#pleas clap...

[some-creep]

Storch, Star, and Eule are ready to be published.

Falke, Mynah, and Adler still need to be rendered.

For the hell of it I'll add on Ariane, Isa, and Alina too. That should cover everybody.

[sappi-papi]

whateverrr *flipnote studios your jungle*

[vinestaff]

bluehill? bluehill.

[lorelune]

also

acknowledging new icon

[starwaffle345]

playing webfishing with worldless ost playing in the background can be pretty funny sometimes

[clownplushie]

for some stupid reason today i spent 10 or 12 hours making a live2d model. a vtube if you will.

[lovebugism]

A request for the Thunderbolts (if you're interested no pressure <3)! - being caught/interrupted having sex

ty for requesting! :D below you will find four separate blurbs for the thunderbolts (bucky, john, yelena, and bob), each with their own separate summaries and a whole lotta smut!! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you and bucky try to have some alone time after a mission gone wrong but, like most things, it doesn't go as planned (0.9k words)

Bucky Barnes has been waiting for this all day.

The need within him borders on primal now. Adrenaline and yearning course through his blood like fire and ice water in his veins; a near-lethal concoction of anger and want and craving. It’s the job that makes him this way, Bucky always tells himself — if it wasn’t always so life or death, and if you weren’t always so willing to throw yourself into the line of fire, he figures he’d be as even-tempered as they come.

But this latest mission wasn’t nearly as easy as Valentina made it out to be. The six of you scattered for safety, and somewhere in the gunfire, Bucky lost sight of you. It took four hours for the dust to finally settle, and for you and John to stumble back to the rundown motel in the middle of nowhere that your boss mistakenly called a ‘safehouse.’ Neither of you sported anything more than couple scrapes and a bruised ego, but Bucky hugged you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, anyway.

“You’re okay…” he mumbled into your hair within a sigh of relief.

“I was,” you joked. “Until you started suffocating me.”

Bucky loosened his hold but never quite let you go, while John shifted uncomfortably behind you. “I’m okay, too, guys. Thanks for asking.”

Bucky channels all that stifled grief and rage into you now, in each of his rhythmic thrusts into your pulsing pussy. The thin motel bed creaks beneath your bodies with every roll of his hips. A lewd sort of symphony swells within the walls of the dark, dank motel room accordingly — a sinful orchestra of squeaking, panting, clapping, and moaning.

He feels the very beginnings of an orgasm tightening in the pit of his lean stomach. His hands ball the pillow into his fists on either side of your head, and you smile deliriously up at him.

“Close?” you pant, fighting back a moan when he slides into you just right, the coarse thatch of pubic hair above his cock rutting perfectly against your swollen clit. 

Bucky nods obediently, then ducks his heavy head to your shoulder. The ends of his hair tickle your jaw while he exhales quiet grunts into your neck, right over your racing pulse. 

“I know you are,” you coo through labored breaths, nails etching crescent shapes into shoulders. “I know you need it, Buck. C’mon— Cum for me.”

His hips stutter against yours. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a broken whine. He nearly lets himself go until a knock at the door brings him to — urgent, rapid, and unable to be ignored.

Yelena’s deep voice comes muffled from outside. “T-minus five minutes before the military shows up! Whoever’s not outside is getting left behind,” she announces far too casually, then strolls to knock on the next door. “So much for a safe house,” you hear her grumble as she goes.

Your legs lock around Bucky’s hips when he threatens to pull out of you. You meet his subtle look of shock with something stern and mischievous, an unstoppable force to an immovable object. 

“Did I say you could stop?” you ask him.

Bucky blinks like an owl, then shakes his head in response.

“Then cum for me.”

He buckles down over you again, resting the bulk of his weight on top of your pliable body, while his thrusts turn shallow and irregular. 

He cums inside of you much sooner than he would’ve liked, because he had every intention of dragging this out until daybreak — until the only words you could think of were his name and the pleas to let you orgasm. But you have far too much control over him for that, and he quickly turns into putty in your hands. 

Upon his release — quick, unshared, and premature, like a total teenager — neither of you shares a word while you hurry to get dressed. You help each other put on your tactical gear and rush out the door in time to find the rest of the team piling into the rusted van parked outside.

The tin can was supposed to be inconspicuous enough to carry a team of so-called New Avengers, but nothing could be discreet with Alexei behind the wheel.

“Just in time!” the older man shouts when you and Bucky pile into the back seat.

The door slams behind you, and Alexei peels out of the pitch black parking lot, old tires squealing. His wide smile makes his eyes squint at the edges when he peers at you through the rearview mirror. It makes you wonder if he’s slept.

You shift uncomfortably, sandwiched between a pair of broad shoulders, trying hard to ignore the sensitivity between your thighs. 

“We were about to leave you,” John deadpans from beside you, voice gruff with leftover sleep. 

You squint at him while he props his tired head against the window. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Walker.”

Yelena twists in the passenger seat, smirking at you over her shoulder. Her box-dyed locks are wild from the sleep she never got. “What were you two doing in there?” she lilts, Russian accent deep and gravelly.

“Sleeping,” Bucky monotones.

Ava scoffs from the row in front of you, though you can hardly see her from here. She takes up most of the room in the middle seat, resting her head on her backpack and her legs in Bob’s lap. “Yeah, I bet,” she laughs.

“We were!” you try to argue, though the break in your voice is hardly convincing.

Even Bob turns around with a suspicious squint in his kind eyes. “The walls were criminally thin, to be fair,” he mumbles, almost apologetically.

“Sorry…” you waver.

“Hey! Do not apologize!” Alexei shouts from the front seat, waving his pointer finger in the air. “There is nothing wrong with needing a little bit of release—”

The van fills with a chorus of annoyed groans before he can properly finish his sentence.

JOHN WALKER X READER — you and john try to have a quickie on a mission, but mistakenly forget to turn off your comms (1.1k words)

John Walker saw it coming.

He knew what he was in for the moment the idea fell from your mouth — the blueprint of an elaborate heist to return the smuggled vibranium back to Wakanda, for which each of the New Avengers had their role.

Alexei had been honored to be a distraction, to brush elbows with the wealthiest people in the world and get his fill of complimentary champagne. John, however, was slightly offended that his only part in the whole thing was to woo the woman running the gala long enough to catch her in a lie.

“That’s it?” he laughed from the opposite end of the long table. “You want me to… flirt with some woman I don’t even know?”

You nodded. “Yes. I want you to flirt and look pretty— That’s what you’re best at.”

Yelena fought back a laugh. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing through a pang of mild embarrassment. “And it won’t make you jealous?” he wondered aloud.

“Why would I be jealous?” you scoffed.

“Well, what if she doesn’t give in right away?” the blonde man challenged, folding his strong arms over the table to lean in close. “What if she thinks I actually want to have sex with her—? What if she doesn’t want to tell me anything until I’ve had sex with her?”

You hesitated, for only a fleeting moment, then shrugged a lazy shoulder in response. “Whatever it takes.”

John nodded slowly and leaned back again, as though he were taking your words as some kind of dare.

Alexei, unable to read the room, then offered, “Well, if Walker’s too scared to do it, I would be happy to take one for the team and sleep with this strange woman—”

The plan went exactly as you thought it would.

Maybe a little too well.

John Walker plays his part to perfection, the only way he knows how. Turns out, you were right — he was best at flirting and looking pretty, it seems — because it takes very little work on his part to get what he wants.

He dials his charm to eleven, like he knows you’re watching over him; and the drunk woman, worth more money than Walker will ever see in his life, fawns over him with ease. He gets the intel and then some, sporting a smirk and a pink lip print on his cheek.

“Did ya get that, honey?” he asks into his comm, smiling at the nearest security camera because he knows you’re watching him from there.

“Don’t look so smug,” you grouse in his ear. “Meet me at the rendezvous point when you’re done gloating.”

John’s able to sneak his way into the basement, thanks in part to Alexei’s Russian drinking game that he’s roped a group of drunken elites into.

