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hailsatanacab · 1 year

Note

"give me a fandom and a prompt and i'll give you at least five sentences"

Ok then.

Jazz, Danny and Bruce are in the same age range, and Bruce has been harboring a massive crush on 7'foot tall Jazz since just after he began his training journey.

His kids know about and are mercyless. Danny thinks he's a bit of a fruit loop and 100% knows Bruce has a crush on his sister.

Into the future his coworkers find out that batman has been quietly pining after the Ghost Kings sister for years.

Chaos.

love that this reads as a challenge. Ok then. Write it. i will, let's goooo!

(sorry i kinda took it so that Jazz, Danny, and Bruce were all old friends but in that horrible adult way where you can only hang out with each other once in a blue moon when your work schedules miraculously align)

——

"Respectfully, Batman, you can take your "it's not necessary" and you can shove it up your arse. There's a demon the size of a skyscraper heading towards Metropolis and we need reinforcements."

"Superman can—"

"Superman can't. You do remember the part of the report I made telling you this, right? Or did your stubborn little bat brain just shut down when I mentioned magic?"

"Actually," Nightwing interrupts from the side, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I think his brain shut down when you mentioned the Ghost King."

"Nightwing." Batman growls in warning, his jaw clenching so hard Constantine can swear he hears the bones creaking.

Nightwing just snickers, and turns away to press a finger to his ear, no doubt letting the rest of the bat brood in on what's happening here... Whatever that is. All Constantine knows is that Batman is standing between him and fixing this mess for no God-forsaken reason.

Luckily, some of the more reasonable members of the League step in to try and talk some sense into Batman. It gives him some time to calm down.

"Batman. We need him. I know you dislike working with unknowns, but he's our best shot."

It actually looks like Wonder Woman might be getting through to him, Batman even opens his mouth to actually explain some things—a huge step forward for this incredibly emotionally constipated man.

Instead, Nightwing snorts and beats him to it. "Unknowns? More like—"

"Nightwing, please."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, get your head out of your arse and let me do this. The Ghost King is our only hope. I'm summoning him, no matter what you say."

For a long second, Constantine thinks that he'll refuse and he might have to resort to more violent methods of persuasion—which, honestly, Constantine has fantasised about many times during the more boring JL meetings—but eventually, Batman relents and steps out of the way.

"Fine. Nightwing, go check in with Red Robin."

Nightwing has the kind of devious smile that makes John glad he doesn't have kids.

"Oh, don't worry about it, B. Red Robin's coming here. So's Red Hood, I don't need to go anywhere."

"Nightwing—"

"Sh, it's starting." So saying, Nightwing then very obviously ignores Batman's protests with a poker face that even Constantine envies. What he wouldn't give to be able to shut the bat out like that.

The summoning goes quickly, thankfully. The lights flicker, the temperature drops, and the chalk circle erupts in green flames. Standard summoning practices, sure. Even the impromptu appearance of Red Hood and Red Robin—"Did we miss him?", "No, not yet! I got 2:37, what about you guys?"—doesn't throw him off.

It does pique his interest, though. Just what the hell is going on with them? Constantine's weighing up the pros and cons of asking them once all of this is over when the ground splits open and the clawed hand of the Ghost King begins to pull himself out of the ground.

John's a seasoned summoner. It's practically his job, he's done it countless times.

The icey fear that grips his heart, that freezes his breath in his chest, is new.

Pure, unadulterated power floods the area and he feels small, so, so small, like a child playing with things he doesn't understand. When he finally tears his eyes away from the portal, he catches a glimpse of the other magic users in the room, the same horror he feels clear in their faces. Even Captain Marvel stares slackjawed.

The pressure rises, death magic screaming in his ears, almost forcing him to his knees, and suddenly he's not so sure this is a good idea.

Too late to back out now, though.

Sickly green light pours from the crack in the ground, growing brighter and brighter as the giant figure rises, until Constantine has to close his eyes and look away. The last thing he sees are eyes, teeth, horns, a crown so bright that it burns an afterimage into his retinas.

When the light dies down and he opens his eyes again, a humanoid man floats in the centre of the circle. The ground is whole, nothing is burning, the man doesn't even have a crown. Instead, other than the wispy white hair, slightly green skin, and the—you know—floating, the Ghost King appears pretty normal. Huh.

Constantine blinks, rubbing his bleary eyes, and checks around to make sure everyone's okay. Most of the League are doing the same as him, taking fortifying breaths and trying to appear as if they've not just been completely blinded.

Most of them, that is, aside from the Gotham vigilantes.

Batman himself stands upright, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the whole thing and John's got to admit, he wishes he could do that, too. That was... a hell of a show.

The others, however, are waving frantically with huge smiles on their faces.

What?

There's a brief, taut silence, as everyone else tries to catch their breath.

As much as he would rather take a bit of a breather, John should probably start making introductions. Unfortunately, he only gets as far as opening his mouth before the Ghost King beats him to it.

"Oh, Ancients, hey guys! It's been forever, how are you? Look at you all, so grown up, wow—Nightwing, buddy, do a flip!"

It doesn't take much to get Nightwing going, and he certainly doesn't leave it at one flip. The whole of the Justice League and Justice League Dark watch with open mouths as Nightwing performs for the Ghost King.

What, and John can't stress this enough, the fuck?

As soon as Nightwing rights himself, Red Hood swats him across the back of the head and calls him a show off.

The Ghost King just laughs as he claps. "There's my little monkey, look at you go! And I'm loving that leather jacket, Hood, is that new? Looks good on you, really your colour. Brings out the red in your helmet."

"Thanks, Uncle D. At least someone around here appreciates fashion."

"Are you kidding me, you know I breathe fashion, need I remind—"

"Need I remind you of the Discowing incident?"

"That was era-appropriate and you know it! Uncle D, tell him it was era-appropriate!"

"It was era-appropriate, but so are crocs and it doesn't make them fashionable." The Ghost King—and holy shit, is this actually the Ghost King? Or did Constantine just accidentally summon a deceased family member, what the fuck is happening here?—turns to look at Red Robin with a smile, resolutely ignorning the argument he created. "How you doing, Double R? You get that tablet Tucker made for you?"

"Yes, thank you! It's so cool, how did he—"

"How's Tucker doing?" Batman interrupts, his hands now hidden underneath his cape.

