpheus looked up at his father questioningly, who smiled and nodded. Then the boy took off after Robyn.

“You’ve really never played Frisbee before with your son?” Morpheus asked as they followed their kids at a more leisurely place while keeping them in sight.

Hob shook his head. “Nope. We played catch and baseball, but we haven’t tried Frisbee yet. What games do you and Orpheus usually play?”

Morpheus fell silent for a moment, his long eyelashes catching the light of the sun as he blinked. “I have not had much opportunity to spend time with him. Until recently. All games are still new to us.”

Hob could sense that there was a story there, but he had no business prying so he just offered an encouraging smile. “Great, there’s a lot to discover. Let’s start with Frisbee.”

So they did; Hob and Robyn against Morpheus and Orpheus.

It seemed that Orpheus had already learned a great deal from his mistake earlier, as he was much better at it now and the disc rarely got too far away whenever it was his turn to throw.

Robyn was the better catcher. He had more than enough energy to dive and jump just to catch the disc, though he often got too excited whenever it was his turn to throw and his aim went wide.

Hob and Morpheus weren’t much good at either throwing or catching, but their children didn't mind and in fact even evidently enjoyed seeing their dads fumble.

Hob shared the biscuits and fruit juices that he packed, which kept up morale and started a conversation between Robyn and Orpheus about their favourite snacks.

Afterwards, Hob and Morpheus sat on a bench to catch their breaths while their children played with the others at the playground.

“I cannot remember the last time I ran around so much,” Morpheus said before taking a sip from a water bottle. “Children truly have an indefinite repository of energy.”

Hob chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead with a hand towel that he always brought whenever going to the park. “You don’t need to tell me. I’m glad that those two are getting along well, though.”

Morpheus nodded. “Indeed. It is good to see Orpheus so cheerful.” A soft smile appeared on his face as he watched his son laugh brightly while on the seesaw with Robyn.

“He would remember this, you know,” Hob told him. “You brought him to this park. He would ask you again, and you’d have more time to spend together.”

“I certainly hope so. After the divorce, I got so caught up in my work that he often stayed with his mother. It’s only recently that I…” Morpheus trailed off, fidgeting with the bottle cap. “I apologise. I do not intend to spring this all upon you.”

“Nothing to apologise for,” Hob reassured him. “I’m divorced with Robyn’s mom too, and at first it was challenging to figure it all out. But you’ll get there.”

Morpheus looked at him, then at his backpack of provisions. “You seem to be rather well-adjusted now.”

Hob chuckled. “It just takes practice, my friend.”

Morpheus tilted his head slightly to the side. “We are… friends?”

“Um…” Hob blinked. “Yeah, if you want to?”

“Dad!” Robyn came running towards them, towing Orpheus in hand. “Can I invite Orpheus to my birthday next week? I wanna show him my comics!”

Morpheus turned to Hob in surprise, looking just as uncertain as Hob felt when Robyn asked if they could all play Frisbee.

“Of course you can, duck,” Hob smiled at his son and Morpheus. “Orpheus can bring anything he wants to show you, too.”

“Father!” Orpheus’ face brightened as he seemed to realise something. “I wish to have Robyn listen to our song! He said they have a piano!”

“Oh I can’t play it,” Hob quickly said, smiling sheepishly. “It’s my mum’s. We have it in our house because she was a pianist, and she still likes to play whenever she visits.”

Morpheus’ expression was fond. “I play the piano as well. If you would allow it, I can play Orpheus’ song so he may have Robyn listen to it.”

“Sure, no problem!” Hob said perhaps a little too enthusiastically. He loved music, and shared Robyn’s excitement with making new friends. “Um, should we exchange numbers, then? I’ll text you the address.”

“Of course,” Morpheus smiled as he took out his phone. “It’s what friends do, is it not?”

—

Note:

Probably the most chill Dreamling fic I've written so far. They deserve to relax and have fun every once in a while~

Chapter title is from the musical "Sunday at the Park with George".

—

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[horror-beeings-artandwriting]

hihihiiii could i request hcs for v1 and gabriel (separate) with a reader whos a wandering spirit in hell? take ur time!

Omg yes! Im gonna write it so it can be read as platonic or romantic, since you didn’t specify!!

