#sorry not sorry for the length of this prompt

[fortytworedvines]

No. 19 please!

Send me a prompt

19. The first aid kit is empty

Audrey Hall did not swear, except on occasions that really, really deserved it. “Bloody hell,” she muttered now. Very literal blood poured from the deep cut on the palm of her hand, and the first aid kit was empty.

She should have known better. She castigated her past self for not having checked it before she left. She knew that the boys dug into it on occasion, though ransacked would be a better term for what they’d done to it this time. There was nothing left aside from one solitary safety pin.

How stupid she’d been to cut her hand on the barbed fence, though, in her defence, it was so dark and her torch so ineffectual that she could barely see anything.

The adrenaline was wearing off now and her hand was starting to hurt, a lot. Thinking quickly, she shrugged off her jacket and fumbled, one-handed, at her shirt buttons. She was getting blood everywhere, and tried to ignore it. Finally, her shirt was off and she was standing in bra and skirt by the side of the road. Nobody was likely to come past at this time and spot her, at least.

Between teeth and her one working hand, she managed to tear the seams of the shirt open. With her previously smart shirt torn into pieces, she wrapped one around her cut hand carefully, then layered another over the top. She tied a knot and used her teeth to tug it tight. The relief was immediate and she sagged gratefully. Carefully, she put on her jacket, managed to button it up, and tucked the remnants of her shirt into her pocket.

She climbed onto her bicycle and when she held the handlebars, pain bit into her injured hand. She gritted her teeth. She’d never cycled one-handed before, but she’d have to manage it now. She set off, wobbling, but managed to get her balance and pressed on for home.

She made it to Skeldale without having seen anyone, for which she was extremely thankful, given her state of undress.

She’d had to stop on the way back to wrap another length of shirt around her hand. It was still bleeding and increasingly painful. She couldn’t wait to get in, find her proper bandages, give the wound a good clean and then take herself to bed and sleep.

Mr Farnon was sitting at the kitchen table, pipe in mouth, paper held in front of him. He dropped both as she came through the door.

“Mrs Hall!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “Whatever has happened?”

Audrey stared at him for a moment, and then slumped thankfully into a chair. “Hurt my hand,” she murmured. He glanced at the hand that she held out, took in the state of her in one quick look.

“I’ll get my kit,” he said, and hurried out.

She sat quietly waiting for him. She hadn’t known quite how much she’d needed to be looked after until she’d walked into the kitchen and seen him there.

He was back in a moment, clutching his own first aid kit, and sat down next to her.

“May I?”

She nodded, and he took her hand tentatively. Unwound the bloody bandages carefully.

The wound came into sight and he winced. “Very nasty.” He poured out some cleaning solution onto a cloth and she hissed at the sting. “I’m sorry my dear,” he said. “It needs cleaning.”

“I know.”

“What – um – why did you use your shirt?” he asked as he worked carefully.

“My first aid kit was empty,” she said. “Forgot to check it before I left.”

“Ah.”

His hands were so gentle and she could almost relax into the touch. Finally, the wound was cleaned to his satisfaction and he wound a clean, proper bandage around her hand, knotted it tightly.

“There,” he said, cradling her hand in his. “All better. Well. Somewhat better.” His thumb stroked over hers. “How did you manage it?”

“Barbed wire on a fence,” she admitted ruefully. He was still stroking her thumb and she didn’t want him to stop.

“You’re going to have to be careful with it for a few days. Don’t get it wet.”

“My chores…”

“I’m sure Tristan and Carmody can manage the washing up,” he said cheerfully.

“And the laundry?” She looked at him sceptically.

He rubbed his chin. “We’ll find a way,” he said eventually.

He studied her for a moment and she blushed. “What is it?”

“You’re getting some colour back. You gave me a fright, staggering through the door with bloody bandages around your hand.”

“I’m feeling better now.” Because of him. “It’s nice to be looked after,” she admitted, and was rewarded with a glowing smile.

“You look after me – all of us – so well. It’s about time I returned the favour. Now,” he put her hand down carefully, “it’s well past our bedtimes and you need a good sleep. I’ll check your hand tomorrow, but in the mean time, Mrs Hall…” He met her eyes for a moment and her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. Then in a sudden motion, he leant forward and pressed his lips to her forehead in an unexpected, soft, lovely kiss. He drew back, pink staining his cheeks. “Goodnight, my dear.”

The pain in her hand was almost forgotten as she watched him hurry away. “Goodnight, Mr Farnon,” she called quietly after him.

[livannasalinger]

DP AU Prompt

Just putting together some of my favorite ideas that I've seen around here on tumblr, but I've never seen them together so... it's kind of big, but since I'm sure I'm not going to write I'd like to share it at least. So it starts like this:

Danny dies at age 14 and comes back different, but that would start as a nobody knows AU, not even Danny, because he doesn't come back transformed, Sam and Tucker are confused but happy that Danny survived. Danny starts to notice some changes (physical, sixth sense, etc), and the presence of ghosts starts to be stronger in the city in different ways. The powers that begin to manifest themselves first in Danny are those that allow him to see and communicate with spirits, he begins to perceive the presence of people that no one sees, and to feel things that he cannot describe, a presence, an instinct, an emotion that is not his. (more obvious powers later, perhaps only when he is in the Zone initially.)

Lunch Lady appears but the battle plays out differently. She lashes out because she's confused and disoriented and someone has changed the recipe she's spent years perfecting when she senses the presence of something dangerous, something powerful. A child that looks human but fells like a ghost child. The attack stops abruptly when she realizes that she is in the territory of a child who has recently died. I want signs that a ghost child is somewhat important even if not sacred to ghost culture.

Danny manages to talk her out of it (and maybe even fight her) and takes her back to the Zone, but obviously she doesn't stay there, she goes back to feed the child because if not how is he going to get the proper food a Ghost child needs?

