#fandomwriting

[brainstreams]

how it feels posting on ao3 when ur new

[athenanfaymont]

Seven Nights in Metropolis 🌆

Week 7: Christmas

Week 1, Week 2, Week 3, Week 4, Week 5, Week 6

Smallville, Christmas Eve.

It’s snowing again when Bruce arrives. No announcement. Just the familiar sound of boots on Kent porch wood.

Martha: Bruce! You came! Bruce: Alfred insisted. Clark: He does that.

But Clark knows better. Alfred might have insisted — Bruce chose.

Inside, the lights are warm, the tree uneven, the stars on top handmade. Clark catches Bruce staring at them like they’re an impossible puzzle.

Clark: You okay? Bruce: It’s… a lot. Clark: That’s family.

Later, after dinner, after Kara’s terrible karaoke and Martha’s unstoppable hospitality, Clark finds him outside, under a sky scattered with stars.

Clark: You don’t have to go back tonight. Bruce: Gotham— Clark: Will survive until morning.

Bruce hesitates. Hope is dangerous for him. But so is leaving.

Bruce: This isn’t my world. Clark: It could be.

Silence. The kind that isn’t empty anymore.

Clark moves closer—not touching, but close enough that he could. Close enough that maybe he should.

Clark: You keep showing up, Bruce. Bruce: Bad habit. Clark: Best one you’ve ever had.

Bruce finally meets his gaze. No cape. No cowl. No armor except the fragile kind.

Bruce: Don’t make it mean something it doesn’t. Clark: If it didn’t mean something, you wouldn’t be here.

A long beat.

Bruce doesn’t argue.

He never learned how to lie to Clark.

The farmhouse glows behind them, warm against the winter night. Bruce exhales—the smallest surrender—and steps inside, not away.

Clark lets himself smile, slow and unstoppable.

For a man who never stays…

Bruce has stayed.

Christmas morning arrives quietly, soft as snowfall. No declarations. No grand gestures. Just coffee, warmth, presence.

And in the quiet between them — that sacred, stubborn quiet — something new is already beginning.

Something like hope.

Something like a future.

Something like them.

The end.

Happy Christmas!!

(You can read more of my stories on AO3 ^^)

[noobiestnoober]

Hi! Hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if I could request an Elijah Mikaelson x Reader enemies to lovers slow burn? Hit me with the angst and tension and feel free to add in the classic tropes like “who did this to you” for bonus points lol.

🩶 Title: Blood & Promises (Elijah X F!Reader)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers | Angst | Slow Burn | Tension | Hurt/Comfort | TVD Universe Summary: You and Elijah Mikaelson were never supposed to be allies. You hunted his kind for years. But when a common enemy rises from the shadows of Mystic Falls, you’re forced to work together. Hatred turns into something far more dangerous—something that feels too much like love. Between blood, betrayal, and bruised hearts, the lines between monster and man blur until all that’s left is fire and longing.

Author’s Note: Hi @lonelyghosts-stuff! Thank you so much for your request 💌 This one’s packed with angst, tension, and all the slow-burn chaos Elijah deserves. I included the “Who did this to you” moment, emotional wreckage, and reluctant tenderness that builds into something real. Enjoy the bite and the burn 💔🕯️

Darkness hummed before dawn in Mystic Falls, where monsters and hunters bled in equal measure, and trust was rarer than mercy.

It begins with a scream.

You’d heard plenty of them before—they were part of your work. But this one was different. This one came from someone you thought untouchable.

The alley behind the Grill was slick with rain and blood when you found him. Elijah Mikaelson, the ever-composed Original, was slumped against the wall, his once-perfect suit torn and darkened with crimson. His eyes flicked up to you, even as he clutched his side where a white oak dagger had nearly found its mark.

“Y/N,” he rasped, voice steady despite the pain. “You shouldn’t be here.”

You knelt, pressing a hand to his wound before you could think better of it. “And let you bleed out? Tempting, but I still need answers.”

He gave a faint smirk. “How delightfully human of you.”

“And how typically arrogant of you to think I’m helping you out of kindness.”

You hated how close you were. How his breath ghosted against your cheek. How even now, bruised and bloodied, he carried that same damnable composure that made your heart tighten with something dangerously close to respect.

You tore a strip of fabric from your jacket and pressed it to his wound. He winced, and you whispered, almost mockingly, “Who did this to you, Mikaelson?”

His eyes darkened, something old and furious flashing there. “Someone who will regret it.”

