#intense prompts

[mischievous-thunder]

How the sensual action part of their rom-com started

[cementcornfield]

I got up and then wasn't quite sure what to do. I was holding the ball and then I looked at Ja'Marr and he shrugged and said what are you gonna do? And I just started hitting it, I dunno. We locked eyes and I just started doing it....

[lacehartz]

big bro! rafe who only ever eats u out thru ur underwear to begin with because it makes him feel less like a sick freak… until he can’t help himself anymore and is pulling them aside <33

i found the perfect p!link to go along with this !!! not exactly what you asked for but i feel like this fits a bit better <33 cw in tags.

he’d so be the type to do it when you’re sleeping too, because in his head that’s the only way he can excuse it </3 the first time he breaks into your room, he’d told himself it was just to take a pair of panties — something to hold him over. but when he saw you laying there, legs spread and blanket half wrapped around you, he knew he was thinking with his dick. he’d gotten down on his knees at the edge of your bed, just staring at something no brother should ever be eye to eye with. he was entranced, bewitched, and it wasn’t long before he was surging forward, pressing his nose against your core. and god did you smell divine. he’d give up all the lines in the world if it meant he got to inhale and sniff at your pussy for the rest of his life. but you’d twisted in his sleep, let out a little sound and it scared him. he didn’t want you waking up, didn’t want to see the look of disgust and fear, so he’d left. crawled out of your room the same way he’d come in, like a coward.

since that moment, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. if you smelt that good, then surely .. surely you tasted good too, right? you’d ruined him completely, he couldn’t even fuck anyone else without his head blaring out a loud and annoying “wrongwrongwrong.” rafe realises he’s way too far gone when he’s begging barry for something that’ll keep you quiet, something that’ll lock you away in dreamland while he acts on his sick desires. he’s grateful that barry doesn’t care or raises any questions about what he’s planning to do with the roofie pills.

rafe had slipped one into the glass of water on your nightstand while you were at dinner, waiting quietly in his room until he saw the light go out from under your door. his chest aches painfully as he sneaks in once again, the movements now familiar with how often he’d been doing it. and there you were in all your glory; white cotton panties and a small tank top, mouth open and nipples piercing through your shirt. he barely reminds himself to check whether you’d actually drunk the water before he’s between your legs again, this time with resolve. rafe closes his eyes, hoping that it’d make it better. he could pretend you were someone else, someone who wasn’t his little sister. his pink tongue peeks out of his salivating mouth, hesitating just for a moment, and then he’s flat against your centre.

he moans. he moans loud and unabashedly, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he flicks and licks and nibbles at your perfect cunt over your panties. you taste like coke and sugar and he knows this won’t be enough. he’d need more. he was a greedy, disgusting man and here he was, brought to his knees in bliss, because of you.

rafe can’t think anymore. it’s like he’s on autopilot, lapping at you like a starved dog. your panties grow translucent quickly, a mix of his saliva and your own unwanted arousal. he loves how pliant you are. loves how he can spread your thighs and slurp as hard as he wants at your clit, knowing you won’t wake up, that you can’t. rafe’s cock strains against the fabric of his briefs, hard and swollen and leaking. he wants nothing more than to rut against you, against your drooly pussy. he wants to be enveloped by your warmth. but the guilt starts crawling up his spine again, shooting sparks and crackling angrily. he feels like throwing up, as if his brain has finally realised what he was doing.

he stumbles up, chin wet with his own drool and he flees. he runs back to his room, dizzy and lost and still so fucking hard. rafe can’t stop himself. he has to do it. he’s reaching into his briefs, choking his dick in his fist, doesn’t even give himself the satisfaction of building it up. three strokes and he’s cumming all over his hand, thick globs of cum sticking to the same fingers he’d just used to spread open your legs.

despite the shame and horror and guilt flowing through him in a rare moment of post-nut clarity, he knows himself. rafe knew he’d be back in your room. he knew he’d be on his knees again and he knew tasting you through your panties wouldn’t work for long. he just hoped the guilt got easier to deal with.

[harbingersecho]

being a vampire in a surveillance state is a challenge of its own

[half-bakedboy]

Number 2 from the 50 cliché tropes and prompts

Your shirt/jumper was in the laundry pile and I couldn't help but steal it

Buck never understood why he had lost so many sweatshirts and button-downs to past girlfriends. Nine times out of ten, they didn't even remotely fit their figure and they were only worn in the comfort of Buck's home anyways. 

