#can you tell :)

[derois]

i love how no matter how much time has passed we're (this includes dan) still learning SO much about phil,

like he goes "i don't believe on the internet" to which dan responds with a "what" like i'm sure most of us did, and is not a 'we've talked about this and come to a consensus before, why are you bringing it up in front of the children?'-what but a 'babygirl what the fuck are you saying?'-what

and i think that's wonderful

[ato-dato]

Post-ts fem Sanji gets the long hair treatment too

[luvnami]

he's sensitive if you don't call him by his petname

"suna."

his head flicks towards you at the speed of light.

"sunarin."

his eyebrows furrow. you suppress a giggle.

"suna rintarou."

he pauses the video that he's watching on his phone, mentally going through the seven stages of grief all at once.

"was it because i ate the last pudding in the fridge?" suna treads on each word carefully.

your face falls. "did you? i told you i was saving that for tomorrow! babe!"

even as you scold him, suna finally relaxes. he groans and buries his face in your shoulder.

"fuck, you scared me," he grumbles.

"and you ate my pudding!"

despite your whining, suna rolls over in your shared bed, laying on top of you where his head is shoved into your face.

"i can't breathe! get off!"

"this is what you get for calling me by my full name."

his fingers find your sides as he begins to tickle you relentlessly. you scream. the comforter gets tangled around your bodies as you kick and laugh, begging for suna to stop, please, he can eat all the pudding he wants, please! have mercy!

suna'll buy you apology pudding tomorrow. for now, he kisses at the exposed skin of your throat, relishing in the sound of your laughter that fills your home.

[m4ycrowave]

Happy TOTALLY NOT LATE father’s day to Reigen Arataka

Also yes this is based on the comic where Mob gives Reigen a father’s day present because I find it adorable

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #6

Phantom is sitting at the Batcomputer, kicking his legs back and forth. With the seat last set for Batman's height, his feet barely skim the ground. He's propped his head up with one hand, examining something he is holding between his thumb and forefinger in the other.

He is very casual for someone who has never been told the location of the Batcave.

"Phantom," Batman grunts. Phantom doesn't glance his way, likely having heard the Batmobile pulling in.

"Hi Bruce," he says. "I had a nightmare last night."

It's important to note that The Justice League does not know Phantom's true age, although there are several theories:

Theory One: he is a ghost dating back to several thousand BCE. The proof of this is sparse but present, through written record of beings with white hair and green eyes and uncanny likenesses found in artifacts proven to be authentic. Could these truly be Phantom? Yes. However, there is

Theory Two: he is a teenager, as his visual presence suggests. This could be true even if his existence is thousands of years old, as his mentality might not have advanced beyond that of a child aged fourteen to sixteen when they died. This is supported by his general behavior and advanced knowledge of memes. The few times he and Red Robin have interacted, Bruce did not understand a word of it without extensive googling. But worse, of course, there is

Theory Three: Phantom is the age of his first recorded appearance in modern times, only a few years ago. Phantom's recorded appearances in the past were sparse compared to his consistent existence in this century, which could hint at a timestream accident similar to Bruce's own, if they are real. And ultimately, this would not be the first time a two year old presented as a teenager in form.

Two out of three options propose Phantom is a child, and so Batman's tone is gentle when he says,

"Did you?"

"Yeah," Phantom says, words almost a sigh. Whatever is in his hand catches in the lamp light, shining green.

It's kryptonite. Phantom is holding a shard of kryptonite.

"Sorry." Phantom twirls his chair around to face Bruce. He holds the shard out in his palm. "I called you Bruce, didn't I? I know you hadn't told me yet."

"That's okay," Bruce says. He takes the shard calmly, his suit's layered biometrics disguising the fact his heart is racing. He recognizes this chunk from his stores, kept in the secure, deepest, impenetrable section of the cave coded to his DNA alone.

