#comments are always welcome

[is-this-even-relatable]

Misfortune Teller

tldr: An older Danny, apprentice to Clockwork, does a lot of field work across dimensions, resetting the timeline, queuing future events, and who knows what else. Occasionally, he warns people about such upcoming possibilities, to set them on the right path. How, you might ask? Well in this case... as a wandering fortune teller.

Crack-fic (oh god, it's getting long and my logic brain won't let it remain as crack) where Danny becomes Clockwork's apprentice after getting his GED. Living his infinite afterlife to the fullest. Inspired by this tumblr post.

Working for Clockwork had been... interesting so far. At first, Danny got frustrated by how vague and cryptic Clockwork was. He'd just shunt Danny off to some ancient time with a few words, his own time medallion (Danny carried it everywhere with him now), and then pop back into the portal, leaving Danny with only the faintest idea of where to go.

Eventually, after enough time (ha!) spent around Clockwork, Danny figured out that it just basically meant that he had free reign and to do whatever he wanted. Because if he went on the wrong path, (like that one time in Pompeii when he had almost caused the volcano to explode a few years too early), Clockwork would just pop on by, say another few cryptic words, and then it'd all be fine and dandy, or as he liked to say, "All is as it should be... Now stop practicing your wail by an active volcano."

After telling Jazz about that (it was supposed to be funny, not concerning), she just sighed and shook her head, with a forlorn "think before you act, Danny!" but hey, it'd turned out fine so far, so who cares how he does what Clockwork asks him to do, as long as it gets done, right? Even if it's with a liiiiitle more mischief than strictly required.

Besides. Danny was the one who had been doing time shenanigans across millennia, not Jazz. And he thought he'd been getting pretty good at it too! He'd actually started giving himself a different made-up background for each universe he visited. Sam and Tucker were helping him keep up with the identities on a spreadsheet, so if he had to go back to one he'd already visited, he'd remember who he'd said he was supposed to be.

---

He was on a call with them one evening while haunting Jazz's apartment, doing just that, when he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his throat, as well as a heightened awareness of the seconds passing by, that always accompanied his mentor's appearance.

Sam was talking about his past stint posing as a god of death when he cut in. "Hey- sorry to interrupt, Sam- Clocky's here, guys, I gotta dip."

"Aw, come on! We hardly talked any this past week since you passed your certifications, man," Tucker complained.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Partly on you too though, you've been caught up outside of class, and Sam's schedule is nearly the opposite of yours."

Sam hummed in agreement despiter Tucker's scoff.

Danny missed hanging out with them as much as they had in high school, but hey, life goes on. Or at least, theirs did, to college. After finally flunking out of Casper High, he'd taken some time to get used to his responsibilities in the ghost zone, and when he had, he realized that he didn't really have much enthusiasm or timeleft for his human life.

And he didn't really want to go back home either.

But Jazz had made him tie up any loose ends before he noped-off to god knows where, which frankly, he had to thank her for. Getting his GED took a few years, but it was an accomplishment that could be attributed to Danny Fenton, no ghostliness required. Then he was able to let that tether go free.

Pulled out of his musings by a few more grumbles from Tucker, Danny said his goodbyes, promising to call the next time they were all available.

After hanging up, Danny swiveled around, anticipation already lighting up his eyes an ethereal green.

Clockwork, for his part, had been waiting patiently through Danny's lengthy goodbyes. Although he supposed that it tracked for the watcher of time to be patient. With his job, it'd be a nightmare if he wasn't.

"Phantom," Clockwork spoke, calm as always. "I have some tasks I need you to complete as my apprentice."

And Danny, always ready for adventure, didn't need him to explain any further. "Sure! When do you need me to be?"

Clockwork smiled at that. "I am fortunate you are eager. Follow me."

---

Danny popped into existence in this universe with a burst of cold air and static electricity. He found himself hovering by a clocktower above a sprawling, gothic city. Smog and light pollution obscured the stars above him, to his disappointment. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd probably have all the time he wanted to fly someplace less populated to see them later.