Danny and his friends continue to explore the supernatural, other attacks happen, each adding to the experience and showing that after all ghosts are more than what their parents refuse to see. Ghost are good, bad, both, neither. Danny begins to gain respect from the ghosts he helps despite the havoc they wreak in his Haunt. News of the ghost child reaches the government and higher entities of the infinite realms, attracting those who are good, bad and chaotic neutral... Danny increasingly embraces the characteristics of his new culture, and his physical appearance begins to take on ghostly features.

Let's put the first contact with Clockwork differently. I think CW could have disguised himself as an old grandpa who owns an antique shop (with lots of clocks) from a slightly dodgy road that not everyone can find (danny can always find it and clockwork is very proud of it). Danny starts working part time in this shop and feels that clockwork is something else but doesn't say anything because he likes the place, the protection it offers from his boss / adoptive grandfather.

Pariah dark happens and Danny finally appears as Phantom (Phantom may have appeared before perhaps, but more as a rumor or new urban legend). This has consequences because the town now has definitive proof that the Fentons were right, but at the same time everyone knows they were saved by a ghost.

Things get complicated, GIW starts to get involved, Danny starts to see that he will have to make a choice (still unaware that he is the new king).

He has friends and enemies in both worlds, he is starting to understand his obsession and accept his own death, Danny, his sister and his friends know they need to prepare for the worst.

Dan happens, but with some variations. In the end Danny goes back to the CW shop to talk to Clockwork about his true intentions. Clockwork explains that the hoax was meant to save him from the Observants, even if it had benefits (not becoming Dan). CW secretly adopts Danny as his grandson officially and explains the true nature of being chosen as Ghost King.

I like the idea that the definition of Ghost king does not refer to what humans understand a king to be, unlike Pariah Dark (who was not a king but a tyrant) the true King being chosen by the Infinit Realms itself to be the one who you'll be a part of it  (the idea that the realms is actually a semi-sentient eldrich God is always cool). 

Last idea I would put together would be the DPX DC cossovers, with Danny moving to Gotham to get away from the Fentons, and also to train. He (plus Jazz maybe) try to remain in Gotham unnoticed under the protection of the spirit of the city, while Danny finishes high school, spies on the GIW's movements, and is trained by his grandfather and allies (pandora, frostbite, Dora, nocturne, etc). Of course, somehow he ends up involved with the batfam, I particularly like the stories of Damian paying attention to Danny because Danny lives so much with ghosts that he ended up forgetting a little bit of the common sense of the living over the years, but it could be anything , serious.

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[deliciouskeys]

2 or 88 for the drabble challenge - butchlander would be so interesting for them in your style!

#88- "STOP INTERRUPTING ME!" from the drabble challenge

This was an interesting prompt that initially stumped me because Billy Butcher tends to be pretty laconic when Homelander is around, and when he does want to pontificate (starting arguments with a rando at the Believe Expo or berating the supe injury support group), he'd never let anyone interrupt him enough to complain about it. So it has to be Homelander who says it. But I couldn't imagine Homelander not being utterly delighted at finally not having to monologue and fill in dialogue for both of them. In every season when they meet, he generally wants (sometimes explicitly asks) Butcher to talk more, and gets little in return. So I was stumped. What could possibly lead to this being said between them? And then I realized that I had been barking up the wrong tree. The right tree is a much dumber tree, unfortunately:

"Really now… on my balcony?" Butcher didn't ever think he'd be the one watching Homelander having a wank, and yet here he was, trousers hiked down just below his hips, trying to rub one out… or was he…?

"You trying to rub one out or take a leak, mate?"

"I'll come here every day until you tell me where Ryan is," Homelander replies without answering the question.

"And do what exactly…" Butcher vaguely gestures at Homelander holding himself in hand.

Homelander huffs and it really doesn't look like he's moving his hand. "Shy bladder is it? Of all things for you to be shy about…"

"Shut up," Homelander grits out, and Butcher watches a very pathetic dribble start up, not enough force to hit the big glass sliding door even though Homelander is standing fairly close.

"Not everything in your body all that super powered huh?"

And Homelander's stream stops completely as his face twists in anger. "STOP FUCKING INTERRUPTING ME!"

"Look I got an early start tomorrow, so wrap it up."

Homelander growls in frustration and takes off into the sky without bothering to tuck himself back in.

Butcher really considers installing a live wire on the edge of his sliding door. It might not cause any damage, but just on the off-chance Homelander would feel the shock. In which case Butcher realizes he also needs a security camera to capture the occasion.

[necrotic-nephilim]

i recently remembered DickTim Week 2024 is happening very soon and i looked at the prompts again to see if i could get anything out for it and. the Hades & Persephone AU prompt for day 1 has got me really thinking so here's a vague concept i plan to write.

i've been pretty burnt out on modern Hades & Persephone retellings because of how they always seem to fall into the same generic "innocent wide-eyed girl runs from her evil mean mother into the arms of a dark mysterious man because actually she went willingly and chose to marry him" which has gotten repetitive for my tastes. (for clarity i don't care if this retelling is your cup of tea personally, so long as you're not actively trying to rewrite the original myth and claim untrue things about it, if this is your favorite flavor i sincerely hope you enjoy the buffet i just have little interest in it since it feels overdone for me and exhausted of it's supposed commentary atp)

but? but. biblically accurate Hades & Persephone AU has me all kinds of interested. because wait listen so hear me out right. Hades!Dick and Persephone!Tim, obviously. i feel it'd be more loosely inspired by with themes and imagery (though playing with death and nature powers could be interesting, i haven't decided) rather than explicitly making them gods and all. but. something dark and fucked up where Dick and Bruce are especially estranged. maybe to do with Jason's return, maybe to do with them just clashing and having their usual explosive arguments. and Bruce knows the peace needs to be kept, if he and Dick are at odds then everyone starts to pick sides and things just fracture so he needs a peace offering.

and the peace offering is Tim.

