#Is it too much to ask the ghosts not to look for trouble where he can't protect them immediately?

[thatrandomsarahchick]

I but imagine if they accidentally become vigilantes? Or worse ... heroes!

They don't even realise at first, so used to vigilantes like Danny and Red Huntress harassing and stalking them, but they end up being so genuine in their love of this music shop that isn't a front for anything that they pass Batman's test and he let's them be.

The area around their shop becomes known as their territory, especially when they start stopping any villain attacks that happen within a five block radius - they can't risk their stuff getting damaged! Skulker finds out one of the neighbours was attacked on the way home and quickly makes her a small, non lethal, weapon to protect herself with. More people from the neighbourhood come forward telling him about attacks that have happened outside their radius and he starts a small section of personal protection devices for sale at reasonable prices.

Red Hood comes into the shop again because a few of the kids in his area have started carrying Ember's Emporium branded key chains that double as blunt knives if you spin them the right way. They're not enough to kill someone, but enough for the kids to hopefully surprise them and have a chance at getting free. Another thing that's been showing up are thick metal balls that expand into a baton if you press a button.

He somehow gets into a discussion with Skulker about Crime Alley, and how the Bats and cops won't even go there. He starts ranting about how he does everything he can, but it still never seems to be enough to protect the innocents from getting hurt. Skulker sees how this Revenant is striving to protect his haunt, and offers to help him out. He incorrectly assumes that the man felt so strongly about protecting his street that he came back to life.

Jason leaves with a signed contract to provide him with personal protection devices at a discount rate. In exchange, Jason will put in a good word to Ember's parole officer if he asks for it, and won't mention any of the fighting they've been doing.

Ember's Music Emporium

When he became King, Danny had not banned the ghosts from earth but asked them to be discreet, so instead of giving concerts that were extremely flashy, Ember decided to open a music store.

It was complicated to find a good location since she wanted to go far away from Amity, but she was aware that not all cities would accept strangers and it could be dangerous for her if they found out she was a ghost.

Money was not so difficult, Ember had collected several things during her unofficial concerts, among them: cash (besides, Danny was willing to sponsor her if that wasn't enough), and musical instruments were even easier to find as Skulker loved to build them and wanted to help her.

In the end, her little music store set up in Gotham (rusty laws, natural ecto, crazies everywhere and lots of people who looked extremely colorful, she assumed they would take her as one).

She and Skulker worked very hard at turning the dusty place they bought into something nice where everyone was welcome; they also made it a sort of temporary home, seeing as they couldn't go to the Infinite Realms every day.

And everything was a success until someone tried to attack their little business; naturally the ghosts protected it and very soon, a rare scarecrow was hit by one of Skulker's bombs.

It didn't cause much damage but it definitely drew attention. Many tried to attack after this and they kept responding (Skulker much more excited than she was about the whole thing).

But Ember was determined to not call Danny, she was sure they would get scolded about attacking people and not going unnoticed as they promised (although the rude people attacked them first and none of them were dead, or Danny would have come).

When some weird guys in bat costumes started trying to sneak into her humble music store (and they didn't even bother to pretend to be customers like the nice guy in the red helmet), she decided that maybe it was time to call the halfa. Things had gotten a little out of hand.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn��t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

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

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

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

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[sweet-as-an-angel]

so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[ragingbookdragon]

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

[quarterlifekitty]

I just read the baby trapping HC’s… what if it was the reverse? reader baby trapping THEM

I think that depends entirely upon how cleverly you went about it! I’m gonna answer this with the assumption that they match your freak on the matter lmao

cw: dubcon, baby trapping

And as a preamble: it’s literally so easy for you. For any of them. Because quite honestly if they’re hard, and you say you’re on birth control, they’re gonna believe you. And really, most of them probably would’ve just assumed you were if you let them hit it raw. But we’re gonna say you lied about being on the pill for this ask.

Gaz is such a sweet guy. He’s literally just like “I’m happy if you’re happy, love” when you tell him the news. These things happen, and he has no reason not to believe you, right? What does it matter as long as you’re both happy?

Soap has his suspicions about it. But again, it’s not like he was really pressing you for reassurance that it was safe when he came inside you— when he gets like that, the dog in him takes over and there’s no stopping him. And maybe he’s not sure initially, to be honest, but then he thinks about a little bundle that has the same eyes as you, and he just can’t bring himself to be upset. Even if you are a liar.

Ghost, regardless of how he feels on the news, is going to investigate. He can’t help himself. Fucker is nosy. And you would’ve known this! So you’ve got it all set up for him to find. Water glass on your nightstand, the drawer just slightly ajar— not even enough to see inside, but enough to make him curious. He opens, sees the round of pills, and the timing all checks out. All taken right up until recently— when you tested positive. And you’re not careless to leave them in the trash. They were flushed. And from before that— you have drawer in the kitchen where you often shove the stray contents of your handbag. And there are receipts. A few months worth, from the pharmacy, with exactly what you bought. If you have a menstrual/symptom calendar app on your phone, it’s all logged. There are notifications in your reminder app telling you to refill your prescription. A number in your contacts that matches up with the doctor listed on the prescription. It’s the fact that it’s too neat that tips him off. Every piece of evidence he could’ve ever asked for is there, and that’s how he knows it isn’t natural. And it makes him smile. It’s touching— how much care you put into securing him in your life forever. Kid’ll be a terror, with the two of you as the parents. Too capable.

Price had a feeling in his gut when you told him you were on the pill. He thought about pulling out just to see how far you’d take things. In the end, finishing inside of you was like calling your bluff to him. He’d be fine with waiting a month or two to see if he was right. In the meantime, he’ll be looking at paint swatches for the nursery.

König is not looking a gift horse in the mouth. But if he does find out, he’s actually grateful. Saved him the trouble of asking you to have his baby, which was just one of a few questions wracking his nerves when it came to you. And this provides him the perfect opportunity to ask you to marry him! Doesn’t have to torture himself with sussing out your ring size, the kind you’d want, waiting for just the right moment. He asks you when you tell him you’re pregnant— it’s like everything is coming together. It’s a fairy tale ending for him!

Nikolai confronts you when you tell him that you’re pregnant. There’s a sly smile on his face. He teases a bit. Isn’t that just so strange? That you’d be unlucky enough for that tiny little chance of it failing was enough. And he has a way of making you squirm, of prodding you until you tell him what he wants. You can’t help but smile when he smiles, feeling a little giddy. He makes it seem all light and cute— so you do spill the truth. And he’ll pick you up and spin you as he laughs. His malyshka is so naughty, isn’t she? Lying to him like that, like he wouldn’t find out. Like wouldn’t give her a baby just as soon as she asked. Like he wasn’t planning on pulling a similar move in the near future.

[betweenstorms]

Part One of Where We Part (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Before he was Ghost, he was Simon Riley.

A quiet boy with eyes too old for his young face, always watching, always listening, always alone.

You had known him for as long as you could remember.

He was the lanky boy next door, the one with too much burden in his eyes, the one who never talked about the bruises or the shouting that came from his house at night. Even as kids, there was something about him that set him apart, something that made you want to protect him, even though he never let you. But you’d always notice the new bruises on his arms, the way his hazel eyes would darken whenever Tommy, his younger brother dragged him into trouble and the way he seemed to flinch at loud noises, at sudden movements.

Tommy Riley was loud, rude, and as wild as a storm untethered.

He was a real troublemaker, you never trusted his cruel grin and his rude words, never felt safe near the sharp edges of his temper. He thrived on chaos, a force of destruction that couldn’t be tamed, while Simon stood in his shadow, as if he existed solely as an apology—for his brother’s recklessness, for his family’s dysfunctionality and even for his own existence.

You were the neighbour’s only child, the one who never quite understood why Simon kept so much distance between you.

Something about him tugged at you—a quiet pull that made you want to reach into the cold and offer him the warmth of your world. You felt a strange protectiveness over him, as if it was your duty as someone older than him, some unspoken responsibility you carried without question. Through your school years, you kept watch over him, whether he knew it or not. When the students mocked him you were there, standing up for him, silencing the cruel whispers, even when it cost you friendships. The rumours about the Rileys circled like vultures, but you shut them down, defending a boy who never asked for it, who seemed more annoyed by your efforts than grateful.

You weren’t friends, after all, not really.

He never showed any sign that he wanted your help. But still, you couldn’t stop yourself. Something deep inside told you it was the right thing to do, even if Simon would never see it.

However, your parents, like most of the neighbourhood, kept their distance from the Rileys. It wasn’t something openly discussed, only whispered behind cupped hands at the local market, murmured in the pews of the church, or exchanged in knowing glances at school gates. Yet those looks exchanged between the adults made it clear—people didn’t want to get involved. The Rileys were trouble, everyone said, and it was best to leave them to their own devices.

You were forbidden from playing with Simon or Tommy, even though they were the only children near your age on the street.

It was an unspoken rule, one you didn’t quite understand as a kid but followed anyway, wishing things could be different. You were young then, far too young and innocent to grasp the weight of the shadows that lingered in the Riley household.

You didn’t know why Mr. Riley’s shouts echoed through the night, why Mrs. Riley wore bruises like secret confessions beneath her smile, why Simon’s silence felt heavy, like a wound too deep to heal. Their world felt so different from yours, a place of suffering you couldn’t quite touch. But as the years slipped by, as childhood faded into adolescence, the picture began to sharpen. With it, your protectiveness over Simon deepened, as the reality of what his father was doing became impossible to ignore. Understanding bloomed where innocence once was, and with it, the weight of knowing.

You couldn’t fathom how your parents, with their kind hearts and warm smiles, could do nothing.

How they could turn their backs on Mrs. Riley, her frail form draped in sorrow, and her two children, who so clearly needed help. You didn’t understand why they never returned Mrs. Riley’s weak greetings, why they closed themselves off from her suffering. It baffled you how they could step over Tommy, sprawled on their porch, drunk or worse, as if he were just another mess to be swept away.

But what haunted you most was their indifference to Simon—the boy your age, thin as a whisper, burdened with bruises no child should carry. How could they look at him and not see? How could they not feel the silent plea in his eyes? Where was their empathy for a child, for a boy who wore his misery like a second skin?

Oh, Simon.

His hazel eyes stayed with you, always, like shadows that linger long after the sun sets. There was something far too ancient in them, like he’d seen too much for someone who hadn’t yet grown into his own skin. They held a weariness that made you wonder what horrors had carved their marks so deeply into him. The whispers followed him everywhere, rumours circling like vultures over carrion. You didn’t know where they came from, Tommy’s careless tongue, or maybe the other nosy students who relished the cruelty of gossip, but they stained everything, leaving you wondering what was real.

You heard that Mr. Riley brought all kinds of dangerous animals into their home, taunting Simon with them, forcing him to kiss a snake, like it was some twisted game, some kind of sick power move. And then there were the stories of his father dragging him to those grim concerts, where violence blurred into spectacle.

They said he’d made Simon laugh at the overdose of a prostitute, made him witness things no child should ever see. You didn’t know if it was all true, but it didn’t matter. The shadow of those stories lingered over him, heavy and unshakable, and you could see it in the way the boy carried himself, in the haunted quiet of his presence.

There was a summer day, thick with heat and sorrow, that still clung to you like a forgotten song.

You had just turned nineteen that July, on the cusp of leaving behind the life you knew, ready to escape to the vastness of London and its promise of university, independence, and everything adulthood might hold. It was one of those warm, languid August evenings, where the sky blushed pink and gold, and the air was alive with the buzz of cicadas and the scent of overripe grass. You were out with your dear friends from high school, celebrating the end of an era. There was laughter, careless and sweet, the kind that only comes after a few too many drinks. A can of cheap beer was cradled in your hand as you leaned back in the passenger seat of your friend’s car, music pulsing around you like a heartbeat as you drove aimlessly through the familiar streets of your suburban neighbourhood.

The night felt like a farewell, a last taste of youth before everything shifted into the unknown. You giggled at something absurd, head dizzy and spinning, when suddenly, through the haze of the moment, you saw him.

Simon Riley.

There was something achingly bittersweet in seeing him there, swallowed by the dusk, his figure hunched as always.

Something inside you shifted, a strange ache that mingled with the buzz of the celebration—a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow that you couldn’t quite place. The guilt of childhoods lived on parallel tracks, always near, but never close enough.

Maybe it was the booze loosening your thoughts, making everything softer and hazier, or maybe it was the looming departure that made everything feel both fleeting and too permanent at once.

“Slow down,” you blurted out, your voice almost drowned out by the music. Your friend gave you a puzzled look, but complied, easing the car to a crawl. 

Simon walked on, dull eyes cast down like he had grown used to the world pretending not to see him.

“Riley,” you called out, your voice weak and unsure. “Fancy a ride?”

Your friends hissed, their voices sharp with confusion and disbelief. “What are you doin’?” one of them asked, eyes wide in the rearview mirror. “Girl, you’re mental!” another laughed, but their words were just background noise to you.

Your gaze stayed locked on Simon Riley, unwavering, even as embarrassment burned at the back of your neck.

For a moment, it felt as though time stretched impossibly thin, the space between you and him suspended in something fragile and delicate. And then, slowly, Simon stopped.

His hazel eyes caught yours beneath the dim glow of the streetlights.

He furrowed his brows when he recognized you, the corners of his lips tightening in that way that told you he was already annoyed.

You flashed him a drunken smile, but it was crooked, empty, a weak imitation of your usual confidence. You leaned your chin on your palm, trying to ignore the sudden flood of emotions rising in your chest. You studied him, trying to find traces of the boy you once knew under the young man he’d become.

“So?” You asked, feeling exposed, a little too vulnerable under his gaze. Embarrassment and sadness twined together like vines around your ribs, squeezing tightly.

Simon’s response was cold, clipped, dismissive. “Don’t need a ride.”

His voice was deeper, rougher than you remembered, gruff with the weight of years that had passed since you last spoke. Had it really been that long? Long enough that you had forgotten what he even sounded like?

“Oh, you sure? We're headin’ that way anyway,” you hummed, trying to keep your tone light, though something in you was desperate, like this fleeting encounter needed to mean more than it did. But Simon just scoffed, a sound that cut through the night like a blade.

He turned away, resuming his walk down the pavement.

Your friends erupted into giggles, snickering at the awkwardness of the situation, their teasing only deepening the strange ache in your chest. But you tuned them out. With a sigh, you made up your mind. Fueled by guilt, nostalgia, and a bit of reckless drunkenness, you reached for the door handle.

“See y'all tomorrow,” you muttered, stepping out of the car before any of them could protest. One of your friends called, but you didn’t look back and didn't offer any explanation.

Without another thought, you hurried after Simon, your footsteps quickening as if you could somehow close the long years of distance in a single stride.

He didn’t stop for you.

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge you as you caught up, breathing rapidly, walking beside him. Meanwhile, the car pulled away, loud music fading into the distance, leaving you two in suffocating silence. His head was bent low, gaze fixed on the cracked pavement beneath his feet, but you kept your eyes on him—on his broad shoulders that seemed too tense compared to yours.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke.

The night pressed down on you, the air too warm for comfort. Your face was flushed, whether from the alcohol coursing through your veins or the embarrassment of trailing after Simon, you couldn’t be sure. Each step felt heavier than the last, the awkwardness between you building with every inch you walked together, the distance between you palpable even though you two were side by side.

It was hard to keep your balance, the world around you tilting ever so slightly with each step. You stumbled once, your foot catching the edge of the pavement, and cursed under your breath as you regained your footing. You could have sworn you heard Simon sigh, a quiet, annoyed sound, barely more than a breath, but it stung nonetheless.

“So,” you chuckled awkwardly, desperate to fill the growing silence. Your voice sounded too loud, too false against the quiet of the neighbourhood. “Workin’ late, huh? Mum told me you got a job at the butcher’s. The one near the market, right?”

Simon didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze remained fixed ahead. For a fleeting second, you thought that he might ignore you entirely. But then, in that low, gravelly tone, he muttered, “Yeah. S’what I do.”

His response was clipped, offering no room for conversation, but you pressed on, ignoring the tension tightening around you like a noose. “Must be rough, that. The long shifts, I mean. Can’t be easy workin’ with knives and saws all day.”

Simon glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“It pays the bills,” he muttered, his voice flat. There was no hint of the boy you once knew, just a hardened young man who had learned long ago not to rely on anyone.

The conversation died again, leaving only the sound of your footsteps against the pavement. You swallowed hard, guilt rising again like a tide, mingling with the familiar ache of melancholy that always seemed to creep in when you thought of him.

Simon Riley had always been on the edge of your life, a shadow lingering just out of reach. You had never really known him, not truly. He was a figure cast in half-light, always present but never close enough to collide with. You had always watched him from afar, tried to stand up for him when the world became too cruel, but what had any of it meant? He never asked for your help, never even hinted that he needed it. So why bother now?

Simon hadn’t asked for your company—he never had.

And now, standing next to him, you felt that distance more acutely than ever. His silence was loud, louder than anything he could have said, and it left you feeling small, foolish.

The streetlights cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, the distant hum of the city the only sound filling the void. The warm summer night, which had felt so light and carefree only moments ago, now seemed oppressive, weighing down on your shoulders like an invisible burden. Before you could open your mouth to say something uncomfortable again, Simon’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with irritation.

“You don’t need to do this.”

You blinked, the alcohol making your thoughts slow to catch up. “Do what?”

Simon glanced at you, his hazel eyes dark and distant, a flicker of something hard lingering just beneath the surface.

“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pity. Guilt. Or whatever it is that’s makin’ you follow me right now.”

Pity? Guilt? That wasn’t what this was—was it? No, of course not. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that you weren’t here out of some misguided sense of obligation. But the look on his face stopped you. It was a look of exhaustion, of someone who had heard this all before, someone who had learned not to trust the intentions of others.

“I’m not—” you started, your voice shaky, but he cut you off again.

“I know you’re leavin’,” Simon murmured, his tone dry, as if stating an obvious fact. “Heard your folks talkin’ about it. You’re off to London, right? So, whatever this is, don’t bother.”

The embarrassment burned hot and heavy in your chest, spreading to your cheeks and ears.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to—” you began again, your voice softer, almost pleading.

Simon shook his head, his expression hardening. “Don’t. I don’t need your bloody charity, alright? I mean it. I don’t need your… whatever the fuck this is.”

The words struck you like a fist to the chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

You halted in your tracks, and to your surprise, he did the same. The space between you felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of all the years that had passed, thick with everything unsaid. You bit down on your lower lip, your gaze lifting slowly, hesitantly, to meet his.

He towered over you now, though once you’d been the taller one. Despite the age gap, the few years between you, despite the fact that you were older than him, Simon seemed like someone who had long since outgrown you, both physically and mentally.

Funny, how time had stretched and twisted between you both, long enough to turn everything unfamiliar. It had been so long, too long, hadn’t it? Since you’d last spoken to him properly. Long enough that you couldn’t quite place when the shift had happened, when Simon had become a stranger to you, a distant figure in your memory rather than the boy next door.

“I don’t wanna leave like this,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your feet, your voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the warm night air. Your hands itched with nervous energy, and you scratched your elbow awkwardly, trying to anchor yourself. “I know we weren’t exactly friends, but that doesn’t mean I never cared. About you, I mean. And I—” you paused, the words tangling on your tongue, too clumsy, too inadequate for the heaviness in your chest. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter now.”

Simon sighed again.

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at the corners of his eyes like he was too tired for this, too tired for you. The way he looked at you, it was like you were the one out of place, like he was the older one, the wiser one. There was something in his gaze that cut deeper than any words ever could, something that said he didn’t know what to do with you. Not now, not then, maybe not ever.

For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared, as if deciding whether it was even worth responding.

“The only advice I can give you,” he said, each word deliberate, like he was choosing them with care, “is to live your life. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. And if we’re lucky, we’ll never have to think about each other ever again.”

The deadpan delivery should’ve stung, should’ve hurt more than it did, instead, you found yourself chuckling softly, soft and bitter at the same time. The absurdity of it, of this whole encounter, made you want to cry and laugh in equal measure. Somehow, he’d managed to diffuse the tension in the most Simon way possible.

But still, it felt like it had always been there, hadn’t it? Unsaid words, missed chances, a history that never was.

You looked up at him, your lips twitching into a small, fragile smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Is that your idea of a pep talk?” you said, trying to make light of the ache that had settled deep in your bones.

Simon tilted his head slightly, watching you with those unreadable hazel eyes. “Not really my strong suit, is it?” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

“No, not at all.”

He looked at you, his eyes still guarded, as though he was searching for something in your expression that he couldn’t quite find. Yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t return the smile either. Instead, he shrugged with a kind of finality that made your heart sink.

Simon nodded towards the road ahead.

“It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

The offer was simple, but it carried an underlying meaning, like it was both a farewell and an acknowledgment that, despite everything, you had once meant something to him, even if only in passing.

There was something about his detachment, his unwillingness to engage with the past, that hurt more than you expected. Maybe you had wanted some closure, some understanding from him, a sign that what you felt wasn’t one-sided all these years. But Simon wasn’t offering that. He wasn’t offering anything at all.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t even protest that you were fine on your own, that you didn’t need his protection. Instead, you forced a weak smile onto your face and started walking, hoping the darkness would hide the tears pricking at your eyes. The sound of your footsteps seemed louder now, echoing against the stillness of the night, as if you were both walking away from something you couldn’t quite name.

“Y’know, not too long ago, I used to walk you home after church on Sundays. When your mum went to the market. Remember?”

Simon didn’t say anything. You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but then he hummed, a low, almost noncommittal sound. He wasn’t the boy who needed walking home anymore, and you weren’t the one who could offer him safety.

The walk was silent. But what had you expected? That he’d thank you for some half-hearted attempt at connection after all these years? That he’d open up, that there would be a cathartic moment where you’d both acknowledge the traumatic childhood you shared with him and walk away with some semblance of peace?

Still, it was strange, walking side by side with someone who felt like a stranger, yet also someone you had known your entire life.

The short walk to your parents' house felt longer than it should have. As you approached the familiar gate, the scent of roses hit you, your mother’s prized bush blooming full and red next to the fence.

Simon stopped just outside your childhood home, as if some invisible boundary had been set between him and you. His eyes glanced at the rose bush, then back at you, his expression unreadable, that same distant mask he had worn for years.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, though you weren’t sure why you felt the need to lower it. It wasn’t likely that your parents would be waiting behind the curtains, watching this uncomfortable farewell.

They never cared much for Simon anyway.

His face was unreadable, shadowed by the dim light that illuminated the porch, but you could see his hazel eyes flicker as they scanned your features, taking you in like he was committing this moment to memory. And for a fleeting second, it was as if you weren’t standing on the cusp of goodbye, as if you were still those two awkward kids, stuck in a world neither of you could quite escape.

You did the same. Your eyes traced the sharp lines of his face, his sandy blonde hair, his broad shoulders, the faint stubble along his jawline that he hadn’t had when you last saw him. There was something fragile about this moment, a shared understanding that neither of you would speak of, but it was there all the same.

Before you could second-guess yourself, before you could let the fear of rejection stop you, you took a step forward and wrapped your arms around him. The contact was sudden, your body instinctively pulling him into a hug that neither of you expected.

It was an impulsive decision, a desperate, clumsy attempt to offer some comfort, to bridge the gap between the boy you once knew and the man standing before you. You pulled him into you, your blushed face pressing against his hard chest. For a heartbeat, he froze, stiff beneath your touch, and you immediately regretted it.

You didn’t know why you did it.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering guilt, the sense that you had never done enough, never said enough. But as soon as you felt the warmth of his body against yours, the solidness of him, you realised your mistake. This wasn’t the kind of goodbye Simon wanted. You pulled away quickly, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, your heart racing.

“Take care, Si,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t dare look at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you turned on your heel, practically fleeing up the path to your front door, leaving him standing there beneath the roses—roses that were as red as your cheeks, blooming in the quiet of the night.

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP Prompt 10 :

Death Defying Ship. Danny and Dick are childhood friends where the Fenton's would often bring Danny and Jazz to the circus to hang out with their old friends the Graysons, where Danny and Dick are very close and do dumb kid stuff but jazz is there to watch them so they won't get into too much trouble when the parents aren't looking.

In there Danny learns from the Graysons some basic Gymnastics and Dances that require two people and all that brings them all closer.

Dick and Danny lost touch after the tragic incident with the Graysons, Many years later the story progresses as usual. Danny moves to Gotham to pursue his pursuit in getting a Professional Engineering Recommendation to W.E. with a Bonus Dani that appears every so Often and Dan a normal Mechanic that's acting as his older brother.

Sam Manson happens to be once again forced to attend a gala but this Wayne Gala was Unique because of it's setting as a Masquerade Ball. Sam is thrilled as she can add spice to her gothic aesthetic clothing with a more gothic mask, Danny is being dragged along as because of BFF code, (if I get to suffer, you suffer too.) thus Danny is also wearing an almost as gothic clothing that matches Sam.

Dick and Danny meet there but ofcourse they don't recognize each other, a specific song plays and Dick ever so playful tries to dance a specific routine that only He and Danny knows as they both made it as kids with the help of Jazz. Dick is surprised that Danny is keeping up, Danny is ecstatic and pacing faster as both are in full rhythm and sync in movements.

They don't even realize it but they've become the center of attention as they danced right in the middle of the ballroom. The song comes to a halt and Danny and Dick are breathing heavily, both smiling in excitement until Sam grabs Danny in a headlock and drags him away, scolding him for ditching her for another man.

Dick tries to stop them but was immediately blocked by many who wanted to converse or get his attention as he loses sight of Danny in the crowd of people.

Danny and Dick only ever meet in a gala but something keeps pulling them away from each other, both unable to get each other's names, Dick is totally mesmerized by Danny just as much as Danny is too. Sam finally tells him at some point that he's Dick Grayson. Danny's memories of their past flooding in but Danny didn't want to tell Dick about that because what if dick doesn't remember? What if he asked Dick and he didn't remember him? So Danny kept quiet until he can finally give Dick his name but that moment never came.

Danny is forced to go back to Amity because of the GIW and their Plan to once again destroy the Ghost Zone and Declare War, Danny is captured by the GIW and Sam in desperation with Tucker finally found a way to bypass the GIW firewalls and Break through to connect to the JL.

In the process of saving the captures ghosts with the help of the Justice League in infiltrating and dismantling the Anti Ecto Laws for going against the Meta Protection Rights. Dick doesn't recognize Danny as Phantom, they save him and all that process through Frostbite's help.

Jazz immediately recognizes Dick even as Nightwing and calls him 'Robin' and Dick immediately recognizes her because she is the big sister he always had and wished he kept. Jazz doesn't blow his Identity as expected but she does tell him about Danny as Phantom and Dick as A Wayne once again is processing all of those information in the Manor, Jazz had reassured them that Danny would visit at some point once he is fully healed and Dick waits everyday, waiting for Danny to call or text him that he'll visit.

Dick realizes he's fallen deep in love with Danny with his desperation and also everytime they've met and interacted with each other even for brief moments in the galas they've attended. Danny become the sole reason he'll force himself to attend a gala as he wanted to see the man, his best friend and his first love.

Danny eventually visits Dick and from then you can tell the story goes that way, it's sweet fluff with angst and Dick and Danny gets their happy ending.

[parkersbliss]

if you’re willing to, how about 141 reacting to you saying “no one will hear you scream”? i know they’d all play the biggest uno reverse card, especially gaz because he just has such a sweet face you wouldn’t expect it.

I am always willing to!!! anon thank you for blessing me with this. you're so right like don't threaten the military men who are masters of stealth, now that's asking for trouble...

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x reader 

warnings: um, gaz threatening you? actually, all of them threatening you bc you threaten them

a/n: see me personally I would not mess with this. and certainly not price.

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requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Gaz:

It was easy to convince Kyle to come out here. In fact, he didn’t even think twice when you asked to go out on a hike. He had grabbed a light jacket, laced up his boots, and was out the door. He was an outdoorsman, after all, and any time he could spend with you was well spent. You weren’t going to hear an argument out of his pretty mouth. 

It’s nicer this time of the year. Not too hot and not too cold with the leaves changing into the sunset colors. Honestly, you were glad you had come out here, even if it was because you had other intentions than some fresh air. 

You were lagging behind Kyle, his hand flexing and calling for yours. You jog to grab his when you notice, swinging them as you approach a viewpoint. 

You can overlook the area below you, coming up on a small cliff that showcases the changing leaves and sun. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles your hair, making the tips of your ears a little cold. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Kyle breathes, taking in the view. 

You nod, gazing out at the leaves tumbling in the wind. Then, with a practiced ease, you say: “No one would hear you scream out here.”

Kyle steps back from the edge, whipping around to look at you. “What?”

“What?” You ask dumbly. 

“Don’t “what” me.” He points a finger at you. “I heard that shit.”

You step toward him, feeling guilty when you see his face. “Kyky-” you call. 

“Nope!” He grabs something from his pocket, pointing it at you.

You put your hands on your hips, scoffing and stepping back. “You brought a taser?”

“And I’m not afraid to use it.” He continues to point the weapon at you as you take steps back. You were messing with your boyfriend, but your boyfriend was not messing with you. 

“Babe, it was a joke!” You protest. 

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, not so funny now, huh? No one could hear you scream.” 

“Kyle!” You hiss at that, his point made.“Please put the taser away.”

“Please don’t threaten me,” he retorts, but relents and slips the taser back into his pocket. 

“Why do you even have that?”

Kyle shrugs. “You never know. As you just proved.” 

“Oh my god,” You said, walking back over to him tentatively. Once you’re close enough, he grabs your waist pulling you to his side. “Don’t ever say that shit again,” he whispers. 

You glance at the taser in his pocket. “Lesson learned.” 

Kyle smiles, kissing your cheek. “Ice cream?” 

Ghost:

You take a deep breath, letting the crisp autumn air fill your lungs. It’s cold, cutting through the skin of your throat, yet at the same time it’s comforting. It’s much better than the humidity-laced air of summer at least. Where each breath you took felt like you inhaled oven air. 

Simon glances over at you, cocking his head to silently ask what you were doing. 

“Just taking in the air,” You said. “’s nice.” 

He hums an agreement, walking along the stream you two were hiking. A few birds were chirping, leaves crunching under your boots, and the sound of water running over rocks. It’s a quiet you’re not used to from being in the military. That still doesn’t stop the idea from forming in your head. 

“No one would hear you scream out here,” You muse, falling in step beside Simon. You say it casually, not looking at him. You act as if you had just asked where he wanted to get dinner tonight. 

Simon, of course, is aware of everything. He stops walking, turning to you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Excuse me?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.” And continue along the trail. 

He doesn’t follow you. You can tell when his footsteps aren’t echoing yours, a little slower and more steady. Instead, they fall silent on deaf ears. You can’t hear anything and the hair on the back of your neck stands up at the sudden stillness of the forest. 

“Simon?” You call, turning to face him. And of course, he’s gone. You curse under your breath, spinning around to find him. You walk back to where he was, checking around the trees and the bushes. You shouldn’t threaten a lieutenant, the master of infiltration nonetheless. You peek around another tree, trying to get a view of him when a hand grabs your shoulder. You scream, throwing the hand off your shoulder and raising your fists. You come face to face with your boyfriend and drop your hands. 

Simon stares at you, a deadpan look on his face with arms crossed. “What was that about no one hearing me or, should I say you scream?” 

You swat at him. “It was a joke.”

“Damn right, it was. You think you could take me?” He begins walking again, offering his hand to you. He was a true gentleman even after he pulled that stunt. You really needed to learn to keep your eyes on him. 

You lace your fingers together, sighing. “No.” 

Simon is content with the answer, placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Let’s finish this hike without any other threats, hm, sweetheart?"

“It was a joke.” 

“Mine wasn’t.” 

“Simon—!” 

Soap:

Johnny took convincing to go out for a walk. He was more inclined to spend his days on the couch, relaxing next to you. Not some boring “walk for fresh air.” He would argue he’d already gone on plenty of walks while deployed. 

You dragged him out anyway, saying it’ll be good for him to do one without worrying about being shot at. 

So here you are, on a quiet trail in your local park, pointing at the various colored leaves and their unique shapes. 

“This is stupid,” Johnny said, kicking at a pinecone on the ground and sending it flying. 

You roll your eyes, squeezing his hand, which was intertwined with yours in his jacket pocket. “You could humor me a bit.” 

“What good would that do?” 

You huff. “I actually quite like it out here.” 

“‘m sure you do, love.” 

You tap your chin with your free hand. An idea forming in your head to spice things up a bit. Or at least raise the stakes for your walk. “Like, no one would hear you scream out here, you know?” A mischievous grin curls on your lips as you look at Johnny with innocence. 

“What?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. He knew what you said, just hadn’t quite processed the implications yet. 

“I said, we can go get ice cream. As a peace offering.” 

Johnny removes his hand from yours, taking a step back. “I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t want ice cream?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m actually tired. Thinking we should head back now.” 

You jut your bottom lip out, enjoying the slight panic on his face. “Already?”

He spins on his heels. “Yep! Right now. Let’s go. Back in public. With people.” He urges, walking away from you at a brisk pace. 

You laugh to yourself, jogging after him. He glances at you over his shoulder, clearly paranoid and you feel a little bad about it. His pace quickens and within seconds, he’s out of your line of sight and you sigh. Damn him. 

You exit the trail, and back into the regular park, squinting your eyes to spot your boyfriend. You can’t find him anyway, which is weird because his mohawk makes him unmissable. 

A hand taps your shoulder and you jump. 

“Oh, relax,” Johnny said, holding out an ice cream cone for you. “We’re out of the woods now. Everyone would hear you scream here.” 

You take the ice cream from him, glaring at him and his smug look as he remixes your words against you. “Not funny.”

“Now imagine how I felt. Except I wouldn’t really have a problem if people heard.” 

“We’re going home.” 

Johnny laughs madly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “That’s all I wanted.” 

Price:

You stand at the end of your hike, overlooking the view beneath you. The cliff dips into a valley, scattered with red and orange trees, the telltale sign of the approaching cold. The sun sits high in the sky, blessing you with a little warmth as the clouds drift through the breeze. 

Price stands next to you, hands on his hips like a proud dad after completing the hike. He pushes his sunglasses to sit on his forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“We should do this more often,” he said.

“We should,” you agree, watching a pair of hawks circle and dive. “It’s so peaceful out here.” 

“So quiet,” Price added. 

You hum. “No one would hear you scream.” 

You knew the risk of saying something like that to your boyfriend, but you couldn’t help it. A little challenge for him. 

Price doesn’t hesitate, he takes a step back from you, putting considerable distance between the two of you. His eyes scan the trees, the valley below, the space behind you — he’s clearly checking for any threats. 

You take a step toward him and he holds up his hand. “No. Empty your pockets.”

“What?” You asked with a laugh. 

“You wanna say shit like that? Empty your pockets,” He said again. 

You stare at him, and you can see the serious look on his face. Within the minute you had uttered that sentence, you already regretted it. Leave it to John Price to take everything so seriously. Even when it was his girlfriend who could never hurt him. You sigh, dropping your phone, wallet, keys, tissues, and everything else. You stare at him. “Happy?” 

“Hands up.” 

“John!” 

“Not hearing you out, darling.”

You begrudgingly raise your hands as he steps towards you, patting you down and inspecting the things you’ve dropped. “It was a joke.” 

“Am I laughing?” His hands come to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them slightly. “Believe me, darling. You wouldn’t be able to scream before I drop you.” 

You spin around to face him, a shocked look on your face. He had gotten you there. Price wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you make any noise. 

“It was a joke,” He mocks you, a sly grin on his face. 

You purse your lips, grabbing your things off the ground. “Point made.” Price grabs the rest of your belongings, handing them to you with that sweet smile of his. 

“C’mon, let’s hike back down. We can go to your favorite sandwich place.” He places a hand on your back, leading you off the cliff.

“As long as you don’t slip poison into it.” 

“No promises.” 

-- END --

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[thevillainswhore]

The Ties That Bind Us

Pairing: Ex-Husband!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, small amount of angst, mutual pining, jealousy, kissing, smut, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink, p in v sex, derogatory names, spitting, happy ending.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne

“You look so pretty, Mama!” You caught your son’s reflection in the mirror, his bright blue eyes wide and in awe as you finished the final touches up of your makeup. 

You were about to respond, but the words died on your tongue at the sight of Bucky’s large form rounding the corner into the bathroom. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over one another. “She absolutely does, cupcake.”

The intensity of his stare made you gulp silently, and you diverted your eyes back to your son.   

Bucky had been doing that a lot recently —looking at you differently, more longing in his eyes than usual. 

“Thank you, baby,” you said, ignoring Bucky in favour of showing your appreciation to your son. The knot in your stomach was wound too tight to try and unravel the conflict that ravaged in your mind. “You’re going to be good for your Dad tonight, aren’t you?” 

Your son did his best to try and hide the cheeky smirk on his lips — one that resembled his father a little too much. “Of course Mama, I be a good boy.” 

Unable to help the smile growing on your face, you brought him into your embrace, snuggling him tightly until he let out a loud squeal when you tickled his stomach. “I mean it, trouble. No staying up late and no ice cream before bed.” 

Instantly, his puppy eyes fell to his father, an innocent pout on his lips. “But Dadda—“ 

“Sorry kid,” Bucky held strong. Glancing to you before looking back to his son, “Mama’s rules.” 

“Oh, shucks,” your son sighed as you laughed. 

From the outside looking in, the three of you seemed like a perfect family. Picturesque and ideal — white picket fences enclosing a home that was full of love and laughter, wholesome family dinners and celebrations for each loved one. 

But things were never as simple as you wished. 

The sobering thought made your laughter die in your throat, and you checked the time on your lit up phone screen. It was almost time for your date and you were wary of being late. “Okay, cupcake. I’ve gotta get moving so I can make it on time.” 

“Aw,” your son whined, and you ruffled his hair as you made your way out of the bathroom. The air was knocked out of your lungs as you squeezed by Bucky, the scent of his aftershave he had worn since you first met him filled your nose and overtook your senses. 

You barely suppressed a moan, a sinful combination that your mind begged you to inhale one more time, while another internal voice scolded you. The lingering touch of his fingers ghosting over your waist made it even harder to listen to sense. 

Once you reached the hallway, you shook yourself and grabbed your bag from its hook by the door.  The coat over your arm was warm and comfortable as you slipped it over your shoulders. 

The telltale patter of feet over the hardwood floor bounced towards you, along with another set of heavier ones not too far behind. “Where you going this time, mama?” cupcake asked. 

Smiling, you leaned down and tucked a stray lock of deep brown hair behind his ear. “Just for dinner, baby. I won’t be out long and I promise I’ll be back to make you pancakes in the morning, okay, sweetie?” 

He nodded before stepping closer and tiptoeing up to whisper in your ear. “Make sure he treat you good because you deserve whole world.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes, clinging on to your waterline. You blinked them away quickly before your son could notice. 

Though, Bucky did. 

You kissed his forehead, and leaned back to look into his eyes. “You got it, cupcake.” 

Stepping forward, Bucky spoke up. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Mama and go get a movie set up, huh pal? I’ll be with you soon.” 

Before your son left, he hugged you. “Bye Mama, I loves you.” 

You smiled as he ran off. “I love you too, baby — and remember to be good!”

Only Bucky and you were left by the door, your blanket of comfortability was gone and you felt his eyes that held too many memories burning through you. 

“You really do look beautiful,” he vowed. 

Fuck, you internally cursed.

You tried not to look into his eyes while you fumbled with your dress. “Thank you, Bucky.” You quickly shifted the conversation. “If he doesn’t settle then text me, okay? My phone will be on loud and I’ll answer straight away—“ 

“As much as I— We would like you home, I’m sure we’ll survive without you for a couple of hours,” Bucky said, recovering from his hiccup smoothly. 

Your gazes met — you had always gotten lost in his eyes and even all these years later nothing had changed. 

Snapping out of your reverie, you shook your head and unlocked the door. “I’ll um— I’ll be back later.” 

Before you could leave, Bucky caught your hand. “Have fun, Doll.” 

And with all the strength you had, you delicately took your hand out of his, taking note of the tan line of where his wedding ring used to sit. “Bye, James.” 

The date went as expected. 

Your company for the night wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, this was the third date you had both been on together. However, the spark you had so badly tried to ignite through bland conversations and one already ringed out similar interest fell short. 

Every date you had been on since your divorce with Bucky seemed to lack a certain something for you. Although in recent light, you had come to terms with the fact you that no one’s eyes had the same shade of blue you were familiar with. Or made your heart jump in your chest from excited nerves years after your first meeting. 

Simply, you hated the fact you compared every single man to Bucky. 

With a sigh, you unlocked your door, careful to make as little noise as possible as you walked into your home. It was quiet, almost silent, apart from those damned footsteps that eased the weight off your chest and yet caused goosebumps to cascade down the bare skin of your arms.  

Bucky rounded the corner from your kitchen to the open plan living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand in the orange hue of the darkness, provided by a single lit lamp. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, the expression on his face imperceptible. “How was your date?” 

You cleared your throat, struggling to keep your composure from the sight of his tight black T-shirt and denim jeans that deliciously hugged his thighs. “Um yeah— it was— it was okay.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Just okay?” He laughed. “Come on, give me more than that.”

You sighed in defeat. “I told him it was best if we didn’t see each other anymore.” 

Unfortunately, there was only so much of a facade you could fake until it became noticeable to your date. It was an amicable decision with no hard feelings. But, it didn’t help to settle the confusing thoughts in your head. 

Bucky took a swig of his drink, placing it on the hallway side table before he began slowly pacing towards you. 

You couldn’t discern the look in his eyes, the way they feasted on your thighs or your waist. Backing up against the door until you physically couldn’t break free from the heat of his gaze, you could only watch as Bucky drew closer, right until you were a breath apart. 

He brought an arm up, over the top of your head to lean against the door. “Any reason why?” he asked, a husk to his tone that granted you no favours. 

A sudden pulse shot through your nerves, the ache between your thighs intense. It took everything in you to not rub them together. He would notice that you were sure of. 

Desperate to escape what was sure to be a dangerous situation, you quickly slid out of his invisible hold and hastily made your way to the kitchen to pour your own drink. Bucky joined you only seconds later. 

“How was cupcake?” you asked instead, attempting to switch the conversation to a safe topic. “I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble.” 

“He was good as gold,” he instantly replied, staring you down. A beat later, “He whined about the ice cream situation, but I promised I’d take him out for it tomorrow and he was out like a light  — we had fun.” 

You slightly faltered as you poured the whiskey into a second glass. You didn’t miss his small innuendo of spending more time together.  

“Thanks for looking after him tonight. I know it was pretty useless anyway, but—“ 

Bucky trapped you against the counter as he placed his hand over yours, his deep baritone rumbling in your ears. “Don’t thank me for looking after my own son, you know I’d do it all the time if I could.” He took a deep breath. “If you would let me.” 

No. You couldn’t do this. 

You immediately dropped the bottle of whiskey onto the kitchen countertop, ripping yourself away from his touch to walk away. 

Bucky reached out as he followed you. “Babydoll—“ 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you scolded, fury in your voice. 

Bucky however, wasn’t deterred. “Doll.”

“No—“

“Will you just—“ he caught you with a firm grip and spun you around to face him. “Will you stop running away from me.” 

The two of you were out of breath from sudden adrenaline, harshly breathing into each other's mouths. The look in Bucky’s eyes was wild, untamed — tortured.

“Tell me you’ve never thought about it — us getting back together.” He gripped onto your arms, his eyes flicking between yours. “Tell me I’m delusional and I’ll walk out that door right now and we’ll never speak of this again.” 

The ache in his voice broke your heart as much as the day you signed the divorce papers. 

“Bucky—“ 

“Please.” He cupped your face with his hands, glancing between your eyes and your lips while his thumb slowly rubbed over them. “I’m a desperate man, baby. I’m desperate for you.” 

You gulped, emotion bubbling over into your voice. “We broke up, Bucky. We’re divorced.” 

He laughed wetly, but there was no humour in his tone. “And that means we can’t try again?” 

The reasons for your separation seemed to blur under his stare. All the ways you weren’t good for each other leaving your mind and only making room for the good. 

“Where the hell is this coming from, Bucky?” You deflected once again. 

Your hands shook as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I can’t stand the thought of seeing you go out with another man again,” he whispered, painfully. “It’s killing me, Babydoll. It should be me.” 

Tears rushed over your cheeks, you were too overwhelmed to hold them back any longer. You sniffled as you glanced down the hall where you son currently lied fast asleep and obvlious. “I can’t hurt our son, Bucky — I can’t.” 

He smiled sadly at you, the crinkle in his eyes ever present but they only made you swoon for him even more. “There’s a reason all those dates don’t ever work out.” 

You couldn’t hear it, couldn’t take what he was trying to say. “Stop it.” 

“I know you’ve been holding back as much as I have.” 

He was pushing you, like he always did and as much as you wanted to curse him, it was working. “Please don’t make me—“

The point of no return came in the form of your most hidden secret spilling from Bucky’s lips. “You still love me, Babydoll.”

Ice ran through your veins, hearing those words out loud that you hadn’t dared let yourself believe. Your mouth gaped open, unable to find the words to deny his accusations until your tether broke. 

“Fine! I’m ruined for anyone else!” you shouted, frustrated and scared — a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You’ve ruined me — is that what you want to hear?”

His plump lips, soft and pink curled up. “It’s exactly what I want to hear.” 

Leaping forward, Bucky crashed his lips against yours. 

He was feverish as you both collided into each other. His hands, unrelenting yet gentle mapped out each and every slope of your body as you stood in the living room, feeling each other for the first time in years. 

“Fuck,” he groaned between kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed you, baby.” 

Your head spun, dizzy with want. You hadn’t been touched in so long by anyone, never mind your ex-husband and your heart pounded erratically with nerves, excitement and longing. 

Slipping his tongue into your mouth, Bucky kissed you like he was starved, as though you were his only salvation. He ran his fingers through your hair, tugging it harshly to pull you closer to him even though there was no longer any distance between the two of you. 

“You’ve got no idea how bad I need you,” he whined into your mouth. “Need to fuckin’— I just need you.” 

Without you realising, Bucky had pushed you up against the nearest wall and even through denim jeans you could feel the hard shape of his cock while he unabashedly grinded against you. 

You broke for air, gasping as oxygen rushed to your lungs. “You have me, Bucky.” He trailed sloppy kisses down your neck as you panted, desperate to stain your skin with any trace of him. “You can have anything you want.” 

He growled, a sound that caused a gush of wetness to soak your panties. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, sweetheart.” 

Ripping away from you, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the laundry room on the other side of your house. You struggled to keep up with his fast strides in your heels, but you just about managed as he shoved you through the door and locked it behind him. 

His back was turned to you for a while and you stood nervously fidgeting, waiting for him to face you. His back rose and fell with breathless heaves, as though he was holding back — a feral beast ready to pounce. 

“Babydoll,” he said suddenly, rough and graveled. “I need to know you want this before I fuck the shit out of you.” 

Holy fuck, the mouth on this man. Your mouth grew dry while you struggled to think clearly in his aura. “I— I do—“ you stuttered, lamely.

He slowly turned around, a wolfish gleam in his eyes with adrenaline surging through his veins. He was tense as he took a deep breath. “Say it like you mean it.” 

When you stayed quiet, too hazy to speak, Bucky stalked towards you, lifting your chin up to look him directly in his eyes. “Say. It.”

Closing your eyes, you cleared your mind and swallowed before whispering, “I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my name, Bucky.” 

He smirked, the kind you knew all too well — deadly. “Atta’ girl.” 

You sqeauled as he suddenly hiked you up into his arms, hands under your thighs so he could place you on top of the washing machine. Laundry detergents and other products you didn’t care to take note of fell from the shelves around you as he pounced on you once again, devouring you whole with his sinful lips. 

“Do you know how much I’ve had to restrain myself, Doll — Mm?” he pressed, covering every inch of bare skin you had to offer with his kisses. “How fuckin’ hard it’s been to not drag you back in the house and take you right then while you get dressed up for someone else?” 

You did. Because you understood more than anyone the pain of having to force yourself away from Bucky when all you had ever wanted was him. 

He unbuckled his belt, the telltale sound of the leather snapping against his hands and the jingle of metal sent bolts of electricity straight to your cunt.  

Your mind couldn’t keep up, your vision blurry with the sudden turn of events. All you knew was that you needed Bucky. 

“Hurry, baby. Please,” you whined. 

Bucky groaned with delight, his eyes rolling to the back of his head while he bit his swollen bottom lip. “Oh, how I’ve missed you begging for me, pretty mama.” 

Rushing to take off his belt, he slid the material through the loops of his jeans and threw it on the floor, not long after hurrying to unzip his fly and shuffle his pants down along with his underwear.

The tip of his cock peaked out of his black briefs and instantly you let out a high pitched moan, even shocking Bucky enough to look back up at you drooling over him. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, slightly condescending. “Don’t you worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” 

Bucky revealed the entirety of his cock, the length just as long as you remembered and the girth as thick as you had imagined in your nights alone with your toys that couldn’t compare. 

The slight curve that you could feel the ghost of pleasure from to this day caused you to bite your lip and squirm in your place. 

Without waiting for Bucky, you began shifting the bottom of your dress up your thighs, too impatient to wait for him to undress you. It gave you immense satisfaction when he followed the material, slowly revealing more of your skin. His mouth gaped open while he fell to his knees, the thud that sounded surely must have hurt, but there was no other expression on his face than greed. 

You stopped your dress just before Bucky could peak at your red panties and you almost laughed when his head shot up, aghast that you had interrupted the show. 

The power you held, you smirked. “You want more, Daddy?” 

Bucky dropped his head onto your thighs, his breath travelling up to your covered mound — your eyes fluttered, though you kept your breathing steady to not seem so desperate. 

Stroking your fingers through his fluffy hair, you murmured low, “Does it hurt to know my pussy is right here and you can’t have it?” 

You felt his muscles quickly lock up, his head snapping up to you with a speed that was frightening and exhilarating all at once. The blue of his irises darkened, dilating as he chuckled, “You’re very much mistaken, sweetheart. Because this pussy right here,” he shoved your dress up, spread your legs and breathed into you. “She’s mine, baby girl. And you’ve kept her from me long enough.” 

A chilled blast of air hit you as Bucky tore your panties from your waist and held them up. “You wore these slutty panties for that fucker, huh?” 

You gasped in shock when he brought them to his nose and inhaled the gusset deeply. He grunted as he closed his eyes in bliss. “Cos’ I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s got you this soaked.” 

Your keens amused him greatly. “Bucky—“ 

“That’s right, mama,” he laughed with pride. “My name sounds so damn heavenly coming from your lips.” 

Bucky pocketed your underwear, not caring to be discreet and his thumbs came up to your cunt to spread you open to his eager eyes. “My god, baby,” he gasped in awe. Your hole clenched at the vulgar display. “You’re just as tight as the last time I had you.” 

He tested a finger over your folds, running it through the embarrassing amount of slick that coated you. 

“No one,” you breathed, shaking your head while willing your scrambled thoughts to formulate into words. “There’s been— there hasn’t—“ 

Bucky looked up at you from his knelt position, a small slither of vulnerability shining through his lust-hooded eyes. “Just me?” 

You gulped and nodded, staring into his wide blues with honesty. “Just you.”

A moment passed between you. The charged air filtered down to that spark that had always been buried through the heartbreak you both endured in your divorce. 

Bucky swallowed before placing a single kiss to the inside of your knee. “Then let me make up for that.” 

You leaned your head back against the shelf behind you as his lips traveled up the meat of your thighs, yelping each time he gently bit you. 

He murmured obscenities you could barely respond to as he edged closer to your pussy. You offered yourself freely, on a platter, as your legs opened even wider for him — the only man who ever truly owned you. 

His lips whispered over your mound, a hint for what was about to come. “I’ve been waiting to taste you again for years.” 

You moaned aloud, unhinged and unapologetic while Bucky licked a fat stripe up your cunt. Your nerves were alight with pure fire and you instantly grabbed onto the back of his head to push him further into you. 

You didn’t care if the action was needy — one single touch of him and you were a goner once again. 

He feasted on you, not coming up for air as he switched between sucking your clit and slurping your juices. “Oh my god— Bucky, baby you gotta— holy fuck.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

Bucky wrapped his thick arms around your thighs and dragged you closer to him — all too happy to suffocate between your legs. “Sweet as a fuckin’ apple pie,” he murmured into you, the vibrations only deepening your pleasure. 

Looking down at him, his eyes were homed in on you, watching your every expression. They were blown out, wild while strands of his hair stuck out in every direction. 

Pulling away slightly, his heavy pants blew over your throbbing clit. “Daddy makin’ you feel good, Babydoll?” 

You hardly had time to reply as he immediately shoved his tongue into your clenching hole and fucked you with it. 

“Bucky!” you screamed to the ceiling. However, a harsh slap delivered to your thigh snapped you back to sense. 

“You know that’s not what you call me,” he barked. 

Whining, you corrected yourself. “Daddy, please!” 

You felt his smirk plastered over your pussy as he hummed into you, “There’s my good girl.” 

Your legs began to shake as you felt your climax creep to the surface and Bucky only doubled down with his sinful tongue that you somehow had forgotten he was way too talented with. 

“I’m close,” you whispered as your vision began to blur. “So close — please, please don’t stop.” 

Bucky continued his ministrations while your pussy fluttered around his tongue. Your release was within reaching distance and you gripped the washing machine, ready to let go until suddenly his presence was gone. 

You almost fell forward before you caught yourself with your remaining strength. The pent up tension that was wound in your stomach hadn’t loosened and it took you a second to realise you hadn’t cum. 

“W—what?” you mumbled shakily as you blinked your eyes open. Bucky stood there, his cock pulsing and viciously purple, with a smirk on his face, wiping his slick covered mouth with his arm. It disorientated you. 

“I haven’t—“ you swallowed the dryness of your mouth. “You didn’t make me—“ 

Bucky’s cock bobbed as he closed the distance between you, dizzying you even further with a passionate kiss. “No I didn’t, baby.” 

You whimpered in despair, the ache worsening. “But Daddy—“

“Nu-uh,” he breathed while lining his cock against your hole. “You’re only gonna fuckin’ cum when I say you can.”

Recklessly, Bucky pushed his full length into your pussy. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into him as the sheer size of his thick cock winded you enough to wail out. 

“Shit,” he cursed, a strain in his voice as he firmly gripped your hips. “Fuckin’ hell— Babydoll, how the fuck are you still so tight.” 

Impatiently, you fidgeted. Whether it was to escape how full he made you or try and force him deeper into your cunt you weren’t sure. All of it was too overwhelming to process.

“I can’t,” you shook your head, tears building over your glassy eyes. “You’re too big— Bucky, I can’t—“ 

“Yes you can,” he declared with conviction while he lifted your gaze to him. “You can take it, sweetheart.” 

Slowly, Bucky began to ease out of your cunt. His cock was coated with your wetness and he moaned deeply at the sight. He grinded back into you, his curved tip hitting every sensitive spot. 

“There we go,” he brushed your hair back and kissed your forehead, praising you. “Taking my cock so good, Babydoll. Just like always.” 

His touch was familiar, yet new — all consuming and claiming — and you melted into him, smothering his neck with a litany of kisses as he continued to gently thrust his cock into you. 

“M—Missed you,” you confessed, drunk from lust and emotion. “Missed you so much, Bucky.” 

The motion of his hips sped up as he began pounding into you with more force. “Yeah? You missed being a sweet little wife for me?” He taunted with an evil grin. “You loved being Daddy’s little slut, didn’t you?” 

“Mhm— Always your slut, Daddy!” You sobbed into his skin. 

His pace turned unrelenting, fierce after too much lost time. He fucked you as though he would be left out to dry after he was done. 

Grabbing your cheeks, he leaned his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, Babydoll,” he grunted. “Don’t care who’s fuckin’ taking you on dates. You belong to me.” 

Nodding your head, you fell mute, mouth gaped wide as you felt the knot begin to build up in your stomach once more. 

Bucky looked down to watch his dick glisten with your slick. The obscene sounds created from the amount of your juices leaking out only caused his cock to throb. Your cunt squelched with each thrust he made. But it wasn’t enough for him. 

Gathering saliva in his mouth, Bucky spat to where the two of you connected, groaning as it clung to your pussy and stringed out with his motions. 

Your squeals of pleasure began to get louder as the coil tightened, “I’m gonna—“ 

Before you could rush the words out, Bucky pleaded, “Tell me you love me.” 

Your eyes snapped up to his, more alert now. He didn’t falter, only fucked you with more abandon. 

“Tell me you love me,” he repeated once more, a demand this time.

“Bucky, I—“ 

“I know you do, Doll.” His hips started to twitch, his telltale sign that he was also close to cumming. However, you had an inclination that he wouldn’t let himself go until you gave him what you wanted. “I know you remember how good it used to be. Let me come home and I’ll fuck you this good whenever you want.” 

You gurgled around his fingers as he suddenly shoved them into your mouth, collecting the drool gathered on your tongue to bring them down to your clit. He didn’t ease them against you, instead rubbing tight circles rapidly, bringing you closer to the edge faster. 

It was impossible to escape his dark eyes or the fierce hold of his hand at the back of your neck. “Feels so fucking good, Daddy!” you blurted.

“I know, mama,” he assured as he drove his cock into you even harder. “Your cunt feels like heaven.” 

“I wanna cum,” you cried. “I need to cum.” 

“You know what you’ve gotta do then, don’t you, Babydoll?” 

You squeezed your eyes closed. The pleasure started to blend into a mix of pain and you were only slightly ashamed that it only turned you on more. “I—“ 

“Come on, baby. Give me what I want.” A few more punishing thrusts and you were treading the line of your impending orgasm. Your thighs shook violently and beads of sweat dripped down your chest. But when Bucky grounded out his next words, you fell apart. “Be a good wife for Daddy and tell me the truth.” 

You couldn’t hold back any longer, the balance of your orgasm tipping over along with the truth you tried to withhold. “I love you, Bucky!” 

Instantly, you felt the pulse of Bucky’s cock, a warm shoot of his load filling your cunt while you silently screamed and shook with the intensity of your climax. 

Everything fell deaf to your ears as you fought to catch your breath, slumping against Bucky. His heavy breaths blew your stray hairs sticking out from the sweat gathered on your head while his hips continued to slowly pump into you from the aftershocks of his own orgasm. 

You were brought back to the present with the gentle touch of his lips pressing against your cheeks, kissing your skin delicately. “Hey there, Babydoll.” 

While you would have normally been nervous, the energy that he had drained you of allowed your inhibitions and walls to crumble, leaving you to smile drunkenly at him. “Hi,” you whispered. 

Bucky checked you over, darting his eyes over your face. “You feeling okay?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, bringing your thumb up to swipe over his stubble you had always been fond of. “Freshly fucked and never better.” 

The corner of his lips curved up, a small mirth of laughter escaping him. He licked his lips and you detected a hint of nerves that crossed over his features. “I um— I’m sorry if I—“ 

You placed your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him. “You didn’t go too rough.” Slowly, you brought your finger down, hooking it into the collar of his shirt. “I enjoyed myself.” 

“Good.” He brought one of your hands up to his mouth to kiss the palm of your hand. “Good.” 

The two of you barely noticed his length still deep in you. All that you cared for was the weight suddenly released from your chest. 

“Did you mean it?” Bucky asked, cutting through the peaceful silence. He was defenseless, all guards down with a shimmer of hope twinkling in his ocean eyes. 

You knew exactly what he was referring to and you inhaled deeply before you replied, “I did.” 

He swallowed thickly, his emotion clear though his bright eyes. “I love you too — so fuckin’ much.” He nuzzled into your neck as your hand held him close to you. “I’ve missed you.” 

A lump gathered in your throat once more. Breathing in Bucky’s scent freely, without guilt this time, you sunk into his embrace even further. 

“Can I come home?” he whispered into your skin, a desperate plea. “I’ll do whatever you want — I’ll go to counseling with you, we can take things slow. I just need you back, Babydoll.” 

The answer was simple. You knew in your heart there was no one else for you, no one better. No matter your differences, everything would always lead back to Bucky and you were willing to give the two of you a second chance. 

“Okay,” you answered softly. 

His head shot up, eyes wide and red from the tears you felt gathering on your neck. “Okay?” he repeated hopefully. 

You smiled, kissing him gently on the lips before you muttered, “Come back home, baby.”

The pan sizzled on the stove as you cooked the last pancake, a stack already piled high on the counter next to you for breakfast. 

Music played softly on the radio and you swayed your hips side to side, covered by a long T-shirt, while you hummed to yourself. 

You were interrupted from your task when a pair of thick arms wrapped around your middle, hugging you from behind tightly. “Yknow, I could have had my breakfast in bed,” Bucky grumbled into your ear, his deep morning voice causing your eyes to slightly flutter. 

You huffed a laugh before you mumbled, “I bet you could, greedy.” 

The bristles of his trimmed beard tickled your skin as he playfully nibbled your neck. “Can’t exactly blame a man when his woman tastes so sweet, Babydoll.” 

Your head started to feel heavy as you gave into his kisses, leaning back into his hold and opening yourself up for him. 

“There’s a good girl,” Bucky praised you. “You just let Daddy—“

Peaking an eye open, you watched as his hand crept forward, about to pinch a pancake from the pile. He yelped as you swatted his hand away, a pout on his lips while you grinned. 

“Nice try, Daddy,” you teased, smugly. 

Before Bucky could retort back, a sluggish set of small footsteps sounded over the floorboards and you whipped around to find your son, still sleepy, making his way to the dining table. 

“Morning, cupcake!” you greeted him cheerfully. 

With difficulty, he climbed his way onto one of the chairs, huffing with the effort and sinking down once comfortable. He looked towards you, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Mornin’, mama—“ 

Frowning, your son looked towards Bucky, finally noticing him too. “Dadda?” he asked, confused. 

“Hey, pal.” Bucky treaded, carefully. 

Your son’s gaze fell to the lack of distance between you and Bucky, his hand still lingering on your waist. Keeping your composure, you waited nervously for his reaction. 

“He treat you good, mama?” he asked all so innocently with a hint of fierceness in his bright blue eyes. 

You watched with bated breath as Bucky stepped towards him, leaning over the table with his palm up to your son. “I’m gonna take good care of mama, “ he promised with sincerity. 

Your son deliberated for a moment before nodding his head and reached out to hold his Dad’s hand. “Okay, can I have pancakes now?” 

You sighed a breath of relief. “Of course, baby.” 

It was silent for a moment, in your small kitchen while you plated up breakfast for your family. Bucky and you shared an intimate smile until your son spoke up once again. “Just don’t forget about the ice cream you promised me.” 

Laughter filled the entirety of the kitchen, a home once again bathed in love — your perfect little family. 

[nightingale-prompts]

Finding Batboy

First| Previous | Next

Phantom

King

Fenton

Apprentice

Batboy

He just wanted to be Danny. Just Danny, nothing else.

But who was Danny anymore?

Danny was a 14-year-old boy who died in a tragic accident. Danny had a decent life with friends and a sister who he loved. Danny wanted to be an astronaut and loved the stars. Danny had an astrology phase that made him so annoying to everyone but Sam. Danny liked dogs and cats hated him for no reason no matter how much he loved them. Danny wanted to join the robotics club with Tucker. Danny still snuck into his sister's room when he was scared to sleep in her bed.

But Danny is dead. Danny has been dead for years now.

He missed being Danny.

Now he was Phantom.

No past.

No home.

No family.

But if that was true, what did that make Dick?

Just another person that he would have to leave behind. It wouldn't be long. History doesn't repeat but it rhymes. It can't last. It won't.

Danny flew to some abandoned factory located somewhere in Gotham. He hadn't really paid much attention. He just needed a desolate place to land. Somewhere even the ghosts have long abandoned.

Truthfully Danny didn't want to be alone. A part of him felt the urge to find that revenant that he had met. Something that felt familiar to him, someone that could understand.

But right now Danny wanted to rest and he wasn't picky about where. He wrapped his wings in a tight cocoon and plopped on the ground. His sleep was deep, more than he ever remembered having before, except once.

Danny walked through the halls of a spiraling tower that overlooked the Ghost Zone. The tower was decorated with stars and moons. Mist hovered just above the floor creating a icy blue carpet. Ghost sheep napped in corners. The scent of poppy and pine filled the air.

As Danny ascended to the top he met with a familiar face. Nocturne the ghost of dreams. The ghost's thick bridged nose reminded Danny of that of a sheep that matched his curled ramhorns. His red eyes with horizontal pupils reminded him of a demonic ram he had seen in a horror movie once. Danny could practically hear that line again: "Would thou like to live deliciously?"

It still gave Danny chills.

"Please refrain from making such comparisons." Nocturne said, his voice deep but soft at the same time.

Danny had gotten to know Nocturne some time ago. Apparently, he and Clockwork were close. They shared a high rank among ghosts as they were abstract manifestations rather then being that were once living like some. The hierarchy of ghosts was complex, and Nocturne was not someone to look down on.

"Nox, why am I here?" Danny said standing before the seven-foot frame of the amorphous ghost.

"You are spending too much time in the material realm. If you don't get time back in the realm to which you belong you'll go mad. It's already starting to happen. I stole your mind away for a bit to give you a mental break but your body is already starting to break down." Nocturne said waving a finger at him.

"My body and brain are fine Nox." Danny said crossing his arms.

Nocturne picked the boy up with one hand and held him at eye level.

"You are having trouble shifting are you not? Its not coming as easily as it should. The more attached you get to a form without the energy from our world to break it up the worse it will be. The Ghost of Time has already told me of the problem. You must stay here for the time being and recover. It is what's best. Mental weakness is the worst one can suffer and the remedy is sleep." Nocturne's breath smelled like warm milk and cinnamon. It calmed Danny's nerves and made his eyes heavy.

Clockwork had put him up to this. That old man...really was....annoying....Zzzz.

Back in the world of the living and awake mass panic has broken out.

Batboy is currently missing and Nightwing is not handling it well. The entirety of the Gotham Vigilantes team has been notified and is searching the cities of Gotham and Bludhaven.

"Have you searched the docks?" Nightwing asked frantically as he searched every rooftop in the city.

"I'm working on it. Do you really think he's here?" Red Robin said scanning every unit on the lot.

Red Hood didn't know what the BatBoy kid looked like other than the whole wings thing. If his little buddy Phantom could help it would help.

Although they had a slight resemblance Jason could see too many differences when looking at the pictures. Phantom had round ears, and silver hair that moved like fire and looked like a human. Batboy had long sharp ears, claws, pointy teeth, blueish-green skin, wings, and a white fluff around his neck. Clearly, they were different.

Batman searched the dark allies of Gotham as Signal and Orphan split up to cover as much ground as possible. Oracle searched every camera from the past few hours for the boy.

The good news was that Batboy was found. The bad news was who found him.

"Poor little Bluebird lost his fledgling and Batsy is looking for the lost pup. I should let them know that the little guy has been found! Ahahahaha!"

[starry-bi-sky]

wolfpack. aka: if not friend, then why friend-shaped?

"Hey-- uh, Danny?" There's an almost imperceptible tremor in Tucker's voice.

Danny doesn't look up from what he's doing, his pencil scritching across his notebook as he tries to do another quadratic formula question. "Hm."

"What's -- uh -- what's with the dogs?"

He looks up now, and finally sees where Tucker is -- standing in the doorway of his room with an ashy look on his face and a skewed, nervous smile. He's got a white knuckle grip on the doorknob. Sam is wide-eyed behind him, and using him as a partial meat-shield.

Danny looks down to the two giant ghost wolves sprawled next to him lazily. One large green one with his head in Danny's lap, letting him use him as a prop-up for his notebook. Another equally large black one splayed against his hip, sleeping on her side with her head tilted inward to his calf.

Automatically, a grin tilts across Danny's face, and he lifts his notebook up to scratch behind the green one's ears. He opens a lazy eye, one that is bloody red with a ring of yellow around the pupil, before slipping it shut and leaning his head into Danny's touch. "This is Sirius and Procyon," he says, and reaches down to scratch Sirius' belly. "And they're not dogs, they're wolves."

"Great," Tucker says, his voice suddenly much smaller and faint, "Love that distinction."

Sirius makes a great big groan, and Danny's grin widens, his heart swelling with fondness. His hand slips away from her belly, and before he can put his notebook back down, Procyon pushes his head up his lap until his ear is against his stomach, demanding pets now too.

Sam peeks her head up from over Tucker's shoulder, "I think what Tucker's asking here is what are they doing here, Danny."

He shrugs, scratching under Procyon's chin. "They kinda just showed up. I tried sending them back to the Zone, but they keep returning." And they were weirdly intent on just following him around, which is the only reason he gave up on returning them. They weren't causing trouble, and they knew how to hide around the living. Plus, he just loves dogs. "So now I have two wolves living with me."

This, oddly enough, did not do anything to calm Sam and Tucker down. Tucker's mouth purses into a thin line, and he presses the sides of his palms to his lips in prayer. "How have your parents not found out about this?"

Danny wordlessly raises his hand, and his sleeve slides down to reveal a thin chain bracelet hooked around his wrist. He whistles sharply, and both Procyon and Sirius jerk their heads up to look at him, ears pricked up and eyes alert.

Silently, he points to his wrist and rattles it twice, and in unison both wolves stand up and pounce. Instantly, they turn into a respective, opaque black and green mist that swirls around the bracelet and forms into two, flat wolf charms.

Both wolves are posing in the stereotypical wolf howl, with little stars indented on the sides. Procyon's charm has the Canis Minor constellation engraved on it, while Sirius has the Canis Major.

Danny faces Sam and Tucker, and points at his wrist. "Like this."

[thevoidstaredback]

Barry knew something was wrong when he woke up that morning, but he couldn't place what. There was nothing wrong in the house, nor with his family. His team were as normal as they could be, and none of his rogues had gotten out, nor was anyone causing any trouble in Central City. Then, just as he'd gotten off work at the police station, an emergency meeting for the Justice League was called. Ugh, David's gonna be pissed that he has to call out again!

The Watchtower, when he got there, was a mess. Heroes were obviously panicking, and there must be magic users on board because there were things flying every which way. The meeting room, however, was somehow worse.

"What the hell is going on?" The Flash demanded after ducking behind a chair.

"Constantine and Deadman are on a warpath!" Aquaman helpfully supplied from where he was hidden behind his own chair.

"I gathered that much," Flash shouted over the noise of a chair being shattered against the wall behind him.

Aquaman scowled at him. "The hell do you want me to say? I don't know what's got them so upset!

The door opened again, announcing Batman's presence. He cleared his throat and the room instantly fell silent. Things kept flying around, but they were much more lax than they had been. Cautiously, the gathered heroes emerged from their makeshift hiding places to sit in their chairs.

"What's this about, Constantine?" the Dark Knight asked once everyone was seated.

Instead of the Brit, the ghost beside him was the one to answer. "You idiots-" he growled, "-have really fucked up this time!" he shouted.

Flash idly noticed that only the heroes operating in America were present. Huh. He had a dream just like this last night!

Or was it the night before?

"Slow down," Wonder Woman said. The Flash quietly joined her for her next line, "What's going on?"

The Flash continued to speak with Constantine, his voice quiet and simultaneous with the magic user's, "The US Government are more aware than any of us-" Flash's voice got louder as he spoke with the occultist. Aquaman side-eyed him. "-are comfortable with. The fact that they hid it 'til now is baffling."

"Flash?" Aquaman muttered to him, "Are you okay?"

Flash shook his head and continued speaking in tandem with Deadman, his eyes going wide. "It's been brought to my attention that your government has been targeting my people." The ghost was now looking at Flash, too.

Flash finished for him, "They've taken a child."

Ulike his dream, the room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on The Flash.

"Flash?" Superman asked, "What's going on?"

"Time Loop."

Several tense seconds that Flash knew they couldn't afford to waste passed. Batman said, "Time loop?"

Flash nodded. "Time Loop."

"What do you know?" Wonder Woman asked.

"The government took a child. We need to get to Amity Park, Illinois and get a handle on the-" he looked to Deadman, "-ghosts?" When Deadman nodded, he continued, "Ghosts and see if we can get any information out of them."

Zatanna entered the room then, just as Barry remembered she would, turning the projector on and joining Constantine and Deadman at the front of the room. She didn't start speaking, though. Instead, it was Constantine.

"Phantom's a small time hero in Amity Park. For a while, he was the only thing standing between an interdimensional war." He looked The Flash in the eye, "How many loops is this?"

If Zatanna was surprised about the whole time loop revelation, she hid it well.

Flash shook his head. "Two, I think."

Batman took over the conversation from there, Robin at his side, probably communicating with his own team. "Flash and Superman, you need to check everywhere for Phantom; keep your comms on and open. Zatanna, Constantine, and Deadman, I want all the information you have yesterday. Everyone else, set up a perimeter ten miles out from Amity Park-"

Deadman froze, just as Barry knew he would, and disappeared. Zatanna's and Constantine's phones both started ringing. Then, the alarm started to blare.

"Robin," Batman continued through the noise of the heroes jumping into action, "What do you have for me?"

"Amity Park, Illinois," the young vigilante stated, reading the information off of his wrist computer's holo-screen and relaying it as quickly and coherently as he could, "It boasts to be the most haunted place in America. It's a hot spot for ghost hunters, though other supernatural 'experts' frequent there. Other than that, there's a firewall completely blocking off information coming out of the town. I don't think it's a stretch to say that there's limited, or at least filtered, information going into the town."

"Hm." Batman tapped his comm, "Cyborg, get me all the information about this town as you can."

"Got it."

"Robin,"

"On it, B."

"Hn."

***

Barbra was having a pretty normal day. She'd had a pretty good day at school, finished all her homework, and had even gotten to spend some time with her dad! Then, just as she was ready to go out as Batgirl, Batman called her.

Normally, Batman calling her isn't a cause for alarm. However, she knew for a fact that he was with the Justice League today. It was why she was getting ready to go out so early!

Ghosts, as it turns out, are elusive. Whether it's purposeful or not, it doesn't matter. What does matter is why the hell Batman, who hates dealing with anything supernatural, needs her to find information on ghosts of all beings!

She really wants to know what goes on in that man's head.

Actually, no, she really doesn't.

"Hey, Dickie," she greeted.

"Hey, Barbie," there was a smile in his voice, "What's up?"

Right the the chase. "B's acting weird."

A goran. "What'd he do this time?"

The hostility when talking about Bruce was not lost to her. "He's got me looking into ghosts. Any idea why?"

"Ghosts? He's with the JL today. Wally said there was an emergency meeting called about an hour ago."

"That's what I thought! But he just called and has me looking into ghosts. You think there's a correlation there?"

A sigh. "Most likely. Why doesn't he just ask the JLD? You've got more important things to be doing than doing research for him."

"Aw," she cooed exaggeratedly, "You do care!" She could practically hear his eyes rolling on the other end of the line. "Anyay, while I've got you here, are you gonna be coming to Gotham any time soon? I haven't seen you in a while."

Dick was quiet for a moment, the small chime of an incoming call making him groan in frustration. "Probably a lot sooner than I would like."

"Oh?"

"Bruce's calling. I'll let ya know what he says."

"Got it. Good luck, D."

"I'll need it." he scoffed, hanging up.

What a mess.

Part 6 Part 8

[harunayuuka2060]

Azul: I'm sure you already know why you're here.

MC: *has been summoned to Octavinelle*

Azul: If a third party intentionally causes one party to breach their legally binding contract, they could be sued for tortious interference.

Azul: That's what you've been doing for some time now.

MC: ...

MC: I'm afraid I lack knowledge when it comes to business matters. Surely, you won’t hold that against me.

Azul: That's unfortunate. However, I can use other methods to ensure you fully understand what you've done.

MC: *smiles* Oh, would you?

Azul: *confused frown* You seem quite confident for someone who just came from another world.

MC: Yes, considering I've never been from this world, I certainly know how to put you at a disadvantage.

Azul: I don’t have time for bluff— *his eyes widened*

Azul: How—WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!

MC: The only place you can find this photo is at the Atlantica Memorial Museum.

MC: I just happened to go there with my dorm leader and then I saw this photo.

MC: Something in the back of my mind urged me to get it.

Azul: You’re intending to use that as a blackmail material.

MC: Yes.

Azul: ...

Azul: *forces a smile* It takes more than that to intimidate me.

MC: ...

MC: I see. You're right.

MC: If others were to see it, it wouldn’t bother you.

Azul: Y-Yes. Now hand it to me.

MC: ...

MC: *stood up from their seat* No. This photo represents a cherished memory. If you won't value it, I may as well keep it.

Azul: ...

MC: *makes their way to the door*

Azul: Wait! We can still discuss—

*The door shuts.*

Azul: ...

Jade: *who didn't bother to interrupt throughout their conversation*

Jade: That was quite clever. *chuckles*

Jade: It's been a while since someone outsmarted you, Azul.

Azul: Quiet!

Azul: I need to steal that photo back.

Jade: Leave it to me.

Floyd: Eh~ Was the photo even legit?

Jade: Yes. We saw it with our own two eyes.

Floyd: *sigh* Alright. Who is it?

Jade: It's the person who single-handedly defeated a group of Savanaclaw students.

Floyd: ...

Floyd: *flashes an exciting yet terrifying smile*

Floyd: Why didn't you say earlier~?

Malleus: *sad pouty face* Aren't you heading back to the dorm with Dada?

MC: *smiles apologetically* There's something I need to do.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: *sigh* Alright.

MC: By the way, Dada, please try not to eat too much ice cream today.

Malleus: *pouts*

MC: *chuckles*

Malleus: *smiles* Well, just call me if you run into any trouble.

MC: *nods*

Malleus: *kisses their forehead then disappears*

MC: ...

Floyd: Eh~ How sweet~ Is Sea Slug your boyfriend~? *appears from the place where he's hiding*

MC: No.

Floyd: Are you sure~? Hehee~

MC: You're not here to be curious about that.

Floyd: Wow, straight to the point~. I like that.

Floyd: I've been wanting to give you a squeeze since the tournament~.

*A student rushes to report to Crowley.*

Scarabia student: Sir! MC and Floyd are fighting on Main Street!

Crowley: What?!

*Crowley, along with Professor Trein and Professor Crewel, hurried to Main Street to break up the fight between MC and Floyd.*

Crowley: Stop right this instant!

Professor Trein: Leech! You ought to know better than to harm students who are weaker than you—

Floyd: *turns his head* Huh?!

Professor Trein: ...

*MC's uniform is crooked, and their hair is messy from the fight, while Floyd, on the other hand, has light bruises on his cheek and traces of blood on his nose.*

Professor Crewel: ...

Professor Crewel: *looks at MC* Did you win, pup?

Floyd: I didn't lose yet, Beakfish!

MC: ...

Crowley: That's enough!

*In the faculty office, MC and Floyd are being asked why they fought in the first place.*

MC: ...

Floyd: ...

Professor Crewel: Aren't you both going to speak up?

MC and Floyd: ...

Crowley: Since you refused to provide a statement, I’m afraid both of you will have to face punishment.

Crowley: You will be helping the ghosts in the cafeteria for the next two weeks.

Floyd: *frowns* Why~?

MC: I'll do it.

Floyd: ...

Floyd: *smiles* Seashell-chan~ Let's continue our fight when no one's looking~.

Professor Trein: No. That was the end of it.

Floyd: Tch.

MC: ...

Azul: You lost to MC and failed to retrieve the photo.

Floyd: Eh~ Was I supposed to get it~?

Azul: JADE TOLD YOU!

Jade: It seems Floyd forgot due to his excitement.

Azul: ...

Azul: *breathes in* I'm going to handle this myself from now on.

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 9

Part 8

“Nothing? At all?”

“Nothing, Red,” Barbara's voice repeats through the speakers of the Batcomputer, sounding irritated at this point.

“But- I mean, did you try-”

“She's going to come to the cave and shove a Batarang up your ass if you ask her one more time whether she missed something, Replacement,” Jason drawls off to the side. He's reclining in a chair, feet kicked up on a weapons table.

Tim groans. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

He's back in the Cave, and so is pretty much everyone else. Turns out he'd caused something of a panic, and it was all hands on deck for a hot second.

When the engineer had density shifted out of his grasp and heckled him from some nebulous spot midair, it had taken only a few seconds afterwards for Tim’s comms to explode with noise.

Turns out nobody had been able to hear anything from him except a constant low static from shortly before the encounter until after it ended, and his mask camera was borked the whole time too.

Understandably, there was some alarm about that. Bruce had ordered everyone back to the cave for a full explanation and conversation on what the hell happened.

“Sit down and tell us what happened, baby bird. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor at this rate,” Dick tells him, a gentle hand on his shoulder nudging him towards a seat.

Tim groans and throws himself into it like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Well he's definitely a meta,” he grumbles. “I never actually laid eyes on him. Wouldn't have even known he was there if he hadn't gotten ghost busted.”

“Ghost busted?” Jason asks, eyebrows raised. Tim huffs out a reluctant laugh, because in retrospect that part was pretty funny.

“His fucking phone went off. All of a sudden the empty air next to me was blasting the Ghostbusters theme song and an invisible man was swearing like a sailor until it cut out.”

Stephanie blows a raspberry in the start of a laughing fit, and suddenly the whole cave is echoing with mirth. It lifts Tim's spirits a little, makes him laugh too.

He means, come on. That has to be the new record for the funniest botched stealth mission, a position previously held by Damian when a stray dog outed him because it smelled the treats he keeps in his utility belt.

The shade of red the demon brat's face was when he had to explain why the mission went sideways was fucking glorious.

“So you've confirmed that we're dealing with a male meta?”

Speaking of the brat.

“Sounded male, and he at least has invisibility and density shifting,” Tim confirms.

“Density shifting?” Bruce prompts.

“Yeah. After the phone went off I couldn't see him but I was trying to figure out where he was. Then the lockbox disappeared too - he can transfer the invisibility through touch, apparently.”

“Huh. Haven't seen that before,” Duke comments.

“Me neither. But I made an educated guess at where I thought he was and grabbed his arm. Had a damn good grip, and then he just…went through me. Like I literally felt something pass through my hand all cold and tingly and suddenly I wasn't holding anything anymore.”

Jason snorts. “Bet that was a kick in the nuts, huh.”

“Come on, Little Wing,” Dick scolds half heartedly. “Be nice.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“You said ‘at least’,” Bruce says, brow furrowed. “You suspect he has other powers too?”

Tim purses his lips. “I can't be sure, considering I couldn't see him, but…I think he probably has flight too.”

“Flight?” Dick says, furrowing his brow. He crosses his arms and shakes his head, looking both thoughtful and troubled. “No, that's not possible.”

Tim blinks. “What? Why not?”

Dick ‘Be Nice, Little Wing’ Grayson looks him dead in the eyes and says, “Because according to all known laws of aviation-”

“You-!”

The cave is filled with laughter again, Jason throwing his head back and cackling in a way that's particularly irksome. Tim reaches over and shoves at his boots while he's tipping his chair back and sends him toppling to the floor.

Jason flails and fails to save himself, rolling back to his feet and spitting curses with a hint of green to his eyes. Tim freezes at the sight of it.

It's not that he's scared. He and Jason have come a long way, and everyone knows by now what amount of green is actually dangerous. Jason's nowhere near actually losing it right now, he's just annoyed.

What makes Tim freeze is-

“He's been exposed to the Pits.”

Everyone pauses, confused. Jason blinks at him. “Uh…yeah, fucking duh?”

“No,” Tim shakes his head. “No, not you. The Engineer.”

Suddenly there's no laughter anymore. Everyone has gone tense and alarmed.

“Tim?” Bruce prompts lowly.

“I did see part of him,” Tim murmurs lowly, realizing it himself for the first time. “When I grabbed him, there were two bright lights for a second or two before they faded. God, I should have realized- it was his eyes. Like Christmas lights, bright Lazarus green."

Masterpost

[moviestarmartini]

hey lil mama - jude bellingham x reader

el tiempo puede pasar / te perseguirá mi nombre / yo siempre seré tu hombre.

summary: fwb!jude calls you up in the middle of the night, insistent he needs to come over.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: lowk an undefined situationship, nsfw (18+), soft dom!jude, praise, a tiny bit of degradation, p in v, unprotected sex (DON'T!!!!), creampie, two very needy idiots, lowk a happy ending.

A/N: took this lil blurb from my lovely @judesecret (thank u sm prettyy !!) and turned it into this train wreck of neediness hehehe enjoy y'all

now playing... hey lil mama by eladio carrión, rauw alejandro

“Hello?” 

Your phone had almost fallen off your nightstand with the incessant buzzing. You ignored for a certain time, as you did with your first alarms. You only rolled around and reached out to answer it when the idea of someone calling you for an emergency appeared in your mind, deciding to not take any chances.

“Baby…” You perked up at Jude’s breathy; whiny, even. You could notice he was agitated just from the way his exhales saturated the microphone. 

“Jude? Is something wrong?” You asked with a yawn following close after. Your voice showed disinterest, but you were surprised to hear from him; you hadn’t done so in a while. At least not directly, his name, voice, presence… the ghost of him followed you everywhere. The silence seemed to lull you back to sleep, his labored breathing miles away in your hazy mind. 

“I just need you, darling.” He finally breathed out. “So bad.” It wasn't usual to hear Jude in such a desperate state. If you weren’t half asleep, you would’ve jumped eagerly onto teasing him, enjoying the way his cocky attitude was knocked down a peg.  

“Jude it’s…” You parted your phone away from your ear, the screen lighting up. Your eyes squinted to get used to the sudden stream of light, making out the numbers to be “Four AM. But we can FaceTime, alright?” You stirred a little, but the will to make yourself look presentable was lacking. 

“No.” He quickly stood his ground, and you could hear movement on the other line. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. I know where the emergency key is hidden.” 

Then he hung up.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, believing firmly he was probably messing with you. Starting with the troubles and tribulations of your relationships, once built upon pure infatuation, now just consisting of jealousy and sex. He also had training in the wee hours of the morning, the risk too great to be taken. 

Unbeknownst to you, he’d woken up from a wet dream, blushing like a prepubescent boy. The desire for your body watered his mouth as he rushed to pack a duffel bag with his clothes for training in less than a few hours. With a shrug, your arm outstretched to place the phone back on the nightstand and chase back the few minutes of sleep that were slipping through your fingers. 

But at exactly four-thirty AM, you could hear a key jingling and twisting around the lock in the peculiar way that the doorknob to your place required in order to unlock successfully. You only raised your head at the noise, the door closing was followed by a thud and featherlight steps.

“I thought you were bluffing.” You tutted at the figure standing by your doorframe, Jude slowly making himself welcome in the room. Without saying much, he kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket before sneaking under the duvet with you. You’d always found it funny, that such a tall, muscular man like him laid in between flowery bed sheets, frilled pink duvet, and stuffed animals. 

“Never.” He finally responded, a strong arm wrapped around you as he cuddled up from behind, his lips planting a kiss on your shoulder. You snuggled back against him, goosebumps blossoming with the way he toyed with the hem of the large tee. 

It was his shirt. 

“Not when I knew you were laying like this in bed.” He hid his face in the crook of your neck. Feeling your heart thumping against your chest, the deafening sound filling up your ears. “I know you wear those skimpy panties because you think no one will see them. Do you know how much I torture myself with that information?” His voice was low, and raspy because of the slumber he must have awoken from at some point before the call. 

“You live in my mind rent-free, princess.” He pressed a kiss on the back of your neck, his hand inviting itself under the top. “I missed you so much.” His fingers traveled your torso painfully slow, the same way he displayed kisses down the length of your neck. 

You didn’t reply for what seemed an eternity. You thought about it profusely; you could be snappy, ask why the sudden urge when he hadn’t been giving you the time of day for almost two months now. But you didn’t have the energy to argue, instead finding comfort in the way he caressed you. 

“You should’ve called earlier.” You breathed out, ignoring the way your skin prickled, and only nestled further in his arms with the pretense of getting comfortable. The groan that left his lips echoed in the cold air. 

It was quick, the way he swiftly shifted his weight and placed you under him. Startled, your chest heaved against him, lips parted in surprise. 

“Because you’re always available for me, right?” Jude cooed, his hand gently reaching and squeezing your cheeks, before stroking your cheekbone. You felt small under his gaze, identifying a certain mocking tone in his voice. “My sweet girl…” His knees pried your legs open as his torso found its place between them, finally closing the gap between your lips. “I knew he couldn’t please you like I do.” 

Your eyes widened significantly, eliciting a small laugh out of him. He’d found himself enjoying the taunting, letting his hand caress your left thigh. It was enough distraction on the painful hard-on he’d had for around half an hour now. “You think I don’t keep tabs on you, lil mama?” He reached to flick on your bedside lamp. It became a habit; your expressions only tipped him over the edge further and motivated him to do the most to make you cum. Under the warm light, Jude noticed you were still visibly tired, but you were as gorgeous as any other day you applied makeup and had your hair done. 

Leaning closer, his lips brushed yours, and he’d even pulled back when you tried to close the gap. He wanted to get you riled up, the same way you’d make him feel when his sources told him you were attempting something with some random guy. The way you huffed, hands reaching to pull him in, made Jude know it wasn’t going to take long to reach his first checkpoint of the night. 

“Jude…” You complained, all those weeks away from him had started to weigh in. “I was jealous, okay? He could never make me feel like you do.” It was the little things; things Jude learned with time, with touch and experimenting. The hours you’d spent locked in a bedroom with one another had him learning the tips and tricks that ruined everyone else for you. 

The desperation made his chest swell, your admission dissipated any of the pent-up jealousy, the need taking over every inch of his soul as his lips crashed into yours. An involuntary moan left your mouth, mixing with the heavy breaths, getting lost in the frenzied sync your lips took. You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer. 

Goosebumps formed at the trail his hand left down your leg, hand edging dangerously close to your warm core. You shivered under him at the ghost of his fingers over the thin layer of cloth, fingertips grazing the damp area lightly. You tried leaning in closer to the touch, trying to get some— if any— tangible pleasure. But Jude just smirked between sloppy kisses. 

In a swift movement, he tugged the light fabric aside, with such strength you could hear some seams breaking. “Damn, lil mama,” Jude breathed out, his index finger collecting a good amount of slick. He placed it in his mouth, humming at the taste. You were still wondering if this was a dream, if you were actually asleep and would wake up with your alarm in a few minutes. 

“You still get dripping wet from just kissing me.” It sounded more like praise than mockery, and you could tell he was proud… of himself. It riled you up, enough to lower your hand and cup his bulge with a smirk. “I could say the same.”

There was that defiance once more, but Jude seemed to be having none of that as he took your lips, hostage, in his again. You almost yelped, but once his hand slid downwards, you helped in undoing his pants. The same sentiment of need had spread over to you, tugging down your panties, both struggling to keep your lips in touch. 

The desire was suffocating, Jude was unable to keep his hands off your body, pulling the shirt upwards but with no intention of removing it fully, too desperate to go through the whole process of getting bare and turned on by the fact you were wearing his memorabilia. 

“C’mon mama, help me out here,” He panted, lining himself to your entrance. You wrapped your legs around his hips to give him a better angle, almost melting into the mattress with each inch that filled you up to the brim. “Look at me,” Jude complained, his voice coarse as he pushed you back against the bed, knowing you were inevitably going to hide your face in the crook of his neck once he moved his hips. 

Jude watched intently the way your face contorted with every slow thrust he gave you; the parted lips, eyes struggling to stay focused on him, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Jude praised with his whole chest, cupping your cheeks with one hand and giving you yet another ferocious kiss. 

Your moans found their place at the back of your throat, practically choking you as he slammed into you, tongues intertwining. It was bizarre; the groans and the peculiar sound of skin clashing mixed with the soft tweet of birds outside as the sunrays overshadowed the hard work the nightstand lamp was doing by lighting up the whole room. The world seemed to move around you, but time stood still every time he hit that particular spot, the one that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. 

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Jude managed to groan in your ear, your flustered face hidden in the crook of his neck. “I’ll always be your man.” The hand resting on your hip tightened its grip, and the way you arched your back to respond to the touch only sent him more shivers down his spine. 

“Jude,” You whined and moaned, almost like a plea. He only could smile gently and caress you, just before manhandling you into laying on your stomach, pulling your hips back to give him that perfect angle. 

“That’s it— ohh, you fucking slut, arch your back,” He muttered, admiring his last name and number 5 on the tee before slamming back inside you. He subsequently took off his shirt so nothing could obstruct the recoil of your ass every time his lower abdomen came in contact with it. 

“I-I’m gonna cum, baby,” You whined against the pillow, his hands digging into the doughy skin of your hips as he fucked you right into the mattress with enough force to make the bed creak even louder than it did before. 

“You’ve been amazing for me, do it,” And as if his praise wasn’t approval enough, he leaned down, his hand across your abdomen and downwards to press two fingers against your throbbing clit, drawing circles around the numb. 

That was it. The thing he knew how to do best: send you shivering and chanting his name for your neighbors to hear. He found it perfect also, as you squeezed his cock deliciously, making the rhythm of his hips sputter before he filled your pussy up to the brim. 

Jude collapsed on top of you, feeling a big amount of melatonin rush back into his system. “I missed you too.” You muttered from under him, replying to what he said seemingly hours ago. 

“Hm, yeah?” He rolled off to your side, pulling his sweats up before drawing you to his chest straight away. “We must do this more often, then.” He peered over your shoulder to check the time, turning off the lamp once again. “Great. We’ve got one hour left.” 

“You’re not leaving?” You tilted your head up. He never lacked in the aftercare department, but left as soon as it was prudent. 

“Nu-uh.” Jude yawned, his grip around you tightening. “Let’s snuggle up. And have a lunch date later.” He pressed a kiss against your forehead, brushing the lightly sweaty strands back.  

You nodded, an arm across his chest. Now the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat combined with his hand massaging your scalp lulled you to sleep, not the tears you’d spilled because of him. 

You were so glad you picked up the phone.