He started off by familiarizing himself with the city. As he flew, he followed the trail of power and met the resident city-spirit, a spooky- but kind underneath- woman draped in black lace, who told him her name was Gotham. He spoke in length with her about this universe, its heroes, and her knights. On that, she was very enthusiastic... or at least Danny thought she was, her projected emotions belaying much more than her gloomy exterior. She told him how her knights had been through a lot and would need some guidance fighting the darkness that pooled in her deepest corners, smiling with too much glee, filling lungs with fear, and terrorizing with cold hard bullets.

Danny could sense that the dangers she spoke of were growing in power, ever slowly. The longer they shadowed people's minds and hearts, an intangible thing grew that lent them more otherworldly pull than their physical forms had right to hold.

That must be what he was sent here for.

But... they were weak, pitifully so for him, infinite king as he was. And besides, he wasn't here in that sense. He was a messenger, a simple apprentice. And he could do this however he wanted.

Cue his talk with Lady Gotham, and subsequent idea to arm her knights. With what? Well, he figured knowledge would be a start. Flying high above the city invisibly, Danny noticed a sea of colors and lights by what appeared to be the city's pier. He flew down, noting that it appeared to be the setup spot for a travelling circus or carnival of some kind.

He considered what to do. One of Lady Gotham's troubles was a madman clown, right? Well maybe he'd be attracted to his ilk here... and with the danger came the knights. Maybe he could catch one of them here?

Danny was floating around at the entrance and beginning to formulate a plan when a flyer caught his eye. Looking for a mystic to read fortunes. URGENT!

Hadn't Clockwork said something about fortunes? And he hadn't made an identity in this universe yet...

A mischievous smile crept across Danny's face, splitting it in two with far too many teeth.

---

Half a city away, a man in all black, perched on the very same clocktower that Phantom had Appeared by, shivered as he felt an ominous premonition about his sanity in the near future...

Said man quickly opened his comms to check in with his many, many kids. Yet even after hearing back from each, he still felt apprehensive.

Somewhere even further, Clockwork laughed.

---

And that's how Danny found himself seated at a fortune teller's booth at a pier in Gotham, two days later, for the Tricksy Traveling Circus's grand opening.

[radmystique]

Godddd I hate when tims go into women’s online spaces with their whole ‘🥺 I hope I’m welcome here uwu 🥺🥺🥺’ schtick like no you’re not, fuck off please.

[justirina]

MORE HUMAN WALLY~

Colored version ⬇️

Yes

I drew him in THAT pose >:)

aaaand a lil extra, since you seem to like him a lot

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS Height Poll: Who is (technically) the tallest character. Please remember that these polls are for fun!

[bigtreefest]

From my experience, the two biggest immediate blocking reasons from users are serial liking and no age showing in the blog, when a lot of content is 18+.

I think the biggest thing is that if you want to enjoy a writer’s content, they want to know what you think. They want to see engagement past just blowing through material that took them a lot of time to make, and simply only liking through everything they’ve written all in one sitting, without appreciating it and enjoying it with them, can cheapen it.

Putting an age in your blog is important for the protection of minors and the riddance of bots.

Now when it comes to English, I’m also a native speaker, and mess up words and grammar all the time. I think I speak for a lot of us when I say, we can usually tell what you’re trying to say, and either way, we’re appreciative, as long as your comments are nice! And they don’t have to be elaborate at all, they can be as simple as you please.

So if you’ve got good intentions and you’re enjoying what you’re reading, I definitely encourage you to leave a comment or a reblog, even if you’re nervous, because I can almost guarantee you that you’ll get a kind response, matching your energy, right back

Ok so I follow a alot of people on and I'm afraid of interacting with some of my favorites because I don't want to be blocked but I want to talk and read all their stuff but I just don't ever feel excepted in the fandoms

Ps sorry for language English is hard

As a native English speaker, I can confirm that English is hard. Especially in writing where you can't read tone and body language. It's one of the reasons I include a lot of emojis and gifs in my communications. It can really help indicate that I'm joking or trying to be lighthearted.

