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🎀 "We often choose our favorite characters because we see ourselves in them."
🎀 Snow White retelling idea.
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⚔️ Ra's al Ghul with someone who has healing powers head cannons
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👑 Apple White with her fainting couch
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smoker mc secretly trying to buy a pack in the devildom but the guy just looks them up and down and says they must be at least 1800 to purchase cigarettes. and then reports them to diavolo.
I literally cannot express how much I love Satan's character </3
Because what do you mean by him always seeing himself as an incomplete being? Satan's inferiority complex is probably second only to Levi's among the seven brothers; he unconsciously compares himself to Lucifer, to the point that his world is mostly just Lucifer. He is trapped in a tragic loop where every choice he makes is a direct reaction to his creator rather than an expression of his true self. Does what I do resemble Lucifer? Does my attire resemble Lucifer? Does what I say resemble Lucifer? He has actually long since escaped Lucifer's shadow, building his own distinct identity through his love for books, cats, intellect, etc. But he refuses to acknowledge himself because he views his very existence as an accidental byproduct rather than a whole soul. He is so insecure and overthinks that even a single comment from someone else (like when Raphael says Lucifer and he resemble each other in an uncanny way) triggers self-doubt and rage, it has been to the point that any perceived similarity feels like an existential threat that erases his hard-won individuality. I feel like Satan's greatest enemy is not anyone else but himself. Lucifer is not holding him back, he is the one who shackling himself to the phantom of Lucifer.
The party at the demon lords castle ran much, much longer than intended. You just wanna get to the HoL, flop into bed, and go right to sleep.
But of course, the brothers are still up and having fun even after the party ends… much to your dismay. You watch as they talk and giggle, the rest of the guests having gone home long ago…
Somehow nobody noticed, or so you thought…
A pair of eyes tucked away in the corner as usual are locked onto you, sensing your discomfort. He leaves for just a moment, and nobody notices or asks him what he’s doing.
Soon enough he’s behind you, a comforting presence despite the usual discomfort demons tend to give off.
“Barbatos…?” You mumble, your voice sleepy and quiet. You turn to see him behind you, his normal neutral butler expression shifting to something strangely comforting.
“Allow me to take you to a room hmm? Humans need ample sleep to be healthy…” you nod, a tired simile on your face.
It’s not the first time something like this has happened, after all demons don’t need as much sleep as humans. Besides, there’s always ample space to accommodate you in the castle… and quite comfortably too. But this time… the room looks far different from the normal royally decorated guest rooms.
There’s doors covering every wall, a strange staircase too. You take a moment to look around, gawk at the strange place that seems like it shouldn’t really exist.
“It’s my room, hope you don’t mind. After all it is the best option for me to keep an eye on you” Barbatos speaks up behind you, and you simply nod in response. It’s almost certain him leading you to his room means something… something you don’t care to figure out right now.
You simply nod, completely exhausted and not bothered enough to care. He provides pajamas, you notice they aren’t anything like the usual ones stocked for guests… too teal to match the general aesthetic of the castle. You don’t say anything, it’s not really needed anyway.
Eventually he helps you settle into bed, a bed you didn’t even notice was in the room. You fall asleep quickly, the bed comforting and soft, and the room a nice temperature and a lingering scent that seems so calming.
You knock out completely, knowing you’ll be staying overnight there. The bed is so comfortable and warm… so much so that you don’t realize the demon slipping into bed with you a few hours later…
can you do a yandere smut inspired by obsession? But the wish was done upon the yandere by the reader? :3
Im gonna be honest, the whole "cursed by a supernatural force to want to eat your pussy and kill your other hoes" isn't a super compelling plot to me for a fic because I like to write about genuinely crazy men. The movie was great, don't get me wrong, but I'm not interested in rewriting it in this medium because I don't have anything to add.
that being said, i think the idea of reader teasing/leading on a yandere who they know has feelings for them for shits and giggles /entertaining a puppy crush with no intention of it getting too serious and then getting a whole lot more than they bargained for is a compelling plot line.... this would work very well for someone who's generally well liked/respected but also unfathomably stubborn like dick grayson methinks.
