#cassie's writing

[zacksfairest]

i need to write more for them :(

[yjcorefourenjoyer]

I fully believe that yj98 doesn’t tell ANYONE about their missions anymore.

they probably did in the past with their early ones, but after the 7th lie detector test, and 3rd time they had to get Jon and/or Wonder Woman’s lasso involved to prove they were telling the truth, they just stopped.

After you’ve heard one mission people usually think they’re lying and stop asking questions. All YJ have to say is ‘it was a Classic yj mission, do you really want to hear about it?’ and all other inquiries would be dropped. YJ themselves won’t bring it up, and you won’t believe them anyways, so what’s the point?

So you won’t believe what this leads to when Damian and Jon after being curious for a while, decided to answer “yes, we do wanna know” to them

now YJ has to deal with two teens and the justice league, who finally decides to look at them (and what they’ve done) for the first time…

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Glass Coffin

Weirder shit has happened in DC universe, but hear me out, Young Justice finds a glass coffin with Danny sleeping inside it. Maybe it's in some ancient tomb and hidden away for centuries, maybe it's in some villain's private collection of artifacts, maybe it's in some museum in plain sight.

And then Kon hears a heartbeat from it.

(I'm going with the version of YJ that is Kon, Tim, Cassie, and Bart here, fyi)

Assuming they didn't come to wherever they found the coffin just for the sake of it, they, as the responsible teenagers they are, finish their business first and take it to Mount Justice later to figure out what the fuck. Meanwhile, Danny is sleeping peacefully like a princess, all up in his King garb, with the Crown of stars, cape of night sky, and whatever else pretty stuff you want him to have. Point is, he looks majestic.

Tim looks up the records for the coffin. The files say it's hundreds of years old, and no one has been able to open it yet. The boy inside is stated to be either a statue or some kind of really well-preserved corpse - no amount of scanning registered any signs of life, so it was treated like a piece of art for the most part.

Yet, Con is absolutely positive he heard a heartbeat inside. What's more, he can still hear it now. It's impossibly slow but still recognizable.

Cassie finds a whole lot of legends about it, most of them speaking of 'only those from the other side can open the casket', and there are no clarifications to what kind of other side they are all talking about.

Of course, they all try. Because this is some kind of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty shit, and besides, none of them even think they would be able to open it anyway. And, sure, as soon as they are done having fun with it, they will report to the JL about their finding. Maybe the magic users will know something about the weird Sleeping Prince. They even go as far as to reason with the casket, loudly proclaiming where they are from, because they all come from very different 'sides'.

Bart goes first, explaining how he is from the future. The casket doesn't budge. Cassie goes next, stating herself as Themyskirian, but to no avail. Kon is next, with his half-Kryptonian heritage, but the glass coffin doesn't accept him as worthy either.

And then it's Tim's turn. And somehow, he flips the glass lid open with no effort at all.

A moment of silence follows, all the YJ members frozen in place, waiting for anything to happen, but the boy inside keeps just laying there, unmoving and with his eyes closed. Then Cassie makes a joke about kissing the princess to wake her up, and all of them start arguing on ethics and stuff because why is Robin the one that has to do the kissing, do you have any idea where that boy has been? Fuck off, you kiss him if you want it, and also, do you really want him to wake up, what if he is some kind of villain or an evil spirit, or-

"Which one of you assholes is dead enough to wake me up from my nap?"

And that's as far as I got with this idea. Maybe Danny was put into some magic sleep, maybe it was Clockwork's time shenanigans, maybe someone locked him inside and he decided to sleep it off, maybe he is there on his own volition, taking a vacation from Kingly duties.

I'm just having this vision of eternally beautiful Danny in a glass (oh, maybe it's not glass, maybe it's ice) coffin, and the YJ arguing over it. There's also Dead Tired potential here, because I love them, yes.

[bluerosefox]

Batman sighs deeply and rubs a temple.

It was meant to be a simple space mission, nothing to big. Just a quick check and report back.

Only problem is the ones he would normally assign this to are all dealing with other things so he had to ask... Someone else...

Like...

The ones that were once Young Justice.

Look, they were the only only ones with a spaceship (How? He still had no idea, Tim keeps saying 'What happens in YJ, stays in YJ') that could go far out without problems, and even though he knew putting the old YJ team together might be a bad idea, he trusted them especially Red Robin to be just a bit more professional at least. Since they were no longer teens but young adults now.

And again it was meant to just be a quick mission.

Nothing big.

So...

So why was Young Justice currently wrangling two floating black haired toddlers, one with blue eyes while the other one had red, and a black haired baby.

Turns out they found these children floating in space on their way back from their mission, cryo sleeping in a ice block huddled and cuddled together around a well loved teddybear with a teal headband on its head.

Or they were sleeping in cryo sleep until Superboy brought the ice block in and the thing melted allowing the children to wake up.

Batman could feel a headache coming on when he noticed just how... attached Young Justice was becoming to the children as well and knew it would be a miracle if he could get them to separate from the children.

[colbycheeseslice]

But what if Young Justice was a band? 🤔

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[v6quewrlds]

❝ infinity, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the bengals suffer a devastating loss against the eagles. it takes everything within you to face joe, hoping you'll be able to remind him of his worth.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: wrote this so fast as soon as the request came in. ty to anon for requesting <3 it's a little sad. i'm gonna be honest, part of me wanted to write an argument where the guy wasn't throwing shit and breaking stuff. the other stuff was secondary lmao. another installment to the joe is a munch agenda.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established but unlabeled relationship, sad!joey, he raises his voice but gets put right back in line, shower sex, kind of a pity fuck but we ball, romantic doggy style, cunnilingus, cum eating???, apologies as foreplay, sappy couple activities.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.9k.

The stadium lights shone like a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, as the final whistle blew and the crowd's roar faded into a disheartened murmur. The Cincinnati Bengals had lost to the Eagles in a game that had started out so promisingly. You felt the weight of the loss in the air, thick and palpable, as you sat in the Burrow family suite, your eyes locked on the field. You knew Joe wouldn't be coming up to join you with a victory smile tonight.

