#floating in space is something huh

[jaesblogstuff]

Not again

That one awful time you got a UTI because you didn’t pee after and it ruined both you and Simon for days...and the future.

Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s distant. Slow. Boneless and heavy and floating at the same time—like you’re made of liquid, spilled across the bed, soaking into the mattress where Simon left you.

Everything’s sensitive. Your thighs are trembling. The inside of you feels warm in a way that shouldn’t be possible—so full, so sore, still twitching from the way he held you down and ruined you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. it’s all Simon.

You might’ve fallen asleep. You’re not sure.

Then you hear him shift.

You don’t move.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble into the pillow.

He exhales slowly through his nose, amusement crackling under the surface of his voice.

“It’s been thirty.”

You groan, long and dramatic, and turn your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “You said you’d wait.”

“I did. And I have.” He leans in, mouth brushing behind your ear. “But you’ve got to get up now.”

“No, I don’t,” you mumble, lips barely moving.

“Yes,” he says, not unkindly. “You do.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to pee.”

You sigh with a full-body shudder. The last thing you want is to move. Your thighs still twitch with every shift, every reminder of how hard he’d been in you—deep and rough and mean, the kind of mean only Simon can be when he knows you like it.

And now?

Now your brain’s caught somewhere between satisfaction and irritability.

You squirm an inch and hiss at the soreness. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

He hums again. Not arguing. Not pushing. Just present.

And then you snap, just a little. Not angry, just done.

“God, why are you like this?” you bite. “You get off, and suddenly I’m a project.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, with that same frustrating calm “I get off because I wreck you, sweetheart. But I also remember what happens when you don’t move after.”

You're quiet.

“Yeah.”

You groan again. “Don’t bring it up.”

“I am bringing it up.”

He shifts beside you, moving the hair away from your damp cheek.

“You remember what happened last time.”

You do.

Unfortunately.

That time when you’d passed out immediately after sex—sore, blissed out, perfectly used—and slept the whole night through. Didn’t pee. Didn’t think to. And the next morning?

UTI. Full force.

Your insides were on fire. You couldn’t sit down without wincing. Couldn’t even have him look at you, let alone touch you.

You were grumpy. Snappy. Miserable.

He was worse.

Because not only were you suffering, but he couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t fuck you. Could barely cuddle you without getting a sharp “Don’t touch me, Simon.”

He was all but climbing the walls by day two. You'd heard him mutter “This is hell” when you snapped at him for putting the wrong tea in your mug.

And even then, he never said I told you so.

He just brought you cranberry juice and heated pads and ran you a bath and kissed your temple like he didn’t feel half-insane.

Now?

Now he’s not risking it.

“You were a nightmare,” he mutters, rubbing your lower back. “And I didn’t get to fuck you for a week.”

You roll onto your side to glare at him. “It was your fault too.”

“Exactly why I’m carrying you.”

You pout harder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“Simon—”

He sits up and leans over, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. “I'm not doing this again.”

You huff, but you don’t fight. Your limbs flop against his chest like dead weight. You nuzzle into his collarbone, still grumbling.

“You’re annoying.”

“Mm.”

“Bossy.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I still can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckles and carries you across the room, his big palms smoothing over your bare skin as he holds you close.

Once in the bathroom, he sets you on the toilet like something precious.

And instead of stepping back or giving you space, he stays.

Right in front of you.

He’s standing tall, bare chest in your face, warm hands on your shoulders—guiding you gently forward until your cheek rests against his stomach.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“And you’re soft,” he says. “All bark.”

You don’t respond.

Your body’s buzzing. Your thighs are still trembling. But when you finally relax enough to pee—

“Oh—oh my God—”

You jolt.

The pressure. The release.

Your muscles seize instantly, twitching with overstimulated nerves. It’s not just peeing. It’s like a second, slow-burning orgasm. Your body shakes with it, cunt fluttering around nothing, your legs twitching like Simon’s still inside you.

You gasp against him, trembling. It's not even about the release—it’s the aftershocks. The sudden emptiness as your muscles unclench. The way your cunt spasms around nothing as your body reacts to being let go.

Simon holds you tighter.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of his sweatpants.

His hands drop to your back.

“Easy, love. Just let it happen.”

Your knees buckle where they’re spread. You squeeze his sweatpants for balance, forehead still pressed to his stomach as you twitch through it—little pulses, flutters, everything still too much.

Your voice breaks. “Feels like—feels like I’m coming again.”

“I know.”

“Still—God, it’s still in my spine—”

You twitch again. His arms stay firm. He pets down your back, anchoring you, holding you upright as your body finishes unwinding in slow, shaking pulses.

And you do. You feel everything. His hands rubbing your back. The warmth of his chest under your cheek. The way he steadies your thighs when they jerk.

And when it’s over—when your breath evens out, and the spasm finally dies down, you just stay there. Arms weak. Legs numb. Whole body ruined.

Simon strokes your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You did perfect.”

“I’m mad at you,” you mumble, voice muffled in his skin.

“You always say that.”

“You didn’t have to go so hard.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘don’t stop.’”

You groan. “I was lying.”

“You were begging.”

You slap his thigh half-heartedly. “I hate you.” He grins and helps you stand, supporting you like your knees might give out again—which they might, honestly.

You lean on him as he cleans you up, wipes you with practiced tenderness, and carries you back to bed without another word.

Once there, he slides one of his shirts over your head, tucks you under the blanket, and stretches out beside you with one arm around your waist.

Your face is buried in his chest. His heartbeat is slow, steady, solid.

[sweetcalebb]

Caleb finds mc's smut collection PLEASE 🤤

Caleb finds your smut collection! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 3k

a/n: oh my god??? i just started writing and didn't stop. if this isn't what you wanted (i went overboard, not exactly what you envisioned, smut isn't long enough, too much smut, etc) feel free to DM me or just give another anon request! 🫶🏻 (don't be shy, i won't get butthurt)

——

"Jeez, Caleb! You're only staying the weekend. What are you carrying in here?" you huff, your face pinching with effort as you try to lift his bags.

Caleb laughs. "I told you, you don't have to help me, Pips." Before you can argue, the bags are floating out of your arms and trailing after Caleb. "I have a gravity evol for a reason."

You frown, settling with just carrying the small duffel bag that was left. "I wanna be useful."

"You're very useful." He eyes you, smiling. "You're carrying my duffel bag."

You roll your eyes and walk past him. "Yeah, okay."

You lead him to your apartment and he's making light conversation with him on the way, but you're only half-listening. Having Caleb here, in your space, is a little unnerving.

It's not that you don't want him here, he's just..—

He's just Caleb.

The guy that makes your heart beat so fast you think he might hear it if he tries hard enough. The guy that's so overwhelming you think you might drown in him if you let yourself.

You let him in and drop his stuff on the floor next to your couch where he'll sleep for the next few days.

You offered your room before he got here, but he was very adamant about taking the couch.

"I know it's not super big.. but I hope you can make yourself comfy."

Caleb tilts his head at you and squints. "I've been here already. Besides," he sinks down into the sofa, "I'm always comfy as long as you're here."

Your heart stutters. "Thank you.."

For a minute, neither of you guys speak. Just stare at each other like you're both dying to say something else, but won't.

Then you take a small breath. "Do you want something to drink?" He hasn't answered, but you're already making your way to the kitchen.

Caleb chuckles. "Sure. You're a little on edge, huh?"

You huff. "No, I'm not."

"Alrighttt."

He glances around, taking everything in like it's his first time here. It's cleaner. Cozier. Did you fix your apartment up just for him?

His eyes linger on your room.

The door is half-way open. He can't help but wonder if anything in there has changed. If anyone else has been in there.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when you gasp. “Wait—do you want the snacks I bought? I left them in my car—oh my God.”

Caleb tears his away from your door to look at you. You're all wide-eyed and smiley, like you're so proud of buying him those snacks.

So, of course, he nods, even if he doesn't want to inconvenience you. “Yeah. Of course. Want me to come with you?" He's about to stand when you shake your head.

"No! I’ll be back in like, two seconds—don’t move!” You’re already grabbing your keys and slipping on shoes, muttering under your breath about how you knew you were forgetting something.

And then the door clicks shut behind you.

Caleb smiles to himself. Cute.

The room is quiet again. His gaze drifts back toward your room. He hesitates. He shouldn't.

But... you said to make himself comfy, right?

Caleb stands up, slowly making his way over. He takes a small step in, and instantly it hits him. You.

Your whole apartment smells like you; he caught that unmistakable sweetness when he first came in, but it's stronger in your room. It's different. Softer. More lived-in.

He curiously glances around.

Your bed is made, plushies organized in a neat little row across your pillows, extra blankets folded at the edge of your bed.

Nothing is out of place.

It makes him think you wanted him to come in.

His eyes drift across the room, then they land on your bookshelf. It's lined with cute, colorful titles. But something catches his eyes and he stops.

Some look a little… suggestive.

He laughs to himself.

You wouldn't, would you? Surely, he would know if you sat in your room late at night, reading porn in print.

Caleb hesitates before stepping toward your shelf. He grabs the first book he sees and flips through the pages.

So far, so good.

Until—

Quietly, he reads the line that made him stop, "I would go to hell and back if it meant I got to..." his eyes widen as he continues, "fuck you raw again—Jesus."

Maybe it was a fluke.

Caleb gently puts it back. He knows how much your books mean to you—how you hate them to dent or fold, so he's careful.

He grabs another and flips through that one as well. And surely enough, he finds another page full of filthy lines. "A gun in your—"

Caleb has to pause.

No way.

No way this is what's sitting on your shelves looking all cute and innocent when they're anything but.

"A gun in your pussy certainly is traumatizing... but only because—Okayyy." Caleb quickly shuts the book, his head swimming.

You've pictured this stuff before. The thought hits him like a truck.

He knows he should stop now, but he can't help but grab another one. He doesn't read this one out loud. But he pictures it. Pictures you imagining this scene.

He takes a second to skim the pages, his eyes widening with each line. "The fuck?" he breathes. "He isn't even fucking her here. He's just..."

This is the stuff you like? Do you want someone to fuck your thighs like this?

When you told Caleb you read a lot, he assumed it was something like cool fantasy, maybe something with dragons or elves.

Not smut books that were a mess of highlighted lines—all of which he assumed were your favorite parts.

"Caleb?"

Caleb turns, book still open in his hand. He should close it, save you the mortification of knowing that he's read what you've pictured before. But the thought of seeing your cute face when you realize urges him to stay there, smiling.

"Hey, Pips."

You slowly walk into your room.

You're about to ask what he's doing, then you see what he's holding.

Your eyes dart to your bookshelf, like you need any more convincing that Caleb is actually reading your smut book. And there it is, the little gap between your books.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

You drop the snacks you brought back and lunge at him. "What the hell are you doing?!" you hiss, desperately trying to snatch the book back, but all you're doing is hugging his chest with one hand, while you try and fail to reach your book with the other hand.

Caleb laughs. "Hey, hey! I'm not judging. I'm just surprised."

“I swear to God, give it back—please!”

"He grunts. I gasp. The first glide of his cock between my thighs is choppy, too rough. Unlubricated."

Heat rushes to your cheeks when you hear him actually reading the filth in your book.

"Caleb!" you shriek.

But he doesn't stop. No, he keeps reading, a wild grin spreading across his face as he does. "But then his thrusts slide up, where he made me plenty wet just minutes ago. 'Jesus, you feel—'"

"Stop! Oh my god! I'm going to kill you!"

"Hey, c'mon. This is your favorite part. You highlighted it twice and put little hearts around it."

He clears his throat, and you feel everything in you curl up and die of embarrassment as he starts again, "He is fucking me. Not the way I want him to, maybe, but his head bumps on my clit on every push."

You know it's no use trying to grab your book, so you just slap his chest instead while you beg him to stop.

"I can feel the hot length of him against my folds, and it's good enough for me to beg for it."

Before he can read any more, you manage to snatch the book back. But Caleb's already seen all the things you read about. The things you think about.

You can't look at him. You immediately turn away, face burning and chest tight as you rush to your bed, shove your book in you drawer, and hide under the blankets like that might undo the last 2 minutes.

Most of your plushies bounce to the floor, but you can't bother to pick them up right now.

"You're never allowed in here again," you mutter.

Caleb softens, quietly padding over to your bed to sit down beside you. "Hey—I'm sorry. That was mean."

"Yeah," you bite out. "You're an asshole."

There's an awkward silence that makes you wish you hadn't invited Caleb over in the first place. Then, quietly, he asks, "Is... that what you're into?"

You feel your face burning hotter and you pull your sheets higher over your face. "No!" you quickly shout, even if you're not entirely sure. In theory, it all sounds nice. But actually doing it?

"It's just something I read," you defend. "It doesn't mean I would actually.."

There's another silence. You still want to die—maybe you will. But then Caleb speaks again.

"We could try it, you know? If you want."

Your stomach drops.

Was he being serious? The tips of your ears are red now and you'd cover those too if you weren't already suffocating under your blankets.

"What..?" You glance over your shoulder. Just slightly—just enough to see him. The blush on his cheeks makes you feel slightly better. It means you're not the only one who's affected.

"We could do... that if you wanted to."

You sit up, your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you—Caleb, you can't just say things like that."

Your frustration comes bubbling back up. If this was another one of his jokes, it was mean. Meaner than him reading your smut out loud.

"I'm being serious," he says.

You hesitate.

This can't be real.

You stare at him, trying to gauge whether he's messing with you or not. His eyes are dark, his hand curling into your sheets like he's trying not to reach out and touch you.

"I'd do anything you want, Pips."

Heat curls low in your stomach.

"You'd do the whole.." you clear your throat, still embarrassed, "thigh thing?"

"If it's what you wanted." Caleb's breath hitches slightly, as he leans forward. "Is it?"

You give him a weak, embarrassed nod. And that's all it takes. He crashes his lips against yours in a heated kiss. He doesn't go slow, or try to ease into it—it's all need.