He finds you waiting for him in the security room, all dolled up to blend into the party you never actually attended. The thin, emerald silk of your dress drapes over your body like soft, summer rain.

John loses his breath at the sight of you, quickly forgetting that he came here to gloat, as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Where’s everybody else?” he asks, walking to stand behind you in front of the wall of security cameras. You can see the entire gala from here, every bustling body filmed in black-and-white static.

He stands close enough behind you for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. He can smell the vanilla perfume in your hair the same way you can smell the oaky cologne on his neck.

“Ava and Bob are tracking down your new girlfriend,” you quip, pointing to the screen at the bottom left corner where the two of them rush down the hallway. “And Yelena and Bucky are jetting off to the super luxurious private island your girlfriend really wanted to take you to.”

“She still waiting for me in her room?” John wonders, eyes flitting across the screens ahead of him.

“Yep,” you nod without looking back at him. “You can probably still catch her before the others if you’re fast enough. You know, if you were serious about that good time you wanted to show her.”

John laughs. You feel the exhale of the warm breath against your shoulder, right before he leans in to press a kiss to your bare skin.

“You’re so jealous,” he croons lowly into your neck.

You fight a shiver when his scruff brushes against you there. “I’m not jealous,” you insist proudly, shrugging your shoulder and dipping away from his touch. 

You spin on your heel and brace yourself against the table to slide yourself on top of it. John migrates instinctively towards your parted thighs.

“No?” he presses sarcastically with his head tilted like a puppy.

“No. ‘Cause she’s about to go to prison,” you say, nodding towards the camera where Ava leads the confused woman, dressed in nothing but a silk robe, out of her hotel room. “And you’re about to fuck me.”

“Really?” John hums, despite settling in between your spread legs like he was made to do it. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

You use his tie like a leash to pull him closer, smiling with a sadistic look in your eye. “Don’t keep me waiting, Walker.”

It’s a mess of scrambling limbs. John hurries to free his cock from the confines of his slacks while you lift the skirt of your dress to slide your panties to the side. 

You watch with lidded eyes, propped against the square screens behind you, while John works himself the rest of the way hard with his fist. You inhale the sweet scent of his cologne when he leans over you, and bite back a whimper when he slides slowly inside of you.

The quiet security room fills quickly with the sounds of heavy breaths and quiet moans — but before John can fuck you the way he wants, the door swings suddenly open.

Bob stumbles in, mouth already parted to say something, but his eyes widen in shock before he can.

“Jesus, Bob!” John shouts, jerking out of you and tucking his stiff cock back into his pants.

The curly-haired boy falters for a moment. He knows he should leave, but his brain isn’t working properly. He turns around to face the corner instead. “Sorry!” he squeaks. “I’m sorry!”

“What are you doing in here?” you pant.

“You said to meet at the rendezvous point!”

You and John share an anxious look. Both of you have forgotten about the in-ears and the live microphone inside them. “You’ve been hearing us on comms?” you waver, distantly fearful of the answer. “Like, this whole time?”

Bob nods. “Yeah…?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” John snaps.

Ava’s voice crackles suddenly through the microphone. “Well, we didn’t want to be rude—”

YELENA BELOVA X READER — walker almost catches you and yelena having a "late night snack" in the kitchen (1k words)

Yelena Belova can’t help herself.

It’s the whiskey running through her veins, maybe, or the way you look in the yellow refrigerator light. She forgets all about the movie paused upstairs and the late-night snack the two of you came searching for at three in the morning.

You bend at the waist, reaching for something deep in the fridge, and your t-shirt rises to reveal your underwear. Modest. Cotton. Pale pink and decorated with so many cream-colored stars.

It drives Yelena wild. 

You leave the carton of milk on the counter and stand on the tips of your toes, reaching for the boxes of cereal Walker always keeps on the highest shelf. You just barely manage to grab the Cinnamon Toast Crunch container when you feel Yelena press herself against your back, caging you between her body and the counter’s edge.

“Excuse me,” you giggle and struggle to spin in her hold.

You just barely manage to catch Yelena’s lazy smile before she leans in closer. “You’re excused,” she murmurs, voice low and smooth as honey.

She kisses you once, twice, and then a third time — longer and more languid than before — then begins to trail her lips down your jaw. 

You grin when she licks over your pulse point. Her fingers ball the hem of your shirt into her fists. “I really want to finish that movie, Lena…” you lilt knowingly.

“We will,” she hums, half-muffled against you. “Right after I make you feel good.”

She goes to sink to her knees in front of you. You hold tightly to the outsides of her elbows to stop her, eyes wide and glittering with panic. “Not here,” you scold with a shake of your head.

Yelena’s face scrunches in a stubborn, girlish pout — far too cute to be a world-class assassin. “Yes, here,” she argues.

“What if someone walks in?”

“No one will walk in. I promise.”

She smiles when your hardened gaze refuses to waver. She leans in close, trailing the tip of his nose over the bridge of yours. Her breath fans over your cupid’s bow. “It’s late, everyone’s sleeping. And I’ll be quick, okay?”

Her fingers dip beneath your shirt, curling over the hem of your panties. She doesn’t know how wet you are for her already. You don’t know how her mouth is watering for a taste of you now.

You huff and turn to the side, finding the blinking green numbers on the stovetop: 2:57 a.m. 

“Fine,” you cave. “But I’m only giving you three minutes.”

Yelena falls slowly to her knees. “I only need one,” she smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your clothed stomach as she slides your pretty underwear to the side with an expert hand.

You scoff. “That’s very presumptuous of y—” She licks a fat stripe up the length of your pussy. You sigh a broken moan. “—Oh…”

Her hands carress the backs of your thighs, just beneath your ass, as she kisses your cunt the way she would your mouth.

Your knees threaten to buckle when her lips lock with your sensitive clit, sucking gently there until you keen. You feel her smiling against you when you brace yourself on the counter’s edge to keep from falling.

Yelena’s mouth is a merciless thing. She has every intention of making you cum in a minute, just like she promised she would. She focuses mostly on your swollen clit — licking, then sucking, then sucking and licking — to pull a swift and powerful orgasm from your body. 

You think she would’ve broken a record if Walker hadn’t walked in at the absolute worst time.

You tense when the hall light turns on. His steps are slow and heavy, like he’s barely lifting his feet off the ground. John turns the corner, dressed in sagging sweatpants and a tank top, and flinches at the sight of you there — leaning awkwardly against the counter. 

With the kitchen island in the way, he can’t see Yelena from where he’s standing — or how she’s sucking an orgasm most devilishly from your body.

You’re grateful when he stops short in the doorway. You’re less grateful when your girlfriend refuses to cease her merciless assault on your pussy.

“What are you doing up?” John asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Oh, you know, just—” You clear your throat when your voice wavers. “Just getting something to eat.”

He nods politely and takes another step.

Panic swells within you the same way your orgasm does.

“Did you need something?” you blurt, fighting back a whimper when Yelena's teeth scrape gently along your clit.

John’s brows furrow, but he makes no mention of how strange you’re being. “I was just getting some water—”

He takes another step. You reach for a rogue water bottle and chuck it across the room, perhaps more forcefully than you mean to.

“Here you go!” you shout with a wavering smile, feeling your orgasm tightening in the pit of your stomach.

John catches the plastic thing against his chest. He scoffs a tired laugh and shakes his head. “Thanks, weirdo…” he mumbles and walks away.

You don’t relax until the hall light has turned off and you’ve heard his bedroom door click shut again. Then you deflate against the kitchen counter — one hand propping yourself up and the other holding tight to the back of Yelena’s head.

You give the short, blonde tendrils an especially sharp tug and she moans into your pussy, heavy eyes fluttering shut.

Your thighs tremble on either side of her face when you cum. You bite your lip until it hurts in a feeble attempt to keep yourself quiet. The kitchen fills with the sound of your subdued whimpering as Yelena sucks the remnants of your orgasm from your weeping cunt.

She doesn’t stop until you’re pushing her away.

Yelena leans back, wiping her glistening mouth with the back of her hand. She smiles while you catch your breath. “How was it?” she quips.