As the players trickled off the field, you hugged Robin and Jimmy goodbye, the tension etched in their faces mirroring the tension coiled in your chest. They whispered their sympathy and concern for their son's mood before heading out to face the gauntlet of traffic. Your gaze followed them, watching as they disappeared into the throng of fans, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for their escape. You knew Joe would be less than pleasant after a game like this, and you steeled yourself for the long night ahead.

The family reception area was a hum of disappointed chatter and forced smiles, but your eyes remained glued to the TV broadcasting Joe's post-game press conference. You saw the tightness in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, and the way he clenched his fists when asked about the second half's collapse. Your heart went out to him, and you hoped that once you were alone, he would let you in, let you help him bear the brunt of his emotions.

You couldn't bear to watch as Joe lifted himself from the press chair to retreat back to the locker room. You waited, sipping on a warm soda that had gone flat, feeling the condensation slip down your hand and pool at your fingertips. The other girlfriends and wives offered you words of support, but you knew their hands were full with their own distressed partners. You were on your own in this.

A delicate hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned to see the concerned face of Chase Brown's girlfriend, whose name you couldn't quite recall in the haze of the angsty loss. The shorter woman offered a small, understanding smile. "It's going to be okay," she murmured. "They’re all pros. They’ll bounce back." You nodded, mustering a smile of your own. But you knew it wasn't just the game weighing on Joe. It was the pressure, the expectations, and the unspoken fears that came with being at the top.

The minutes dragged on, turning into what felt like hours, before the locker room doors swung open and a parade of burly, ego-bruised men began to make their way out. They were a mix of anger and defeat, each one avoiding eye contact with the small group of women waiting patiently. Your eyes darted to each face, searching for the one you knew so well, the one that could bring you a semblance of peace in this chaotic aftermath. He remained elusive, a ghost in the shadows of his own misery.

Your heart hammered in your chest, lip nervously bitten raw as you watched the locker room door swing open and shut with the rhythm of the exiting players. Your eyes searched the crowd, locking with the weary eyes of the coaches who offered you a nod of sympathy. Each nod felt like a punch to the gut, reinforcing the gravity of Joe's mood. When the hallways grew quiet, you remained the sole family member standing. The emptiness of the reception area echoed the silence in your chest.

After several empty minutes that stretched on toward forever, a Bengals staff member approached you. "Ma'am," he said, his voice thick with understanding, "Joe requested that I bring you to the locker room." You nodded, swallowed the lump in your throat, and followed the man down the corridor. The air grew denser with each step, the scent of sweat and defeat growing stronger. When you reached the locker room, Joe was exactly where you had imagined he would be: slumped over his locker, staring into the abyss of his open duffle bag.

The moment your eyes met, you saw his shoulders tense and you knew he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. "You ready?" You asked, your voice soft and gentle. He didn't answer, just looked up at you with a mix of anger and defeat that made you want to wrap him in a warm embrace and whisk him away from all of this.

As you stepped closer, Joe stood up, and you could see the exhaustion etched into his features. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The harshness of his words stung, but you knew it was the pain talking. You took his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The two of you walked side by side through the exit path of the stadium, the clack of your footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete walls. You tried to fill the silence with gentle inquiries, but Joe remained tight-lipped, his jaw set in a firm line of anger. His hand felt clammy in yours, a contrast to the warmth of his usual touch. When you reached the car, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. He looked at you, his blue eyes stormy with unspoken emotions.

"Do you mind driving?" he asked, his tone a mix of apology and defeat. You nodded, understanding that he needed the time and space to process. You slid into the driver's seat, your eyes gently sweeping over his tired form as he slipped into the passenger seat. The engine purred to life, and you pulled out of the parking lot, steering the two of you homeward through the deserted Cincinnati streets.

The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the occasional hiss of the tires against the damp asphalt. Your thoughts raced, trying to find the right words to ease Joe's pain without triggering his already frayed nerves. You knew he was a man of few words, especially when he was hurt, but you had to try. "You played your heart out tonight, Joe," you said, your voice low and soothing. "The team will learn from this."

Joe's gaze remained fixed out the window, the streetlights casting shadows on his profile. "It's not just the game, babe," he finally said, his voice tight. "It's everything. The pressure, the criticism, the feeling that no matter what I do, it's never enough."

You squeezed his hand, your eyes never leaving the road. "You're more than enough, Joe," you said firmly. "They haven't given you much help since '22. It's a miracle you've taken them this far." Your words hung in the air, unanswered, but you could feel the tension in his body ease slightly.

Once you arrived home, Joe remained in the car, his hand still in yours. You waited, giving him the space he needed to gather himself. When he finally opened the door, you followed suit, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere in the car. As the two of you stepped into your quiet home, Joe's shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy sigh. You could feel the weight of his frustration, his eyes still holding the storm of his emotions.

Without a word, you led him into the living room, gesturing for him to sit on the plush couch. He sank into it, his eyes remained closed as you headed off towards the kitchen. You reached for one of the few beers stored in the fridge, figuring he could break his strict diet in the shadow of such a crushing loss. You handed him one, and as the cap twisted off, the sound echoed in the silence. He took a long pull, the tension in his throat bobbing with the effort of swallowing.

You sat down next to him, your hand resting on his knee, waiting patiently for him to speak. It was a dance you had done before, the aftermath of a tough game. The living room, usually a sanctuary of laughter and comfort, was now a battlefield of unspoken words and heavy sighs. The TV remained off, the only illumination coming from the moonlight that filtered through the blinds.

Finally, Joe opened his eyes, looking at you with a mix of anger and sadness. "We had them," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "We had the game in the bag and we let them take it." His eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, for validation. You leaned in closer, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder.

"You did everything you could," you said softly. "Sometimes, it's not all on you."

Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign of doubt, but your gaze was steadfast. You knew he was a man who took his losses hard, especially when it came to football. It was his sanctuary, his escape from the world, and when it crumbled around him, it was like watching a piece of him break.

