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ddagent · 2 months

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"Starmaker, this is Tadfield. Come in, Starmaker, this is Tadfield."

There was not a sound in the control room at Tadfield Space Centre. Eyes were fixed intensely upon monitors; fingers hesitating over switches. Barely a breath. And then there was the hiss of static, punctuated every now and again by Gabriel's drone as he called to the three astronauts who had made history today. For the right reasons, Aziraphale hoped to himself, biting back the tremble of his jaw and the first tear welling at the corner of his eye. Make it to Mars, Crowley. Make it. Make it.

"Starmaker, this is Tadfield. Come on, Starmaker."

Beside him, one of the technicians, Maggie, clutched his hand. Aziraphale clung back, needing something to ground him. Needed some concrete link rather than staring at the last image of the Starmaker shuttle before they had lost contact. It would be just like Crowley if he was to get himself blown up on this ridiculous mission. He had been so reckless during all those safety briefings - flirting with Aziraphale rather than paying attention to the risks involved in being the first humans to ever step foot on Mars.

Suddenly, Gabriel began shouting orders. The control room was forced into action; the quiet gone, now, replaced with beeps and bangs and whispered telephone calls. The livestream had been cut ten seconds before they had lost contact. Aziraphale was glad, for that. He did not think he could take his heartbroken expression streamed across the world. Or the joy in the ten seconds before as Crowley, seeing the stars up close for the very first time, told Aziraphale in front of millions of people that I wish you were here, Angel. I wish you were here with me.

Aziraphale could not imagine never hearing that voice again. And, as Gabriel behind him began working on damage control, Aziraphale knew that someone had to keep trying. He could not - would not - give up on Crowley so easily.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispered into the microphone, his words barely registering among the din of the control room. "This is Aziraphale. Talk to me, please."

Nothing. Aziraphale slumped back in his seat. And then— "Angel? It's me. We're–we're okay. I'm okay."

Give me a number - that’s how many seconds I’ll spend thinking of an Aziraphale/Crowley AU to write for you in 200 words or more.

#aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens #dd: prompts #prompt game

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ashwii · 2 months

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Happy Easter From Vee✨

Happy Easter!

#this is basically my warm-up for the day ahaha so ty for the unintentional prompt XDD #just a silly scribble for the day -w- hope you guys are havin a good day :DD #ashask #ashart #ashdoodles

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mappingthesky · 5 days

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Would you do us the honor of writing a driver pj one shot? 🥹

this has been a wip for like weeks now and somehow became a 1.7k monstrosity….enjoy <3

Jane wouldn’t do this for anyone else. But Nymphia really needed a night out.

She’d been extra stressed lately. Between her inability to say no to all things work-related, and the extra phone calls with her mother (who she loved, really, but was making her crazy), Nymphia had effectively stretched herself a little too thin. Jane had been amazing about it, because of course she had been, but there was only so much that their usual, loved-up weekends together could fix. Ever-eager when it came to Nymphia, Jane was willing to do whatever it took to get her out of her slump.

She’d still winced when Nymphia said she wanted a night out with her girlfriends. Jane didn’t really like most people to begin with, and bar-hopping with Nymphia’s friends sounded like her own personal hell. She was hoping she could get out of it, that she could spend the night at home binge-watching whatever reality tv show she was currently hooked on and wait for Nymphia’s ‘come n get me :::)’ text at the end of the night. But of course, Nymphia’s ideal night included Jane physically being there, and Nymphia got everything she wanted. They both knew that.

Drinking with Nymphia’s friends was dangerous. Morphine was fun, too fun, and usually had Jane regretting the last few rounds of shots the next morning. Dawn was a shit stirrer, but she was nothing like Amanda, who had a special talent for turning Jane into the worst version of herself. Jane couldn’t help but pick fights with her. It was all too easy, all too rewarding to see Amanda get red in the face and scrambling for something to spit back.

But Jane really didn’t want to ruin Nymphia’s night, and Nymphia could use a little looking after once she was drunk and uninhibited, so she’d found herself offering to be the designated driver for the evening. It would be better for everyone this way. Everyone except for Jane, who really needed a drink to deal with Dawn and Amanda’s shenanigans. Still, she would do it for Nymphia, because she knew how it was; Sometimes, a girl just needs her friends.