“I’m so getting you back for that,” you pant. “Just so you know.”

“Oh…” she croons sarcastically, rising to full height again. “Are you now?”

You nod once, lidded eyes glinting with something stern and mischievous.

Yelena tries not to cower at the way you look at her, like you’re some kinda succubus who can’t wait to swallow her whole.

“The entire tower is going to hear you screaming before I’m done with you, Belova.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS X READER — the one where alexei finally learns to knock before entering your bedroom (1k words)

Bob Reynolds is having the most amazing dream.

It’s of you and him, all tangled in an unmade bed, and bathing in the morning glow of a golden sunrise. You’re pressed against the side of him, heavy and warm, with your arm tucked under the blanket. You rub his half-hard cock over his boxers and press chaste kisses up and down the length of jaw. Bob’s mouth tugs upward in a lazy smile as he exhales slowly through his nose.

His eyes flutter open on their own accord. 

He finds his bedroom soaked in the same orange glow he was dreaming about. He blinks the haze of sleep from his eyes, and only then registers your body pressed against his — and the way you knead his stiff, clothed cock with a gentle hand. 

Bob wakes from one dream only to enter the next. His sigh of contentment leaves in a grumbled moan in his throat.

He feels your smile curl against his jaw. “Good morning,” you hum against his skin.

Bob nods until the words catch up to him, chestnut curls in a frizzy halo around his head. “Yes, it is…” he jokes, words weighed down with sleep.

Your body trembles with a quiet laugh from where you’re lying along his side. “Well, you were poking me in the back to be fair,” you say, punctuating your murmurs with another kiss to his neck. “So this is kinda your fault, if you think about it.”

Bob might’ve argued if he wasn’t already so close to his orgasm. Your hand dips beneath the hem of his boxers, using his pearly pre-cum as lubricate while you glide your fist up and down his cock.

His stomach tenses — there’s a knot at the pit of it he feels tightening, bound to snap at any moment.

His mouth parts to speak, but a pathetic whine escapes instead.

“You don’t care, do you, Bobby?” you coo to him, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “You just wanna cum, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” Bob squeaks obediently, right before he sighs. “Yes, please…”

With his eyes still shut, he feels the mattress dip beside him as you crawl on top of his body. The blankets shift to accommodate you as you settle between his legs.

“Where do you wanna cum, then?” you ask, too innocently for how demoniacal you're being just now. “In my hand or in my mouth?”

“Your mouth,” Bob answers instantly, voice breaking as cock jerks in your fist. “In your mouth, please— In your mouth.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you, and smile wide at the broken look on his face. “Good boy,” you hum, just to make his cock drool, before you dip beneath the covers. 

You tuck the hem of his boxers beneath his balls, keeping the base of his cock in your fist as you lick gently at the tip. You savor the salty tang of his pre-cum when you suckle at his sensitive head with no warning. Bob tenses immediately beneath you. A moan escapes from his parted mouth, filling the quiet bedroom.  

“Sorry!” he squeaks when he realizes how loud he’s being, exhaling a trembling breath and squeezing his hands into fists. He yearns to touch you, but not without permission. “I’m sorry, baby…”

If you’re angry with him, you don’t show it.

You just take is cock down your throat and until he keens. You work at him swiftly and mercilessly — knowing that, at any moment, it’ll be seven in the morning, and the rest of the tower will be up and recruiting for the latest mission.

You need Bob to cum before then.

So you swallow around the length of his cock and cup his sensitive balls in your hand. It’s a near-lethal combination that you only use during your quickies — or when you’re especially trying to torture him. 

“Can I cum?” Bob pants when he feels the knot tightening in his stomach. “Please, can I cum?”

You don’t answer him with words. You can’t with your nose buried in his pubic hair and his cock stuffed down your throat. You hum affirmatively around him instead, “Mhm.” 

The added stimulation makes him burst. Two salty ropes of warm cum pool in your mouth.

“Oh— shit!” 

His moans turn into something more urgent, fearful even, as your bedroom door clicks suddenly open.

Both of you jerk into upright positions — you on your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and Bob cupping his palms over his still twitching cock.

You find Alexei standing in the doorway, with a steaming breakfast burrito clutched in his fist. He blinks hard, like he’s trying to discern exactly what it is he’s looking at.

He swallows down his mouthful and fights back a sudden wave of nausea. 

“Team meeting downstairs in five,” is all he says, half-detached and strangely robotic, before turning back the way he came.

“Shut the door!” you call to his disappearing figure.

He doesn't seem to hear you.

“Lenaaaa!” he shouts over you, Russian voice booming throughout the quiet tower. “Never make me do that again!”

You and Bob are only slightly late to the team meeting in question.

The room is deafeningly silent, heavy with a nameless tension. Neither of the team seems to look at you with anything other than sleep in their eyes — other than Alexei, of course, who sits slouched at the head of the table.

Yelena pets unenthusiastically at his shoulder, begrudgingly comforting the pouting man.

You take your designated seats at the long table without a word — you at the opposite end, and Bob sitting most adjacent to you.

Alexei’s eyes harden into a pitiful glare. “Is there anything you two want to say to me?” he wonders dramatically, accent sounding deep in his throat. “An ‘I’m sorry,’ perhaps?”

Bob shifts uncomfortably, gaze averted. “Sorry—”

“Learn how to knock,” you deadpan, then flash a cynical smile that makes the man cower. “Or I’ll show you something a lot worse than what you saw this morning.”

[rosemaryhoney27]

Ghosts, Heroes, and Too Little, Too Late

It had taken every ounce of courage Danny had, standing in the town square, ectoplasmic energy flickering around his hands and the wind tugging at his white hair. His human-blue eyes stared out at the crowd of Amity Park citizens, waiting for the fear, the rejection, the anger.

But none came.

Instead, Mr. Lancer had stepped forward, teary-eyed, and clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Mrs. Tetslaff brought out a homemade casserole "for the hero." Even Dash had muttered something like "Guess you're not that much of a loser."

They embraced him. Their Phantom. Their kid. Their protector.

The news had gone national in under twenty-four hours.

Fourteen years old. Half-ghost. Protector of Amity Park. Had kept the town safe for two years from ghost invasions with no backup, no mentor, no safety net. Just his friends, his sister, and the town that eventually came to understand.

And with that understanding came anger.

Because for two years, Amity Park had reached out. Calls, letters, reports. Pleas to the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman—someone. But nothing. The reports were dismissed as hoaxes. Phantom was "probably another shapeshifting villain." Amity Park was written off as exaggerating, maybe even hallucinating. The town was left alone with a half-dead teenager standing between them and whatever the Infinite Realms threw their way.

And now, two years after Danny had made peace with the Ghost Zone and secured a treaty with the Realms, they came.

A gleaming ship descended outside city limits, adorned with the Justice League insignia. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and Flash stood at the front. Behind them were sleek representatives, press, and cameras.

Danny stood there, sixteen now, hovering a few inches above the cracked pavement of the park's old basketball court—his favorite haunt for aerial maneuver practice. He looked older, stronger, but his expression was unreadable. Not angry. Not happy.

Just… tired.

The League stepped forward, Superman’s cape billowing.

“Danny Fenton,” he began, his voice the same calm, commanding tone that had graced a thousand crises. “We’d like to formally invite you to join the Justice League. Your skills are remarkable, and we believe you'd make an excellent addition—”

The crowd behind Danny didn’t cheer.

They booed.

Old Mr. Schuster, who ran the bakery, shouted, “Oh now you care?!”

Mrs. Dugan from the library yelled, “Where were you when the Plasmius guy turned Main Street into a battlefield?!”

Someone threw a moldy muffin. Superman dodged it.

Flash winced. “Wow. Not the welcome we were expecting.”

Jazz stepped forward, arms crossed, expression fierce. “He was fourteen. He nearly died multiple times protecting this town. He bled for it. You called him a hoax.”

“We didn’t have confirmed data,” Batman said flatly. “There were too many false alarms in that region, and we—”

“You ignored us,” Danny said, finally speaking. His voice was quiet but carried across the park. “You ignored me. I begged for help once. Right after I got my powers. I didn’t know what I was. I was scared. Your hotline sent me to voicemail.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. Wonder Woman looked… ashamed.

