#absolute nightmare to drag around

[inkie-does-whump]

Behold! Art of Jimmy and Tango

(edit: sigh, I forgot Tango's blazerods smh)

Soul Binding

Verb /ˈsoʊɫ/ /ˈbaɪndɪŋ/

A process in which the Watchers chain two subjects together. Originally for the purpose of grounding a subject with wings by weighing them down. Designed to prevent escape via flight.

After the disaster that was the LL SMP fire, in which Skizz was able to fly away through a hole in the burning roof and escape, the Watchers were quick to think of a way to prevent escape. Their answer? Soul Binding.

This was mostly designed to prevent winged subjects like Grian and Jimmy from flying away like Skizz had, but the Watchers also realized that this was overall inconvenient for any subject even if they didn't have wings. So when the new lab was finally up and running, the Watchers tied up all of their subjects.

The subjects weren't sure why. Was this a punishment? Was it just to prevent escape? Was it just to force them into close confinement until they drove each other mad?

[sinkuna]

୨୧ ― The garage door slams shut with a muffled thud, sealing you both in the dark garage. The car is still warm from the drive home, engine ticking as the leather seats creak under Nanami’s weight. His tie hangs loose around his neck, silk fabric slithering between his fingers as he cages you against the backseat- his knee forcing your legs apart. 

"Seven days…," he grits out, the numbers sharp as his cursed blade… It was rare to hear him talk like that…

"Kento… please don't be mad… w-we ah~," impatient, his large hands shove your dress up your thighs, bunching the fabric around your waist, "We've been so busy with the girls lately." your hands tremble as you run them over the lapels of his jacket.

He catches your wrist and pulls your hand to his mouth. A shiver races up your spine as he kisses your palm, tongue hot and wet as it traces along your skin. His teeth are just as sharp, grazing against your skin in a warning, "I don't want excuses," Nanami growls, the low sound going straight to your cunt, "I want you."

His breath carries hints of bourbon and mint from dinner- restraint absolutely snapped, the kind that’s been simmering all week between packed lunched, overtime with Gojo, and your second grader’s nightmares about how daddy doesn’t come back home from work one day… 

Nanami refuses to waste any more time. Like he said, it’s been seven fucking days. He’s missed having you all to himself. The feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him- strangling his cock just how he likes it. 

Without hesitation. His thumb hooks into your lace panties, tearing them sideways with a rip that makes you gasp and arch, "F-fuck, Kento-!~"

"Quiet," he growls against your neck, calloused palm smacking your clit once, twice, the crack echoing off the tinted windows, "You've been begging for this all night." The sound of his pants zipper fills the small space, his cock springing free- heavy and angry red with a bead of precum drooling at the tip. "Squirming in your seat. Smirking at me as your heel grazes my thigh."

He doesn't prep you- doesn't need to. Your pussy has been dripping since the appetizers, and he knows, the bastard, smirking as he swipes his tip against your entrance, "Look at you," he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, coating himself, "So wet for me already. You missed my cock so much, hm?"

Fuck, yesyesyes you missed his cock, missed the stretch and burn and ache when he first plunges into you. A breathless, "Yes~♡ " falls from your lips, followed by a desperate moan as his fat cock rams into your soaked cunt without warning- filling you, stretching you out.

You do your best to choke back a scream. You know better, know to keep your voice down in case your girls and Yuji have fallen asleep- the last thing you need is to wake them. But Nanami is merciless, fucking you open, the squelch of your juices loud enough to drown out any other noise in the confined space, his hips snap up- slamming into you as he fucks you against the leather seats.

"I—fu—I've s'missed you, Kento~"

Nanami's eyes soften then, a small smile forming as his hand cradles your face. The pad of his thumb traces the outline of your lip before pushing in, his gaze darkening at the way your lips part for him so willingly.

His grip on your jaw turns bruising, the way his lips smash against yours- it's painful, but the sting is delicious, "You kept teasing me about wanting another kid," he grunts, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your heaving chest.

His wedding band catches the moonlight streaming through the garage window as he grips your throat, not hard enough to hurt- yet.

"Maybe I will put a third in you tonight. Watch you swell up again…" His voice drops, gravelly and low, "You'd look so beautiful like that, again."

You claw at the part of his chest that's exposed, the fabric wrinkled beyond salvation, and moan, "Y'already... nnf... can't handle two—hah!~"

He slams deeper- hand fisting in your hair cutting you off-  "Try me."

His Mercedes rattles as he flips you onto your knees, face mashed against the fogged window. His palm cracks against your ass, reddening the skin before he yanks your hips back, spearing you in one vicious stroke. Your tits crush against the seat, nipples rubbed raw by the upholstery as he drills into your g-spot.

Somewhere upstairs, he hears a floorboard squeak… The sound traveling easily through the thin wall that connects the garage to the house. Nanami freezes, cock twitching inside you. 

Then, unmistakable in the sudden silence, comes the patter of small feet and excited voices from within the house.

"Daddy and Mommy are home!"

"Shh! Remember what big bro Yuji said? We should be sleeping!"

Nanami’s eyes narrow, "S-shit." He rams home once more, burying his groan in the crook of your neck as he spills, hot and thick, painting your walls white as it floods your womb. His cum leaks down your trembling thighs as he collapses against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade with a defeated thud while muttering, "...they're awake-"

So much for having you to himself the rest of the night…

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Nine months later, Nanami Kento is changing diapers at 3 am, dark circles under his eyes but with a tender smile that lights up the pink nursery.

"Worth it."

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

[tonycries]

Little Heaven

Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.

You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 

So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 

God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 

He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 

That was rule #1, right? No marks. 

Or was it #4… 

Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 

Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 

Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”

Oh? 

Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 

And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.

“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”

Oh. 

That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”

Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”

And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.

You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 

His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”

You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 

“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”

“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 

“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”

And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 

“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”

“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 

“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 

He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”

And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.

“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 

His name - soon to be yours.

Maybe.

You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.

Probably. 

Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 

Definitely. 

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.

“I’m serious about the dream.”

Almost as gentle as that one. 

As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 

And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.

All is well in your little heaven.

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN

A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[dinosus]

John Price is a domestic menace who is so in love with you it’s borderline ridiculous.

Price is up at the crack of dawn, even when he’s home. Military habits die hard. But instead of rushing off to train, he takes his time watching you sleep. He adores how peaceful you look, face buried in the pillow, hair messy.

“Too bloody gorgeous for your own good, love.”

He always makes coffee first thing in the morning. Your coffee is made with care, perfect sugar-to-milk ratio. His? Jet fuel. The man drinks pure black coffee like a lunatic.

If you wake up early, he pulls you into his lap, letting you sit between his legs as he rests his chin on your shoulder, sipping coffee together in comfortable silence. This man cannot cook for shit. You let him try once, and the kitchen almost caught fire. His ‘specialty’? Scrambled eggs that somehow taste like regret.

If you’re cooking, he’s always hovering. Arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder, murmuring- “What’s on the menu today, sweetheart?”

You have to swat him away because he steals food off the pan.

“John, I swear—STOP PICKING AT IT.”

“I’m just taste-testing, love.” (No, he’s eating half of it.) Price is a touch-starved bastard. He constantly has a hand on you—your thigh, your back, your waist. He hates sleeping alone. If he’s home, you are glued to him.

Post-mission cuddles? He holds onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Comes home, sighs deeply, collapses onto you. He buries his face into your neck, muttering “Missed you so damn much.”

He physically cannot sleep unless you’re in his arms. If he has nightmares? You always wake up to comfort him. He tries to brush it off, but you cup his face, run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re home, John. You’re safe.”

And just like that, the tension leaves his body. This man walks on the side of the road closest to traffic. Always. Hand on your lower back when walking through crowds. If anyone even looks at you wrong? That stern Captain Price glare™ is activated.

One time, some guy at the grocery store got too close to you— Price instantly went into overprotective husband mode.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, mate?”

You had to drag him away before he decked the poor man. Don't let this man near laundry. “John, you can’t just throw your combat gear in with our clothes.” “...They all get clean, don’t they?” Absolutely not. One time, you found a grenade pin in the washing machine.

“JOHN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

“…Souvenir?”

You ban him from doing laundry after that.

When he gets rare days off, he’s the laziest bastard alive. He’s in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, sprawled on the couch. If you try to get up? Nope. He pulls you back down.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart? You’re stayin’ right here.”

Movie nights? You lay on his chest, and he rubs lazy circles into your back. He snores. Loudly. But if you ever tease him about it, he denies it. “I don’t snore, love.” “John, I have video evidence.” “…Fabricated.” (i made part two, check it out :D !)

[all-my-love-for-harry]

The Pilot’s Private Song.

pairing; Jake Seresin x wife!reader

summary; How each member of the Dagger Squad found out Jake's been married for over a decade.

word count; 3.6k

warnings: nothing. established relationship, secret/private marriage, found family, fluff, all good stuff.

a/n; i am a SUCKER for a secret relationship trope. this concept is so cute i want to write a hundred different pieces about it. also, if you're reading my jake series, next part should be up tomorrow :))

masterlist

A year after the Uranium mission, the aviators once known as the Dagger Squad were summoned back to Miramar. Expecting another top-secret assignment, they were instead offered something unexpected: a chance to stay on at Top Gun indefinitely. Their answer was almost immediate—a resounding yes, with an enthusiastic "hell yes" from Fanboy.