Even if Nymphia’s friends were the loudest, most obnoxious, messiest people Jane had ever met. Once drunk, Dawn became a track star. Where was she even running to? One minute Amanda was the drunk who danced on tabletops and earned death-glares from disgruntled bartenders. Approximately thirty minutes later she became the crying, sappy drunk who had to tell everyone how much she loved them. Nymphia was animatedly listening to every word for some reason Jane couldn’t fathom. They were at the third bar of the evening when Amanda started looking a little too lost behind the eyes for Jane’s liking, and she declared that the night was over for everyone. Getting everyone back to the car was a challenge in itself. Drunk Morphine was a huntress, and Jane was going to have to bleach her eyes after what she’d seen when she’d retrieved her from the death-grip of some guy in the back corner of the bar.

Drunk Nymphia was something else entirely. She was all smiles and starry eyes, cheeks lightly flushed with liquor, and completely incapable of keeping her hands to herself. It was making driving very difficult.

“You’re so pretty,” she slurred, the smile reaching all the way to her eyes, which sparkled with a devious, drunken gleam from the passenger seat. She started to reach for Jane’s face, the thin strap of her black mini dress sliding down her shoulder.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jane thrust the water bottle into her hands. “Drink this.”

Nymphia just grinned, eyes sparkling like clear liquor and staring at Jane like it was the first time she’d seen her, like they hadn’t been together all night. “Jane,” she cooed. “Jane, Jane, Jane.”

“Ugh.” You could hear the eyeroll in Amanda’s bleary scoff from the backseat. You could also hear the six drinks when she jeered, “Get a room.”

Jane had been so good all night, really. She deserved to let Amanda have it. “For the love of-” Jane started, but then Nymphia was cupping her face and reaming Amanda was gonna have to wait for a few seconds longer.

“No, you guys are sooooo cute,” Dawn drawled, eyes half-shut. “Aren’t they so cute?” Amanda stuck her tongue out, petulant and disgusted.

Nymphia leaned in to pepper messy kisses to Jane’s cheek, her fingers dancing at Jane’s jawbone and at the side of her neck, threatening to tear her gaze from the road.

Jane reached to turn the music up, then swatted at Nymphia’s thigh, and in a lower, private voice hissed “behave yourself.” Nymphia giggled and slumped back into her seat, drunk and a little too aware of her disinhibition. Amanda had started on some nonsense tangent about how Nymphia is all too cute for Jane, and crashing the car was starting to feel like a viable option.

“Jane. If I say you’re cute, can I DJ?” Morphine said coyly, false lashes fluttering in Jane’s rearview mirror. Her face was fully intact aside from her lipstick, which someone had effectively marred.

“No.” Jane and Amanda said in unison. Morphine wailed.

Jane had already started her argument, my car, my music, but then she glanced over and found Nymphia pouting. It was so fucking rude. She was deliciously messy; eyeliner slightly smudged beneath her lower lashes, her hair a bit mussed, her lipstick long since faded into a whisper of red. The world raced by in the window behind her, hair whipping around her face. She was sort of devastating to look at. She looked at Jane with that look that said please?, the one that Jane was so powerless against, and then she was groaning and handing her phone off to Morphine.

“You're so nice,” Nymphia cooed, her words loose at the edges. She reached out from the passenger's seat, her hand curving around the nape of Jane’s neck. All Jane could do was scoff and grip the steering wheel. Nymphia’s fingers found her hair, twirling long, dirty blonde strands around her fingertips, casting little spells that would ensure Jane would be hers forever. As if she needed to.

Nymphia praised Jane for her begrudging kindness in a drunken, completely overkill sort of way. Somehow it still felt like she meant it. Nymphia trailed a finger down Jane’s neck, asking silly questions that didn’t need answering: “Why’re you so nice to me?”

“You’re literally so brainwashed. Are you fucking kidding. Nymphia, she is not ni-,” Amandra started, her words bleeding together, but was immediately cut off by the turn of Nymphia’s head, her eyes suddenly sharp and squinted in a death glare. The song changed abruptly, a thumping beat filling the car. Dawn screamed.