As soon as the question leaves his lips, everyone groans. Red Robin makes a show of lifting up his wrist and staring at it intently.

"Incredible," Red Hood mutters with a shake of his head.

Even the Ghost King seems put out, rolling his eyes and answering in a flat tone as if he knows Batman isn't interested in what he has to say.

Not for the first time, Constantine feels like he's missing something.

"Tucker's doing very well, thank you for asking."

What follows is the most awkward silence Constantine has ever had the pleasure to be a part of.

All three of the Gotham vigilantes, including the Ghost King, are staring at Batman, waiting for something. Batman's cloak shifts as if he's moving his hands, fidgeting. If Constantine didn't know any better, he'd say he was nervous.

"Good. That's good, I'm glad to hear it."

Instead of saying anything else, the Ghost King just raises his eyebrows and continues to stare at Batman. Has he offended him in some way? Are they all going to die because of this?

After what seems like an agonising few minutes but could only really be a few seconds, Batman's shoulders dip and he takes a breath. "And Jazz?"

They all erupt into shouts, the Ghost King being the loudest. The only thing John can make out is when the Ghost King throws his hand in the air to point at Red Robin with a shout of "Time!"

"1:30.91, we got 1:30.91 on the clock, who's closest?"

"Did you even try to hold it in at all, old man? I'm so disappointed in you. People think you're cool. People think you're suave, I don't understand how they could be so wrong."

"Thank you for that, Hood."

"No, thank you, I won. Again. Because you're so predictable. Actually, I had one minute seventeen, so you held out longer than I thought you would."

Batman pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs loudly.

Constantine feels like doing the same thing.

Whatever. He's going to have to interrupt... whatever this is. There's still a rampaging demon heading their way that they've got to bargain for. He can untangle Batman's personal connection to the Ghost King later. Or he could leave it alone and forget everything about it.

Yeah, he'll do that one.

But before he can actually open his mouth to say anything, the Ghost King, again, beats him to it.

"So, B-Man, did you summon me here for a particular reason, or was it really just so you could ask about Jazz?"

There's a beat of silence before Batman mutters, "I asked about Tucker, too. We've not seen each other in so long, it's only polite."

"And I'm sure you meant it, you're the paragon of manners." The Ghost King nods slow and wide-eyed as if he doesn't believe him at all.

At this point, even Constantine doesn't believe him.

"It has been forever, though." The Ghost King muses, bringing his hand to his chin and folding his legs underneath him. "We should all get together sometime! If you get Alfie to make some of his cookies again, I'll get Clockwork to lend us a pocket dimension where we can spend as much time as we want, deal?"

"It's a deal."

No hesitation at all, incredible.

Hold on. Wait. John has to fight the urge to pinch himself, because this has to be a dream, right? Is Batman actually smiling? He didn't even know he could do that.

An itch niggles at the back of John's mind. He's starting to get an inkling of what's going on here and it's... weird, to say the least.

"Oooh," Nightwing singsongs, like a child in a playground tickled by the very idea of romance.

But then, who's he to judge? John's no stranger to strange bedfellows, that's for sure. Whoever this Jazz is, she must be something incredible—she'd have to be, if Batman can't even go two minutes without asking about her.

"Batman and Jasmine sitting in a tree," Nightwing continues, with both Red Hood and Red Robin joining in for the rest. "K—I—S—S—I—"

"Stop," Batman growls, completely drowned out by the Ghost King's laughter, but...

But.

It all suddenly clicks for John.

The Ghost King Phantom.

Her Royal Highness, Princess Jasmine Phantom.

Jazz.

"Holy shit, mate," John breathes, unable to stop himself as everyone looks his way. "You have the hots for the Princess of the Infinite Realms?"

The Justice League meeting room has never descended into chaos quicker.

#dpxdc #danny phantom crossover #danny phantom x batman #hoooolllyyy mackeral #it was hubris thinking i could keep anything to five sentences really wasn't it?#fucking played myself with that didn't i???#anyway here's even more words on this i hope you enjoy!!#some things that didn't make it in:#duke doesn't come to see danny because he's too bright when he's in his ghost form and it gives him a migraine - he still plays the game #though and is second closest!#damian is there he's just biding his time. it's become a tradition for damian to try and stab danny whenever he turns up #he hasn't managed it yet but danny keeps encouraging him to try again! you'll get me next time champ!#it infuriates damian to no end - no he's not doing it because he's having fun he legitimately wants to kill him shut up!#danny loves cass so much and when they do all get together they always sit together - it often ends up with cass curling up around danny #ellie turns up every now and then! she's like an honourary wayne at this point #she's always down for any pranks and shenanigans #thank you for the prompt!! it was very fun. as you can see i got rather carried away haha #thank you i hope you enjoyed it!!!#my writing #cab writes

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kissporsche · 6 days

Text

prompt: legacy

Vegas twists the ring on his finger and replays the scene in his mind again. Porsche, wounded and vulnerable, and Kinn knelt by his side. At Vegas’s feet. He wonders what would have happened if he’d had time to pull the trigger– first on Porsche, then Kinn. Chances are he would have been killed. They were still outnumbered on enemy grounds, he probably wouldn’t have even made it out of the garage. His father would still be dead. And whatever future he had envisioned for his son had died with him. Still– he can’t help but think about it. If he’d succeeded, how would the main family ring have felt on his finger, instead? “We’re back!” Macau’s shout jolts Vegas back to the present, where his curry has reached a gentle simmer. Pete shuffles into the kitchen just behind Macau, smile widening when his eyes meet Vegas’s. “This smells great,” he says appreciatively. “I think we got everything you wanted.” He places a full bag on the countertop next to where Vegas is working. “You’re everything I want,” Vegas responds without thinking, and grins at both Pete’s automatic blush and Macau’s overexaggerated gagging. “Stop it,” Pete mumbles. He places a chaste kiss on Vegas’s cheek before starting to put the groceries away. “Phi, can you help me? I don’t get this homework.” Macau has managed to splay what looks like the entire contents of his backpack on the kitchen table in the seconds Vegas was looking away. “In a minute, this is nearly done.” “Do you want these washed?” Pete asks, gesturing to some fresh herbs. “I’ll do it, you sit down.” He removes his ring and rolls his sleeves up, running some water to rinse the herbs. “Maybe you can help Macau.” “With English?” Both Pete and Macau say incredulously. Vegas laughs at the offended look on Pete’s face as they begin to bicker good naturedly, leaving Vegas to return to his cooking. It’s not until much later, when dinner has been eaten and the dishes are being collected up, that Vegas realises he never put the ring back on.

ending at the ending <3 this has been such a fun little anniversary project, it felt right to once again leave off with my favourite boys living their best post-canon life

#kpanniversary2024 #kp fic #boots writes #vp #thank you everyone for following along with these prompts and THANK YOU DREAMY FOR ORGANISING!!#i'm amazed i managed what i set out to do and only missed one haha #oh and massive thanks to lu for helping edit... all of these

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valeriianz · 9 months

Note

Hob and Dream sharing a bath?