Bruce (the stand-in for Zeus) offers up Tim. agrees to have Tim move to Bludhaven and be Dick's... whatever Dick wants him to be. knowing that with the implication comes the likelihood of Dick grooming Tim. and Tim has no real say and is hesitant to put up a real fight. he doesn't want this, he knows what this is going to imply Dick will do to him, but he also knows if he says no things have the possibility to just... fall apart. so he's the unwilling bride, dragged off to the metaphorical underworld (Bludhaven) with Dick, away from his family, his friends, the life he built.

and on the flip side, i think weirdly enough, your best pick for the Demeter stand-in is *Jason*. just, hear me out on that. not necessarily on the side of it being motherly, but on Jason being just estranged enough from the Batfamily to be the one willing to call it out for being bad and wrong and raising bloody hell to get Tim back. maybe it's because Jason wants Tim for himself, maybe it's truly out of a concern for Tim to have autonomy, i'm toying with the idea of it primarily being Tim's POV and him genuinely not knowing which of these is true. (and the truth possibly ends up being a complicated middle ground) and because i like Helena, i think you can use her as the Hekate stand in, the one who strikes a tentative alliance with Jason and tries to go find Tim and bring him back. Tim stuck with Dick, getting groomed and hyperaware of it, possibly even getting fucked the whole time as well, knowing he can't go back without causing massive issues for Dick and Bruce because well, Bruce did promise him to Dick. so he has to adjust his whole life, try to figure out being a vigilante in this new city with Dick breathing down his neck the whole time.

and then much like the ending of the myth, a sort of compromise is struck that's a shaky deal for everyone involved. Tim is put on an essential timeshare, going back and forth between Gotham, where he has friends and family and a support system, then getting dragged right back to Bludhaven with Dick in this brutal cycle that he slowly gets used to and stockholm'd into even liking it. Dick isn't so bad, once he gets used to the quirks of their unbalanced 'relationship'. the sex is even something he can adjust to as well. not quite a happy ending but one that sits in this realistic grey area that becomes Tim's life.

i will write this, eventually, but i don't know if i'll get to it before DickTim Week ends so by posting the idea i'm essentially putting it out into the world so the peer pressure holds me accountable. i just. really like the potential of making Hades/Persephone AUs as fucked up as they can be simply by adhering to the source material and making it a raw story of being stolen away and forced to like this new home you didn't ask for.

also a less fleshed-out aspect of this idea i have ties into Persephone becoming the Queen of the Underworld when she's taken and how the transition from Kore to Persephone could be reflected in Tim. how he makes the best of the worst situation and becomes something far more dangerous and dark when he's in Bludhaven, possibly takes on a new vigilante name/identity and leans into the worst quirks of his personality he tries to tamper because there's no point in not going full tilt Obsessively Weird if he has no choice anyway and it being one small way he takes back his autonomy, and that inevitably making Dick *more* into him, because he gets to see Tim finally just. let loose.

[chaoslynx]

So glad ur back & I hope you’re doing well! I recently have been listening to a lot of Alex G and his song No Bitterness is so ash coded… “my teacher is a child with a big smile, no bitterness”… ash healing his inner child by being a good big brother to Michael :’) could be a good idea for a fic <3 your writing is amazing and I hope life is treating you better!!!!

Ash knows that jaded isn't a bad word to describe him, in more ways than one.

There's the color, of course. Jade. His middle name. But beyond that, Ash knows that he's ... disillusioned, shall he say, with the world around him. Jaded. It makes sense, when you've seen the things he has.

Ash wasn't out of place with this, at least not for a long time. Most of the people around him were also disillusioned. They'd all seen shit in some way or another, though hopefully few as bad as Ash. They saw past the sparkling NYC lights and into the filth coating every inch of the city, no matter how high the tax brackets became in some areas. They saw past the smiles to the teeth, and past the outstretched hands to the claws.

Ash tried to protect Skip's innocence in as many was as he could, but he was always a bit late to that. And Ash got Skipper killed in the end, so maybe he didn't do much good.

Eiji was one of the first people Ash met—past Griff, at least—who didn't share that same jadedness as he did. But there were more, after him. Well, not after, because Eiji stayed by Ash's side. But there were more people since meeting Eiji who also seemed ... hopeful, almost.

Max, stupidly, despite the war he'd been a part of. Jessica, despite the harm Ash just existing caused her. Ibe, who always seemed more than a touch overwhelmed by everything taking place in the States.

And, of course, Michael.

Michael is a little younger than Skip had been, and around the same age that Ash gained his current perspective on life. Ash is determined to not let the same happen to Michael.

When he stays over at Max and Jessica's place, Ash has his own room—the guest room, really, but they always tell him it's his whenever he wants it. This guest room is upstairs in the house, and shares a wall with Michael's room. Ash worries about this sometimes, since he knows his nightmares aren't always quiet. After the time he punched Bones' teeth out when the kid tried to wake him up from a nightmare, Ash made sure the gang stayed away from him when he was asleep, no matter how much pain he seemed to be in.

Max and Jessica told Ash that he was welcome to use the lock on the guest room door. At first, Ash was hesitant. After all, this isn't his house. This isn't his room. How could he lock the people who live here out?

It was Michael, in the end, who changed Ash's mind. Not that Michael actually did anything, but Ash realized that with them sharing a wall, there was a chance Michael would hear one of Ash's nightmares and go to check on him. Ash, of course, couldn't let that happen, so he started locking the door.

It didn't occur to Ash until it happened that he might be able to hear Michael's nightmares through the wall, too.

Stupidly, it didn't really occur to Ash that 'normal' kids like Michael even had nightmares. Not that Michael hasn't had more than his fair share of pain, much of it due to Ash's influence himself. He really should have known better ...

Still, the first time he hears Michael cry out in his sleep, Ash finds his hand reaching for a gun that's no longer there.

"Michael?" Ash calls, cautiously. Is there an intruder?