“Ohmygod, NO,” she lunged across Amanda to swipe at Morphine's phone. “Not this fucking song. Morphine, I’m so triggered right now. You know I can’t listen to this song.”

Morphine cackled, Amanda sputtered nonsense and the song kept pausing and playing and pausing again. Jane gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. Nymphia’s hand on her thigh was two things at once - a distraction, and an I know.

“You’re an angel,” Nymphia nipped at her ear, and Jane could hear her smiling. “You’re a total fucking angel.” It was enough to convince Jane to make it through this drive alive, if only to do something about the way Nymphia was absolutely torturing her.

Jane ripped into the parking lot of Dawn and Amanda’s apartment complex, and not a second too soon. Amanda offered some almost incoherent goodbye to Nymphia and a pat on Jane’s shoulder that proved just how out of her mind she was. She stumbled out of the car, Dawn trotting alongside, her voice echoing across the parking lot, “I need to fucking yak.”

Jane gave Morphine a desperate look. “Do I need to call an ambulance? Be honest.”

Morphine shook her head and swore to look after them, a little more capable of handling her liquor than anyone here, and gave Jane and Nymphia one loud, dramatic smooch on the cheek each. “Okay, love you guys!” Morphine chirped, “Jane, get her home safe! You bitch!”

The back door slammed shut and the car was finally quiet, and Jane released a sigh she’d been holding for the last few hours. “Holy fuck.”

“I know,” Nymphia’s voice was lilted with playful pity. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Holy fuck. Amanda. She’s so-”

“She’s just jealous,” Nymphia tucked a strand of blonde behind Jane’s ear. “I would be too.”

Jane shook her head, “Nymph, I love you,” she looked over. “But never again.”

Nymphia nodded, eyes soft and filled with wonder. “Never again, promise.”

Jane shut her eyes and let her head flop back, groaning. She could feel Nymphia scooching closer, then leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder. Nymphia was wearing the perfume she wore out on nights like this, musky and mouth-watering. It brought back a flood of memories - the long flick of Nymphia’s hair when she’d turned and saw Jane for the first time. Jane’s hands on either side of Nymphia’s head,

“Your little teasing act didn’t help either,” Jane said after a long moment, eyes still closed, remembering. “Do you have a death wish? What was that?”

Nymphia hummed, fingers sliding over Jane’s hand. “I missed you,” she said, all too innocently.

Jane scoffed. “I’ve been with you all night, Nymph.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nymphia said, pulling away. Jane could let herself look at her now; Nymphia in all her drunken glory. Touchy, needy, giggling, endlessly sensuous Nymphia, eyes full of far-off stars and lips flashing that smile that made Jane seriously think about fucking her right here in the parking lot.

“You missed me too,” Nymphia let her eyes linger on Jane’s lips, knowing exactly what she was doing when she looked up again, tongue at the corner of her mouth and teeth just barely flashing. “Didn’t you?”

Jane didn’t need to answer that question. She looked at Nymphia, finally right where she needed her to be, finally all hers, and knew she’d been good enough for one night. Now, she was going to get Nymphia back for all of it - for hypnotizing her so irreversibly, for knowing it so thoroughly, for making such a fool of her, for making Jane love it so much.

“I’m going to take you home now,” Jane said. “Okay?”

One corner of Nymphia’s mouth pulled into a smile, knowing what was going to happen next. Knowing the last missing piece of her perfect night was about to fall into place - the part where she fell into bed with Jane at the end of it all.

“Okay.”

#there are some bulky sentences in this one but i have been looking at it for too long to care #drunk nymphia is so cute to me i love her #and dd jane is so begrudging. we love her too #she writes #prompt #planymphia

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animasola86 · 1 day

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SMUT DRABBLES*: Toy

A/N: Another snippet of a smut scene, *a little more than a drabble, but oh well, it kept evolving. Again, you can imagine any character here! This time, we have some oral sex, deepthroating, masturbation, edging and a little dom/sub dynamic.

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! // WORDS: 689 // AO3

He's given her a toy to practice with.