He's been aware Phantom's powers include invisibility and intangibility, but the ghost has been benevolent, honorable, and heroic since introduced and he had allowed his guard to slip. All it would've taken is being tailed one time, and now he must rely on that benevolence.

"And I'm sorry about that," Phantom says, nodding at the belt Batman has tucked the kryptonite inside. It will do nothing to stop Phantom should he decide to pluck it away again, but kept out of sight in a lead-lined pouch still feels safer than out in the open.

"I needed to make a point." Phantom says. The words are threatening but his tone is not.

"Oh?" Bruce asks, wary nonetheless.

"I'm really strong," Phantom says. "I can walk through walls. I can disappear. I can fly. I can blast and freeze stuff. I don't need to breathe. Traditional weapons don't really work on me."

"I can duplicate," a voice says from behind Bruce. He whirls around, batarang in hand, to see another Phantom rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "That duplicate will have all the same powers," the doppelganger says, apologetically. He floats back over to the Phantom sitting on the chair and the two merge.

"I have bad powers too, ones I don't like to use. I can scream at things until they fall apart, even buildings. I can...I can possess people, and make them do things," he admits, unable to look Batman in the eye. "It's not that all ghosts are like this, pretty much all of them aren't, it's just that I'm one of the stronger ones, and I'm only going to get stronger, and the stronger I get, the more powers I might get, and the less weapons even made especially to fight ghosts will work on me."

None of this is phrased as a threat, but rather a confession.

"Why are you telling me this?" Batman asks.

"I had a nightmare," Phantom repeats weakly. He reaches under the computer table and pulls out a purple JanSport backpack, cotton dirty and frayed with use. He unzips the front pocket and pulls out a small plastic baggy. He offers the baggy to Batman, his hand shaking.

Batman takes the baggy, examining the contents. Inside are six tiny little dots. They look like poppy seeds, but held up to the light are a deep purple in color.

"Phantom, what are these?"

"Hemo Prunus," Danny says, eyes stuck on the baggy. He's paler than usual. "Colloquially: blood blossoms. At the time they were grown it was believed they required drops of blood to grow, but a friend of mine who likes plants thinks it's more likely they actually just like a higher quantity of iron in their soil. You know, truths found in witch's tales and stuff like that. I don't know much about their care beyond that but I do know they were grown previously in Salem in the late 1600s, early 1700s during their summer seasons with some amount of success so perhaps you can mimic that environment and go from there. From what I've gathered they're incredibly difficult to grow, but I figure if anyone can do it it's you."

"I'm not exactly the gardening type," Batman says dryly.

Phantom laughs faintly. He looks like he's about to pass out, which should be impossible and is not the correct reaction to gifting someone a rare piece of flora.

"Phantom," Batman says again, slowly. "What are these?"

"They're my kryptonite."

Bruce closes his fist over the bag immediately, taking several steps back to put distance between himself and Phantom. "Are you alright?" he asks sharply.

"I'm fine," Phantom says, waving a hand. "As seeds they just sting a little, like nettles."

That's not the reaction of someone being lightly stung, Bruce thinks. Phantom looks like he needs the chair he's sitting in just to stay upright.

Then the rest of his words click together.

"You're giving me these," Bruce says.

"Yes," Phantom says. "For safekeeping."

"To grow."

Phantom's smile fades. "For safekeeping," he says, looking at Bruce's belt. Where he has stored the kryptonite.

The enormity of what Phantom is entrusting him with hits Bruce like a ton of bricks, and he finally realizes that Phantom is not sick but terrified. He is quietly, deeply, terrified. Bruce also realizes that a reaction like that is not born out of fear of the unknown but is the reaction of someone who has felt the sting of the bee and felt their throat close up. At some point Phantom has felt the blood blossom flower, and the sheer memory of it is enough to make the ghost go almost catatonic with terror.

And he has still handed over the one weapon that can hurt him to the Batman, and told him all he knows on how to make more.

I had a nightmare.