“You didn’t want me when I was just a kid begging for answers,” Danny continued. “You want me now that I’ve already done the work? After I nearly died saving this dimension? After I signed a ghost peace treaty that your people tried to torpedo without understanding what the Realms even are?”

There was a low hum of agreement from the crowd. A few shouted, “Tell 'em, Danny!”

Danny stared at them. “I didn’t do this for a badge. I didn’t do it to be recruited. I did it because no one else would.”

There was a beat of silence. Superman stepped forward again, trying to soften the moment. “You’re right. We were wrong to ignore you, and we’re sorry. But if you join us, you can get real training. Resources. Help.”

Danny looked up, locking eyes with Superman. “I don’t need a League that shows up after the fight.”

And then he turned his back on them, his town behind him, arms crossed or lifted in support. The League stood there, unsure of what to say.

Danny floated up, cape rippling, energy crackling faintly at his fingers.

“I’m Phantom. Guardian of Amity Park. Protector of the Realms. You want me on the team? Then you start by fixing what you broke. With us. Not over us.”

The League left not long after.

The invitation was not declined—but it certainly wasn’t accepted either.

And Amity Park?

They slept easier that night, knowing they didn’t need the Justice League.

They had something better.

They had Danny.

[cinnamongrl2006]

♱ Knight!Simon Riley x Princess!reader ♱ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n: I love knight x princess stories, maybe because I want a strong capable man to take care of me, oh well, who knows. Also, I can't write accents phonetically for the life of me, so take what I give you plspls!!

warnings: fem reader, pure fluff, sfw

────୨ৎ────

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who fell in love with you the second he stepped foot in the castle. He was assigned to watch and take care of you, the princess, before a worthy suitor whisked you away to another land, where you were to rule as queen.

That was the plan your family, your kingdom had set out for you, that was the future that awaited you. That was the future you wanted, or so you thought until you met him, your knight. The townspeople and the people of the court called him Ghost, they worshipped him almost as if he was a legend, they feared him.

He was tall, big all over. He'd expected you to be somewhat reluctant at his sudden proximity, scared of him, repulsed at his appearance— at his grotesque appearance, he thought, big gloved hands gripping the sword in his belt, face covered by his dark helmet. He expected you to treat him like all royals treated the service, like a lap dog, like an appendage, a simple accessory.

But you didn't. You looked at him like he hung the moon and stars, spoke to him as an equal, regarded him with wide eyes. You sat by the training yard when he'd practice swordfighting, a hand over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, and you'd clap and cheer him on.

A week later he told you his real name, Simon. "But you can call me Si, love." He said it softly, walking you to the drawing room with a hand on the small of your back. His fingers tightened against the fabric of your dress when you repeated his name softly, to remember it better you'd said.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who started to get closer to you, to trust you, quicker than he usually did. He thought maybe it was because of the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring, or the way you laughed at his totally unfunny jokes like they were comedy gold.

At night, after he walked you to your quarters he'd go and stand under your window, because you always wanted to keep talking to him past your bedtime. You thought it was a shame it was dark outside when he had his helmet off, his voice was so deep, and his hands so big, his touch so warm— he had to be handsome.

He'd read to you, perched against a tree trunk, looking up at the balcony where he could make out the outline of your frame. He'd stay there with you until you started to yawn, and the sky turned orange, right before the birds sang. And then he'd walk back to his quarters and get as much sleep as he could before he had to be at your door again, picking you up after you got dressed, steering you to the dining room with a hand on the small of your back.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who, after weeks of dismissing your pleas, takes off his helmet in front of you. He doesn't like taking it off when he's at work, doesn't like being Simon when he's in the suit and armor, but for you he's already made an exception. He's surprised when you pull him down for a kiss behind a tree. You're taking a walk on the far side of the gardens, where the trees are tall and the foliage thick, and the sun doesn't get in your eyes.

After that day it became a common occurrence; you'd pull on his arm and steer him outside of the throne room. Tell your mother you were going for a walk, you'd be back before dinner, and you'd spend the entire afternoon tangled together under a weeping willow.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who told you he loved you one of those afternoons. Your head rested on his chest— armor discarded a while ago, his undershirt billowed in the wind— listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart and the rumbling anytime he spoke.

You had been telling him about a painting class you'd taken that day, his hums and caresses lulling you to sleep. It was the perfect occasion for him to say it, he couldn't hold it in any longer but he feared scaring you away if he said it out loud, the reality of your situation weighed heavy in his heart.

So he leaned his head down and kissed the top of your head, and with his lips pressed against your hair he said it.

"Love you s' much, sweetheart."

For a second he thought you really were asleep, and his words, his adoration for you, would stay a secret that only the trees that grew among you would know. But he felt you stir in his embrace, felt your hands snake around his neck, your lips find his jaw.

"Love you too, Simon."

────୨ৎ────

@cupidsworstcrime convinced me to write this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[piastappies]

𝜗𝜚 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝜗𝜚

⋆ pairing. oscar piastri x wife!leclerc!reader

⋆ summary. christmas is never calm, when the piastris are involved, or one would think.

⋆ notes. another part of dad!oscar series 😁😁😁 its honestly one of my favorites ever. this is a small christmas fic, but i might write another part of christmas at the piastris 😁 not proofread (i will do that one day i promise)

BEFORE YOUR DAUGHTER WAS BORN, you and oscar never spent christmas together. it was pretty understandable, he went back to australia to see his family, while you ended up in monaco, spending the festive moments along your family and your brothers’ girlfriends. however, you’d always spend new year’s together — whether it was australia or monaco, no one could make you leave each other’s side. nevertheless, as suspected, the problems started occurring as soon chloe’s second christmas came up.

her first christmas happened just after she was born, so there was really no conversation about going anywhere with a newborn baby, while pandemic was still going crazy. christmas in the following year was putting more and more stress on top of your shoulders. you barely seen your family all year, so the need to fly home was even stronger than ever, you couldn’t though. beside his dad, oscar hasn’t seen his family much either and asking him to go see yours for holidays seemed unfair, you were not the only one, who missed the warm embraces of their mothers.

“why don’t we all just come to your place, love?” nicole, oscar’s mum, suggested on one afternoon, making the tension in your shoulders loosen a bit. “there’s no point in stressing yourself out about flying with chloe, when we can just come to you.”

it almost seemed like a plan put together beforehand, because a few hours later your mum has called you, suggesting the exact same thing. even if it was a plan, you really appreciated trying to ease your nerves about christmas.

and it became a tradition, one you held dearly to your heart.

it’s been still a few days left till the twenty-fifth, so it was only nicole, who flew to monaco, her daughters would arrive near twenty-fourth to have a day to recharge. you were bundled up in a blanket, a small girl sitting on your lap, not wanting to be away from you as her tiny fists had tightened their grip on your shirt.

“i get puppy?” chloe asked, tipping her chin upwards to have a look at you before turning her head — so fast you thought it would snap in seconds — to look between your husband and his mom. “please, please puppy?” she repeated, jutting her bottom lip and flashed her brown eyes at oscar.

you raised an eyebrow at the aussie, awaiting his response. the possibility of him cracking and accepting your daughter’s pleas was high, considering that chloe had him wrapped around her little finger, or rather around her wrist like a leash she could tug on, and at first thought her dad would do whatever she wanted him to. his gaze shifted towards you as he let out a sigh, his heart breaking as he’s about to disappoint his only daughter.

“ah, squish, but you have a dog already, don’t you?” nicole started, catching her daughter’s attention. chloe’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. she has a dog already? is he invisible? “basil and rosie are yours too, aren’t they?” she asked in a gentle tone, the four years old perking up at this revelation.

“i do!” she exclaimed happily, letting go of your shirt to clap her hands, a big beam creeping up on her lips. “basie and rosie!” she said, her head bobbing up and down ecstatically. “my doggies.”