Thunder cracked through the night, as if the heavens themselves answered his rage. For a brief moment, you both just stayed there—your hand against his chest, feeling the unnatural heartbeat of a man who had lived a thousand years. You should have walked away. But you didn’t.

The next few days blurred into a strange alliance—filled with sharp arguments and quieter moments where suspicion gave way to uneasy trust. One night, while patching a map together, you teased, “You’re not as insufferable when you’re quiet,” earning a rare smirk from him. The truce began to feel less like tolerance and more like reluctant respect.

You told yourself it was temporary—that you only worked with him to uncover whoever had dared attack an Original. But the more time you spent around him, the less you believed that. Elijah moved like poetry written in blood—controlled, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

You watched him handle ancient texts in the dim light of his study, each gesture precise. His jaw tensed whenever you ran into danger; his voice softened when he spoke your name. And yet, he was infuriating—lecturing on morality and honor, even as he slaughtered without hesitation when provoked.

Another night, while studying the map together, your fingers brushed his. The contact was fleeting, accidental, yet the way his gaze locked with yours made the air electric.

“You should rest,” he said quietly.

“I’ll rest when the bastard who came after you is ash,” you replied.

“Your loyalty is… unexpected.” His tone carried a weight you couldn’t name.

“Don’t mistake it for loyalty. I just want this over with.”

He smiled faintly. “Of course you do.”

By the end of the week, you often caught yourself reflecting on how strange the partnership had become—two enemies moving in rhythm. Between clashes, there were lingering glances, words unspoken, and a dawning sense that something irreversible was happening.

You had saved each other’s lives twice. Once, when a witch ambushed you in the woods—Elijah took the hit meant for you, his hand closing around your wrist as he muttered, “Run.” The second time, you returned the favor, driving a stake into a vampire’s heart before it could pierce his.

He stared afterward, something unspoken burning in his eyes. “You could have let it hurt me.”

“I could have,” you said simply. “But I didn’t.”

A quiet tension grew between you after that—charged, dangerous. You’d catch him looking at you from across the room, expression unreadable. When you finally confronted him, he only said, “I’m trying to decide if you’re my salvation or my ruin.”

“You’re assuming I can’t be both,” you shot back.

The night you finally snapped, the tension between you had stretched thin as a blade. Every glance, every argument, every unspoken word crackled in the air like lightning before a storm. You could feel your pulse in your throat—anger tangled with something dangerously close to longing. The rain outside mirrored the chaos inside the Mikaelson mansion.

“You think you’re better than everyone else,” you hissed, stepping close enough that your breath brushed his collar. “That you’re untouchable. But you’re just a monster dressed in manners.”

He moved faster than you could blink, pinning you against the wall. His breath was warm against your ear. “And you,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous, “are a liar. Because if you truly hated me, you wouldn’t look at me the way you do.”

Your pulse betrayed you. You should have shoved him away. You didn’t.

“Elijah—”

He leaned in, lips almost brushing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I will stop.”

But you couldn’t. The words died on your tongue. You closed the distance instead.

The kiss was fire meeting storm—violent, inevitable. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as though afraid you’d vanish. You tasted blood and rain and centuries of restrained hunger. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours for regret. There was none.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you breathed.

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” he murmured.

The battle erupted without warning, chaos tearing through the night like shattering glass. Heat, smoke, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air, every sound sharp and disorienting. The coven responsible for the attacks had surfaced, and the fight was brutal. Spells cracked, fire licked through the trees, and exhaustion clawed at your bones.

When one of them got the jump on you, Elijah tore through the chaos, ripping the witch away before she could finish her curse.

He caught you as you fell, blood staining his hands again. “Stay with me,” Elijah commanded, voice breaking as he pressed a hand over your wound. “You do not get to die on me, do you hear?”

You smiled weakly. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

His eyes burned red for a moment before softening into something heartbreakingly human. “I have never cared for anyone more.”

You reached up, brushing his cheek with trembling fingers. “You’re supposed to be the noble one, remember?”

He gave a strangled laugh that wasn’t quite humor. “Then let me be selfish this once.”

Your vision blurred, but you reached for him anyway. The same man you swore you’d never trust. The same monster who had somehow become your home.

“Then don’t let go,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

Later, when the dust settled, he stood at your bedside, his hands still trembling though he’d deny it. “You risked your life for me again,” he said softly.

“I guess I’m a slow learner.”

He smiled, faint and fleeting. “Or perhaps you’ve learned faster than you think.”

“Meaning?”

“That hatred, when tested long enough, becomes something far more binding.”