"Is this all of it?" Bruce asks, the question coming out brusquer than intended. Phantom blinks.

"Yes, I'm sorry, that's all I could--yes that's all," he stammers.

Bruce shakes his head. "I mean, does anyone else have access to it? Is anyone else growing this that we should be aware of?"

Phantom can't mask a sudden shudder, his reactions always woefully transparent (pun not intended). "No, that's the last of it. No. No. I don't think," his eyes grow wider, "I don't think so," he whispers, to himself, an attempt at comfort.

Way to go, Bruce, a familiar voice whispers, you just scared the kid harder. Bruce drops the packet on a table beside him and strides forward to put a firm hand on Phantom's shoulder.

"I'll make sure of it," he says. He'll pull Kal in and together they'll make sure, the same way they raided every GiW base across the United States four months prior. Phantom looks up at him the same way he did then, with complete and utter trust.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "But if you do...if you do find any more, promise me you won't destroy it. Promise me you'll keep it, the same way you keep the kryptonite. Please, Bruce."

He's not just asking him to keep it. Another weight finds its place, settling on the Bat's shoulders like the cape he wears. Another contingency for a hero he fears will one day be a dear friend.

"I promise, Phantom."

"Danny," Phantom says, "My name is Danny. A name for a name, right?"

"Danny," Bruce says, heart growing ever heavier. "I promise."

[very-small-giant]

oh my god it’s taako!! from tv!!!

[daily-beau]

Day 28: Hold him like burgur

[feinv]

inspired by @iovesia (she is one of those insanely talented writers you accidentally find on this goofy app)

john wick who despite being the most feared assassin in the entire underworld, is the sweetest gentleman to you.

john wick who is so rough with his actions, but gentle with his words. he is gripping your waist so firmly you can already feel red fingerprints tainted on your soft skin. he is biting down on your shoulder to muffle the groans that have been building up in his throat, leaving crescent shaped teeth marks. he is leaving red and purple bruises all over your neck, all over your body, pain and pleasure mixing together and overfilling your senses.

john wick who first eats you out like a starved man, using tongue and fingers in a way that makes you lightheaded, forgetting your own language and how to form words. he would be knuckles deep into you before having his tongue circling and lapping on your juices, his beard all soaked and as wet as you are.

john wick who then is thrusting so hard and deep into you that you swear you are about to black out. he hits that sweet spot over and over again, sending you into oblivion, not giving you a second to catch a breathe: hard, fast, and unforgiving. he manhandles you around by adjusting your body to his own liking, finding new positions to make you feel things you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling.

john wick who doesn’t plan on stopping even when you come more than two times, overstimulating and edging you again…again…and again, pressing his big hands on your hips and stomach to prevent your attempts of breaking from his grip. his mouth will then be latching on your nipples, biting and sucking down on them not so gently, pinching them harshly and making your whole body flinch.

john wick who has been mouthing nothing but delicate praises in your ear that entire time. “you are doing so good, sweetheart. such a good girl for me. taking me so well. fuckin’ beautiful.”

he can’t control himself. not when you involuntarily clench and pulse around him. not when you release those breathless moans and sweet whimpers. he wouldn’t be able to contain himself anymore and would absolutely snap his hips into yours with an animalistic rhythm, savoring the filthy sounds you make and pressing down his palm over the area where your belly bulges from him.

“i love you so much. so goddamn much, my sweet angel…” following up with him swearing that you are a literal goddess and he is most definitely in heaven, all while slamming harder and deeper.

john wick who always fucks you good and leaves you sore, while simulataneously showering you in sweet nothings and treating you like you are the only girl in the world. (you are for him!!)