“and leo.” you chimed in, gently rubbing your hand against chloe’s back. the mention of your brother’s daschmund made the beam falter. “you don’t like leo anymore, squish?” you asked, a bit taken aback at the sudden change.

a pout appeared on your daughter’s face, her tone slightly bashful as she tried to explain. “leo pee-ed on me.” oscar’s lips were pulled into a tight line as he tried to suppress a chuckle. “s’no funny!” she frowned at her dad’s antics.

“he was just excited to see you, baby.” you tried your best reasoning with your daughter. “leo’s still just a baby, you know? babies pee when they get excited, it means he reaaaally likes you.”

“daddy’s baby, too an’ he don’t pee on me.” she scrunched her nose, unmoved by your explanation. “daddy don’t like chloe?”

baby. that’s how you’ve been referring to oscar for as long as you could remember, making chloe think that her dad is as much of a baby as she is. in different circumstances, you’d just start laughing — some guys, your friends’ boyfriend or fathers, random people on the street, probably acted like babies towards their partners or maternal figures, but not your oscar. he was the eptiome of a great partner, friend, and a parent, despite being a bit messy and leaving socks on your bedroom floor a few times, if you wished for someone better, you’d still get your oscar, because there couldn’t be anyone better than him, not for you and your daughter.

“well… daddy loves you so, so much, squish.” he began coyly, kneeling in front of the couch, to brush his nose against chloe’s, as an act of affection. “but i’m not a doggie, am i?” he asked, and while your reasoning seemed completely off to chloe, she bought oscar’s within seconds.

“no, silly.” the four years old giggled, putting both of her hands on oscar’s cheeks, leaving a small, sloppy kiss on the tip of his nose. “you papa.” a beam stretched across her mouth. “no doggie.”

THE CHRISTMAS CAME QUICKLY, which you were profoundly content with. it was one of the rare moments, when you could spend the time with your entire family, both sides. there wasn’t enough words to describe the amount of love you held in your heart for oscar’s relatives. you spent lots of hours, talking to your in-laws on the phone, when you couldn’t see them in person. it was natural that you wanted them in your daughter’s life as much as possible.

usually, the apartment was as quiet as it could be with a preschooler, although with almost twenty people inside, it was a mess. a positive one, one you would cherish every time it happened. your mum chatting away with nicole, tim, and chris, your brothers engrossed in conversations with oscar, while you talked to alex, and oscar’s sisters as your soon to be sister-in-law played with your daughter on the carpet, leo sleeping on his usual spot on the couch.

when you all sat down to open gifts, chloe was no longer playing with charlotte as she occupied the spot on arthur’s lap, giggling quietly, when he tickled her once in a while just to pretend he didn’t as she tried to pat his hands away.

“i give gifts, too!” she suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with excitement, pointing to a dozen of tiny boxes standing neatly next to (or on top of) one another.

it was small figurines made out of modelling clay that your husband has bought for your daughter. it wasn’t much, but it made your daughter feel involved in the gift-giving tradition. of course, you helped her throughout the process, so the figurines wouldn’t be just colours mixed together with no shape.

“oh, mon étoile. did you make them yourself?” your mum asked, a warm smile stretching across her lips as she unpacked the tiny star made out of modelling clay. that’s what pascale always called chloe, étoile, which meant a star, because she was the brightest star in your mom’s universe.

chloe nodded proudly in response, puffing her chest as she unpacked arthur’s box for him. “‘s me!” she giggled in happiness, placing the figurine in her uncle’s hand. “now, you ‘ill ‘lways remember me!”

“i could never forget you, squish.” arthur whispered into her ear, though loud enough for you all to hear, making the girl laugh from the sensation of his face in such close proximity to her ear. “i’ll always have it with me, okay?”

in the end, everyone was enamoured with the small gifts made by your daughter, which made her feel super proud of herself. she got a few toys (that you’d previously accepted, because if you had one more loud toy, you’d shred yourself into pieces) and… a racing helmet.

“we are not doing a project piastri, or whatever you’d call that.” you announced, giving your older brother a judgemental look. was it a surprise that charles gifted your daughter a racing helmet? not really, as he’s been talking about taking chloe karting. “she’s four.”

“i was four, when i started too.” he argued, a bit playfully.

“look what that made you. crazy.” you shook your head, taking a glimpse of the mesmerised look in your daughter’s eyes. “she’s too small for a go-kart. you’d have to put velco strips on her back and the seat, so she wouldn’t fell out of the thing.”

“that’s doable.” the ferrari driver shrugged, as he helped chloe put on the purple helmet. “uncle charlie wouldn’t let his squishy face get hurt.” he cooed at the girl, making you roll your eyes in exasperation.

cheering and stressing over your husband’s career was a thing you could live with, but having both oscar, and your daughter racing and karting? your poor heart wouldn’t handle it.

“i drive like daddy soon?” the four years old in question said, her voice slightly muffled by the helmet. once again, she clapped her hands happily.

and somehow, after a nice meal and gift openings, you were stuck in a conversation with your brother about taking chloe karting, while she quietly asked one of your sisters in law what karting exactly was.

[tbaluver]

hellooo!! i absolutely love your fluffy family imagines/hcs so so much! say, do you have a reaction idea on LADS men when their child cries because of them? like they unintentionally hurt their babies feelings or unknowingly broke their promise (cuz they were busy/forgot) or absolutely anything that comes to your lovely genius mind aaa :'3

thank you and hope you have an amazing daaaay!! (⁠灬⁠º⁠‿⁠º⁠灬⁠)⁠♡

Making Their Child Cry- The Love And DeepSpace Men

in order: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus genre: fluff fluff + imagine a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thank you so much angel im happy to hear that! <3 this was such a cute idea i had soo much fun writing these and i had many scenarios for each one! i got most of my ideas thanks to @ilovemitsuya mwah ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀) rafayel's part was also inspired by a mother and daughter from tiktok! <3 i lovee writing them as dads bc i just know they would make great dads and husbands! i hope you enjoy reading and i hope you also have an amazing day luv (∩˃o˂∩)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

“what?”

“santa isn’t real,” xavier says softly, not fully grasping the weight of the words he’s just dropped onto his son. xavier never saw the appeal of santa. the idea of someone sneaking into your house, leaving gifts, eating your cookies, and disappearing without a trace never sat well with him. but now, as he watches his son’s world crumble in front of him, he realizes how wrong it was to voice his opinions out loud, especially to his baby that still believes magic is real.

“b-but yes he is!” his son’s voice trembles, his lip quivering as tears begin to glisten in his eyes.

xavier’s heart sinks, his baby boy’s holiday magic is about to shatter and he didn’t realize that it would hurt this much to him. he reaches out but his son backs away, a tiny sob escapes his lips and runs away from xavier.

“momma! papa says santa isn’t real!” the words come out in sobs as your son clings desperately to your legs, his face wet with tears.

you gasp, your heart breaking hearing your baby boy cry as you scoop him into your arms. xavier watches, looking at you for a silent plea for help as you cradle your son close.

“hon it’s okay,” you murmur as you rock your baby boy gently. “santa’s real...it’s just that...well, your papa ate all of santa’s cookies last christmas and it made santa a little upset so right now, santa and papa aren’t exactly getting along. but i’m sure they’ll fix it.” you eye xavier, signaling him.

your son sniffles and wipes his nose with his sleeve, his little face scrunches, “h-he made santa upset! papa you have to fix it!”

xavier reaches out and wipes the last few stray tears from his son’s cheek, “alright, i’ll fix it. i promise.”

later that night

your son is fast asleep in his bed, his small frame curled up under the covers until tiny trails of sparkling light begin to swirl around his room. they twinkle like stars, softly glowing in his room.

your son stirs, his eyelids fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. he rubs his eyes as he tries to focus on the situation unfolding in front of him. at the foot of his bed, standing in a warm glow of light, is a santa and elf puppet.