DICK GRAYSON FICLET UNDA THE CUT (i got carried away)
Maybe you flirt back a little with that beat cop who stops into the coffee shop you work every morning, who throws you a wink and says he's keeping the city safe for you, even though you know you shouldn't. Maybe you even agree to go out with him for a drink and let him take you on a ride to the docks on his bike afterward. Maybe even more than once. He's handsome, charismatic. Probably would make a good boyfriend. It's a shame you have a roster of other men in your phone who would too.
But dick is sweet, and hot, and you don't have it in you to let him go, or maybe you just don't want to give up the attention he gives you. So when he sends you "good morning, beautiful ;)" texts, you leave a couple extra heart emojis at the end of your reply.
The texts get more frequent, a touch more invasive. He asks you where you're going whenever you tell him you can't hang out, and if it's anywhere farther than the corner store at the end of your block (and even then sometimes) he'll pester you to let him walk you there because "he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if you got hurt."
You always politely decline, of course, because nine times out of ten you're actually going to see another man, and he's never pressed you more than a couple of times. Still, you keep getting this creepy feeling that keeps you looking over your shoulder as you walk, keep catching flashes of blue in your periphery that make you think it's time for another eye exam.
Things get weirder still when you find out a week later that a few of the guys you had been seeing were actually in cahoots with one another in a drug-selling scheme. That nightwing guy had caught them selling to a group of teens and dutifully turned them in, answering questions on the news with that award winning smile of his.
His smile is kind of familiar, though you can't place from where.
None of it makes much sense, and frankly, it's all kind of upsetting. Dick contacts you a few times, but you ignore him. Not because he did anything wrong per se, but because you don't want to talk to any men right now, really. You ask your manager to be switched to the day shift at work so you won't have to explain yourself to him and assume that will be that.
Unfortunately, it is not the last you hear from him, because a few days later you get a knock on your door, and it's him in uniform. You freeze at the deadpanned way he looks at you. You try to explain yourself to him after a beat of silence, stumbling over words as you try to apologize, but after about a minute of painful dialogue, he cracks a smile and tells you not to worry about it. He's just here to get testimony from you since you were recently in contact with the subjects of the recent arrest.
You ask if you have to, he says that you do.
So you let him in, get him a glass of water and squirm as he asks you questions about the men you were seeing, the types of relationships you had with them, how long you'd been seeing them, if there were any others.
Dick, for the most part, is professional. Keeps that golden boy smile plastered on his face the whole time, though you see it waver for just a second when you explain that you'd been seeing more men. The interview is over in about thirty minutes, and he asks to use the bathroom before he leaves. Soon enough, he's walking out your door and you pray to every god you can think of that you never see him again.
A few days later, while you're taking a shower, you think about texting him. Not to start anything up again, but maybe to clear up any negative feelings. The last thing you wanted was for any bad blood between you to lead to you getting more roped into this legal mess. You move to grab your razor but catch something in your periphery as you do. A little black dot in the corner across the room. At first you shudder, thinking maybe the roach problem you had a few months ago was coming back, but the more you look at it, the clearer it becomes that it's not a roach. In fact it's not a bug at all, because bugs aren't reflective.
It's a camera.
Panic sets in immediately. You throw a towel over yourself and run into your room, locking the door behind you before rifling through your closet to find the baggiest clothes you own and putting them on. You search the bedroom top to bottom for any cameras. Pulling out drawers, ripping off covers, knocking trinkets off shelves. Only once you’ve absolutely wrecked the room do you calm down, panting on the floor, more confident - but not certain - you aren’t being watched.
You think back to who could have planted it there. Obviously it was Dick. Probably for the investigation. But why would he put it in your bathroom? Why not your bedroom or kitchen? Wouldn’t that make more sense for a crime investigation?
Suddenly, a deep wave of unease washes over you. This wasn’t for the crime investigation. Dick had been way too nice to you when you talked, you should have known there was an ulterior motive. You weren’t sure if this was a sick joke or if Dick had actual problems, all you knew was that having a stalker was one thing, but having a stalker who's a cop is another.