Prompt: Headcanons

Characters: Gabriel and V1 (separate)

Pronouns: He/Him for Gabriel, He/it for V1 and they/them for reader!

Note: I headcanons v1 to be nonverbal like the other robots in hell. Just making noises similar to v2!

Gabriel:

When Gabriel first sees your soul wandering limbo. He is…rather confused. Your soul glows bright with purity. You aren’t a mindless husk that’s for sure…so why are you here…

He spends weeks watching you slowly wandering. You looked so scared. Confused…it made the angels heart ache.

He’d make sure to keep the husks out of your way. He tried to guide you, to the gluttony layer, to meet him. The judge of hell, but you always kept wandering the wrong way. Kept going to deep.

Until one day he had enough and just. Grabbed you. Scaring you half to well. You were already dead so. Scaring you to double death!

He calmed you down, said he was an angel, the judge of hell, that he wished to help your pour soul ascend to the heavens…(he didn’t even know if that was well, posible but eh)

I mean like obviously you’re a semi pure soul you were in limbo! The father’s light…can make mistakes right?

You made this man question his whole existence for a few hours

But that’s okay! You’re a sweetheart!

Just as long as you stay close to him and don’t get near any robots you should be fine!!

Right…? Yeah. Yeah. Probably.

V1:

He was…really confused, why didn’t bullets work on you , why didn’t you bleed. So it did the next best thing. And tried to grab you.

When you definitely saw him and moved out of the way, it let out a whirring almost whine like soul and stomped its foot.

You walked up to him, and it grabbed you again, poking and squeezing your face and arms. You were solid…and then. Well it started dragging you.

You are now his friendly neighborhood spirit, since you can float he would totally use you as a like. Ballon.

He keeps you close, and out of danger and even if it looses its precious P rank, he’ll stop and let you look around each layer.

Bring him husks (IE get their attention and have them follow you) he’ll be super happy! Or at least…you think the manic laughter like sound coming from him is happy….

Ehh….best not question.

He tries to give you blood, but ends up giving up when it keeps phasing through and ending up on the floor.

He has thrown you at things before. And always apologizes by, bringing you to whatever layer you wanna, I mean most of them are dead now sooo what’s the harm.

I hope you liked it! I kinda wrote V1 as how I play him. A stupid idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing!

Also I love Gabriel ultrakill sm omgggg 😍

[overr-writtenn]

So this is weird right? Coming back after, what.. 2-3 years? I’m not sure what prompted my return, but something clicked and I just… missed writing. I missed the story and characters I created. I loved the community. I missed it. I digress. Anywho… I’m Josie, if you are familiar, I wrote the story “Give In”. I never gave up on the story. I always meant to return to it, but things happen, life is crazy. But here I am, with a brand new chapter! I’ll be posting Chapter 43 here soon 🥰

Read Give In Here

[drowninginthoughts27]

2/9 Piercing Word Count: 725

(mcd, somewhat canon compliant, very brief mentions of child abuse) @jegulus-microfic

A blood curtailing scream pierces through the silence of the night.

Then the choked out sobs start.

“Regulus! Get out here!” Sirius cry’s, struggling to catch his breath.

Regulus springs upright in response. Bolting from his room into the center of the apartment. There Sirius sits at the dining room table, head in his hands. His body shaking with the force of his own sobs.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Regulus asks. He’s now crouched down next to Sirius at the table in an attempt to get Sirius to look at him.

“Sirius, look at me! What’s wrong?” Regulus says, a worried look setting across his face. “Do I need to leave? Is me hiding here putting you in any more danger?”

Since the start of the war their worlds have been falling down around them. But Sirius usually doesn’t have much of a visible reaction to it all. Neither does Regulus. Both of them are so used to shutting down their emotions starting at an early age. There was no other way to survive that prison of a house. But especially since Regulus had faked his own death and ran to Sirius they had been rather closed off around one another.

Finally Sirius looks up. Blinking through his tears. Eyeliner running down his face leaving black streaks, fear deep in his gray-blue eyes. The same fear that now most likely reflects back in Regulus’.

“They’re dead!” Sirius cry’s out between shaky breaths.