But when they arrived, one thing was clear: Jake hadn't accepted the offer yet.

"Can't believe Hangman's playing hard to get with Admiral Simpson," Phoenix muttered, eyeing the empty spot where he should’ve been.

"Bet that promotion to Lieutenant Commander already went to his head," Rooster quipped.

"If you’re talking about Jake, he’s coming," Maverick said. "He just asked to report in on Monday."

He left the room without another word. The Daggers exchanged looks, then shrugged. It was Jake, after all—he probably just wanted to make an entrance, with nothing but his damn ego walking through the door first.

When Monday rolled around, he strolled in with that trademark smirk and a swagger only he could pull off. Annoying? Absolutely. Eye-roll inducing? Without question. Missed? More than anyone was willing to admit.

“Be honest—did you tear up a little when you thought I wasn’t coming back?”

Bob and Phoenix.

Bob had a thing for those absurdly healthy smoothies from a place called Erewhon. Overpriced, organic, and influencer-approved—it was his guilty pleasure. Naturally, it wasn’t long before he dragged his favorite front-seater into it.

“What the hell is a Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, and why does it cost twenty bucks?”

The line was a nightmare—packed with people who all looked like they drove Teslas, had just come from Pilates, or were on their way to pitch a startup to their fiancée’s hedge fund bros.

Phoenix couldn’t quite figure out what Bob saw in these overpriced green sludge drinks, but she was usually down to try something new, even if her wallet cried a little every time.

“I don’t really get the hype either, but my husband’s obsessed,” You said with a shrug. “If it’s your first time, I’d go with something simple—maybe the pitaya, or the post-workout one is solid too. You look like you work out.”

They startled slightly when you turned around, smiling and introducing yourself after your unsolicited smoothie rant.

“I’ll take your advice—I’m Natasha,” Phoenix said, shaking your hand. It was only then that you noticed the massive emerald-cut ring on her finger, catching the light like it knew it was expensive. Bob followed with a shy introduction, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sticking to your word, you went ahead and ordered the absurdly named Hailey Bieber Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie, along with a few other things. Once you paid, you turned back to them with a grin.

“If you’re free, my husband’s just parking the car—want to sit and chat for a bit?”

“Oh, we’d love to,” Phoenix said, “but we’re running late for a few apartment showings—this line took forever. But we should exchange numbers, maybe grab lunch sometime?”

“I’d love that! We actually just moved here, so it’d be nice to make some friends.” Your smile didn’t waver; wide, bright, and straight out of a movie scene.

After saying your goodbyes, you grabbed your order and stepped out of the line, letting them move forward. With one last wave—bright, effortless—you pushed through the door and disappeared into the sunlight.

Phoenix turned back to the cashier, halfway through her order, when her gaze drifted to the large front window—and froze.

"Holy shit."

Bob instinctively looked where she was staring, and his brows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his hairline.

Jake Seresin was outside, casually leaning against a matte black Jeep Wrangler like he belonged in a magazine ad. Arms crossed, aviators in place, his flight jacket unzipped just enough to hint at the crisp white tee underneath. That usual cocky smirk was on his face—or at least, they thought it was.

But it wasn’t a smirk.

It was a smile—wide, open, and so bright it looked like it had cracked straight through his usual armor. Jake Seresin was glowing. Radiant. Practically lit from within.

And then they saw why.

You stepped out into the sunlight, heading straight for him, holding that ridiculous Hailey Bieber smoothie like it was a gold medal. Jake’s face lit up even more. He threw his head back and laughed, his whole body moving with it—unrestrained, joyful, real.

Then he reached for you, pulling you into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. One hand at your waist, the other settling on the small of your back, fitting you against him like you belonged there.

Phoenix’s jaw dropped slightly. Bob just stared.

Jake lifted his sunglasses, pushing them up onto his head, and looked down at you like you hung the stars. The softest expression they had ever seen on his face—like the man didn’t know how to look away. You said something that made him laugh again, and you handed him the smoothie like it was some inside joke.

They must have been staring too long. Jake’s head turned slightly—just enough to catch them in the reflection.

His eyes found theirs through the glass. For a split second, something flickered across his face.

Surprise. Panic. Maybe even guilt. Just enough to register—before he shoved it back down and straightened up, as if nothing had happened.

He opened your door and helped you in, careful not to jostle the armful of overpriced smoothies and whatever else you’d picked up. Then he turned back toward the window, his eyes meeting theirs once more.

A subtle nod. Barely there. But it carried weight—an unspoken request.

Not for secrecy exactly, but something quieter. A plea to let it be. To pretend they hadn’t just seen past Hangman… and caught a glimpse of Jake.

Phoenix and Bob exchanged a long look, sipping their drinks in stunned silence as they tried to process what they’d just witnessed. It was easy to box Jake in as the poster boy for cockiness—the walking embodiment of swagger and ego—but deep down, they’d always suspected there was more.

More to him than the sharp one-liners and smug grins. More than the call sign.

And now, they’d seen it.

Guess this was it.

The next day, Jake showed up with his usual swagger, every step as self-assured as ever. But his eyes—sharp, watchful—carried a flicker of guardedness. It was subtle, the kind of thing only Phoenix and Bob would pick up on.

“Hey, Strawberry Glaze,” Phoenix said casually.

She could’ve let it slide—pretended like nothing had happened—but she couldn’t resist poking at him just a little. Jake shot her a look sharp enough to make most people flinch.

She just laughed.

The words had been soft, low enough that no one else could hear. And the smile she gave him—amused, knowing, a little smug—said it all:

Your secret’s safe with me.

2. Bradley.

Bradley hated shopping. He wasn’t good at it—never had been. He took forever to decide what he liked, forgot to write down what he actually needed, and always left the store with random things and none of the essentials.

This time, though, he had a mission: crockery. At the moment, he owned exactly two plates and three mismatched forks. And if he was serious about settling down here, it was probably time to get his shit together.

Normally, he’d drag Nat along—not because she was a woman and supposedly knew about this stuff, but because she was mean enough to keep him on task. She had no patience for his two-hour deep dives in the mug aisle, where he’d examine every single one before deciding he didn’t like any of them.

But Nat had bailed on him, leaving him to fend for himself. Now he was aimlessly wandering the store, eyeing every dinnerware set like it might reveal the meaning of life, tossing random items into the trolley with no real plan—just vibes and mild confusion.

Ever the gossip, Bradley’s ears perked up at the sound of a laugh he knew far too well.

Hangman.

“Darlin’, if you put one more candle in the cart, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to burn the house down.”

“But Jake, smell this one—it’s amazing. And it says limited edition, so they won’t have it next time,” you replied, dropping not one, but two candles into the cart.

Bradley watched, stunned, as Jake didn’t even argue. He just shook his head with a helpless smile and kept pushing the cart like a man who knew resistance was pointless.

“I also saw this gorgeous botanical garden plate set online—we have to get it.”

“Whatever you want, doll,” Jake said, voice low and warm as he pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hip a casual, affectionate tap.

Bradley was pretty sure his jaw hit the floor. He wasn’t stupid—and he definitely wasn’t blind. He saw the massive rock on your finger and the way Jake looked at you like you hung the stars.

Hangman, married?

The motherfucker was married.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Bradley had always assumed Jake Seresin was the type who’d never settle down—too cocky, too stubborn, too Hangman. Honestly, he’d half-expected the guy to grow old alone, flirting with waitresses and arguing with air traffic control until the bitter end. Harsh? Maybe. But Jake had never given them any reason to believe otherwise.

Yet here he was—married, domesticated, and currently letting his wife toss candles and dinner plates into the cart like she owned the place. And judging by the look on his face, she did.

The man Bradley was low-key stalking from behind a shelf of overpriced wine glasses wasn’t the Hangman he knew from the skies. This wasn’t the ruthless, lone-wolf aviator who treated teamwork like a contagious disease and would rather eat glass than back down in a briefing.

No—this Jake looked… soft. Happy. In love.

And it was messing with everything Bradley thought he knew.

He ducked behind the endcap as you turned down the next aisle, nearly knocking over a pyramid of mason jars in the process. This wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself—it was reconnaissance. For team cohesion. For morale. For… reasons.

Jake Seresin, hopeless romantic and candle mule, was not something Bradley had mentally prepared for.

He peeked around the corner again just in time to see Jake reach for a throw blanket you were eyeing. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the cart. “Matches the couch, right?” he said.

“Exactly,” you beamed, and Bradley swore the corners of Jake’s mouth lifted in something dangerously close to a fond sigh.

Who was this man?

Bradley had spent years knowing Jake as a walking testosterone complex with aviators and a call sign, someone who’d charm the hell out of a bartender and then ghost her before the first date. The idea that this man—this patient, domesticated, grocery-hauling version of Jake—existed at all was blowing his mind.

And worse? He looked good at it. Like he’d been waiting his whole life to play husband in a West Elm ad.