You wrack your brain for what to do. It’s not like you could turn him in to the police. You could move, maybe, but with what money? Dick knows where you work, where you live, and now after that interview, copious amounts of other personal information on the people you care about. You need a neutral party, someone who isn’t connected to the justice system but still has some kind of authority.
And in Bludhaven, there's only one person who comes to mind.
You read on an internet forum that people often spot him getting food at a shop on the north side of town when he’s working, so you hunker down there. You bring a book to read while you wait, but can’t focus enough to absorb any of it, so you pass the time watching the dim, flickering tv at the corner of the store playing local news and worrying yourself sick.
At around 1 AM, the door chimes and there he is. Nightwing. He laughs at a joke the shop owner makes to him and you try and fail again to place his smile. For some reason, it makes your stomach roll.
Just as he’s about to walk out the door, you finally muster your courage and tap him on the shoulder.
“Nightwing, sir, I um... I'm sorry, I just-” You stumble on your words.
He smiles warmly at you, “You want an autograph? I’d be happy too,” he looks down, searching the pant legs of his suit, “I just don’t have a pen on me-”
“No!” you interrupt, blushing at your own rudeness as he glances back up at you “I’m sorry, I just… I need your help. I don’t know who else to go to.”
You tell him about Dick, about his interview and about the camera you found in your bathroom, how it made you scared. He listens with a frown until you’re finished before speaking. “That does sound scary. But don’t worry, I think I can help you.”
Your face lights up as a wave of relief floods over you. “Really?” you ask.
He nods and leads you outside, helping you onto his bike. You thank him profusely as he gets on himself, wrapping your arms around his torso and revving the engine. “Hold on tight.” he says, flashing that eerily familiar smile at you, all teeth, “I promise, I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you ever again.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
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Laying on the porch in the softest, shortest sundress you own watching Pa Clark do the yard work!! Bringing him an ice cold glass of lemonade, just to watch the way he grins down at you
need to climb that man like a tree I swear!
Lazily lounging and watching as he makes obscene noises when "exerting" himself...letting your dress slip up your thighs when he looks over, and exposing yourself bare when he gives you a big smile and a wink. Sweat drips down his temples, and you see him wipe it off his brow. You motion him over with your finger and offer him the glass you were nursing on, offering to help him cool down in the shade. A few grateful sips from him, and he's offering the drink back to you, holding the glass as you grip his wrist gently and drink while looking up at him. Pa says he's feeling awful hungry, too, and drops to his knees in front of you. His curls disappear under the hem of your dress, and you whine loudly, relaxing back into the plush cushions of the swing as he pulls you flush against his face.
to expand on the sukuna non con pussy eating,,, you his poor little darling who's lowkey scared of him and sukuna convincing you to just sit on his stomach as he promises not to do anything else but OF COURSE he's lying. he always is. just after you sit on his stomach you feel a wet appendage forcing its way thru your folds as sukuna manifests a mouth there and holds you down as tells you to relax and ride his stomach, smiling wickedly at the sight of the fat tears that roll down your cheeks at the intense pleasure <3
oh my god oh my god oh my god.
him just asking you to sit on his lap because that’s totally not unreasonable right??? he just wants to be close to you, hold you in his arms because he can nothing more. then you feel it, that inhuman tongue making its way up your thigh as he keeps you firmly planted on his lap.
there’s really no need to be so ungrateful and deny him whats already his, he should be able to play with you however you want. “crying already? we just go started.”
is this a safe space to say I want Diana and Bruce to take me in a non con way like the thought is just aaaaaugh so good, so delicious 🥵😛 I’m sorry I’m not good at imaging things but clearly you are, but like imagine their both Yandere for you the new justice league hire, Diana puts you in the lasso to hold you down, while we eat her out and Bruce fucking into our cunt until we’re covered in both of their cum 😫😫😫😫😫😫
PLEASEE DIANA NATION WAKE UP!!!!!!!!