“Shh, shh, whose de-“ just then Regulus sees what Sirius is holding. A now crumpled piece of parchment. The ink bleeding over the page from Sirius’ tears.

2 simple 5 word sentences. Both with enough power to pierce through Regulus’ soul.

James and Lily are dead. Harry’s the boy who lived. It says in a rushed script. The reality of the situation pierced through him. No further explanations or instructions. But nothing else put on that page could have stopped the ringing Regulus now hears in his own ears. The world spinning around him, vision going in and out- blurring at the edges. Stars filling his field of view.

Memories flood through him of him and James’ short time together.

How he used to hate James under the false pretenses that has stolen Sirius’ attention and affection from him.

How in his 4th year hating James became harder and harder to do. He fought against his growing crush by throwing harsher and harsher comments James’ way. And how apparently that just made James want to be around him and annoy him more and more.

How, one day in Regulus’ 5th year James had followed Regulus up to the astronomy tower with the stupid ‘Marauders Map’ in hand. And James had professed his mutual affection to Regulus. And how there they had had their first kiss under the stars.

How, almost 1 month later Regulus had first said ‘I Love You’ and James had responded with an equally meaningful ‘I Love You’. Holding each other in their arms.

How sitting side by side in the room of requirements they had planned out their entire lives together. Picket fence and all for after the war was over.

And how Regulus had come back to school after winter holidays his 6th year covered in injuryies of varying severity. Which had prompted James to beg Regulus to escape. To come live with him and Sirius. To which Regulus responded by pulling up his left sleeve. Revealing a black slithering tattoo that altered both of their lives forever.

James had since turned his back on Regulus. Leaving him behind, never speaking to one another again. Causing James to find a joy filled life with his childhood crush Lily.

Somewhere in the chaos of his own mind he thinks he hears the door swing open. Feels his own legs give way beneath him. Yelling starts, hexes flying around the apartment, the loud noises of things falling and breaking. Maybe even more wrenching sobs of Sirius’ begging. But Regulus can’t be bothered to care. Because James is dead. His James is dead. And he died thinking Regulus was dead as well. Most likely he died still thinking Regulus was a cruel and evil death eater as well. And there was nothing Regulus could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop the piercing pain of his reality.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #5

Damian does not glance back at Bruce when he knocks on the door. Instead they both wait in silence.

After a moment, the door opens.

"Hello," Jasmine, Jazz, Fenton greets politely, unsurprised to find the Waynes on her doorstep. Damian's expression grows ever darker at this revelation.

"Hello Ms. Fenton, are your parents home?" Bruce asks, placing a firm hand on Damian's shoulder, to ground as much as to restrain. To his credit he does not shake it off.

"No, they're out of town for a conference," the eighteen year-old says, opening the door wider. "But I think you'd better come in."

Bruce would normally decline, but Ms. Fenton is a legal adult and he has already, even unknowingly, waited 16 years. Damian makes the choice for him, striding past the threshold.

"Please take a seat," Jazz says as she leads them to the living room. She ignores Damian's swinging head as he takes in the home. It is deceptively large, a 90s style house filled with modern furniture. The walls are bright, with purple and green accents that would normally feel garish but somehow work. The stairs leading to the second floor are lined with family photos that Bruce yearns to take a closer look at. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Bruce says, taking a seat on the long plush couch. A men's windbreaker lies haphazardly thrown across one of the arms. A closed container of Oreo cookies sit on the coffee table next to a physics textbook open to chapter 16, half covered in highlighter and filled with sticky notes. There's a child's painting framed next to the tv, a handprint made to look like a thanksgiving turkey in bright blue.

For the home of experimental scientists, it is cozy and well lived-in.

Damian repeatedly glances at the stairs through the doorway.

Bruce clears his throat. "We were hoping to--"

"I've texted--oh, I'm sorry," Jazz says, having spoken at the same time. Bruce gestures for her to go on.

"I've contacted Danny, he should be here soon. He was out with some friends." Jazz explains. As she hadn't pulled out a phone in their presence, Bruce can only deduce they have some sort of camera at their front door. This also explains Ms. Fenton's complete lack of surprise at their appearance.