You sigh, blindly nudging your blankets off and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs, your boobs. It's like he needs every inch of your body burned into his palms.

Slowly, his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.

You gasp, your hips jumping underneath him. "Wait—"

Caleb pauses. "What? Do you not want this any—"

"No!" You instinctively wrap your arms tighter around his neck. “No, that's not..— It's just.. You don't.. need to do that."

Caleb furrows his brows, and softly, you whisper, "I'm already..."

Caleb lets out a shuddering breath before leaning in to kiss you again, making easy work of your clothes. "From what? From me teasing you? Or telling you I'd do it?"

You let out a breathless whine when you felt the cool air hit your skin. "Both."

Caleb groans, gently easing back on his heels to look at you. "Fuck. You're so pretty." He runs his hands up your side, drinking in every little shudder and twitch. "I don't tell you that enough."

Your face flushes. You feel like you should thank him or compliment him back, but he's already flipping you onto your stomach.

You suddenly feel a little self-conscious. "I'm sorry if I'm not—"

"Mm-mn." He cuts you off, cupping your ass and giving it a light squeeze. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Like he has to prove it, he leans down and kisses the small of your back. It's sweet. Reverent. Then he dips lower, lips trailing over the swell of your ass.

The feeling makes you squirm, but you don't pull away.

"Understand?"

But you don't answer; your head is spinning.

He nips at the plush skin of your ass when he doesn't hear anything. "Tell me you understand. I need you to, Pips. Because if you ever think you are anything less than perfect—"

"I understand," you breathe.

Caleb rolls his tongue over the spot he bit as a small sorry. "Good." Then he pulls back again, and your heart leaps in your throat when you hear the sound of his zipper.

You wiggle nervously, burying your face in your pillow. And when you finally feel him nudge against the cleft of your ass, you nearly whine. He's so big.

You shudder, your hand curling in your sheets. "Caleb.."

"You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You nod, biting your lip when he finally slides himself between your legs. He's leaking.

He grinds once and nearly moans.

"Oh, shit." Caleb's voice breaks. "I might not last long." He bends down, gripping your hip with one hand while he braces the other near your head. "But I promise I'll make you cum."

You flutter at his promise and instinctively push your hips back, forcing him to drag himself along your heat again. The feeling makes every cell in your body scream for more.

Caleb starts slow, but small little sighs keep spilling past his lips. "Like this?" he asks, his cock rocking against you perfectly. "Hm? Is this how they did it?"

You don't even remember the book anymore, you just nod and grasp the hand that's next to your head.

"Yes," you moan into your pillow. "Yes, just like that!"

His groans fill your ears as he sets a steady pace, fucking into the space between your thighs like it's the best thing he's ever had.

Meanwhile, you're a mess. Dripping down your thighs and coating his cock every time he pushes forward. When you imagined this, you thought it would feel good, but this? This is something else entirely.

"Caleb—oh, God—" your voice stutters as your hip clumsily jerks back against his.

"Hah—! Yeah? This feel nice?" He presses his chest against your back and starts giving you quick, shallow thrusts. You think you might actually cry now from how mind-numbing the friction is.

"Oh, fuck! Please—No, no, no—Too quick!"

You try to stay still, to force your orgasm back down, but your thighs are trembling, squeezing him.

"Fuck. But it feels so good, doesn't it?"

You squirm. "Caleb! I don't want to cum yet!"

You're seconds away from losing it—you feel it, the heat coiling too tight. Too hot. And just when you think you're going to cum, Caleb wrenches himself away with a huff.

You almost let out a little cry, relief flooding your chest.

Caleb breathes shakily as he slides his hand down your waist, watching your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"You're a mess," he says, eyeing the soaked sheets and the small tremble of your hands like it's a piece of art.

"Fuck..." He slowly drags his hand down your back, his touch making you clench. "I really wanted to see you cum."

"'Mm sorry," you whisper.

Caleb shakes his head, even if you don't see it and dips his hand between your legs. "Don't say sorry. It's cute how much you don't want this to be over yet." He slides his fingers through your slicked bundle of nerves and your body twitches.

"Ah! Caleb..!"

Caleb groans in response, firmly pressing his fingers against you. "You're so sensitive." He gently wiggles his fingers, listening to the wet squelch. "If I touch you, even a little more, you're gonna cum, aren't you?"

You nod helplessly.

Caleb pauses, his fingers stilling in your wet heat just for a second. "Fuck."

He should stop. Should let you set the pace, but he can't. You feel too good. He slides his fingers in slow circles.

"I need to make you cum, pips... Let me. Please let me."

When you whine, he lets out a strained sound, like he's seconds away from breaking.

"I promise we can go again if it isn't enough, just let me feel it once."

"Okay," you murmur, your breath shaky against the fabric of your pillow.

Caleb hovers over you again the instant you give him the okay. "Fingers or cock?" he breathes, too eager to even bother with proper sentences.

"Cock," you whimper, cheeks warming at the way you say it without a second thought.

Slowly, Caleb slips between your thighs again. He bites his lip, giving you the eager, snappy thrusts you liked so much.

You're already shaking again, clinging to your sheets as he rubs that perfect little spot over and over. "Fuck—Hah—! Caleb!"

"Do it."

Your orgasm rips a sinful cry from your throat. You didn't expect it to happen so fast or for it to feel so good. And maybe, if you weren't so fucked out, you might feel embarrassed, but all you feel is bliss.

Caleb groans at the same time, thick ropes of cum shooting across your chest and stomach. He'd been holding it a while, but somehow willed himself to wait for you. So when you finally start to cry and gush on him, he can't hold back anymore.

You collapse into the mattress, sweat clinging to your body, your arousal dripping down your thighs and staining the sheets.

Caleb shakes above you, his breath fanning across your neck. His grip on your hips loosen, but he never moves his hand. He can't.

For a while, neither of you says anything.

Just lay there, completely spent.

Twitching with the aftershock of your guy's orgasms until finally, Caleb gently rolls over and pulls you with him.

You instantly melt into it, lazily snuggling into his side.

"I... I totally get why you read all that now." Your cheeks burn, but you don't say anything. Just press yourself closer. Then he continues, "We should... recreate... every scene from your books."

You purse your lips together as you shake your head. "You're not allowed to touch my books. Ever."

Caleb's head snaps toward you, hair mussed and eyes sparkling with contentment. "What?!" he pants. "But something so good just came out of that."

You glance up at him, eyes glossy and lips pulled into a soft smile. “Mmm… I'll think about it."

Caleb scoffs and tosses his head back against the pillows. "Fine… Did I at least do it right?"

You nod weakly. "That was really good."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm."

—

taglist <- go here if u want to be added <3

tags: @asiatic-apple @starryeyed-apple @exe-toby @heartyluv @halfawakeblobbu @seungkwansflower @justwinginglife @floatinginaer @walrusbreath @honeymoonfleur (i can't tag u 3 for some reason (or maybe i wrote ur names wrong and i'm being silly))

[mothtowers]

danganronpa dialogue:

"maybe the killer gave them a heart attack by writing down their name. like with a certain notebook from a certain anime."

"h-huh?"

zero escape dialogue:

"and so, mr tortoise continues to believe theres a teapot floating in space because mr hare can not definitively prove him wrong. but what if something like that... applied to the entire world?"

"like how theres no way to prove if youre wearing panties or not unless you offer definitive proof"

umineko dialogue:

[zhelin-thames]

Danny meets JL members #7

[Danny "being the little shit he is" floating around the Watchtower, minding his own business.]

[Martian Manhunter approaches, phasing through a nearby wall.]

Danny: [startles] Dude! Ever heard of knocking? Martian Manhunter: You phase through walls yourself. Danny: Yeah, but I’m the ghost kid. You’re, like… a space ghost.

Martian Manhunter: I am J’onn J’onzz, the last survivor of Mars. Danny: [grins] Sweet. I’m Danny Fenton, the half-survivor of Earth. J’onn: [pauses] That is… unusually dark for a teenager.

[J’onn and Danny comparing abilities]

Danny: Okay, so you can phase through walls, shape-shift, and read minds? J’onn: Correct. Danny: I can phase, fly, shoot ectoplasm, and scream so loud it shatters windows. J’onn: Fascinating. Danny: Wait—can you do that thing where you get really big and scary? J’onn: Do you mean this? [transforms into a massive, monstrous figure] Danny: [wide-eyed] Okay, yeah, that’s terrifying. Teach me.

J’onn: Your abilities seem to stem from ectoplasmic energy. Danny: Uh-huh. And yours come from… Martian vibes? J’onn: [calmly] We call it genetic superiority. Danny: [grinning] Fancy way of saying “alien magic.” Got it.

[Danny tries to prank J’onn]

Danny: [invisible, sneaks up behind J’onn] Boo! J’onn: [doesn’t flinch] Your ectoplasmic signature gave you away. Danny: Dang it! How’d you know? J’onn: [smiling slightly] I could hear you laughing before you phased.

[Martian Manhunter Reads Danny’s Mind (danny let him)]

J’onn: Your thoughts are… chaotic. Danny: Thanks. I try. J’onn: You also appear to be replaying a jingle about snacks in your head. Danny: [grinning] It’s a coping mechanism.

[In the Watchtower Cafeteria]

J’onn: Earth food is… peculiar. Danny: [eating a sandwich] You’re not wrong. So what do you eat? J’onn: Martian plants and thought energy. Danny: Thought energy? That sounds like something a ghost would do. Are you sure you’re not, like, half-ghost too? J’onn: [raises an eyebrow] I am not. Danny: Sure, sure. That’s what I said before I fell into a portal.

[Later, J’onn texting the Justice League Group Chat]

J’onn: The ghost child is… peculiar. The Flash: That’s just Danny. Green Lantern: Did he prank you yet? J’onn: He tried. It was… underwhelming. Danny: [joins chat] I’ll get you next time, Space Dad. J’onn: I am not your “Space Dad.” Danny: [grinning] Too late.

[flwrkid14]

Ghosts of Gotham: Tim Drake is a Halfa

Danny wasn’t exactly sure what he expected when he met Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, but “Red Hood smells like death and swamp water had a baby” definitely wasn’t on the list. The moment he stepped into the room, Danny gagged so hard he nearly fell out of the air.

“Holy Ancients,” he wheezed, covering his nose. “What in the name of all things unholy is that?”

Jason, already not thrilled about the random glowing stranger showing up, tilted his helmeted head. “What’s what?”

“That! You! You smell like—oh, man. I can’t even describe it.” Danny waved his hand in front of his face like it might help. “It’s like if ectoplasm went rancid and then you rolled in it for three days straight. Dude, do you know what’s going on with your ecto-situation?”

Jason took a threatening step forward. “You wanna say that again?”

Danny floated higher, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’ll say it again. You stink. And not just like regular stink. Like ghost stink. Like, ‘this is a health code violation, and the Ghost Zone is going to fine you’ stink. How are you even standing there right now? Anyone from Amity Park would be side-eyeing you so hard you’d feel it in your soul—what’s left of it, anyway.”

Jason stared, his body language radiating murderous intent. “You are two seconds away from eating pavement, Casper.”

Danny, unbothered, pointed at his own chest. “Excuse me, Phantom. Casper wishes he could pull this look off.”

“Phantom,” Dick interrupted, trying and failing not to laugh, “maybe we could focus on the introductions first?”

Danny gave Jason one last look of pity and floated down. “Fine, fine. But seriously, Big Red, we’re going to have to talk about that. I’ll fix it later. No need to thank me.”

Jason looked ready to commit murder, but Bruce’s glare cut him off before he could say anything.

Once the chaos settled, introductions were exchanged, and things calmed down—relatively speaking. Danny, as it turned out, was impossible to fully calm down. He buzzed around the room like he had endless energy, chatting and throwing out quips that seemed to simultaneously amuse and irritate everyone.

Then Danny’s gaze landed on Red Robin, and everything shifted.

Danny tilted his head, his glowing green eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, his usual chaos quieted, curiosity taking over. “Huh,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Tim stiffened, his body going taut as though preparing for impact.

Danny floated closer, peering at him with an unnervingly intense expression. “You’re like me.”

Tim’s heart skipped a beat, and he immediately stepped back, his movements sharp and jerky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Danny said, and his tone was too soft for the others to hear the shift in it. “You’re like me. You’re—”

Tim’s hand twitched at his side, as though debating whether to reach for something or retreat entirely. “Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice low.

Danny blinked, then realization dawned on his face. “Wait… they don’t know, do they?”

“What don’t we know?” Bruce cut in, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Danny ignored him, his gaze locked on Tim. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Tim’s eyes darted toward Danny, his frown deepening as uncertainty clouded his features. He shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides as if fighting the urge to bolt.

He took a step back, then another, his movements slow and almost imperceptible. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as though the air itself had grown heavier. The space around him seemed to shimmer faintly, a distortion that matched the anxiety rippling across his face.

Danny reached out, concern etched in his expression, but Tim flinched. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, the shimmering intensified, and with each passing second, Tim grew more translucent, his form fading like a mirage under the moon.

By the time Danny blinked, Tim was gone, leaving only a faint disturbance in the air where he had been.

The bats froze, their eyes darting around the room.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason demanded, reaching for his guns. “Where’d he go?”

“Did you do something?” Damian snapped at Danny, his hand already on his katana.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Danny held up his hands, his eyes wide with excitement. “Not me! That was all him! Holy Ancients—he can turn invisible?!” A grin split his face as he practically vibrated in place. “This is awesome! Wait—does he shoot ecto-beams too? Or, oh, what if he’s got some crazy transformation I’ve never even seen before? This just keeps getting better!”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “You need to explain. Now.”

Danny sighed, his excitement fading as realization set in. “Okay, but first, I need to go find him. Because if he’s anything like me, he’s probably freaking out right now. So… bye!”

He phased through the floor before anyone could stop him.