You looked up at him, exhaustion fading under the weight of what lingered between you. “Then what are we now, Elijah?”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, eyes filled with something dangerously close to devotion. “Something neither of us were ready for.”

[neonnewsfeed]

Superman’s Weakness, Danny’s Cookie

It didn’t take long for Danny to find Bruce’s kryptonite. It took even less time for him to eat it.

Bruce tapped the table in visible irritation, staring at his newly adopted son.

“How was I supposed to know I wasn’t allowed to eat it? You should really put a sign up!

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought it would be obvious not to eat the glowing rock behind lead-lined walls. You cannot just eat everything you find, Danny.”

Danny scowled, crossing his arms.

“I was hungry! Back in Amity, there’s so much loose ectoplasm that I just grab some from the fridge. This was like finding a chip bag under the couch.”

Bruce just closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.

“I’ll keep that in mind and get you some more, but please don’t eat the stash I have set aside.

Danny perked up immediately.

“I mean, you don’t have to! There’s plenty of raw ectoplasm floating around here. But… if you were to get me more in solid form, I wouldn’t complain…

Somewhere in the background, Clark sneezed

[ponderingmoonlight]

Other Fandoms Masterlist

at the moment featuring:

Yona of the Dawn

Fruits Basket

Seraph of the end

Apothecary Diaries

I'm free for requests in other fandoms that my "usual" ones as well - just hit me up <3

Son Hak saving you from a group of men While gathering herbs, you get surrouned by bandits - until a mysterious, cocky stranger swoops in to save the day. But you’re no damsel in distress, and you’re ready to show him exactly what you’re capable of.

Hak stitching you up yep that's basically it hehe

The blue dragon saving you from certain death It was never a secret that you're reckless - as Hak's sister, that runs in the family. But provoking a heir of soldiers, getting shot and almost drowning on your way to prove yourself to your brother doesn't really help your mission. Little do you know a certain blue dragon watches from afar and springs in time just to save you...

Getting caught up in a snow storm and saved by Yona of the Dawn men ft. Hak, Shin-Ah, Jae-Ha and Kija

yotd men walking in on you in a hot spring ft. Shin-Ah, Hak and Kija

Hak being there for you when no one else is you were always quite the opposite of your younger sister, always understood the responsibilities of a princess despite your own wishes. Until your life got turned upside down. Until you find yourself devoured in the arms of the man you've been longing for your whole life.

confessions of love in the dying sun x Shin-Ah You always admired him from afar, never once thought about the possibility that the blue dragon might hide the same feelings you try to cover up. Until you find yourself right next to him at sunet...

one stolen kiss pt 1 You hated him since the day you were born. How he always outshines you, how he somehow still moves you. You desperately hold onto your values until Guren himself decides to break the tension

one stolen kiss pt 2 As if your annoyance didn't already reached its limit when Guren decided to kiss you out of the blue, you find yourself in his office a few days later. But it's not only him who urges to see you again...

one stolen kiss pt 3 What's even worse than having Guren and Kureto lingering over you like a unpromising shadow? Right, both men fighting over you.

Basen hating kissing the heck out of you That General who is so full of himself, who never misses a chance to put you into your place. And you? A hot-headed nurse with outstanding tactical abilities and a big mouth. What can possibly go wrong?

Quiet mornings with Shigure Sohma While you're surrounded by mess and trouble all day, you can't help but enjoy those mornings with none other than Shigure.

Hatori Sohma realizing you're more than just a friend to him You were around since he can remember. You, the only sunshine in his life, that woman he never gets tired of looking at. It takes Hitori too long to finally confess his feelings to himself. And then he's about to ruin everything...

[redstatic5]

This chapter broke them.

I’m officially inviting artists 🖤

This is Char — before the clothes, after the clothes… and now I need to see her in a maid outfit.

🖤 Tag me 🖤 Use #CharHazbinAU 🖤 I’ll repost EVERYTHING

📻🖤 Enemies-to-obsession Hazbin Hotel AU

Fic link for the LOREEEEEE: https://www.wattpad.com/story/405985588-static-and-fire

[itsalliny0urhead]

✨ Calling all readers! ✨

I’m planning out some new writing and want your input! 🖋️💭 Which fandoms do you want to see more of? Vote in the poll + drop your fav characters, tropes, or wild ideas in the replies! 👀💌 Let’s cause some chaos together 💥💕

What do you want to see more of??