It's big, looks like his cock, can be suctioned to surfaces. It's intimidating.

She's kneeling in front of it, imagines she's sitting between his legs, arms folded behind her back. Eyes closed, tongue extended, exploring the stiff ridges, round edges, hard, cold material. Not the same.

It's better when it's covered in her saliva, warmer, but it's not him, doesn't twitch and throb, there are no groans and grunts, no hand gripping her hair, guiding her head, forcing it deeper.

It's all her. She sucks on it, hollows her cheeks, slurping it into her mouth, tongue flicking around it. Eyes closed, imagining him, remembering his scent, his taste, his dominating presence.

She pushes her head down on it. It's so rigid, too hard, unyielding. She forces on, tongue flat against it, lips strained, back of her throat. Her body jerks when she gags around it, coughs, splutters, keeps going. Eyes watering, can't breathe, imagines his big hands on her head, pushing down.

It's in her throat, she's dizzy, there's so much spit, no precum, only her. No air. She holds it, hears his voice in her memory. “Good girl.” Back and forth, head bobbing, tip on her tongue, tip in her throat, up and down, in and out.

There's no release, no thick creamy cum filling her mouth, dripping down her throat, filling her belly. Just spit and tears. She practices until she almost faints, fighting the gag reflex, getting better, wanting to make him proud.

She's drenched once she's done, sweat, spit, tears, arousal. When she forces herself to stop, she falls over, hands between her trembling thighs. Fingers not enough. The toy is off the wall and slips into her with ease. She's shaking, can barely hold it, wants him to hold it, push it in and out, mercilessly, ignoring her whines. Forcing her to the edge.

“Not yet, baby girl.”

His voice is in her head, so close, so warm. She fights the pleasure trying to devour her, pulls it out, pants, pushes it back in, always close. She's whimpering, crying and sobbing, pleading with her eyes squeezed shut.

“You may come.”

Relief. Release. Exploding pleasure, body convulsing, hips off the ground, thighs pressed together, shaking, gasping, coming so hard she's seeing stars. The toy is forced back in.

“Again.” She obeys, keeps going, pushing further. All for him, through tears and hand cramps and body spasms. Mouth wide open, gasping for air, for reprieve.

Her head is being lifted, supported by strong hands, his scent fills her nostrils, something warm on her face, bent back, neck tilted, upside down. Warm and heavy and soft. Him.

“Keep going.” Fingers cramping around the toy, imitating his cock, and the real thing slips into her gaping mouth, straight into her throat. She doesn't gag, doesn't open her eyes, feels her throat bulging, feels full on both ends. Content, satisfied. Sucks around him as he moves his hips against her face, in and out, tip on her tongue, tip squished in her tight throat.

“Gag.” She does, body convulsing, cunt clenching, spit and precum in her mouth. She's so dizzy. “Good girl.”

The reward comes with a groan, a grunt, a jerk of his hips, tightening balls slapping against her nose. Release. The toy is forced out, muscles tense, fluttering, her hands and thighs wet, a muffled, helpless moan from her stuffed throat. She can taste him as he fills her mouth, rewards her for her effort. Warm, sticky, thick, slipping down her aching throat, gulp, gulp, gulp.

The pressure is gone, he remains, his taste on her tongue, heavy in her belly. His hand on her sweaty face, caressing, wiping away the remnants of her devotion, a thumb pressing against her quivering lip.

“Such a good girl,” he says, and she smiles softly, tiredly, eyelids too heavy to open. “Now turn around. We gotta practice on the other hole today.”

A deep shiver, instant tension, anticipation. She scrambles to her feet, turns, positions herself, presents, ready for more practice. For him.

“Yes, sir.”

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

MORE SMUT DRABBLES:

A Steamy Shower

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darkestprompts · 3 months

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Apparently in DD2 the Bounty Hunter will just join the party instead of replacing someone if there's only one person left. I've imagined him spotting a lone and shaken Bonnie huddled in an inn and going full The Last Of Us with her ever since.

He'd straight up grab that kid by the scruff of the neck, put her in his backpack and proceed to kill everything in his way.