Can be smut or fluff your choice

i made it smutty ;) CW: bubble baths and handjobs, human au

----------------

“You’ve been working yourself ragged. You need to relax,” Hob insisted, broad hands on Morpheus’ slim shoulders, directing him towards the bathroom.

“And you think a bath is the answer?” Morpheus grumbled but allowed himself to be gently coaxed into their bathroom, currently dark save for the few candles that flickered on the edge of the bathtub.

Morpheus swallowed, taking in the scene before him. The candles gave their usually drab, off-white apartment bathroom a soft yellow glow. The room was warm and humid, sage and lavender permeating the air and immediately filling Morpheus with a sense of calm.

There were also bubbles in the water.

It was very… sweet. Hob was always too sweet with Morpheus.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Morpheus mumbled as he felt Hob’s lips on the back of his neck. “I’m capable of taking a bath without all these… accouterments.”

Hob chuckled into Dream’s hair, making him shudder pleasantly.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Hob gave the back of Morpheus’ head one more kiss before gently turning him around. “And I think you’ll like it. Nothing like a hot epsom salt bath to relieve tension and stress.”

Morpheus stared at Hob with wonder clear in his gaze at how he got so lucky, what he did to deserve such kindness.

“C’mon, off with these…” Hob smiled as he tugged at the ends of Morpheus’ oversized shirt. Morpheus raised his arms and allowed Hob to tug it off him.

He stepped back to remove his jeans and underwear himself, noticing, even in the limited light, how Hob blatantly watched.

Morpheus grinned as he stepped out of his remaining garments and tugged on Hob’s belt loops, causing the other man to lean forward and laugh in surprise.

“Would you join me?” Morpheus asked against Hob’s lips.

“I’m very tempted…” Hob breathed, nudging his nose to Morpheus’. “But this is for you. To relax.” He reminded Morpheus with a pointed look.

And, regrettably, a step backwards, but latched his hand into Morpheus’ and helped him into the water.

Morpheus dipped his foot in slowly, humming as he felt the bath slowly caress him. The water was still hot, but not uncomfortably so. Hob must’ve drawn it while Morpheus was on his way home. The idea of Hob timing his arrival to this surprise made something warm and wanting bloom in Morpheus’ chest.

As Morpheus settled back against the tub, sighing long and heavy, he allowed his eyes to slip shut. The water gently splashed around him as he got comfortable, a low groan unconsciously tumbling past his lips.

“Feel better already, huh?”

Morpheus turned his head and opened his eyes, finding Hob crouched by him, next to the tub. The flutter of the candle close by cast Hob in amber shadows that made Morpheus want to reach out and touch, curious if the curve of Hob’s cheek and jaw would be as warm as they appeared.

After a moment passed, Hob smiled again, hoisting himself up. “You just relax and enjoy yourself, okay?” He paused to plug in an old mp3 player to the speaker on the sink, where Tchaikovsky began to quietly echo off the walls. And Morpheus could only watch as Hob went to the door, turning one more time.

“I’ll check up on you in a bit, if you’re still here.”

An unnecessary afterthought, but appreciated nonetheless. Morpheus sighed again as the door closed and he looked down at himself… the thick cover of bubbles concealing his form under the steaming water. His toes peeked out from the surface near the drain and Morpheus, indeed, felt himself loosening up.

He hummed along to the violin orchestra and brought his hands out of the water to touch the cool porcelain of the tub surrounding him, dancing his fingers on the edge.

And thinking about Hob again, lit up so handsomely and warm against the candle light. It reminded Morpheus of that time they went on a vacation in the mountains, renting out a cabin with a fireplace and a lush, fur rug before it. Where they had stripped each other naked and Morpheus rode Hob with the wood fire burning next to them, accenting Hob’s best features and making everything so, so warm.

Morpheus’ hand dropped back into the water, fingers gliding along his hardening dick, teasing himself, drawing a small gasp before wrapping his hand around himself completely with a low moan.

Hob did tell him to enjoy himself.

—--------

Hob knocked on the door before opening it and allowing himself in.

“Hey love, how’s it going?”

Hob’s ears perked at the sound of water softly splashing, and the unmistakable cut-off gasps that Hob had memorized by now… if not the sound alone, then how to get Morpheus to perform that musical note over and over again.

He walked to the tub, his blood rushing south at the image that greeted him.

Morpheus’ eyes were dark, and focused right on him. The bubbles had simmered down to almost nothing and Hob could clearly see how Morpheus was taking himself apart, a hand on his cock, the tip occasionally breaking the surface, and his other hand hidden somewhere between his legs, jerking back and forth.

Hob knelt by the side of the tub, crossing his arms over the edge.

“Someone’s having fun,” Hob grinned, unable to help himself. But Morpheus only groaned, his back arching beautifully and making Hob’s mouth go dry.

“Hob…” Morpheus’s voice was like melted chocolate, so sweet and dark, making Hob lick his lips.

“What are you thinking about, my Dream?” Hob murmured, leaning up on his knees and testing the water with his fingers, finding it still warm.

“Thinking about you–” Morpheus sighed, his eyes still locked on Hob’s. “Always you.”

“Me?” Hob played along, ignoring how his breathing had become shallow and his own cock twitched in interest. He dipped his hand below the surface, finding Morpheus’ fingers around himself and wrapping his hand around both of them.

Morpheus’ eyes slammed shut and he cried out, sliding his hand free to come out of the water and grip the front of Hob’s t-shirt.

