#i need to have his babies actually

[huckleberrykai]

OMFG!! also also- future dad bod kai :3 i mean he’s more on the muscley side but still

(barely nsfw)

FUCK WHY DIDN;T I GET A NOTIF FOR THIS FUC FUCJ

hairy dad bod kai literally has me foaming at the mouth, on my knees, no thoughts only hot hairy squishy man. when husband!kai settles down with u he kinda just lets his body hair go wild. he doesn't give a fuck, he knows you don't give a fuck - but he's definitely satisfied with his decision when he sees how worked up you get over his squishy hairy body. he has the body and the sweet personality.. now all he needs is to knock u up to achieve true maximum dilf status~ and that's exactly what he's gonna do hehehe

[aroaceleovaldez]

underappreciated Nico detail that I like - he seems to be an angry crier! very frequently he's angry when he cries and he cries when he's extremely angry. very AuDHD of him. emotional regulation sucks my guy and he's just going through it.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Introvert adoption

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[uc1wa]

18+ minors dni

tags: fem reader, cockwarming, mentions of penetrative sex

big tough, bad, strong jason is sensitive.

the man kills and fights all night, he has to be strong while he's on patrol. so when he comes home to you? his little wife who knows how to take care of him?

he thinks you’re the sweetest girl in the world.

he climbs through the window, always landing on his back, sometimes staying there for a beat longer if it's a real bad day.

and you... you're the perfect wife he could ask for.

you're guiding him to the edge of the bed, robe hanging loosely around your frame as you take his red mask off, dropping it to the side. you're so graciously, slowly unzipping him of his cargo pants, you know he can't do it without you, right? his pretty green eyes watching you with hunger and want. if eyes could beg... the 6'4 man in front of you would be crying on his hands and knees.

your small hands pull out his larger than life length, and he whimpers just at the small feeling. he's been the one taking initiative all day, he needs somebody to take care of him, remember?

and he's sorry that he came home like this... came home hard and frustrated. he never means it! it’s just difficult when he knows he’s coming home to you. what else is he supposed to do?

and when you place your legs on either side of him, your hole wet and slick and ready for him, he’s reminded you’re made for him. he bites his lip when you slide down. staying there, because he just needs the comfort of you being wrapped around him right now. he needs your tightness around his cock if he even wants to think about being the red hood again tomorrow.

his cheeks turn pink, like they always do and his head rests in the crook of your neck, licking and kissing sloppily and slowly as his cock is being warmed by you. he doesn't move. he doesn't grab your hips and move you against him... he could pump you full right now, his tip hitting your cervix feverishly. instead, he whines against you, whimpers as he lets you lead.

he whispers that you're the only one made for him. you prepped yourself before he came just so he didn’t have to wait an extra minute. you know you’re his angel right?

and he stays there, he’s good for you! he’s grateful and wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

his big, rough, scarred hands sit on your hips, rubbing soft circles as his lips let out little and quiet moans. reminders that you’re his. that nobody could compare to you. that your pretty body is made for him.

[rayveneyed]

cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

[akai-anna]

Hattori Heiji: *effortlessly jumps over traffic barrier*

Kudou Shinichi: *leaping over the same traffic barrier and stumbling*

[gunstellations]

itll be alright

[emdotcom]

Yeah, so while I was on my "I'm going to read into Vanny/Vanessa as much as possible" journey, I noticed an odd quirk in her animations in how she moves. At first, I thought it reminded me of a ballerina, 'cause she's kinda tip-toeing, & she has this way of keeping her head & chest in one place as she moves, but I looked again & realized --

That's not ballet! She's doing a tight-rope act. Like, look at this one:

This is like standing up on the wooden boards before you do the actual tight-rope walking, & the ring leader is hyping you up as you do some fun movement for the crowds. &, then, these:

These are all instances where she walks with one foot directly in front of the other. In that third, she's doing the "woaaah" wiggly-ass balance movements & everything, as if she's swaying up at the top of the tent, even though she's down on solid ground.

Idk, I feel like the way her feet are placed isn't accurate (pretty sure they should be pointed left & right, not both forwards...) doesn't make this 100% correct, but I like it. It also connects back with her first SB teaser, wherein she's up in the rafters.

[starry-bi-sky]

DPXDC Idea: Mother of Monsters Dan(yal)

Specifically Fem!Dan because I made this in mind with my Fem Danyal Au bUT. The best part about Dan is that I get to play dress up with her, and Fem Dark Dany is gonna go by Layal (pronounced lae-el) because it means "the nights" and it sounds similar to Danyal, and I think she'd choose that name to mock Dany. ANYWAYS

Mother of Monsters Danyal. She may be evil but she's an Al Ghul at her core (even with vlad's soul merged with hers - however, considering that Layal looks and sounds like Dany, she considers that soul to be the more dominant one.) and loves animals. And she might be heartless, but she adores the monsters of the infinite realms.

Mother of Monsters Layal who hates everyone but utterly dotes and adores on every manner of beast she comes across. Stealing the eggs and infant young beasts of the Infinite Realms to raise as her own because she wanted them. Her own island full of monsters, a monstrous menagerie of her own. She steals most often from poachers or exotic pet keepers and other menageries -- the full grown beasties can keep their young.

And with every monster she raises, she can shapeshift their features onto herself, allowing her to change her shape from humanish to any matter of monster or hybrid creature. She calls herself their mother, and them her children. Her precious little babies, capable of incredible mass destruction and mayhem.