Bradley finally backed away from the aisle, muttering to himself, “I need to go look at forks before I lose my grip on reality.”

Still, as he wandered toward the kitchen section, a weird feeling settled in his chest—part disbelief, part amusement… and maybe a little bit of envy. Not the kind that stings, exactly, but the kind that pokes at something you didn’t realize was hollow.

Because despite all his jokes, all his gripes about shopping and settling down, maybe there was a tiny part of him that wouldn’t mind someone tossing limited-edition candles in his cart, either.

But first, he really needed more than three forks.

3. Payback and Fanboy.

It was just past 7 a.m. when Fanboy and Payback jogged down the beach trail, sneakers thudding lightly against the packed sand. The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, golden glow over the shoreline, and the waves rolled in slow and steady, their rhythm soft and soothing beneath the buzz of gulls overhead.

It was the kind of morning that made you forget how exhausting the week had been.

“If Mav makes us watch one more hour of grainy debrief footage, I’m walking into the ocean,” Fanboy grumbled between breaths, arms swinging loose at his sides.

“You say that, but last time he caught you checking your phone, he added another hour to the session,” Payback replied, grinning.

“I’m just saying—death by drowning would be less painful than another slideshow.”

They rounded a gentle bend in the trail, where the dunes opened up to a more secluded stretch of beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving wide, smooth patches of sand dotted with seashells and a few early footprints.

Payback slowed, frowning. “Wait. Who’s already out here?”

A large cream-colored blanket had been spread beneath a sun-bleached lifeguard stand. A wicker picnic basket sat off to one side, its lid open and lined with fabric. There were iced coffees, a brown paper bag, a small vase of wildflowers—wildflowers, at the beach—and two people.

One of them crouched near the cooler, pulling out what looked like a container of fruit. The other approached barefoot, holding two drinks, sleeves of a linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, light catching in his sandy hair.

Fanboy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on a second…”

The barefoot man looked up—and grinned.

Jake Seresin.

Hangman.

Golden-boy aviator, squadroom shit-talker, human ego parade.

Except… something was different.

He stepped forward, took one of the iced coffees from your hand with a quiet thank-you, then leaned in and kissed your temple with the kind of easy, familiar affection that made both Fanboy and Payback freeze mid-stride.

Jake said something with a lazy smile and you laughed, the kind of laugh that came from your belly—bright, genuine, totally unfiltered. Then you plopped down on the blanket, legs curled underneath you, pulling a croissant from the paper bag as if you’d done this a hundred times.

And maybe you had.

Because Jake didn’t hesitate. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it behind you, just in case the blanket wasn’t enough cushion. Then he sank down beside you, stretching his legs long across the sand and casually slipping one arm around your waist.

Payback immediately ducked behind a nearby dune like he’d just witnessed a war crime. “Tell me I’m not seeing this.”

Fanboy crouched next to him, equally stunned. “What the hell is happening right now?”

Jake leaned back slightly, watching you unwrap something else—probably another baked good—and tilted his head, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder. You fed him a bite without even looking, and he accepted it like it was second nature. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m in shock,” Fanboy whispered. “He just tucked her hair behind her ear. That’s a boyfriend move.”

“That’s not a boyfriend move,” Payback muttered. “That’s a married guy move.”

Fanboy squinted. “Wait—zoom in. Look at her hand.”

A glint of metal caught the sunlight as you reached for your coffee. Simple but elegant. An emerald-cut diamond, gold band. The kind of ring that said permanence. The kind of ring that didn’t come off easily.

“Oh my God,” Payback breathed. “He’s married.”

Jake leaned back again, one hand lazily tracing circles along your knee while you showed him something on your phone. Whatever it was made him chuckle low in his chest, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek before setting the coffee down in the sand.

Fanboy was frozen, processing. “So Hangman—Hangman—sneaks off on weekends for romantic beach picnics… with his wife.”

“And we never knew.”

“I thought he lived off protein bars and sheer arrogance.”

“Same.”

You pulled something else from the basket—what looked like a floral plate set, one of those whimsical ones you’d find in a lifestyle magazine. Jake took it from you with care, set it between you, then reached for the wildflowers, adjusting the little vase so it wouldn’t tip over.

Fanboy stared. “He brought flowers.”

Payback shook his head. “He packed a goddamn centerpiece.”

They both crouched lower behind the dune, as if Jake might sense them. The only thing louder than the waves at that moment was the sound of their worldviews shattering.

Fanboy finally whispered, “Okay, but like… how dare he be this soft and not tell us?”

“We’re his squadmates. This is betrayal.”

“We were supposed to know before the blanket picnics started. There’s an order to these things.”

“I mean—what’s next? He gets a dog and starts doing couples yoga?”

Fanboy paused. “He would be good at couples yoga.”

Jake leaned back, hands behind his head, face turned up to the morning sun as you laid your head on his chest, sipping your drink and humming along to some song playing quietly from a speaker. You looked perfectly at ease, like this was your favorite part of the week.

Like he was.

“Okay,” Payback muttered. “We can’t tell anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“But also,” Fanboy added, eyes still wide, “we are absolutely never letting him live this down.”

“Obviously.”

They finally stood, dusting off their legs, still stunned but grinning. One last glance over their shoulders showed Jake pressing a kiss to the top of your head, like you were the only person on earth that mattered.

Hangman hadn’t just settled down.

He’d crash-landed into love, and apparently? He was thriving.

4. Javy (ten years ago)

The bar was thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer, its low-ceilinged walls pulsating with neon light and the steady beat of a bass-heavy pop song. The air was warm and sticky, full of laughter, shouting, and the occasional off-key karaoke warble daring to take the stage. Jake leaned casually against the back wall, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the corner where you and your friends were holding court.

You were the heart of the group—laughing without restraint, glass in hand, your voice rising clear and confident above the din. Your friends egged each other on to the microphone, but you owned the room like it was yours, moving effortlessly through the crowd, radiating that kind of joy that was impossible not to notice. Jake’s gaze softened as he watched you—like you were a secret he had stumbled upon, the kind of thing you didn’t want to shout about but couldn’t stop looking at.

Javy, never one to let an opportunity for teasing pass, nudged Jake sharply. “You been staring at her all night, man. You planning to say something or just get a reputation as the creepy aviator?”

Jake barely glanced at him. “I’m just… watching.”

Javy smirked, shifting on his feet. “Right. Watching. She’s having fun—seems like she owns this place. You gonna sing or what? Or just keep mooning over her?”

Jake’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I don’t sing.”

“Everyone sings at karaoke night. Even you.”

Before Jake could respond, you stood with your friend, grabbing the microphone like it was a lifeline. The opening notes of a popular pop song spilled through the speakers, and suddenly, the bar seemed to hush just enough to let your voice soar.

You sang with an easy confidence, playful yet sincere, the kind of performance that made people stop talking and just listen. Jake felt his breath hitch—the way you smiled at the crowd, the way you closed your eyes briefly on the high notes—it was like watching sunlight break through storm clouds.

Javy elbowed him hard. “Dude, you look like you’re about to pop the question right here, right now.”

Jake shot him a sharp look. “I just met my wife.”

The words slipped out quieter than intended, but Javy caught them all the same and grinned wider, clearly not buying it.

After your song ended, the room erupted into applause. You laughed, cheeks flushed, and caught Jake’s eyes from across the room. It was a brief glance, but electric—like a door quietly opening.

Jake made his way over, weaving through the small crowd until he was standing right beside you. “Hey,” he said, voice low and just above the music.

You smiled, a little breathless. “Hey.”

Jake nodded toward the microphone stand. “That was… impressive.”

You shrugged, flicking your hair back. “Well, I had a good duet partner.” You glanced at your friend and winked. “But it’s nice to have an audience.”

Jake laughed softly, eyes never leaving yours. “So, what’s your name?” You offered it to him, along with your hand to shake. “Jake,” he replied, taking it. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was trying to make sure you felt it. “And I’m supposed to be focused on training missions, but I can’t stop watching you.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that so? What’s more distracting—the music or me?”

He smiled, just a little crooked. “Definitely you.”

You laughed, and the sound was like a spark in the dim bar light. For a moment, it was just the two of you—no crowd, no noise, just the hum of a song fading out and the start of something new.

Javy sidled up, grinning. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But remember, Jake, if you break her heart, I’m coming for you.”

Jake’s grin turned serious. “I don’t plan on breaking anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling a flutter you hadn’t expected. “Good.”

[silicon-puppy-pudding]

Dpxdc prompt? Snippet? Idk?

I've had this scene stuck in my head for so long idk what to do with it so yall can have it.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

"We...may need to call on Phantom for this."

Batman grumbled at Constantine's remark. Up until now they hadn't had any issues with ghosts and he was hoping it would be longer before they needed to pull Phantom in for his expertise.

~

It had only been a month since King Phantom and his children came crashing into their dimension. Their ship had come out of a Lazarus green portal that spontaneously appeared in the lower atmosphere just outside of Gotham. Batman had called the League for potential backup and ended up surrounding the strange craft with Superman, Green Lantern, Martin Manhunter, and Zatanna for magical support.