Fuck, Morpheus was already so close. Hob felt stunned as he watched his boyfriend writhe in the water, bucking his hips up in time to Hob’s strokes and causing waves that lapped over the edge of the tub and splash onto the floor, soaking Hob’s sweatpants.

Hob picked up the pace, swiping his thumb over Morpheus’ cockhead and, unable to resist any longer, lunged forward to latch his mouth against Morpheus’ just as a high-pitched moan tore through him, now muffled in Hob’s mouth.

The grip on Hob’s shirt tightened, yanking him closer as Morpheus’ tongue shot down Hob’s throat, making his hips give an involuntary jerk against the tub and for a brief moment, entertained the idea of crawling into the water with Morpheus.

Before he could even pull away to swing a leg over though, Morpheus was coming, his jaw dropping and his own hips giving short, jerky motions as he rode out his orgasm in Hob’s hand.

Morpheus’ long, low moan of satisfaction echoed off the tiled walls and tickled Hob’s ears, his own arousal coiled tight and demanding attention.

For now though, Hob took his hand away and cupped it around Morpheus’ cheek, tilting his head and resuming their kiss, slow and languid with fire simmering just below the surface.

Morpheus kissed him back just as eagerly, but clearly worn out, boneless in Hob’s hold and slouching further into the water.

He hummed like a cat content, breaking apart with a lewd, wet sound and chuckling softly.

“You were right. I needed that.”

#dreamling #hob x dream #a lil bath smut #as a treat lol #this was fun #thank you nonnie!#not quite on prompt but close enough i think haha #my writing #nsft

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

Note

First I’m literally obsessed with the way you write homie it’s literally so in character.

Second, how do you think he would react to having a thicker gf and seeing them being verbally harassed bc of it? I feel like he would lose his mind

this fic has been rewritten and given a smutty follow up! check it out here. ;)

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side. He couldn't be prouder. You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed.

Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right. "Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying.

Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters.

He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quick and easy to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me."

You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't fucking stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better."

One way or another.

With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get the drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..." Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed.

Sounds like someone's going to die tonight.

"One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn. "They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-" "No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there." Someone is definitely going to die tonight. You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home." "We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it." "No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big teary eyes. "Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage. "I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With a hand wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred.

"Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, as if eager for a bloody meal.

The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in. Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. You clueless fucking idiots.

"Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy.

"Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information. "Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions.

"I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but each of them has their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of them.

Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's. The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right knowing his name. “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering.

“What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn. I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive. You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh. Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?” Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-” "Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close.

"But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.”

There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, the lot of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place. "Holy shit," you whisper. Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him absolutely senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salt smell of your tears with something a little more salacious. The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already was, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest.

"That so? Might not be for long. This dress on your body has been driving me positively wild. All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

That night, Homelander fucks you in and out of the dress. The truth of it is that whether you're dressed to the nines or laid completely bare, he will always be wild for you. You're beautiful, you're his through and through, and he's going to make sure every inch of you knows it.

He can deep fry those morons another night.

#thank you so much for the lovely words and the prompt!!! i hope this works for you #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #fatphobia cw #very mild dw #i'm sorry it's late i will proof read in the morning haha #i wrote this as a palate cleanser #i feel much better

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bogkeep · 14 days

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Poem prompt: The Crown (looming ominously on a table)

the crown lies heavy on a table heavier still the crown on a head be the king withered or able backs will break in his stead

the crown lies on a table tall taller still the crown must be worn from such heights a king might fall winds were blowing before he was born

strangely shines the table crown brighter still the crown in the sun all the light of a king's renown hanging by the tale that is spun

#poetry #haiz writes #i had fun with this one! i hope the ending works; i got a little bit stuck #also thank u kipali for the many many prompts u have sent haha

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nolongerdaily-pussinboots · 1 year

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Lol What if Death learns the adorable eyes from Puss? XD

Day 12

#thank you for your prompt!!#this might be a bit ooc. but i thought it was cute haha #puss in boots #pib #pib death #deathpuss #moon doodles #moon answers #im unsure whether u meant death does it or puss does it so i took a guess ^^'

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what-the-fic-khr · 3 months

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Hibari for earl grey and chai tea pls

hiiii anon!!! all good, thank you! weeeee everyone suddenly wants to know how they spice up their relationships lol. but these were fun, thank you!!

character/s: tyl!hibari kyoya, reader-insert (gender-neutral)

word count: —

warnings: the second one is intentionally written to come off suggestive in the narration and dialogue lol

prompt: tea prompts (coffee, chai tea)

coffee; do they get jealous easily? how do they show it?

hah. ha. well, not in the most… convenient way…? not that he’s ever had to worry about his partner cheating on him or being unfaithful, and usually walking around publicly as Hibari Kyoya’s partner you’d skip a lot of people trying to hit on you. but I think he’d still get… unnecessarily…. competitive? he knows he’s stronger, he knows he’s better, this other person can eat shit. it’s all very stupid truthfully lmfao

Their nervousness was getting worse the longer this conversation went on. You were trying to steer it into something that would help comfort him, but Kyoya’s presence was like a wall. Unmoving, unfaltering.

“Oh, the time…” You looked up at Kyoya for a moment. “You’ve got to go, don’t you?”

Kyoya nodded once. “Yes. A meeting.” Your expression flattened when he held the other’s gaze evenly. “A Guardian meeting.”

The flaunting of his title seemed to work a bit, because the man you’d been talking to flinched a little. You could almost hear Kyoya snort in amusement over the reaction, so you grabbed his arm, tightly.

“You should get going, then. Don’t want to be late.”

“It’d be a shame if someone held me up, huh.”

“O-Oh! I’ll let you get to it then, Sir!” You smiled warily as the man in front of you bowed his head and left with a quiet goodbye in your direction, waving.

Once he was gone you turned to smack Kyoya’s arm before doing it again for good measure. “What’s wrong with you? Cut it out.”

“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? I wonder how they’ve survived this long.”

You turned him and forced him down the hall with a loud noise. “You’re like a mafia anomaly to these people. Stop scaring people for no reason.”

“They’re scared because they know I’m stronger.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?

right. so, you’d know how to fight already by his standards. I think for shits and giggles he’d just give you his weapons. just let you go to town learning them, and I bet he’d probably think that’s soooooo attractive, sooooooo cool and sexy. he’s a stickler for the rules (the ones he likes following, at least) so he wouldn’t do anything too reckless, but fighting is right up his alley, so letting your learn with something apart of him is the way he’d go about it

“Harder!”