———

Danny found Tim perched on the edge of Wayne Industries, staring out at the Gotham skyline. He floated over cautiously, his boots touching down softly on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Danny said, his voice quiet. “Mind if I sit?”

Tim didn’t respond, but he didn’t tell him to leave either, so Danny took that as permission. He sat down cross-legged, giving Tim some space.

They stayed like that for a while, the silence heavy but not unbearable.

Finally, Danny broke it. “Okay, so… not to ruin the moment, but can we talk about how you've had to endure Jason’s ecto-stench this entire time? Because seriously, that’s gotta be a health violation. I mean, I'm half-dead, and even I think it’s concerning. Someone needs to dunk him in a pool of purified ectoplasm or something. I’m gonna file a complaint with—”

Tim laughed. It was soft and brief, but it was real.

Danny grinned, leaning back on his hands. “There it is. I knew you had a laugh in there somewhere.”

Tim sighed, his shoulders loosening slightly. “You’re… a lot,” he admitted.

“I know,” Danny said proudly. “But I grow on people. Like mold. Or fungus.”

Tim huffed another laugh, shaking his head. For a moment, the tension eased, and Danny let the silence settle again before speaking more seriously.

“Look,” Danny said, his voice softer, “I’m sorry I outed you like that. I didn’t know. And if they give you crap about it, I’ll personally make their lives miserable. But… you’re not alone in this, okay? I mean, yeah, it sucks. A lot. But you’ve got me now, because there’s no way we’re not becoming best friends now, and I get it.”

Tim looked at him, his eyes glassy but steady. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Do you really get it? I mean, you know what it’s like to…” His voice trailed off, thick with hesitation.

Danny tilted his head, his tone softer now. “Yeah. I know what it’s like.”

Tim let out a breath, shaky but determined. “I died.. a few months ago.”

Danny blinked but didn’t say anything, giving Tim space to continue.

“Harley—she caught me. Took me, actually. I was gone for weeks. They—she—handed me over to Joker. It was like a… gift. She thought it’d fix their relationship or something, I don’t know.” Tim’s voice faltered, his gaze flickering to the floor as if the memories were too much to hold. “I held out as long as I could. I kept fighting, kept trying to survive, but…”

He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Weeks of it. Beatings. Electrocutions. I don’t even remember the exact moment my heart stopped. I just… wasn’t there anymore.”

Danny stayed quiet, his face a mix of empathy and understanding.

“Harley panicked,” Tim continued, his words tumbling out like a confession. “She thought she’d gone too far, that Joker would kill her next. So she tried shocking me back. Guess she half-suceeded? I only came back halfway.” He gestured at himself vaguely, his hands trembling. “I’m not the same. I’m not… whole.”

Danny nodded slowly. "You’re stuck between," he said, offering the words with quiet reassurance.

Tim nodded, biting his lip. “Yeah. Between.” He paused, looking up at Danny. “I haven’t told anyone because… how do you tell them something like that? How do you tell your family you’re not really alive? That their search was all in vain? That I still died, even though they looked so hard for me? I can’t make them think they failed.” His voice wavered. “They were so scared when they found me…”

Danny stayed with him in the silence, his presence a steady comfort.

Tim exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “I thought I was weak. I thought if I told them what really happened, they’d think I was broken. And I didn’t want to be a burden.” He looked up at Danny. “I’m still not used to this. Not used to being… like this. I don’t even know how to control it—sometimes I phase through walls, other times I get stuck halfway. And the invisibility thing… I can’t even make it work without disappearing when I get too emotional.”

Danny’s gaze softened with understanding as he leaned in slightly, his voice steady but gentle. He hummed thoughtfully, “It’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Tim's shoulders slumped as he leaned closer to Danny, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to control it, but every time I get close, something goes wrong. And I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak or… freakish, so I kept pretending everything was fine. It was easier that way. Easier than explaining… all this.” He exhaled slowly, the exhaustion in his voice evident. “At least it was… until you showed up.”

Danny reached out, resting a hand on Tim’s arm in a quiet gesture of comfort. “I don’t think you’re a freak. You’re just different, like me. But that doesn’t make you broken. You’re still you.” He paused, meeting Tim’s gaze. “I know what it’s like.. to feel different, freakish, the whole nine yards. For what it’s worth? You're handling it a lot better than I did.”

Tim gave him a tight smile, the first real one in a while. “Thanks. It helps. More than you know.”

———

When they returned to the Batcave, Tim sat down with the others, Danny sticking close by his side. Tim took a deep breath and told them everything—about being captured by Harley, the weeks of torture at the Joker’s hands, the electrocutions that had stopped his heart. About how Harley had panicked and shocked him back to life, halfway. How he wasn’t entirely human anymore.

The family listened, their expressions ranging from horror to guilt to anger. Jason looked ready to kill someone, and Bruce’s usually stoic face betrayed a crack of regret. Tim hesitated as he explained why he hadn’t told them sooner, his voice faltering but honest.

Tim’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I didn’t want you to think you failed… that you searched for me for nothing,"

Danny stayed quiet but stayed close, resting a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “For the record,” he said, glaring at the others, “if any of you give him crap about this, you’re gonna have to deal with me. And trust me, I will make your lives miserable.”

Tim gave him a small, grateful smile. For the first time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

[http-shield]

Bucky is high-key appalled by the lack of chivalry and politeness exhibited by the men of the twenty first century. Can't fathom that men ignore women on the train or bus who need seats, that doors aren't being opened for women, seats aren't being pulled out, space isn't made for women as they pass packs of men on the sidewalk. There are many things in this new age world that Bucky can't wrap his head around, but the disregard for women is something he'll never understand, so he opens doors for ladies if they are both going in the same building, vacates seats when there is a woman around in need of space. He can't help it, having grown up in a world entirely different to the one he is now. It is second nature and comes as quickly as breathing, but it stuns you a little the first time you get treated like that. You swoon at the fact Bucky holds the door for you, lets you pass before him, makes sure you walk on the safer side of the pavement, holds your hand when you cross the road, makes sure you get the food and drinks first, offers to drive and pay for date nights, the list is endless. Still, for once in your adult dating life, you don't question the sincerity of his words as they are backed up by actions.

"Did something happen to men while I was gone?" Bucky's confused voice floats down the hall of your apartment as he strides in, kicking his shoes off and placing them neatly on the rack by the bathroom door.

"What do you mean?" You look up from your spot on the couch, laptop sitting on your raised legs. "Like, did they go extinct and come back?"

Bucky reaches the living room and shucks off his jacket and gloves to hang over the chair before coming to the couch and plopping beside you. A soft kiss is pressed to your cheek, stubble grazing your skin as he mumbles a greeting before settling into the plush sofa.

"I mean, did they lose all manners?" he shakes his head in disbelief, hands splaying out in frustrated emphasis. "Do men not open doors for women? Or move out of the way for them on the side walk?"

You close the laptop and stow it away on the small shelf of the coffee table, no longer focusing on the information packets Tony had sent you early this morning.

"What happened?" You ask, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, enjoying how he melts into your touch.

"I just watched a bucnh'a men in suits practically push a woman out of the way to get through the door." he sighs, clearly exasperated at the lack of respect for other humans. "And then they didn't even hold the door for her! They just let it swing closed. How do they act on dates? I doubt they pay."

You hum, letting his rant continue.

"And I was on the line."

"Online." you correct gently, spiking his hair up with your fingers, the shorter strands finally obeying you.

"I was online," he rectifies. "and I saw this video of a woman talking about a man getting angry that she wasn't gonna go home with him after the first date."

"Please tell me that never happened to you." His attention shifts to you now, genuine distress simmering in his blue eyes, and when you don't answer, he becomes distraught.

"Doll, no," Bucky shakes his head as if you confessed to the murder of his beloved stuffed animal. "Come on, you gotta be joking."

"It was years ago! I was young and stupid and didn't know my worth." You shrug, obviously not as upset as your counterpart. “I've learnt my lesson. I know I am worth at least two dinners now." The joke falls flat as Bucky stares, not amused.

"It's a joke, Buck."

"I know, but I don't like it." He grumbles, folding his arms across his chest like a child. "Don't like that you were treated like that."

"Well, good thing I've got you now, huh?" you abandon his hair, stroking the back of your fingers over his stubbly cheek.

Bucky pouts. "Still don't like it. You deserved better."

You kiss his cheek, feeling his cheeks round as he smiles. "You're too good to me, Mr. Barnes." another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Even if we did sleep together on the first date."

"Hey! That wasn't the same. We knew each other before that." Bucky protests as you stand from the couch, walking to the kitchen to start on dinner. "At least I paid!"

[kwilquib]

Red String: Tangled

Word Count 4.6k

Liz - I’ve (🐈‍⬛) x Yeji - Itzy (🐈) x MReader 📖

a/n: i was going to post this after the part 4 of promised 9, but it might take a while so i decided to post this one first instead.

The coffee table was already a battlefield of indulgence—half-eaten strawberries bled onto napkins, the rim of a cake sagged from being sliced unevenly, and the growing graveyard of empty bottles clinked whenever someone shifted. Warm, golden light from a lone floor lamp softened the chaos, casting shadows that swayed gently across the walls.

You were sunk deep into the couch, the alcohol dulling your senses into something languid and warm. Liz, draped against your side like a sleepy cat, had long stopped sipping her wine and started murmuring nonsense into your shoulder. Her fingers loosely hooked around your arm, her hair tickling your jaw with her every breath.

On the floor, back resting against the couch, Yeji nursed the last of her only bottle for the night, as she stared at the flickering candlelight.

“Shall we call it a night?” you asked low.

Yeji looked up at you, then sideways at Liz nestled against you. A short scoff escaped her lips, sharp but not exactly hostile.

You shifted carefully, slowly prying your arm free from Liz’s hold. She mumbles a trifling protest in her sleep but doesn't wake as you lay her down gently across the couch, sliding a pillow to rest her head.

“She didn’t last,” she muttered, with just enough bite for her meaning to latch.

You smirked despite yourself. The tension between them was unspoken but undeniable—at least on Yeji’s part. Liz floated through the days with effortless charm, never rising to Yeji’s jabs, while Yeji simmered, her competitive nature flaring in little comments, lingering glances, subtle one-ups.

“She had more than you,” you said, lightly teasing. “You were sneaking her your shots.”

Yeji raised her chin defiantly. “Not my fault she’s that susceptible.”

“She’s gonna be hungover and dramatic tomorrow.”

“She’s always dramatic.”

Chuckling for a moment, and the silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just… quiet. Safe. The night had dulled at the edges, the candle’s aroma roamed the space, soft and warm, the alcohol warming your veins. But Yeji’s gaze lingered now—longer, steadier. You noticed.

“So…” you started, tilting your head toward her. “You really don’t like losing to her, huh?”

Yeji didn’t answer immediately. She stepped closer. Then another step. Before you realized it, she was standing directly in front of you, her expression unreadable, but her eyes holding yours without flinching.

“You’re always trying to one-up her,” you said, gentler this time. “Like you’re in some kind of race.”

“I’m not competing,” she shot back, voice tight.

You didn’t push. Just looked at her.

Her glare wavered, and something behind it faltered.

A sigh, then she dropped down to sit in front of you, settling between your legs, her arms resting casually across your knees. “I just… this was different to what I expected when I signed up for the program.”

“How different?”

“I’m not gonna tell you—” She hesitated, then smirked faintly. “How about you go first?”

“Oh wow,” you said, grinning. “Curling it back to me. Real smooth.”

You leaned back into the couch.

“Where do I start? Shitty life, barely surviving, scraping by. Then I heard about the program—matchmaking, state incentives, guaranteed housing, government support if you start a family. Sounded like a dream. A new life handed to you on a silver platter.”

Yeji listened quietly, eyes on your face.

“I didn’t have the luxury to dream about love or family,” you went on. “But if some algorithm could give me a guaranteed match? Sure. Seemed easier to believe in data than in people.”

“The Red String Algorithm,” Yeji said, her voice quiet but undeniably proud. “It extracts every meaningful signal from your history—psych profiles, communication patterns, even the way you process conflict—and uses it to find a true match. Ninety-nine point six percent success rate.”

You snorted. “Right, sorry—Miss Researcher.”

She shot you a look. “You’re living with one of its core developers. You should at least remember the name.”

There was a pause. Her tone softened.

“I always knew the algorithm could work. I just didn’t expect it would… work on me.”

You glanced at her. “It saved my ass, I’ll admit that. But if I’d known back then we’d be matched as a trio instead of a pair…”

You trailed off.

“Then…?” Yeji prompted, cautious.

“Are you saying you regret it?”

“No.” You answered quickly. “Definitely not. Just… it caught me off guard. That’s all. But one thing’s for sure—I’d never go back to before this.”

A silence settled. Not heavy. Just thoughtful.

“…Well,” you said, nudging her lightly. “Your turn. Remember?”

“Same as you.”

“Wow, I feel cheated.”

“Okay, not exactly the same,” she relented. “But I also joined because it made sense. When I applied, they told me my research would get priority status—more funding, less red tape. I didn’t have time to date. The idea of some system finding me a perfect match felt like… a neat solution. Just another algorithm doing its job.”

She gave a short, dry laugh. “And the benefits weren’t bad either.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just waited.

“I thought I knew exactly what I was signing up for,” she said, voice softer now. “I prepared for everything—sharing space, building habits, managing intimacy like a checklist. But the system knew better.”

Her gaze flicked up to you.

“I didn’t expect… you. Her. Us.”

Your breath caught slightly. There was something flickering in her eyes—uncertainty dressed in composure, like she wasn’t quite sure how much to reveal.

You were about to respond when a soft groan broke the moment.

Liz.

She stirred beside you, shifting slightly, her arm flopping over the couch’s edge.

Both you and Yeji turned to look.

“She’s gonna whine tomorrow,” you said, chuckling under your breath.