I also very much understand that nervousness about interacting. For the longest time, when I started here, every time I got a notification I was afraid it was someone yelling at me for saying/doing something wrong! I've even sent private messages to people apologizing because I realized something I wrote could've been misinterpreted as being mean or cold.

I can say it gets better with practice, especially after you and the other person get to know each other better. And if you ever need some encouragement or practice, I'm here!

With regards to being accepted in the fandoms, I'm honestly not sure what I can tell you as I'm still not sure what interacting within a fandom really is. Sure, I write stories with characters from different fandoms, but am I actually in those fandoms? Social structures are not my strong suit.

Maybe someone else reading this can help?

But with regards to being afraid of being blocked, you can start small. Just a comment about "I love this story," isn't going to get you blocked. Not every response to a story has to be a well written treatise. And if you're nervous about sending questions, again, emojis can be very helpful and they are usable in Anon asks.

You can do it! I believe in you!

[gooch-cancer]

i feel like the infantilization of lisa throughout the movie was very very real. coming from someone who did deal with being outcasted due to their oddness and mental instability i did deal often with my peers treating me like i was younger than them, acting like i wasn't smart and i saw myself in lisa during those moments. for example, michael and doug calling lisa "kid" or "kiddo" when talking to her or her dad not taking her seriously when showing obvious signs that things are getting worse for her. i often see the adults treating her like a misbehaving child who wants attention instead of a person going through a very rough time in life. they only cared when she passed away. something about the only good victim being a dead one etc.

[bugoutreviewgirlie]

hey all! this is an ongoing passion project of mine and it'd mean an incredible amount to me if you guys checked it out and shared it!

[kindahoping4forever]

📸: Christian Sarkine

[98chao]

the vanilla milkshake playlist is now 10 hours long... :D

heres the link btw for anyone who missed my first post abt it

[9w1ft]

it’s been awhile and i thought i’d run this poll again!

there’s a max of 12 options so the “before and after 1989 release” options i have merged into before rep!

[seerasworld]

Since the last SCN update was 3 months ago and there seems to be a lot of misconceptions around it in the fandom, here's a brief reminder for those who struggle to follow the plot 🫶

🟢 Amen has a traumatic past and a sh*tty job, that does not make him a bad person.

🔴 Amen isn't abusive to Eva, on the contrary he's the only one who ever tried to give her a chance at a better future.

🟢 If romanced properly Amen deeply loves Eva to the point he basically already proposed. All comments about how he only want s*x are invalid as the truth is he stopped/refused s*x multiple times when Eva offered

🔴 Shesmu are canonically power-hungry and often violent criminals so corrupted by dark magic that their souls turned cold. Eva is the exception to this and not the rule. Playing as a shesmu doesn't mean they're the "good guys".

🟢 Hunters are law enforcement, if the law doesn't differentiate between "sort of decent" and "worst ever" shesmu that's not on Amen or the hunters as they have no hand in law-making

🔴 Dia and Eva were never close friends, Eva's bestie was Isman before and later Livius.

🟢 Dia was lawfully executed due to her own crimes and Remmao's setup. Had she been innocent the hunters would've had no reason to touch her.

🔴 Amen never caused Eva nightmares or PTSD, her dreams started before they met

And that's the whole tea yall 🍵✨

[zombiekillerbiceps]

Because I Love You

Note: No one asked for this but here it is anyways, please read the content list as this one! Be safe, I have other fics if this one isn’t for you.