You seemed to do well, getting yelled at and commanded into things, because your next swing at the dummy took the wooden head off it’s stiff shoulders, letting the heavy ‘thunk’ echo in the training room.

“Yeah!” You threw your hands up, gripping his tonfa tightly. “Got his stupid ass head off!” You turned to grin at him, eyes wide and sparkling. Chest heaving with adrenaline from training. Very clearly expecting praise.

Kyoya sighed softly, head tilting, but he watched you with amusement. He waved a hand at you, instructing you to come closer, and you came immediately.

Once close enough, he lifted a hand to pet you on the head once. “Good job. Now go destroy the others and I’ll give you a reward.”

The way you visibly lit up, practically vibrating with excitement, was almost endearing. He waved you off and you ran off with a laugh, lifting up a tonfa threateningly. They looked good in your hands.

#hibari kyoya #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #18 #khr imagines #katekyo hitman reborn imagines #katekyo hitman reborn x reader #khr x reader #hibari kyoya x reader #mine #requests #tea prompts #HIIIII THANK YOU #I liked writing the second one haha #he’s such a popular character on here good for him

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zutaras-where-its-at · 7 months

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zutara prompt: au in which zuko doesn’t know how to swim and katara teaches him while she’s still unsure whether they can trust him (at the beginning of his redemption arc)

she hates him. really, she does.

he’s a no-good, lying, son of a bitch, and if he hadn’t betrayed them in ba sing se, aang wouldn’t have a scar cratered in the skin of his back. she hates him.

except—

he just looks so…pathetic right now.

everyone else is carving graceful arcs in the water, whooping as they dive headfirst into the frigid-but-still-functioning pool they found in the western air temple. even toph—who notoriously can’t swim and hates being in water—wades casually in the shallow end next to teo.

but zuko won’t even get in.

the heavy look of dread that muddles his sharp features and curls his proud shoulders inward is enough to elicit a stab of sympathy in her for the scorned prince, and katara wonders at the fact that sympathy and hatred are apparently not mutually exclusive.

it’s pity that leads her to brush past him with hardly a glance as she says, “if you don’t know how to swim, you don’t have to get in.”

“i know how to swim,” he snaps, then flinches when he sees who he’s speaking to. calmer, he repeats, “i know how to swim.”

she just ticks a brow speculatively. “you sure?”

zuko has tried very hard to be extra civil with her the last week, but now, she can see just how difficult it is for him to keep the glare off of his face. “i’m sure.”

there’s something there, then. something hesitant and anxious and dark that twists his mouth and keeps his eyes from really looking at her. and katara—observant as she is—recognizes it for what it is.

“okay. so you’re scared.”

he looks stricken, suddenly, adam’s apple bobbing once up and down in his throat. he still won’t look at her. “i’m not.”

it’s sharper now, sitting just under the surface, so katara sinks her talons into it and tugs—“you don’t like the water. you’re afraid of it.”

“i’m not afraid of the fucking water, okay?” he inhales and bites his lip and balls up his fists, “it’s just cold, is all.”

“cold?” she drawls disbelievingly. in the background, aang hollers loudly as he cannonballs into the deep end. “aren’t you a firebender?”

at that, his gold gold gold eyes finally find her face, and she’s startled by the raw panic she sees in them. after a long moment, he seems to make up his mind about something. she watches as he gathers his words properly in his mouth and confesses quietly, “i almost drowned. in the north pole.”

she puts two and two together in record time—because she’d always wondered how he’d snuck into the heart of the northern water tribe under such intense war-time surveillance, had always been confused and resentful of the fact that he’d stolen aang out from right under her nose when she’d least expected it—and frowns.

she thinks about her childhood, how hakoda taught them to check for thin ice, carefully pick their fishing spots, and above all, what to do should they fall in. it’s been drilled in them since they were young, that the ocean is no joke, but the poles are a nightmare should you step wrong. hypothermia, hidden icebergs, the disorienting dark beneath the surface—

katara hates him.

but it’s just so pathetic and sad the way he watches them all with lonely eyes and a fear anyone could see from a mile away.

because all too soon, she’s convinced aang that there’s absolutely no way he and zuko are strong enough firebenders to heat up the swimming pool, and surely zuko hasn’t taught him well enough that they could actually do it in under five minutes, and really, she doubts zuko even knows how to control the temperature so it doesn’t boil them.

she hates him, but maybe—maybe she doesn’t.

#lmao this ended up way longer than i meant it to #also #i tweaked it a bit bc zuko does in fact know how to swim #but i still liked the idea of him having a phobia of it #so hopefully that worked and didn’t come across as stupid haha #thank you for the prompt!#zutara #katara #zuko #my zutara stuff #flash fic friday

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leiascully · 2 months

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If you're still taking prompts: bower.

(Hope you're feeling a bit better, or will soon!)

They're in a nameless hotel in the middle of the country. They've changed cars again - it's a little pickup this time, with a camper shell. Innocuous, among the backpackers and backcountry aficionados. Scully sits on the motel bed. It's not a bed for lounging. She flips through the channels on the tv and settles on a nature documentary.

"The bowerbird is unique among passerines," says a cultured voice. On the screen, a blue-black bird bobs up and down among stalks of dry grass. "The male crafts a structure to house his mate and decorates it, using found objects to accessorize it in a way that will please his potential mate."

"Well, he can't go to Hobby Lobby," Scully murmurs back to the screen. There's a tapping at the door. She gets up to flip back the privacy latch.

"Who can't?" Mulder asks, coming in.

"The bowerbird," Scully tells him. "He reminds me of you."

"I can't go to Hobby Lobby?"

"Can you?" He shrugs and hands her a greasy paper bag. "I don't know how you heard that."

"I've had you bugged for years," Mulder says easily. "I thought you knew."

"That would explain things." She opens the bag. Inside is a sandwich wrapped in plastic, a brownie likewise swaddled, and a heap of loose potato chips. Everything looks homemade. Mulder has his own bag. There's already a chip crunching between his teeth. His lips are glossy with oil.

"So why do I remind you of the bowerbird? My glossy plumage? My dance moves?" He bobs his dark head.