“ho ho ho! hello there sweet child!” the santa puppet's voice exclaims but really it’s just xavier, hiding beside his small bed frame as he projects his voice through the puppet’s mouth. “i’m sorry i cannot be there in person right now,” the puppet- or xavier continues, “but i sent my best elf to deliver this as a message to you! your father and i have talked, and we have made up!” the elf puppet nods and claps enthusiastically.

your son’s eyes widen with joy, “really?! yay!!” hearing his son’s excitement and happiness makes his heart full and he wishes he can see the joy in his son’s face.

“you should sleep now,” the santa puppet says softly, “i’ll be seeing you again on christmas night. goodnight, little one!”

your son grins, wishing a goodbye to the santa puppet as he pulls the covers up to his chin and snuggles back into the warmth of his bed. but the excitement that was building up in his chest refuses to let him sleep fully. his eyes flutter once more and catches a glimpse of the twinkling lights and a trail of sparkling dust as the puppets disappear from his sight.

xavier peeks into his soon’s room, “is everything alright?” he whispers, stepping inside. his son sits up, wide-eyed with a grin plastered on his face.

“daddad! santa just spoke to me!” his voice filled with excitement and joy, making xavier smile.

he crouches down beside him, playing along as if he wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “really? i just spoke to him too.”

your son’s giggles and xavier can’t help but join in and laugh with him, “you guys are best friends now!”

“of course,” xavier says softly, “anything to make you happy. i’m sorry i upset you earlier.”

your son wraps his arms around his neck in a hug, “it’s okay dad. you never would upset me. i love you.”

xavier’s smile softens, returning the embrace. “i love you too, my little star,” he whispers, a small glow of dust still glowing in the room.

Zayne:

“we’re losing her!”

the panic in the room was almost tangible.

“don’t worry. it’s going to be okay,” dr. zayne replied calmly, even though he could feel the distress radiating through the room. his eyes remained focused on the patient in front of him.

earlier

“okay daddy ready?” his daughter’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she bounced up and down, clutching her beloved snow bear plushie. the little bear was dressed up as elsa from frozen and it was her most loved and cherished plushie she’s ever gotten.

zayne’s lips curled up into a smile from how cute his daughter was as he gives her a nod. he clears his throat before beginning. “let it go....let it goooo.” he sang flatly as tiny snowflakes and snowdrops danced in the air, falling gently on top of them. 

she gasped in delight as she watched the magic unfold before her eyes. to her it was way better than anything from the movie, it felt like real magic. she squealed with laughter, spinning in a circle until something unexpected happened.

an ice crystal drops into her plushie’s belly, forming a small tear on its soft stomach and its stuffing begins to fall out.

to zayne it was a minor mishap, just a small rip. but to his baby girl, it was an absolute catastrophe. her face twisted in shock and before zayne could even react, she screamed in horror, clutching her bear to her chest like she truly lost someone in a war.

“daddy!” she cries out, her tiny hands desperately trying to protect the bear as the stuffing slowly poured out. little did she know she was actually making it worse as she kept moving it around. “y-you monster!” her voice trembled.

hearing that made zayne’s heart sank but he swallowed his own disappointment and quickly scooped her into his arms. “i’m sorry, my little snowflake,” he says softly, rubbing her back as she hiccups with sobs. “it was an accident. we can fix her okay?”

she pulls away slightly, rubbing stray tears that fell from her eyes, “we can?”

zayne gives her a reassuring nod and a small smile, “i promise. she just needs a little surgery and she’ll be all better.” he brushes the hair from her face, helping her wipe away any tears with his thumb. “you must stay strong for her okay?”

he gently sets the plushie on the table in front of them, its belly exposed with cotton. “i’m going to get everything we need but i need you to stay and look out for her.” she nods seriously, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

zayne leaves the room momentarily and returns with a small pair of scissors, needle, and a thread. he kneels beside the table as his daughter stood nearby, watching anxiously.

the operation has begun.

zayne carefully snips away the thread, feeling the weight of his daughter’s gaze. a few clumps of stuffing accidentally falls out and she gasps, her eyes widening in panic.

“we’re losing her!” she cries, hiding behind zayne’s arms for comfort.

“don’t worry. it’s going to be okay,” dr. zayne replied calmly, even though he could feel the distress radiating through the room. his eyes remained focused on the patient in front of him. he continued to stitch, pulling the fabric of the bear back together, until the rip looked like it was never there. with one final knot, it was finished.

“there,” he gently smoothes her plushie’s fur, “all better now.”

her eyes widened, holding the bear closer to her chest. she squeezes it tightly, smiling widely. “thank you, you're the best!” she squeals, his heart lifting at the sight of her happiness.

she bites her lip and looks up at him, her voice small. “i-i’m sorry for calling you a monster papa,” she whispers.

zayne’s heart melted and scooped her up into a big hug, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of her small head. “it's alright my little snowflake. i know you didn’t mean it.”

she hugs him back tightly, her small frame nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “i love you daddy.”

“i love you too, dear. now let’s go get some deserving macaroons after our shift.”

Rafayel:

his son had always wanted to be just like rafayel. he’d watch with wide eyes as rafayel creates something beautiful in his studio. the way the artwork has come to life the moment he starts to paint or draw has always fascinated him.

as soon as his son announced that he had drawn something for him, rafayel couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

“alright, show me what you’ve got my little glub glub!” rafayel grins, his heart was racing with excitement to see what his son had created.

but the moment his son had turned his sketchbook around, he froze. a chuckle escapes before he could stifle it. the drawing was rafayel’s face and it was....certainly unique. many would call it abstract. the proportions were comedically off and the colors were, well, not quite what rafayel expected.

“wow! this is....nice!” rafayel says, forcing the words out with a grin while desperately fighting back the laugh that was threatening to escape.

“raf....” you whispered, pinching his arm as a warning, your eyes narrowing with concern. you could tell rafayel was trying to hold back the sarcasm and you feared that their son might pick up on it.

“ouch!” he winces dramatically but it didn’t stop his amusement from creeping in. “i mean seriously, where did you learn to do this? and is this....pigmentation? where were you all these years?!” he lets out a small laugh, digging himself deeper into the joke.

unfortunately, his son was not laughing. his son pulls the sketchbook away and hugs it tightly to his chest, hiding the drawing.

“nono!” rafayel scrambles to fix it, “i promise my little glub glub, it’s sooo good!” but his words could not mask the laughter still lingering in his throat.

a pout forms on his son’s lip, arms crossed, just like what his father would do. “then why are you and mommy laughing?” his voice trembled, tears threatening to spill in his eyes.

rafayel froze, guilt washing over him once he saw tears streaming down his cheeks. “glub glub, mommy doesn’t know anything about art!” he tries to explain, his tone trying to remain gentle as he tries to cover your face with a pillow. 

he pulls his baby boy into his arms, “hey hey i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you upset. your art is nice. i think you’ve got talent. i love it. i really do.”

your son didn’t respond for a few seconds but he relaxed a little later in rafayel’s arms. “you promise?”

rafayel nods, his lips curling into a smile as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of his baby son’s head., “i promise my little glub glub. now let’s frame your masterpiece on the fridge!”

your son squeals in joy, bouncing on the couch with excitement but you intervene with a teasing smile. “how about we let daddy display your masterpiece in his pieces as well?” you give rafayel a mischievous grin, watching as his eyes narrow at you

“that’s even better!” he says, trying not to drop his playful sarcasm. “see my little glub? i love you so so much that i’ll even put your beautiful artwork in mine.” he throws in a playful wink as he lifts his son into his arms for a tight hug.

Sylus:

your little girl had waited for sylus for hours. he had promised her playtime as much as she wants before bed. but now, now it was almost too late. she clutched her favorite crow plushie as if it was a stress ball. she sat in front of the window, glaring at the headlights of his vehicle that flashed by.

when the door finally swung open, it wasn’t the usual welcoming scene of you and your daughter running up to him and greeting him. instead it was just you greeting him, your lips met his in a soft and tender kiss and his baby girl, well, she glared at him with all the fury and intimidation she could muster.

“sweetie?” his eyebrows furrowed as he knelt down to meet her height but she only puffed out her cheeks further, gripping her poor crow plushie.