"M-Mommy," Michael says. His voice is muffled by sleep and the wall between them.

Without another thought, Ash makes his way toward Michael's room.

He might not have his gun anymore, and it might be too late for him. But as long as there's still goodness in this world—as long as there are still kids like Michael, and the potential for them to grow into adults who are better than Ash—

Then maybe Ash can push aside his own bitterness, those past memories that have jaded him, in favor of learning from someone who's never tasted their own blood on someone else's tongue.

[my-lovely-writing]

(Note: as always, please check the tw tags before clicking read more. Also, if formatting isn't the same for every post, I'm experimenting, but it should be relatively the same.)

"I've always held fast to the belief that we're reborn. That we live in the world we created." The hero circled the villain, dragging their nails across the dining table with a sharp screech. "You better pray I'm not right, [villain], because the only thing you've ever created is massacre."

The villain paused, fork and knife hovering over their steak as they chanced a glance at a nearby booth of curious onlookers. They turned back to the hero. "Sit down. You're drawing attention to yourself, to us."

"And why should I?"

"I just said, you idiot. Are you going to eat that or what?" The villain sat down their fork and reached for the hero's salad, who smacked away the villain's hand, glaring.

"It's mine."

"Then sit," the villain growled, careful to keep their voice quiet.

The hero rose taller. "Not with you."

At the commotion, a few hushed murmurs rippled through the room. The villain exhaled through their nose. Their voice was a whisper, but it dripped anger: "I swear to whatever almighty being you believe in—are you here only to make a fool of me?" They shoved the knife into their steak. Possibly a threat.

"No," the hero said, a bit more quietly. Their jaw clenched.

The villain narrowed their eyes and stared at them for a long, silent moment. Their next bite felt hard to swallow. "Then why, [hero]?"

The hero shook their head, as if that was an answer. Why would they, of all people, accept the invitation, much less show up? The question left them reeling just as much as the villain.

Perhaps it was the idiocy of the moment. Of spitting out blood and shaking on their knees, their body so wracked with pain that the pouring rain felt like a thousand shards of glass embedding into their skin and hearing the villain ask, not unkindly, "How does dinner on Monday sound? Olive Garden at midnight?" Or maybe it was the comfort of somehow waking up the next morning, safe in their bed, a bottle of painkillers tucked beneath their pillow.

The hero frowned. Maybe it was the creepiness of the villain knowing where they live. At least there was nobody else they could hurt with that, but still.

"What's that look?" the villain asked.

The hero blinked and snapped back to reality. "You know my house, and that's creepy."

"Your house—that's what I was going to discuss, if you would ever sit down." The villain pointed a sharp finger at the chair.

Their house? That was worth all this? The hero crinkled their nose. For a moment, they gauged the villain—they looked sincere enough, slightly less ready to murder. And they did pay for the food. But on the other hand, the villain had caused so much pain and suffering, all for a reason the hero couldn't name. They struggled with themselves. The villain waited patiently for a few moments, before shooting them another scathing look. The hero sat down.

"I know what you're thinking," said the villain. "Why is this evil man/lady inviting me out to dinner? Why do they want to talk about my house?" They nodded towards the salad. "Eat that—I know you're starving. And the truth is, I don't really want to talk about your house, that was an error of phrasing on my part. I want to talk about your home life."

The hero's frown deepened. They were starving, but how did the villain know that? The villain seemed to pause and wait for the hero to follow the command, and curiosity got the better of them, so they did. An acidic taste filled their mouth—tomatoes. The hero would have spit it out if they weren't so hungry.

"I've noticed that you always show up to stop me, no matter when I decide to blow up the next building." The villain arched an eyebrow. "Getting enough sleep? You're getting weaker."

"I don't see how any of that is your business."

"I'm not much of a villain if my arch-nemesis can't take a hit, now am I?"

So that's why they asked: villainous pride. The hero snorted. Of course.

"Something funny, [hero]?"

"Hilarious, actually."

The villain's lips quirked into something like a smirk but not quite, at that, deep green eyes slowly roaming up their face. The hero felt, distinctly, like the villain could see every microscopic muscle and twitch like a one-way mirror to the heart beneath their skin, all with the poise of a cat. No need to bloody their claws ripping out their ribcage, for that.

"You're adorably misguided, [hero]. I mean, veganism? Really?" The villain chuckled. How terribly casual they were, signaling the waitress over in the midst of this. "Starving your body of nutrients and being a hero don't go together well."

"What do you want?" the hero demanded. They were getting sick of this one-sided game. They were so infuriated they barely noticed the clacking of the waitress's heels as they suddenly appeared beside them—if they had, the hero would have wondered why they were so quick, if the waitress knew the villain was [villain]—but they didn't.

The villain took their sweet time in answering the hero, first telling the waitress to bring [hero] crackers for their salad—crackers, of all things to interrupt them for!—and then went even further in annoying the hero by taking long, slow bite of their steak before responding with a lithe smile, "For you to eat your dinner."

"Bullshit. You want something more than that."

The smile never left the villain's face even as they turned their attention to the returning waitress, going so far as to take the crackers and crush them into [hero's] salad themself. [Hero] never said they wanted them, but they politely thanked the waitress anyway, even as they seethed at the fact the waitress hadn't double checked with the hero themself. Children are usually provided that courtesy.

"So, what's your favorite color?" the villain asked.

The hero was caught off-guard. "Excuse me?"

"Your favorite color. What is it?"

And, perhaps in defiance of such inanity, the hero jammed a bite of their salad into their mouth. And then another and then another and then another until the conversation had long since died. They kept expecting [villain] to reiterate their question or order them to answer, but the villain didn't seem to mind at all, and instead merely turned back to their steak.

When their bowl was finished, the hero took the liberty of gritting out an insult at the villain who, despite everything logical and sane that would contend otherwise if there was anything logical and sane about them, seemed to be expectantly awaiting their answer still. "You have no taste. You said this restaurant is the best in town, but the crackers here taste fucking stale."