They were not expecting a child, one no older then 6 or 7, with pearlescent white hair and striking green eyes to come tumbling out and crying for them to help her father.

~

Superman stood up from his place at the meeting room table with the grace of a man who didn't feel comfortable pestering an eldritch god of a man until it was absolutely necessary, "Are we sure this is a ghost? It could very well be something else-"

"Oh it's definitely a ghost," Constantine cut him off, taking a drag of his (against league policy) lit cigarette and blowing the smoke up at the ceiling, "There's no mistaken it. Even before Phantom's little 'crash course' on ghosts I coulda told ya that."

Batman looked over the blurry images on screen. They were of what looked to be two individuals riding a motorcycle at dangerous speeds through Metropolis. Superman had told them they hadn't hurt anyone directly but had caused a few minor crashes and were a general pain to interact with. Just like Phantom had told them, they couldn't be picked up clearly on any modern cameras and Superman hadn't had any luck capturing them. They simply slipped through a wall or disappeared around a block. It had been a week of this and Clark had finally given up and called for assistance.

"Isn't it like, 4am in Gotham?" Flash asked, leaning back in his chair, "Wouldn't he be asleep or something? Does he sleep?" The last bit he mostly asked to himself.

"Yes, he does," Batman answered, much to the confusion of Flash. "I'll make the call."

After a few rings the line picked up to a slightly slurred and staticky, "Hello?"

"Phantom, are you available at the moment. We think we may have...a ghost problem. In Metropolis."

A pause. Then a tired sigh came through the line, "Alright, give me 10 minutes." And the call ended.

Superman shifted uncomfortably, "It sounded like you woke him up." Of course he was listening. Batman glared at him, then turned to the rest of the gathered league, "He'll be here in 10 minutes."

About 6 minutes later a portal ripped itself open next to the window of the meeting room and out stepped Phantom, looking less drowsy then he sounded. Clinging to his back (to the League's surprise) was his oldest, Dante. And cradled in his arms, wrapped against his chest with his cape was his youngest, Eleonora, (they're only a month apart but Dante would throw a fit if he wasn't referred to as oldest sibling)

With a jaw cracking yawn Phantom stepped forward towards the meeting table, "Sorry, I hope it's alright I brought the kids." He started, running a hand through his daughter's hair, "Elly just had a nightmare and Dan didn't want to be left alone."

Over his shoulder, the little prince grumbled something about 'too quiet' and 'bad memories' and wasn't that mildly concerning.

"It's alright, you're majesty." Superman stood and gave Phantom a nervous smile. He didn't not trust the man but anything magical and/or supernatural tended to make even him nervous, "We know we called you quiet early and out of the blue... Sorry about waking you up,"

Phantom waved him off with another yawn, "Nah, it's fine, you didn't wake me. I was already up with Elly when you called." At her names mention, the little princess shifted and let out a small whimper. Phantom sighed and then a rumbling sound started up in his chest that sounded a lot like purring. At the noise, little Elly settled down again.

It was sweet, seeing this supposedly all powerful being just being a single father. A few days after the king was treated in the Watchtower's medical facility, they got a taste of what Phantom was capable of when a small armada of alien ships decided now was the best time to attack Earth.

~

The League had been gathered to discuss how to proceed when Phantom had stepped in and offered his assistance. "I owe you all for saving me," he had argued when they tried to refuse.

15 minutes

It took King Phantom 15 minutes (and 25 seconds) to have the aliens running with their tail between their legs. Debris from the lead ship unrecognizable.

~

"Alright, now what's this 'ghost problem' you need me for?" At that, the League (mostly Superman, considering it was in his city) explained the situation to their resident 'Ghost expert'.

~~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~{☆}~~~~~~◇~~•~~◇~~~~~~~

And that's it, idk where this was going but now it's out of my brain

And my hands

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[kxsagi]

HEYY I LOVED bllk characters when their gf says they'll sleep on the couch after an argument fanfic can you write about when u tell bllk boys to sleep on the couch after an argumenttttt

Feel free to ignore<3

“𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 😭”

a/n: thank you!!! post where gf! reader says she’ll sleep on the couch is here

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, karasu tabito, ness alexis, otoya eita, aiku oliver

itoshi rin

"sleep on the couch." 

he just blinks. you could tell him to sleep on a battlefield and he’d still look at you with the same amount of passive aggression. 

“fine.” 

but that night? loudest passive aggressive sighs ever. every three minutes. 

you hear him dramatically shifting the blanket like he’s trying to fold a parachute. 

he keeps walking back and forth to the kitchen so you see him being miserable. 

eventually stands by the door like a sad victorian ghost until you break and call him back in. 

“i knew you’d miss me.” 

you throw a pillow at him and he smiles. 

isagi yoichi

you say it and this man is like 🧍 “... really?” 

tries to reason with you like it’s a team huddle. 

“okay i know i messed up but can we have a second half? maybe a redo? golden goal?” 

ends up quietly walking to the couch like he’s been benched. 

lays there with his arms crossed like he’s been wrongfully imprisoned. 

keeps refreshing your shared photos on his phone like it's going to heal him. 

the second you walk out for water, he gives you the biggest puppy eyes. 

you sigh and drag him back, and he’s like “thanks love, i was gonna get a cramp i swear.” 

itoshi sae

you tell him to sleep on the couch and he just shrugs. 

"kinda comfier anyway." 

oh. OH. you are fuming. 

he absolutely does it on purpose to make you more annoyed. 

but lowkey he's checking the bedroom door every five minutes to see if you'll come out. 

eventually sends you a text from the living room like: "come argue with me again. i miss your face when you're mad." 

you don’t respond. 

20 minutes later he peeks into the room, lays half of his body on the bed like a cat, and goes: “what if we… didn’t fight and made out instead?”

kaiser michael

"sleep on the couch." 

"haha. that's cute. you're joking." 

when you glare, he laughs, nervously. 

he starts walking toward the couch like he's headed to the electric chair. 

dramatically flops down, limbs splayed like a fallen protagonist. 

“i hope you're happy. you've separated a king from his throne.” 

texts you from ten feet away: "thinking of you. missing you. dying slowly. xoxo." 

at 3 AM, you wake up to find him curled up by the door like a golden retriever. 

“schatz, this floor is emotional torture. please.” 

mikage reo

he actually looks offended that you’d even suggest it. 

“me? on the couch? do you know how many beds i own?” 

but still does it with a dramatic sigh and a blanket over his head like a sulky prince. 

orders room service to the living room like he's at a hotel. 

sends you snapchats from the couch: "me, alone, heartbroken, eating soufflé." 

at 2 AM, he's in bed with you again like nothing happened. 

“sorry. i had a nightmare that you hated me. oh wait.” 

nagi seishiro

"... do i have to?" 

pouts like a child. lays on the couch with a big sigh, blanket halfway on, limbs dangling. 

sleeps for five minutes. comes back and lays next to the bed like a cat. 

mumbles something like, “if i’m close enough, it still counts, right?” 

you cave after ten minutes and pat the bed. 

he flops in without a word and wraps himself around you. 

“arguments suck. sleep is better.” 

shidou ryusei

laughs when you tell him. 

“damn, so i really pissed you off, huh? you sound kinda hot when you're angry.” 

does not go to the couch. 

instead, lays down on the floor beside the bed. 

“i’ll sleep here. like a punished puppy. see if you can resist this tragic scene.” 

at some point, starts fake-snoring obnoxiously loud on purpose. 

“babe i’m gonna get scoliosis. let me in.” 

you hit him with a pillow, but he grins. 

and ends up in the bed anyway, arms and legs wrapped around you like a koala. 

bachira meguru

gasps like you slapped him. 

“not the COUCH!! my mortal enemy!!!” 

drags himself there like he’s acting out a shakespearean tragedy. 

sends you dramatic selfies with captions like "farewell, cruel bedroom." 

makes a blanket fort and names it “meguru’s heartbreak castle.” 

sings sad songs until you peek out. 

“oh look! my favorite person! wanna join my castle of sorrow?” 

you roll your eyes but smile, and you end up under the couch fort with him, cuddled up and giggling. 

karasu tabito

you say “sleep on the couch” and he just stares at you for a second. 

then dramatically clutches his chest like “ouch. my favorite girl just assassinated me.” 

“how am i supposed to live, laugh, love in these conditions?” 

makes a whole production of walking to the couch. robe on, hood up, slippers squeaking. 

literally throws himself on it with a groan. “RIP karasu tabito, died of neglect.” 

keeps loudly fake-crying into a pillow like he’s in a telenovela until you yell at him to shut up. 

immediately perks up: “you miss me?” 

crawls back to bed and goes “thanks babe, i hated that.” 

ness alexis

freezes. short-circuits. like you just said the world’s most horrible sentence. 

“... the couch?” with puppy eyes. 

starts trying to fix things IMMEDIATELY. pulling out tea, snacks, compliments, an apology powerpoint. 

“i didn’t mean it like that. you’re always right. even when you’re wrong, you’re right.” 

but when he realizes you’re serious, he grabs a pillow and makes a little sad pile on the couch. 