From little griffins the size of kittens, to stymphalian vulture chicks, and leviathan young hatching from eggs the size of her pinkie, to creatures native of the ghost zone that didn't even have names in the living realm. There really wasn't a limit to what or who she would take in and she didn't limit herself to any form of mythology. If they were beasts and they were unwanted, she wanted them. And as such, amassed her own mini army of "children" willing to listen to her any command.

Earth doesn't know what hit it when she attacks them.

There are many monstrous forms she could take on, the first one I've thought of is a combination of various serpentine/reptilian features. The body of a naga -- her lower half long and serpentine, her upper still human -- with spiked fins connecting from the bottom of her arms to her sides, ever seen Sinbad where Eris goes "you might have seen my likeness on the temple walls" and her arms do that fin thingy? Same concept. Her hands are webbed and taloned, perfect for slicing through the skin of the living, and her teeth are needle-sharp and shark like. Her hair can either be spiny and feathery-like like the spines of a lionfish, or frilled like a frilled-neck lizard. It's perfect for dealing and doting on her reptilian and amphibian-inclined darlings.

I'm more of a fan of aus where Dan is a sibling of Danny's rather than their kid, so Layal's redemption(..?? probation?) proceeds with her legally becoming Danyal's "twin" sister, who had been lost to the foster system before the Fentons adopted Dany, and was only recently reunited with her. The two of them look so alike that the lie is easy to take root and spread.

Layal is very indignant to the fact that she's now ten years in the past and has to restart her menagerie all over again. Do you know how much blood and sweat went into raising those children? How dare you separate them from their mummy. Although she'll admit she does miss their juvenile years, so she won't mind (too much) needing to raising them again. Dany is helping her retrieve all of them though, dammit.

long story short: epic the musical's "Scylla" has a CHOKEHOLD on me and this is the result of it

Unlike her Dan counterpart, Layal's voice is dancing and sirenic. It's purposely alluring and motherly, in order to lure people into a false sense of security until she feeds them to her "children." Echidna doesn't have shit on her. She almost seems friendly and reasonable, until you get too close and realize it was all an act and she drops it to metaphorically swallow you whole. She's like an anglerfish that way. She and Dany both sound like Scylla from Epic.

[inmyloveworld]

MERCY FROM DADDY HALSIN IM BEGGING

Rainy Days with Halsin

After the wars waged in your past, it seemed impossible to live a life of peace. For the years after the events of Baldur's Gate, terrors plagued your sleep. Even your waking hours seemed haunted.

But time helped to heal those wounds in your soul. There are still scars. You can feel the tug of those memories from time to time. But you can always rely on one person to help you feel safe.

Halsin.

Your years spent with him have helped to mend the wounds in your mind. His patience helped calm the demons. And you saved each other in a way, as he was fighting monsters of his own.

These thoughts distract you from the book in your hand. You rub your thumb along the rough texture of the page, and let the patter of the rain on the window lull you back to the world presented before you.

Halsin naps against your chest. The rain always puts him to sleep. His arm is slung over your abdomen. The weight of his massive arm is almost uncomfortable, if it weren't for the warmth it brings to your bones.

The sound of thunder rumbles outside the cabin. The noise is soothing to you, reminding you of your summers as a child. Halsin shifts a bit, nuzzling against your chest.

Then there's the thumping of footsteps coming down the hallway. And the creek of your door as big round eyes meet yours. You put your book down, smiling.

Another boom of thunder rattles the cabin. Your daughter rushes into your bed, immediately going to her father. His eyes don't even open as he lets Willow into his embrace. She grabs onto him for dear life, fear in her eyes.

You reach over and tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Her eyes find yours.

"The thunder still bothers you, hm?" you ask.

She nods frantically.

You watch her for a moment, never tiring of seeing the perfect combination of you and Halsin into this little person.

"Did you know that the thunder and lightning are friends?" you ask her.

Curiosity crosses her perfect features. You feel another pair of eyes on you, and you look to see Halsin watching you as well.

"They're the closest of friends," you explain to her. "And when you hear the thunder rumble, he's simply trying to speak to his friend. And when lightning strikes, she's speaking back."

Your daughter doesn't say anything, she simply shifts her eyes to the window nearby. Her gaze is filled with wonder.

"That's why your mother and I get along so well," Halsin says. His smile is warm as he reaches over to you and pulls you against him as well. "She's the lightning to my thunder."

Halsin holds his two girls close against his chest. His heart overflows with joy at the sensation of your heartbeats against him. He closes his eyes and soaks in this feeling. This feeling of safety, and contentment.

The overwhelming love he feels for you two is nearly painful. He's never felt such dedication in his life, even to the energies of nature. And he's grateful that the storm of your shared lives created such a beautiful future.

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

This isn't what it looks like.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[turtleblogatlast]

I am once again reiterating that Leo could and should be a figure skater because what are ice skates if not twin blades? What is dual blade swordsmanship if not a dance-like performance? Using the skates as blades themselves could let Leo make portals be his ice rink no? I rest my case. ⛸️

[aleeyenn]

LIGHTNING GJINKAAAAA

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[hella1975]

dabihawks are a perfect ship like they're a blue-red dynamic they're character foils one was the son of a hero and became a villain one was the son of a villain and became a hero they're heavy-handed societal extremes they're perfect opposites they're the exact same they're child soldiers they're animal motif coded there is so much there symbolically to justify the ship but if you asked me the real reason i enjoy them? they are insane. like they are both so freakishly mentally ill and they're dysfunctional and toxic and traumatised and they bug the fuck out of each other and they hate each other and they understand each other's morals better than anyone while still fundamentally opposing each other and i want nothing more than to put those two freaks in situations just to see who explodes the other first