“you lied!” she points at him accusingly, “you promised playtime!” she whined, her voice going higher, a sign that she was this close bursting into tears.

he sighed deeply, “i’m sorry, sweetie. i didn’t-”

before he could finish his sentence, the crow plushie was thrown at his face that made him pause mid sentence.  he let out a long exhale, brushing it off. she was already upset and he did break her promise.

“i didn’t mean to break our promise my little dove,” he continues, “but i;m here now, okay? i’m here.” he extends his large hands to wipe any stray tears that were already forming in her eyes.

his heart shatters when he sees her bottom lip quivering as she sniffles in protest and when he sees tears starting to form and spill. he cooed softly, his large hands tenderly brushing the tears from her cheeks. “it’s okay sweetie. here. i have something to make it up to you.”

suddenly the door swings open and luke and kieran trots in, both dramatically holding up a mountain of her favorite dolls and toys. “little hunter!” they exclaimed in unison, striking a pose.

her eyes widened, noticing those were her favorite toys. the toys she had been dreaming and wanting for a while. “are those for me?” she gasped, her eyes sparkled with excitement.

sylus smiles, picking her up gently as she squeals in delight. her pout disappearing into a cute grin. “of course,” he replies, his voice much more playful and softer as he boops her tiny nose. “we can play as much as you want now.”

her little arms wrapped around his neck, not reaching all the way due to her tiny frame and his much larger frame. “thank you so much! i love you daddy!”

sylus chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i love you too sweetie.”

you couldn’t help but watch in awe at the scene, “what do you say sweetie?”

she paused, her face scrunching up as her head drooped down. “i-i’m sorry for throwing my plushie at you,” she whispered, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

sylus lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “it’s alright sweetie. let’s not let it happen again. we can always work things out differently okay?”

she nods, listening intently.

“now, let’s all play, yes?” he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

the excitement in her eyes was truly adorable as she bounced in his arms, her little legs kicking with pure joy. “yes yes! let’s go!” she squealed, clapping her hands together in excitement.

luke and kieran had already made their way to her playroom and sylus held her close, guiding you to the room as well, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back.

[theamberparadise]

Stolen Goods | TICCI TOBY x READER SMUT DRABBLE | mdni!

SYNPOSIS; After Toby gets mocked by Jeff (who has fucked you before), Toby stomps his way to your room to give you the better– if not the best– sex you’ve had in your entire life. He wants to make you scream, to make you realize that he is the better choice for you, not Jeff. Him. Only him.

TW; c*ck1ng, ch0k1ng, m0ck1ng, d3gr4d4t10n, mentions of reader getting pr3gn4nt but not actually happening, toby's jealousy issues lmfao.

A/N; i was writing for toby's thirsts but i got a little sidetracked lmfao. consider this my first separately published drabble.

Jeff’s words rang in Toby’s head.

“You can’t fuck her as good as I can.”

“I doubt you’ll make her scream– or even make any sound at all.”

“What makes you think you’ll even get as close as to making her cum? Or even get her naked at all?”

Those words were injected in his brain like stinging venom.

And Toby was more than ready to prove him wrong.

And one night, Toby couldn’t take it anymore. He knocked on your door– three times, and the second your pretty face showed itself through the cracks, he shoved you back, making you stumble backwards, and when your questions came spilling out your mouth, he gripped your arms and pinned you down onto the stuffy sheets.

That was the only thing you remember before you were shrieking your brains out, your cunt fluttering around Toby’s meaty cock, his angry tip punching at your cervix.

You had no idea why he was doing this– or why you liked it. But from all the things he’s sputtering out of his mouth, you start to gain why he broke in.

“Why– why him of a-all people?” he muttered. “Why him? Why why why–” his words were almost static to your ears, the loud claps of your flesh and the thumping of your blood in your ears muffling out any other noise– or any other bit of your conscience telling you that you were still inside a mansion full of murderers and wanted convicts who might already have heard your wanton cries.

They only got louder when he lifted your hips with his, pushing the back of your knees toward the sides of your ears, forcing you into an aching mating press that only hit your spot even harsher than before.

“T-Tob-Toby–” your weak fingers clawed at him with the strength of a kitten. Toby didn’t budge. “What did h-he have that I d-didn’t?” he growled. “Did my dick n-not look big e-enough? Do m-my muscles not imp-impress y-you enough?” 

A silence consisting of your loud cries pursued for a moment, before his chest snapped and his hands went for your throat, leaving you to wrangle and squirm under him.

“Fucking answer me!” He roared, his cock ramming in your cunt even harder than before. The disgusting squelches of your juices turned filthy. And your moans? Turned unholy.

You were begging– begging for him to let go and give you some air. Begging for him to slow down, you can’t take it.

But all those pleas go unheard when Toby keeps on rambling about his questions– his delusions– his voice getting meaner and meaner from the start of him begging so sweetly to let him fuck you, a drastic change from sweet and yearning, to rough and intimidating.

You and Jeff only had a fling-- a one night stand that felt good, but you didn't think it would mean anything to Jeff. But not to Toby, no. He took it as an insult. An offense made by you. Despite him refusing to make a first move ever since the start of your stay here.

Toby knew this fact as well. And he admits, it's his fault, too. But the thought of you giving your pussy-- his pussy up for grabs to anyone in this damn mansion? Especially to someone Toby could break in half like a stick? Absolutely not.

“How did hi-his dick feel h-huh? Was it good? B-better? Better t-than me?” 

You shook your head. You didn’t want him to be even more rabid than he is now, if he was fueled by even a tad bit of anger any longer, he would kill you.

But clearly, your pathetic attempt didn’t work.

“Then what fucking business do you have with fucking Jeff? Huh?” he hissed. And when you don’t answer, he pulls out, leaving you wriggling on your mattress. You open your mouth to thank him and whoever is up in the clouds listening to you, but are interrupted by him lifting you up, twisting you towards the wall, pinning your poor face against it while your knees tremble against the cotton of the mattress. 

You shriek once again, louder, when Toby thrusts in once again without warning. 

Your poor, bruised wrists are pinned behind you now, the wall pressing against where the underlay of your skin meets his tip, making you feel him intensely more than ever before.

Your sobs are desperate, helpless. And that doesn’t stop Toby.

“Did he make you f-feel like t-this? L-like heaven?” he snickered, in pure pride. “He won’t ever f-fuck you like this. H-he won’t ever m-make you scream l-like this. He won’t even make y-you feel what y-you feel with m-me,” his words cut through like obsidian. “I’m better b-baby, so so much b-better…” Toby leans in and drags his tongue from your chin up to your ears. “He’s a fucking shrimp compared to me, but you d-don’t even seem to co-comprehend that.” he chuckles.

“Y-yknow who’s room this is?” he reaches up a free hand, balled into a fist before knocking against the hollow plywood with his knuckles. “It’s Jeff’s room,” he taunted, a sly grin plaguing his face. “And he’s in there, right now, l-listening to you being a who-whore for me.”

You can only do so much but to whimper like a poor animal, your orgasm being on the edge, like a string ready to be snapped.

“You wanna fuck him? F-fine, you can f-fuck him, date him if y-you want,” he rasped, his pace nothing short of relentless. “But not before I get y-you fucking pregnant,” your eyes widen. “Pregnant with my fucking babies, make h-him raise it,” he giggles. “Watch the life spill o-out of his eyes when he r-realizes it’s not his… fuck, baby, th-the things you m-make me want to do.”

You cringed, cheeks heating up like never before– Toby’s threats pushing you over the edge like a boulder.

The string inside you snapped like nylon, violently shaking your body with one last cry, nails scraping against the paint, eyes shooting open like sex-filled voids, the sound of his name bouncing off the walls.

A buzz from Toby’s very-cracked phone wakes you up. Your body feels… fresh. Relaxed. He must’ve bathed you when you passed out. 

Out of curiosity, you picked up his heavy cell, the bright screen almost blinding you when your eyes take focus.