“it’s okay… i deserve this…” (said in a sniffly mouse voice). 

you check on him and he’s sitting upright, staring into space like he’s been emotionally waterboarded. 

you give in after 20 minutes. he doesn’t even smirk, he just clings to you with teary eyes like “never again please.” 

otoya eita

“couch? oh baby, you’re kicking me out again? kinky.” 

you glare. he holds his hands up, backing off, still grinning. 

flops dramatically on the couch with the energy of a rom-com male lead post-breakup. 

“what are you gonna do without me over there? miss me? dream of me?” 

still manages to flirt from across the apartment. texts you: “thinking about you. and your legs. mostly your legs.” 

ends up sweet-talking his way back into bed by whispering apologies and kissing your hand like some tragic prince. 

“c’mon, i learned my lesson. also, the couch is bad for my back. and my heart.” 

aiku oliver

laughs when you tell him. “damn, you’re really mad, huh?” 

goes along with it, but not without a fight. 

“you sure you’ll be able to sleep without your personal heater slash bodyguard slash boyfriend?” 

turns the living room into a man cave. turns on soccer replays. 

but when he realizes you’re actually not coming out, he shuts everything off and just lays there in silence like a sad old man. 

eventually walks back in, shirtless, arms crossed: “look. this is stupid. i’d rather be next to you than be right.” 

and you’re like “whoa whoa since when are you mature?” 

he grins, climbs back in, and mumbles into your neck: “just for you.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rosemaryhoney27]

Dont mess with our daughter

Wrath of the Fentons

Jason Todd had seen a lot of weird things in Gotham. Lazarus pits, immortal assassins, fear gas-induced nightmares—hell, he'd been one of the weird things, once upon a time. But watching a bunch of black-market meta traffickers haul a very pissed-off redhead into an unmarked van in broad daylight was quickly climbing the ranks of what the fuck moments.

She wasn't screaming. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Most metas—or normal people—would be terrified. Instead, this girl looked annoyed.

Jason had been tracking this particular ring for weeks. They specialized in kidnapping metas with "unique features"—horns, glowing eyes, animal traits, things that marked them as different. The bastards made a killing selling them off to the highest bidder.

The girl—Jazz, he caught one of the thugs saying—fit their usual type. Her hands, bound behind her, had faint green veins pulsing under her skin, as if something otherworldly coursed through her. Her eyes flickered a ghostly green before settling back into a sharp, human blue.

Jason knew that look. It was the look someone got when they were waiting.

For what? Backup? Did she have a tracker? A hidden weapon?

He was about to interfere when Jazz sighed dramatically and muttered, "You poor, poor idiots."

Jason didn't have time to wonder what she meant before his comms flared to life with a frantic Oracle.

"Red Hood, stand down—I repeat, do not engage—the girl's parents are en route, and—holy shit—these guys have no idea what they just did."

Jason frowned. "Parents? Who—"

And then he saw the tank.

It barreled down the street, mounted with weapons that absolutely should not be street legal, glowing green with ominous energy. The side of the vehicle had a logo painted in jagged white letters:

FENTON WORKS

The doors flew open, and a massive man in an orange jumpsuit leaped out, wielding what could only be described as an anti-aircraft cannon converted into a rifle. His wife followed, a visor covering her eyes, her sleek blue bodysuit glowing with strange symbols.

"JAZZ!" the man bellowed, aiming the cannon at the traffickers as if they were just another ghost to blast into oblivion.

"Hey, Dad!" Jazz called, still completely unbothered as one of the thugs tried to hold a knife to her throat. "You might want to be careful. They think I'm a meta."

"Oh, honey," her mom said, pulling out a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi horror movie. "They won't be thinking anything in a few minutes."

Jason took a slow step back.

He'd seen Bruce handle hostage situations with surgical precision. He'd seen Dick talk down armed criminals with nothing but charm and a smile.

He had never seen two civilians go full scorched earth on a meta trafficking ring without so much as a plan beyond "rescue daughter, destroy everything."

The traffickers barely had time to react before green energy blasts tore through their van, their weapons, and the street around them. The sheer destructive enthusiasm was a sight to behold.

One thug made the mistake of aiming a gun at Maddie Fenton. She shot him with a glowing net that phased through his skin before electrifying him into unconsciousness. Another tried to run—Jack Fenton threw what looked like a modified bear trap, which snapped shut around the guy’s legs and dragged him back, screaming.

Jazz, still tied up, sighed as one guy tried to use her as a human shield. "You do realize that you're standing between me and them, right?"

The thug barely had time to consider his life choices before Maddie calmly shot him in the leg.

Jason, crouched on a nearby rooftop, slowly exhaled.

Well. The ring was definitely out of commission.

As the Fentons loaded the unconscious criminals into their highly illegal ghost-proof containment units, Jazz finally noticed Jason watching. She arched a brow.

"Hey, Red Hood, right?"

Jason, still processing, just nodded.

Jazz smirked. "You look like you're having a what the fuck moment."

Jason stared at the still-smoking wreckage of what used to be a human trafficking operation and then at the grinning, trigger-happy Fenton parents.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

[carnalcrows]

MILK YOU DRY - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: This is why you never accept things from people you don't know.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, drug usage, riding, cockwarming, semi-public sex

word count: 0.4k (this is short as fuck lolol)

It all started with one little pill.

"Come on, man. It'll take the edge off," Thanos had said, pressing the tiny thing into your palm with that signature smug smirk. "Consider it a gift. Or an investment."

You had hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and dry-swallowing it. Bad decision? Maybe. But you were already knee-deep in the nightmare that was the death game you were currently stuck participating in, so what was one more risk? Plus, Thanos had this way of talking that made everything sound like a good idea, even the objectively stupid ones.

Fast forward fifteen minutes later, and you were absolutely wrecked.

"You're so—you're so soft," you slurred, hands gripping Thanos' waist as he straddled your lap inside a bathroom stall, your cock happily burrowed in his ass. The world was spinning in a fun way, your limbs felt light, and Thanos smelled like cigarette smoke and…vanilla?

"You’re so gone," he snickered, arms slung around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the back of your hair. "Damn, you really can't handle your stuff."

"I can handle you just fine," you shot back, half-lidded eyes locking onto his. That seemed to be the magic phrase because Thanos grinned, leaned in, and kissed you, as he slowly bounced on your cock– the overstimulation and the effects of the pill making your brain go mushy.

It was messy. It was uncoordinated. It was hands roaming where they shouldn’t and teeth clashing because neither of you had enough patience to slow down. Thanos was warm in your lap, your cock in his tight ass grounding you just enough to keep your head from floating off entirely.

"You're kinda hot when you're like this," he murmured against your lips before biting down—hard enough to make you hiss.

"You're kinda a menace," you shot back, fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back onto your length.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open barely registered at first. But then, a very familiar and exasperated voice filled the stall.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Both of you froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head. And there, standing in the doorway with an expression of pure disbelief, was Nam-gyu.

Thanos, the absolute menace that he was, didn't even look fazed. If anything, his grin widened as he leaned back, still comfortably perched on your lap. "Hey, Nam-gyu. We were just—"

"I can see what you were just." Nam-gyu pinched the bridge of his nose. "I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and this is what happens?"

You opened your mouth to come up with some kind of excuse, but all that came out was an unhelpful, "Uh."

Nam-gyu exhaled, shaking his head before stepping inside and shutting the stall door behind him. The last thing you saw before exhaustion came over you was the absolutely devilish smirk spreading across his face.

Well. This was gonna be interesting.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[brutaliashipper1]

*the batkids in watchtower for unknown reason purposely annoying Bruce during meetings*

-Scenario 1-

Batman: Yes I agree with-

Nightwing: *bust through meetings door* Hey B! Sorry to disturb your meeting but I had to tell you… I got a new car

Batman: That’s great chu- wait… why’d you get a new car

Nightwing: *looks at his wrist likes there’s a watch* welp look at the time it’s about around 7 o got to go!

*he then runs away muttering curses under his breath*

Superman: He crashed his old car

Batman: Oh yea absolutely. And he was probably too stubborn to get it fixed

Wonder Woman: I wonder where he gets that from?

Batman: … Martian man hunter (MM): Shall we get back to the meeting?

Batman: …yes…

-Scenario 2-

Flash: I still think we should be more carful when it comes to planing this

Green arrow: Yeah I know Barry but for this particular thing we don’t need to

Batman: hmm

*Jason in full Red hood atire walks and sits on bruce* Batman: *wheezes*

Red hood: Sorry didn’t see you there

Wonderwoman: :) 👋

Red hood: *smiling so hard under helmet but trying to be nonchalant* oh… heya wonderwoman.

GL (Hal): *dying of laughter* you good there Spooky?

Batman: Yes. I’m fine. As I was saying I agree with Flash and his plan

-Scenario 3-

Wonderwoman: This meeting is being dragged perhaps we should seperate it into multiple spread out across the week?

*spoiler walks silently almost unnoticed towards batman* Spoiler: *whispers to Bruce* Ima going to braid your hair.

Batman: Ok

-Like 10 minutes later-

Superman: Heyy spoiler your doing a great job with Bruce’s hair, could you do mine and Diana’s next

Spoiler: Nuh. Maybe another time. Only boss man gets this special hair treatment

Spoiler: Now where did I put the glitter- oh there it is

Batman: NO! Anything but glitter!