Yeji tilted her head. “Assuming she waits till morning.”

a small chuckle.

You smiled, the last threads of laughter still lingering in your chest, and without thinking, you leaned forward—closer to Yeji, who was still sitting on the floor between your knees.

Your arm brushed against her shoulder.

She didn't flinch. If anything, she tilted her head slightly, as if encouraging the contact.

Your laughter faded, leaving behind a sudden, charged silence.

Yeji shifted, angling her body to face you more fully. Her hands came up, resting lightly on your thighs—steadier than her breathing.

Her voice dropped, low and coaxing.

“We still have tonight.”

The weight of her words sank deep into you.

Your breath hitched.

The distance between you was barely anything now, measured only in heartbeats. Her thumbs brushed slow, thoughtless circles against your legs, a touch so featherlight it made you hyper aware of every nerve ending.

“Yeji—” you began, but it came out rough, unsteady.

She smiled—small, almost mischievous—and leaned in.

Close enough that her breath fanned against your mouth.

Close enough that you could count the tiny flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

“You’re drunk,” you whispered.

“Weak excuse,” she murmured, brushing her lips against yours. “You know I’m not.”

Her lips brushed yours, soft, almost there, a ghost of a kiss that left you aching for more.

“We can’t do this.”

“We’re married—on paper,” she replied between kisses. “This is exactly what we’re supposed to do.”

“I mean not now—not here.”

A soft groan broke the moment—Liz, stirring restlessly on the couch.

You both turned to look at her, your hearts tripping over themselves.

But when you looked back, Yeji was already watching you again, emboldened by the interrupted moment.

“Liz is here—”

“You're picking favorites?” with her voice low, almost a warning.

“What? No—”

She kissed you again, firmer this time, her hands sliding a little higher along your thighs, anchoring herself to you.

You should stop this. You knew you should.

But when her tongue teased at your bottom lip, asking—no, daring—you to let her in, your resistance cracked completely.

You kissed her back.

Yeji shifted—settling back down to her knees, now between your legs. Her palms slid smoothly over your thighs, grounding you in the moment as her eyes locked with yours.

The warmth of her hands seemingly seeping through the fabric. Her thumbs brushed a small, absent circle through the fabric. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but words dissolved in your throat when her fingers moved to your waistband. Slow. Testing.

“Yeji…” a futile warning, knowing it's not you who’s in control.

She glanced up, lips parted, eyes locked. “If you want me to stop, say it.”

Your silence was her permission.

A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips as her fingers undid the button, then the zipper—slow, methodical—and peeled your pants away with a patience that only made it worse.

And better.

Your breath caught in your throat as the cool air hit you, the warmth of her hand came after—then the heat of her mouth.

She widened her mouth, opening to welcome you deeper, her head bobbing with growing urgency. Wet sounds filled the room—the slick slide of her lips, the soft, breathy gags as you hit the back of her throat, the faint brush of her hair against your stomach as she leaned in harder, more desperate.

It was overwhelming—too much, too good.

And maybe that was why, somewhere in the fog of pleasure, a sharp thread of worry slipped through.

Your chest tightened. You turned instinctively to your side, the sudden need to check, to make sure—

“Fuck. Yeji!” You shoved her mouth off your cock, not far, not harsh, just enough to break the seal of her lips—just enough to expose her slick grin and the spit-slick strand still connecting her tongue to your tip.

Liz.

She was awake.

Hands covered her face like she was trying to deny what she was seeing—yet her fingers parted just enough for you to catch her eyes, wide and shimmering, veiling its shame. Caught between wanting to watch and wanting to flee, flushed.

“Liz, it’s not—” you stammered, cock still wet, still hard, still twitching under the ghost of Yeji’s mouth.

“For someone touchy, you’re surprisingly shy.” Yeji cuts in before you could reason.

“It’s normal to be shy in situations like this!” Liz croaked, voice cracking mid-protest, eyes locked on you as if she was calling for you to be on her side.

Yeji only laughed softly, the sound dripping with knowing amusement. “Is it also normal to be shy when it’s just you two, too?”

Your mouth opened—but nothing came out. Words tangled in your throat, hot and useless. “How—”

“The walls are thin, you know,” Yeji said, voice lazy, almost indulgent. Then she glanced at Liz—deliberate, slow. “Plus, you’re awfully loud.”

A tiny sound escaped Liz behind her hands—a muffled whimper, not fear, not disgust. Something else. Excitement, tangled with shame, twisting hot and helpless in her gut.

Yeji stretched her arms languidly behind her, a cat waking from a satisfied nap, then leaned in, voice sultry and slow. “Well,” she said, her gaze locking onto Liz’s, “are you just going to stare?”

“Yeji—” you warned, already knowing it was too late.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, all liquid confidence, and purred, “Maybe you should head back to your room, little voyeur.”

The words wrapped around Liz like smoke—seductive, heavy, inescapable. But Liz didn’t move.

“I—I’m not going to leave,” Liz stammered, voice so small it barely reached across the couch. But it did. Every syllable landed like a drop of oil on fire.

Her eyes narrowed, gleamed like a predator’s in low light—sharp, cutting, approving. She sat back on her heels, head tilting slightly as if appraising Liz under new light. Her hand didn’t leave your cock. She held it steady, fingers curled at the base, glistening with spit, the exposed length twitching under her grip.

“Cute,” she finally said, slow and velvety. “Come here, then.”

Liz hesitated only a heartbeat before leaving her hoodie on the couch. Shoulders bare. Tank top clinging to soft curves. No bra. Her nipples pressed like little beads against the fabric, hard from watching. From wanting. From finally deciding.

.Yeji watched her approach without blinking.

You sat frozen between them—cock soaked, heart pounding, thighs trembling from restraint.

Liz knelt beside Yeji, movements quiet, cautious, like she was stepping into a hot bath—both terrified and aching to be swallowed.

“Ever done this?” Yeji asked, without malice, just curiosity sharpened by thrill.

Liz shook her head, biting her lip, cheeks blooming red. “No… not like this.”

“Oh princess.” Yeji’s smirk deepened. “Follow my lead.”

And just like that, Liz lowered herself.

Her hand reached first—tentative, warm fingers brushing your shaft like you might disappear. Her touch was featherlight, reverent, like she was holding something sacred. Yeji guided her, sliding her hand on top of Liz’s, the contrast striking—Yeji’s grip firm, Liz’s trembling.

You groaned.

Yeji started stroking again, this time with Liz’s hand moving under hers, both palms working you together, one bold and commanding, the other shy and curious. Flesh slid slick and smooth under their hands, your hips twitching against the sensation of two women touching you at once.

“Go on,” Yeji said, voice a breath against your thigh now. “Try it.”

Liz leaned in.

Her lips parted just slightly, tongue flicking out like she was testing temperature. She kissed your tip, soft, barely there, then pulled back with wide eyes.

Yeji’s hand never stopped moving.

“Again,” Yeji coaxed. “Open wider. No teeth.”

Liz nodded. Obedient. Blushing.

She leaned in again and wrapped her lips around your head, warm and wet and cautious. She sucked gently, cheeks hollowing slightly, dimple flashing as she bobbed forward—then pulled back, letting your cock pop wetly from her mouth.

You gasped.

Yeji growled, something primal. “Not bad.”

Then she dove in again.

Her mouth engulfed your length beside Liz’s, taking more, taking deeper, her tongue a skilled, relentless force. Liz followed with wide eyes, licking the side of your shaft Yeji wasn’t occupying, kissing the base, moaning softly every time she tasted you.

Their mouths moved in tandem. Yeji’s deep and possessive, Liz’s light and fluttering.

You were being devoured.

“Fuck—shit, girls—ah—” Your voice shattered, your thighs spread wider, hips rolling into their mouths, body caught between Yeji’s dominance and Liz’s eager submission.

Yeji sucked harder. Her eyes snapped up, locking with yours. Commanding.

Liz’s tongue curled around your base, her hand cupping your balls, soft fingers trembling with effort and excitement. Her lips were pink and swollen now, a line of drool running down her chin as she moaned against your skin.

Yeji pulled back and let a long string of spit fall from her tongue to your cock, coating it more. “Good girl,” she muttered to Liz, then slapped her ass gently. “But don’t just play. Take him. Like this.”

She shoved her mouth down again—deeper, fiercer, throat clenching around you as she gagged slightly, then pulled back with a slurp, gasping. “That’s how you suck cock.”

Liz’s eyes sparkled, wet and wide. She swallowed nervously. Then she tried again, this time deeper, more committed.

You could barely hold on.

“God, you’re both—fuck—” you groaned, voice barely there, one hand buried in Yeji’s hair, the other tangled in Liz’s.

They licked you like it was a competition. A dance. Heat and wetness and rhythm. Yeji guiding Liz, licking the underside while Liz took your tip, her lips wrapped around it so gently you thought you might lose it. Then they’d trade—Yeji taking you all the way, Liz licking what she couldn’t reach. Spit soaked your thighs. Their mouths met at your base, licking each other’s tongues, sharing the taste of you.

You were shaking.

Yeji grinned against your cock. “Cum for us,” she whispered.

Liz whimpered. “Please…”

Your breath caught—lungs seized like a misfiring engine, every nerve in your body tightening to a razor’s edge. Their mouths moved in perfect sync now, wet, rhythmic, obscene. Yeji’s tongue flicked just beneath the head as Liz suckled the tip, cheeks drawn in with hunger and awe. You could barely tell whose hand was whose—soft skin wrapped around your shaft, stroking in tandem, squeezing you up toward the inevitable.

“F-Fuck, I’m—” The words barely left your lips before your hips bucked, spine arching off the couch.

Yeji pulled Liz back at the last moment, hand gripping the base tight, lips parting as your cock erupted.

Hot, thick spurts of cum painted Yeji’s tongue, her mouth, her throat. She moaned, her eyes rolling slightly, lashes fluttering, her throat working as she swallowed it down. But not all of it.

She didn’t swallow it all.

She held some—warm, white, thick—pooling on her tongue like a decadent gift.

“Ahhn…” she exhaled, eyes flicking to Liz. Still kneeling. Still flushed. Still trembling from watching you explode.

Yeji grabbed her by the jaw.

Firm but not cruel. Her fingers pressed into Liz’s cheeks, and Liz gasped as Yeji leaned in—mouth open, cum heavy inside—and kissed her.

No time for hesitation.

Their lips met in a sticky, messy, desperate kiss. Yeji pushed it into her. Tongue sliding in, sharing the load. The mix of slick spit and seed spilling from one mouth to the other in thick, slow dribbles.

Liz’s eyes went wide—but she didn’t pull away.

She moaned.

Yeji groaned back, fingers now buried in Liz’s hair as she deepened the kiss, mouths locked, tongues swirling, swapping the taste of you like something sacred and filthy all at once.

You watched, dazed, cock twitching even in its aftershock.

Yeji pulled away finally, a thin strand of cum still stretching between their lips, shining in the low light.

Liz swallowed.

Hard.

She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, then smiled at you—shy, glowing, a little breathless, dimple showing even now.

Yeji licked her lips. “Now that,” she said, voice hoarse with triumph, “is how you share.”

Liz giggled—sweet, almost innocent—but her thighs were pressed tight together, her chest rising fast.

Yeji turned to you again, stroking your thigh lazily. “Bedroom?” she whispered, licking the last drop off her thumb.

Your cock twitched.

You weren’t done. Neither were they.

They stood, both of them still licking their lips—one smug, the other dazed—while you slumped back against the couch, cock twitching from oversensitivity, slick with their spit, your legs weak with afterglow. But for Yeji, for them it had just started.

She grabbed your hand. “Come. Now.”

Yeji stood first. Confident. Graceful. She rose like sin personified, the wet gleam on her lips catching the low light. Then she turned, reached out, and grabbed your wrist. “Bedroom,” she said, no room for argument in her tone. She was already moving, pulling you off the couch with Liz scrambling up after, nervous but burning with adrenaline, her thighs rubbing as she followed you both down the dim hallway.

Your room was barely lit—warm shadows, rumpled sheets, faint perfume in the air—but it didn’t matter.

Yeji pushed the door shut behind you with her foot and turned to Liz.

“Well?” she asked, voice low, like a dare wrapped in silk. “You’ve been watching. Want to feel it now?”

Liz hesitated, biting her lip again. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Yeji smirked. “Clothes off. On the bed.”

Liz obeyed. Her tank top peeled up over her head, revealing soft, pale skin and pert breasts tipped with flushed pink. She shimmied her shorts and panties down together, stepping out with one leg at a time, her movements hesitant but fluid, like a dream she wasn’t sure she was awake for.

She lay back, legs closing instinctively. Yeji clicked her tongue.

“Open,” she said, climbing onto the bed beside her. “Don’t hide now.”

Liz parted her legs, slowly, her pussy glistening already, folds pink and puffy with anticipation. She covered her face for a second with one hand, but peeked through her fingers just like before—watching you.

You were already hard again.

Yeji crooked her finger at you. “Come here,” she said. “She’s ready.”

You crawled up between Liz’s spread legs, your cock bobbing, already aching again from the scene you’d just watched unfold. Yeji knelt beside her, hand sliding up Liz’s inner thigh, spreading her gently, two fingers brushing over her slick entrance.

“She’s soaked,” she said, glancing at you with heat. “Give it to her slow.”

You nodded, guiding yourself to Liz’s entrance, the heat of her making you groan before you even pushed in. The first inch was heaven. Wet, tight, squeezing you like she’d been made for it.

Liz gasped, her back arching, hand flying to your arm. “Oh my god…”

You went deeper, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around you. She was snug, fluttering around your cock like her body was shocked by how full she felt. Her eyes fluttered, mouth parting in a moan she tried to swallow.

Yeji leaned in, kissed her neck. “Breathe. Let him in.”

You bottomed out with a grunt, hips pressing flush against her, Liz’s breath catching in her throat as her nails dug into your shoulder. You held still, letting her adjust, your cock twitching inside her walls.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” you whispered.