#darkest dungeon #asks #anon #dd bounty hunter #dd tardif #dd bonnie #dd runaway #dd prompts

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twst-beam · 10 months

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I see you are in need of prompts, then I shall humbly bestow upon thee some a prompt.

Hmm, what about going to a farmer's market with *insert YOUR favourite character here*? I believe in shameless self-enjoyment when it comes to writing; be self-indulgent. Don't you want to go apeshit?

Also do give your hands a well deserved rest every so often ^v^

ohohohoho you're giving me a lot of power with the YOUR favorite character there dove dear, but alright let's go >:D

Gifts

??? words, featuring my THREE favorite boyos because self-indulgence ftw <3

Deuce Spade

Going to the farmer's market was his idea; the two of you needed groceries, and it just so happened that the farmer's market was convenient for you.

Early morning, it was decided, it would double as a date, and both of you were early risers anyway. It'd also boost the morale of the farmers, Deuce had reasoned, and you fell all over again.

A wicker basket, two, so that you could carry your purchases home, although Deuce insisted he'd carry all of them for you, and you laughed and told him no.

The morning sun shone brightly as you walked towards the farmer's market, feeding a few ducks along the way as you walked by the lake and watching as Deuce's expressions softened every time, it was cute, and he grinned sheepishly when he caught you staring.

The entrance to the farmer's market was marked by a decorated arc, and it was peaceful and fun as the two of you walked around, buying produce and chatting with the stall owners, at one point Deuce was given a comically large round of cheese to carry home when he fought off a bunch of menaces from an old lady's stall.

But the real highlight of that morning was when Deuce found the chicks.

One, two, three, more chicks than he could count properly waddled around in a pen, and with a joke, an exclamation of wonder, and a hopeful confirmation, the two of you brought home two very full wicker baskets and a baby chick that rested on Deuce's head.

Jade Leech

Though he thought foraging in the mountains would have been a better decision for both your budget and experience, he relented when he saw the eagerness in your eyes.

By midmorning, you were dragging him to the farmer's market, chattering about the crafts and produce that could be found, and he smiled despite himself.

He watched as you conversed eagerly with the merchants, calmly observing how you skilfully picked the best produce, and how you looked at the crafts with admiration.

You had just purchased a new scarf, wrapping it around your neck and grinning as you waved at him to come over.

"Jade, Jade, look at this one"

He leans over as you took a scarf from the layed out pile on the table, and widened his eyes slightly as he saw what made you wave him over.

"Mushroom print," you smiled as you showed it to him, "and with the coloration and teal ruffles it reminded me of you"

He took it gently from your hands, noticing how the fabric was smooth but thick enough to warm, and kissed your forehead.

"Thank you, my pearl"

You muttered a "you're welcome", dazed by the sudden display of affection as he thanked the stall owner and payed for the scarf, bringing you out of your reverie.

"Hey, wait a minute, I was the one supposed to pay for that, not you"

Jade grinned, displaying his sharp teeth, eyes glinting with mischief as he feigned innocence.

"You were?"

You huffed, "it was supposed to be my gift for you, for bringing me here."

He leaned closer, scarf now hanging from his neck as he tapped his lips in thought, smirk giving away his intentions.

"Then what about a different gift?"

Rook Hunt

Your expedition to the farmer's market was on a whim, a fancy, a spur of the moment thing, but who were you to complain? the moment his hand held yours you couldn't help but go anywhere he wanted.

So there you were, between the rows of stalls and booths, illuminated by the fairy lights as Rook marveled at each product, generously purchasing trinkets and produce and whatever caught his eye.

You couldn't help but smile as Rook's exclamations of fascination and wonder brought smiles to the farmers' faces, and as you sat he waxed poetic about all the beauties the market provided, and you looked at the moon, content to hear him speak amidst the chatter and bustle of the bazaars.

"...but you know what the most amazing thing is in this place, mon amour?"

You closed your eyes, tilting your head as you emitted a curious "hmm?"

He held your hand, looking into your eyes as he smiled in adoration.

"You."

#my stuff #calira's writings #heartslabyul #octavinelle #pomefiore #deuce spade #jade leech #rook hunt #deuce spade x reader #jade leech x reader #rook hunt x reader #thank you for the prompt dove dear this was FUN :DD

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intricate-melody · 1 year

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In case anyone wanted to know

Charlie Cox likes Formula One and his favorite driver is Lewis Hamilton.