-Scenario 4-

Green arrow: Hey what the hell! The screen turned off.

*screen turns on with a following audio message*

Audio message: Give me back my energy drinks. I need to stay awake to finish this case. I’ll sleep on the floor later. If you don’t I’ll set all your alarms and ringtones to be Rick rolled. Yes this is a warning!

Justice league: ?!?

Batman: FOR GOD SAKES!!! TIM! TIM! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME-

-Scenario 5-

*damian sitting in Bruce’s lap hugging him, he’d just had a nightmare,*

Hawk girl: He’s very cute

WonderWomen: He’s adorable

Batman: Yes I know please stay focus!

Robin! Damian: *yawns very cutely* we’ve you baba.

Everyone: coos

Batman: *kisses his forehead* I love you too. So much. Ok now everyone focus we can talk about my sons cuteness in civilian atire.

GL (still Hal): Can I hold him. Like he’s asleep. Ya know so you can work. *doesn’t want to admit the kids cute to sound stoic*

Batman: I will cut your hands off Jordan if you try!

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #43

Stitches

Imagine dis…

I was just cleaning my room when I came across an old stuffed toy of mine. It is full of stitches like an amateur trying surgery for the first time and flopping it. I just remembered sewing my stuffed toy together as a kid. Like I was playing on them too harshly or one of my younger siblings got a hold of it and roughed it all up. So when I noticed my mom had no time to help me stitch my toy, I did it myself and the results varied…

…

John Constantine, aka the Laughing Magician, wasn’t an idiot. A drunk? Absolutely. A smoker? You bet. Had the worst bloody taste in romantic or sexual partners? Well, that’s a given. But an idiot? Not a chance. He knew, better than most, that the world he lived in was held together by nothing more than spit, lies, and a hell of a lot of bloody stubbornness.

But lately, something felt off…

Every time some wanker in a bright-colored cape and spandex punched, both literally and figuratively, through time or ripped an open hole to another dimension, it began as if reality was fixing itself.

He still remembered the bloody heart attack he nearly had the first time he read those sodding reports on time travel and dimension hopping. The second his eyes skimmed over the first few lines, he buggered off without so much as a goodbye, diving headfirst into the mess to sniff out whatever godawful consequences those spandex-clad pillocks had left in their wake. So imagine his surprise when, after dragging his sorry arse across the whole damn world, he found… nothing.

Not a damn thing.

No lingering paradoxes, no dangerous tears leaking out eldritch nightmares. It wasn’t natural. And anything unnatural coming from the bastard that split his soul like some two-bit, overachieving Voldemort, made his skin crawl.

So, like any poor sod with a knack for bad decisions and a bloody inconvenient conscience, he followed the ripples.

And that’s how he ended up standing in the inky void between worlds, a cig hanging off his lips, watching some scrawny teenager go to the fabric of reality that was torn apart by yet another one of those bloody spandex-wearing tossers, with a needle, like the universe had personally pissed in his pint.

The kid sat cross-legged in the void, stabbing his bloody needle through the fabric of space-time, and from the looks of it he was fueled by nothing but caffeine and a serious dose of spite. The thread he was using was bright blue, flickering with silver and white specks. Like tiny stars in each thread. Each stitch yanked the frayed edges of existence together, a bit rougher than necessary, like he was pissed off at the whole damn universe.

Constantine blew out a long stream of smoke, taking in the mess around him with a grimace. A sorry bloody sight, that’s for sure.

The kid had already clocked the audience, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. He didn’t even bother with a glance, clearly unimpressed.

The kid introduced himself as Danny, then stretched out another few feet of thread and got back to stitching, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The kid, Danny, if Constantine heard right, grunted, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t stop working, shoulders hunched in exhaustion like he’d been doing this for far too long. The whole cosmic janitor routine: they rip holes, he stitches 'em up. Same old, same old.

Bloody typical.

Constantine crouched down, eyeing the erratic stitching with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

Danny let out a sharp, humorless laugh, clearly fed up. He jabbed the needle into a particularly stubborn tear with all the force of someone who'd had enough. The sarcasm practically dripped from him. Seems he was well and truly done with his unglamorous role in this cosmic mess.

Constantine felt a prickle of unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway.

What happens if you stop?

Danny’s response was all sarcasm and sass, if there was any doubt left, it was gone now. He didn’t even need to elaborate. The answer was bloody obvious if the kid, Danny, ever stopped stitching.

Danny snorted, flashing Constantine a wicked grin, all teeth and mischief. The kind of smile that made his gut twist.

Ah. Bugger.

Constantine didn’t need a bloody prophecy to know what that meant. If the kid stopped, the world wouldn’t just fall apart it would unravel, slow and steady, like a seamstress unpicking stitches, one by one, until nothing was left. And worse? There’d be no afterlife waiting to catch the poor sods caught in the collapse. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just the abyss, swallowing everything whole. No way in. No way out.

Now Constantine was scrambling, doing everything in his power to keep the kid from buggering off while there were still holes left to patch. And, just as importantly, making sure those spandex-clad pillocks finally got the memo, no more bloody time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans.

The kid must’ve clocked what he was up to because, without a word, he handed Constantine a green-glowing bat with “Creepstick” printed on the side. He didn’t think much of it at first up until, after one particularly miserable day, he swung the thing in frustration and accidentally clocked Superman, who had just been reaching out to ask if he was alright.

For a second, Constantine felt guilty. Then he remembered that the Kryptonian had probably punched more holes in reality than anyone else. That guilt? Gone. Replaced by pure, unfiltered glee.

With renewed purpose, he set his sights on the next offender, the red spandex speedster responsible for most of the timeline’s headaches. The rest of the heroes caught on quickly that he was on some kind of unholy warpath. So when he casually knocked the Man of Steel on his arse with a single swing and grinned like a serial killer who’d just found his next victim, they did the smart thing they got the hell out of his way.

Some of the ones with super-hearing overheard his next target: one of the Flashes.

Constantine knew damn well he wasn’t getting into any afterlife, but for fuck’s sake, if they didn’t stop tearing holes in the bloody universe, none of them would have a place to go. No heaven, no hell just the abyss waiting to swallow them whole. And he wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried using Constantine POV throughout the entire prompt and as you can see that I over did at the Brit slang.

PPPS: Though, how did I do?….

[nhmkhnh]

SLEEPY HEAD.

PAIRINGS: CAITLYN X SLEEPY!FEM!READER X VI

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's been a while since i last write fluff, so yeah here we go! reader is a chess girl in this post btw!

WARNING(S): lowercase.

navigation.

1. you’re a strategic genius with the soul of a nap-loving cat.

you’ll be in the middle of analyzing a high-stakes board game, murmuring, “if i move here, they’ll go there… checkmate in five,” and then—nothing. silence. caitlyn peeks in expecting a brilliant play and finds you fast asleep, head resting on the board, a black bishop pressed into your cheek.

2. vi absolutely lives for carrying you around.

it started as a joke. “sleepy again, huh?” she scooped you up bridal-style—and then just… never stopped. she refuses to let you walk home if you’re yawning even a little. “why walk when you’ve got a six-pack uber, babe?”

3. caitlyn is the quiet protector during your naps.

she adjusts pillows. places a warm cup of tea by your hand for when you wake. uses her jacket to shield your eyes from the sun. she reads quietly beside you, one hand protectively on your thigh, always alert for anything that might disturb her favorite sleepyhead.

4. you have a habit of sleep-mumbling chess moves.

at first, caitlyn thought you were dreaming of arguments. then she realized: you were calculating strategies in your sleep. vi thinks it’s hot. caitlyn thinks it’s worrying. you, when told? “oh. i guess i was… trying to beat myself.”

5. vi and caitlyn develop a habit of lowkey competing to be your human pillow.

one evening it’s vi’s biceps. the next it’s caitlyn’s lap. neither of them admits they’re keeping score… but they are. vi: “you fell asleep on me yesterday. just saying.” caitlyn, cool as ever: “yes, and you moved once. i remained still for four hours.”

6. you sleep in weird, curled-up positions like a little shrimp.

vi takes photos. caitlyn adjusts your limbs with surgical precision. both are obsessed. “they look like a cinnamon roll,” vi coos. “that snores,” caitlyn corrects gently. they both kiss your forehead at the same time.

7. despite your laziness, you always win at strategy.

vi: “they sleep through the whole mission brief and still outsmart the enemy.” caitlyn: “it’s infuriatingly hot.” you: yawns “i just… think better horizontal.”

8. caitlyn once built a custom travel chess set just for you.

it’s tiny, magnetic, and folds neatly into a pocket. you were so touched, you immediately fell asleep while thanking her. caitlyn just smiled, picked you up, and carried you to bed.

9. vi has a secret stash of photos of you napping in adorable places.

you curled up on a windowsill. you snoring with a book on your face. you spooning a giant stuffed kiramman mascot from caitlyn’s childhood. vi shares them with caitlyn when they’re both feeling soft—and horny, because sleepy you is apparently their shared weakness.