Content: 3.8k words, 18+, NSFW, Leon x Reader, CNC with enthusiastic consent, knife play, boot kink, glove kink, pain play, primal play, edge play/ breath play, home invasion roleplay, degradation, humiliation, manipulation kink, oral (m receiving), they/them reader, ooc Leon (I think, even how I normally characterize him, but oooooh I just want him to hurt me)

Leon gets home from a difficult mission and gives in to reader’s request to use them for stress relief... but maybe they underestimated how much stress he was carrying.

It was pretty late at night. You were lounging on the couch in a pair of Leon’s boxers, a bottle of lazily sipped wine on the floor beside you, flicking through the channels. Leon was on one of those long work trips he couldn’t call you for. Anxiety knotted into a pit in your stomach. You worried about him. You didn’t know what he did for work, but you knew it was dangerous. You saw the dark, weary look in his eyes and the scars that danced across his body. He always came home so... tense. Like he was filled with a frustration he couldn’t release, an abundance of adrenaline with no way to burn it. The last time he came home like that, you practically begged him to use you as release. He refused. He didn’t want to “hurt” you. 

You thought about that answer while you sipped the wine again. It helped to ease that anxious knot in your stomach. You drank more when he was away. You had trouble sleeping otherwise. 

He definitely could hurt you, you thought. God, he was strong enough. He knew enough about the human body to know exactly how. He was pretty adept with that knife of his too. He worked it into your nights together on occasion since the last time got such... rewarding results from you. You closed your eyes as you remembered it... the glint of silver steel, the sharp pain of it tracing a thin line into your shouder, the threat of it against your throat... 

You reached your hand down to your heat when your phone rang out. You picked it up. 

“Hello?” 

“Is that offer still on the table?” Leon’s voice emanated over the speaker. It sounded... tired, yes, but there was something else under it. A danger that dripped from his words like black honey. 

“Uh, depends which one?” You sat up, bringing the bottle to your lips for another sip. 

“The one where I use you.” 

A thrill ran straight to your core. You tried to cover up your loss of words with a drink of wine, leaving him on the cusp of tension. One more sip, for bravery, and then you gave an affirmative. 

“What kind of wine are you drinking?” 

“What?” You looked around the dark living room, your eyes still not adjusted from staring at the TV. “How did you know...?” 

A chill took you then as a sharp, cold wind whipped through the house. Your eyes drifted over to the front door. It sat open. 

How did you not hear him unlock the door? 

You stared at it frozen in place. The door seemed to swing shut on it’s own. He wanted you to know he’d gotten in unnoticed. How long had he been watching you?

You were dimly aware of the line going dead. The high pitched whine barely heard over the sound of your own heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Your instincts brought you back into sharp focus at the sound of combat boots on hardwood floors. He was approaching you fast. Then he materialized, long strides making quick work of the living room. The flickering of the light revealed little more than what was bare skin. His arms, his face - harshly shadowed by the raw TV light.

Then the TV went black, and the room plunged into empty darkness. The sound of his boots were silenced.

You held your breath.

A sharp noise from the movie. The room lights up. Leon is just a few feet away, moving as silently as a ghost. His intense expression is made sinister by the harsh light his sharp features.

Your brain screamed danger as fight or flight kicked in. Self preservation is making decisions for you and your hand tightens around the wine bottle. It’s lofted above your head and then released, sailing right towards him.

The motherfucker catches it. Mid-air. He never breaks his stride, his eyes never leave yours; the best defense option you had barely even an inconvenience that takes him no effort to deflect. He leaves it on a side table as he advances towards you.

Fear flows through you like an animal caught in a trap. The heat between your legs quickly follows.

The TV goes black. The room goes dark.

You turn to run but you barely make it a few steps. You don't even hear him coming. I mean, he's wearing big ass combat boots, why can't you hear him behind you?! His hand grabs your elbow and you let out a surprised shriek, cut short when your momentum is redirected into the wall. Your back hits it hard enough to make you whimper. 

"Shit," Leon hisses. "Are you-"

"It was hot," you tell him quickly, shutting him up.