"So you know who we are." Damian says, the first words he's spoken since they arrived at the house and the longest sentence he's spoken since they arrived in Amity Park.

"I do," Jazz says, calm in the face of Damian's clearly simmering anger. Bruce trusts him not to attack Ms. Fenton, but he still watches him carefully.

"He told you about me," Damian says. It is the same question, but it is also not.

"He did," Jazz says.

Damian swallows. "I see," he grits out.

Jazz's neutrality slips and her face softens in sympathy. "Damian," she starts hesitantly, but before she can say anything else the front door opens.

A moment later Bruce's son walks through the doorway, and Damian is on him.

This is what Bruce hoped to prevent, but despite his numerous checks of Damian's luggage his son has still managed to smuggle a small dagger, which he now produces and swings in a calculated arc at Daniel Fenton's jugular.

Danny dodges cleanly, and dodges every swipe thereafter in a manner that speaks to continued practice long after his time at the League. Damian is a perfect product of his training, but it is up against Danny his flaws come to light. He is just as good as he always was, but Danny is better.

In a matter of seconds Damian grows frustrated and sloppy in his attacks, completely atypical for him. Danny takes Damian out at the knees and pins him down with one arm, pressing his face into the carpet.

"Calm down," he orders. His voice is deeper than Damian's at sixteen to his twelve, the accent that still traces Damian's words completely gone from his speech. Damian growls and thrusts his head back into Danny's face, meeting it with a sharp thunk. He rolls up as Danny recoils, putting distance between them. Danny glares at him from several steps away, hand to his forehead. Damian tosses the dagger into his other hand as he charges, and to Bruce's surprise Danny does nothing more than turn his face to the side, allowing Damian to draw a sharp line down his cheek.

Damian stops dead in his tracks.

"Are you done?" Danny asks, blood beginning to pool at the seam of the cut.

Damian's expression is stricken, eyes stuck on the blood starting to drip down his brother's face.

"I said, are you done, Damian?" Danny asks. His voice is cold.

Damian hears him this time, and he flushes red. "I--you--"

Danny sighs. He looks at Jazz, whose expression is back to carefully controlled.

"Are you alright?" he asks her. She nods.

"You left me," Damian accuses, standing there holding his bloody dagger limply.

Danny turns back to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me," Damian repeats louder, rapidly blinking.

"Yes. I did." Danny provides no excuse nor any explanation. His stance is unyielding.

Damian's eyes bounce wildly, shifting to Jazz and Danny slides smoothly in front of her, protectively. He looks at Damian warily, not as if he is his brother, but as if he is a danger. Damian flinches.

Hope is the last to die, Bruce thinks, watching as that last bit of hope Damian had is extinguished, the knowledge working its way through every inch of his body like ice in his veins. His eyes darken. He turns and runs from the room, the front door slamming shut not a moment later.

Jazz stands up, pulling a few tissues from the box on the coffee table. She presses them to Danny's face, cupping his cheek until he holds it himself. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she says gently. It is a thinly veiled excuse to leave them alone, and Bruce is grateful for it as she heads for the stairs.

They both wait until her footsteps have faded, taking each other in. Bruce looks at his mother's eyes and the sharp turn of Talia's nose. Damian's everything, four years older.

"You shouldn't have come here," Danny says, throwing himself on the armchair Jazz has just vacated.

"You know who I am," Bruce says carefully.

Danny glares. "I've kept your secret. She nor my parents know."

"I know," Bruce says. "That's not what I meant. You know who I am. And who I pretend to be. So you know I am familiar with masks."

"And?" Danny asks, looking vaguely bored.

"And so I can recognize when someone is wearing one. Damian will too, once he's calmed down."

Danny's expression sharpens. "No, he won't. Because you are going to go to back to whatever bed and breakfast you're staying in, pack up, hop in your private jet and fly him back to Gotham immediately before the League realizes you've gone. If they haven't already," he mutters.

"This is about the League then," Bruce says. "Do you not believe I can protect you?"

"I don't need your protection," Danny snaps, and watches Bruce actively extrapolate with a dawning resignation. "So this is the World's Greatest Detective at work," he says, slumping bonelessly into his chair, the first teenager-y thing he's done.