10. caitlyn talks to you when you’re asleep.

it started when she couldn’t sleep one night. she whispered things like, “i love the way your hair gets messy when you nap,” or “you terrify me with how brilliant you are.” you never respond—but once, you smiled in your sleep. caitlyn blushed for days.

11. you have a “sleepy voice” that kills both vi and caitlyn instantly.

it’s raspy, low, barely-there—like dragging velvet across skin. when you sleepily say, “five more minutes,” vi nearly drops her protein shake. caitlyn has to pretend she’s not flustered, even as she fans herself with a case file.

12. despite your sleepy nature, you always wake up when vi or caitlyn have nightmares.

even in your deepest nap, if vi’s breathing gets sharp or caitlyn tenses beside you, you stir and pull them close. no words. just soft, sleepy presence and your thumb rubbing slow circles on their spine.

13. you call caitlyn and vi “sun” and “storm” depending on nap placement.

if you’re dozing with caitlyn: “mmm… warm like sun…” with vi: “mm, stormy and safe…” the names stick. caitlyn melts every time. vi pretends not to love it but will correct people: “i’m her storm, get it right.”

14. sometimes you pretend to be asleep just to get cuddles.

vi catches on first, of course. “you’re fake-snoring again, huh?” she teases. you open one eye with zero shame: “and yet you’re still petting my hair, officer punchy.” vi grins. “guilty as charged.”

15. caitlyn and vi don’t mind that you’re always sleepy—because you’re always you when sleepy.

no masks. no pressure. just a soft, brilliant, drowsy girl who trusts them enough to fall asleep mid-sentence, knowing they’ll always be there to catch your head before it falls. they don’t just love you when you’re awake—they love you especially when you sleep.

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 1

Prompt: All the Phantom/Fenton Siblings end up with one of the Bats and Birds. It's just that neither of the two families know that their partner is related to their siblings' partners.

Danny and Red Hood

Going to Gotham for university was a planned decision, mind you. It was one of their many contingency plans in case the reveal went wrong. Thankfully, it didn't but his parents were still trying to change their views on ghosts for the sake of their children. Last he heard from his parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton were practically harassing every ghost they could find on culture, history, and etiquette. (He's gotten one too many complains from Box Ghost and Poindexter.) Plus the mess that was the situationship between the Fenton Couple and Vlad Fucking Masters. (Dante was about to kill himself again for that).

Gotham had enough ambient ectoplasm for him to be stable. Everything was very normal. Absolutely...

If not for the fact that Danny loathed clowns. When a clown decided to try and attack Danny, what does he do?

He did what every self respecting Fenton would do when faced with something he absolutely hates. He came at him swinging, aiming for the face.

And maybe he put a little too much power into the punch and the next thing he knew, a body was flung against a wall and breaking it on impact. Danny stares at the toppled wall and—HOLY SHIT HE JUST KILLED THE JOKER.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—BATMAN WAS GOING TO KICK HIM OUR OF GOTHAM!

But this was the Joker... The last time that crazy fucker got out of Arkham, he threatened to blow up an orphanage. Okay, he could do this. Gotham Harbor it is.

And in typical Fenton fashion, his luck was shittier than ever.

"What the fuck..."

Danny whipped around, freezing in place when he came face to face with the Red Hood. The fucking revenant of Gotham that the city spirit seemed to really favor. Fuck.

"It's not what it looks like! I mean—It is—But, like..." He swallowed thickly, trying to offer a smile but he flinches away when Red Hood snapped his head from the corpse then too Danny.

"That's the fucking Joker!" The Red Hood was pointing a gun at the corpse now, voice distorted and everything.

Yeah. Well. Shit. Danny gulped, finally deciding that since he was already half dead, he might as well clean up. Not like the Red Hood could kill him—I mean, he could, but Danny wasn't going to die by a bullet.

"You—" The gun was now pointed at him.

"It's not my fault he decided to fucking jump me!" Danny immediately argued, grabbing the clown by the legs and dragging him forward before he winced at the trail of blood. "It's a clown! A fucking clown!"

He yelped when the crime lord slapped his hands away from the corpse, "The fuck is wrong with you? Don't fucking touch the corpse unless you want that shit to traced to you." The Red Hood grunted, shaking his head. He sounded... He kinda sounded giddy, in all honesty. Why the fuck was the Red Hood teaching Danny how to get away with murder?

"What were you even going to do with the body?"

Danny cringed away. To tell the truth or not? Such a difficult question... Okay, he's pretty sure most of the Bats were like detectives and lying to this one might get him shot.

"Gotham Harbor?" He squeaked out.

Danny was met with silence and the man built like a fucking fridge (but he's so damn sure that Dan was still the tallest person he knew) didn't move a bit. Then his shoulders shook. And then he was laughing. Fucking shit, the Red Hood was laughing because Danny was going to dump a body in the harbor.

What was Jazz going to say?!

(Meanwhile, Jason Todd finds a strange boy that makes him feel strange, warm—the same boy had killed his worst nightmare. He might just have fallen in love right then and there.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

[rainrot4me]

How are the creeps when they’re jealous/their gf gets hit on?

Kate the chaser??? In one of my posts??? Maybe 😏 We’ll see!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

“Excuse me? You wanna try that again, pretty boy?”

Jeff’s first instinct is always violence, fast and unfiltered. The second some poor fool lays eyes or hands on you, Jeff’s already halfway to breaking their jaw and flying their skin like a kite.

He’s the kind of boyfriend who walks up mid-conversation, wraps an arm around your waist, and stares the guy down with that carved smile. It doesn’t matter how familiar you and the guy are, if Jeff sees them as a threat, he’s going to treat them as one. It could be your literal brother, but if Jeff thinks you’re having a better time with him, he’s upset.

If you look even slightly amused by someone else, he gets so pouty later. He’s very territorial.

“Bet you liked that, huh? Should I start dressing like a dumbass too?”

✦ . ticci toby

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to talk to other people’s girlfriends?”

He gets stunted emotionally. You can literally see him twitching, stammering, eyes jumping between you and the idiot hitting on you. His voice drops when he speaks, way too calm, and it’s like the awkward, cute boyfriend you have fizzles away into a growling dog.

If the guy doesn’t back off, Toby doesn’t say much, he just breaks something. Usually a nose, but he’s not above an arm or collarbone.

Later, he’s clingy. It’s like he’s come down from the adrenaline spike of violence and is simmered back down to his normal self, it’s like a sugar crash. Head on your lap, fingers intertwined with yours, whispering:

“You still like me be-best, right? Right?”

✦ . eyeless jack

“Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?”

Jack is eerily still when he’s jealous. That void where his eyes should be locks onto the offender, using nothing but the absolute terror that he is do the talking. He doesn’t need loud threats or violence, just cocking his head and promising the poor guy nightmares for the rest of the week.

If they’re more brave than they are smart and decide to around, he waits until you’re safe back in his truck to deal with it. The person who hit on you may never realize how close they came to being dissected like a frog.

He won’t bring it up unless you do, but you’ll notice his touch lingers longer, like he’s re-staking his claim and ridding any remnants left behind.

“You alright? You don’t have to worry about it.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Back the fuck off. That’s not a suggestion.”

Tim’s entire body tenses. He clenches his jaw, shoulders stiff, eyes dark. He’ll take one final drag of his cigarette or sip the last of his beer before sauntering over to you, readying himself for whatever is about to happen. Stern words or a mean punch, he’ll deliver anything.

It doesn’t take much. Masky has been worked and bred to give nasty clocks to the jaw and leave them broken. Enough scrambling with poor victims to get away from him has taught exactly where and how to hit someone where it’ll hurt.

He’s the type to grab your hand after and walk away without a word, but later, when it’s just you two, he’ll hold you tighter than usual. He doesn’t let you get far, no matter if it’s to bed or to take a shower, he’ll hang around.

“You’re mine. Don’t forget it. And don’t let anyone else forget it either.”

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

“Be smart here, alright? Go ahead and just leave.”

Hoody watches first, evaluating whether you need his help or not. But when he decides he needs to step in, you hear the loud stomps of his boots before you ever see him.

He’s not going to make a scene, but he will record everything so he can remember every detail about this guy for later. And if the guy touches you? Brian will make sure he forgets how to use his hands. Much like Masky, they’re whipped for violence, it’s a first instinct to them. They couldn’t care less who is around or who will get hurt, especially if it’s to protect you.

Doesn’t talk about it much, but you’ll feel his arm curl around your waist, his gloved hand holding yours tighter.

“You’re not a prize to win. You’re mine because you chose me. Don’t forget that.”

✦ . kate the chaser

“She’s taken. Try again and you’ll be spitting out teeth.”

Kate is not loud. She’s lethal in her silence. If someone tries to flirt with you, she’s immediately on alert, analyzing every move, every tone. She doesn’t interrupt with words at first, just appears, sliding into the conversation with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed on the guy like a predator sizing up prey.

Quiet possessiveness. A sharpened edge wrapped in calm. She has a strong handle on her emotions, but when it comes to you, there’s little she won’t do. She won’t start a fight unless she has to, but if she does? It ends quickly.