Then he started staying over Tommy's house more and more. He'd always come prepared–an overnight bag filled with an extra LAFD shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of chinos, and two shirts, one with a collar and one without–just in case he needed to rush out in the morning. 

This morning, he isn’t quite as prepared as he wishes he had been. Tommy’s in the shower after sleepily kissing Buck good morning and Buck promised he’d run Hercules–Tommy’s ten-year-old retired racing greyhound–outside before Tommy dropped Buck off at work. Thunder crashes outside and rain pounds on the roof, and Buck didn’t even think to bring a jacket. 

He looks around the bedroom closet, careful not to invade the private space too much, but he doesn’t see anything that might help. He knows there’s an umbrella waiting beside the door, but he’s already shivering from the chill sneaking in through the closed windows and Buck knows he’ll need something to protect his skin. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a pullover laid neatly on top of the laundry pile. It’s similar to his LAFD one, but a lighter blue that matches Tommy’s on-duty uniform. It won’t keep him dry, but it’ll keep him warm and keep the water off of his skin which is all he has time to care about. He snatches it up and shouts to Tommy that he’s taking the dog outside even though he’s not sure he’s heard. 

Before he gets too far, Buck pauses to get the pullover on. The first thing he notices is how much bigger it is on him. He’s not a small guy by any means, and he’s not much smaller than Tommy–at least he thinks–but there’s so much extra fabric that he has to bundle it up at his waist. He can also tell that the back doesn’t stretch taut against his shoulder blades and that the neckline slouches a little in the front. 

It’s strange to wear something so unfit for him, but at the same time, Buck can’t help but feel giddy. He glances at himself in the mirror and feels small, but not in the way he usually does. It doesn’t make him feel inconsequential or overlooked, but like he’s protected and well-loved. It stirs inside of his stomach until the joy begins to bubble in his chest. 

He notices that Tommy’s name is embroidered just over his heart, and he brings his fingers there to trace over the lettering. It takes everything in him not to whisper his name combined with Tommy’s last and he wonders if this was how his old girlfriends felt when they stole his LAFD shirts that had his name brazen on the back. 

Where he expected to be a bit embarrassed at the claiming nature of it all, he can’t help but feel… powerful. Yeah, there’s something powerful about wearing someone else's name, like he’s screaming to the world that Tommy is off-limits because he’s Buck’s. 

He’s Buck’s. 

He’s too busy thinking about what exactly that means for him to hear the bathroom door open and a freshly showered and shaved Tommy emerge. Another figure beside Buck’s reflection startles him but Tommy’s reassuring hands slide around his waist. It’s strange how normal it feels to have strong, long arms wrapped around him and a broad chest waiting to hold him up as he leans back against it. 

“You’re wet,” Buck says, feeling the dampness on Tommy’s unclothed chest. He’s in sweatpants like he’s ready to lounge around for the day, but the bare skin of his upper body is clearly on display where Buck’s body isn’t hiding it. He wants to pull away just so he can take another peek. 

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice nor care that Buck is analyzing them because he’s too busy doing the same. There’s something in his eyes, though, that sends an eruption of warmth to Buck’s face. Tommy tugs at the extra fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s having the same realization as Buck did, and then he slides one hand up Buck’s chest to trace his name. He whispers each letter like a secret into Buck’s ear, piercing eyes never leaving Buck’s in the mirror. 

Buck shivers, pressing back against Tommy and leaning his head back so that it plops on Tommy’s shoulder comfortably. Tommy finishes his name before dragging a finger to the neckline of the pullover and letting it hang there like a weight that keeps Buck grounded.

“You’re wearing my jumper,” Tommy points out like he doesn’t already know. Buck suddenly feels anxious, like he’s made a horrible mistake, and stands back up straight. He turns to look at Tommy as he speaks. 

“Is that okay? I didn’t bring a jacket so I figured—” 

Tommy kisses him before he can finish, and Buck can only hope it becomes a pattern. 

It’s just as soft as their first kiss and every kiss they’ve shared since then, but it grows in passion second by second. Tommy is gripping the fabric at Buck’s waist like he’s deciding whether he wants to pull it over Buck’s head or leave it on his forever. Buck holds his naked shoulders, palms sliding down the hard planes of his chest then his abs, before sliding underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. 