"Damian's in danger from the League," Bruce says. Danny glares from his slump. It's almost cute. "And as long as the League doesn't know about you, he's safe."

"Draw your own conclusions," Danny says, baring his teeth. Damian often makes the same face. "As long as you leave."

"I can protect him. I can protect you both," Bruce says. "Let me help you."

Danny closes his eyes. He centers his breathing in an exercise someone has clearly walked him through in the past. Bruce would bet money on the adoptive sister waiting patiently upstairs.

"Mr. Wayne. You are not my father," he says. "My trust in you extends to the point that I left Damian in your care, but that is where it ends. And that was when it was sanctioned by the League. By coming here you have endangered those sanctions."

Bruce disregards the sting, doubling down on his analysis. Talia had left Damian with Bruce well after Danny had left the League. But Danny speaks as if the decision had been his.

Or perhaps, Bruce realizes, it is not that Danny decided upon it, but that Danny allowed it to continue.

Bruce takes a second to review what Oracle had gone over with him before they left for Amity. Daniel Fenton had by all accounts, since leaving the League, lived a fairly normal life. His adoptive parents were eccentric scientists dabbling in the occult but their findings that bordered pseudoscience circulated a very niche community of like-minded eccentrics. The bulk of their income came from alternative energy, a more viable source of study that they'd veered harder into in the past year or so, a government contract with the EPA currently in the works. This had in part funded a vacation to an all-inclusive resort the family had taken that past summer.

Danny received average grades in school, above average in science and mathematics, declining sharply in his freshman year and sophomore year before evening out around the second semester. He had gotten into fights repeatedly with one student in particular, suspended for two weeks following an incident that resulted in a the student receiving a black eye. Teachers reported him to be highly intelligent but distracted and removed. They had recommended he be evaluated for an attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. He had no social media. He had missed multiple picture days. The ones he had attended he was sneezing, or a blur of movement, even going so far as to fall off his stool, legs flailing. Bruce had drank up every last one as Barbara had waited patiently.

A normal life. A family vacation to Bermuda. Average grades.

His freshman year, distracted and removed. The same year Damian had arrived at Bruce's home. Masks upon masks.

"You have informants within the League," Bruce says. Danny, to his credit, has no discernible tell. But there is no other explanation. "What will you do, if they find out you are alive?"

"That is none of your concern," Danny says, but he might as well be saying whatever I have to.

He never stopped practicing, after all.

"If they go after Damian, it is my concern."

"And that is why you need to take Damian back to Gotham before they do." Danny says. "I will take care of it."

Damian had barely spoken since he had realized Danyal was alive. But Bruce had seen the reverence in his eyes as he looked at the file.

"الوريث الصحيح" he had murmured. The rightful heir.

"You are proposing going after the entirety of the League with no backup," Bruce says. "Even if you think they won't kill you, you won't win either."

"Maybe they will," Danny says lightly. "Kill me. That would also work."

Bruce inhales sharply. "Danny," he starts.

"Go home, Mr. Wayne," Danny says, pushing himself up with one hand. The other still clutches the wad of tissue to his cheek, partially soaked with blood. "Go take care of your son."

"I'll go," Bruce says, "I'll take him to the Watchtower. And then I'll come back."

"Mr. Wayne-"

"I should've come for you," Bruce interrupts. "Sixteen years ago. I should've come for you."

Danny's brow furrows. "You had no idea I existed."

"But if I had. I would've come. I never would've left you there. And now that I know, I am not leaving you now."

For the first time Bruce watches Danny be completely caught off guard. He openly gapes at Bruce.

"You would've died," Danny lands on, voice thin. "They would've killed you."

"Unlike you, I would've brought backup." Bruce says, mimicking Danny's lightness.

He's lying. Sixteen years ago he would've thrown himself at the League to save his newborn son without a plan, without a thought beyond rescuing his baby.

Danny barks out a laugh. "You would've laid siege to Nanda Parbat with The Big Blue Boy Scout?" he looks wistful. "That would've been rad."

Bruce sees his opening. "Danny," he stands, eye to eye with his son. "Let me help you."

Danny evaluates him. "The Batman," he says softly. "I didn't want you to come, then. I didn't need one more person I had to prove myself to. All I wanted was to live amongst the stars, in the quiet of the cosmos."