She’s not one for jealous affection later. But when it’s just the two of you, she’ll press her forehead to yours and whisper slowly.

“You’re mine. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”

✦ . ben drowned

“Wow, bro, real original. ‘Hey girl, you a controller? ‘Cause I wanna press your buttons.’ Nice.”

Ben is instantly sarcastic. So sarcastic. The poor guy can’t even glance the wrong way without Ben laughing at him and how stupid he looks. Violence isn’t really his forte, but he knows how to strike an ego where it’ll hurt. They’ll go home feeling like a walking loser afterwards.

He’ll glitch in between you and the guy if he has to, or teleport right behind him like a jump-scare. His jealousy really shines through when you laugh at his assaults, Ben turning to the guy with a smug grin and sly eyes like he doesn’t even have to try to win you over.

Later on, he gets real soft and needy though. He doesn’t like to call it insecurity, but he just has to make sure.

“You’d never leave me for some normie, right? I’m literally a haunted cartridge, babe.”

✦ . clockwork

“You’re barking up the wrong girl. Mine.”

Natalie does not play games. If someone hits on you, they’re lucky if they just get an eye-roll. She’ll say threats flat-out, smiling sweetly as she shows the blade hidden up her sleeve. She’s not afraid of conflict or interrogations, she thrives in them, lives off the uncomfortable nerves that usually follow.

She’s territorial to a fault. If you want to go off by yourself while she sits at the bar? Perfectly fine by her. It’s only when she sees you start to get comfortable with someone else that she slides over and throws an arm over your shoulders protectively.

She’s not insecure, but if you flirt back even a little? Even just a laugh at their joke, she’ll be furious later. She may not be territorial, but she does have ownership belief. What’s hers is hers, respect it.

“You think I won’t make you beg for my attention tonight? Hmph. Watch me.”

✦ . laughing jack

“Ohhh no no no, sweetcakes, this one’s spoken for. Why don’t you try dating a whoopee cushion instead?”

Jack’s reaction depends on the mood he’s in. Sometimes he’s a clown about it and will have no problem making a glamorous joke to distract before swiping you away. It’s in his nature to entertain, even when he doesn’t approve of the person he’s showing for. Anything to get the attention off of you.

But if it goes too far? His face twists into something terrifying, and the guy’s laughter dies in his throat. He’ll make sure the offender doesn’t forget what this night has cost him, because his dreams will be nothing but vivid recreations of his death until Jack decides he’s had enough.

He’ll kiss your hand with a dramatic bow after, swooping you off of your feet, and taking you to somewhere more private where you two can just relax and forget this ever happened.

“You’re the only audience I perform for.”

✦ . slenderman

Slender doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He never needs to.

The moment someone hits on you, the air gets cold, pressure builds, shadows stretch. People will turn their heads when the poor guy starts screaming, pointing his finger and retreating back into the corner. But when people look at what he’s pointing to, there’s nothing there. They can’t see the horrifying visions Slender is placing onto them that will be sure to scar them.

The guy might suddenly forget what he was saying, or where he is at all, lost in the fog of his brain that he has no explanation for why he can’t recall his own name.

Later, Slender will materialize behind you in silence and gently wrap his arm around your middle, pulling you back into him. He’ll let you continue to enjoy yourself, but you can be sure you won’t leave his sight for the rest of the evening. He offers just one word, whispered like a threat and a vow.

“Mine.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[deadghosy]

HEADCANNONS OF HAZBIN HOTEL CREW WITH CATNAP! READER

Prompt: you are a resident in the hotel who makes sure people sleep. No one gets out of your grasp of not sleeping.

Warning: you aren’t an experiment, you died to og catnap’s smoke as you coughed going to hell. Also this might be long based on how your reading speed is.

I headcannon you to always walk around at night around the hotel making sure the hotel cast sleeps as you don’t sleep much either.

“I ensure you my friend I don’t need-" immediately Alastor passes out on the ground as the red smoke exit your mouth as you soullessly stare at the powerful man’s body with your creepy smile.

You don’t give a fuck- you are quite ruthless when putting someone to sleep. You had a smug teeth smile as you dragged Alastor by his leg to his room.

Angel was hiding in the hallway scared as red smoke covers the halls. “Shit…” he says as he eyes your tall figure walkby around the other side of the hall as your red smoke exiting your mouth follows

He was absolutely fucked. Angel tried to turn to run only to bump into purple fur as he holds himself at your chest. He blushes seeing your smug smile down at him.

Before he could protest the red smoke hits his face as your wrap your tail around his waist. How did you get so damn quick beside him?! You put him on your shoulder as you walked to his room to lay him down.

No one knows…..

Now when it’s morning time, you aren’t out as usual. Only at night time as you are use to being up at night helping other sleep. It’s part of your purpose and role as you even have a moon 🌙 pendent on your collar.

Hell, Angel is the most closest to you because he has rough times sleeping after working. He wouldn’t tell you what he does but all you know. He is physically and mentally tired from his job as you hold him in your soft arm as you let out red smoke from your mouth.

Your fur smelling like vanilla and lavender helps him sleep as he cuddles into your soft purple fur as you watch tv with a bored expression. Your ear twitches as Angel snores loudly.

Your red smoke is the only smoke he likes that is red.

Charlie found you at her door of the hotel and questioned you to why you wanted to work here. And what did you say.

“I want to help people sleep…” you said with a raspy deep voice as you smirked at Charlie who seemed a little unsure at your smirk as it seemed full of confidence and sinster. But she liked your determination as she hired you.

Of course I headcannon catnap’s fur and so as yours to smell like lavender to match the soft smell of sleeping to help residents sleep better than they ever have.

I also headcannon you have claws that can be retract like a cat. You usually use your claws/nail to cut something for the crew, or to protect from demons or sinner trying to harm the hazbin hotel.

CREW HEADCANNONS!

I headcannon husk walking to you grumbling drunk as he drops on your body without you even needing to use your smoke on him. Honestly you patted him as you both were cats. You both purr in each other presences. Angel and Charlie recorded the moment to save for their whole life.

I headcannon after Lucifer moved in the hotel. He was definitely scared if you because of your endless wide ass gaping smile. But after you actually showed you can stop smiling like that. He stopped having nightmares of you🦆. Poor little duck man had to hold his covers hearing your big ass steps around the halls.

I headcannon Angel and you sometimes compete trying to see who’s chest fluff is most fluffy.

…and you won💀

Literally what did he think when a 8ft tall cat creature who can make you pass out and hallucinate things have much more softer fur than him.

I headcannon Nifty one time tried to make you take a bath, but dead ass you blow the smoke in her face as she face planted on your paw. You laid her on the couch as you walked upstairs to go to bed on your own.

I headcannon that Charlie sometimes tries to make you sleep with the other residents rather than you forcing others to sleep. It didn’t work out well as you stilled stayed up to knock people out.

Lucifer one time tried to talk to you…but he couldn’t get the hang of you being 8ft tall…it actually intimidated the king of hell himself as he gulps staring up at you. He forced you to get down low like a cat to face him as he pets you.

You purred of course with your usual grin making Lucifer blush as he rubs his face in your fur with a star gazed expression. Literally star in his eyes as he actually fells relaxed by the smell of lavender. 

Alastor hates you sometimes, but he loves how calm and quiet you are despite you knocking his ass flat like a bug getting hit with a fly swatter. But he appreciates how you care for people’s health and sleep schedule.

Pentious absolutely loves you as his egg boiz cuddle up to you if it’s winter. You smile your smug smile as you whistle at the eggs who seem happy to be by you as Pentious also snugs himself in your fur

I kinda imagine when most people see an 8ft tall ass purple cat with white pupils with full black eyes staring at them. They piss their pants running as the whole hazbin crew hugs you admiring how soft your fur is.

Vaggie once seen you use your red smoke on angel, and she was concerned as she literally whipped out her spear at you as you only stared confused with a raised brow. You pushed the spear out of your sight explaining that angel couldn’t sleep and asked you to help.

I can see that vaggie, Alastor, and Lucifer were the last ones to actually trust you before believing you have good intentions to helping people sleep.

The ones to immediately trust you was, Angel dust, a little bit of husk, Charlie immediately with nifty and Pentious behind her.

I headcannon you basically breathing out red smoke on accident once and knocking out the whole hotel cast as you sit there with your ears down ashamed

I image angel dust pulling out one of those cat lasers to tease you. But he didn’t know that husk and you would immediately meow and purr for the laser as both of your eyes dilated. Angel died laughing as he took a picture of you falling on your back trying to grab the laser.

I headcannon vaggie to train you to fight only for you to prove her wrong when she woke up gasping for air to find out you used your smoke on her. She woke 5 hours….yeah she never doubted you ever again

I image when watching a movie with the crew, some of them lean on you like pillow while some just use your tail like a blanket while you snore like an old grandpa.

I headcannon the overlords once had a meeting about you as one of them seen you and mistook you for a new scary overlord. But Lucifer being the silly man he is, showed them a photo of you cuddling up with him on the couch. “Nah, he’s just a big ol cuddly cat..” he says with a snake smile as the overlords look at him like “What..the fuck..”