Liz whimpered.

Yeji’s hand slid over her breast, pinching a nipple, making her buck slightly beneath you.

“Move,” Yeji ordered you. “Let her feel it.”

You started to thrust—slow, deliberate strokes, dragging along her slick walls. Liz moaned louder now, hips rising to meet yours, the tension melting from her limbs as pleasure took its place.

Yeji watched you both, her hand dipping between Liz’s thighs, fingers finding the little pearl at the top of her slit. She rubbed it in slow circles, matching your thrusts.

Liz cried out—short, breathless sounds that only made you pound harder.

“You like that?” Yeji purred into Liz’s ear. “You like being fucked while I touch you?”

Liz nodded frantically, eyes glassy, mouth falling open in a silent moan as her legs locked tighter around your waist.

Yeji leaned in, kissed her—slow and deep—her fingers still working between Liz’s thighs, circling faster now. Then she pulled back, lips slick, eyes glowing, and turned her gaze on you.

There was a glint in them—mischievous, luring. She leaned closer to you, a breath’s warmth brushing your lips just before she claimed them in a kiss.

It was deep. Hungry. Her mouth molded to yours, tongue sliding against yours with deliberate control, a slow burn of desire made real. Her fingers curled into your shoulder to steady herself as her body pressed against yours.

Your hand, once gripping her thigh, faltered—drifting upward instead to cup her jaw. You kissed her harder, pulling her in, drowning yourself in the heat of her mouth.

Everything else blurred—until Liz moved beneath you.

A soft whimper broke through, her hips rolling upward again, slick heat clenching around you, desperate for motion. She hadn’t stopped.

Your eyes cracked open as Yeji pulled back just enough to see.

She followed your glance. Saw Liz writhing below, breathless, impatient.

A smirk bloomed across her face. “Faster,” Yeji murmured, voice like silk catching flame. “She can take it.”

You obeyed. Your hips slapped against her thighs, your cock plunging deeper with every thrust. Liz was gasping, writhing, caught between your rhythm and Yeji’s touch. Her body trembled under the intensity, and her eyes locked with yours—wide, pleading, filled with wild pleasure.

“Y-Yes, fuck—ahh, please—” Liz sobbed, her back arching, body clenching around you so tight it stole your breath.

“She’s close,” Yeji said, licking her fingers before sliding them back down. “Don’t pull out.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you growled.

You drove into her harder, faster, relentless now. Her wet heat clung to you with every stroke, and the sound of skin slapping, Liz’s cries, and Yeji’s breathy moans filled the room like music.

Liz shook, her thighs trembling, hands clawing at the sheets. Her pussy squeezed around your cock like a vice, milking you as her orgasm crested.

“Cumming—oh god—fucking—!” she screamed, her whole body snapping taut beneath you as she came, walls fluttering and pulsing.

Yeji didn’t stop touching her. She kept rubbing, helping her ride the wave while watching your face.

You weren’t going to last.

Not with Liz gripping you like this, still spasming, not with Yeji’s eyes on you like she owned you.

You buried yourself as deep as you could, every muscle tensing, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—!”

And then you were spilling inside her.

Thick, hot pulses of cum shot into her womb, and she gasped as she felt it, body still twitching around you, milking every last drop. Your hips jerked with each burst, and Yeji moaned softly, her hand slipping down to press lightly against Liz’s belly as if she could feel your cum filling her from the outside.

“Good boy,” she whispered, eyes dark and satisfied. “Fucking bred her good, didn’t you?”

You collapsed forward, panting, still buried in Liz’s quivering body, her pussy sucking on your softening cock like it didn’t want to let go.

And Yeji?

She wasn’t done.

Yeji shifted atop you, still catching her breath, your cum dripping from her slowly with every subtle movement of her hips. Her fingers pressed into your chest as she sat upright again, grinding once more just to feel it—feel you still inside her, thick and twitching, softening slightly but not quite done.

She clenched.

Hard.

Your body jolted under her.

“Still got more in you,” she whispered, her voice low, husky, coaxing. “I want mine.”

She leaned forward, bracing herself on your chest, rolling her hips with practiced control. Slow, deliberate circles that pulled sounds from you like wringing a soaked cloth. Your hands gripped her thighs, slick with sweat, watching her move like liquid heat above you—hair plastered to her face, eyes locked on yours with fire and intent.

Liz stirred beside you, still flushed, her fingers resting at her slick entrance, too tender to touch but too affected to stop watching. Her gaze flicked between your face and the way Yeji rode you, her lips parted in silent awe.

Yeji slammed down again. And again.

You choked on a breath, overstimulated but captivated, your cock responding to her no matter how raw you felt. She twisted her hips on each downward thrust, her pussy still impossibly tight, her insides sucking you deeper, using your last reserves.

She moaned—deep and feral, each sound dragging from her throat like a battle cry and a prayer at once.

“I want it,” she said again, breathless. “All of it.”

You couldn’t stop if you tried.

Your nails dug into her ass as you started thrusting up into her, meeting her pace, driving harder, faster, the slap of skin echoing through the room. Yeji's back arched, hands splayed against your chest as her body began to quake. She was close—so close you could feel it in the way her walls fluttered, clamped.

“Right there,” she hissed. “Fucking—yes—don’t stop—”

You slammed into her.

Once. Twice. Deep.

And you broke.

Hot cum burst inside her again, thicker this time, pressure building in a final desperate wave. Yeji screamed—actual screamed—her orgasm snapping through her like a whip, her body locking up as her pussy milked your cock for everything. Her head tossed back, spine a perfect bow, mouth open wide as she came hard, spilling over you.

You pulsed inside her, filling her again, until she collapsed forward, full, dripping, her breath hot against your throat.

“Fuck…” she whispered, barely audible.

Your arms wrapped around her without thinking. Liz curled tighter into your side, her fingers lacing with yours. Yeji lay across your chest, one hand resting on Liz’s hip, all three of you tangled, sweating, sticky and still twitching from the echoes.

The room smelled of sex—thick, raw, heady.

None of you moved.

Yeji shifted once, just enough to sigh, cum seeping from her slowly, spreading warmth between your thighs.

Liz murmured something soft, a barely-there breath of contentment, her head tucked into the crook of your neck.

You could feel the last of your strength ebbing away, your muscles too relaxed to hold anything but this—this perfect, fucked-out stillness. A puddle of limbs, moans fading, breath evening out.

The dark wrapped around you all.

And then sleep took you.

A/n: Part of Woolly's prompt event!

[prettygirl-gabi]

Mornings Like This

Pairing: Mom!Paige Bueckers x Mom!Reader

Fandom: WNBA- Dallas Wings

Summary: Kids surprise you and Paige with breakfast-in-bed on Mother’s Day.

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @iwasbored-okay

There’s a soft rustle at the edge of the bed, the kind that usually jolts me awake when one of the kids is up past bedtime—or when Hunter has to pee and refuses to go unless someone “guards the hallway.”

But this time, I’m floating in that syrupy space between sleep and wake, warm under the comforter with Paige tucked behind me, one arm draped loosely across my waist, her breathing steady and slow against the back of my neck.

It smells like syrup.

Wait.

Syrup?

“Shhh!” a tiny voice stage-whispers. “You’re gonna spill the juice, Hunt!”

“I’m not!” Hunter whispers back with all the volume of a mini bulldozer.

I peek one eye open just in time to catch two little heads ducking behind the edge of our bed—one with curly brown hair bouncing with every move, the other with a floppy pajama hood that’s half falling off his head.

Everlynn and Hunter.

Of course.

“Mama’s moving!” Hunter hisses.

I close my eyes quickly and fight the smile creeping up my face. A few seconds later, the mattress dips slightly at the end. Someone climbs up.

“I’ll put the tray on the blanket, okay? You give Mama the card, and I’ll do Mommy’s.” That’s Everlynn. She’s got the bossy, big-sister energy on lock.

I feel a small hand press something against my arm.

The smell of pancakes is stronger now.

“Okay,” Hunter whispers proudly, “one… two… three…”

“MOMMY! MAMA!” both of them shout at once, and Paige practically jolts up behind me, nearly smacking foreheads with me in the process.

“What the—?” she mumbles, eyes squinting open. Then her whole face softens as she takes in the sight at the foot of the bed.

Two kids beaming.

A very wobbly tray holding two pancakes shaped—sort of—like hearts.

A mug that says Best Moms Ever, clearly a DIY job with paint smudges. And two handmade cards written in glitter glue and magic marker.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” they yell again, louder this time.

Paige lets out a sleepy laugh, hand going to her heart. “No way you guys did all this on your own.”

“We had help,” Everlynn says proudly, puffing her chest a little. “Titi Azzi and Titi Caroline came super early and snuck in the back door. We made breakfast and cleaned and—”

“I cut the bananas!” Hunter interrupts, clearly his proudest contribution.

“You did,” Azzi’s voice floats in from the hallway, and a second later, she’s peeking into the room with a big smile and an iPhone in hand, clearly ready to document the whole thing.

“Titi’s babies made a whole breakfast operation this morning.”

Caroline follows her in, holding a juice box and sipping it like a mimosa. “I was the sous chef-slash-chaos manager. But it was all their idea.”

I sit up slowly, still half-swaddled in Paige’s arms, my voice thick with emotion. “You guys… really did this for us?”

Everlynn nods solemnly. “Because you’re the best mommies in the world.”

Hunter climbs into Paige’s lap like it’s his designated throne, snuggling into her chest.

“And because we love you. And we made you pancakes shaped like love.”

Paige laughs into his hair. “Shaped like love, huh?”

“They’re a little… creative,” Caroline says delicately, eyeing the tray.

“Hey, at least the kitchen is still standing,” Azzi teases, slipping around to the far side of the bed.

She sets down her phone and tucks her legs under her. “Can we stay while you open your cards? The kids are really proud.”

“Of course,” I say, reaching for the glittery construction paper.

Mine has my name written across it in huge bubble letters: MAMA Y/N. The inside is filled with little hearts, a stick-figure drawing of me holding hands with both kids, and a poem that makes my throat close up.

Roses are red, pancakes are sweet,

You’re the best mama and can’t be beat!

You read me stories and braid my hair,

And snuggle with me in the rocking chair.

Love, Everlynn & Hunter (but mostly me, I wrote it)

I laugh, wiping my eyes as I look at them. “This is… this is beautiful.”

“You didn’t even get to the glitter stickers,” Everlynn says, pointing. “Look at the unicorn! That’s you.”

“Unicorn?” I tilt my head.

“Because you’re magical!” she says, like it’s obvious.

Paige opens hers next.

Her card is covered in basketballs and smiley faces, with a big HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY MOMMY scrawled across the top. Inside is a drawing of her dunking a ball—with a superhero cape on.

“I made you Super Mommy,” Hunter explains. “Because you play basketball and save people.”

Azzi nudges him. “Like a real-life hero, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods proudly, curling deeper into Paige’s arms.

Paige’s voice cracks a little when she says, “Best card I’ve ever gotten, buddy.”

“Can we eat the pancakes now?” Everlyee asks, practically bouncing.

“Only if you sit up here and eat with us,” I say, holding out an arm.

She scrambles in beside me and rests her head on my shoulder.

Azzi and Caroline start divvying up the plates, handing us all pieces of the slightly lumpy but delicious-smelling pancakes.

Caroline slips me a bottle of whipped cream like we’re passing secret contraband. I shoot her a grateful grin.

“Okay but wait,” Azzi says, snapping another photo, “this lighting is too cute. Everlyee, smile. Hunter, say syrup.”

“Syrup!” he yells with a mouth full of pancake, and we all laugh.

An hour later, the tray’s been cleared, there’s syrup in the sheets, and both kids are now sprawled across our laps like satisfied cats.

Azzi and Caroline have made themselves at home on the armchair and floor, respectively, both sipping coffee from mugs Paige got made for them last Christmas that say World’s Coolest Titi.

“This,” Paige says quietly, stroking Everlynn’s hair, “might be the best Mother’s Day yet.”

I glance at her. The morning sun is hitting her just right—golden and soft. Her hair’s a little messy from sleep, her eyes tired but warm, and her smile…

“Definitely the best,” I whisper.

She catches my hand and laces our fingers together over the blanket.

“Can’t believe they’re this big already. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Hunter was learning to walk and Ever was scared of bees?”

“Still scared of bees,” Everlynn mumbles, half-asleep.

“And Hunter still walks like a baby giraffe sometimes,” Caroline adds.

“Hey!” he says from Paige’s lap, pouting.

Paige smirks and kisses the top of his head. “You walk like a superhero now, baby. You’re our little Flash.”

Azzi’s already tearing up. “You two are raising the sweetest kids. Like, it’s insane. You need to write a parenting book or something.”

“Chapter One: Let Your Best Friends Help Sneak In Before Sunrise,” I say, smirking.

“Chapter Two: Bribery via pancakes,” Caroline adds.

Hunter suddenly perks up. “Can we do this again next year?”

Paige looks down at him. “You mean surprise us with breakfast and glittery cards?”

“And bring Titi Azzi and Titi Caroline?”

“We’ll make it a tradition,” I say. “Deal?”

“Deal,” both kids say at once.

Later that afternoon, once Azzi and Caroline have gone and the kids are running around in the backyard with water balloons, I find Paige in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher with that little content smile she wears when everything feels right in the world.

I wrap my arms around her from behind and rest my chin on her shoulder.

“You know,” I murmur, “there are a million things I love about being a mom. But getting to do it all with you? That’s the best part.”

She leans into me, turning her head slightly so our cheeks touch. “Right back at you, babe.”

We stay like that for a long moment, just soaking in the quiet.

Until a water balloon hits the window with a splat, followed by two giggling voices shouting, “Mommies! Come play!”

Paige grins. “They’re gonna soak us.”