When a cold nose hits his hand, Buck jumps back, out of breath and startled. Hercules is staring up at them like he’s let them have their fun and he’s done waiting to go outside. Tommy swipes at his face as he chuckles and Buck leans down to pat Herc’s head. 

“I’m sorry, Buddy. Am I stealing all of your dad’s attention?” Buck coos, and he can almost hear Tommy’s good-natured eye roll. 

“Well, if Evan here is done distracting me, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you outside, huh?” 

“Oh, if Evan is done distracting you? Like you didn’t just walk out of the shower half-naked and damp and looking like you wanted to drop to your kn–” Buck inhales deeply when Tommy glances down then back up and raises his eyebrows. “Alright, I’m out of here. Be right back,” he promises, pressing one last kiss to Tommy’s reddened lips. 

“Mhm,” Tommy hums, watching him start to walk away. 

“Do you want your pullover back?” Buck asks, because he figures that’s what he would’ve wanted to be asked. 

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours now.”

It sounds a lot like I’m yours now, but Buck doesn’t dare ask. Instead, he takes Hercules out, ignoring the storm rumbling above him, and strokes his thumb distractingly against Tommy’s name over his heart. He guesses he’s Tommy’s now, too.

(now on ao3)

[catchameme]

Send ❛You left! You left and never looked back! What was I supposed to do?❜ for my character's reaction.

[hypewinter]

Ellie is raising a de-aged Danny in Gotham as it's the only place other than Amity Park with ample ambient ectoplasm. Finding a job was kinda hard considering she spent most of her life traveling so she didn't exactly have a 'proper' education nor identity. Luckily for her Mr. Cobblepot doesn't require any fancy certificate and doesn't ask any questions. He even lets her bring Danny in (of course, provided he stays in his carrier in a corner unseen by customers) since he's so well behaved and she's proven to be an excellent mixologist.

The batclan sees what is obviously a teen mom working for Penguin. She probably got kicked out by her parents for getting knocked up. That just won't do. No girl needs to be working while taking care of a baby. Let alone working for Cobblepot. They need to get her out of there. Asap.

You know.... Bruce is still technically a foster parent. And she does have the standard traits....

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

A Martyr From the Ashes

For everyone in the fandom saying saying that Danny thinks Martian ManHunter is cooler than Superman, we don't really see it all that much in writing.

I'mma try and fix that...

~•~•~•~•~•~

The Martian Book of Legends held the heroic tale of Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun of Mars, a sickly albino priest of a small town that held marriages, sermons regarding life and how it should be enriched and lived to its fullest, and specialized in funerals that used cremations with fire, a feat thought to be physically impossible by the masses. As people saw him look into the flames without fear while others cowered, rumors spread that the young man was blessed by H'ronmeer himself, the Martian God of Fire, Life, and Death.

People spoke about how Da'han'yul turned down all attempts at courtship, for he had decided to dedicate his life to bring light in the darkest times to all lives in the name of his God. He was a thing of beauty with a gentle soul and shy demeanor, even the Red and Green skinned who had still held a firm belief on the caste system could not deny his charm. How the terminally ill Martian carried on his mission with a smile, nobody knew.

However, tragedy struck on the day that should have spelled the beginning of the end for the Martian people. A parasitic species had invaded the Martian Homeworld and was causing untold havoc. As civilians fled from the threat and prepared a counter offensive, it was Da'han'yul Fen'tuun who charged into the danger headfirst to save his people from becoming prey.

As others pleaded for him to run away, in a great bright flash of light, a gigantic Martian loomed over the enemy emerged where the ill Martian stood, coated in flames in a form they've never seen before with a halo and body that burned a haunting green.

The deafening silence still held as the enormous creature brought a massive fist on the giant pale walker that was destroying homes. A wave of its hand sent a wall of green flames raced towards the foot soldiers, reducing them to ash while his people and buildings were not harmed in any form without an ounce fear of these fires the creature used to purge the enemy. Within the hour, the threat had been neutralized and peace was brought back to the red planet.

As the Martian people looked to the titan, they knew. H'ronmeer's had chosen his most loyal servant, Da'han'yul, as the avatar of his wrath to smite those who would bring his people harm. The people hugged and wept tears of joy and cheered for the priest and H'ronmeer for saving them, but the tears soon became tears of sorrow.