"The way you used to put things up around the office to entice me." Scully eats a chip. They're very good. "Fewer pebbles, more articles clipped from unedited magazines, but the theory is the same. You lured me in with your slideshows."

"That might be the only crime I've ever been accused of that I'm actually guilty," he says thoughtfully, unwrapping his sandwich.

"Breaking and entering," she says. "Criminal trespass. Tampering with and/or destroying government property. Assaulting a witness."

"I wasn't accused of that last one," he corrects her.

"You did do it." Did Roche deserve it? That's not for her to say.

"I didn't say I didn't." He takes a bite out of his sandwich. "You're one to talk, Miss Contempt of Congress."

"I'd do it again," she says vehemently.

"I know you would," he tells her, and for a moment, she feels like they're back in the basement office, making a stand, instead of on the run.

#my fic sort of #thanks for the prompt!#and the well wishes #not sure this is what you asked for haha

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spaceratprodigy · 7 months

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Send 🌳 for our muses to admire the fall foliage together - for Rhea and Faith if thats ok?

@captastra — [ autumnal prompts ]

So delighted to finally draw Faith and Rhea for the first time!! I can't wait to work on all of our other ideas as well 💖💕

#I loved this prompt a lot!! such a fun color palette to work with ❤🧡💛#and Rhea was so so wonderful to work with 🥺💕 she's so pretty I love her design a lot #seeing her and Faith being friends is making my heart explode aaaaa thank you again for requesting them!!#I gotta stop now because I'll just start talking in circles about how please I am with this and love seeing our ocs interact haha #💖💕💖💕#my art #the outer worlds #captain of the unreliable #friend oc

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hailsatanacab · 1 year

Text

@the-ghost-trader - ooooh, i love this! it has the potential to be so incredibly sad, too, like poor Damian just trying to carve out something normal for himself only for it blow up in his face

BUT, shockingly, i'm not about the angst today! not yet anyway 😇

---

“So, how was your day?”

Despite his answering groan, Damian likes this. This. This whole… thing he has with Danielle. With Ellie.

And, yeah, he’s not exactly told any of the others yet, but can you blame him? For wanting to keep something, anything, to himself. Wanting to keep this small little slice of goodness he’s managed to carve out, untouched and unmarred by his family, by their other lives, by the rogues, the vigilantes, the assassins, everyone.

“That bad, huh?”

Being with Ellie is freeing. That’s the best way to describe it.

She knows. Damian surprised even himself when he told her—not about the others, mind, but he supposes it’s not hard to put two and two together and Dani has always been smarter than most—but it’s the best decision he’s ever made, and no matter what the niggling little voice in the back of his head says (the one that sounds suspiciously like Father), he can’t bring himself to regret it.

He won’t. Because having Ellie know gives him freedom.

She’s a safe place, a hand to hold, a warm, welcoming presence when things inevitably turn ugly. It’s the freedom to just be normal when everything else in his life spirals into stranger and more stressful missions.

“Richard is being insufferable again. I do not understand his incessant need to know everything about my life.”

“Oh? What’s he done now?”

“I was subjected to an hour long interrogation about my love life, like it’s any of his business. It’s infuriating!”

“Ugh, tell me about it. I get the same thing from Jazz, constantly. It can be suffocating.” Ellie says as she curls herself tighter into his side. “But it’s just how they show they care.”

“Yes, well, sometimes I wish he wouldn’t—”

“Hey!” Ellie pushes herself up to glare at him, punctuating her shout with a soft whack to his arm for good measure. “What have I said about using that word?”

“Yes, yes,” he placates with a roll of his eyes, “‘Be careful what you wish for.’ I apologise, it won't happen again.”

“Damn straight it won't.”

She maintains eye contact with him for a second longer before tucking herself back into his side, squirming around with a long, contented hum that Damian can feel rumble through him. He smiles and doesn’t complain even when he has to shift to give her more room after a particularly strong elbow jabs him in the ribs. It means leaving the warm patch on the couch, but he’s rewarded with another long, happy moan as she settles and Damian can’t bring himself to mind.

Ellie constantly makes noises. Little mews and hums and laughs and songs known only to her. It reminds him of a cat, sometimes. He likes it. It calms him down; it means she’s happy, so he's happy.

They settle back into the cushions and Damian lets the subject drop, not wanting to spoil the moment. Outside, the wind changes direction and from where he’s laying he can watch as the snow starts to come down thick and heavy. Hopefully it’ll mean a quiet night's patrol.

“Is that why you haven’t introduced me yet?”

“What?” He can't help it, he stiffens at the thought of losing his secret, of the scrutiny he'll be inviting if he lets anyone know.

“Are you worried I’ll embarrass you?”

Damian’s eyes snap down quick to reassure her, only to see her light, teasing grin. He lets out a breath of relief. It figures she wouldn't worry about that.

“Of course not, don’t be absurd. You could never embarrass me.”

“I don’t know,” she muses, her voice taking on a dangerous lilt, “that sounds like a challenge.”

“Believe me, having been subjected to Father’s Brucie persona at every gala I’ve been to, it would take a lot to embarrass me.”

“Alright, bet. I’ll get you, just you wait.”

“You’ve already got me.”

She flicks him on the nose. “You’re such a sap.”

He hums his agreement, enjoying the tinkling sound of her laughter. And then, before he can think otherwise, he asks, “Is that why you haven’t introduced me?”

“That’s different,” she scowls. “You know how hard it is to get there, there’s no signal, and Danny only gets a break like—oh, Ancients!”

Damian gets another elbow to the ribs as she bolts upright, a manic grin on her face that has him laughing.

“What is it?”

“It’s the holidays! It’s nearly Truce Day! You know I said I had a family thing around Christmas?”

“Yes?”

“Well, do you want to come to it? I can introduce you then! I mean, it’s going to be a bit formal and you’ll have to meet everyone, not just family. There’s going to be some banquets, you’ll have to sit through some long speeches and you have to be on your best behaviour at all times, okay? Absolutely no fighting, it’s called Truce Day for a reason!”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’ll be perfect! I think Jazz is going in a couple days earlier to help with the preparations, so I’ll get her to let Danny know—and fair warning, he will try to give you the shovel talk, but this is great! It’s Truce Day, so he can’t actually do anything about it!”

“I’m sorry, but you're going to have to explain a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s a bit much—but that’s family, right? Danny can get pretty protective over me, which is why going on Truce Day is the best time to do it! He can’t even command the Fright Knight to stab you! It’s genius!”