"You want to be an astronaut," Bruce says. At Danny's cocked head, he says without shame, "I read your essay on personal heroes. You wrote about Edward White. Ad Astra Per Aspera."

Danny smiles slightly, sadly. "It is a rough road."

"You can be whatever you want to be," Bruce says. "I won't stand in your way."

"Even if I want to be Danny Fenton?" he asks.

"Even then."

Danny sighs. "I don't need your help Bruce," he says. "No," he says as Bruce opens his mouth. He pulls the wad of tissues away from his cheek. Underneath the splotches of dried blood the gash in his face has cleanly knit itself together, a faint white line now all that remains.

"I don't need your help," he says clearly. He holds a palm forward, and a green fire grows from its center, until the flames are licking delicately up his fingers.

"I know The Batman does not kill. But I am not a Robin. I am something else entirely," Danny says, his eyes reflecting the green of the flames. Or not, as he looks up at Bruce, his eyes green all on their own. They are sad. This is why he stayed away, Bruce realizes. Not out of fear. Danny is not afraid. Danny is tired.

But for his brother, Danny will wake up.

"And If the League takes one step towards Damian, I will raze them to the ground."

[paingoes]

whumper pushing whumpee to the ground, ordering them to get back up, and kicking them back down each time they try. repeat as many times as you like. especially w whumper getting more snippy each time.

“i said get up” while they’re making it physically impossible

physically and mentally exhausting them in addition to hurting them. forcing whumpee to participate in their own abuse.

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[wigglebox]

Supernatural September - Day 2 | Identity

[shitouttabuck]

oh my god nina!!! 8 for the bedsharing prompts if it takes your fancy <33

thank you sweet peach this scratched an itch !!!

bed-sharing prompts: whispering “Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up.”

Eddie’s not old—he’s not even 30, despite the near-constant jokes about his senior citizen-isms he seems incapable of shaking. And he wouldn’t even say he’s a man of creature comforts. He just likes familiarity, and routine, and his own goddamn bed.

Quarantine has brought a lot of change: being away from Chris, living in a single-occupancy apartment with three other people, and sharing a bed with all six-foot-two of Evan Buckley.

Currently, this means waking up at some wretched hour and squinting in the moonlight filtering in through half-open blinds, because the aforementioned best friend has stolen Eddie’s pillow from right under his head yet again.

Eddie groans quietly, easing his neck out of the crick it’s cramped in. He glares at the enormous lump snoring serenely beside him and pats the mattress blindly for his pillow. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he’s greeted by the same sight he’s woken to at ungodly hours thrice this month already: Buck with his gigantic thieving arms wrapped happily around Eddie’s goddamn pillow as he clutches it to his chest, dead to the world.

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie mutters, reaching out and tugging the end of the pillowcase to no avail. Buck’s vice-grip doesn’t falter even in sleep. Eddie’s usually able to coax it out of his grasp without waking him, but it takes a minute, and their last shift had been a full-body workout from hell, and Eddie just wants to go the fuck back to sleep with a single measly pillow supporting his exhausted head. Surely that’s not too decadent a luxury to expect.

He tugs again, harder and meaner than he normally would. The pillow inches out of Buck’s hold, and Eddie grabs a firmer handful to yank it away, grunting triumphantly when it pops free.

“Hrmmph,” Buck grumbles, crease appearing between his eyebrows. Eddie stills, holding his breath as he gauges Buck’s proximity to consciousness. He thinks he’s in the clear, but then Buck murmurs unhappily and rolls ever-so-slightly towards Eddie.

“S’your turn to be th’ li’l spoon,” he slurs, and Eddie freezes even further. “’M th’ big spoon t’night.” He pats half-heartedly at the mattress between him and Eddie, jaw going slack again after a few seconds.

Eddie grins, just barely containing the snort that bubbles up at Buck’s sleep-talking. There’s enough distance from Ali and even Abby, post-train debacle, that means he can wring weeks’ worth of teasing out of this. Whichever one of them it is Buck’s dreaming of, Eddie thinks multiple nights of interrupted sleep allow him a little good-natured—if merciless—ribbing.