Then he's on you again, kissing your neck. One hand holds your jaw in a rough grip and you recognize the feeling of his leather gloves. You try to turn your head but he holds you fast. Demanding. His mouth descends on your pulse, then the thin skin of your throat, then the soft curve beneath your ear. You whimper. Your hips rock towards him already needy for him. He licks down your neck leaving a warm trail that quickly goes cold in the night air. Then he's biting the muscle above your collar bone, hard enough to make you wince. Your hand comes up to his head and you try to push him off.

He doesn't even budge. Your other hand comes up to the broad of his chest and you try to use the wall as leverage. You might as well be doing nothing at all. 

"Leon," you whimper. He releases his teeth from your neck with a chuckle that curls fear inside you. He likes seeing you helpless. 

His hands take your wrists, leading them above your head. You try to squirm out of his grasp. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of pinning you. Partly out of the fear of what he could do if you can’t push him away, his entire aura shifted to something more angry and dangerous than usual. 

"Don't pretend like you don't like it," he says into the angle of your jaw. He leaves soft kisses there while he effortlessly pins your arms above your head. He holds them there with one hand.

The other gropes and squeezes it’s way down your body. Your chest, your side, your waist. He grabs a hold of your hips, thumb perfectly lining up with the dune of your hipbone. He pulls your hips towards him harshly enough to draw a noise from your lips. He works his knee between your thighs, then pushes them open. You swallows any protests with a kiss. His knee presses against your sensitive cunt and you whimper against his lips in response. 

“Ohh, what happened to all the struggling?” Leon mocks you, punctuating his words by squeezing your wrists hard enough to bruise. His hand comes up under your t-shirt and you shiver against the sensation of his gloves on your bare skin. You melt. Fucking putty in his hands.

You open your mouth to speak, but he grinds his knee into you, and the only sound you can make is a desperate whine. He makes a satisfied hum, doing it again, obviously reveling in the power he has over you.

You try to meet his gaze. You want to say something smart or mean, but the look in his eyes levels you. Already obscured by darkness, something else hides in his expression. A genuine anger in his eyes that made you nervous.

Warmth burns in you as you realize you might be playing with real fire. You take in the sight of him. Broad chest in tactical gear- the knife holster a hopeful promise of things to come- his knee pressed against you still. His strong arms cornering this little section of the world off to just the two of you. Your eyes travel back to his and you can’t help but smile mischievously. Then you turn your head and bite into his arm, grinding your hips down against him at the same time. 

You expect him to hiss an insult. To degrade you. To threaten to punish you for being such a difficult little slut, always pushing the limits. He just goes still. His muscles flex as if he’s containing something. Silent. 

Methodically, his hands moved down your limbs to your head with surgical precision. The nervousness builds in you. His fingers practically envelop your skull. With one harsh movement, he’s pushed you down onto your knees. He undoes his belt and pulls himself free, his beautiful cock glistening with pre-cum. One gloved hand presses hard into your jaw. Harder. His thumb pressing against the muscles there until you open your mouth for him. The head of his cock comes to rest against your lips.

The taste of salt and Leon’s soap is too tempting to resist. He was usually such a giver, and when you went down on him, he always liked it slow. You lick up the length of his cock and he shivers in response. He drops his hands to your shoulders and you watch his forearms flex in pleasure. Your tongue swirls around his soft tip, and then you take him into your mouth soft and sweet.

Except... this time he doesn’t respond with shaking breaths and high pitched whimpers. Not even an utterance of your name. Insecurity flashes through you - you were sure this is how he usually liked it. Were you not doing well enough for him? You cast your eyes upwards for guidance, barely able to see him in the dark. 

“You really think that’s going to cut it?” His voice is cold and hard. Then his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down onto his cock so fast and deep you almost gag. You pull away to drag a sharp breath into your lungs, abdomen muscles flexing.

 “You want to be fucked like a slut, you’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls you back down onto him.