“Ellie, what?”

“Like, yeah, sure, he’s the king, but even he has to obey the rules of Truce Day—and then once you’ve spent all day with him, he’ll see that you’re a fantastic, wonderful, kind, brilliant, smart, strong, capable person and he’ll get over himself and everything will be good!"

Damian collapses down onto the couch, the wind knocked out of him. This is… He had not expected anything like this at all. For all that Ellie talked about her family, she had never mentioned this.

“Did you… did you say your brother is a king?”

“Yeah! High King Phantom, have I…” The manic grin slips off her face as she turns round and notices Damian. “Have I not mentioned that before?”

“No. No, you have not.”

“Ah. Sorry. Probably should clarify that I’m also a princess.”

“Right. Yes, that follows.”

“And I’m not really his sister, I’m his clone.”

“What?”

Damian blinks and tries to say more, but he has no idea what he’s meant to do with… any of this information.

Normal. He thought she was meant to be his normal. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Not that it changed anything, of course, of that he was certain. It’s just… a lot to take in. Overwhelming. But it's okay! He takes a deep breath, and another, and a sense of calm washes over him. Ellie makes one of her little hums as she cocks her head to the side to consider him and he can't help but relax at the normalcy of the sound. It'll be okay, he's dealt with stranger and he can deal with this.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve told you that we’re half ghosts, though, right?”

“What?”

#dpxdc #danny phantom batman #danny phantom crossover #damian wayne/dani phantom #do they have a ship name? probably but idk it sorry #this was fun!! damian is strong and smart and capable and he won't let this stop him!#sure it's a shock but what does that matter when he has the love of his life by his side!!#he can get through this! at least his girlfriend's brother/original/...father? can't get his knight to stab him #that's a point in truce day's favour - even if damian is regretting asking to be introduced #in ellie's defence she thought he knew! he's slightly liminal himself she just assumed he could pick it up! ... he could not.#when they actually get there damian loves it - he fits right in with all the ghosts #there's a little adjustment period where he is VERY prickly with everyone but he gets the hang of it very quickly #all the ghosts are very impressed with his willingness to throw down and he has to be reminded by a very stern ellie that it's TRUCE DAY #stop fighting!!#ah i really enjoyed this thank you for the prompt! i hope you enjoy it too!!#as always it came out a lot longer than i intended - i don't know why i even bothered with the whole 'five sentences'#it was obvious i wasn't going to stick to it smh #anyway i hope you liked it!!#(also but sorry i prefer to call her ellie sorry i know i'm in the minority here haha)#my writing #(shit how is it four in the morning eep)#cab writes

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aipilosse · 5 months

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gil-galad/elrond for 23 (as encouragement), OR celebrimbor/orodreth for 54 (out of envy or jealousy)?

Celebrimbor/Orodreth is a really big-brained ship. I was very won over by Visitor's version of it in the Mamma Mia AU (btw everyone should read the Mamma Mia AU: here we go again)

Unfortunately, this is not that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Túrin looked grave as he always did, a permanent line etched between dark brows, but his mouth softened when he saw Finduilas holding out the wreath of flowers.

Celebrimbor's stomach twisted, ugly thoughts rising to choke him. Just a few months ago he thought he could feel only happiness for Finduilas and would have rejoiced to see the soft smile she now turned towards Túrin as he accepted the wreath. But a few months ago he had not seen the bewitching beauty of Túrin: raven-haired, eyes of fascinating matte-grey, smooth pale skin that contrasted with rough black hair on his chin and chest, and shoulders that stunned whether draped in thin linen or chain-mail.

After an evening consuming copious amounts of apple brandy with Finduilas to soften what felt like a stiff parody of their old friendship, he had confessed his jealousy of her.

Her musical laugh had discordant notes. "Túrin son of Húrin loves me not; nor will," she had said before discarding her glass to drink straight from the bottle.

Those were her words, yet in a city full of adoration, only Finduilas seemed capable of eliciting any warmth from Túrin.

"Hmph."

Celebrimbor turned to see Orodreth standing next to him with a look of sour discontent that mirrored his own heart.

"You too?" Celebrimbor asked.

Orodreth startled; a guilty look flashed over his face before his scowl deepened. "Valar forgive a father for looking in sadness upon his daughter's entanglement with a mortal," he bit out. "You cannot understand the pain."

"Of course not, my liege." Celebrimbor echoed Orodreth's sarcasm. "Our positions are utterly dissimilar."

Túrin set the wreath upon his head after an elaborate bow to Finduilas. Finduilas laughed and straightened the flowers, standing on tip-toe to do so. The two turned towards the table where Celebrimbor and Orodreth stood.

Celebrimbor thought for a moment that he should try to smile, to at least pretend that envy did not eat at him, but before he could summon the strength, Orodreth grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close.

Their mouths met in a rather painful bump. Celebrimbor's mouth open in surprised while Orodreth's was still in a tight frown. Then Celebrimbor snapped his lips shut as Orodreth opened too wide. He jerked back.

"What!" Celebrimbor could not quite manage a question.

"They're watching!" Orodreth hissed.

Celebrimbor's eyes darted over to Túrin and Finduilas. Túrin's frown had turned adorably quizzical, but Finduilas was staring at them chalky with rage.

Orodreth had a wild look about him, but he was very pretty, and did have the fetching gold curls Celebrimbor had once thought his greatest weakness before being introduced to the concept of chest hair.

They met again in alignment, with sweetly parted lips and gently questing tongues.

There were worse ways to try and mend his broken heart, Celebrimbor thought. And maybe he could finally get Orodreth to let him remake his horribly boring crown.

#Celebrimbor/Orodreth #with no small amount of unrequited Celebrimbor/Túrin #and a pinch of Finduilas/Túrin #and Orodreth/Túrin #taking 'all hearts were turned to Túrin in Nargothrond' very seriously #Celebrimbor #Orodreth #Túrin #Finduilas #Nargothrond #haha I hope you enjoy #thanks for the prompt <3

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forsty · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 - Head Trauma | “His mother never wanted him to fly, not after what happened to his father.”