He took another sip of his beer, his eyes focused on the floor "It's not just the game," he repeated. "It's the whispers, the doubt. Everyone's watching me, expecting me to be Superman, and when I'm not, they tear me apart." Your heart ached for him, knowing he felt like the world was on his shoulders.

"You're human, Joe," you whispered, your voice filled with compassion. "You're allowed to have a bad day."

Joe's gaze met yours, his eyes searching for solace in the depths of your warm brown irises. He knew you were right, but it didn't make the sting of defeat any less potent. He took another deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. "But that's the point. I didn't have a bad day. I haven't had a bad day since I fractured my wrist." His words were laced with frustration, and you could feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

You kept silent, watching as he stood up from the couch with a sudden jerk. "Dammit," he cursed, the bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hand. "I can't do this anymore." He began to pace, his long strides eating up the space in the room.

"Do what?" You asked, your voice calm and measured.

Joe's eyes flashed with anger, his pacing growing more agitated. "I can't keep carrying this team on my back," he said, his voice rising. "The front office, the coaches, they all expect miracles, and when I don't deliver because I have no help on the other end, it's like I've failed them." He stopped and turned to you, his expression desperate. "I'm tired of it."

Your heart ached with love for Joe. You knew the pressure he was under, knew the kind of man he was. A man who took every loss personally, who never blamed his teammates even when they deserved it. "You haven't failed, Joe," you said, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've done everything they've asked of you and more. You can't control everything out there on the field."

But Joe was on a roll, his emotions spilling out like a dam that had been holding back a flood for too long. "They expect me to be perfect, and when I'm not, it's like the world's ending," he continued, his voice rising with every word. "And what do I get for it? I get fuckin' thrown out there to face the press and tell them we're working on it, we're gonna fix it." He slammed the beer bottle down on the coffee table, the sound echoing through the room.

Your eyes widened at his outburst, the fear of his anger turning into something more volatile rising in your chest. But you remained calm, your voice a gentle reprieve from the storm raging inside Joe. "They're just doing their job," you offered. "They don't mean to put it all on you. You're just an easy target."

Joe scoffed, turning away from you. "Easy target? That's all I am to them. A face to put on the cover of the Bengals' shit show." His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

You stood, moving closer to him, your  hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Joe, you need to take a deep breath. You're working yourself up over this."

Joe spun around, his eyes flashing. "You don't get it!" he snapped, and you took a step back, your hand dropping to your side. It was a line the two of you had never crossed before, the sound of his raised voice a crushing reminder of the unspoken rule you had both agreed upon.

For a moment, the room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside your windows. Then Joe's shoulders dropped, and the anger drained from his face, leaving only a tired, defeated man. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to yell."

"But you did," you said softly, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "And that's not how we agreed to handle things." You didn't mean to be harsh, but you needed him to understand that his behavior had crossed a line. "I know you're upset, Joe. But I can't be your punching bag. I'm not the reason why you're angry."

Joe's took a deep breath, his chest deflating as he nodded slowly, regret etched on his face. "You're right. I'm sorry." He stepped closer, reaching for you, but you stepped back out of his grasp, needing a moment to collect yourself.

"I know you're hurt and frustrated, but that's not an excuse," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "I'm here for you, but I need you to talk to me, not at me."

Joe's gaze dropped to the floor, his eyes brimming with regret. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his emotions in check. "You're right," he murmured. "I'm sorry." He reached out to you again, this time with a softness that you recognized. You let out a sigh of relief, letting yourself be drawn into his embrace. He held you tight, his body trembling slightly with the weight of his apology.

"It's okay," you whispered, stroking his hair. "I know it's hard. And I'm sorry this is what you're dealing with."

Joe nodded into your embrace, his breaths slowly evening out.

"I'm going to take a shower, okay?" You said, pulling away from Joe's embrace. "I need a moment to think." You didn't wait for his response, heading upstairs to your bedroom. You could feel his eyes on your back, heavy with regret and sadness.

In the bathroom, you turned the shower knob, letting the hot water cascade over you. The steam filled the room, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, but it couldn't wash away the tension that clung to you like a second skin. You stepped under the spray, letting the water beat down on you, the sound of it a white noise that drowned out the world outside. You felt the tightness in your muscles begin to ease as the heat seeped into your bones.

Midway through your shower, the bathroom door creaked open. Your heart skipped a beat, expecting Joe to come in, apologize again, but instead, you felt his hands on your waist, his body pressing against yours. You tensed, ready to pull away, but when he whispered, "I'm sorry," into your ear, you melted into his touch. His warm skin settled against your wet skin, and you allowed yourself to be held, to be a source of comfort for him.

The water rained down on the two of you  as Joe's hands began to move over your body, his gentle touch soothing your nerves. His lips found the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly, and you closed your eyes, letting his apology wash over you. The loofah in his hand glided across your skin, scrubbing away the sweat and anxiety from the game, and with it, the tension of the evening.

"I'm sorry," Joe murmured again, his voice barely audible over the shower. "I shouldn't have snapped." His hands moved to your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the taut muscles, trying to ease the knots of your frustration.

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closed. "It's okay," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "We all have our moments." Joe's grip tightened, and you could feel his need to be closer, to erase the space between you.

"What did you think of the game?" Joe asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the confines of the shower. You could feel the tension in his body as he worked to scrub away the physical and emotional grime of the loss.

"You played hard, like you always do," you replied, your voice echoing off the tiles. "But the team's chemistry was off. On both sides of the ball." You knew Joe didn't need to hear about the interceptions or the fumbles, but rather, the underlying issues that had led to their defeat.

"Yeah, I could feel it," Joe mumbled, his voice tight with frustration. "It's like we forgot how to play as a team." You nodded, your eyes still closed as Joe's hands moved down your back, tracing the lines of your spine. "They're relying on you too much," you said, your voice firm. "You can't do everything on your own."

The loofah stilled for a moment, and you felt Joe's chest expand with a deep breath. Deciding to continue delivering your thoughts, you sighed and said, "The secondary needs to step up, and the coaches need to get their act together." The warmth of his hands resumed their gentle massage, a silent acknowledgment of your words.