Suppressing the urge to gag brings tears to your eyes, and it isn’t long until they’re falling down your cheek, mingling with the saliva making a mess of your mouth and chin. Wet, choking noises echo into the empty hall. When you start to slow, whimpering from the effort, he’s quick to pick up the slack. He thrusts his hips forward, pinning your head between him and the wall. You choke and gag around him, struggling to adjust around the brutal pace he sets, fucking your throat like you're nothing to him but a toy. Your hands come up to his hips, but he wrenches them away with a furious grunt. 

He pulls out suddenly, thick strands of saliva dripping off his cock. His breathing is hard and sweat rolls down the lines of his ab muscles. Your shoulders slump and you try to catch your breath. You’re absolutely spent. How humiliating that he didn’t even have to touch you to keep you wet for him, a vague sense of disgust emanating through your core.

“Was that good enough?” you weakly ask, but you might as well be begging him to fuck you for the look in your eyes. You don’t even bother to wipe the spit from your chin or the tears from your cheeks. You hope the sight gets under his skin so he can fuck you just as rough as he did your throat. 

“I don’t buy it,” he says. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. 

“What?” 

“I just don’t buy that you want me to fuck you.” 

You’re about to ask what you can possibly do more to prove it when something hard presses against your warmth, pushing your soaked boxers against you. You look down do see Leon presenting his boot. Steel toed and tightly tied, the mere sight of them would be enough to get you to blush. But this?

You look up at him, but all he does is look back at you, expectantly. Your can feel the heat creeping up your neck as you adjust to straddle his boot. You keep hoping he’ll just end your suffering by mocking you for even considering it, but it never comes. The cold, hard leather against you sends a wave of electricity through your body. Your hips are moving on their own. Your body desperate for anything it can get, chasing it’s high no matter how humiliating. You turn your face away from him, unable to stand him looking at you like this. Grinding against his boot... 

“There they are. My desperate little bitch,” his voice has the first touch of warmth it’s had all night. It’s enough to spurn you on, the heat coiling in your abdomen. You pick up the pace against your will, your body chasing ecstasy like an uncaged animal. And Leon just watches you, expression never changing, never reaching down to touch you. God, were you really going to cum on his boot while he looked at you like that?

He kneeled down to one knee, doing his best not to disturb your work. His strong hands take hold of your hips and push you harder against his boot, dragging your hips up and down. You moan, tears collecting in your eyes again. You can’t believe you’re enjoying this. Even - no, especially because it hurt. You were getting closer, your moans coming faster. 

“Beg for it,” Leon orders. 

“Please let me cum, Leon, please.” 

“Tsk. Not that,” he pulls his boot away like he's disgusted and you whimper in protest. Then, as if you were light as a feather, he’s tossing you to the side. You catch yourself on your elbows and feel them scrape against the hardwood. Your hips grind against the air as they searched for any friction at all that would send you over the edge. They found nothing. 

“You’re pathetic.” He sounds bored as he stands to his full height above you.

You watch a gloved hand pull the knife from it’s sheath at his chest. It captures his full attention, glinting in the light of the TV behind him. When he speaks, it's almost to the room.

 “Isn’t this your favourite part? Where you try and fail to escape?” 

You don’t move. He flips the knife in the air, catching it by the tip of the blade, and then again to catch it by the handle. He admires it as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Start crawling,” he suggests. 

You push yourself onto tired, shaking limbs and try to get up. They give out on you. You pull yourself forward on your elbows instead. You hear the floorboard creek beneath his weight. The another. Then another. You feel small crawling beneath him, listening to the gentle whirl of the blade as he tosses it in the air.  The floorboard creaked again, then again. 

You turned to look at him. You were almost overwhelmed at how he towered above you. His broad shoulders blocking out the light in the hallway. One hand busy toying with the knife, the other pulling his pants further down his hips. He was clearly taking his time.