I kiss her cheek. “Yeah, but they made us pancakes shaped like love. We kind of owe them.”

She grabs two towels from the counter and hands me one. “Let’s go get drenched.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[deadsetobsessions]

Of all the places he could have been summoned to, Danny Phantom had never considered a private school’s bathroom to be one of them.

With glowing green skin, a shock of flickering flames for hair, and a suit made out of the spaces between collapsing stars, Danny stared down at the stupefied faces of Gotham Academy’s finest students. One of them had their face in their hands, having caught sight of him and undergoing all the stages of grief in but a moment.

They sat around a circle that he was appropriately impressed with considering the limited space they had to work with. Danny could see the empty stalls, some of which were adorned with drawings and writings that were left by the, no-doubt, extremely busy caretaker.

“Seriously, a bathroom?” Danny wrinkled his nose.

“Holy shit, that actually worked?” One of the kids blurted out, then slammed their hands on top of their mouth.

“Did you expect it not to?” Danny squinted at them, frowning. It’s Friday, so it’s not like he had much to do, but Danny would prefer it if his time wasn’t wasted.

“No- no, your… uh, highness?”

“All of that schooling and you’re still uneducated,” one of the other ones hissed at the red headed kid who spoke. It’s “Your Majesty.” He’s a king, idiot!”

That was a pretty solid burn but, “It’s actually just Phantom. Did you guys want something? I’m busy.”

He’s not busy, but who cares?

“Uh…” the kids exchanged glances. The one in the back sighed and spoke up. He adjusted his glasses.

“We’re sorry for bothering you, Phantom. You wouldn’t happen to have a solution for dimensional separation, would you?”

“Huh.” Danny tilted his head, face souring. “I hate dimensional issues. They’re the worst. Who’s causing them?”

“His name’s Klarion!” The one who slapped a hand across his mouth earlier piped up.

“Oh! The lords of chaos or whatever. Yeah, I can help, for a price.”

Danny is against unpaid labor. Extremely against it, considering his side gig is being a half-dead vigilante. Then again, are you really a vigilante if you’re not half dead on a regular basis?

“What do you want?” Despite the reluctance from earlier, it’s clear the one with the glasses made the big decisions in this weird friend group.

“… A hundred dollars.”

“That’s it? No stipulations?” When Danny nodded, the kid had a calculating expression. “Deal.” The teen said immediately. He pulled out cash and wow, Danny’s definitely in a place with a different tax bracket.

He snatched it. Nasty burger money!

“Deal’s a deal. Also, don’t ever summon me again, but if you do, don’t ever do it in a bathroom again. You kids are so weird.” Danny floated out of the circle, grinning sharply. He formed a small bird- he doesn’t know why, but it felt right- of ice and handed it to the kid with glasses. “There. Proof of the deal.”

With that, Danny disappeared. Private school kids were so fucking weird, but… Dash and his goons were probably worse. What’s a little ritualistic summoning in the face of teenagers?

——

“I leave you guys alone for ten minutes and you summon the king of the dead?” Robin narrowed his eyes at his teammates, traitors who had the good graces to look sheepish. “How could you?! I wanted to try, too!”

Kid Flash patted him on the shoulder, a granola bar appearing in his mouth now that the possible world ending terror disappeared. “Sorry, Rob. Maybe next time! Magic still isn’t real though.”

“I’m not doing this shit in a bathroom again,” Artemis rolled back to her feet. “He sounded like he was going to rip our bones out if we ever summoned him in a bathroom again.”

“Ugh…”

[evilminji]

Been Watching Weird Fruit Explorer(?)... and I just...

W-Who let Bored Danny have BooTube?

Sorry, YOU-Tube. He has TWO Apps now. BooTube is bigger. Way more random, yet... somehow more niche? Meh. It's what happens when you get billions of billions of people who all have their own Obsessions to rant over, on a site.

Ember's channel is pretty lit, tho, ngl.

He stopped using YOU-Tube almost overnight. Too many ads, weird algorithmic pushiness. No thanks. It was too small and too "trying to take my money". You know?

Buuuuut? See.... TUCKER is the Tech guy.

Coding and that sort of stuff. HE does hands on work. You want a toaster? He can MAKE you a toaster! With LAZERS! Runs off The Goo! But a program? Eeeeeeeh? Hit it with hammer maybe? Monkey make fire? Hit with stick? Blergh.

Yeah, he can SORTA push through.

But he suuuucks.

And like... he had a headache, okay? His project had just, quiet literally, exploded in his face. So when he looked at his phone? All the apps were blobs. He clicked the one that LOOKED kinda right. Shoved his arm in his phone and brute forced a channel set up.

He figured he could ramble about Space!

It's not like he cared is anyone LISTENS or not! It's a "for him" thing, you know? Like a diary. But more... putting on a ☆~show~☆?

So he rambles from the floor of his Lair's Lab, crashs and wails in the distance, green sky occasionally visible as he lazily floats by windows. Dropping... juuuust past human knowledge understanding of Space. Talking like he's STUDYING somewhere. Referencing PAPERS no human will ever be able to find.

But a few they WILL.

Some of which, are currently? Only half written.

But then? Oh YEAH... he should eat! You know... Sam keeps bringing him fruits and veggies and stuff from her internship at that Botanical Lair. Stuff never seen before of Earth. Or hasn't been seen in centuries.

Again, like, a FEW that? Randomly? Have???

He picks up something sharply purple, bright orange insides. Crisp crunch. He makes a face. And starts to ramble about it, distracted from Space. "Weirdly mushroom-y" he notes. "Kinda bubblegum sweet? But like... CHEAP bubblegum. Like it hits you all at once and is kinda chemically. But it disappears real fast? Huh. Spicy too..."

It's the first video on the Playlist. One of hundreds. Two of the green Lanterns RECONIZE that fruit ad HIGHLY toxic to humans, can't recognize what planet they're seeing. Or how this alien teen got himself on YouTube.

He seems... unaware of how incredibly famous he's become.

But his strange techno Pharoah friend has not. HE is both perfectly aware and apparently amused. Has taken to feeding him rare and hazardous flora and fauna, to see if it tastes good.

....there have been an alarming number of plants from dead planets.

And the comments the kid makes? Alarming as hell.

Sam's just pleased everybody's getting their greens. Danny's glad him n tuck get to hang and do "try weird foods and fuck around, bro time". They've made lazers! Talked about stuff! Debated why Martian Manhunter is THE superior Justice League member.

Danny understands. Wonder Woman is a BAMF. But he's biased, Tucker. He doesn't CARE if she has a sword and flowy, impressive locks! Shape-shifting telepath! From MARS!!! *imaginary mic drop*

And Tucker? Is conquering the YouTube scene with this charming, weird, relatable young alien. Who rambles about Space, debates nerd stuff, eats weird plants and describes them, and makes sci-fi technology! Theme? WHAT THEME? Phantom is a weird channel, man. You never know what you'll find!

And no one can get rid of it.

Believe them, governments have TRIED. Censorship? Not possible. Not without removing the whole SITE.

[rottingghosty]

Little Talks | DC X DP

part second part to the ghostling au !! this is just something to give you guys food while i write the fic

also usual errors will be made im only one person blah blah. hope you enjoy, as usual this is scheduled to post at 7am

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny lazily blinked at the person in front of him, his brain slowly rebooting itself as he released a small yawn. The person was green. A green person. Huh. Alien? He was exhausted, he spent so long aiding new systems and cradling stars that died and spread their dust around so they would be reborn again. He wanted to sleep but this person was in front of him and it’d be rude to ignore him. Pandora taught him better than that.

“Mrrp?” Danny felt his ears twitch, he wanted to feel mortified at the fact he made a sound like a cat in his own head but he really can’t be blamed because the moon he was around was really comfortable and he had no shame. He lazily tilted his head as the person’s shoulders seemed to loosen? A shake in his body. Weird.

Oh. He’s trying not to laugh at Danny’s response. Can Clockwork rewind so that didn’t happen. Of course CW ignored him like usual when it came to embarrassments like these.

“I do not mean any harm friend.”

The voice in his head echoed and it made Danny shiver in response, it was odd sharing a head space with someone else. He didn’t retaliate or cause any harm. His core could feel that this person was friendly, curious and respectful. He gives a head tilt in response.

Friend. Safe. Okay.

Danny gave another yawn, feeling his jaw open a tad wider than it should in normal human circumstances but who could care less when he has a Martian— an actual martian in front of him even if he’s too sleepy to actively be excited! He’s tired okay, it’s not everyday he gets to indulge on his obsession heavily on an everyday basis. He’d been so deprived that he’d gotten sick and it’s what made the others decide to give him the boot so he could enjoy his time before he got the crown.

“What is your name, little one?” Martian Manhunter softly asked in Danny’s head after the younger one winced from the volume earlier after he began to wake up.

“Danny.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Old man said I needed my enrichment.”

“One of my allies called you a baby ghost of the Infinite Realms, is this true?”

Danny released another cat like sound, this one more curious than the other when he had just barely woke up. Someone knew what he was? How curious, it wasn’t often Danny stumbled in dimensions that knew he was from the Infinite Realms… much less the fact that he’s even a ghostling.

“Mhm, ghostling is the proper term. We usually calculate age by how long we’ve been dead. In ghost terms I’m like three.”

Martian Manhunter seemed to pause, as if listening to something. Danny gave another yawn before he finally decided to change into a more normal size instead of the large form he had used to travel through the void easier. His form shifted in a bright light before he floated over to Martian Manhunter.

He quickly realized he was a lot smaller than he’d been and he supposes this is what CW meant when changing forms, he’d most likely reflect the age he’s in ghost terms. He doesn’t think he’d handle if Martian Manhunter treated him like a kid.

“When you said enrichment…?”

“Oh! Clocky said to play nice with my cousin? I think her name is Wonder Woman? Um he’s ah known as Chronos?”

[rafessecret]

⋆˚࿔ trailer¡park reader && rafe cameron

TOO DUMB TO THINK.

The air is thick with smoke, hazy tendrils curling through the dimly lit room, clinging to your skin, seeping into your lungs. The couch beneath you is worn, springs digging into your back as Rafe fucks you into it, each brutal thrust shoving you deeper into the cushions. Your body feels weightless, boneless, a pliant thing made only for his use. Everything is slow, syrupy, your mind slipping between the cracks of consciousness, drowning in the pleasure he forces on you. Your limbs are slack, useless, your mouth parted in a silent moan, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused as you stare at the ceiling, watching the smoke swirl above you.

Barry leans against the doorframe, a blunt dangling from his lips, watching like he’s studying a piece of art. The ember glows as he inhales, the scent mixing with the musk of sweat and sex. His eyes are hooded, dark, flickering between where Rafe splits you open and the ruined expression on your face. He exhales slowly, smoke pouring past his lips, lazy amusement curling at the edges of his mouth. ❝Fuck, man, she’s just a dumb little slut for you, huh?❞ His voice is thick, dripping with something that makes your stomach clench, makes your thighs tremble where they’re spread wide, forced open by Rafe’s unforgiving grip.

Rafe laughs, the sound sharp, teeth flashing in the dim light as he drags his fingers down your spine, pressing into your skin like he wants to leave bruises, wants to mark you from the inside out. ❝You don’t know how good she is until you’re the one making her scream, Barry.❞ His voice is rough, strained, pleasure thick in every syllable. His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, making you jolt, making your back arch, a wrecked whimper spilling from your lips. You’re so far gone, teetering on the edge of oblivion, floating in the space between pleasure and nothingness, between reality and something dreamlike, something deeper.

Barry exhales another cloud of smoke, the glow of the blunt flickering as he grins, sharp and knowing. ❝She looks like a fuckin’ doll, man. You see how pretty she is like this? All fucked out and dumb for you? ❞ He steps closer, the heat of his presence pressing against your skin, making your lashes flutter. His knuckles brush over your cheek, slow and deliberate, his touch light but condescending. ❝Are you even still in there, doll? Or did Rafe already fuck you stupid? ❞

Your lips part, a breathless sound escaping, but no words come, only the softest whimper, the barest acknowledgement that you can still hear them, still feel everything, even if you can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything but take what Rafe gives you. Barry chuckles, dragging the blunt across his lips before tapping ash onto the floor, like this is nothing more than some casual conversation, like you aren’t laid out, trembling and wrecked between them.

Rafe grips your chin, forcing your head back, making you look at him, his pupils blown wide, sweat beading at his temples, golden skin glowing in the dim light. ❝Still with us, sweetheart?❞ His voice is sweet and teasing, but there’s a cruel edge to it, a twisted sort of satisfaction in the way you struggle to focus, to hold onto the fraying threads of lucidity. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you, just lets his breath fan over your mouth, lets you chase the contact, lets you beg without words. ❝God, you’re so fucking pretty like this. Can’t even fight it, can you? ❞ You shake your head, or at least you think you do, but your body doesn’t really belong to you anymore. It belongs to them. To him. To the hands that grip you too tight, to the mouths that spill filthy words into your ears, to the eyes that devour every little reaction you give, drinking it up like something sacred.