The giant groaned in pain as he fell on one knee as it began to crumble into ash before the people's very eyes. Like a flame, Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had burned his brightest when life needed him most, and now death called to him as it slowly extinguished it to give him peace. With a final message, he pleaded to his people to come together as one and to not see one another as lesser or greater than, but as equals who can help one another in the darkest of times and the hardships yet to come. With his final moments gone, a final telepathic embrace was given to all before he fell silent for the last time.

The massive pile of ash that were his remains was brought back to his little village and made into a beautiful garden of ash in the temple where the newly titled Saint made his home in, where it would be made a holy site that many would come to give their thanks and pay their respects for H'ronmeer' and his champion alike.

And for centuries, peace was held before it was shattered by Ma'alefa'ak, who unleashed the Fire Plague to take vengeance on his people for his inability to experience the psionic way of life that was the norm. His smile as his people screamed in anguish was knocked off his face in the most literal of terms when a Martian struck him down and had him by the throat.

A Martian with eyes burning in anger as Ma'alefa'ak failed to break free and was being beaten severely for his crimes against the people of Mars. A Martian made entirely up of ash and green embers.

Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had returned, if only for a moment longer. And he was not happy.

Quickly, one by one across the planet, the martians set ablaze burned a gentle green that healed them. In this miraculous act of divine intervention, not a single Martian had lost their life. Most were now unconscious with labored breathing being heard.

J'onn watched on as his brother screamed in agony as his body burst into green flames as a pool of ash began to swallow his brother whole. Before disappearing entirely, Da'han'yul told him the punishment his brother would be facing.

"Ma'alefa'ak's psionic abilities have been awoken. He will be sentenced to become a living flame until he has lived the collective life span of all that he has tried to extinguish."

J'onn was too stunned to speak. With how long a Martian can live, it was the equivalent of telling him his brother would be suffering for an eternity. It seemed unethical, but he knew his brother had dug his own grave the moment he saw the reanimated remains of Da'han'yul Fen'tuun's ashes take swift action.

"Everything will be ok now, J'onn. Go to your family and tend to them.

"Da'han'yul...Thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you when you were still alive." J'onn solemnly uttered as he looked to the ground, unable to look at his deceased youngest brother.

"Nonsense J'onn, it's not your fault...The caste system...it–"

"I could've done more! Instead I saved myself instead of being there when my brothers needed me most!"

"J'onn...you were just a child."

"It makes none of it right!"

He was right in that aspect, but it still didn't feel right. Ma'alefa'ak' was ostracized by society, was treated like a freak of nature for lack of natural gifts and he wanted to burn society to the ground in the most literal of terms because of it.

While Da'han'yul, the forgotten youngest brother, was treated horribly for being albino and treated cruelly. He contracted a deadly disease when he separated himself from the family to live in isolation with other albinos that made him sickly and cut his life expectancy down severely. Knowing what befell him, seeing him struggle to move and hold down food at times while J'onn and their parents did nothing.

These tumultuous emotions sat in J'onn for so long. The way he wanted to go and help them both, but the fear of association and social punishment for merely being seen with his brothers made him cry when he younger for being so weak willed. It wasn't until their parents bragged about the sacrifice their forgotten child had made, the sone they purposely scorned made him snap.

"J'onn, promise to keep my message alive for me. Help our people become whole again."

"Of course, brother." Is what J'onn tells him as he watches his little brother vanish again for a third and final time.

[morganbritton132]

I’ve played soccer most of my life and I do know there are concussion headbands some people wear to keep them safe when they head the ball since concussions are very common in soccer from headers (the only safe place to head the ball is about right on your hairline and you don’t always get it right lol). Nancy and Eddie def researched and got him one after seeing him head the ball for the first time and freaked out. Steve hates wearing it

First, thank you! I am very much Eddie and Nancy in the soccer part of the saga. I don’t play sports so big thanks to all the people that are giving information and ideas.

Second, I love the idea of Nancy and Eddie being very strict parent/understanding parent about it, but Eddie is the reasonable one and Nancy might just be fully insane.

“This is bullying.”

Steve sulks deeper into the couch, crossing his arms over his jersey in a full pout. He glares at the headband and then gives Eddie a pleading look, “I don’t want it.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie says sympathetically, “But-“

“Too bad,” Nancy cuts in. “Do you know how common concussions are in soccer? You decided to play Concussion: The Sport. Dress like it.”

“No one else is wearing one. I’ll look dumb!”

“Okay, then. Maybe we don’t stop a speeding ball with our head then,” Eddie tries. “How about that?”

“No,” Nancy answers even though the question wasn’t directed at her. “Not good enough! Wear the headband or we’ll get you a helmet.”

“Eddie!”

Eddie stalls for a second and then points to Robin, “You won’t look dumb. Robin has one too.”

“She looks dumb.”

Robin’s just like, “Hey!”

Nancy moves and sits on the coffee table in front of Steve with a look that has faced down interdimensional monsters and sexist bosses all the same. Steve’s going to wear this headband or he’s not playing and they both know it when she says, “Would you rather look stupid now and be able to remember it in five year or be drooling all over yourself when your cognitive functions starts declining after another head injury.”

“Hey, too far,” Eddie chastises, hitting her shoulder. “…But take that into consideration, Stevie. I want you to have fun but-“ 

“It’s going to mess up my hair!”

Nancy throws up her hands, “Then we’ll shave your head!”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie swears under his breath. “Wheeler, reel it in and take a walk. Let me talk to him. Jesus.”

[theforgottencrow]

Day 2 “Where it all began”

Yay..an excuse to not do clean lineart or genuine color…

iiii have no fuckin clue how to draw liquid <333

Ink sans belongs to Comyet

[mischievous-thunder]

A dream come true moment for Wade

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC: Malort

Danny, being from Illinois(probably) introduces a staple of Chicago bars to various heroes in the DC universe

Malort, for you unfortunate souls who have never had it, is delicious

Okay, it's actually extremely bitter and most people don't like it. It has a vague grapefruit rind flavor up front but it's main flavoring agent is wormwood. It kind of lingers and dries out your mouth a bit. People, myself included, actually enjoy this, but it's very bitter. People who don't like it really really hate it

hence why it's hilarious to give someone a shot of it

So Danny pulls this with the Justice league

Batman? Takes it like a champ

Flash? Hates it and runs at super speed to spit it out and pretends he didn't to spare Danny's feelings

Wonder Woman? I think she'd probably like it? Like, historically all sorts of herbal liquors were used as medicine and consumed as health tonics. I would not be surprised if it reminded her of some Amazon concoction. Or she would hate it similar to hao Japanese people tend to dislike root beer since it reminds them of a medicine they took as children

Constantine? Free booze is booze and he's enough of a bastard that even if he didn't like it he wouldn't give the satisfaction of reacting to it

Green Lantern, any of them, would not like it but to stubborn to admit as much and would take another shot of it

Superman, would not like and would give Danny the most satisfying reaction. Double the suffering because he can taste it but it can't get him drunk

Martian Manhunter, he'd dig it

[defire]

Mind-breaking whump:

(I'm generating ideas for my sadistic whumper/defiant whumpee story, happy to share)

Content: mention of noncon, dismemberment, humiliation

Whumper likes to announce what he's doing so whumpee is already terrified when he starts--"I'm going to give you one lash for every word you just spoke."

Every time she thinks the torture will stop, he picks up a new implement, until she starts to panic and beg, and he keeps saying "almost done" for hours

She relies on her witty remarks to keep her sanity, so he cuts her tongue. Every word hurts and she's drooling blood.

Telling her friends things about her she would not want them to know (their relationship will never be the same)

Telling her that after her, her hrother is next

"The hard way is, I cut your lips open so you'll never speak properly again. The easy way is, you go down on your knees and grovel till I tell you to stop."

RELENTLESS slapping till their face goes numb and it tingles with each one

Especially being forced to say something over and over between each slap--"I am worthless." *Slap* "I am worthless."

Whumpee starting to cry as the torture goes on, then starting to sob, and feeling stupid for it, because whumper keeps laughing and saying "it's not that bad"

Giving them a choice so they'll permanently regret it. Especially a choice that forces them to go against something fundamental to their personality

Defiant, sarcastic whumpee has to choose between acting perfectly submissive or having her tongue cut out

Tying them up in compromising positions and touching them (doesn't have to be sexual, it's invasive either way)

Telling them TRUE things that break their spirit--"your friend knows what I did to you" "your family betrayed you"

Especially if by the time they're done, whumpee is so broken that they just go "I know."

Whumper forcing whumpee to look them in the eyes as whumpee confirms whatever brainwashing whumper forced on them.

Whumpee going from "I'll never tell you" to "whatever you say." (Which can happen WITHOUT spilling the secret--you can feel broken and continue to stay silent.)

[hollowmossart]

todays old art redraw… i dont know what the original concept was?? all i know is martin was falling and I drew it around the end of tma? anyway. i COOKED. i love harsh lighting. this new version looks more.. desperate? whereas the old one looks a bit more serene. this is probably about a 3 year difference.

[joaniejustwokeup]

DP x DC Prompt:

Summoning circles are more complicated than people give them credit for. They’re a bit like a mix between a thumb print, a name, a phone number, and a recipe; and at the same time, nothing like any of those things.

In reality, most summoning circles in spell books and ancient texts are incomplete, representing only a fraction of a particular spirit’s identity.

A complete circle will actually be a series of different summoning circles, with each concentric ring representing an aspect of the spirit’s identity and having individual requirements and/or offerings needed. Ghosts have an innate awareness of them and are able to draw and describe their requirements from any sort of inward reflection.

Ghosts will often give out incomplete circles as a means of communication and transportation. A single ring of the circle will only open the door, and each ring added makes the pull and connection to the summoner stronger. Ghosts will also sometimes use incomplete circles to mark and monitor their haunts and as a way of claiming territory.

A complete summoning circle will occasionally but inevitably change over time, as parts of the spirit’s identity change.

The circle will always be a closely guarded secret. This is because, much like giving your true name to the fae, giving out your full summoning circle will allow the summoner to not only capture you, but to command and control you.

After Danny was shown Dan’s future where he killed the world, he made Jazz memorize his complete circle and told her to use it if he ever turned evil. She thought he was being ridiculous, but learned the spell when she saw how frightened he had become of himself.

When the summoning circle of the Ghost King was added to his identity, he tried to make her memorize the new circle, only for her to flat out refuse, saying it’s not healthy for him to make these kind of contingencies. They get into a really bad fight and Danny flies off determined to find someone he can trust with his circle should he turn evil.

As he’s flying over his town he feels the slight tug on his consciousness indicating someone is trying to summon the Ghost King. He lets his awareness bleed through the summoning just enough to see that… yup it’s cultists again. At least there’s no sacrifices this time.

He’s about to shrug the summoning off like he has so many others when he suddenly sees someone fighting through the cultists. Oh! Make that several someones.

With a giddy sort of eagerness Danny watches Batman and his sidekicks cut through the crowd of religious fanatics, even taking down a couple that looked like they were using ghost-based magic. He’d always admired the Dark Knight, but seeing him fight in person is something else.

It’s as the hero is tying up the cultists and checking their injuries that a lightbulb goes off in Danny’s head, and, after a moment of steeling his determination, he lets himself be pulled through the summoning circle.

The Bats all tense up as the circle at the center of the room grows brighter, readying themselves for another fight. Danny tries to smile reassuringly as he feels his form materialize, though they likely can’t see it in the bright flash of light that accompanies it.

He frowns when he realizes the summoning had dressed him in his royal armor and cloak, the crown of fire burning above his head and ring of rage glaring from his right hand.

He tries raising his hands in an “I am not a threat,” pose, before realizing it looks exactly like the Box Ghost’s “Beware!” pose. He tucks his hands under his armpits, then awkwardly waves at the group of vigilantes.

“Hi there! Wow that was really cool- Thanks for taking care of these guys for me.”

The vigilantes once again tense up as Danny steps out of the circle towards them. Danny smiles sheepishly.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to talk to you, Batman.”

Batman steps forward, approaching Danny as he stands just outside the circle, a living shadow that looms larger than life. Still, Danny senses something soften in his gaze as he looks over the teenage Ghost King, stopping just out of reach of him. Danny gazes back at his childhood hero, hoping he’s making the right choice.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

[gregorovitch-adler]

Confessions

John gazed at Sherlock from across the table as they had dinner together at home.

Mariana had left for Spain this morning, because Christmas was just around the corner.

Sherlock and John had set up the Christmas tree together -- with all the decorations and everything -- and were just waiting for the Christmas Day to come.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and the table was surprisingly clean today.

John had been wanting to say something to Sherlock for a long time now. Talk about his feelings for him, specifically.

Ever since the two of them started their crime-solving journey, by solving the case of 'The Illustrious Client' together, Sherlock and John became quite close.

Over the course of time, John had fallen in love.

Who wouldn't? And no, this question was not just rhetoric. It was rather a challenge from John to everyone out there.

Anyone who got the opportunity to live with a guy like Sherlock -- lively, enthusiastic about almost anything the world had to offer, brilliant, kind, charming, and beautiful -- would not have it in them to resist him. Of this, John was absolutely certain.

John tried to bring himself back to the present moment and picked at his food on the plate with his spoon.

"It's not going to eat itself, Watson."

John looked up at Sherlock from his plate, and he was taken aback by the intensity with which Sherlock was looking at him, too, now.

Could it be that he too...?

John shook his head and sighed before finally starting to eat. "Yeah, of course." John sat straight and let out a fake laugh. "You're right."

"You're not here. Not mentally, at least," Sherlock declared. He leaned over the table and dropped his deep voice to a whisper. "Where are you?" he asked in a mock-scandalous tone.

That was it, John thought. He could not contain himself anymore. It was the season of confessions, after all. Or something like that. "Sherlock, I've been meaning to tell you something. This has been on my mind for a while now."

Sherlock's face became guarded. He looked down at his plate. "Really? Because I also want to tell you something."

John put down his spoon and held his breath. "Oh? Go on, then. You first."

Sherlock looked up at John through his long lashes with his big, brown eyes filled with an emotion John couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I wanted to tell you that... that when you sometimes sleep in after a long case, I come upstairs, over to your room, and I stand in the doorway to watch you sleep for a few moments."

John's heartbeat picked up speed, and he flushed up at Sherlock's words. "Why - why's that?" There it was -- his classic stutter, every time a situation like this came up.

Sherlock's eyes then hinted at some mischief. John did not miss Sherlock's subtle smirk either. "Because you snore so much. I think we really need to take you to a sleep clinic sometime." Sherlock bit his bottom lip, probably to resisting an urge to burst out laughing.

John rolled his eyes. "Alright, whatever. I'm going upstairs." He placed his hands on the table and made to get up and leave.

Sherlock dropped his silverware on his plate and grabbed John by both of his wrists, making him stay where he was seated. "Okay, okay. That's clearly not what you want to talk about right now. Tell me what it is."

"Promise me you won't laugh it off, even if you don't like what I'm about to say to you." John turned his wrists to hold Sherlock's hands in his own. He tried to appear dead serious.

Sherlock's face changed from looking amused to quite earnest. "I promise." He squeezed John's hands in reassurance.

"We've become quite close since we started solving crimes together, haven't we? So much has changed since then."

Sherlock gave him a silent nod.

"From me finding you really annoying in the beginning because of your late night violin playing sessions, among loads of other things, to..."

"To?" Sherlock demanded. His voice became hoarse.

John gazed into Sherlock's eyes some more, trying to gather enough courage to spit it out already. He inhaled deeply.

"To me now having come to a point where I can't imagine the rest of my life without you. To a point where I feel so scared when I don't see you around at home in the mornings for whatever reason." John swallowed. "Sherlock, I would feel so lost if you were to leave me at some point in the future, as though I were stranded in a desert. Completely alone."

Sherlock was staring at John with his lips parted. His face was still unreadable. "Why's that?"

"Can't you deduce it?" John said with his brow furrowed. "You do have enough data at this point!"

Sherlock shook his head. "I want to hear you say it. I need you to spell it out. You know I'm not the best person when it comes to reading between the lines." His voice was shaking.

John nodded in understanding. "I love you."

There, he said it. It was all out now.

John squared his shoulders, feeling oddly confident in that moment. Whatever the consequences, he felt ready to face them all.

"I - me too." Sherlock visibly swallowed. "Everything you said just now -- I feel the same way."

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say more, so much more, but he was not in the state to be more eloquent than that just yet.

John didn't need him to.

John smiled and leaned in towards Sherlock over the table.

Sherlock met him halfway and tilted his face to kiss John on the mouth. His lips went from hesitant to intense to desperate in a matter of seconds.

John mirrored all those feelings and much more. He grabbed Sherlock's face and began to pour all the passion and love he had been feeling for this man into the kiss.

They broke off the kiss after a while, feeling out of breath.

Sherlock and John locked eyes with each other and exchanged a knowing smile.

They continued to have dinner with their fingers intertwined.

Both of them were aware of the unspoken promise waiting for them—the rest of the night, perhaps even the rest of their lives.

**

Prompt: Confessions by @fluff-cember

Tags: @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @jamielovesjam @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @calaisreno @gaylilsherlock , etc.