“You ever wonder why you like to fight so much?” You watch boot follow boot in lazy strides until they were at either side of your ribcage, standing above you.

“Should I let you get away again?” he asks, but then he’s dropping to his knees, pinning you beneath him. Fear takes hold of your vocal chords and you make a desperate noise, pushing at his legs. “Will you just give in already?” 

He readjusts, turning your body to face him. Your heart is hammering in your chest. One gloved hand finds your neck, squeezing tightly, his palm pressing against your throat just hard enough to hurt. You feel lightheaded. Then weightless. Panic starts rising in you while it still has time to, Leon pushing you to your limits. Your vision starts to go dark around the edges. You bring a hand up, tapping his arm three times - your safe signal.

He releases and you gasp for air. He lets you catch your breath, and for a minute you’re almost angry. But the growing wet between your legs betrays you to yourself, forcing you to admit you liked being pushed to the edge. An exhilarated smile picks up the corners of your mouth and Leon, intently waiting for you to lead, just watches.

“More,” is all you need to say, and he’s on you again. Hand lighter on your throat, he brandishes the knife to catch your eye. It makes contact with your skin and you fight to control a shiver. 

It curls around your shoulder, then down your collar bone. The curved point leaving a thin, red cut beneath the bone. You gasp, back arching into the sting. He withdraws. 

“If you keep fucking squirming, I’m going to hurt you for real.” It’s as much a warning as it is a threat, and the dark rasp of his voice sends a chill down your spine. 

When you go still again, he continues. The knife crosses your chest, taking it’s time tracing each and every one of your ribs. He draws a bead of blood there, before lifting the blade again. You moan, squeezing your thighs together to keep from moving your hips. The anticipation almost too much for you. But the movement catches his eye. He sheaths the knife, and then he’s prying your thighs apart so hard you feel the ache in your hips. You try to shimmy away, but his hands hold your thighs fast against him. 

“Fucking, hold still,” he grunts, squeezing his hands around the squish of your thighs hard enough that you make a noise. "What part of stop squirming do you not get?"

Your hand comes up to his hips, trying to hold them at a distance, but it doesn’t help. He pulls you closer to him and you feel his cock hard and leaking over your boxers. Fuck, you almost come undone all over again. Feeling him pressed against you like this... his cock easily reaching your belly button, reminding you how deep inside you he could be. 

“Leon, please,” you whimper. 

“Please what?” He asks. You feel the cold blade against the tender, exposed part of your thigh. 

“Please fuck me.” 

He grunts, a noise that commits to nothing. He pulls the fabric of your boxers off your body and slips the knife beneath it. He cuts the thin fabric off of you in a show of strength and skill that intimidates you. 

He leans over you slowly, his hips pressed flush against yours, his cock pressed against where you want it most. A gloved hand comes up to your face then, holding your jaw hard as he turns your face away from his. The knife's beautiful surface approaches your cheek. Your breath picks up, fear coursing through you. He says nothing, and it makes it all the more terrifying. Your instincts freeze every muscle in your body. 

“You asked for this,” he reminds you, tracing the curve of your cheek. You bite your lip.

 He sheaths the knife, and you realize then that he's still entirely dressed, his pants only pulled down enough to fuck you. He shifts his hips, lining up with your needy hole. You’re already moaning for him.

“Begging me to use you like this, begging me to hurt you like this.” He pushes into you, your cunt struggling to adjust to his size. He only makes it a couple inches. He pulls out of you, then thrusts again, moaning as he does. This time when he pushes into you, he completely fills you. You both release an almost victorious sigh.

“Always fucking struggling. Can never just make it easy,” he growls, that angry look in his eye. His jaw flexes. Your cunt tenses around him.

He thrusts into you again, and again, so hard it feels like he could fuck you in half. He dips his face into your neck, moaning.

"You want me to force you onto my cock." His voice tightened with effort, but never lost that black-honey edge. "Can't say no to you. Do this because I love you."