Barry hums, the sound low, appreciative. ❝She’s fuckin’ ruined, man. You got her trained real good. ❞ He drags his fingers over your parted lips, pressing them into your mouth, watching as your tongue flicks out instinctively, your body moving on autopilot, doing whatever they want without hesitation. ❝Bet she’d let you do anything to her right now.❞

Rafe groans, his pace stuttering for half a second before he doubles down, thrusts rough and punishing, pulling wrecked sounds from your throat, your hands clutching at the cushions, searching for something solid in the mess of sensation. ❝She’s already let me,❞ he mutters, mostly to himself, his voice wrecked, his grip tightening. ❝Fuck, baby, you feel too fucking good. Can’t get enough of you. ❞

The heat builds again, sharp and all-consuming, sparking behind your eyes, curling in your gut. You whimper, thighs trembling, body tensing, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming. Rafe feels it, curses under his breath, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. ❝Are you going to cum for me, baby?❞ His voice is hoarse, ragged, desperate. ❝Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over me?❞ Barry watches, grinning, his gaze locked onto the way you fall apart, the way you shatter, moaning and trembling, your body wracked with pleasure, boneless beneath Rafe’s unrelenting pace. ❝That’s it, baby,❞ Barry murmurs, voice low, smug. ❝Give him a fuckin’ show.❞

And you do. You unravel, pleasure crashing over you in waves, leaving you spent, ruined, floating somewhere between reality and something far more dangerous. Rafe groans, burying himself deep, chasing his own high, his breath hot against your ear as he spills inside you, claiming you in every way that matters. The room spins, the smoke thick, the weight of their gazes still heavy on your skin. Barry takes another drag, exhales slowly, watching you through the haze. ❝Shit, man,❞ he drawls, flicking the last of his blunt into an empty bottle. ❝She’s a fuckin’ dream.❞

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : just something filthy and fun <3 hope u enjoy, mwah !! trying to get through anon requests soon, I promise !! also… what do we think about Barry being involved? be honest 

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #13

"So?" Red Hood asks, arms crossed. "Was I right?"

"Yes," Phantom says, deepening his voice, "this is one of mine."

"One of your what?" Robin growls. Nightwing's hand on his shoulder is the only thing keeping him from invading Phantom's personal space, which, please, continue to do so Mr. Nightwing, Sir.

Phantom would take a deep calming breath if a) he wasn't trying to appear as otherworldly as possible which means no human breathing and b) if that wouldn't so obviously telegraph how uncomfortable he is in the Batcave surrounded by the entire Batfamily.

Next to him Red Hood shifts in slight discomfort. His ties to the spectral realm mean he's picking up on Danny's unease even if he can't fully translate the feeling. Which is good. Danny needs to maintain what little control he has over this situation.

"There's a gh-spirit in my...realm," Phantom says, letting himself drift gently to the other side of Batman's medical table which just coincidentally puts more distance between him and the the rest of the clan staring him down. Black Bat leans forward and he violently suppresses a flinch. "They're known as Nocturne. They wield power over dreams. Their signature is all over this."

And Danny means that literally. Their ecto-signature couldn't be more apparent if they'd written it in sharpie across Batman's suit. This is what Jason—Red Hood, because Danny couldn't have been dealing with a simple civilian case of ecto-contamination, nooo, he's got to have connections to the superheroes Danny has spent the better part of his afterlife avoiding—managed to pick up on, even being the low level entity that he is.

At which point he'd called Phantom in, even though Danny had spent the better part of two weeks trying to intimidate the guy into never contacting him, Ruler of the Spirit Realm (lightning crash!), again, but here is his calling card just in case (thunder and creaking noises!!), but again, you should never use it unless things are very serious, OoOoOoOo~~~

Damn it. It's been like 10 days.

"So how do we fix it, Your, uh, Ghostliness?" Nightwing says, ducking his head in a sort of half-assed supplication when Phantom turns to him. Nightwing glances at Jason for affirmation who shrugs out of the corner of Danny's eye.

"Phantom is fine," Danny says, waving his hand and letting his upper lip curl in an expression of distaste. "Remember, it's like you're Vlad when Dad offers him a glass of eight dollar wine!" Jazz's voice reminds him. Robin growls lowly, likely meaning he's nailing it. He looks away dismissively ("Honestly, it's like you're Vlad, anytime, ever." Sam notes dryly) and thanks god he doesn't have a heart in this form because it would be beating so loud right now.

Beside him, Jason scratches compulsively at the back of his neck. Huh, his anxiety is manifesting physically as an itch. Good to know.

"You can't fix it," Phantom says. "I can."

"At what cost?" Red Robin asks. "Red Hood mentioned you'd want something in return?"

Frick. His other contingency to keep Jason from ever contacting him again. Phantom had lightly hinted his taste du jour was, uh, souls.

Something Red Hood has apparently let slip, because now Robin shakes off Nightwing's hand, puffs out his chest and declares "I will trade myself for my father's safe awakening, Spirit!"

The other members burst into denials which almost covers up Danny floating sharply back and saying "What? No!!!"

Key word: almost.

Danny coughs as they stare at him.

"That is to say, I have no desire for a child," he puts a bit of snarl into it, showing fang. The mood in the room plummets drastically as Nightwing gently grabs Robin by the arm and pulls him back to his side.

"We see," he says. He steps forward more assertively, placing himself in front of the others, all of which are now eying him warily. "Then, is there a gender you prefer?"

It takes a second to click in Danny's head and then he swings his head wildly away from his audience to hide his reaction, nausea and embarrassment turning his face bright green. "Fika Kristo," he mutters in Esperanto as quietly as he possibly can, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He gives himself a moment to settle and game plan before turning back around. "I have no desire for any of you, and it matters not. In this instance, a deal need not be struck. Nocturne is my subject, and they have done this without my permission." Danny blinks, eyes widening. "Not—not! that I would give them permission to do such a thing. In the first place. Ahem."

"Okay...so you'll do this for free?" Jason asks. "Seems like a bad business practice since you also fixed me up for nothing—"

"What he means to say, Your Majesty, Phantom, is thank you!" Signal says in a rush as Nightwing starts, "Wait, Hood, what do you mean—"

"Enough!" Phantom says loudly (nearby bats take off and Jason's itch migrates to his forearms) "I have little time," read: he has a test tomorrow and he's only one-third of the way through the study guide "And I grow tired of this...dilly-dally." Frick! Is that an old-timey word?

"Of course. Thank you again, Phantom." Nightwing says stiffly, eyes still narrowed in Hood's direction.

"Wait, sorry, Phantom, Majesty, I'm Spoiler by the way," the purple-caped vigilante Danny already knew was Spoiler says. "How do we keep this from happening again? To any of us? Is there a way to defeat this Nocturne?"

"Moreover, why Batman?" Red Robin asks. "Why would a spirit from another dimension want him asleep?"

Phantom sighs. "Nocturne was trying to send a message. To me. Through you," he says, nodding at Red Hood. "They...how do I put this. They like attention. Being the spirit of uh, dreaming, they don't receive that attention. And you were in my realms for quite some time. And they wanted...attention."

The lackluster explanation sits for a moment before "They were jealous? Of me?" Red Hood asks skeptically.

"It's more complicated than that. Your...physiology," Danny puts it as delicately as possible, watching regretfully when Red Hood still stiffens at the mention, "Is particular. You gather attention in our realm. And having my attention is...special. But not!" He says to the group at large, a touch panicked, "Romantic!"

Jesus, he's never gonna hear the end of this from the others.

"Anyway, I will ensure it does not happen again."

"By paying them attention," Spoiler says under her breath, wiggling her eyebrows at Black Bat, Red Robin shooting them both a glare. Nightwing ignores them in favor of staring at Red Hood and Phantom. Danny is unsure what Red Hood has disclosed about how he knows Danny, but now he feels confident the answer is close to nothing.

Before Nightwing can ask whatever uncomfortable thing he's about to ask, Phantom disappears. Invisibly, he hovers over Batman's sleeping body and silently apologizes for the intrusion before intangibly slipping into Batman's REM realm and finding the man...oh...

Probably thirty minutes later he reappears to the group, who all perk up at the sight of him. Their eyes bounce from him to Batman; who does not move, to the monitor; which shows no change in his brain activity.

"I'm going to need your help," Danny says to Jason, getting to the point.

"Why? What can I do?"

"It's easier if you come with me," Danny says, grabbing his arm.

"Come with—"

Danny wastes no time in turning them both invisible and flying them into Batman's mind.

"What the—" Red Hood twists and turns, taking in the hallways of the manor. From afar, they can hear the tinkling of a piano. "You, I had your word—"

"This isn't where you think it is," Danny says hurriedly. "We're in your—Batman's dream." He walks quickly down the hallway, towards the music. Jason follows.

"What?"

"The way to break a dream spell is to wake the dreamer. You can't do that externally so you do it internally. Usually you wake the dreamer by turning the dream into the nightmare, scaring them awake."

The hallway stretches on longer than realistic, the dream attempting to divert them. But it can't outrun Danny. His power seeps into the halls, ice creeping along the paneling and freezing the way behind them.

"Batman, however, is hard to scare."

"So you want me to do it."

"What? No." Phantom shoots him a confused look. "Why would I—Ahem, The other way is to convince the dreamer they are dreaming. They break the dream themselves."

"Alright..." Jason says slowly, now keeping pace with him. His breath forms a cloud as he speaks. "And you think I'm the person to do it? I'm not the one he listens to you know, that's more Nightwing's schtick, or hell, anyone other than me."

"This isn't just Batman's dream, Jason," he says. Hood's eyes narrow at his real name, but now the truth is necessary. "This is The Dream. The perfect life. Everything he could ever want."

They're approaching an opening on the right side of the corridor. A bright light emanates from it, alongside the noise of stumbling piano keys and laughter, deep and male and unrecognizable. The Dream.

"Thomas Wayne," Jason breathes. "You want me to convince Bruce it's worth walking away from the center of his universe? It'd be easier if I put a bullet in their chests."

Danny stops abruptly before the doorway, turning to face Jason.

"You know, I fixed you," he says, head cocked. "Those feelings you felt, you shouldn't be feeling them anymore."

"I...I don't."

"Then why do you act like it?" He lets himself drift up, reaching beyond their planes of existence and extending a metaphysical hand to Jason's spirit. It shivers away. "You don't have to hide behind what was."

"I'm not hiding! And I don't have to explain myself to you!" He tries to move forward but Danny puts a hand out and he cannot move past it. He growls in frustration.

"I'm grateful to you, but with or without the Pits I'm fucked up. This is just who I am. This is just what he made me."

"You've never asked why I look like this. But did you know my form is malleable?" Phantom says, letting his legs shift into a tail, letting two eyes become three. "What I believe is what I am."

And then he takes several steps back, putting the doorway between them. "From here on out, the Pits can't tell you how to think or feel. Your decisions are wholly your own. Starting with this one."

Jason stares at the doorway, then Danny.

"I won't make you," Danny says simply. "And if you desire, I will retrieve Nightwing instead."

Jason scratches at his arms, grits his teeth, and stomps through. The light resolves into the sitting room, massive windows letting in sunlight so bright it streaks yellow-white across the room. Bruce sits on the maroon versailles couch next to Cassandra, who sits cross legged, excitedly watching Alfred pour her a cup of tea. To their right, in the open space, Damian barks instructions at Tim on handling a katana. Stephanie and Duke sit on the ground besides the coffee table, homework sheets sprawled across the surface, suffering their way through a calculus problem.

Bruce, smiling softly, looks across the room to where the atrocious playing is coming from. Red Hood follows his gaze.

Sitting at the piano, trying to play while Dick distracts him with a pair of chopsticks, is Jason. He puts a hand on Dick's face and shoves, both of them hitting the wrong keys.

"Get—away—dumbass!"

"No, see, it's a duet! Jay!"

"That's not why it's named—" and Jason Todd-Wayne tips his white-tipped head back and laughs.

[rosierin]

blondes aren't your type, huh? | atsumu miya

a/n; college au where you're besties with the miyas & suna

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The living room was a mess of half-eaten snacks, empty bottles of water, and textbooks no one had touched in hours. (Y/n) sat cross-legged on the rug, sandwiched between throw pillows and the coffee table, nursing a lukewarm drink while the TV droned on in the background. The movie had lost their attention ages ago—if it had ever had it to begin with.

The boys were scattered around the space like a bunch of lazy housecats: Atsumu sprawled out across the couch like a spoiled prince, Osamu slouching beside him with a bowl of crisps in his lap, and Suna draped over the armrest he had long proclaimed as his own.

It was (y/n)’s favourite kind of afternoon—the kind with no plans, no expectations. Just good food (courtesy of Osamu) and even better company. And how lucky she considered herself—to spend most of her weekends like this, surrounded by her three best friends, who, for the past year, had also been her roommates.

The thought floated in the back of her mind, making her smile. And for once, the world felt utterly at peace.

That is... until Suna decided it shouldn't be.

“Hey, (y/n),” he called, not even glancing her way. His voice was nonchalant, completely at odds with the question he was about to ask. “You ever think about dating an athlete?”

(Y/n) turned her head, suspicious. He didn't elaborate just yet, probably giving just enough time for the question to truly sink in. There were two athletes currently sat in this very room, but only when (y/n) shot him a look that said go on, did he continue:

“Like… a setter? Like… Atsumu, specifically?”

The man in question choked on a piece of popcorn.

Osamu went stiff for half a second before his shoulders started shaking with poorly contained laughter, only to keel over fully as a single kernel came flying out of Atsumu's coughing mouth.

(Y/n) spluttered a laugh despite herself, slapping a hand over her mouth in a poor attempt to contain it. Then, remembering Suna's question, she forced herself to settle, smoothing the grin from her face as she shook her head. Not in response, but in disbelief. And maybe a bit of quiet reprimand.

You're evil, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she played the oblivious card—one she knew nor Suna, nor Osamu would buy, but would do enough to protect Atsumu's ego.

“What—where did that come from?” she asked with a purposely tilt of her head.

Atsumu made a strangled noise—either offended or confused, his face a bright scarlet. Whether from the fact he almost succumbed to a piece of popcorn, or because his friends of his friends tormenting him, (y/n) wasn't sure. “What is wrong with you?!” he barked, chucking a pillow across the room. “Why would ya ask that?!”

Suna dodged the attack, so lazy in a way that was bound to rile Atsumu up further. “Why not?" He shrugged. "Just curious.”

"Ya were not 'just curious', you ass—!”

(Y/n) giggled, unable to help it. The sheer chaos that followed Suna’s provocations never got old, especially when Atsumu was the target. She glanced over at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and furrowed brows, the way he was both flustered and avoiding her gaze at all costs.

“No need to freak out so much, Tsumu,” she said lightly.