"I know," Joe murmured, his voice thick with frustration. "It's just..." He trailed off, unable to find the words. You knew his thoughts well, the pressure of being a quarterback, the weight of a city's hopes and dreams on his shoulders.

When the two of you met, Joe was a 3rd string quarterback with no chance of touching a football during a game at Ohio State. You, a nutrition major, found his quiet confidence fascinating. As you grew closer, you saw the fiery competitiveness that fueled his ambition. When he told you he was transferring to Louisiana State with a real chance at being QB1, you knew it was a risk well worth taking. His meteoric rise to not only a National Championship but the Heisman and the first overall pick in the NFL Draft only proved the belief you had in him from the beginning. You weren't supposed to be here together, with Joe the face of an NFL franchise. But here you were, navigating the tumultuous waters of professional sports and superfame.

But tonight, as the hot water streamed over your bodies, the reality of your situation crashed down on Joe like a heavy wave. "I'm just tired of being the scapegoat," he whispered against your neck, his breath hot and urgent. "They expect me to be perfect, and when I'm not, it's all on me." Your heart broke a little more with each word, knowing he was right but hating that he felt that way.

"You're not a scapegoat, Joe," you said, turning in his arms to face him. "You're the best thing that's happened to this team in years." The sincerity in your eyes was unmistakable. "They just need to realize that you and Ja'Marr aren't enough to win games by yourselves."

Joe's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "I know," he said, his voice barely a murmur. "But it's hard not to feel like it sometimes." You nodded, understanding his pain. "Let's not talk about the game anymore," you said, leaning in to kiss him gently. "You need to relax."

He pulled you closer, his hands moving over your body with a new urgency, the tension in his muscles giving way to a different kind of need. You could feel his desire, his desperation to connect with you, to lose himself in something that wasn't football. You kissed him back, your own needs rising to the surface.

The loofah fell to the shower floor, forgotten, as your hands found each other's bodies, exploring and reassuring. The steam grew thicker, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of heat and wetness, the outside world fading away. You kissed with a passion that was both fiery and tender, your bodies moving in a silent dance of apology and understanding.

You felt Joe's hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, his arousal unmistakable against you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your own desire matching his, as you found solace in the intimacy of your shared space. The water washed away the tension of the game, your movements becoming more urgent, more primal.

"Take your frustrations out on me," you murmured against his ear, your breath hot and needy. Joe's response was to push you against the cool tiles, his hands roaming over your wet body, exploring every curve and crevice. He kissed you with a hunger that spoke volumes of his need for release.

Without hesitation, Joe's hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples. You gasped, your eyes closing as sensations of pleasure shot through your body. His mouth moved from your neck to your chest, kissing and sucking, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Your own hands were busy, sliding down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin, your nails digging in slightly as you urged him closer.

Your kisses grew deeper, more demanding, as the water continued to beat down on you. Your legs tightened around Joe's waist, pulling him closer, feeling his erection pressing against you. The sound of your bodies colliding against the tiles filled the small space, echoing off the walls. You were lost in each other, the pain of the loss momentarily forgotten.

Joe's hand slid down your body, finding the apex of your thighs. He teased you gently at first, his thumb brushing through your slick folds as you moaned into his mouth. Your hips rolled into his touch, seeking more. He groaned, his own desire spiking at your responsiveness.

With a swift move, Joe lifted you off the tiles, carrying you out of the shower, water still cascading off your bodies. He sat you on top of the bathroom counter, not caring about the wetness. His need for you was all-consuming, a fiery hunger that only you could satiate. You watched him with half-lidded eyes, your breaths coming in short pants as his hands slid over you, exploring every inch of your wet skin.

Your kisses grew more urgent as Joe's fingers delved into you, finding you already slick with desire. Your back arched, a keening cry escaping your lips as he touched you with a precision that spoke of a deep, intimate knowledge. His other hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. You could feel his own need, his cock pressing in between your spread thighs, demanding entry.

"Fuck me," you breathed, your voice a low, urgent plea as Joe's touch brought you to the brink of ecstasy. You could feel the tension in his body, the anger and frustration that had been building all night, now redirected into a passion that was as intense as it was raw. He didn't respond verbally, instead choosing to show you with his actions that he heard you. He slid into you with a smoothness that contrasted his desperation, filling you completely.

You each sighed at the feeling of Joe stretching your pussy open, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared, a bond that transcended the game, the expectations, the disappointments. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move inside you. Each stroke was a declaration of his need, a silent apology for his earlier outburst, and a promise to be there for you.

Your bodies moved in rhythm, the sound of your skin slapping together mixing with your muffled moans and gasps. Your breath hitched as Joe's cock hit just the right spot, sending waves of pleasure through your core. You rocked your hips against him, urging him deeper, faster, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tugging at his dirty blonde hair. His gaze was intense as it held yours, the blue of his eyes almost black in the dim light, his pupils blown with desire.

Joe's mouth trailed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making you shiver with excitement. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements, urging you closer to the edge. His own need was palpable, his breathing harsh and erratic as he thrust into you with a fervor that was both aggressive and tender.

"You're so wet," Joe growled, his voice thick with lust, as he pumped into you. You could feel his muscles tense with every thrust, the power behind each one a stark contrast to his gentle strokes from earlier. "So fucking wet for me."

Your nails dug into his back, urging him on. "Yes, Joey," you moaned. "Take it out on me." Your words were a catalyst, pushing him past his limits. He slammed into you, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the bathroom.

Your eyes never left each other as Joe's pace grew more frenzied, his strokes more demanding. Your head fell back, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock nudged at that soft muscle inside you that made your legs shake. Your walls tightened around him, a silent plea for more.

"You like that, don't you?" Joe grunted, his voice a gruff rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed as you moaned brokenly in response. His hand found the side of your face, tilting it to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning into your soul.

"Fuck yes, I do," you managed to gasp, your voice breathless with need. The feeling of Joe's thick cock filling you up was heavenly, the friction causing a delicious burn. You felt his thumb pressing against the side of your throat, a gesture that usually sent you over the edge, but tonight, you were holding onto the precipice, needing the climax to wash away the sting of his earlier words.

"Oh, baby, yes," you panted, your breaths coming in quick gasps. "Right there." The sensation was almost too much, but you craved it, needed it, to drown out the noise from the evening's loss. Joe's eyes darkened with hunger, and he pushed harder, deeper, hitting your g-spot with unwavering precision.

"I'm so sorry for earlier," Joe murmured, his voice a raw, passionate whisper. "You mean everything to me." His movements grew more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked to bring you to climax. You felt the walls of your pussy clench around him, your orgasm building with every stroke.

"You're always so good to me," you breathed, your voice a sweet symphony of pleasure. "Don't ever doubt that."

Your words hit Joe like a sucker punch to the gut, the weight of his emotions suddenly too much to bear. He kissed you again, a deep, desperate kiss that conveyed every ounce of his love and regret. His thrusts grew erratic, his body trembling with the effort to hold back his release. Your eyes widened with understanding, and you leaned in, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you matched his rhythm, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

"I'll spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you," Joe said between ragged breaths, his eyes searching yours for forgiveness. You knew he meant it, that his love was as unshakable as the determination that made him the star quarterback he was.

Your own climax was building, the pressure in your core growing with every thrust. You could feel Joe's cock swell even more, his grip on your hips tightening. The world outside your bubble of passion didn't matter anymore. Only this moment, your connection, your love, and the release that was so close.

"I forgive you," you whispered, your eyes brimming with emotion as you felt the beginnings of your climax. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body tightening around Joe's cock, your pussy fluttering with each stroke. "Can't help it when you make me feel so good," you added with a small, breathless laugh.

The sound of Joe's harsh breathing filled your ears as he drove into you, his movements becoming more frantic. You could feel the tension in his body, the need to come, to let go of the anger and the pain. You tightened your legs around him, your heels digging into his firm ass as you urged him on with your moans. Your bare chests pressed against each other, gasping desperately into each other's open mouths as your inaccurate, sloppy kisses grew more feverish.

"I need you to come, baby," Joe groaned into your ear, his voice desperate. "Need to make it up to you." 

You felt the tension coiling in her belly, the heat of Joe's breath on your skin setting your nerves alight. You knew he was close, could feel his cock pulsing inside you. With one final, powerful thrust, Joe's grip on your hips tightened, and he came with a roar, filling you with his hot, thick release.

Joe's movements slowed, his cock still pulsing inside you, his breathing ragged as he kissed along your neck. You giggled softly, the tension of the evening finally beginning to dissipate. "I've got you," you murmured, stroking his hair gently as he caught his breath. "You don't have to make it up to me."

With a final, lingering kiss, Joe pulled out of you, the connection breaking with a slick pop. He stepped back, his gaze lingering on your brown skin and the way your chest heaved with every breath you took. "But I want to," he said, his voice still thick with passion. "I need to."

You nodded softly as your hands reached up to cup Joe's face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his cheekbones. "I know you do, baby," you said gently. You leaned in to kiss him, your love washing over him with a gentle warmth that seemed to seep into his bones. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as your kiss grew more intense, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tangling with yours.

"Gonna eat you out until you can't think straight," Joe said, his voice gruff with lust as he lifted you off the counter, setting you feet down gently onto the plush bath mat then turning you to face the mirror on top of the counter. He dropped to his knees before you, his eyes tracing over your smooth skin as he kissed your spine, your thighs. You felt your legs wobble slightly, but you remained standing, your hands planted firmly on the counter for balance.

Joe's tongue traced a line up your inner thigh, the sensation causing you to quiver with anticipation. His hand found your ass cheek first, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving to the back of her thigh, urging your legs apart. Your breath hitched as his warm breath danced over your folds, the anticipation of his touch almost too much to handle.

"We taste so good together, baby," Joe murmured, his tongue darting out to tease your clit. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he began to feast on you. His tongue flicked and circled, his mouth suckling you in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your juices mixing in with his cum still leaking from your aroused pussy.

The feeling of Joe's mouth on you was almost too much, the intimacy of the moment washing away the last remnants of the day's anger and frustration. Your legs began to shake, your breaths coming in short gasps as Joe's mouth worked its magic. You watched the movement of his head in the mirror, his eyes closed in concentration, his cheeks hollowing as he took you in.

Joe's tongue slid into you, the sensation so intense you had to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. Your nails dug into the countertop, the pain grounding you as you felt your orgasm building again. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you forget everything except the heat between the two of you. Your  hips began to rock against his mouth, your body begging for release.

"Yes," you moaned, your voice echoing off the bathroom walls. "Just like that, Joey." 

Joe's eyes snapped open, looking up at you through the wet strands of his hair, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched you unravel. His tongue delved deeper, exploring your warmth, savoring your taste.

"I'm gonna make you come so hard," Joe whispered against you, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. You felt his tongue swirl around your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his mouth closed around it, sucking hard. You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathroom as you shuddered with pleasure.

"Shit—I'm gonna come," you whimpered, your knees buckling slightly as Joe's mouth worked its magic. He held you steady, his simultaneously pushing you firmly against the counter and keeping your ass spread wide for him, his mouth unrelenting. You felt your climax build, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

"Keep doing that," you panted, your body quivering as Joe's skilled tongue danced against your clit. You leaned heavily on the counter, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the orgasm build, the tension in your thighs and stomach tightening. Joe's grip on your legs was firm, his mouth relentless as he brought you closer to the edge.

Joe whispered against you again, "Love eating this perfect pussy, love making you come," and your eyes rolled back in your head, the sensation of his mouth on your clit overwhelming. The pressure grew unbearable, your legs trembling as you held onto the counter for dear life.

"Yes," you hissed through clenched teeth, your hips jerking in response to Joe's skilled movements. The pressure built higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore. With a strangled cry, you came, your body convulsing in the throes of ecstasy. Joe didn't stop, continuing to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you were left panting and boneless against the counter.

He licked you through your orgasm, savoring the taste of your mixed pleasures as you trembled under his touch. Your legs gave out, and Joe supported your weight from his spot on the floor, his face still buried between your thighs. You leaned into him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of your climax. With a final, lingering kiss to your sensitive clit, Joe stood up, his eyes locking with yours in the mirror. You felt the heat of embarrassment under his gaze, your heart racing from the intensity of yiur lovemaking. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice hoarse from your moans.

"Don't thank me," Joe said, his own voice thick with emotion. You laughed softly as his tongue darted out in an attempt to capture one last taste of you. "Let me help you clean up," you offered, turning in his arms. Your thumbs wiped the corners of his mouth, smearing a bit of your juices onto his cheeks. He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before letting it go.

The two of you stepped back into the shower, the warm water cascading over your bodies, washing away the evidence of your passion. You took the loofah from the shower caddy, lathering it with Joe's favorite scented body wash—yours. You began to run it over his chest, your touch gentle as you worked your way down his body. His muscles relaxed under your ministrations, the tension of the evening dissipating with each stroke.

Joe's eyes remained on you, watching your movements with a quiet contentment that you hadn't seen in several long weeks. "You okay?" you asked softly, your voice echoing in the shower.

"Better," Joe murmured, his gaze dropping to your breasts, the water cascading over you, mixing with the soap. "Much better." He stepped closer, pressing you against the cold tiles, his hands taking the loofah from you. As the last of the soap fell from your bodies, Joe placed the loofah back in its caddy, his arms wrapping around your waist as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. You felt your toes curl into the mat, your body responding to him without hesitation.

Your heated kisses waned off into slow pecks and gentle nibbles as the warm water rinsed the soap away. Joe's hands trailed down your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a tenderness that made your heart swell with affection. He whispered sweet words into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, and you felt a smile bloom on your lips as you leaned into him, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

"Mmm," you murmured, your eyes half-lidded with contentment as Joe's hands roamed your body. He took his time, savoring your curves, his thumbs grazing the sides of your breasts and sending shivers down your spine. Your own hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the strength and power beneath your fingertips, a physical reminder of the man you loved. There was no heat to your movements, no rush of sexual longing. Instead, it was a gentle exploration, a silent reassurance that you two were okay.

"You're so beautiful," Joe murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth pooling in your belly.

You chuckled, leaning your head against his chest. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true," Joe said, his voice firm. He kissed the top of your head, holding you close. You stood like that for a moment, the water falling over you. The anger and frustration of the evening had morphed into a gentle affection that filled the small space, dispelling any lingering tension.

The two of you finished showering, toweling off and wrapping yourselves in the plush robes that hung on the back of the door. As you brushed your teeth and ran through your individual night routines, Joe couldn't help but watch you move in the mirror. Your eyes sparkled with a softness that seemed to warm the room, and the way you moved, even in something as mundane as brushing your teeth, was mesmerizing.

Once you were both ready for bed, you crawled in, Joe pulling you into his arms. You lay there for a while, your legs entwined, just holding each other and listening to the steady beat of each other's hearts. The silence was comfortable, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of emotions. You felt Joe's hand run down your side, his thumb tracing the curve of your waist before resting on your hip. You knew he was still thinking about the game, about his performance, but you didn't push. Instead, you offered your warmth.

"You know you played your best," you said after a few moments, your voice soothing as you stroked his chest. "It's just one game, Joe. You'll keep working, keep getting better."

Joe sighed, his blue eyes closed in an attempt to reach sleep. "I know," he said, his voice tight with exhaustion. "But I hate letting down the team, the fans, you."

You turned to face him, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "You didn't let anyone down," you said firmly. "Sometimes, things just don't go as planned. It's not your fault."

Joe nodded, his eyes searching yours, looking for the reassurance he desperately needed. "Thanks, baby," he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. "I love you."

You leaned in and kissed him gently, your lips a gentle balm to his bruised ego. "You know I love you, too," you said, your voice a gentle whisper. "And I'm in this for the long haul. Win or lose, I'll be here for pity fucks and cuddles. Whatever you need."

Joe couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the sun. "Pity fucks, huh?" He teased, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of sad," you smirked, poking him lightly in the ribs. Joe's chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. The sound was music to your ears, a melody of relief after the storm of emotions.

"Go to sleep, Joey. Tomorrow's a new day, and you're going to need your rest," you said, your voice soothing as you stroked his chest. Joe nodded, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. The two of you lay there, your bodies entangled, until sleep claimed you both.

[achillean-knight]

[puppycassie]

Headcanons for Jacob Alden with a breeding kink? 🥴🥴

♡ absolutely !!

! 18+ , nsfw content, lurking for love is an 18+ game <3 ! 🩷🍰

some of my headcanons for jacob with a breeding kink ♡

♡ he's a yandere, of course the idea of filling you with his seed is more than enticing to him

♡ he definitely tracks your cycle so that he knows when you're ovulating

♡ "not gonna chase after anyone else with my baby inside of ya, darlin'"

♡ uses his fingers to push his cum deeper inside of you

♡ LOVES mating press

♡ likes to pull out to watch his cum drip out of you before fucking it back in

♡ "you're gonna look so perfect when you swell up for me"

♡ makes you ask for it "what is it, sweetheart? want me to make you a mommy/daddy?"

♡ just loves the idea of claiming you, marking your insides with his loads

♡ makes you go multiple rounds, cumming inside of you again and again until you physically can't take it. telling you "shh shh darlin', gotta make sure I knock you up"

♡ praises your features, telling you he hopes that the babies he's gonna make you carry inherit them

♡ can't wait to take pictures of your pregnant body

♡ once he has said pictures, he frequently masturbates to them, even when you're not pregnant anymore

♡ the idea of his beloved's breasts swelling with milk drives him crazy, covers your tits with kisses as he reminds you of what's going to happen to them

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

thank you for the request, lovely anon ♡

[feelingbat-ty]

This is inspired by @aflamboyanceofflamingos post about Tim choosing to publicly hate Robin as Tim Drake, cause to love or hate someone is the best way to hide a secret identity.

I started thinking about Tim coming into contact with his teammates as a civilian and Tim using this as an opportunity to take out all the grievances he has for his team in a way, that 1) Won't cause tension and fights. And 2) let him get away with being a petty arsehole, cause it's not like superheros can just go and beat up random civilians.

And well... my hand slipped.

--- You Can't Spell Spite Without Timothy Jackson Drake ---

The amount of times YJ comes across Tim Drake in the wild would be concerning if Tim didn't stalk them as often as his busy schedule allows (which turns out to be quite often). The Beta tube in the Batcave and another secret Beta tube in the bowls of Wayne enterprise's Francisco building allows Tim easy and direct access whenever he so desires.

And well, Tim never did grow out of his stalking phase.

It would be comical - if it wasn't maddening - how often they don't realise he's there. Most of the time he's stalking trailing a member of the team he's not trying to hide his presence, it wouldn't make sense for him to, not as Tim Drake.

The team have a tally board that sits in the common room, it's at 85.

85.

His team's situational awareness is absolutely appalling. 85, they've noticed him only 85 of the hundreds of times he's followed them around?

He complains to Dick about it, a lot. He's hoping Dick will give him some tips on how to beat situational awareness into his teammates thick skulls. He was the leader of the Titans, so he has to have something!

Dick - like the asshole he secretly is - just laughs at him.

He asks Cassie about it once. Why they don't find it concerning that they encounter Tim Drake: famous for being the civilian who 'beat Robin in a fight' every other week?

"I mean, You're usually right about these sorts of things, Rob. If you don't think Drakes an issue, then we trust you."

Tim can't figure out whether to feel warm and giddy at the fact that they apparently trust him, or to be annoyed at the fact that they follow after him like sheep. Not even doing their own research and recon (Cassie probably did. Kon and Bart? Yeah, hell would have a better chance at freezing over).

The first time was a coincidence. Tim had needed some space (from Bruce. From his deadlines. From his own mind...) and ended up wondering the streets of San Francisco with no real destination in mind.

An impulse turn led him onto the boardwalk and from there right to Superboy.

It was a bright and sunny day in Fran and Kon was glowing. Literally, because of the sun and figuratively from pride after he stopped a would-be pick pocket-er from pick pocketing an elderly lady.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, not when the team know of Tim Drake, know his face and all about how he hates Robin and makes it his whole personality. Not when the only thing that stops them putting Tim Drake on Baby Super villain watch is Tims general blasé attitude about, well... himself.

But is it oh, so tempting.

Especially because the month before, Kon had accidentally smashed Tim's favourite coffee mug in a series of event's (involving a yoga ball, shearing scissors, laser vision and a will from God himself) so convoluted that Tim was convinced it had been orchestrated for a solid week.

Was it a cheap mug from Kmart? Yes, but it's the principle of the matter!

As Tim’s left shoe impacts the side of Superboys face, a sense of manic glee overtakes him. Tim takes special care to seer this memory of Superboy getting hit in the head with Tim's shoe and the stupid face he makes as the ratty converse collides with his cheek, into his brain.

It's not much, but it's justice all the same for his once beloved mug.

Tim... might just be a tad sleep-deprived.

Superboy startles and lets out a frantic “Shit!” Assuming he’s being attacked by a surprise enemy (the kind that isn’t just civilians throwing shoes) he looks around, taking stock of his surroundings and looking for any immediate threats before glancing down at the shoe and visibly doing a double take.

His face is blank as he stares - undoubtably confused - at the shoe. A second later he's lifting his gaze, following the direction the show came from and staring right at Tim.

Tim, who (like an idiot) is still, for some reason, positioned how he was when he threw the shoe - arm outstretched and leg back to brace himself.

There is absolutely no way he wasn't the one who threw the shoe. If the stance didn't give it away, then him having one shoe (that shoe being a near identical ratty rad converse) probably did.

“What?” Superboy asks. He looks befuddled. A little amused, but mostly just confused. He's got a small, polite smile on his face that just reeks of Clark Kent's influence. Kon is obviously trying to model himself off of Superman - specifically Superman's polite and approachable "Grandma pinching worthy" vibe and not his fashion choices, since he's still got the leather jacket and sunglasses.

Tim makes a mental note to tell Kon that he has a really expressive face. Tim is literally reading all his emotions in 4K. They should probably work on that, it could be a liability in the field.

Tim briefly considers playing dumb and acting like it wasn’t him that threw the shoe, before dismissing that idea, Kon can be clueless at times, but he’s not a complete idiot.

So instead, he says, “that was a very open-ended question.”

And well, it was.

At the look Superboy gives him, he elaborates, “What, when said in that context, could mean literally anything! Like, ‘what was the purpose of that?’ ‘What’s your name, so I can in-prison you’ ‘What shoe size was that?’ Seriously, dude, be more specific!”

Superboy’s befuddlement takes a sudden nosedive to incredulity. “Okay, fine. Why did you throw a shoe at me?”

“Cause you work with Robin.” He says simply. He'd say 'justice' but then he'd sound like batman and like, thanks but no thanks.

“Cause I- what? You physically assaulted me with a shoe because I work on the same team as Robin?”

Tim, personally, thinks assault is a strong word to use for this situation, but he’s glad that at least some of his lessons on the proper terms and vocabulary are paying off.

He nods, cause that is indeed what he just did, he crosses his arms across his chest, and stares Superboy down.

Superboy who, looks like he’s regretting everything that led him to this moment. Tim relishes in that for just a little too long to be healthy. Probably.

Tim doesn’t really care. He told Kon (as Robin) that he’d regret breaking Tim’s favourite mug (accident or not, he's still not over it.) yeah, this might not be how either of them envisioned it, but Tim thinks this might just be better than beating Kon up as Robin in their next team training session. What better way to get someone back than to publicly humiliate them in front of all their peers? Shame he can't do that anymore.

Eh, who is he kidding? He’s still going to do that anyway.

“You’re only gonna throw one?” Superboy has a look on his face that’s similar to the one Bruce gets when he’s decided to give up and play along with the crazy. The one where he'll smile and nod, slowly inching out of the room, as Duke and Damian (There has truly never been a more terrifying duo) explain to him in vivid detail how they're going to use psychological warfare to make a shitty teacher at their school resign.

“Yes.” Why’d he throw both his shoes? He’d have no shoes!

“… Right. Why did you throw this one?”

All these questions!

“I like that one the least,” he shrugs, and it's true, the converse on his right foot has a little bi flag that Steph sewed into it back when they were dating. A throw pillow was the closest thing in reach at the time, so he sewed a little pan flag on it for her (he later did one on the breast pocket of one of her denim jackets).

“You are so freakin’ weird, dude! You throw a shoe at me! Because I work with Robin!”

Uh, yeah, we've already established that.

“How did you even get it off that fast!”

To be Honest, Tim is also surprised at how fast he was able to get his shoe off. One second he’s looking at Superboy the next he’s lobbing a shoe at his thick head.

Instead of saying any of that, Tim channels his inner Janet Drake, sticking his nose into the air and scoffing like Kon is the literal gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

Kon, - because he’s no longer Superboy, he’s too fired up to hold onto the mask - shakes his head. It’s mocking, when he says, “You must be really shitty at throwing a punch if you had to resort to throwing shoes.”

Tim shrugs, “Well, I woulda thrown a fist, but you’re not worth a fist.”

Kon is silent and doing an amazing impression of a blobfish.

Tim turns and struts away before Kon has the chance to come up with a rebuttal, or just decides to punch him in the face.

He’ll grab his shoe later, after Kon leaves.

The basted incinerated his shoe.

[cryptocism]

You think just anybody can qualify for a crush on Superboy? There's a vetting process. You have to submit an application to the board.

I continue to draw the silly bits of Frequency (this one is from Chapter 5, if context is a thing you like to have)

[thoughtkick]

Do you know what hurts most about a broken heart? Not being able to remember how you felt before.

Cassie Ainsworth, Skins

[milllersfae]

⊹⋆ ༶ ⋆❀ 18+ content ahead. minors do not react.

after 4 hours in elevenlabs later, i finished! enjoy! <3

[glitchedrabbit]

fun fact: the reference i used is an irl image of me and my friends

and yes i did beat my friend with 2 +4 wild cards… it was the best feeling in the world

[bluerosefox]

You know what.

ANOTHER DPxDC idea (as if I write prompts for anything else lol ✍(◔◡◔)

And once again, I think I might have a hyperfixation rn, another deaged Dani (Ellie) and Dan (Dante)! and Dad!Danny.

And you know what, lets make it another DannyxConner idea.

Danny is on a field trip with his class (NOT in Gotham though, LOVE Gotham but lets go with a different city) in like Central City or Metropolis (If Metropolis, Danny is SUPER excited to see the space sections they have at the museum they no doubt have, because well SUPERMAN is an alien and based in their city. If in Central City Conner is visiting Bart.)

During the trip he bumps into Conner and the two just hit it off. Conner enjoys listening to Danny rant about space and the stars and finds watching Danny's eyes light up in joy kinda cute. And if he got his new hero name Supernova from listening to Danny's rants about the stars well... no one needs to know how he got it.

Danny likes how chill Conner is and how the guy stood against Dash and the other jocks when Dash decided he wanted to mess with Danny during the trip, a rare thing nowadays but sometimes Dash does try, and how he respects/likes Danny's friends.

He didn't even say anything negative or hurtful when he found out Danny has two kids back home.

In the end the two exchange numbers, flirt hard, and maybe set up a date in the future. And then more dates. Becoming boyfriends. AND meeting the family. Conner is smitten with just out of toddlerhood Ellie and toddler Dante and adores them. And he loves how the Fentons just love him the moment he stepped into their house and was introduced as Danny's boyfriend, he made sure to bring over a pie Ma should him how to make.

Things get a bit complicated when Conner, Supernova, is at a reunion of YJ members and his phone lights up with a text message from Danny.

He's smiling with a goofy/soft look when he opens the text and see's its a picture of Danny holding a pouting toddler Dante and Ellie on his lap smiling with a notable gap in her teeth at the camera. The message he got was 'Ellie wanted you to know she finally lost her first baby tooth. Dan's been grumpier, I think he misses you.'

He is pulled out of his happy thoughts and musings when he hears Bart gasp hard and drop a bowl of snacks onto the floor. Conner turns to from the future Speedster and see's him about to have a panic attack.

Bart, Impulse, is having a freak out after catching a glimpse of the text picture Conner had gotten and being nosy wanted to know what got his friend to smile so smitten. He knew of Conner's current boyfriend and the kids Conner adores but haven't had time to be introduced to them or even see a pic.

He wasn't expecting to see the very MONSTER of his NIGHTMARES that basically destroyed the world in the FUTURE as a toddler pouting at a camera and surrounded by two smiling identical looking people either. People he never saw in the future or with HIM AND-

Oh.... OH!

Was that why he turned evil? Did something happen to his family?

[simp-for-mystery]

2 words

Protective. Team.

Give me Young justice after Tim brings back Bruce. Give me the team, minus Tim, voting and deciding the bats can't be trusted with their bird boy and just taking him.

Dick: Tim's been kidnapped!

Kon (having been waiting to start a fight): oh so NOW you care he's not in Gotham?!

Damian: Haven't seen Drake aroun-

Bart (waiting for this moment and zooming in): And you never will again if I have a say in it (does the finger point to eyes and to him before disappearing)

Jason: Has anyone seen replac-

Cassie(appearing with the lasso of truth): I will lasso you and force your deepest secrets to be public, try me.

So yeah, protective friends who got beef with the batfamily. They also maybe are gaslight gatekeep girlbossing Tim to stay out of Gotham but listen! IT'S FOR HIS OWN GOOD!

😌trust