He shifts onto his back, shoving the pillow under his head and shutting his eyes with a sigh, but the movement has Buck mumbling again. His face is mashed into his own pillow, words barely intelligible when he says, “Y’re littler than me. C’mon, lemme be big spoon.”

The snort sneaks out of Eddie then, just a bit. He barely knew either woman, but he can’t quite picture them indulging Buck in this line of conversation. It’s—sweet, if deeply mortifying for Buck himself to know anyone else has heard it.

Buck snuffles discontentedly, forehead scrunching as he reaches out in search of the pillow, still asleep.

“Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up,” Eddie whispers, wondering if there’s more entertainment about to be provided and if it’s worth getting up to unplug his phone and catch the tail end of this on video.

“Urgh,” asleep-Buck responds, patting the bed a little more insistently when he’s unsuccessful in his pillow-retrieval endeavours. “Wh’re—c’mere. Eddie. Y’re li’l spoon.”

This time when Eddie freezes, it’s such a sudden locking of every joint in his body that his neck cricks in the opposite direction. He barely feels it, singularly focused on Buck’s latest garbled complaint, because—is Buck awake? Is Buck dreaming about him?

He’s frozen so still he doesn’t realise Buck’s questing hand is now well in range of Eddie himself, and he jolts back into his body when Buck’s strong, calloused fingers wrap around his wrist.

“C’me back,” he whines, tugging at Eddie while shuffling closer at the same time. Eddie holds himself carefully still, hardly daring to breathe as Buck slowly but surely plasters his long, long body along Eddie’s side, hitching one leg over Eddie’s thigh before flinging an arm across his torso and dragging him nearer.

“Mm,” he hums, brow smoothing out. His cheek rests on Eddie’s shoulder, face smushed but seemingly satisfied. Eddie’s arm is trapped between his own side and Buck’s stomach, and he worms it under Buck’s body almost on autopilot, more to get comfortable than anything else. This leaves him basically cradling Buck to him, and Buck gives one final happy grunt before burrowing his face into Eddie’s neck and going limp, a dead weight over Eddie’s right side.

Eddie makes his fingers relax where they’re clutching the back of Buck’s t-shirt. This is—fine. Normal and fine. So Buck isn’t dreaming about cuddling an ex-girlfriend, he’s dreaming about holding Eddie. They’ve been living out of each other’s pockets more than usual recently, leaning on each other a little heavier through a global pandemic and missing Christopher. Eddie’s told himself it’s because of constant proximity, and maybe it is, but whatever the reason, if Buck’s subconscious is embracing that vulnerability in this way, that’s fine. He’s an affectionate guy, and while it’s relatively new for Eddie to be on the receiving end of that from another man, he’s not one to shy away because of someone else’s archaic ideas of masculinity.

And—hold on. Y’re littler than me? Was that what Buck said? Eddie huffs indignantly, and then huffs again for different reasons, feeling his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know why, but he pulls Buck a little closer.

It’s still normal and fine, he finds, turning his head to press his nose into Buck’s curls. That surprises him a little, that there’s no freak-out of any kind accompanying—whatever this is. Buck smells like vanilla, because he used Chim’s fancy shampoo that’s actually Maddie’s fancy shampoo because both of them are missing her something fierce, and he’s definitely drooling onto Eddie’s neck, and now that he’s not sleep-talking he’s back to snoring like a motorcycle, and Eddie’s slipping under before he can marvel any more at just how normal and fine it all is.

When the moonlight is swapped for sunlight, Eddie stirs to Chim singing along to radio in the kitchen downstairs. Buck blinks awake right alongside him, cheek imprinted with creases from Eddie’s collar and turning pink as he hastily peels himself away.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He contorts his body in surprise trying to roll off Eddie’s arm. “Did I—sorry, Eds.”

Eddie works his arm back under Buck, easy and deliberate. “S’fine,” he yawns. “It was my turn to be the little spoon.”

In his peripheral vision, Buck turns a brilliant red, and Eddie gives him a reassuring squeeze before taking great joy in telling him just how embarrassed he should be about the contents of his dreams.

(Buck’s mortification is blessedly short-lived, since the contents of Eddie’s dreams are equally embarrassing in the very exact same way, as it turns out.)