"Huh." The villain's hand slid underneath their chin, elbow resting on the table. "I've always wondered what it tastes like."

"What wh—" And then it hit them, and the hero's head was swimming with tired and dizzy and the world was a spinning blur of the villain's signature black and blue—and how horrifically funny to notice now that the restaurant was a black and blue thing. A heartbeat and [Hero] was up, stumbling away. They fell like a newborn doe.

The villain watched from their seat as the waitress caught them—no need to bloody their claws.

The hero awoke, alive, on something soft. Their body was coiled like a boom of thunder, fast and furious and inconsequential, but the hero was wise. They waited, eyes closed, for the sound of breathing, but none met their ears. They slowly peeked an eye open—no one that they could see, and they didn't feel anything around their wrists or ankles. Only after their eyes were adjusted and they were absolutely certain no one was with them did they slip out of the unfamiliar bed, testing the cold wooden floorboards beneath them before surrendering their weight. They didn't creak.

The hero's hand twitched at their side. They wanted to test if the door was locked, but they didn't put it past [villain] to wait in the hallway for that tell-tale half twist of the knob and really, they already knew the answer to that question, didn't they?

So instead they decided to search the room on the off-chance that the villain had accidentally left anything useful—and froze as they spotted a neatly folded up note on the nightstand, a small circular mirror beside it. They—the hero—was dressed in a stunning dress/tuxedo of black and blue. Faint taste of bile of their tongue and hands trembling, the hero unfolded the note.

"Good morning, [hero]. Since you didn't tell me your favorite color, I thought about it for a while and I decided that you'd look amazing in mine. I'll be home at five, okay? :D"

[theragethatisdesire]

I’M ACTUALLY EARLY ENOUGH TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS YAY 😭😭

okay okay okay so i’m thinking 236 with plug!eren. i feel like he’d love to see you wearing his things like wearing his hoodie after six could easily start up a round two.

and then that last chapter got me thinking abt 116 w/ him too, i can’t wait to see a more possessive/protective side to him in the future possibly 👀 that “my girl” had me feeling things lol

and then 8 for jean. i have no specific reason, he’s just sexy and i’m impulsive so i wanna fuck him there, but he’s also tall as hell so it would be a struggle for him LMAO

this was just an excuse to talk to you abt plug!eren and jean, please don’t think i’m expecting drabble from you i just wanna ramble 😭😭🥹

DLFADLFDA hi bestie!!!! you're so full of ideas i literally love it so much i just.....you're so right. ESP about plug!eren he's so possessive on the low and he tries to hold himself back but he can't always help himself. like, he def has you dressed up all in his little hoodies and t-shirts and you're always covered in little bites and bruises and hickeys and going through dozens of bottles of concealer and he absolutely gets you a little necklace with an E charm on it like that's not canon but it's canon <333 i LOVE him!!!!

but your idea with jean....i....i simply couldn't resist....

NSFW below the cut >:)

The first thing you learned about Jean Kirschstein was that his ego knows no bounds. He isn't a selfish person, quite the opposite, actually, but as the starting pitcher for Paradis University's top-ranking baseball team, he has a constant supply of ego-fueling screams from the stands to keep his self-image bloated and well-fed.

Hundreds of girls screaming their name would make any man unreasonably confident, but Jean has the gall to blame his borderline-conceit on you of all people. You expect me not to have a big head when I have a girlfriend this gorgeous? C'mon babe, be serious.

Jean's favorite way to feed his ego, by extension, is by taking you anywhere he wants, any time. Considering that he leaves your legs shaking and your voice raspy, you're not one to complain, but this tendency of his does force you into some rather suspect situations.

Take tonight, for example. The Paradis Devils pulled a 5-3 victory off over the Marley Warriors, their conference rival, and it was, frankly, mostly thanks to Jean's signature curveball pitch. When he eyed you in the stands from the pitch, a toothpick sticking out from his smirk and a dark glint to his smile that only you knew how to interpret, the deafening cheers in the stadium faded to a low hum in comparison to the rush of blood to your face.

"Jean, we're going to get caught-"

"Sh," Jean hushes you, shoving you none-too-gently against the door of his flashy pickup truck, "who cares?"

"Me," you whine pitifully into his mouth, already limp and malleable in his strong hands.

"Not going to help me celebrate my victory? You know you're the reason we won," Jean mouths his way down your neck, pulling a whimper from you, "do it all for you, baby."

"But there's people around Jean, the game just let out."

"Hop in, then," Jean smacks your ass playfully, "windows are tinted, remember?"

As if you don't know the windows are tinted, not after Jean's last game, the baseball banquet, your Honor's Society awards dinner...you acquiesce him with a roll of your eyes, clambering up into the backseat.

Jean follows you, hazel eyes hooded and hungry and hat backwards on his head, never letting his hands drift from you for long. He wrestles his jersey off before climbing in, tossing it carelessly into the passenger seat and laying his long body over yours. He reaches back and fumbles for the door handle, finally finding purchase and swinging it closed, only to accidentally thwack his leg, shooting his body forward and consequently knocking your head into the opposite door.

"Fuck."

"Ow!"

"Car sex always looks so much easier in the movies," Jean winces, shaking his head.

"Then why can't we just wait until we get home? Your apartment's only five minutes away," you giggle, only half-meaning your words when Jean's muscled torso is pressing into your heated skin.

Jean doesn't answer at first, instead dipping his hand down to rub insistently over your clothed, pulsing cunt. He chuckles darkly at your responding moan, the way your hips buck up desperately into his hand, betraying your words.

"If you think you're getting out of this car without my cum dripping down your legs, you've lost your goddamn mind."