You reach up and cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric. His words shouldn't thrill you, but they did. Your eyes flutter closed. Your body shook beneath him.

“So fucked up,” Leon’s hips start to pick up their pace. You wrap your legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him deeper into you. You find yourself moaning his own words back at him; so fucked up, so fucked up. 

Fuck, he felt so good. The two of you dissolved into senseless babbling, saying whatever it took to push each other closer to the edge. A meaningless cloud of fuck and just like that and you begged for this until neither of you could form words at all. Your pace became erratic, moaning into each other’s necks, limbs tightening around each other as you both approached your highs.

“Fuck, fuck, m’so-” you barely manage, panting and moaning through your words. Your thighs tighten around him and he groans in response. 

And then you’re coming undone together. His hips driving his cock as deep as they can with the primal need to fuck his cum deeper inside you. You take it, greedily, breathlessly as your own climax rocks through your body like an earthquake. 

He rests his forehead against your chest while he pulls out of you, then collapses onto the hardwood floor of the hallway beside you. He turns you onto your side and buries his head against your back, forearms tight against your chest while he hugs you close to him. 

“I didn’t think,” you take a deep breath, trying not to pant through your sentence, “that when I asked you to use me after your work trips, that it’d be like that.” 

“Bad?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically small. 

“No, no,” you rush to recover the situation. You lace your fingers with his, “Of course not.” 

He says nothing. You turn to look at him, and there’s that distant, angry look on his face. 

“Are you okay...?” 

“I wish I could tell you about it,” he says. You hum as acknowledgement, wishing you could say anything, but feeling like nothing was the right thing to say. Instead you just let him hold you for awhile. 

“Time to shower?” you offer eventually.

You feel his muscles flex beneath you. Tension suddenly crackles in the air. His hand is on your hip. He uses his body weight to push you over, his full frame pinning you in place, still-hard cock slipping between your thighs.

“No. I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

[kaishin-fic-rec]

Let's Go Get Lost (kaishin)

by: speckled_dragon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454282/chapters/33390519

chapters: 3/3 words: 24,838

Summary:

Shinichi always knew he’d leave when no one needed him anymore. He just hadn’t expected anyone to chase after him.

Lil note:

Canon compliant, post-canon

As a kid, Shinichi has promised himself that despite having a wanderlust, he would stay in Japan as long as he was needed here. But after the Conan predicament, he finds out he no longer has any reason to stay. So he leaves the country the moment he gets his chance without realising that there actually is someone who needed him.

(read more for tags)

Tags:

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences No Archive Warnings Apply

Pairings: Kudou Shinichi/Kuroba Kaito

Others: Post-Canon Post-Black Organization Takedown Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Alternate Universe World Travel Travel Post-Conan Kudou Shinichi Happy Ending Emotional Hurt/Comfort Hurt/Comfort Wanderlust

[authenticcadence18]

Twice this week I have received comments on Can’t Help Falling in Love critiquing my use of tags and I’m just like?

those “extra” tags have been there for four years? no im not going to delete them?? I think if it truly was a big issue one of my moots/writer friends would’ve brought it up to me by now???

I use tags to express my creative voice and personality. And I DO include lots of real tags.

if someone makes something FOR FREE and it’s not harmful maybe just say what you like about it and move on?

like? do yall like my tags?? have my tags dissuaded you from checking out my stuff??? because I’ve been posting on ao3 since 2019 and this is the first time anyone has ever brought it up :/

[lemon-russ]

I’m too much of a coward to write it under the post, but AGHHGHHGGHGH Leman and the baby soooo fucking cute I’m telling ya and his expression? My lord, awesome!!!!I’m eating this art so muuuuuuch as my curiosity about the development of half-primarch might look like had risen yet again.

Half-Primarch coming along swimmingly

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

I can never understand a word but oh do I love receiving these comments

I can't find their first ever comment sad (⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠)