#and the fact that john was the one to bring up the idea of well what exactly even IS the fallen star

[maybanksprincess]

let me make it up to you. // j.m

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut! make up sex, fingering, f receiving, smoking, kissing, pet names, female reader, JJ and reader are aged up (bf, gf relationship)

summary: JJ and reader are in a disagreement, and JJ overreacts thinking he's going to lose her over it.

pairings: boyfriend!jj x girlfriend!reader

JJ had just gotten into an argument with you. your first real argument, well as he thought was a real argument. he was flipping out. so, the only logical thing in his mind to do was talk to pope and JB. They were all in the twinkie. John b is in the front, JJ and Pope in the back. He was a mess; his mind was a mess. Everything he did following that argument you two had, was all wrong.

He couldn't even roll his weed correctly, and that was something he never failed at. He sighed and just prepared to smoke the poorly rolled blunt. he grabs a lighter from the pocket of his cargo shorts, puts the blunt in his mouth, and lights the end of it, inhaling some of the smoke.

"Yeah man, she just got pissed off, but I didn't mean anything by it, bro. she should know that"

"jj, maybe she just wants space." john b says, taking the blunt away from jj's fingers

"Yeah, but that's the thing dude, we've never had... space. that doesn't exist to us."

pope chimes in "yeah john b, horrible idea. jj follows her like a lost puppy."

"Not my fault I can treat my girl right, man." jj says, in a matter of a fact tone. he rolls his eyes, and throws his head back, shutting his eyes. then an idea pops into his head. "You know what, I'll catch y'all later."

he uses his fingers to push his hair back into his favorite hat, then he hops onto his motorcycle and drives through the path to your house. about 10 minutes later, he gets to your house and parks his motorcycle in your driveway, he gets off his bike and walks up to your front door. knocking with his secret knock you two share.

You had some shorts, and one of jjs shirts on. you hadn't been super mad about the little disagreement you had with him, you just didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of forgiving him so easily.

you open your front door to see your boyfriend fiddling with his hands and looking anywhere but your eyes, you almost felt bad. jj looked at you with those ocean eyes, "baby im sorry just..let me make it up to you. please?"

~

an hour ago, you never would've thought jj would have been eating you out for 30 minutes straight, to show u how sorry he is. he has his middle and ring finger in your slippery wet cunt, while his tongue laps at your sensitive bud, his tongue licks figure 8's over and over on your clit.

after giving you three orgasms from his tongue, he pulls his shorts and boxers down in one swift movement, his girthy cock springing free and slapping his stomach. he enters you slowly, but once he's in, he's thrusting, and mumbling "im sorry baby," and "let me show you how much i love you" over and over again.

after you both finish, he cleans you up with a warm rag, and changes ur shirt and underwear to help u be more comfortable. he turns your fan on and brings u some water, and you two cuddle under your blankets.

"i love you jay"

"i love you more, cupcake"

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 1 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,764 chapter two masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotions more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there was a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, even when they were hidden under the bruises that bloomed across your sickly skin.

You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. Simon, your alpha, had all but abandoned you. You had been without his touch, his scent, anything and everything that the very base instincts of your omega craved from its mate for far too long. It didn't matter to your omega that this marriage, this mating bond was nothing more than a way to keep both you and Simon in the service. Instincts couldn't be fought with fact, and now you were reaping the consequences of the neglect of the bond. You had thought bond sickness was a myth, a fear-mongering tactic to keep alphas in line. However, you were now aware that there was far more truth than you could have ever imagined to that story that is told. 

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you have until it’s gone.

[auroreliis]

Honestly if I was batsis I'd pretend to have a crush on the batboys close friends(excluding Damian because he and Jon are still babies) just to annoy them. Jason bring Roy over? Suddenly I'm very interested in his tattoo's and I want to know all about archery. I catch kon in the kitchen in Tim? Suddenly i'm very into the conversation they're having and am making eye contact a lot with Kon. I feel liked they'd do something like this; Batsis: You know I really like your tattoos. Roy: Oh thanks. Jason: ... You gotta go, like, now. Roy: What-

Brilliant, anon!! What a great idea!! This was very fun to write :)

(don't mind the spelling mistakes please lol. i am tired out of my mind)

For starters, when Bruce first introduced the members of the Justice League to you (it took a lot of convincing), you just couldn’t help but flirt with them.

I mean, just LOOK at Aquaman. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt a spark. He hadn’t noticed you staring, but surely he had felt it too. Bruce, however, had noticed you staring. He didn’t seem particularly amused, almost as though he saw you daydreaming about your wedding with Aquaman. Just when you were making your way over to them, Bruce scowled and swiftly led Aquaman away. After that, you never saw him ever again…

Or that one time when Green Lantern came over. Wow. What a man. You didn’t waste a second walking up to him and introducing yourself. The giggles you were suppressing nearly slipped out after you saw Bruce’s eye twitch. Green Lantern entertained your advances, though you knew he wasn’t interested in you. Whenever Bruce started with his, “Hal. We should leave”, you would always interrupt him with more questions directed at Hal.

“So…do you like pasta? I’m actually really good at making it. You should come over, you know? I could treat you!” You all but winked at him.

Hal found it very interesting, don’t get him wrong, he thought you were very funny, but when Bruce is standing right there beside him, he felt…intimidated. So intimidated, in fact, that he can barely reply to your questions.

“Oh…um…” he nervously glanced at Bruce. “Green. You know what, kid? Your father and I have some business to attend to…so…see you next time. Good luck with the um…yeah, never mind.”

Hal sped off, leaving you and Bruce alone. You had been in the mood to laugh until your father turned to you with a serious expression. Suddenly you weren’t in the mood to laugh anymore. To put it simply, it was a clear warning: Don’t do it again, his look communicated.

Now, Constantine, he was fun to hang around with, likely because he isn’t as scared of Batman as the rest is. And also, he’s hot. “You are so cool, honestly. It’s really impressive how often you’ve escaped death”, you leaned against the wall. To be honest, you weren’t even listening to what he was saying, all you needed to hear was his strong English accent and little sprinkles of humor.

After some bribery, you had gotten Tim to tell you that Bruce was most concerned about you meeting Constantine. For some reason, you figured…

“So…I like older men, what about you?”, you batted your eyelashes at him. You didn’t have Bruce in your periphery, as you were focusing on John, but you could imagine him shaking in fury.

“Yeah, I like older men too”, he replied nonchalantly. Dammit, he got you. Well, he was a funny guy.

Bruce seemingly relaxed at that, but that’s not to say that he was satisfied with the interaction taking place. “You’re funny, are you single-”, you could barely finish your sentence before Dick dragged you away to spend time with you. Though, you believe that Bruce asked Dick to get you away just so you couldn’t talk to Constantine like that.

Bruce had way too many attractive friends. Well, almost all his friends were attractive: Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash…hell, even Martian Manhunter. I mean, he can read minds! Just imagine the potential…

“So, I heard you can read minds. Read mine right now”, your grin was…suspicious. Bruce couldn’t read minds like J’onn could, but he could imagine what you were thinking about. No, actually, he didn’t want to imagine it.

“J’onn.”, Bruce, ever so stern, called out and gestured towards the door. The J’onn in question had merely walked off in that direction silently, as though having understood Bruce’s point from one word. Martian Manhunter hadn’t read your mind that day, to your dismay. However, you had managed to make Bruce uncomfortable, so that was considered a win.

Dick himself had very attractive friends. Wally West, quite the flirt, was among them. Though, oddly enough, you had imagined him to be more flirty. It couldn’t be that Dick took a page out of Bruce’s book and told him to watch it, right?

“So, you’re fast, huh?”, you looked Wally up and down. “I happen to be”, Wally glanced at Dick.

“Okaayyyyy, Wally, you should leave”, Dick spoke with a strained smile.

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, what about the-”

“Now.”

Wally looked around awkwardly, “…right.”

And Raven—what a woman. Plus, Cyborg and Starfire filled your thoughts. Though Wally was the first and last friend of Dick’s you ever saw. A pity. He seemed to have learnt his lesson…

Now Roy Harper, Jason’s friend, was quite something. Tattoos? Archery? Hell yeah.

“Wow, so you like engineering books? Well, the manor has a huge variety. You should come by more often”, you smiled innocently.

“Um, actually, he will NOT be coming over ever again”, Jason frowned at your words.

“Why not?”, both you and Roy turned to Jason.

“BECAUSE I said so”, you and Roy made eye contact awkwardly.

“You”, Jason points at Roy, “Get out.”

“What? But you said you needed my he-”

“NOWWWW. Do NOT make me repeat myself.”

Yeah, Roy leaving was more awkward than anything else that had happened so far.

Jason didn’t have that many friends, as far as you knew at least. In other words: You would never see Roy ever again…

Now Tim, being charming himself, had many attractive friends.

For starters: Conner Kent.

You hadn’t had much contact with the Kents, however Conner had come over a few times. And wow. Despite being overly confident (and often obnoxious), he was very, very attractive. However, you have never talked to him. The reason? Tim makes sure he keeps you at arm’s length. In fact, you’re not sure you could ever find a way to interract with Tim’s friends…unless…

“Hey, Tim!”, Jason called out, “Bruce says you need to go to the cave right now.”

“What? But I have guests over…”, Tim eyes Jason suspiciously.

“I mean, if you wanna get in trouble with him, be my guest”, Jay raised his hands defensively.

“I-…fine. Conner, just a second, I will be right back. DO NOT move”, Tim sighs.

After Tim left, you shot Jason a thumbs-up and went to mingle with Superboy.

“Good evening. You must be Conner. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tim”, you say, taking it slow.

“Good evening! Hopefully you only heard good things!”, he grins.

“Oh, plenty of good things. Say, if you really can fly, then why don’t you take me for a ride? I haven’t ever seen the sky from…well, up in the sky”, you copied his grin.

“Ah, well, I would, really, but I’m not sure how Tim would feel, you know? I mean, he’s a bit of a-”, Conner started.

“A bit of a what.”, a new voice shocked the both of you.

Tim. Where the hell did he come from?

“I though I told you to leave if they started talking to you?”, Tim ignored you, only focusing on scolding Conner.

“Well, that would’ve been incredibly rude…”, Conner struggled to defend himself.

“You.”, Tim turns to you.

“Me?”, you said, though you weren’t scared of him anymore.

“Yes, you. What’s the big idea? Why did you pull that just to talk to Conner? I don’t know what you have planned, but forget it immediately. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll tell Bruce to reinstate the therapy sessions. Then you can explain to him why you enjoy sabotaging others so much.”

That was, quite frankly, terrifying. You hadn’t been this scared of Tim in a while.

Well, safe to say you won’t be doing this again…

[ninii-winchester]

But daddy, I love him

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Demon!Reader

Word count : 3.6k

Warnings : angst (if you squint), foul language.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean was bored. No, he was beyond bored. There were no cases and Sam was, well, being Sam. He had his nose buried in some book and he refused to acknowledge Dean's situation. He kept throwing paper balls at Sam just to annoy him and he finally succeeded when Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother.

"What the hell is your problem.?" He snapped.

"Ah so nice of you to notice." Dean started sarcastically, "in case it wasn't obvious. I'm bored."

"If you're bored read some lore books." Sam suggested with a shrug.

"I want to kill my boredom not die myself." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam made a bitch face before answering,

"Go out to a bar or something." He got up from his chair and left the library. Dean perked up,

"Good idea Sammy. I'm heading out." He announced leaving the bunker.

He arrived at the nearest bar, settling on one of the barstools he ordered himself a drink. His eyes search the space, trying to find something or someone interesting, his eyes dropped a figure a few seats to his left. She looked familiar. He looked at her for a few seconds before it clicked, he'd hooked up with her years back.

Now normally he wouldn't be able to recognise anyone he hooked up with several years back, but he remembered her because she looked exactly the same. It had been years and she didn't change even a bit. And the fact that he thought about her quite often. More than he'd like to admit.

He couldn't help but think if she remembered him. He wouldn't know if he didn't ask. Besides he didn't have anything better to do so he approached her.

"Hey." Dean said sitting down beside her.

"Hi." She smiled looking at him. It was hard to decipher if she remembered him or was just being friendly. "I know you." She added making his release a breath.

"So you do remember." He smirked at her.

"Do you really think you're forgettable, Dean?" She questioned with a sly smile on her face. He laughed at her comment, shaking his head.

"I must say, you haven't aged a day since I've last seen you." Dean spoke gulping down his drink. "And it's been like what? Nine years?"

The two had met when Sam had left for Stanford and John had gone God knows where, and Dean was free to do whatever. He was hunting a werewolf. After he killed the creature, he found a bar and ended up her in bed. They spent three weeks together before John called Dean back.

"Nine years." She nodded. "But you haven't aged yourself." She replied glacing at him.

"No really, you're just exactly how I remember you." He said looking at her in amazement.

"Yeah? Above you or beneath you?" She whispered leaning closer to him. He wasn't expecting her to be this straight with him so it caught him a bit off guard.

Dean quickly collected himself and answered with a smirk. "Both."

"Good to know I'm not the only one who still thinks about it." She added and he nodded.

The two had spent weeks together but it wasn't just hooking up. Dean took her out on dates and she cooked for him sometimes. They cuddled, played games, talked about anything and everything, music, movies, dreams. Everything except their personal lives. And they had sex. It was as if they were together but without any labels, and when Dean left there were no hard feelings.

"So what brings you to Kansas?" Dean questioned, looking at her with curiosity.

"Ah you know me, i go where the wind takes me." She replied with a shrug.

"So you mean you're still wandering around?"

She nodded her head before speaking.

"And you're not?" She laughed.

"Nah I've got a place now. With my brother." Dean replied vaguely, not wanting to drag her into the mess called 'hunting life'.

"Cool." She bit her lip, she completely turned her body towards him. "Do you wanna get out of here? My motel is right infront of this place." She added seductively, her hand placed on his chest.

"With pleasure, sweetheart." Dean said helping her stand, he threw a few bills on the counter which were more than enough to cover both their drinks, he pulled her out of the bar.

The moment she entered the room her back was slammed against the door and his lips were attacking hers. She moaned in his mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Clothes were ripped and thrown haphazardly. Their kiss was hungry and needy. For the next few hours the only sound that could be heard was of the slapping of his skin against hers, her moans and his groans and the filthy words he spoke that she loved so much.

"Fuck, I thought you were good back then but now you're just..." she trailed off panting, laying on top of him.

"You're one to say." Dean replied, his own breathing ragged. He dragged his fingers on her bare bare soothingly. "Missed this." He spoke after a minutes of silence. "Missed you."

"I did too." She said leaning up to peck his lips. "This is cozy." She added snuggling up to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly. She laid her head on his chest when she noticed his tattoo. "Hey. I like your tattoo, what does it mean?" She said tracing it with her finger. He froze for a second.

"I don't know actually, I uh.. I saw it at the tattoo shop, and I just liked it." He lied through his teeth. She nodded laying her head back down.

The next morning, Dean woke up by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned before answering his phone. It was Sam, asking where he was and that he needs to be back. Y/n felt Dean move beneath her and woke up.

"I have to go." He said sitting up, she pouted clutching the sheets to her chest as she watched him put his clothes back on.

"So soon?" Dean chuckled lightly before kissing her.

"We could do this again, for as long as you're here in Kansas." Dean said tying his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved closer so she could hug him from behind.

"De." She said resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I meant it when I said I missed you." She mumbled against his shoulder. He tilted his head to look at her better. He gave her a confused look not getting where she was going with this. She unwrapped her arms from his torso and shifted to his side, and straddled his waist. He leaned back a bit so she could sit comfortably. He gripped her hips, holding her gaze. "Dean, those three weeks were the best days of my life. I never thought I'd ever meet you again. In my entire life no one has ever made me feel the way you do, can we.. could we try-" Her heart dropped the moment his grip loosened and he avoided eye contact. She whispered a quiet "oh" and quickly got off his lap.

"Y/n-"

"I get it, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She was embarrassed, she really thought he felt the same.

"You didn't. It's just... it's complicated." Dean said standing up from where he sat on the bed.

"Yeah, no.. I get it." She nodded not meeting his gaze. Before either of them could say anything else, Dean's phone rang again. He sighed before answering.

"Yes Sam, I'm on my way. Yeah." He spoke into the phone before hanging up. He gave her one last glance before walking out of the door.

It had been three days since Dean walked out of her motel room and she felt pretty shitty. She basically asked him out and he outright rejected her. She sat at the small table, nursing a glass of scotch when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door expecting anyone but Dean, yet here he was.

"Not gonna invite me in, sweetheart?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.

"Find someone else to wet your dick." She rolled her eyes, closing the door but stopped it with his foot.

"C'mon don't be like that. I just want to talk." He said softly, prompting her to open the door wider. She walked back and he entered inside. "Look, I know I was a dick last time you saw me, but like I said it's complicated." She didn't speak or even acknowledge his words. "I would love nothing more than to be with you but it'd be hard." She raised her brow at him and he rubbed his face. "I'm gone, alot. I wouldn't be here everytime you need me. And you, you never stay at one place for a long time. I'm willingly to do this if you're okay with it."

"You really think I wouldn't stay, if you'd ask?" She said walking towards him. "Dean, the last time I felt something, felt alive was nine years ago. I was callous before and after you." She said honestly and her words couldn't have been anymore true. She was a demon. She hadn't felt, feelings for as long as she can remember. But with Dean, she felt everything there is.

"Let's do this." Dean leaned down kissing her softly. For the past three days all he did was think. He still wasn't sure what prompted him to give in to her, but it's time he started living for himself a bit.

Months passed, Y/n had gotten herself an apartment in Kansas, her and Dean had been going strong. They went out for drives, Dean stayed over sometimes, and had phenomenal sex whenver they could. Y/n had yet to visit his "place" since his brother doesn't know about them and she was fine with it. Part of her was relieved Dean couldn't stay longer. She didn't have to keep her "human charade" up.

Unbeknownst to them, both of them were hiding a significant secret from each other. But that was until,

"Princess, you can't go in there, his majesty is in an important meeting-" A measely demon tried to stop her from entering the chamber Crowley has his 'throne' in.

"Shut up before I disintegrate you into nothing." She sneered, her eyes turned completely black. She knew she wouldn't do but that demon didn't know that nor did he need to know. She pushed open the door, her father sitting on his so called throne while two men stood in front of him, their backs to her. She was too angry to recognise the silhouette of the body in front of her. "How many times do I have to tell you not-"

"Darlin' I'm a bit occupied at the moment." The man with the Scottish accent interrupted her. The two men turned around and her eyes widened.

"Dean, What're you doing here?" She questioned. His face seemed like he'd seen a ghost. He was shocked and confused. The other man, she assumed his brother, Sam raised his brows in confusion as well.

"Squirrel, you know my daughter?" Crowley questioned standing up.

"Your daughter?" Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between the shorter man and his daughter. She was flabbergasted and didn't know if she could get out of this situation. When she saw some demons following her, she confronted them, they revealed her father had sent them to keep an eye on her. The only reason she was here was to tell him to back off.

"You're on nickname basis with the King of Hell?" She joked looking at Dean. He glared at her and her grin dropped.

"What exactly is happening here?" Sam questioned feeling completely out of loop.

"That is exactly what I would like to know!" Crowley demanded looking at Dean and Y/n.

"What is happening is here, I just found out I've been sleeping with the Princess of Hell." Dean gritted his teeth. "You put her up to this, didn't you?" He glared at Crowley.

"She's my daughter, not some hooker. And why would I even do that? We're besties, aren't we?" He said as if they had been childhod buddies. "Wait a minute, you're sleeping with Dean Winchester?" Crowley looked at his daughter, disappointed. "He's a goddamn hunter."

"You say as if it's a bad thing." She mumbled "I didn't know he's a hunter." She shrugged. "I didn't even know his last name until now."

"You've seen him naked, you didn't see his anti possession tattoo?" Sam asked, clearing getting a kick out this situation. Dean glared at his brother.

"Well I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it was, the last time I choked a guy half to death because of that tattoo and turned out it was some nerd book thing, Supernatural or whatever." She countered throwing her hands in the air. Sam shook his head at the mention of the Supernatural books.

"How could you hide this from me?" Dean questioned the look of betrayal all over his face.

"Yeah sure, I could've just walked up to you and said, hey Dean I'm a demon." She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were a hunter either. Had I told you the truth you would've killed me."

"This is different." Dean replied.

"Alright Romeo Juliet. Whatever it is, this is done here. Y/n, I forbid you to see him." Crowley intervened.

"But Daddy I love him." She replied and the three men present in the room froze.

"I need a drink." Crowley said.

Dean looked at her wide eyed, still processing her words. A demon is in love with him, before knowing her real identity, Dean himself felt something for her but right now he wasn't so sure. Y/n bit her lip, looking at the green eyed hunter.

"We should talk." She said walking over to him. "Privately." She added loudly looking at her father. Crowley rolled his eyes before snapping his fingers, him and Sam disappearing from the room. Dean looked surprised Crowley didn't throw a fit when told to do something. "He loves me." She said as if she had read his mind.

Dean was silent for a moment and the everything came crashing into him at full speed, his supposed girlfriend is a demon, not just some demon but she's the daughter of the King of Hell. He's been sleeping with the Princess of Hell and apparently she's in love with him.

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed, extremely pissed.

"Dean, let me explain. I promise I won't lie about anything."

"You're a demon, demons lie all the time, you've been lying to me this whole time." He snapped at her.

"I didn't lie about anything, I just hid one fact. Besides you're the one who approached me at the bar, both times." She felt herself getting defensive. "I'm not like other demons you've met. I'm not evil. Hell I didn't even ask for this." She felt herself tear up.

"I don't even know who you are!" Dean exclaimed. "Who's body are you even wearing."

"It's mine." She replied.

"That's not possible, if you're Crowley's daughter you're atleast over two hundred years old how'd your body even..." he trailed off. "What do you mean you didn't even ask for this?"

"I'm the reason he's what he is." She started. "If you know him closely you'd know his relationship with his mother." Dean nodded urging her to continue, "so when I was born he swore he'd be the parent he never got. He gave me everything he could, loved me too much." Her voice cracked, "When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, and we're talking centuries back, I was gonna die. So my father, Fergus made a deal. My life for his soul. Ten year later they took him. He became a demon, kept an eye one me. He was happy that I was alive, When I was twenty seven I got into a fatal accident, I died. And he couldn't bear that so he transformed me with magic or shit I don’t know. He made me a demon. That way I would be with him forever."

Dean hadn't taken Crowley to be a man capable of love, he always thought of him as an evil son of a bitch who was the King of Hell and was there to cause trouble for him and his brother.

"He became the King of Hell because of me, just to give me everything I could ever need, he didn't realise by doing he kept me alive, but over the it made unhappy and lonely. I could never find love, I could never feel a thing. But nine years ago I met you, and I felt something, I don't how or why but I did, then you left." She whispered staring at him. "And then we met again, I thought I could finally get what I wanted, but I was naive to think it would work. I'm sorry Dean I never meant to hurt you, I just thought you're just a guy that I'll outlive and you'd never find the truth."

"This is a lot to take in." Dean said shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what happened to you." She nodded her head not knowing what else to say. "Is it true? What you said?" He asked cautiously.

"About loving you? Yes. I mean I don't know what love feels like, it's been a long time, but you do make me feel like I did when I was human. So yeah I do love you Dean. And I know you might not want anything to do with me after all this. But I'd do anything for you." She replied honestly. She'd been lonely for the past centuries, she's willing to do anything to feel something again.

"I did...uh" he cleared his throat before speaking, "I did feel something for you before this whole ficasso and I'd be lying if I said you being a demon changed it." Dean took a step towards her, "you said you're willing to do anything for this to work?" She nodded her head in affirmation, her eyes filled with hope. "We know how to cure a demon, make them human again."

"You do?" She asked looking surprised.

"Yeah, your father didn't tell you? We almost turned him human!" He chuckled.

"I told you I don't keep up with his evil shenanigans. If I did I'd have known all about you." Dean nodded in understanding.

"So do you-"

"Yes." She didn't even let him finish. "I'd do it."

"It might hurt." Dean warned "and what about your father?"

"Dean, I'm tired of being lonely for centuries. Yes I love my father but he has to let go someday. I can't live like this anymore."

To say Crowley threw a fit when he heard Y/n's decison was an understatement. He was beyond pissed. He went off on Dean, cursing at him, telling him he's always causing problems for him. It took Y/n a while to convince him but he came around when he realised this is where her true happines laid. Even if he was the King of Hell and Dean was his frenemy, he was still Y/n’s father and did gave Dean the 'you hurt her I'll kill you' talk.

The Winchester brothers took her to the Bunker and Sam prepared to cure her. They cuffed her to the chair in the dungeon inside the devil's trap. Sam had gone to bring the human blood, Dean kneeled infront of her. He cupped her face in his hands.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

"I trust you, Dean." She smiled at him. He placed kissed on her forehead when Sam came back.

Hours later, Y/n was screaming and groaning as they continued to inject her with human blood. Dean felt bad, wanting it to be over soon. When Sam was done, Y/n was sweaty and her head lolled to the side as she threaded on the edge of consciousness.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean patted her cheek lightly. She slowly opened her eyes, her black eyes now y/e/c, full of life. She gave him a tired smile.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean moved aside allowing Sam to pour holy water on her and she flinched at the sudden splash.

"Sorry, Y/n. It's Procedure." Sam apologised. She nodded lightly, she would've waved him off but her hands were tied. Her flesh didn't sizzle and the two brothers nodded at each other. She blinked a couple of time to adjust her eyes. Dean uncuffed her hands and helped her stand.

"Hi baby." Dean said holding her waist. She didn't waste anytime, pulling him for a kiss which he gladly returned.

"I didn't need to see that." Sam said loudly making them pull apart. "Congratulations Y/n, you're human now."

"Thank you for helping me, Sam." She told the taller man and he smiled at her.

"Thanking just him?" Dean complained.

"Well I thought I'd thank you some other way but if you just need the words...." Dean didn't let her finish before picking her up and making his way towards his bedroom.

Tags:

@deans-baby-momma @bansheesandbutterflies

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Implausible Signal

“Read it again, Sh’lock,” the five-year-old Rosie Watson begs.

“I have read it two times already, and you, young lady, is stalling. Fairyland is waiting,” Sherlock says softly.

She pouts, just like he did himself when he was a child.

“You still do, you know,” Mind Palace John tells him.

“Are you thinking of Daddy?”

“What?”

The question baffles him.

“You always smile like that when you look at him. When he doesn’t see,” the little girl states matter of fact.

“Far too clever for your own good,” he mutters under his breath. “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night, Sh’lock. Love you.”

She yawns and reaches for him. He bends down, kisses her forehead, and whispers: “I love you too Rosebud. So much.”

***

He sits in his chair when John comes home.

Tired, but cheerful. Please, don’t let it be because of his date.

“Thank God, that’s over,” John sighs and takes a seat opposite him.

“I could have told you; you know. That way you wouldn’t have had to go through that tedious dating ritual,” Sherlock informs him in a boring tone.

John doesn’t reply but inquires about Rosie. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“It isn’t my first time putting her to bed, John.”

“I know, Sherlock. Just wanting to know that everything’s alright. What did you two get up to anyway?”

“We had dinner with Hudders. Watched Cars. Again. She had a bath. I read to her. End of story.”

He needs to keep his feelings under wrap. He can’t afford to show John how much she means to him. Or John for that matter. He has no idea why, but his brain tells him something bad will happen if he lets his façade slip.

John smiles fondly at him. Sherlock has no idea what to do when John smiles at him like that, so he stands, picks up his violin, and plays a lullaby he learned when he was away, as softly as he can. When he turns back to face the room, John is gone, just as he hoped. He can’t help feeling disappointed by it though.

***

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, John.”

They’ve just watched the last episode of…Sherlock can’t recall what the show is called. He’s been too occupied trying to stay on his side of the sofa, and not give into the temptation of seeking John’s warmth.

“Rosie wanted me to read a story I didn’t know tonight. When I told her, she rolled her eyes at me, and told me that of course I knew it. I was the main character in said story. Her favourite, apparently. One you – “

Sherlock panics. He should have anticipated this. A five-year-old is terrible at keeping secrets. Not that Rosie knows it’s a secret, but still. John is still talking, but Sherlock has no idea what he says. He could speak Arabic for all Sherlock knew.

A touch brings him back to the present. He looks down at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“Hey. Are you back with me?”

John speaks so softly. 

Sherlock leans against him but straightens before he makes a fool of himself and puts his head in John’s lap.

“Stranger Than Fiction.”

“Go on,” John says.

“The name of the story,” Sherlock clarifies.

“Okay. Rosie said you never read from a book. You know it by heart?”

“It’s not a book,” Sherlock murmurs.

“You’ve made up a story for her? About me?”

John sounds incredulous.

“Not made up. It is a true story.”

He swallows hard, turns to face John, lets him see. When the penny drops, Sherlock closes his eyes, awaiting John’s verdict.

“A strange meeting,” John mumbles, almost inaudible.

“Yes,” Sherlock agrees.

It was what John had called it when he recaptured the day they’d met at Barts. A day and a meeting that pulled them both out of a miserable existence.  

“Why did you call it Stranger Than Fiction?”

“Give it some thought, John. If someone had told you that day, or the day, weeks, or months before, that on the twenty-ninth day of January 2010, you should meet an obnoxious man you moved in with the following day. That mere hours after meeting him, you’d kill a man to protect him from doing something stupid. What would you have said to the person telling you this?”

“Well, when you put it like that…I um…I guess I would’ve told them to bugger off, or…”

“Or?” Sherlock prompts when John doesn’t finish.

“Or, I’d probably have said, that sounds like something stranger than fiction.”

He grins, and Sherlock returns the smile. When John’s smile turns into a frown, Sherlock’s stomach plummets.

“Please, tell me the story is a redacted one. Child proof.”

Sherlock exhales relieved, but also a bit affronted.

“Of course, John. Do you think so little of me?”

“Sorry. I really don’t, Sherlock. You’ve been nothing but wonderful to the pair of us. I don’t say that often enough, do I?”

Sherlock just shrugs, then his body tenses when John does something so unprecedented, he’s got a hard time processing it. The warmth and secure hold from John’s hand on his, momentarily short-circuits his mind.

“Tell me?” John prompts.

They lock eyes again. John’s expression is open, expectant, and the fondness is back. With his eyes fixed on their joined hands, Sherlock recites the noteworthy parts of his story.

“The day I met your father, was stranger than fiction. You know I am quite good at calculations, but nothing could have prepared me for John Hamish Watson. He was, still is, the bravest and kindest man I have ever met. Being allowed to call him my friend, is the greatest privilege ever bestowed on me.”

Sherlock startles when something wet falls on his hand. He looks worried at John, but he just smiles at him, and he doesn’t try to hide his tears. When his other hand cups Sherlock’s cheek, he dares to hope.

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

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[cloakedsparrow]

Bat Family 'Bruce is Tim's biological parent' AU Idea #1

Wherein Jack Drake: a) Regularly tags along on archaeological digs despite not being an archaeologist. b) Commonly smuggles home archaeological finds despite that not being legal. c) Does not believe in curses, hauntings, or any mythology despite the world that he lives in being populated with *gestures at comics* all that.

As a result, Jack is like a magnet for cursed objects and keeps smuggling the damned things home.

The first time little Timmy suspects this is happening, he knows his dad won't respond well to him suggesting the most recent package he sent home is haunted. He knows he'll respond even worse if he tries to get anyone else involved. So he sends his mom a private email explaining what's going on. Janet replies that he's right to be suspicious, that this has absolutely happened before, and that he was right to contact her. She tells him she's sending over a friend who can help and gives him a password that she'll tell the friend so he knows it's okay to let him in the house.

John Constantine shows up within the hour. Tim is certain he didn't drive there (the alert that someone passed through the gates never went off and no one put in a code to open them) but there is a cursed object in his house and John knew the password Janet gave him, so he's mostly just happy to have an adult there to handle the situation. Even if a somewhat bizarre adult.

John takes care of the cursed object and is impressed that Tim reacted to it much faster than most do. He gives Tim his card with instructions to call him if anything like what was happening starts to happen again or if anything else weird starts happening after his father has been to any digs or sent home any strange packages.

As Jack is the aforementioned cursed object magnet, Tim ends up calling John fairly often for someone who doesn't actively work with the occult and is, in fact, a child. John keeps praising him for catching on as quick as he does and giving him information to catch onto other types of mystical/magical wickedness. Tim gets really good at recognizing when magic/curses/spirits are at play.

Then, Janet dies and Jack goes into a coma. Tim is fostered by Bruce for a year and a half and doesn't have to worry about curses or haunted objects for all that time. When they do come across something of the occult, Bruce/Batman has his own contacts, so there was never a reason for Tim to bring any of it up.

Then, the events of Identity Crisis/Crisis of Conscience occur, and Bruce doesn't want to talk to Zatanna (his usual mystic go-to) if it can be helped. He doesn't want to call in anyone connected to most of the Justice League if it can be helped.

So when they come across a cursed object, Tim immediately identifies it and tells Bruce not to worry, he knows a guy who can handle it. The man knows his civilian identity, so they'll have to pretend Bruce bought the object as part of an action or estate sale lot.

John comes and handles it. Before he leaves he comments that he's glad Tim's biological father finally decided to step up and that Bruce better take good care of the boy.

When Tim explains that Bruce isn't his father, the look on John's face clearly shows that he's trying to figure out how to back-step, but not in the expected way. More in the 'I let on information i wasn't supposed to' way.

Which is how Bruce and Tim end up running a paternity test in the Cave at four am.

Alfred and Dick are delighted by the results.

[Alternative ending: John pulls Bruce aside to let him know that Janet told him Jack wasn't Tim's father and that both he and Bruce were on the short list and he hadn't known Jack died or he'd have contacted him already. They have to wait to find out which of them is the lucky one. Either Bruce turns out to be the father and John just lets Tim know he can still call him whenever needed or it turns out John is the father and they decide Tim should still stay with Bruce but John has visitations. Also, Tim might have been showing signs of his Homo Magi heritage when he recognized all these cursed objects. John insists on teaching him to use his magic despite Bruce's unease with it.]

[tacitusk1llwhore]

What's up, y'all? This post has been wildly anticipated, and I have literally spent days on it. So let's get right into it, yeah? The Van Der Linde Gang is not a family; it is not a group of down-and-outs living outside the law for freedom (not entirely). It is, in fact, a cult, or, at the very least, most of the time operates like a cult would. To understand this we have to know exactly what a cult is, so what is the definition of a cult? A cult (as according to Google) is a misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing. This is one of the many definitions. So there you are; it's a cult, case closed! Just kidding, I wouldn't make it that easy, so let's look deeper into cult mentality and how it relates to the VDL gang.

Let's look first at what some characteristics of a cult leader are, and then let's match them to Dutch as a person. Cult leaders are incredibly charismatic; they come off as personable, as these wonderful, easygoing people who accept those as they are and bring in those who have been deemed by society as undesirable. But what makes them so very charismatic? How is it so easy for them to fall into this role? Having an image of yourself rooted in grandiosity, not reality. But Dutch isn't like that! You cry, to which I say—hold on, I'm getting there. Dutch is like that; Dutch has always been like that. In the traditional cult sense, he doesn't believe himself to be god, nor does he proclaim himself supreme or anything that we typically associate with cults. What does he do then? He corrects himself; he blame-shifts, and often. One of the first hints that I got that maybe this guy isn't as cool as I thought he was was all the way in Colter. When speaking to Charles, Dutch tells him to get indoors, on account of the cold and his injured hand. This seems so sweet, something from genuine concern and care for someone under his leadership. Until he slips up in his language and says, "I—We need you strong." He starts off simply stating that he himself needs Charles strong, greatly overestimating the true need for Charles amongst the other gang members. Charles provides for the gang in the form of food, money, and little repairs. If something were to happen to Charles day-to-day, it wouldn't affect Dutch all that much. Who would it affect? Those that cannot hunt for themselves, Abigail, who can't leave camp on account of her son, those that rely on the men of the gang to provide for them. If there was a food shortage in the gang, Dutch would be just fine; he can hunt for himself. You know who probably can't? Tilly or Mary-Beth. By first and foremost stating that Dutch himself needs Charles strong before he switches to include everyone, we see the first sign of his exaggerated sense of self-importance. His use for Charles is exploitation; he can exploit his position, his lack of connection outside of the gang, to make him money. Others use it for Charles's basic necessities. It is also well known that Dutch is allergic to accountability, as we see in the phrase "You'll keep doubting me and we'll keep failing." This is said to Arthur after yet another one of Dutch's poorly executed and subsequently failed plans, through no fault of Arthur. Dutch needs a scapegoat; he cannot fathom that he himself makes poor choices, and so he narrows his perception, forcing a round peg through a square hole to frame himself as perfect. It was Abigail's fault that Hosea died; it's Arthur's doubt that makes their jobs not run smoothly; John isn't loyal anymore because of Abigail. Never once do we see Dutch take accountability, and we shouldn't expect him to, not when his sense of self is so insanely inflated.

Behaviors and body language also play into this; Dutch is very often seen standing, chest puffed, shoulders back, with a cigar in hand. He will stare off in silence, giving us this illusion that he's thinking, that he has all of these wonderful ideas running through his head so fast he simply has to take a pause to go through them all, to contemplate. Did you know that body language amongst cult leaders is typically comparable? This powerful, almost Superman-like pose is a common one amongst them; it exhibits power and confidence, combined with subtle, casual movements or actions, like smoking a cigar or rubbing the temples. This can and does give the illusion of not only intelligence but also power and empathy or deep contemplation. Dutch also dresses luxuriously; he wants to stand out against the gang as this intellectual genius. He wants to seem so much more well educated, with so much more money, so these people who are more intelligent than him but less confident or well off look at him and say, "Wow, I should follow him; he's doing well for himself; he's confident; he knows best." When in reality it's all a ruse, and body language, the set apart from the others, is another way he does this.

Now let's look at what I think is one of the most cult-like aspects of the VDL gang, and that is how they got their members. So many people say, "Oh well, how could anyone ever join a cult?" "Why not just leave?" "You'd have to be stupid to join a cult!" But the thing is, people do not purposely join cults. People are lured into cults in multiple ways: the promise of money, freedom, love, luxury, but most of all, family. You know who the prime targets for cults are? The marginalized, the poor, as well as the young, the naive, and the downtrodden. Take the analogy of the frog in water: if you slowly turn up the heat, the frog will boil alive—such can be applied to cults; no cult starts with these crazy behaviors, rules, or rituals; they condition you slowly, they put you into a position in which it is impossible to leave, and when you realize the truth, it's too late. Let's look at the stories of some of the members of the VDL gang, how they came to be. Arthur, taken off the streets after his abusive father was hanged, leaving him orphaned and destitute; John, saved from a mob trying to hang him for thieving, this, of course, after he was also orphaned and had run from an orphanage (orphanages in the 1800s were child workhouses); Tilly, who was rescued after running from her kidnappers, after killing one of them to escape. Javier, freshly in the US, running into Dutch while the pair were stealing chickens, Charles, a loner with no family who had been on his own for decades, accepted into the first group he's known that has treated him fairly. What do these stories all have in common? These people were all at their most vulnerable when they were picked up by Dutch; they all were destitute, poor, hungry, afraid, or searching for a place to belong. It's easy to indoctrinate those that have nothing waiting for them on the outside. Dutch preys on people who have nothing, because when you give people with nothing something—you buy their loyalty right with it.

These people are so very loyal to Dutch that they would die for him; they literally state it (or at least Arthur does). The framing of a family is also a common tactic; if you make these people see you as one big family, not little worker bees, you can convince them anything they do for you is doing something for their family—for the greater good, when in reality, it's for you—it's for your gain. These men are called "Dutch's Boys." This implies a fatherly role, almost infantilizing those under the leader and bolstering their importance within the dynamic. These men have killed, stolen, robbed, kidnapped, and done the worst of the worst for Dutch, under the guise of a better life for them and these people they care about, when in reality it's for Dutch and his ideas that never included them in the end. The rules themselves also point to a cultish dynamic; if you rat, or talk, or are considered a traitor in any way, you are killed. Molly was not the first to be killed for this; I doubt she was even the second. It was so bad at the end that people were sneaking away in the night; they knew truly they were never just free to leave, the thought, or fact, rather, that they would be potentially murdered in front of their fellow camp members outweighing any want or wish for goodbyes. Let this be a reminder that most of these people were so indoctrinated they watched a woman they had lived with and cared for be murdered in cold blood, then be burned rather than buried (a sign of disrespect then), and didn't say anything; they didn't try to stop it; they didn't even defend Molly. Uncle actually brought her back, knowing that she was drunk and hysterical, probably knowing what the outcome would be. We see Arthur, who was realizing the error of his ways and the error of the gang, try and stop things, and later Karen go off on Grimshaw in her drunken state, but besides looking a little shocked and then going right back to work, no one did anything or said anything. Reminder: that's not normal. Killing someone for a betrayal (that turned out to be untrue without further evidence in front of a group of people and presumably a child) with such ease and to state, "It's the rules." As an explanation, it is not a family unit; it is a cult.

I will say that just because this is a cult doesn't mean that Arthur seeing the gang as a family or those members calling themselves family is any less true. That dynamic was real for them,that love was real based upon personal relationships and at some point probably real for Dutch, but realizing that he could get away with anything because he gave these people everything turned slowly into something far more sinister. It went from taking from the rich, taking in the downtrodden to help them to, I saved you; now go do my bidding. These people saw him, saw one another as family, as friends and brothers, and he saw them as chess pieces; he states as much. Again, frog in hot water.

Is the VDL a cult? In many ways, yes—common cult tactics are used by the leader, including love bombing to the women and those who he has raised. Calling Arthur son, knowing he has no father, only when he wants something is manipulation; his interactions and the implications of the change in relationship between him and Molly also imply this. The VDL was never a true family as Dutch would have them believe or have us believe. Arthur is an unreliable narrator in that regard; that love was real, absolutely, but the unit, the scenario, wasn't. The VDL ran like a cult; Dutch was not a good person, and he knew exactly what he was doing the entire time.

That's my hot take for the day.

( @moeitsu I know you said you wanted to read my take on this so I figured id tag!)

[fanningfics]

DC Prompt: Kon Gaslights, Gatekeeps, Girlbosses Tim into a nuclear family.

(Just a little something my brain cooked up)

Conner Kent had learned to treasure what life had given him, and be rid of the things that impeded him. That's why Conner loved Martha and John Kent and held absolute disrespect for Clark Kent aka Superman. He grew to be possessive of the things he considered his, obsessive almost - something he suspected had to do with Lex Luthor's DNA. And despite what some may say, Tim Drake is his. The first to ever look at him and see a person, the first to teach him about the beauty and reality of living, the first to ever prioritise him. So of course Kon had to return the favour. Kon loved Tim Drake, and he won't stand for his love to be exploited by the Bats any longer. He'd long since learned the art of manipulation at the hand of a master manipulator like Tim Drake. And he will use it without remorse to get Tim out of that toxic fucking family no matter what.

It starts with Kon hinting about eventually wanting children. It continues with Kon pretending to be sad about the fact they can't have kids with both his and Tim's DNA. When Tim tentatively Brings up the idea of using the same cloning tech as Luthor, Kon tells him that would be a great idea someday.

There was a bit of a hiccup when Kon briefly died. But apparently It turned everything in his favour because when he was alive again, Tim had been burned almost catastrophically by the Bats and had turned to him in tears feeling guilty about creating their test tube children during his death. Their kids were only a month old by the time Kon returned and Tim had fixed the Bat family's problems. Kon didn't turn Tim away like he had feared. No, for Kon this was the best news he had ever heard - he was elated. He was prepared for his plan to need 10 years to come into fruition but it turned out amazingly well during his death - of course Tim being incredibly worn out was bad, but this just meant Kon could wheedle him to his side more for comfort. So now, Kon has biological twins with Tim and he's ecstatic, because phase 2 of the plan could start right away.

Phase 2 meaning gaslighting Tim about the safety of their children around the Bats - what with Jason being so volatile, the demon brat being so aggressive, and now he can add Dick to it too being unreliable. Kon doesn't know why his beautiful boyfriend can't see how terrible the Bats are but their beautiful babies will make him see it. Because while Tim may not have any self-preservation Instincts, Kon knows he’ll wreck hell on earth for his loved ones, and their children have just now taken top priority.

Kon knows that logically, the Bats wouldn't ever harm babies but that's the point of gaslighting, to go against logic, to believe the unfactual. And it was working. Tim had been back from the time stream for three months and had yet to contact any of the Bats, too busy living their blissful life in San Francisco.

One day, Tim suggested to the team about staying in San Francisco permanently and taking on a new Hero identity. Kon is so glad their teammates are on the same page and encouraged it heavily. Kon is right beside Tim as he sends his resignation to Wayne Enterprises, returns his Red Robin uniform through the Zeta tube and remotely removes Red Robin from the Gotham roster. Kon is vibrating with delirious joy and rewards Tim with vigorously enjoyable love-making.

There is outcry of course, from the Bats, but Kon is there to tell Tim he made the right choice, that he had to think about their children, that he wouldn't want to subject their kids to the Bat treatment. He's not entirely sure which of his words hit, but one of them does, and suddenly Tim is gung ho about his separation from the Batfamily. Kon is more than relieved.

Dick, Damian and Jason try to come to the tower, but they have long since been banned. Damian and Jason for their previous attacks, Dick was turned away by Kon himself, never once catching a glimpse of Tim.

Bruce enters the tower and Kon is right beside Tim grinning smugly as the man spots the babies between him and his adoptive son.

“Tim what did you do?” He had forgotten about everything he wanted to ask as he saw the babies each boy held.

“These are mine and Kon's children.” Tim told him, cradling one of them close.

“How?”

“A little help from clone technology.”

“Tim thats unethical-”

“He had my permission” Kon interrupted “I wanted the kids, Timmy just made it happen”

Bruce is surprised by Kon's even stare, shoulders bared protectively. And then he spots the smirk on his lips, that proud tilt of his lips, something about it was mocking.

“What are you doing here Bruce?” Tim asked.

“Tim- I -you left. Permanently. You resigned from everything. You didn't even talk to us, you kept refusing to talk to us.”

“I'm not hearing a question” Tim said distractedly, cooing at his child.

“Tim, why did you leave?” Tim looked up, this is the first time Bruce has seen his eyes in months - and he doesn't recognise the coldness in them.

“I left for them” Tim brushed the cheek of his baby.

“I don't understand” Bruce stammered.

“We would never turn you or your kids away.”

“I don't feel safe in that manor.” He was direct, unfeelingly straightforward, and unregarding of the flinch his statement caused.

“W-what?”

“I don't feel safe in your family where two of your sons have tried to kill me without reparations, where your oldest tried to convince me I was insane for knowing you were alive, where the most sensible man there has ignored every abuse thrown my way, where you have repeatedly insisted on making me just as paranoid and mentally unwell as you. I don't feel safe in your home mentally or physically, and I don't want my kids to be anywhere where they might get hurt.” Tim takes a deep breath, and stares at him with that distant unfamiliar stare “Bruce, I love you,” he said quietly, loudly in the silence “but I don't feel safe with you.”

Bruce can feel his heart break, “Tim” he croaked out weakly, and from the corner of his eyes, he spotted Kon's wide grin, wider than it had been when Bruce had first entered, full of satisfaction, glee and vindication. Bruce has the eerie feeling that this was his fault somehow, his Ducky would never do this without being pushed and this boy had something to do with it.

Kon, having noticed Bruce's realisation only smiled harder “I think it's time for you to go Batman” Kon said mockingly “if any of you want to get in touch with Tim, you'll have to talk to me first.” Bruce glared at the upstart, and then looked to Tim to try and have him deny it, but Tim only nodded his assent and averted his gaze. Bruce fumed, somehow he knew that Kon had obviously manipulated Tim's compliance.

[augustvandyne]

Lucy Chen x reader

Station doesn’t know about firefighter reader then on day they go to drop Lucy’s lunch off and they find out

lunch date

“Hi my love,” You surprise Lucy at her desk by dropping a bag of food in front of her.

“Y/n,” Lucy smiles up at you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to bring you lunch,” You shrug, leaning down to give her a kiss. “And I can’t lie, you in your uniform..”

Lucy’s cheeks flush and she looks down for a second to compose herself. You weren’t sure if it was from the comment, the kiss, or both. But either way it was cute.

“Right back at you,” Lucy looks you up and down.

“Do you want to go somewhere else to eat? I only have an hour,” You stand with a hand on your hip, patiently waiting for your girlfriend to stand.

“Yes,” She nods and pushes her hands off her desk to stand. “Let’s go to the break room.”

You pick the bag of food up and she puts her hand on the small of your back to lead you to a break room where you won’t be bothered as much.

John watches this interaction and is struck with confusion. He shuts the file he is holding and sits it back on Angela’s desk.

“Did she— what just— huh?” John shakes his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Lucy is in a relationship - with a woman.

“Yep,” Angela nods. “She did.”

“Oh, she’s good,” Nyla shakes her head. “She kept something like that from everyone, much less two of the best detectives. She’s good.”

“How did she hide this?” Tim stands with his hand on his belt. “I know I don’t talk about my personal life, but she sure does. She had to have said something about this at one point.”

John asks, his face still shocked. “She always spills when she is holding a secret for someone.. so how did she hide this?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Angela says. “But this is why she makes a great UC.”

All four of them continue to stare at the hallway they disappeared down only moments ago.

“You know everyone’s probably gossiping about us now, right?” Lucy looked around the room nervously.

“Oh well,” You shrugged casually. “That just means we’ll be out. And you can make your appearance at the fire station.”

Lucy smiles softly, catching your lips in a small kiss.

“And that double date you and Bailey are always talking about,” Lucy bites her bottom lip. “We can finally have it.”

“Bailey knows?!” John shrieks from the doorway. Angela, Tim, and Nyla are standing idly behind him.

You chuckle, locking eyes with John after Lucy moves to stand beside you.

“John Nolan,” You step forward, handing your hand out. “I’m sure we’ve met before.”

John shakes your hand in disbelief, “I think we have. I recognize you. Y/n.. right? Bailey talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah, Bails is a real good friend of mine.”

“Chen, are you gonna introduce the rest of us to your secret?” Tim raises his brows half-serious, half-jokingly.

Lucy smirks, “Tim, Angela, Nyla, this is my girlfriend, Y/n. She’s a firefighter.”

You wave, “I know who all of you are.”

“We should.. leave them now,” Angela says. “This was their idea by the way.”

Lucy laughs as they leave and sits beside you around the circle table.

“A fun bunch,” You note.

“Oh yes,” Lucy agrees sarcastically.

[ruskaroma]

Absolutely fucking adore the idea of Constantine having a very talkative and energetic little human around that he calls “bunny” and treats you like one, treats you like a pet.

You really think that you’re Constantine’s sidekick because you follow him around everywhere he goes and you’re basically living in his apartment because you just – never – fucking – leave. No matter what Constantine does, no matter how mean he treats you, you just can’t bring yourself to hate him because he just might be the only light you have in your life – which is a weird thing to say considering Constantine probably possesses the most darkest mind in the world and you haven’t even seen half of it.

When he’s in a good mood, he’d treat you out for a dinner and actually conversates with you like a normal human being (even though nothing about him – or you – is normal) and tell demon and angel stories you’d always find yourself drawn into, chin on your palm, wide doe eyes while listening to his deep voice talk.

Most of the time you’d get very excited about something and very eager to learn that you’re practically vibrating in your seat. It’s such a normal occurrence to Constantine that he knows how to deal with you when you’re in that state of mind.

“Wait so – if demons and angels exist, is there a possibility that vampires are also true? Are they real? Please, tell me they’re real – I mean, have you ever met one before, John? God, that would be so freaking cool. I always wanted to be a vampire –”

Constantine lets you talk. Even though he wouldn’t quite grasp the other words that you’re saying because he really feels like you’re rapping instead of talking. Not to mention the hand movements you’d do while you spew random little facts out of nowhere, or when you’d remember a memory from childhood that you’ll end up telling him; Constantine really does find you quite adorable.

And you’re a bit energetic too. Well, a bit wouldn’t really cover it. You’re full blown energetic who sometimes acts like you drank five cans of caffeine the moment you open your eyes, but Constantine knows all your energy is natural and comes from your heart.

You wouldn’t be able to sit down next to him at a diner without your hands fiddling with something or when you just really… couldn’t keep your mouth shut. It’s a hard thing to do, really. 

Then there’s Constantine, who likes to take advantage of your behavior by saying something really perverted and inappropriate.

“Hey, bunny.”

“What?”

“Would my cock be enough to get you to stop talking?”

“Good one. But that would only make it a lot worse.”

“I know. I’ve heard it,” he’d snicker, then would press a kiss on your cheeks that would make you flutter and scoff in annoyance. He always smelled like cigarettes and something minty. “I’m joking, bun.”

“Yeah, it would be a joke if it wasn’t true,” you rolled your eyes. “You’ve witnessed my mouth doing a lot more work than usual when I’m sucking your dick.”

“Well, you should be proud of yourself, bun. Looks like your mouth got more talent other than talking.”

“Haha, very funny.”

His comments like that don’t really offend you or anything because you know he’s joking. You know he secretly loves your rambles despite being mean about it, because that’s just how he is.

But during sex, it’s a whole different story.

Constantine has a habit of making you cry on the bed by making your rambles even worse. He knows that you ramble when you’re either feeling flustered, nervous, or horny, and most of the time you get all those feelings at once when you’re in front of his cock, which means a sudden flip of the switch inside your brain just goes off and you start saying these deliciously filthy words that never fails to make Constantine hard.

“What’s that, little bun? I didn’t hear you,” Constantine smirked, voice teasing as his hand gripped the base of his thick cock, smearing the dripping tip all over your lips as you struggled to catch your breath after he fucked your throat. “Where did my little talkative bunny go, hm? Why is she not talking?”

“J–John–”

“Oh? What’s that? Is the little bunny speaking?” Constantine mocked, pulled his dick away from your mouth as he gripped your chin with one hand. “If my bunny wants my attention, that’s not the right name she should be addressing me, yeah? Already forgot our rules around here, bun? I let you get a taste of my cock and you’re already defying me?”

“No–no, no, d-daddy, that’s not–that’s not what I mean,” you sniffled, your eyes getting teary from your kneeling position as well as when you heard Constantine’s mocking voice above you. “Daddy, please–just want–just want your cock in my pussy again, p-please–”

“Oh, you do? Poor little bunny is so wet and horny now, hm? My little bunny is feeling so empty?”

“Y-yes, daddy, I–I feel so empty–”

“Look at you crying. You look so pathetic,” he grinned, grabbing you by the hair and throwing you on the bed. You were already naked, already covered in bruises from the makeout session earlier and the handprint on your ass was starting to become more evident and red as minutes went by. “Where does my bunny want daddy’s cock, huh? Where do you want it, bun, tell me.”

“I–In my–In my pussy, daddy, want it in my–my cunny–” you sniffled again, pawing at his shoulders as your tears were starting to blur your vision. “Daddy, please–please, I want you so bad–miss your cock so much, feel so empty and wet and I just wanna–”

“Shhh, bun, I know. I know what you want,” he petted your hair with one hand while his other was guiding his cock in your cunt, the fat tip circling teasingly on your already puffy pussy lips and not quite going in. “Wish I could record you like this and make you watch it after. Fucking show you how filthy you are while begging for my cock. All the dirty shit you say when you’re so desperate for me.”

You keened, nodding absentmindedly even though you didn’t understand a single word he said. Your mind was only focusing on the delicious feeling of his cock rubbing against your sloppy cunt.

“Yes–yes, please, daddy, d-do what you want–do want you want, I’m yours–bunny is all yours–”

“That’s right. That’s my little bunny, knowing her place and where she rightfully belongs,” Constantine grinned, and it was only then he slammed his cock all the way inside you, stretching your walls wide as you bite onto his shoulders to keep yourself from waking up the entire building. “I would choose this tight little pussy over entering the fucking gates of heaven.”

[cod-dump]

You’re written about eldritch Ghost before so may I submit this idea: Everyone else is a normal human, except for Graves. Graves might be a god or some being of immense power, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that his shadows are dead people he’s brought back (could be becouse he liked them or just needed bodies) and Shepherd held the one way to get rid of him. This would be at least Gravesprice, if not more.

But what ends up happening is one of the 141 is fatally shot, and Graves goes, “hey, if I bring him back, that’s a great courting gift.” So Graves brings back whoever also most perfectly. Almost. Their personality is the same and the look almost the same. It’s just that they still have the corpse parlor (that’s why the shadows always covered themselves up. So no one could see that), and Graves is preening as he presents whoever back to Price.

The Perfect Gift

PriceGraves

___

Death is forever... well, that’s something mortals believe. To Graves it’s business and easily bypassed.

It could be temporary if he chose to treat it as such. Humans were easy to work with, easy to manipulate in that manner. But still, they are unpredictable, it’s what he loves about them, why he chose to stay. 

To him, the ultimate show of his love is giving life again to the dead. His Shadows were given life again and he would never let them die as long as they remain loyal. This is their gift, their immortality. 

Shepherd was entertaining for the most part. He didn’t truly understand what Graves was or that Graves was some necromancer in a modern, southern twist. He just understood that Graves got things done and had fun doing it. He didn't know the how or why, he knew enough about Graves not to ask.

Shepherd just pointed and Graves followed. A dog with a bone, and each mission had a bone for him. 

Shepherd pointed and Hassan was on the other side and Graves was ready to hunt. But Shepherd felt it was necessary to get others involved. His Shadows failing once was his reason, never minding the fact those ‘dead’ Shadows were alive once. They were ashamed of their failure and Graves respected their desire to prove themselves. 

Shepherd involving others would get in the way of that. 

Graves found it insulting. He was more than capable of correcting this. His Shadows messed up? They can learn, they can do this. But Shepherd didn't listen and Graves debated on whether this relationship would work anymore. He did what Shepherd said for fun, entertainment, and to grow his Shadows. His army. His fucked up family.

But then he met 141 and decided it wasn’t an offense on Shepherd’s part. He found them entertaining, like he did Shepherd. And he liked their captain. Really liked him. Graves wasn’t going to step away now, so he agreed to play nice with them. He wanted to get to know Captain John Price. 

In a way, they were the same. He cared about his people. Viciously. Graves heavily respected that, admired it even. Price thought like him, moved like him. He was mortal, human, but he walked like he owned the streets, owned the battlefield. Graves was hypnotized and wanted to show Price that they were, indeed, the same.

But after Las Almas? Price refused to see any resemblance or humor any of Graves insanity.

Graves had regretted his actions, following Shepherd so blindly because he trusted the man to show the way to a fun time. It led to 141, to Price, but Graves found his bone in Los Vaqueros’ base. Now he had to build up 141’s trust again, piece by piece.

Graves had felt the power surge in the ground and couldn't resist. He gladly threw the colonel and his people out of the way in order to get to it. He hadn't considered 141's fierce loyalty, hadn't thought Alejandro had gained it in the relatively short period he had worked with them. That was Graves' mistake, the relationships he cherished suffered as a result.

So he ended his affiliation with Shepherd, his first start towards rebuilding what he had destroyed. 

It was a small start.  

He wanted things to go back to what it was, the warmness and familiarity. Price didn’t look at him the same. Firmly business. It was business before, of course, but Price was more relaxed, more trusting. He barely could contain his anger, his hate. It made Graves uneasy. He will fix this, make Price like him again. 

A gift, a perfect gift. The fix to it all. But where to get such a gift?

He couldn't purposely orchestrate this, it would result only false trust. If Price learned the truth, it would mean nothing. No Graves knew this was a game of patience. He had to wait, play nice, and try to win back Price. Graves was nothing if not patient.

"Go crawl back in the shadows, creepy bastard," Soap's glare was cold, colder than the arctic.

Fixing what he had broke wasn't simple, but he knew where to start. Ghost and Soap. Ghost wouldn't talk to him. Every time Graves approached the man would turn and ignore him. It was childish, somewhat adorable. Graves decided to leave small, material gifts for him.

Collector's knives, nice clothes, soft material for his mask repairs.

There wasn't any visible results, but Ghost never rejected the gifts. Graves could see a relationship form in the future. Maybe Ghost could be a Shadow? He would be perfect for it. Graves couldn't help himself, really, he loved growing his strange family.

Soap was... not as approachable.

He was snappy, already tried to throw punches at him despite knowing very well that Graves wasn't human. He blew up that tank he was in and witnessed him crawl out in a shadowy mass. Yet he still showed no fear. Of course, there was a possibility Soap didn't actually see him, or didn't see enough to believe it.

Graves can't help but like him and feel shame for throwing away his trust the way he did. This wasn't something easily repaired, Soap held onto the betrayal differently than the rest. It was personal, he took Graves' actions personally. He couldn't understand why Graves did what he did, would never understand the power Graves felt.

Soap believed Graves was lucky, disbelieved anything he saw that day.

Graves could set the record straight, but he didn't believe it would do any good on what he was trying to fix. Proving to Soap that he was a otherworldly being? One that played with death and things that the mere mortal human mind wasn't capable of seeing? It wouldn't help, so he left it be.

Gaz was the least of his concern. He acted aggressive because of what Graves did to his team, his friends. Ghost showing less aggression had a similar affect on the man, making Graves wonder if he would be willing to drop things if Soap did.

He already accepted Graves' gifts, the offers to pay for food and other expenses. Or he was just willing to drain Graves of money for the sake of using him as a way to get back at him for Soap's sake. If so Graves respected that.

Price saw his efforts, not saying anything on it. He was focused on business, on Makarov. Graves believed they had a connection before and wondered if he ached over it. Graves certainly did.

"I can find him. Bring you his head."

"Phillip."

A warning. He was allowed to assist, not turn this into Graves' chance to prove himself. Graves would bring Price Makarov's head on a silver platter with bouquet of the most expensive, gorgeous flowers this world could provide. But he wouldn't let him, or perhaps he, too, didn't think Graves was capable of it. That he also saw him as just an eccentric human.

Graves let Price have it his way. He'll be compliant, roll over when he told him to. He didn't like listening to Shepherd's every command if he didn't foresee a clear reward as a result. For Price he'll do whatever he wants for however long.

But... he wished he wasn't so quick to just submit. He would've been quick enough that way.

"This is my fault... fuck."

Makarov killed Soap. Shot him in the head. Graves felt strange staring at the man's corpse. He would comfort Price if he would allow him but he didn't want to cross any boundaries to see if he would.

Ghost was wrecked. Upset wasn't even close to describe what he was feeling. He reminded Graves of a bomb, unstable. A slight jostle and it would blow up. He would rip apart the stars to fix this, Graves could tell. A hole was in his heart and he was near feral because of it.

Gaz was in shock, denying it up until he saw Soap on the table. He's seen the dead before, been the reason why someone was dead. He's lost colleagues, this wasn't his first time losing someone close to him. But he acted like it was, like he just lost his best friend, someone he never expected to lose.

And Price? He blamed himself. He was dead on his feet, not really hearing anything anyone was saying to him. He was just staring at Soap, at his failure to protect him.

Graves knew then what he had to do.

They had left after seeing him. He was to be cremated and they wanted to be shitfaced that night. Graves knew it was the opportune moment. He'll fix things. He's already tried to kill Soap, so bringing him back as a Shadow would have to be the perfect apology. Right?

"May I have a moment alone, gentlemen?"

The morticians nodded and left. Just like that. Graves waited until the door shut before he approached Soap. He was grey, cold, and the hole in his head wasn't looking too good.

"We're good after this, yea?"

Graves breathed life back into his Shadows. He called their soul back to their body while also giving a piece of himself. They are reborn with past memories but new strengths. He was sure Soap would appreciate it.

Soap's eyes snapped open, the color of life returning to them as he sat up with a gasp. He was breathing heavily, surely reliving those final moments with Makarov. He scrambled off the metal table and fell to the floor, standing while being ready to fight.

Shadows always came back this way: Ready to kill.

"What- What the fuck!?"

"Easy, Soap. You're safe. You're alive."

Soap stared at Graves, trying to understand what he had said. He felt a connection to him, as he did all his Shadows. That piece he gave them, a sense of knowing who he was and what he did for them. And what had happened to them.

Soap stared at Graves in horror, arms dropping as he leaned on the table with a heavy breath.

"No... no fucking way..."

"It is, actually. I came prepared, have some nice clothes for ya."

Soap kept quiet, hand going up to his head. When his fingers found the hole he jerked his hand away and gagged. Graves would have to do something about that. He's stitched limbs together before, but what do you do about a hole in someone's head? He's normally torn skin and stitched over bullet wounds on other Shadows.

But the head? He's always avoided major head injuries for a reason.

He had to coax Soap to put the sweats on after convincing him to put on underwear. He felt like he was dressing a toddler considering he wasn't very cooperative. Soap managed to get the shirt on, at least, hugging his torso as he finished.

"Why?"

"Hm? You can't walk around naked, Soap. It's indecent."

He wasn't in the mood for jokes, didn't even have the energy to be angry at him for making one.

"Why did you bring me back?"

His voice was soft, cracked some as he spoke. He was so confused, like all Shadows are after their rebirth.

"Well, wouldn't be the same without you."

It was genuine and Soap broke some. Graves caught him as his knees gave out, holding the man in his arms as he cried. It would've been peaceful, Graves would've taken all the time needed to help Soap understand, to properly apologize. But the morticians returned and fucking screamed.

And now he had to explain everything to everyone, not in his own pace.

"Johnny!?"

Ghost had ran in first and froze when he saw Soap was alive but didn't completely look it. He stared at Soap in stunned silence, eyes so wide Graves thought they would pop. Gaz was no better, he ran in, skidded to a stop when he saw Soap, and had to grab onto Ghost for support.

Price came in and Graves was surprised that the man fainted at the sight of Soap standing, corpse-like but alive. Graves blamed the morticians for complicating things. They just had to run in and scream. Now Graves felt like things were messier than what they needed to be.

But he was confident. This was the right move to making things right.

[thesmollestsnek]

Death echoes

So a while ago, i found this dp x dc post that had a really interesting lore headcanon for Danny’s ghostly wail. Idk if I’ll be able to find it again, I’ll link it here if I do, but essentially it posited that every ghost has something called a “death echo”, which is an ability unique to them based heavily on their deaths. These echoes are the most powerful move in a ghost’s moveset, but they’re also extremely volatile and draining, typically damaging the ghost in some way when used, with Danny’s being his Wail because he died screaming. The original post then went on to some really cool halfa!Jason ideas based on these death echoes, but for this lil snippet with an extremely long intro I’d like to focus on Danny a bit more.

Edit: Apparently I may have extrapolated a lot of the actual lore behind these death echos myself? The inspiration post was a lot longer in my memories. Or I might've mushed multiple posts into one mental box and then forgot lol. So a lot of the actual detail from this point on is seemingly mostly original material? I think? Idk man, sometimes my brain spits out information without giving me any clues as to where it got that information. Anyway, this post got kinda long and since I'm... decently sure this is where I shifted from summarizing @ailithnight's post to writing all my own thoughts I figured here would be a good place to throw the cut lol.

So! with all of the context-for-the-context out of the way, let’s move on to the actual context for what I’m writing cause I can’t be bothered with writing an intro XD

Essentially, this is an au where Danny is an established member of the Justice League, or maybe one of the teen hero teams? I’m a slut for eternal teenager Danny, but maybe he’s enough of a powerhouse to be on the main team despite him both looking and acting like the dumbass fourteen year old he died as. Either way, he’s on a League/League-sanctioned mission and things go bad. Like, everyone-almost-dies bad. And so as a final desperation attack, Danny uses his Wail, a power he’s never told anyone on the league he even has. And it works, and they make it out, but after the fact everyone has. Questions. And because in this au death echoes are deeply personal, Danny dodges those questions, but the league coughbatmancough isn’t satisfied with that. So they push for answers. Answers Danny’s not willing to give, because. In my mind death echoes aren’t just based on how a person died, but also their experience of that death. What their last thoughts were. When Danny died the only thing that he could process beyond just an all-encompassing painpainpainpainpain was the sound of someone screaming. His screaming. And so his death echo is the sound of a fourteen year old child screaming in deathly pain and terror weaponized, which definitely gave the league Even More Questions than they would’ve had already. Which finally brings us to the actual snippet, which is a conversation between John Constantine, who was brought in for his experience with the supernatural once it became clear Danny wasn’t going to talk, and Danny himself. 

~~~~~~~

“So, kid. Batsy tells me you’ve been hiding some of your abilities, wanna tell me what's up with that? Call it an occultist's intuition, but somethin’ tells me you’re not just being stubborn for the hell of it.”

“It’s... complicated. And not anyone’s business, either!”

“Kid...”

“Why does it even matter?! It’s not something I want to or am even able to do on a regular basis! I saved the mission, can’t they just accept that and move on???”

Sighing, Constantine reached up to start massaging his brow. “Kid, you and I both know that ain’t gonna be enough. Now I know that some things are better left alone, but the rest of these idiots? They can’t accept that, Batsy especially. That man’s never left bloody well enough alone in his life”

He looked up just in time to see the otherworldly teen shrink into himself, looking every bit the child he was. “I know but... why? Why do they need to keep asking questions? And why do they only ask the ones that hurt to answer?”

A sharp glance. “The fuck kinda questions are they asking? Batman was speaking in more grunt than word, so I didn’t really catch all the details of what this power you’re supposedly hiding even is.”

Phantom shrinks even more into himself at that, and responds in a voice so small it’s more sigh than speech. “I... I can scream. And it breaks things and pushes people back. But it, it sounds. Bad. And it brings up bad memories and I don’t like to do it or listentoitoreventhinkaboutitandtheywon’tletmeforgetand-”

“Breathe kid. I know you don’t need to but just take a deep breath with me. Don’t you go getting lost in your own head on me now., Constantine reassured the kid automatically, the sheer hopelessness prompting action long before the words themselves could be understood. Then the rest of him caught up, and he had to pause. Looked up at the kid, saw just how distressed he was. A picture was starting to form in the back of his head, and Constantine didn’t like what he saw one bit. A last-resort power that the normally open Phantom was strangely reticent about. A scream so horrible sounding the rest of the league would not to stop asking questions about it. Terrible memories to match said scream. And one truly miserable child who couldn’t bear to even think about any of it. 

“Phantom... is that your Echo? Screaming?”

A miserable nod is his only response, the tears that had been welling up in the kid’s eyes finally starting to fall. Cursing softly to himself, Constantine stood to leave, bracing himself for the Bat’s inevitable questioning. “Well then you just take all the time you need love, and leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure the rest of those idiots know not to ask you about this ever again.”  And with that Constantine turned and strode towards the door, leaving the quietly sobbing child to collect himself in privacy.

~~~~~

I had a whole-ass lore dump conversation between Constantine and Batman planned here, explaining how death echoes are deeply personal, and asking about one is a taboo on par with, potentially even worse than, asking a ghost about their death outright. Because they are formed from an amalgamation of how a ghost died, their last thoughts, and their final emotions, in some ways asking a ghost about their Echo is like asking them to describe their death in painstaking detail. But uhhh... inspiration bug left. So yea. Side note, I’d like to apologize if my depiction of Constantine’s accent was Bad, I’m but a lowly USAmerican whose only exposure to British accents is through tv ^-^’

[lilmoonbunny]

Denial; Mycroft Holmes

Mycroft only seeked you out to deduce you (aka, how Mycroft realised he liked you).

John and Sherlock were, without a doubt, the loudest neighbours that Y/N had ever had.

Gunshots at God only knows what hour, constant stabbing, banging, and so on. Despite this, she still considered them dear friends and the best neighbours that she had ever had. Sure, they were weird and loud, but they were also kind and genuine, at least for the most part. Alongside this, they also appreciated her baking, especially after long cases.

A gentle knock sounded on the door the 221B catching the attention of three people.

“You can come in, Y/N,” Sherlock called from behind the door, greeting the woman with a nod before turning his attention back to Mycroft whilst John smiled at her.

“Hi, Sherly. Hi, John.” She smiled at the two friends before turning to the older Holmes brother. “Hi, Mr Holmes.” Y/N greeted him with a smile. Although she hadn’t met him before, it wasn’t difficult to deduce who he was; the expensive suit and the fact Sherlock was glaring at him gave it away.

“Sherly?” Mycroft spat, grimacing at the nickname given to his brother. “Who on Earth would you let call you that?” He asked.

“This is Y/N, our neighbour. What have you brought for us today? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” The sweet smile Sherlock gave to the woman made Mycroft feel ill. He had no clue who this woman was and absolutely no idea why they seemed to be this close.

“Chocolate cake, sugar cookies, and love.” She joked, beginning to laugh at the way Mycroft audibly gagged. “I’m only kidding. No love.”

“I should certainly hope not,” came Mycroft’s response, one which simply made her laugh again.

“Are you jealous, Mycroft?”

“Because of the cake, he is.” Sherlock interrupted, waving Myrcoft off. “No, I won’t take the case. You can leave now.”

“This is an urgent matter, brother mine.”

“Don’t care.”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes, Mycroft lifted himself to his feet and prepared to leave.

“I’ll leave these with you, just in case you change your mind. Goodbye brother mine. John.” The hesitation was obvious on Mycroft’s face, despite how well he typically hid his emotions, as he faced Y/N.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Holmes.” Y/N smiled sweetly, earning a simple nod from him before he left.

Sherlock, who had leaned to grab the tub of baked goods from the woman’s hands, rolled his eyes as Mycroft left and immediately began to eat.

It wasn’t long until Y/N’s entire life had been researched.

There wasn’t much there. No criminal record, a few jobs, occasional moves, but no sign of her posing any danger to Sherlock and, by association, John. However, the way Mycroft felt upon seeing her was unusual, so he decided to do his own investigation.

“Morning, Mr Holmes,” he was greeted before he reached the empty counter. “Welcome to my bakery! Would you like anything?”

“Just a coffee, please. Black.” Mycroft nodded, not returning the smile she had given, despite the odd feeling it gave him. She was evil and he would prove it to Sherlock.

“Coming right up! Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it over.”

As Mycroft occupied a seat, he took a moment to properly assess the woman making his drink.

She didn’t seem threatening: a content smile on her lips as she prepared his coffee, humming a quiet tune that he barely picked up on. In fact, she didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all, but the feeling when he first saw her – a feeling Mycroft couldn’t explain – had him needing to investigate her further.

“Here you go, Mr Holmes.” Y/N said, placing a hot coffee and chocolate cake on the table in front of him. “Sherlock mentioned that you like cake, so I grabbed you some. It’s all on the house.”

“Why?”

With a small laugh, she responded without hesitation. “You’re Sherlock’s brother.”

How odd, Mycroft thought to himself. She doesn’t even know me and she’s giving me things for free…

Despite his thoughts, Mycroft simply nodded, watching as she took a seat opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s quiet today so I figured I’d try and keep you company the best I can. I’m sure you have better company than me, though.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied before even thinking. It was safe to say that he didn’t enjoy the way his chest felt whilst he watched her smile.

Maybe she’s a witch? No, don’t be stupid, Mycroft. They don’t exist.

“So,” Y/N’s voice broke the man from his thoughts. “It’s a funny story how me, Sherlock, and John met. I was actually working and Sherlock bursts in demanding to talk to me. My baking stuff had been found at a crime scene and he thought it was me!”

“How interesting.” Came Mycroft’s blunt reply, even if he was intrigued.

“You listened to it, so you must care, even just a little bit. I think that’s a win for me!”

Mycroft couldn’t help the tiniest smile that crawled onto his lips, but he internally prayed that nobody noticed it, especially her. She, however, seemed oblivious to the movement, simply staring over his shoulder and out of the window.

“Anyway, what was he like growing up? Was he like he is now? Blunt and rude?” Y/N asked with a giggle.

“He wasn’t, actually. He was rather sweet. He liked playing pretend with his friend; he always wanted a dog too.” Came Mycroft’s reply. “His favourite thing was pirates.” He said with a fond look in his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t going to be happy when he found out that he had told her, but he couldn’t resist answering her question.

Mycroft watched closely as the woman in front of him grinned, the bright and happy smile a nice contrast to what he was used to whilst working with the government. He couldn’t help but smile back, noting how her smile widened further as he did so.

“That’s sweet. I couldn’t imagine that, to be honest,”

It was time to ask the question that was on his mind. “Are you attracted to Sherlock?”

“Sherlock?” Y/N said, bursting into laughter. “No, absolutely not. He’s more like an annoying older brother. Same with John. We’re just friends, and, well, neighbours too.”

Confusion spread over Mycroft as she felt the weight on his shoulders lift at her words; she was telling the truth.

“How is she?” Sherlock asked the moment he answered the phone.

“How is who?” Mycroft’s voice sounded through the device.

“Y/N,”

“Why do you assume that I know?”

“It’s obvious you were there earlier.”

“…”

“Well, that and Mrs Hudson told us.”

“Of course she did.” Mycroft said with an involuntary roll of his eyes.

“So, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“You like her then?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, you went to see her. It’s quite obvious, Mycroft. Come on, I thought you were smarter than that.”

Mycroft simply put the phone down.

He did not like her.

The next time that Mycroft came across Y/N was when it was raining.

He hadn’t wanted to seem ‘creepy’ by seeking her out again for more investigations and deductions, so he simply waited. She was friends with his brother, it wasn’t like their paths wouldn’t cross at some point. Besides, he didn’t want Sherlock to think that he liked her.

“Raining real bad tonight, isn’t it?” The driver spoke to Mycroft. He was new, so Mycroft couldn’t exactly blame him for attempting some type of conversation with him; it was still annoying, though.

Anthea, looking up from her phone was what caught Mycroft’s attention. “I feel bad for her.” She said, nodding towards a soaked woman. It only took Mycroft a moment to realise who it was.

“Pull over,” he stated bluntly, grabbing his umbrella. He simply ignored the look he was receiving from his assistant.

It had been a long day filled with rude customers, and to make it worse, it was raining, and she had forgotten her coat. Today couldn’t be going any worse for Y/N.

Shivering wildly and soaked to the core, Y/N huffed, watching the way her breath instantly evaporated; it was clearly below freezing, but she held out hope that the rain would stop and she would be home soon.

Her hope seemed to pay off, though, since she could no longer feel the rain. As she looked up at the sky, she spotted a familiar face.

“Mycroft?”

“Y/N.”

“What are you-“

“Get in.” He said, pointing towards the car before wordlessly leading her towards it, still holding the umbrella above her, even if he was getting wet.

“You don’t have to, Mycroft.” She said as he ushered her in and shut the door behind them both. “I mean, I’m soaking your car!”

Mycroft, who could feel the heat on his cheeks from their proximity, simply shook his head. He was too focused on the way her leg was pressed against his as she sat between him and Anthea who stared at her phone with a small smirk.

The ride was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, the only noise was that of Y/N shivering.

After a moment of hesitation, Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and handed her it. “Here.”

There was no chance of refusal, Mycroft wouldn’t allow it, so with a quiet ‘thanks’, Y/N popped the jacket over her shoulders. He just found the chattering of her teeth annoying, was what he told himself.

As they arrived at the flats, Mycroft followed her out of the car.

“Thank you, Mr Holmes.” She said as they stood on the door of her flat.

“Mycroft is fine, Y/N.”

“Thank you… Mycroft.” She said with a small smile before bidding him a goodnight.

“I see you gave her your jacket,” Was all Sherlock said as Mycroft entered 221B.

It was hard. Very hard. Harder than anything Y/N had ever experienced. Having a crush was not easy as it was, but having feelings for Mycroft Holmes was the hardest thing in the world: he rarely showed emotion, he was blunt, he was rude, but most importantly to her, deep down, he was nice.

A small sigh left Y/N’s lips as she worked on her latest batch of cookies for the morning. He was on her mind… again. It was a common occurrence by now.

“We’re not open yet, sorry!” She called over her shoulder at the sound of the door opening. As she turned around to see who it was and apologise again, a blush rushed to her cheeks. “Mycroft! What are you doing here?”

Mycroft stood there, umbrella in hand, and gave a simple shrug. “I was on my way to work so thought I would ‘pop in’ as people say.” He explained, earning a laugh from the baker.

“Modern phrases don’t suit you, Mycroft.” She teased.

With an amused shake of his head, Mycroft took a seat at the table nearest her.

“Want some cookies? They’re fresh out of the oven!”

Mycroft nodded with a grateful smile, always glad to have sweet treats. He would never turn down anyone’s desserts, least of all Y/N’s; not because he liked her and didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but because she was a good baker.

The pair sat in a comfortable silence, Mycroft gladly eating his cookies with an appreciative look whilst Y/N worked on her next batch. There was nothing awkward between them, and there, surprisingly, never had been.

“Are you not at work today?” Y/N broke the silence with a question that was bugging her. She could have sworn Mycroft had always worked this time over the months that she had known him.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He was supposed to be there right now but had decided to visit you before. It wasn’t like anyone could fire him for it, he was basically the British government, after all.

“Not yet,” he lied, and he was glad that he was a good liar.

“Oh, okay! I’m happy you came then. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never be a bother,” the words fell from his lips before he even registered what his thoughts, and he noticed the blush race up her cheeks, as did she with his.

“Thank you, Mycroft.”

As he stared at her and her rosy cheeks, a million thoughts went through his mind, but they were all related to one thing: her. It was in that moment that he realised the truth, he did like Y/N, and he had been attracted to her since the beginning; that was what he was feeling.

Oh dear…

[stellacartography]

Another double post in the tardiest @fluffbruary tale.

Day 7 Hand | Curls | Pattern

Greg peeked around the kitchen doorway at the pair on the sofa. John had rolled beneath Sherlock. One hand was threading through Sherlock’s curls and the other was having surprising success in opening the tiny buttons on Sherlock’s shirt. Greg watched for a moment, impressed at the dexterity. Surgeon's hands, his mind offered.

Greg pulled his head out of the doorway and leant on the back of a chair, trying to tease out the tangle of emotion in his chest. It wasn't that he was jealous of them, per se. He wasn't particularly drawn to either John or Sherlock, but it would be nice, a small, sad part of his mind offered, to have someone to touch like that, someone who would touch him the same way.

There wasn't anyone in his life at the moment. Dating was a nightmare. He couldn't even imagine asking a friend for a hug. He wasn't close enough to any family.

When he peeked out at the sitting room again, the two on the sofa had flipped. Sherlock’s long fingers were delving determinedly into the back of John's trousers. John was arching into the touch and snogging Sherlock senseless.

Greg spun back around. Kitchen door it was, then. Squeaky latch be damned. The sounds coming from the sitting room would have to be cover enough.

He straightened his back and caught sight of the open cupboard door where he'd replaced his mug. He must have neglected to close it when he rushed off to the toilet.

"Sherlock, oh!"

Greg paused, hand on the cupboard door knob and his eyes rolled up. At the edge of his vision he spotted the sleek lines of a handsome bottle filled with amber liquid. He didn't wait beyond Sherlock’s answering pleas to grab it by the neck and abscond with his plunder.

The kitchen door to the landing squeaked awfully but he made quick work of unlatching it and closing it behind him. He could still hear fragments of names and murmured words as he strode across the landing.

He tightened his grip on the bottle and crept down the stairs.

Day 8 Train | Zenith | Road

Greg reached the road without disturbing Mrs Hudson and only then took a good look at his prize. The bottle was open, but not obviously so. It was mostly full of what appeared to be a nice, small-batch whisky from a distillery in Trenton. A gift from a client, most likely.

He considered his next move. His car was nearby. He could drive the bottle home, have a drink, and take himself to bed. Drinking alone in his current mood felt a bit dangerous, though.

It was still early evening. He opted to drive back to work and see if anyone were around to share a drink with. If he could find a friendly face to commiserate with, they could share a drop and then head home.

By the time he parked, most of his colleagues had left, the evening shift had begun, and Greg himself was questioning the intelligence of bringing a stolen bottle of liquor into an office of law enforcement. Bad idea then

He settled back in his seat and scrolled through his contacts in his phone. Of all the names that scrolled by, not one would understand why stealing a bottle of whisky from Sherlock and John after convincing them to admit their feelings for one another was... not funny exactly but a certain flavour of justice, perhaps? No one except... Oh.

He tapped a name and hit call.

"Hello, Detective Inspector."

"Evening Anthea. Sorry to trouble you. Is Mycroft in?"

"Mr. Holmes has retired to his office at the Diogenes. He has had a rather trying day."

"That makes two of us. Anything urgent I'd be interrupting if I popped by?"

"Not at all. In fact, I rather wish you would interrupt. He's too accommodating by far today. He would do well to let everyone stew in their own juices for a bit."

"That so?" Greg grinned. "I'll see if I can derail the train of government for the evening then. No promises, mind. If he tosses me out on my ear, you're on your own."

"Oh, I rather doubt that will be a problem, Detective Inspector. I shall call ahead and alert the staff to your arrival. Good evening."

Greg dug out an old gift bag from the back seat of his car to carry the bottle in. He'd be a bit self-conscious carrying an opened bottle into a posh place like the Diogenes. He'd met Mycroft there once or twice and knew the drill, but the sepulchral quiet of the place made him feel watched as he walked through the mute horde of funereal denizens who frequented the club.

He questioned his decision all the way to Mycroft's door. It was only when he was admitted and saw Mycroft's face that his confidence returned. This man, he concluded, needs a drink as much as I do.

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[princessmaybank]

Can you do prompt 7

I'm sorry this took so long! I ran with this one and it turned out longer than it should have!

Riding Lessons

Pairings: BestFriend!JJ x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Riding, maybe some second hand embarrassment..I think that's it?

Summary: Reader wants to learn how to ride, who better to teach her than her bestie?!

Author's Note: I hope you like it, I love this idea, I feel like I could have done better though, let me know what you think. Enjoy!

I wanted to learn how to, ya know, "ride" I guess. I've been a pillow princess every time I've ever had sex but I wanted to be able to impress my sexual partner. I know JJ was just fooling around when he said I could always come to him if I ever needed help with something like that but I'm seriously thinking of his offer, well fake offer I guess. Damn it, I don't know! I've been trying to ask all week but it isn't exactly easy to ask your friend for dick riding lessons. I just wanted him to help me learn to move my body, I didn't have to actually hop on him.

Every time I try to ask, something gets in the way. John B is always around, I make a fool out of myself, I can't spit it out, he's too busy to talk, something. This time we are hanging out in the back yard of the chateau. The guys are chilling while us girls are chatting away.

"So that's when I-" Sarah paused, but I barely noticed as I anxiously looked between the ground and the blond boy who's been recently occupying my mind. "What's wrong Y/N?" She asked, clearly noticing my rapid-fire thumbs playing thumb wars with each other. "Oh nothing.." I pushed off, stopping my fingers, even though it wasn't easy. The girls poked until I would tell them what was bothering me. I didn't tell them everything, just the fact that I needed to talk to JJ alone, and it wasn't an easy conversation. Kie said I should just go grab him and pull him to the side right now but I told her that wasn't as easy as it sounded. John B and Pope latch onto the man and keep him tight.

"HEY JJ COME HERE!" I heard Kiara shout as loud as fucking possible. All the guys started standing up. "ONLY JJ!" Sarah added.

The other two sat down as JJ waltzed over to us. My heart was racing, I wasn't ready for this conversation. "What?" He pretended to get snippy. "I wanna ask you something." I speak up. He motions for me to continue. "privately.." I add on. "Oh okay, we'll be back." He smiles towards the girls before grabbing my hand and leading me into the chateau. I expected him to stop in the living room but he sat me on the bed in the guest room before shutting the door. "What's up?" He smiled as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door. My fingers did that thing again. "Now that I think about it, it's not that important anymore!" I rush my words out and try to get past him and to the door. "Ah ah ah. What is it, Y/N/N?" He looked a little concerned.

I wasn't sure how to bring this up. I've thought about this conversation many times and still haven't figured out the best way to say it. "Uhm- well this is a di-difficult conversation Jayj..I want to have it, but I'm not sure how to start it, and I'm worried it'll ruin our friendship and I was kind of ready for this con-" I started my rambling because I got nervous, but JJ cut me off. He walked up to me and crouched in front of me. His right hand reached out and laid on top of my knee. "Breathe Y/N. I'm sure whatever it is, won't ruin our friendship. Cause we're too close, there's nothing we can't say to each other." He said with a smile.

"O-okay.." I said sheepishly. "So talk to me." He said casually and got up to sit on the bed next to me. "Uhm- so you know how you jokingly said I could come to you with like-" I was hesitant and JJ knew that. "Questions involving sex?" He giggled and finished my question for me. I nodded very fast causing him to giggle again. "That wasn't a joke, I meant it." He smiled with a small chuckle. My eyes widened but I shut that down real fast. "Oh, okay, well I do have a question.." I slowly spoke. He nudged me to continue. "This is really awkward and you don't have to say yes, please don't feel pressured to do this, it's really stupid actually, so-" He shushed me. "Calm down. I'm willing to help with anything you need." He smiled. His words caused a blush to rise to my cheeks. I took a deep breath before I closed my eyes and said what I've been meaning to say. "I want to learn how to be on top." That was the easiest way I could say it. "You want me to teach you how to ride dick?" He asked. My eyes were still closed but I felt so embarrassed. My hands covered my face and I heard him chuckle before pulling my hands away. "Look at me." He said. I opened my eyes and looked up at JJ. I tried not to think about the embarrassment coursing through my veins. "Good girl." He said and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I can't believe he just called me that. "Now strip for me." He said and motioned for me to stand. "W-what?" My eyes went wide again. "You want to learn, right? Gotta take your clothes off for me." He said calmly. "I-I thought...I thought you were just going to show me how to move my body.." I twirled my fingers again. "Oh baby...you wanna get some practice first don't you? And who better to try it out on than your best friend?" JJ smirked.

I can't fuck my best friend! This would ruin everything.

"B-but-" I stuttered. "Don't go shy on me now Y/N." He smirked. "Here, I'll go first." He stood proudly in front of me. He removed his hat and boots first. His cut off tank was next before he finally took off his cargo shorts. JJ sat back down next to me on the bed, only in his boxers now. I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering his toned body.

"Your turn Y/N/N." He whispered into my ear. I hesitated again, and he must've noticed. "Would you like some help?" He asked. All I was able to do was lightly nod. JJ slowly grabbed my hands and stood me in front of him. His fingers traveled to the bottom of my shirt and pulled upwards, over my head, gently. His hands grasped my waist and pulled me closer to him. JJ's fingers danced in the waistband of my shorts before shimmying them down my legs. His hands ran up and down my legs starting at my hips.

"Come here.." He whispered before sitting against the headboard. I straddled his lap and his hands met my hips again. "Can I kiss you, Y/N?" He asked. So gently and calmly like we weren't in the position we were in. I nodded and parted my lips, pushing them closer to him. As our lips lingered together, his hands rocked my hips against his, back and forth. I could feel him growing beneath me, causing arousal to pool in my panties.

"You sure you wanna learn from me?" He asked after pulling his lips away from mine. "Wouldn't wanna learn from anyone else.." I responded slowly, staring into his eyes. He smiled before pulling our lips back together for a moment. "You already have step one down, which is good." He smirked. "What's step one?" I asked while breathing heavily. "Turn on your partner." His hand found its way to my hair and tugged forcefully. JJ pressed his lips to my neck and made his way down my torso. "Next you're gonna move your panties to the side for me."

For the next few minutes I listened to every word this man said. When I finally eased myself onto his cock, we both let out small gasps. He encouraged me to move when I felt ready but I asked him to help guide me. JJ placed his hands on my hips and moved me back and forth on him slowly. "You can also go up and down, side to side, or in circles, why don't you try something." A small whimper escaped my mouth. I wasn't sure I was ready. "Let the pleasure guide you..nothing you do is wrong. Go ahead." He said while tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

When I finally worked up the courage to move, I decided to just move back and forth. JJ's mouth opened slightly from the pleasure. His hands were still on my hips but he wasn't moving me. I picked up my pace and tried to bounce up and down, which felt so good. I felt like I could release right there with the way his dick was punching my insides. I picked up my speed again, JJ and I were moaning messes in each other's arms. I bounced harder when I realized that's what felt good to me. JJ threw his head back as his hands squeezed my hips tighter. "Just like that.." He whined. My jaw was on the floor. He was gorgeous like this. "Fuck baby... don't stop. I'm almost there.." He let out, heaving. I didn't even slow down. I chased our highs until I couldn't anymore. JJ released with my name on his lips as I did the same with him. I collapsed on top of my best friend, his cock twitching inside of me as we started to come down. My body was shaking from the ultimate pleasure I had just experienced. "Shhhh .." He soothed as he caressed my hair. "such a good girl...I can't wait for our next lesson.." He wanted more? My pussy is in for one wild ride.

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Old Men! Simon Riley | John Soap MacTavish | König

To help you keep track of the pairs; | Simon & Angel | Johnny & Petal | König & Darling |

Find Part I here.

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, orgy, spanking, unprotected p-in-v, dick riding, anal, missionary, dacryphilia, dark behavior, licking, pinching, biting, age gap, Stockholm syndrome vibes, toxic forced relationships, hair pulling, Sir kink, Daddy kink, size kink, praise kink-ish. MDNI.

A few long months after the first time, when Johnny had forced it into being cut short after only the girls playing amongst themselves on account of not being in favor of the men touching each other's lovers, the ‘meetup’ is at Simon's house today.

It was only recently that the men got into discussing this proposition, as Johnny had been extremely hostile to the idea until König had ‘innocently’ shared his living room's CCTV footage of that night in the group chat. And just as intended, the action had eventually started a conversation about the possibility of such an activity once more. Since the Scot had straight up refused to participate, the other men had carefully reeled him in by dismissing him with, ‘a little humoring yourself never hurts anybody’ until they eventually succeeded in bringing him to an agreement through a very elaborate, slow and cautious process.

And now…

“It's okay, love. You're doing so well for me” Simon cooes, rather uncharacteristically if you ask Angel, as he wipes away Darling's thick tears that keep bubbling out of the corners of her eyes, shaking sideways down her face and hitting the glass table with light pats. “I've got you, Sir's got you~” her smaller body slides up and down the surface with small squeaks from how Simon is gently fucking into her since she's too small and sensitive for a rougher pace, the monstrousness of his girth causing her tiny pussy to clench with each deep thrust. “Tell me” Simon kisses away the salty nectar of her grief. “Do you like what you see?” He is holding her throat in his hand that is nearly twice its size, the rough pad of his thumb grazing against the crevice that has formed between her jaw and neck from how her head is angled upwards to look at Petal clamped around her husband's dick. 

“Ah! You're so big, Daddy! Oh, my God!” Even though Johnny had agreed to this out of his own supposed free will, the way his little girl is moaning and praising König is doing a good job at stirring his ire. “Oh, oh! I am gonna cum again!” Petal shakes as her limbs spasm upon König's mountainous legs that are built like stone, the disks of his muscles shifting under her legs with each thrust he gives her to help her keep bouncing because his cock is too much for her to ride all by herself. 

“Give it to me then, pretty girl” the humongous man rasps in his strong accent, muttering out a thread of incoherent foreign curses before he latches his balmy mouth on one of Petal's hardened nubs, the harsh sucking of his mouth causing his cheeks to hollow as his fingers connect to her sensitive clit. “Mmm… I swear you get sweeter by the second” her back arches at that and she throws her head back, letting out blood curdling moans as her body goes through another nerve shattering orgasm.

As if that is not bad enough for Johnny who has always been a possessive man especially with Petal, the fact that König now demands her to tell him that he's the best cock and orgasm she's ever had in her vulnerable state where Johnny knows her small mind will say whatever she is being told, the stoic way in which Angel treats him with almost an indifference to his cock pumping in and out of her tight pucker fills him with a kind of rage he is not sure he has felt ever before. 

Johnny's hands roughly fish under Angel's body to hoist her up and more pliant to his hold by her tits from where he has her bent over the couch to face Simon fucking Darling deep and intimate with König making a fleshlight of Petal on the side so the pairs form a sort of a triangle, ironically. 

Angel's breaths are heavy and her skin is shiny with sweat, she wouldn't be breathing through a gaping mouth and her skin wouldn't be clammy to his touch if she wasn't. But the stubborn way in which she feigns a disregard for his painful defiling of her perfect ass while holding up a defiant chin to Simon to deny the men their depraved satisfaction unlike the younger girls riles Johnny up to do worse.

And so he crushes Angel's nipples between his fingers before thrusting into her so hard that she nearly doubles over from how his tip hits her guts. “Think you can get away with this shit, can ya?” His accent is so rough in her ear that she can barely comprehend it. “You think I can't break through this tough bitch shit of yours, eh?” Emotion breaks onto Angel's face for the first time ever since she had been ordered to relieve herself of her clothes before being told to bend over.

She cries out from how Johnny snatches her earlobe between his teeth and sinks them down into the tender skin before he grinds it back and forth between them. Her arms helplessly flail at her sides and she blindly claws behind her to try and pull him off. But all she can do is bounce in the air while her ass cheeks clap against Johnny's cock, his fingers cruelly stretching her nipples past the limits of their flexibility and his teeth torturing her into pleading for mercy.

Simon glances up at her from Darling's devastated form. Their eyes lock and though he isn't one to show much emotion, a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. Good. Johnny is finally figuring it out. Angel is not one to back down easily. She has a thing for making it hard for herself and who are they to deny the thrill that she throws their way herself? Despite her rigorous training with Simon ever since he decided her for himself, she has managed to retain her pride. 

And that cannot do.

She must be taught her place. And if Simon is not the one doing it, then who better than his best mate?

Darling turns her head away from her unfaithful husband when he forces yet another orgasm out of Petal. And Simon is right there to swoop in like a knight in shining armor. 

“Oh, you poor little babe” the baritone of his low voice mixed with his accent is like the finest cool malt sliding down a parched tongue. “So cruel to a sweet little thing such as yourself, isn't he?” Darling's bottom lip wobbles in what just may be the most innocent way Simon has ever seen. A fresh batch of tears wells up in her eyes as she struggles to keep her arms folded above her head in the way she had been initially ordered to do. 

Simon lets his warm hands take hold of her sides before he rubs them back and forth to comfort her, his lips capturing hers in a soft kiss and he squeezes her tense hips. The action causes the younger girl to whimper into his mouth, the man's collecting of her legs around his waist making his dick slide in so deep that it hits her deep in her cervix and she cries out.

“S- Sir!” Darling whispers, her face contorted from the painful pleasure. 

“What do you say we show him what he's missing out on,” he catches one of her tears in a delicate kiss on her cheekbone, hot tongue darting out to collect its remainder from her lash line in an elegant swipe next. “Hm?” The vibration of his hum drums into her quivering chest as she pants for breath. There is such a difference in their sizes that whilst she lays on the table, Simon kneels on the floor and still it is her who hangs upwards where his thick cock pumps in and out of her sopping pussy. 

Simon loves it. Because he knows she doesn't mean to, he is aware that this is more devastating to her little mind than it will ever be pleasurable enough, it is clear that she only takes the deep, intimate fucking with the pliance that she does because she doesn't have a choice; he can feel her fear of him. And yet, she milks him with each thrust, whimpers with each pinch and squeeze, moans into every kiss. 

Unaware, unwilling, but still wanton. 

Darling does not have Angel's unwavering will and challenge, nor does she have Petal's stubborn and brattiness, no. In fact, she is the sweet naive wife who accepts what hubby says as the supreme truth. To question or speculate is not in her nature; holding her own against authority a sin to her small mind. 

There is not much that surprises Simon, but when she slowly nods after examining his face with a vacant gaze and her parted mouth closes so she can let out a meek little, “Y- Yes, sir…” The older man nearly bursts into her right then and there.

“Very well, then” he traps her mouth in his in a deep kiss before letting his tongue invade her warm oral cavern at last, his bigger hands lifting her arms from above her head to wrap around his mountainous shoulders before he coils the hair at the back of her head around his fingers and pulls. The action elicits the expected whine out of her and she finally cums, indicating to Simon that he is in since she had been too out of it to let herself loose to his touch and cock before now.

Only one dilemma remains now.

She has come without his permission.

And being out of control, Simon does not appreciate.

. . .

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