[iobartach]

@silverjetsystm [mr. knight] asked; ❝ violence is almost always, in one way or another, personal. ❞

altered carbon prompts

It was the mechanism that bridged desire with action, a handy tool for when words... simply weren't enough. It wasn't so long ago, in a time yet to arrive, that a few unfortunate souls had experienced his exhibitions of brutality first hand, sampled a taste of his unflinching wrath when acting in defence of the voiceless. He had demonstrated early into his own crimefighting career that he differed from his predecessor in that regard; that on his watch, there was no such thing as second chances, a stance upheld to deliberately leave a lasting impression in the hearts of Nueva York's criminal cults.

But, with a change of scenery -- and Earth, for that matter -- came a need to adapt, to abide by a new set of standards and rules that valued human life far more than the dystopia hell that he hailed from. With some degree of practice, Miguel had adjusted to these differences gradually, behaving in a manner that resembled his fellow wallcrawlers... until tonight. When, after expending a great deal of effort to comply, he had stepped out of line.

He'd gone too far.

"Spare me the lecture." A murmur of sound fills the dim alleyway, coarse in a way had suggested he had strained his voice from snarling too much. Far from the worst quality that seemed off about the Spider, however, more quirks could be found in the shape of his jarring pose. Both set of feet talons were burrowed into brickwork, as were a single set of hand talons, reaching far about his head. It gave the impression that he was about to scurry away, leave the evidence of his actions behind for someone else to discover, when the other male caught him in his tracks, earning both a hostile glare as well as something else; he reeked of the metallic stench of blood.

"Go away."

[doverstar]

hhhhHHHHHH - ELEVENROSE.

[foreveranevilregal]

Am I actually gonna attempt encantober this year?

[hirokiyuu]

haven't played teen exo yet but: besk/instance, getting caught in the rain? (sorry if they don’t have normal rain on their space planet...)

There's nothing sweet between them: no sunset picnics, no long walks on the beach, no getting caught in the rain. Just the cold dark vastness of space, just the slowly shrinking metal box they're trapped in together, just Instance's bony fingers cool against her skin. There are moments when Instance kisses her that Besk can close her eyes and pretend--but then she opens them again and remembers, and remembers, and remembers.

[nobully]

❛   hand !

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈��𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 | hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take .

"The views up here are incredible!"

' Mhm. Hard to imagine we're still in the same world as the city. Do you want to take pictures? '

"Oh, that's not a bad idea!" Zhilan clapped his hands and smiled at Wang Yi. "Where should we take it? Maybe just around here?"

' Well, the locals were raving about the orchid fields, right? ' Wang Yi gestured to the colorful spread somewhat below them on the cable car platform. ' I think that'd be a nice spot. '

***

Once again, Wang Yi was taking a trip to the City of Glass—a much calmer version than the one he tried with Ryuujin, since this time his feet stayed on solid ground the entire time. Zhilan came because he was interested in the plants, while Wang Yi just wanted to visit places he'd missed last time.

Orchid's Peak framed the ridge of Mt. Key volcano and the flowers were still blooming, so going there with their resident little orchid was a no-brainer. The way to get there was only accessible on foot, but despite Wang Yi's reservations, Zhilan picked out a path with ease.

"Liyue has a lot of mountains," Zhilan was saying. "especially where I lived as a child, in Qingce Village! The qingxin—they're these clusters of white flowers—only grow on the mountaintops, so you have to climb if you want to see them up close."

Wang Yi nodded along, content to follow his pace as always. ' That sounds dangerous. '

"It's really not so hard if you know where to step. Oh—watch out!" Zhilan quickly held out a helping hand as Wang Yi half-slipped on a loose rock. The latter took it gratefully, marveling at how steady Zhilan was walking despite his robes and large sleeves.

' Thanks. '

"You're welcome!"

***

After they actually reached the flowers, it was time to figure out how to set up the shot. In the end, it was agreed that they'd use their cameras and take pictures of each other before trading the photos. Zhilan had Wang Yi go first before they switched, and then the duo put their heads together to review the different snapshots.

Despite being a new hand to Spirale technology, Zhilan's shots are well framed, giving the viewer a sense of perspective. There's a shot of Wang Yi against the orchids with a bright blue sky behind him and the jagged ridge of the volcano in the background; closer shots that's just him with flowers, wind ruffling through his hair just so, and a joke one that catches him posing mid-air as he pretends to fly. In comparison, Wang Yi's shots are more...

' They're kinda zoomed in, huh. ' Wang Yi pauses to peer at them. There's Zhilan bending over to smell the flowers, a small smile on his lips as light reflects off a corner of his glasses. Zhilan sitting comfortably in a clearing surrounded by wild orchids, represented by colorful, out-of-focus blurs around him. A closeup of Zhilan's face looking excited as he turns around to point something out to Wang Yi. ' Oops, looks like I was taking them on portrait mode instead. '

"That's okay," Zhilan began, but Wang Yi just tugs him back to the flowers to pose again as he takes a second round of pictures that show off the blooms as much as their model.

' I'll send you the new shots, ' he says simply when he's done. ' How about taking a last one together? '

Zhilan swallows whatever he was about to ask to beam at him. "Right, we definitely should!"

With nobody around to help, their shoulders take turns bumping into each other as they shoot their respective selfies. Wang Yi almost knocks Zhilan's glasses askew once and laughs good-naturedly when it's his friend who apologizes instead. When they end up forwarding their best pictures into the group chat, he has fun poking at Nicolette who complains about not being there with them. Honestly, it just means they have to come again sometime.

It's a happy end to a beautiful day.

***

Later that night, Wang Yi lounges on the carpet while browsing his camera roll. Of course he lingers on the portrait shots of Zhilan most—serendipitously captured, refreshing and natural. It's amazing to think that humans can just look like that without a second thought.

' Hmm...his expressions are cute. '

Haha, I'm almost tempted to copy them.

But that's not very nice and kind of borderline creepy, so Wang Yi does the sensible thing and selects his favorite shots from the screen.

And then he presses Delete.

[averygaefroug]

New to this type of thing so feel free to add

I stared out the window, It was the only window for miles that hadn’t been cracked or darkened with spray paint or all-together removed.

“Does the definition of evil change?” I wondered aloud.

Gong Gong Gong Gong Gong

My ancient Grandfather clock tolled five as the dimming autumn sun touched the horizon line.

“One hundred years.”

The clock was the first thing I had used my power upon, it had been a promise. A promise that I would remember everything I stood for and everyone I stood with, regardless of how the power would tempt me. My friends screamed at me “That power corrupts people,” they cried, “you’ll become a monster!” It was the only way to save them, I had to take the creature’s power and destroy him with it. Except everyone knew the power I was about to wield was the reason the creature was attacking. Such power can only tempt, and temptation turns only to greed.

Many didn’t think I would even be able to survive it, but when I did they thought I should kill myself; we couldn’t risk a new monster taking his place. So I made the clock. It would wait one century before it tolled again, and if I kept my vow, the power I wield -and I- would continue.

“Goodbye old friend. It is time to see my promise through.” I put my hand on the dusty mahogany and watched through my window, as the only remaining statue in the city, the stone mason with his dwarfish clothes and steady determined gaze raised his intricately carved hammer above his thick haired head and brought it down to a shining steel plate with five resonant pounds.

Clank Clank Clank Clank Clank

With the last slam of his intricately chiseled hammer the statue crumbled; the final spark of hope in the ash and dust city. Soon, I knew, they would come. The townspeople demanding I release them from their curse, return a once flourishing and imperious city from destitute and supplicance.

Rap Rap Rap

“It is the day! We demand you fulfill your obligations with the consequence of losing your power!” It was the leader of the city, what their title was I could not remember or care for that matter, as they were very rudely banging on my door.

“Open the door!” The leader yelled, his voice echoing into my room.

“We will not suffer from you any longer, the city shall be free of your terror!” He sounded earnest at the very least. I sighed loudly and opened the door, it creaked with decades of unuse.

He gasped in shock, clearly not expecting the mad warlock as I had been so lovingly dubbed, to just open the door of his tower. He seemed even more perplexed at my next action.

“Could I invite you in for tea?” I smiled. Not unkindly but not too warmly considering how he had been previously hammering upon my door. Seemingly dumbstruck he entered, along with the handful of guards he had been able to drag along with him.

“I know why you’re here of course,” I started the conversation after pouring several mugs and bidding them sit on my fading blue couch. I figured that I might be able to set the tone and keep things more congenial if nothing else.

“Kill the mad wizard. Rid the city of the blights it and its inhabitants constantly face.” I continued, “But pray tell, what of these blights were caused by me?” The question seemed to infuriate him enough into finding his voice.

“H-HOW ABOUT THE ACID RAIN?!” He hollered immediately standing up tall, before remembering my own power and quickly sitting back down and sheepishly sipping his tea again.

“How about not pissing off the god storms for some petty gold?” I asked plainly, I already knee how this would play out. Clairvoyant or not, you learn a few things after a century. They sat quietly and contemplated my words, realizing it was true after a moment.

“Well, We wouldn't have needed the gold if you hadn't sent a dragon into the city to steal it!” He yelled but stayed sitting, hoping I wouldn't set him ablaze no doubt.

“I find that any dragon is capable of tracking thugs who stole one of their eggs, especially without the help of someone already living near said thugs.” I reference my proximity to the city centre and how I too had lost money when the dragon looted the bank vaults in revenge.

this time one of the guards piped up, “We needed the dragon to protect the city from the hordes you kept sending.” He spoke calmly though his voice was taught with evident anger.

I tilted my head as to ask if he saw where this was going. “When a city starves it becomes vulnerable, I’d say anyone worth their salt would much rather attack a weak and starving city than a strong and prosperous one.” “Yes, but only because-“ another guard piped in, young and seeking glory at destroying a monster such as I.

“Only because the crops failed. When you refused to conserve water for a drought. One which I warned was on the way.” I urned my head and cocked up an eyebrow, hoping that someone could see it. The leader spoke up again “There had been a flood only months prior! Who would believe there would be a drought after something such as that?!” It was a fair question. Several of the guards who had been getting more and more uncertain perked up again and made angry noises in support of their leader.

“A fair question.” I paused for dramatic effect. The guards began to glare angrily again, seeming to remember their weapons and armour.

“A fair question,” I started again, “Save for the fact that I am the most powerful wizard of this age.” My gaze swept across them. Now I was the accuser, pointing out how every blight upon the city I had once loved was caused in spite of me.

“So why do you stay?” Another younger guard asked, her voice uncertain but brave nonetheless. “Why not leave us in our misery and mistakes?” Finally someone asked the right questions.

“So that when you all finally got your heads out your behinds, and wanted to fix the city which I still love.” I rose and took a breath, I had awaited this day so very long. “I could be there to fix it.”

With that my body exploded in light. Hundreds of colour and shapes bursting outwards, decades of power that I held back were finally escaping. Everything seemed to glow as my form fell away into the dawn’s light, amber glow seeming to burn away wilted crops torn down buildings and empty gardens. The city would glow once again.

It was true, power corrupts. But it was also true that power could heal.

“That power corrupts people,” they cried, “you’ll become a monster!” That was a hundred years ago, and you’re beginning to wonder when the ‘evil’ is going to kick in

[tiza0925]

Hello! I'm new to this but have you ever thought about any of your favorite characters while they're in the act and you look down at a certain part and they're so big on you that it scares you but they're pretty sure it could fit.I don't know if you could write something like that, sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.

hellooo, absolutely love this prompt so much ty for this ♡

men that make it fit | 18+

warnings/tags: nsfw, afab/female!reader, size difference, fingering, pet names, praise kink, squirting, raw sex, implied multiple orgasms, large cocks ♡

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Big men who just cover your entire body with theirs when they’re on top of you. 

Guys who make you feel so small when you’re on their lap, their hands are so damn big that they can cover your entire waist, legs, and hands—practically engulfing you. 

Big men that just pin you to the mattress while making out with you, they’re so strong without needing to try, and you probably should feel scared by the difference in strengths but god—you feel so secure. 

And you know he’ll take care of you even if he can hurt you sometimes—never on purpose unless you want it—because of how massive he is. 

Guys who feel just a little bad when they hear you cry from them pushing their thick fingers inside you—stretching your poor cunt and making you leak all over his hand as he curls his fingers inside your plush walls, coaxing out a throbbing orgasm from you. 

“Such a sweet little thing for me,” You hear him murmur, watching as your face twists with pleasure, and he can see the slight worry in your eyes as he fucks you with his fingers. “My baby is taking me so well already.” 

But can you take his cock? 

Fuck—what if it’s too big? 

It must be—his fingers are already too much for you—his dick will be nearly impossible to fit inside you. 

“You think you can be good and take my cock?” You whine, feeling heady and muddy as he pins both of your hands above your head on the bed, while his other hand continues to twist and curl inside you, his thumb pressing and rubbing your swollen clit. “I want to feel my favourite pussy, sweetheart.” 

But you suck in a shaky breath, eyes wide and scared because you know you can’t fit all of him in, and he chuckles breathlessly as he kisses your lips so softly, making you melt against him. 

“Don’t be scared,” He kisses your cheek, then gives your trembling lower lip a gentle pull with his mouth, trying to get you relaxed as he strums his fingers through your sopping folds, his voice low and deceptively soothing. “I’ll be gentle with you, okay?” 

He always is—and that’s the thing. 

No matter how gentle he tries to be—he still ends up stretching you so wide that you think you might actually split in half, the sting of him inside you being too much that you cry sometimes.

He kisses you, and reassures you, hand running up and down your body to spread goosebumps all over your skin. 

Then he’s pushing his pants off to let his fat cock bounce free—it lands on your belly, all hot and heavy, and your breath hitches as electricity sparks through your body—and your heart rate doubles with every passing moment, just waiting for him to stuff you with his cock. 

“Relax for me,” He says while guiding his dick to slide between your plush pussy, letting your slick folds hug his length and coat them in juices as he rocks his hips—his cock head bumping against your clit every time his hips are flushed against yours. 

“You feel that, baby?” Your lashes flutter, your eyes half-lidded as he works you up, making your cunt pulse as he glides his heavy cock over it. “You’re gonna be so good and fit all of me, okay?” 

You gulp, but you still nod—because you want to be good for him. 

You want to feel him and make him feel good. 

And he watches you, focused, taking in every twitch of your features as he slowly pushes the head of his dick inside you—his eyes alight with heat when he sees the way your mouth pops open with a gasp, already feeling the intense stretch of him. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he shushes you, sliding his hands under your thighs to guide them around his waist, and you whine as you hook your arms around his neck, bringing him closer, sloppily kissing him as he waits for you to adjust. “You feel so tight already—fuck—”

He groans, his voice vibrating against you, and you begin to breathe heavily as he pushes his fat cock into you—making you feel every agonizing inch as your pussy struggles to swallow him whole. 

“I—“ Your sentence gets cut short as you choke, already feeling him in your lungs and he’s only halfway in, “I can’t—”

“You can,” One of his hands comes up to swipe a fallen tear on your cheek with his thumb, while his other hand pins you to the bed by the waist. “I know you can, baby, you always did before.”

Which is true—you always did but—

It’s just so fucking big—holy shit—

You bite your lip, and your eyes squeeze shut as you try your hardest to relax—your fluids being pushed out as he lodges his dick inside your warm, plush walls, causing a wet mess all over your thighs and bed. 

You hold him as if you’re clinging onto dear life—taking all of him as he kisses you through it—until his hips finally press against your ass, his cock so deep that your limbs grow numb and you swear you can orgasm already. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” He purrs, waiting a moment as your pussy throbs around him, feeling abused and soaked, and he smiles down at you so achingly soft. “Taking me all like a good girl for me.” 

Then he pulls back—

“Oh god—” And you keen when he rocks his hips forward, sliding his cock along your walls, and he sets a pace of fucking you—getting you wet and your eyes to roll back as he becomes greedy with your pussy. 

“Look, baby,” He grunts, thrusting his cock in and out, his length coming out slick and creamy from your arousal, and he grips your face—fingers squishing your cheeks—to make you look down. “Look how well you’re taking me.” 

Your vision is foggy, you’re barely able to comprehend anything except for the dick inside your sore cunt, and you blink blearily as you try to look at what he wants you to see and—

Fuck.

You watch the way his cock disappears into your pussy, his girth forcing its way into you—and you let out a shaky breath at the way you’re taking it all in. 

Just like he said you would. 

“Told you I’ll make it fit, sweetheart, I always do,” You hear him murmur, and you force yourself to relax into a ragged breath as your limps melt into the mattress beneath you.

You feel like you’re being split in half as he fucks you over and over, bringing you higher and higher until you’re cumming all over him—gushing out liquid as you squirt on his cock with a wet moan, his name on your tongue—

And he takes good care of you throughout it all. His aftercare overwhelms you with cuddles of love and affirmation.

He loves you too much, anyway.

End.

Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Atsumu, Suna, Gojo, Choso, Sakusa, Geto, Sukuna, Nanami, Akaza, Oda, Kuroo, Hinata, plus any of your fav characters ♡

Masterpost

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt

Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"

It's not every day that a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in a bid to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly is today.

Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the woods.

The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chips were offbrand and crappy.

Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank his coffee.

The air felt off.

"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.

The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.

"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously, cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot, sorry."

The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.

The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.

"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.

"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.

"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.

Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.

"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"

A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.

"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!

It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.

"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.

The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.

After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.

"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.

Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.

"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.