Source:

When my friend and I talked to him at Philly Fan Expo today.

#charlie cox #daredevil #matt murdock #philly fan expo #he saw my friends necklace and he asked her about it #which prompted a conversation about F1 #oh and he signed my arm because i said i was going to get his signature tattooed by my DD tattoo #send tweet

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comfymoth · 2 years

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ALSO HEY PERHAPS A PIRATE KRISTIN BASED OFF OF HOIST UP THE THING 👀👀

- Salt (<— totally not groveling for art)

here she is salt <3 long overdue

#dream smp #mumza #miss trixtin #my art #halloween tag #AND WITH THAT!!!! my october 8th prompts are done i can go to bed!!! :DD #october 9th prompts tomorrow <3

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blossomfestival · 1 month

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The bride and the ugly ass groom.

(Songel edition)

#me art #shitpost #disastrous disarray #dd sol #dd angel b #songel #sorry i coukdnt di day 4 for chlanny mongh i barely had any time to draw and i didnt have any ideas for the prompts #also this is kinda rushed but whatever #proportions look weird cant fix it now

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ddagent · 2 months

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For your new ask game, how about just a J, really 💚

Hahaha brilliant suggestion! J is for Jam-Making, today (yes, seriously, that was my first thought).

Aziraphale Fell had a secret. Well, two secrets if you counted the recipe for his strawberry jam. It was always a winner at the summer fete, winning that bright blue ribbon. He used it in his Victoria sponge cake, too, earning delightful gasps from his fellow villagers on every other Friday during the cake morning at the village hall. Aziraphale enjoyed collecting the fruit and boiling it down and decorating the little white label with delicately inked strawberries. But he had never shared his recipe - not with anyone.

But he would. With him.

It was still early, although the children had been called in and the sound of the radio could be heard echoing throughout the street. But not the house next door. Crowley's house. He and Aziraphale shared a wall; two lonely bachelors surviving after the war. Aziraphale was a dedicated servant to the small town: he was the schoolmaster and attended church three times a week and did errands for the elderly and infirm on the street. Crowley smoked cigarettes in their shared tin bath tub and strode around in a thin linen shirt and swore and cursed and stared at Aziraphale as if he was a delightful spoonful of strawberry jam, simmering in sweetness.

Blushing at the thought of Crowley's heated gaze, Aziraphale rapped twice on number 66. The door flung open. "Aziraphale. Always a pleasure."

"Crowley." The man himself was leaning against the doorframe, cigarette in hand, suspenders draped over the waistband of his trousers. He looked suitably ruffled and Aziraphale could not help but think back to the sounds he heard through the wall. Flushing, he simply thrust his hands out with the small pot. "Here."

"Oh. Jam. That's—"

"—it's handmade. From the plants I grow in the small garden out back. I thought you could have some on your breakfast. Jam on toast." Aziraphale faltered as Crowley stared at the small jam jar. "It's good. Well, the Parish Council seem to think so. And the WI. And the vicar." Again, he said nothing. Just stared. "You'll have to see for yourself tomorrow at breakfast—"

"—can't I see now?" Crowley unscrewed the jar, before dipping his thumb inside. He then removed his thumb, laden with strawberry jam, and sucked it between his lips. His cheeks hollowed, before his thumb left Crowley's lips with an audible pop. Aziraphale's cheeks turned a rosy hue; the back of his collar a little damp. Well, fuck. "You're right. Delicious. Thank you; you're an Angel."

With a brief nod, Crowley retreated back inside his home. Aziraphale, after straightening his waistcoat, did the same. He was supposed to be making more jam for Missus Sandwich. Instead, Aziraphale laid in bed and replayed every look, every sound, until he could barely think of jam without also thinking of Crowley.

Give me a letter - that’s the first letter of the AU I’ll think up for Aziraphale/Crowley and write you 200 words or more!

#ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale x crowley #dd: fanfic #dd: prompts #partly inspired by what I'd hoped wicked little letters would tun out to be

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