MCU

X-Men

Vampire Diaries/ The Originals

Harry Potter / Marauders

DC

Supernatural

Hunger Games

Criminal Minds

Descendants

Game of Thrones

BBC Sherlock

Voting ended onMar 31, 2025

[burntsecrets]

Flames of the Solstice

Pairing: Zuko x Katara Word Count: 816 Prompt:  For Zutara Week 2024 | Day 6: Festive @zutaraweek Author's Note: Zuko and Katara are in mid-20s in this Warnings: mild fantasy violence, competitive behavior, mild romantic tension, fire usage, and public confrontation

The lanterns swayed in the breeze, their golden light casting a warm glow over the Southern Water Tribe's Solstice Festival. Katara stood at the edge of the bustling courtyard, her arms crossed as she watched the celebration unfold. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mixing with the rhythmic beat of drums. The air smelled of roasting sea prunes and sweet iceberry cider, and the sound of water bending demonstrations crackled like a melody against the night.

"Are you planning to stand there all night, or are you actually going to enjoy the festival you worked so hard on?"

Katara turned, already smiling, as Zuko approached. His crimson scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck, though she knew he didn’t need it. The Firelord didn’t get cold. Ever. A fact he reminded her of more often than necessary.

“You’re always warm. You don’t even need that scarf,” she said, nodding at the accessory.

Zuko smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that always managed to fluster her. “It’s not for warmth. It’s because it looks good.” He paused, pretending to inspect the scarf. “Don’t you agree?”

Katara rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her grin. “You’re impossible.”

Zuko stepped closer, and she caught the flicker of fire sparking to life in his palm. He held it up, the flame small but steady, its light dancing across his sharp features. “Want to warm up? Or are you going to keep pretending you’re fine standing out here in the cold?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’re shivering.”

“No, I’m not.”

Zuko chuckled softly and extinguished the flame with a flick of his fingers. “Suit yourself.”

Katara took a moment to glance at him. His presence always stood out—his dark hair catching the glow of the lanterns, his confident stance, and the faint ember-like glow that seemed to radiate from him, even in the dimmest light. He fit in here as much as a firebender could at a Water Tribe festival, and yet somehow, with him at her side, it all felt… right.

“I saw you watching the bending games,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Thinking about jumping in?”

“Tempting,” Katara said, her eyes narrowing playfully. “But I’d hate to show everyone up.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Zuko teased, his tone light. “You’re Katara. Showing people up is kind of your thing.”

She gave him a mock glare but couldn’t hide her laugh. “Careful, Firelord. I might take that as a challenge.”

Zuko tilted his head, amber eyes glinting. “Maybe it is.”

The playful tension between them hung in the air, broken only by the cheer of the crowd near the central firepit. A group of benders was showing off, water and earth weaving together in a chaotic, mesmerizing display. Zuko followed Katara’s gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“Not bad,” he admitted. “For amateurs.”

Katara smirked. “Oh, you think you can do better?”

“I know I can,” Zuko said simply, his voice steady with that infuriating confidence.

She drained the last of her cider and stepped toward the firepit, turning back to toss him a challenging look. “Then prove it.”

The crowd parted as the two approached, their whispers turning to cheers as they realized who was stepping up. Katara pulled water from a nearby barrel, the liquid swirling around her hands with ease. Zuko responded by lighting a flame in his palm, the fire growing brighter and hotter as he stepped closer.

“Ready, Katara?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Always,” she shot back.

The first clash of water and fire lit up the night, the elements colliding in a burst of steam. Katara’s water whip lashed toward him, but Zuko countered effortlessly, fire flaring from his hands. Around them, the crowd cheered louder, but neither seemed to notice. Their focus was locked entirely on each other, the playful competition charged with energy.

Katara’s movements were swift and fluid, a dancer’s grace woven into her bending. Zuko moved with precision and strength, each strike deliberate. For every wave she sent his way, he countered with a burst of flame, the heat brushing her cheeks even from a distance.

As their bending intertwined, it wasn’t just a duel—it was a dance. Fire and water spun together, opposites in perfect harmony. The lanterns above seemed dim compared to the light they created, their movements drawing gasps and applause from the crowd.

When they finally stepped back, both slightly out of breath but smiling, the crowd erupted into cheers. Katara turned to Zuko, her cheeks flushed—not from the cold, but from the exhilaration of the moment.

“Not bad,” she said, her voice breathless but teasing.

Zuko smirked, his golden eyes softening as they met hers. “Same to you.”

And in the glow of the festival, with firelight and lanterns dancing around them, the world felt as warm as the fire he carried within.