That made him tense. She watched his posture lock up like a pulled muscle.

Osamu recovered enough to grin wide. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu, why ya freakin’ out, huh?”

Suna, coyly playing along, chimed in: “Something to confess?”

Atsumu’s hands twitched with the urge to wrap around both their necks. His face was alight, from embarrassment or rage was hard to tell. Still, he managed to flash his friends the best glare he could muster.

“Will you guys quit bein' weird?"

(Y/n) smiled to herself, wrapping her arms around her knees.

She was used to this dynamic by now—the silly squabbles, the teasing, the banter, the way the boys always poked fun at one another until someone snapped. But with Atsumu, it was always a little different. Always a little... extra. Because beneath the joking and the back-and-forth, she knew. She’d known for a while now.

Atsumu fancied her.

It wasn’t something he said outright—God forbid—but it showed. In the way his teasing turned soft when it came to her. In how he always waited to walk her home from campus, or how his ears would flush when she complimented him, even offhand. It wasn’t serious, she didn’t think. More like… a crush he hadn’t fully admitted to, even to himself.

It flattered her, to say the least. And maybe she liked it. Maybe she fancied him too.

But she also knew Atsumu. Knew how flighty he could be, how quick he was to flirt and flinch from anything a bit too real. And so they stayed where they were—teetering on the edge of friendship and something else. Undefined but content, for now.

Which, of course, made them the perfect target for Suna and Osamu’s amusement.

(Y/n) didn't miss the scheming look they exchanged as the silence stretched on—the pull of their identical grins.

Apparently, they were far from done.

"So would you?" probed Suna.

(Y/n) hummed thoughtfully and sat up straighter, pretending not to the threat Atsumu had mouthed to his so-called friends. "I'm not sure," she mused, pursing her lips. “I think I'd happily date an athlete for the…” She rubbed her thumb and index finger together in the universal 'money sign.'

Osamu and Suna both nodded along approvingly.

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"At least she's honest," Osamu offered.

(Y/n) tilted her head, considering the idea. She knew nobody expected a genuine response, but she mulled it over anyway, just for the sake of it. “But I dunno about Atsumu, specifically…” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Somehow, she felt a spike of tension. Even Suna and Osamu visibly flinched. She caught the flicker of guilt pass between them. A silent uh-oh. Maybe that jab had gone a little too far.

Osamu tried to patch it with a weak smile. “Ya know… he’s not that much of an asshole.”

"Liar," Suna coughed.

Atsumu scowled. One more word out of him and he looked just about ready to lunge.

Osamu cut in before he could do so. "No, no. S'true— s'more of an image thing, ya know?"

Atsumu opened his mouth, but (y/n)'s laugh seemed to distract him from whatever he was about to say. She waved a hand, understanding Osamu's good intentions. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… well, I guess I'm just not that into blondes.”

Atsumu made a face so dramatic she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning. “That’s yer reasonin’?!”

Suna smirked. “What about Osamu, then?”

Another hum. (Y/n) glanced at Osamu and gave him a once-over—chestnut hair, boyish features, charming grin.

Yep. Definitely handsome.

She gave a firm nod, flashing two thumbs up.

Atsumu looked like he'd gone through all five stages of grief.

Suna didn't bother to contain his laughter.

Osamu, meanwhile, smirked and straightened his shoulders. “It ain't easy bein’ the better-lookin’ twin,” he sighed dramatically, puffing out his chest.

Atsumu groaned, rolling his eyes so hard he nearly saw the back of his skull. He'd visibly given up on arguing and flopped back against the couch, turning his focus to the TV, ignoring any of them existed.

Osamu chuckled and prodded his brother’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, don’t sulk.”

Suna joined in. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu, you still got your great personality." His voice sounded strained.

Despite the smile on her face, (y/n) felt a twinge of sympathy. They always ganged up on Atsumu. He was all bark and bluster, but when the teasing went too far, it showed. Usually ending like this—with him falling quiet, arms crossed, eyebrows marred, the tips of his ears adorably pink.

She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Hey. Don’t worry, ‘Tsum. You may not have the hair, but you’ve still got your handsome face.”

Then, before he could react, she leaned over and planted a deliberately sloppy kiss on his cheek.

The act wasn’t even remotely romantic—more like a mum kissing her kid before school—but the effect was immediate. His entire face lit up—redder than any of his high school jerseys—and he immediately looked away, mumbling something incoherent as he sank lower into the cushions.

Satisfied, (y/n) stood up and stretched. With Atsumu no longer moping, she could focus her priorities elsewhere.

“I’m getting more snacks.”

As soon as she disappeared into the kitchen, Osamu and Suna turned to Atsumu, no longer having to water-down their behaviour.

They puckered their lips, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Atsumu shot them a withering glare, no longer having the energy for either of them. “You guys fuckin’ suck.”

Suna snickered. “Aw, our little ‘Tsumu is in looove.”

Osamu wiped a fake tear. “They grow up so fast.”

Atsumu dragged a hand down his face and sank into the couch.

Perhaps he shouldn't have moved in with them after all.

[mona-risms]

whats goodie gang its the mira headcanons anon. i gotta say THANK YOU FOR THE FOODDD. also im back for more bc i fear your writing absolutely blew me away.

anyways may i request nsfw headcanons for mira w/ an afab reader? and kinda random but perchance could you throw a strap in there somewhere? okay bye (lifts up arms floats away into the sky)

◆ MAIN COURSE: sub!Mira x dom!afab!Reader

◆ TYPE: NSFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None I think??

◆ NOTES: First off I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT and second off I love her too bro I gotchu 🫡

OH MY GOD. I LOVE YOU. I love anyone who reqs afab reader actually BUT STILL.

Okay. OKAY. First off other people may say that this woman would prefer the dominant role BUT. This is a sub character blog. And I swear I have justification for Mira okay I swear I do

It's the fact that before she got into HUNTR/X, she's never really fit anywhere. Not with people in society, not with friends, certainly as hell not with her family. Before them, she thought that she'd never have a place where she could just.. belong, and honestly something like that can get ANYONE to feel like they're on some sort of constant survival mode as she refuses to let anyone see any sort of vulnerability that they may use against her

But then there was HUNTR/X, the people she considers the family she doesn't even wanna lose, no matter what. And then there was you. You, who gave her the time, the space, the understanding, instead of dismissing her for her unsavoury bluntness or thinking that she was nothing but a very prickly problem

I think your first time together wouldn't be until like. A bit later in the relationship, I think give or take around 6 months. Being in a relationship w her in the first place already means she trusts you more than most, but getting intimate with each other? First of all, an idol's schedule is BUSYYYYY idk if there'd be any time for that kinda thing, especially not when you're considered the Top 1 K-Pop unit. Second of all?

"We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to."

The words barely register in Mira's brain, the sound and sensation of her own heartbeat overrideing any other senses she had. When it does, however, her head snaps to look at you dead in the eyes, having to look up slightly due to your position—she was sat on the bed, with you having slipped into her lap in the midst of a particularly heated make-out session.

"Huh?"

"Your face," you lifted your hand up to tuck a few strands of pink hair behind her studded ear, "you look scared. We can stop."

She felt her heart squeeze, and a tingling heat in her core. It wasn't because of the way you dragged your hand from her ear.. to ghost her jaw.. before settling on her chin as your thumb lightly traced her bottom lip, though it did help a lot. Rather, it was moreso due to the way you had looked at her—years of living like you were nothing but a problematic inconvenience because your presence was too loud, and yet there was just this person who was willing to wait and listen anyway instead of walking away.

You looked at her like she hung the moon, what the hell was she supposed to do about that?

"No, it's--" The idol cleared her throat before trying again, her voice smaller than both of you had ever expected, "I'm not scared, just.. you're not.. going to think I'm too much to handle after this, right? I've never really done anything with anyone."

"Never let anyone get close enough?"

"Fuck you," there was no anger in her words. "..Yeah."

You just let out a hum, as if the two of you were discussing the weather rather than sex. And then you shook your head as your hand then went from her chin.. down to her the middle of her chest, "I'm not going to think you're 'too much', but we both know you'd rather see it than hear it. So." And you push lightly, "Lie down. Let me demonstrate."

A traitorous blush coated Mira's cheeks, the colour visible within the moon's glow. The light push couldn't ever be enough to knock her down, but she let herself fall back anyway, her hair sprawling behind her like a halo.

She finds herself enclosed within your arms a mere few seconds later when you crawl over to hover above the cool beauty, your lover. And in that very moment, when you duck down to trace kisses down her body while clothes are slowly discarded from both of your bodies, it feels as if the two of you are the only people in the world.

"Instead of 'too much'," you continued when you finally reached the apex of her thighs, wet and glistening, "I'll make sure you feel like you're mine instead.

Mira feels as if she really belonged.

Anyway proceeding to the actual NSFW hcs :3

Start off with Mira's part on this post bc I feel the need to address it again thank you

I think she'd absolutely ADORE soft sex actually. Listen throw away kinks for a second, right. She's gone without care for so long just bc her being a 'problem chold' and being outspoken would def equal to not needing any proper emotional care bc why would she need that? Clearly she can handle it all on her own, right? WRONG she actually needs to be taken care of. Finger her while holding her close so that she can cling to you, even after she cums all over your hand

Apart from that though honestly I feel like she'd be into bondage and acting like a brat. There's something about pretending to struggle and resist—emphasis on the 'pretending' bc be so fr all three girls could snap anyone like a Kit Kat bar thanks to their training—that has her thighs squeezing together. It's like a form of reclaiming I guess? Since everyone else thought she was too much trouble, and yet now she's sprawled on the bed and even the punishment for being a bad girl's sweeter than sin for her

Turnoffs........I don't think she'd enjoy titles much, like 'mommy' and such. Genuinely not for any reason apart from she personally isn't into it, which honestly fair enough girl. Idk if she'd enjoy petplay either, or degredation in general—it has her getting her hackles raised so fucking fast. Light degredation woukd be fine, esp when it's later on in the relationship and she 's more than comfortable with you now. But not too much yk

Creamer and someone who's definitely REALLY into overstim. Anyway

Also? A size queen actually 😄

Whenever Mira jokes by going full deadpan, sometimes you can't tell whether she's being serious or not. And that's perfectly fine, because either way it was usually going to end up entertaining one way or another.

You didn't think it'd apply to a talk about dildos, though.

In the midst of aftercare after a particularly taxing session, the lazy topics between you had somehow migrated to the talk of toys; the type the two of you would like, making fun of toher specific toys, and then...

And then there was the sizes.

You brought up getting your girlfriend the biggest, the most monstrous, the most diabolical strap you'd ever find. And her answer?

"Do it."

You really, really weren't sure if she was joking or not.

..Until today, when in the middle of eating her out, she reached underneath her bed just to reveal a blank box that held.. well, the exact thing that Mira's cunt now tried to hold onto despite you pistoning your hips over and over.

It wasn't the biggest, or the most monstrous, but it was definitely diabolical. You had to open her up slowly with a lot of lube, stretching her out with one finger.. then two.. then three, making sure that she could at LEAST take the start. The rest? The two of you decided to work it out as you went. ..Though it didn't feel like there was much 'figuring out' being done, not as if you were complaining—Mira's nails clawed at the sheets as she let out a series of sultry moans and curses under her breath, all while she moved her hips as if she were on some very enthusiastic autopiloting.

Her speech was jagged at best and utterly incomprehensible at worst, but she clenched on your strap as if it were something real—it couldn't even do so properly, not when it was already stretched out as is.

And you could never forget the stunned face she made when you put it on.. and the way her body shook as she came for god knows how many times now as she buried her head in her pillows in an attempt to shut herself up.

JUST SAYING AFTERCARW IS SO SOSOSOSOSOSO IMPORTANT TO HER!!! She gets so endearingly quiet as the two of you just lay there for who knows how long. And she'll also ask if you wanna get anything to eat/get delivered. AND she'll ask you if you wanted anything before she passed out for a nice nap

It just turns into a cuddle sesh and honestly? What more could anyone ask for?

[angrythingstarlight]

https://www.tumblr.com/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky/758693964824068096/birthday-boy?source=share

Is this the scrunchy face/nose Bee have?

That's the face. She stole the scrunch from Bucky. Imagine trying to be stern with these two, and they're looking at you like that.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee.

A/N: Part of my Bumblebee series.

"Mommy, we 'cciden'lly spent all the monies. By 'cciden'." She's on his shoulders, one tiny singular Dior bag in her hand. Your gaze shifts behind her, and Bucky turns, so his body blocks the mountain of shopping bags, taking up ample space on your bed.

Your brow raises, a sardonic hum rings in your throat. "Really Bee?"

"Weally." She nods earnestly. "We gots 'cited when we was shopping and next thing all our monies gone," she explains with a shrug, like it was completely out of their control. In their defense, it was.

You can't leave these two alone in their favorite stores because Bucky loves to go overboard, and Bee is her father's daughter.

"Uh huh. Sure, it was an accident." You try to glare. Force your smile down. Prepare to tell them to take it all back. And then Bucky grins. Bee does the same. Literally. Her little nose scrunching up like his.

"I has so much fun, mommy, and I loves our 'prises."

In an instant, your defenses crumble into dust, floating away into the abyss.

"Fine, you can keep it," you mutter with a playful roll of your eyes. She cheers, her happiness making your heart swell. "But no more shopping this week. As a matter of fact, no more spending any money. "

Bee glances down at Bucky. He whispers something, and then they both look at you. "Okays, but we—we was gonna takes you out for dinner. And movies. For a 'prise. Pwease can we spends a wittle more?" That sweet smile paired with that nose scrunch should be illegal.

How can you say no to your adorable baby or your husband when they're looking at you like that? "Okay, but only a little."

Her happy little yay is priceless. One day, you'll be able to resist the cuteness these two wield like a sword. But you get the feeling that it's not happening anytime soon. And honestly, who can blame you?