#whumptober2022 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #fanart #forsty art #VAGUELY BASED ON THE PROMPT HAHA #i've actually.. had this idea for a long ass time #Rooster holding Goose's helmet and it's cracked up (because it is cracked in the OG movie) and I think about that alot #also the background cause I gotta mention it - it's nothing too fancy but one side is the forest where Mav and Rooster meet up after #being shot down #and the other side is the ocean.... cause Goose.... you know #shrugs #ALSO YEAH I KNOW GOOSE DIDNT DIE FROM HEAD TRAUMA i think it was a broken neck but this is my art and i make the rules!#it's finally released into the wild.... i can return to being a normal person now #until tuesday for the next whumptober drawing #thank you everyone for coming on this journey with me i hope i dont disappoint and that you all will like it :c <3

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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Hc for giving homie a handy while he’s laying down in ur lap <33

18+

Now this is heaven. Homelander lies outstretched on the couch, one knee bent while the other is left long, boot turned outward. Your lap is plush under his head, and your nails drag in deft, toe-curling lines along his scalp. Each stroke sends pleasant tingles down his spine, unwinding the tension of the day from his body. You bring him a peace that he once could have only dreamed of. He feels your love in every tender touch, hears it in the steady thrum of your heart. He's become addicted to you, thoroughly intoxicated by the effortlessness with which you soothe him, with which you love him. Your other hand is resting on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. His eyes are closed, warmth resonating pleasantly through him. When he lets out a content little moan at a particularly good scratch of your nails, you ask with a smile, "Feel good?" The sultry timbre of your voice jolts through him. He cracks his eyes open. You're gazing down at him with such adoration, he wonders how he ever let himself close them. He wants to drink it in forever. "Yeah," he rasps, adjusting slightly. The movement makes him realize he's more than half hard, heat radiating from his core.

He thinks you must have realized it first, if the devious curve of your lips is any indication. He turns his head to nuzzle a little sheepishly at your stomach. "Real good," he says, smiling bashfully. You hum. "I can make you feel even better."

The words are music to his ears. Homelander's smile broadens, your intentions crystal clear to him. You release his hand, and he reaches down to unclasp his belt, holding your gaze while he works his cock out of his pants, giving the length of it a brief pump. You shift, leaning slightly, and playfully swat his hand away, replacing it with your own. Your touch makes him suck in a sharp breath, and then exhale a low sound. He lifts a hand and grips your knee, thumb stroking back and forth. Slowly at first, you stroke up and down his shaft, squeezing gently at the head before sliding back down. Homelander's lips part while he stares up at you, brows furrowing in pleasure. You look radiant above him, wearing the same serene expression as when you were simply combing his hair. You look powerful like this, confident in the way you tend to him. It sets his blood aflame, has him needily flexing his grip on your knee. "Better?" You ask, voice like silk. Homelander nods, breath hitching when your wrist moves through a deft twist and squeeze, wringing a breathy little moan out of him. "Yes," he says, hips giving a shaky little jerk. "Easy," you coo, curling your fingers into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it. He inhales sharply when you give it a firm pull, painless but no less exhilarating. Your other hand pauses on his cock, which throbs wildly in your grip. "Let me take care of you. Stay still."

"Yes," he gasps, gripping the couch, grasping at it harder than he dare squeeze you, the frame of it groaning under his strength. He loves it when you direct him, because he knows that obeying you will come with reward. With praise. "Yes, okay, yes." "Good boy," you say, which really isn't fair, as you resume jerking him off. The way your thumb drags over the head of his cock makes him keen, spreading slick with every stroke. He wants so badly to fuck rough and dirty into the tight channel of your hand, but more than that, he wants to hear you say how fucking good he was for you.

All he can do is spread his legs a little wider, tip his head back in your lap as his back arches. Your lap is so fucking soft and warm, but what really drives him up the wall is that he can smell your arousal. He can hear the pulse of your body as you work yourself up tending to him, getting off on his pleasure. It empties his mind of any coherent thought, replacing it with nothing but primal need. "That's it," you encourage, giving his hair one last gentle tug before you splay your fingers, dragging them through his hair in exactly the way you had when this begun. He shudders. "Feels so good, doesn't it? Show me. Show me how good I make you feel." Homelander groans loud, keeping himself still through pure herculean effort while the mounting pressure of release creeps up his spine. Your words bathe him like rays of sunlight, and sink in just as warm. He wants nothing more than for you to never take your eyes off of him, to shower him always in your love. Your attention would be wasted anywhere else. You were made for him. His brows knit tightly together at the thought, eyes screwing shut right before that last tether of control snaps and he drives his hips up, gasping as he comes hard into your hand, cupped over the head of his cock, load after load soaking your palm and fingers.

You, in your exquisite cruelty, coat the length of his cock in his own release, milking him of his orgasm with slow, wet pumps. Homelander makes a noise dangerously close to a whimper, shivering at the too-good feel of it. Your hand is warm and tight, slick with his come, the lewd sound of you stroking him through the aftermath impossibly loud in his ears. He looks at you, and you look pristine, so damn composed, a sharp contrast to how utterly unraveled he feels. You’re smiling like you’re proud of him for coming apart in your hands like that.

“God, that was amazing,” you murmur. The praise is so tender, so earnest that it helps him come down slow from his high, turning his freefall into a gradual descent. “You're amazing."

"So're you," he says, words slurring together slightly, smiling lazily. You bend down to kiss him, and he lifts his hand to touch the side of your face reverently. You kiss him slow, though he can't help licking into your mouth, craving you. The taste of you combined with the feel of your hands on him makes his cock throb a little painfully, a pang of renewed interest. He's nearly disappointed when your hand slows to a stop, though he still gives a breath of relief at the reprieve, bordering on overstimulated. When you pull away from the kiss, he admires you for a moment before turning his head, inhaling you through the fabric of your clothing. The heat, the smell of your unabated arousal wets his tongue, has his jaw aching preemptively. It makes him fucking hungry. "I wanna taste you," he says, glancing up at you, licking his lips. "Can I?" He hears you heart jump, sees your pupils dilate. He smiles wickedly when you nod.

There could be no greater reward for what a good boy he had been.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #ask and you shall receive #darling anon #my writing #smut #thank you i loved this prompt!!! this is one of my fave positions for homie haha #i'm sorry that i haven't been writing much lately! i've been loving the prompts tho #and now that the holidays are over i'm definitely getting back into my usual swing

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