[thosefuzzywordfeelings]

she’s having thoughts again. feral, breeding kink, daddy!steve thoughts. mdni!

thinking about mundane things like walking with him to pick your daughter up from school (he’s such a girl dad try and change my mind) and just carrying her home on his shoulders or something, being all cute and sweet and cute.

the evening routine is the same, dinner, bath time, story and bed, and tonight as the two of you kissed your daughters head as she fell asleep; steve was looking at you different. a twinkle in his eye.

as soon as you’re back downstairs, sipping a tea and sitting curled up on the couch, his lips are on your shoulder, drifting slowly up the side of your neck; coming to settle beneath your ear as his hand drapes across your tummy.

“god, i wanna give you so many.” he’d whisper against your ear.

“so many what?” you’d giggle, turning your head to look at him with a smile until you notice the ferocity in the blackening of his eyes.

“so many kids, honey.” he’d say lowly, his lips brushing against yours. his eyes would dart up to yours, seeing what you thought of his confession.

me personally i’d pop them out yearly

you’d smile softly, your hand pulling the one he had laid on your stomach, down a little further.

“you wanna put another one in here, daddy?” you’d tease, already knowing he was far far gone in his fantasy. his breath would hitch as he bit his lip, his fingers finding their place between your thighs as they often did when you had alone time.

“honey, i always want to put another one inside you. please - please let me.” he’d beg. boy oh boy, would he beg.

[whalesharkstho]

learning to draw these silly fuckers

[phanchester]

phil looking at dan off-camera

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

[ballnutty]

satine and that idiot ginger sister of hers

[cellyjubes]

another portrait of raiden! (what’s new haha)

[maggie44paint]

i've been reading too much patrochilles as zag's parents fanfics lately

[devil-in-hiding]

John’s side of this

John Price had long since given up on finding that spark. Strangers filling his bed more often than not, pretty birds leaving his side because they couldn’t handle his line of work, men too ashamed to be with him openly.

His only constant?

Simon Riley. Simon who has never strayed from his side. Who keeps his position next to his Captain, tall and proud. Loyal. Countless nights wasted away in Price’s little office, Simon curled up on his ratty couch, Ghost no where in sight as the blonde snores. Mask gone, face relaxed as Price finishes up paperwork.

Tumbling into bed with Simon felt…right. Like it was meant to happen. John hadn’t felt his skin burn like this since his 20’s, Simon’s lips leaving a fiery blaze in their wake, muttered praises of John’s name falling from jagged lips, teeth digging into his shoulder, fingers gripping his hips as Simon’s cock slam’s his prostate.

It’s a mess of lips, hands and tongue when they cum. John’s back pressed to Simon’s chest, hands fisted in short blonde hair as his Lieutenant wrings a mind numbing orgasm from him. Their lips part, Simon’s trailing his lips down John’s neck as he sucks in deep breaths, slowly coming down as he slumps forward into his pillows. His mind floats, limbs heavy as he nuzzles into his pillows, a small smile playing at his lips as he hears Simon grunt, before hissing as the younger man slips his cock free with a lewd ‘pop’

He hums, sinking down once more into the comfort of his bed. He waits to feel Simon’s heavy weight drape over him, waits to feel arms wrap around his waist.

And all he feels is the shifting of the bed, Simon’s heavy grunt slamming in his chest, but he holds out hope, holds out hope that his Lieutenant isn’t about to slip out the door.

He props his head up, tongue heavy in his mouth as he tries to find his voice.

“And where do you think you’re going?” He asks, voice light, tired, but hope lacing every word as he sees Simon peek at him, but it’s crushed into a fine powder when his Lieutenant straightens up, reaching for his jeans. “Headin’ home.” Comes the rough reply, and John doesn’t remember the last time his throat closed up so fast, tears stinging the corner of his eyes as he sits up, stomach lurching.

“Oh.” It slips out, small and broken as he stares down at the mess of cum and hickeys littering his thighs. His chest feels tight, and when he feels his lip wobble he’s on his feet, not looking back as he makes his way towards his bathroom, hand shakily resting on the knob. “You can let yourself out then.” He throws over his shoulder, voice tight before slipping into his bathroom, locking the door.

And for the first time in many years

John Price lets his tears fall.