Thinking about Diana abusing the lasso with you...you're sobbing and pleading as they pin you down. Bruce is stroking your cheek gently while Diana is cooing at you, coaxing your darkest desires out of you. Tell them your truth; you can trust them with it. Tell them your deepest fantasies; they can make them a reality for you. How do you like to be touched? What do you want to hear when they're making you come? What do you find attractive about them? There's no need to be shy and certainly no need to be scared, they'll be gentle enough 😇
can we have ma , pa kent and the rest or the super fam's reaction to timkon baby . its just been so stuck in my mind little baby
Pa, holding the baby: So this is our great-grandson?
Clark: No, Pa, not-
Pa, glaring at Clark: This is our great-grandson, Clark. Our great-grandboy.
Clark: He has Conner's DNA and Tim's, he's like Conner was, not really-
Pa, adamantly: I'm a farmer, Clark. I know all about DNA and genes and I got to say, he's got my nose. Like you did.
Clark: Sure, pop.
Ma, holding her great-grandson: You remind me so much of your grandpa. But you won't chew on my vacuum cleaner, won't you? No, you won't, because your mommy is so clever, isn't he? Tim, dear, have another cookie.
Tim, full to bursting: Mrs Kent-
Ma: You know full well that it's Ma. And you need your strength. Now, once you're done your cookies, you go have a lie down, you hear?
Lois, eyeing Clark pushing a pram: Did you fuck Bruce Wayne again?
Clark: Oh my god Lois, Dick is not my biological son, put away the red string, you didn't connect the dots.
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can you do a yandere smut inspired by obsession? But the wish was done upon the yandere by the reader? :3
Im gonna be honest, the whole "cursed by a supernatural force to want to eat your pussy and kill your other hoes" isn't a super compelling plot to me for a fic because I like to write about genuinely crazy men. The movie was great, don't get me wrong, but I'm not interested in rewriting it in this medium because I don't have anything to add.
that being said, i think the idea of reader teasing/leading on a yandere who they know has feelings for them for shits and giggles /entertaining a puppy crush with no intention of it getting too serious and then getting a whole lot more than they bargained for is a compelling plot line.... this would work very well for someone who's generally well liked/respected but also unfathomably stubborn like dick grayson methinks.
DICK GRAYSON FICLET UNDA THE CUT (i got carried away)
Maybe you flirt back a little with that beat cop who stops into the coffee shop you work every morning, who throws you a wink and says he's keeping the city safe for you, even though you know you shouldn't. Maybe you even agree to go out with him for a drink and let him take you on a ride to the docks on his bike afterward. Maybe even more than once. He's handsome, charismatic. Probably would make a good boyfriend. It's a shame you have a roster of other men in your phone who would too.
But dick is sweet, and hot, and you don't have it in you to let him go, or maybe you just don't want to give up the attention he gives you. So when he sends you "good morning, beautiful ;)" texts, you leave a couple extra heart emojis at the end of your reply.
The texts get more frequent, a touch more invasive. He asks you where you're going whenever you tell him you can't hang out, and if it's anywhere farther than the corner store at the end of your block (and even then sometimes) he'll pester you to let him walk you there because "he doesn't know what he'd do with himself if you got hurt."
You always politely decline, of course, because nine times out of ten you're actually going to see another man, and he's never pressed you more than a couple of times. Still, you keep getting this creepy feeling that keeps you looking over your shoulder as you walk, keep catching flashes of blue in your periphery that make you think it's time for another eye exam.
Things get weirder still when you find out a week later that a few of the guys you had been seeing were actually in cahoots with one another in a drug-selling scheme. That nightwing guy had caught them selling to a group of teens and dutifully turned them in, answering questions on the news with that award winning smile of his.
His smile is kind of familiar, though you can't place from where.
None of it makes much sense, and frankly, it's all kind of upsetting. Dick contacts you a few times, but you ignore him. Not because he did anything wrong per se, but because you don't want to talk to any men right now, really. You ask your manager to be switched to the day shift at work so you won't have to explain yourself to him and assume that will be that.
Unfortunately, it is not the last you hear from him, because a few days later you get a knock on your door, and it's him in uniform. You freeze at the deadpanned way he looks at you. You try to explain yourself to him after a beat of silence, stumbling over words as you try to apologize, but after about a minute of painful dialogue, he cracks a smile and tells you not to worry about it. He's just here to get testimony from you since you were recently in contact with the subjects of the recent arrest.
You ask if you have to, he says that you do.
So you let him in, get him a glass of water and squirm as he asks you questions about the men you were seeing, the types of relationships you had with them, how long you'd been seeing them, if there were any others.
Dick, for the most part, is professional. Keeps that golden boy smile plastered on his face the whole time, though you see it waver for just a second when you explain that you'd been seeing more men. The interview is over in about thirty minutes, and he asks to use the bathroom before he leaves. Soon enough, he's walking out your door and you pray to every god you can think of that you never see him again.
A few days later, while you're taking a shower, you think about texting him. Not to start anything up again, but maybe to clear up any negative feelings. The last thing you wanted was for any bad blood between you to lead to you getting more roped into this legal mess. You move to grab your razor but catch something in your periphery as you do. A little black dot in the corner across the room. At first you shudder, thinking maybe the roach problem you had a few months ago was coming back, but the more you look at it, the clearer it becomes that it's not a roach. In fact it's not a bug at all, because bugs aren't reflective.
It's a camera.
Panic sets in immediately. You throw a towel over yourself and run into your room, locking the door behind you before rifling through your closet to find the baggiest clothes you own and putting them on. You search the bedroom top to bottom for any cameras. Pulling out drawers, ripping off covers, knocking trinkets off shelves. Only once you’ve absolutely wrecked the room do you calm down, panting on the floor, more confident - but not certain - you aren’t being watched.
You think back to who could have planted it there. Obviously it was Dick. Probably for the investigation. But why would he put it in your bathroom? Why not your bedroom or kitchen? Wouldn’t that make more sense for a crime investigation?
Suddenly, a deep wave of unease washes over you. This wasn’t for the crime investigation. Dick had been way too nice to you when you talked, you should have known there was an ulterior motive. You weren’t sure if this was a sick joke or if Dick had actual problems, all you knew was that having a stalker was one thing, but having a stalker who's a cop is another.
You wrack your brain for what to do. It’s not like you could turn him in to the police. You could move, maybe, but with what money? Dick knows where you work, where you live, and now after that interview, copious amounts of other personal information on the people you care about. You need a neutral party, someone who isn’t connected to the justice system but still has some kind of authority.
And in Bludhaven, there's only one person who comes to mind.
You read on an internet forum that people often spot him getting food at a shop on the north side of town when he’s working, so you hunker down there. You bring a book to read while you wait, but can’t focus enough to absorb any of it, so you pass the time watching the dim, flickering tv at the corner of the store playing local news and worrying yourself sick.
At around 1 AM, the door chimes and there he is. Nightwing. He laughs at a joke the shop owner makes to him and you try and fail again to place his smile. For some reason, it makes your stomach roll.
Just as he’s about to walk out the door, you finally muster your courage and tap him on the shoulder.
“Nightwing, sir, I um... I'm sorry, I just-” You stumble on your words.
He smiles warmly at you, “You want an autograph? I’d be happy too,” he looks down, searching the pant legs of his suit, “I just don’t have a pen on me-”
“No!” you interrupt, blushing at your own rudeness as he glances back up at you “I’m sorry, I just… I need your help. I don’t know who else to go to.”
You tell him about Dick, about his interview and about the camera you found in your bathroom, how it made you scared. He listens with a frown until you’re finished before speaking. “That does sound scary. But don’t worry, I think I can help you.”
Your face lights up as a wave of relief floods over you. “Really?” you ask.
He nods and leads you outside, helping you onto his bike. You thank him profusely as he gets on himself, wrapping your arms around his torso and revving the engine. “Hold on tight.” he says, flashing that eerily familiar smile at you, all teeth, “I promise, I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you ever again.