------

JEFFREY

3 missed calls, 6 unread messages

12:46 AM what the fuck are you two doing

1:28 AM open the fucking door

1:31 AM toby i fucking swear

*2 missed calls*

1:58 AM im going to gouge your brains out OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR

2:01 AM youre gonna pay for this i swear ill leave you for dead you shitty little bitch

*1 missed call*

3:29 AM just you wait, twitch. just you fucking wait ill get her back.

---------

Thick fingers reached from behind you and gently take the phone out of your hands, the feeling of Toby’s stubble grazing on your neck like sandpaper makes you jump a little.

“Schlaf weiter, Engel. Er ist deine Zeit nicht wert. Ich schon. Nur ich. Er ist nicht halb so ein Mann wie ich.” his words sound foreign to you, but you have a mental guess on what it might mean. And one thing is for sure:

It would be evident that you won’t hang out with Jeff ever again.

[meganegatari]

thinking about loser!ellie who's so vocal during sex...muahahaha. except idrk how to transcribe this kinda talk so LMAO. if you see me put something very similar in the loser!ellie finale...no you didn't. let's just say this is practice for that. 18+

every part of the whole experience would just be blowing her mind. the sights, the smells, the tastes, the sensations—turning her brain to soup. she'd be so obsessed with you, so overwhelmed by the new experience, she wouldn't know what to do with herself.

and at first she'd try to downplay it, stifle the sounds threatening to spill by biting her lip or clapping her hand over her mouth, only allowing quiet huffs and strings of profanities to escape. she'd want you to think she's cool, or she can handle it all smoothly.

however, as time goes on, she loses all control of herself. grunts of effort turn into mewls of your name, which turn into whiny, needy pleas the closer she gets to euphoria. she can't control her sounds anymore, because it's just too good. she even gets so pussydrunk she starts to babble nonsense. she pauses sucking on your clit to push her foggy glasses up her nose and slur through a crackly voice, "mmm, love this— love your pussy s'much babe...so much."

but when she's the one receiving, her pleasureful cries are music to your ears. whatever you may be doing, you'd hear no end of begs for more, until she can't form proper words anymore and all she can produce are loud, melodic moans.

not to mention the look on her face was one so lewd, yet one so clear showing she wasn't holding back. face as red as a budding rose, her copper eyebrows knitted together, her eyes rolled slightly back and screwed tightly shut—even the occasional tear streams down the side of her face. back arched and mouth open, her lips puffy, you wanted to engrave the image of her like this on the inside of your eyelids.

"ah, ah, ah, m'gonna cum—hnn!" is the final shriek of ecstasy before her wails become strangled in her throat—choked, silent moans while she's squirting everywhere and you're working her through it. then her sounds turn into heaving pants as she tries to bring herself back to earth and catch her breath, recover from the sensitivity.

after it all, she grows self-conscious, shyly asking you if she was too loud. but you reassure her quickly that she was perfect, she's so beautiful, and you're glad to have brought her pleasure. even though you're definitely getting a noise complaint from the neighbors. worth it! ♡

never know when to tag or not so: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @xysbree tag?

[rafeysafterglow]

More jealous rafe smut plsss

jealous!rafe fucks the thought of another guy out of you

pairing: jealous!rafe x f!reader cw: smut little plot, pinv, kinda rough, jealous & possessive rafe, dirty talk, edging, creampie, 18+ mdni a/n: a quick ask before i continue my ttpd series :p yummy

“ya’ think he can fuck you better than me, huh?” rafe grunts out as he pounds into you. his tip was hitting the soft part inside you just right which made your eyes roll and your toes curl. “look at ya’, so perfect for me, squeezing me tight.” he continues wrecking your pussy, his ragged breath loud above you, his sweat dribbling down his face and dripping onto yours.

“mmmffhh, fuuuckk raaafeee,” your high-pitched whines bounced off the walls, mixed with the deep sound of bodies clapping. the air in the room was stifling, the smell of sex and sweat evident. your arms were stretched wide across the bed, you fingers gripping the sheets beneath you until your knuckles ached. your mind was hazy, he was fucking you so good, so right, all you feel is the pleasure coursing through your body.

you can feel your clit tingling, the familiar feeling building inside you, signaling you were about to come. rafe, of course so in tuned with your body, realized and pulled out. the immediate feeling disappeared and the loss of his cock inside you caused your whines to be ten times louder. “ahhhh rafeee, i was so closeeee,” you wailed out.

in response, rafe grabbed your hips and turned you around, your stomach connecting with the bed with a humph. he forced your ass towards him and slammed his cock into you without warning. you wailed out as he mercilessly quickened his pace, clearly chasing for his own pleasure. your cried out for him loudly, which made him reach forward and grab the back of your head harshly, pressing your face into the mattress.

“you flirt with a guy right in front of me, and ya’ expect me to let you come?” he breathes out. “ya’ should think twice before doing that again, sweetheart, or i’m gunna think you want me to get angry.” you whimper out into the bed, your saliva wetting the sheets.

the combination of his fingers tangled into your hair, your struggle to breathe, his hips jerking off-pattern, and both of your whines caused the familiar feeling to build again. “i’m gunna come, puhhleeeaseee rafeeee,” your pleas were muffled, making it hard for rafe to understand you.

“nuh uh, ya’ not coming before me,” his hips start stuttering and he releases inside you with a long groan. you couldn’t hold it anymore, his warm cum inside you forced you to come yourself.

rafe collapsed on top of you, his breathing still hard. “i better not see you flirt with anybody again, or next time i won’t let you finish.”

[skmhlml]

you probably have a ton of these already but could you write some smut headcanons for shadow milk cookie? 😩💙

I am so down bad for this blasted jester it's not even funny anymore–

maybe reader is a cookie from gingerbrave's group that caught his interest and he practically takes reader away once pure vanilla and the others arrive in his territory?

sorta like beauty and the beast vibes going on between them 🤭💕

🃏 Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader — (NSFW + Dark Headcanons)

⚠️ WARNING: This post contains NSFW content, including dark themes such as dubcon/noncon elements, obsession, degradation, biting, sensory play, and breeding kink (fantasy). Reader discretion is heavily advised. This is a villain x reader piece with beauty and the beast dynamics turned corrupted and twisted.

—————————————————————————————————————————

🧿 You were the light in the dark, a vibrant presence among Gingerbrave’s little group, and unfortunately (or perhaps fatefully), Shadow Milk Cookie noticed you immediately.

🧿 He doesn’t like “innocence” unless it’s something he can warp, stretch, and lace in velvet filth. You were soft. Touchable. Curious. Easy prey

🧿 When Pure Vanilla and your allies step into his nightmare domain, you’re separated in the chaos—and Shadow Milk doesn’t hesitate. One swirl of shadows, a manic laugh, and you’re gone.

🧿 To the rest, it’s a kidnapping. To Shadow Milk, it’s a gift. A perfectly timed claiming. “You’re mine now, little cream puff. Let the world rot—you’re the only sweet I want to taste.”

🧿 He loves the contrast of your goodness in his twisted world. You’re chained in silk, kissed in poison. He makes every touch a punishment and a reward.

🧿 Shadow Milk’s kisses taste like spoiled wine and smoke, and they always leave you dizzy. He does it just to see you melt.

🧿 He’s not gentle. He’s dramatic, sensual, and utterly consuming. Think tangled limbs on a throne of bones, your pleas muffled by velvet gloves.

🧿 Very vocal. Dirty-talking menace. “Say my name. Beg for more. Or I’ll make you cry for real.”

🧿 He doesn’t just fuck—he devours. He likes to mark, to ruin, to makes you his masterpiece of lust and surrender. Bites. Scratches. Clawing hands under your icing-smeared clothes.

🧿 He’ll pin you under his weight, his long limbs caging you like a predator, and just…stare. Letting the moment hang. Letting you squirm.

🧿 You consent in some moments, but others feel like you’re being emotionally or magically pushed until resistance becomes pleasure.

🧿 He loves sensory control. Blindfolds you, ties your wrists, pours shadowy milk over your body and licks it off slowly, lazily, cruelly.

🧿 Under all the madness, the sadism, the possession, there is something achingly real in how he loves you. It’s not sane, but it’s genuine.

🧿 He strokes your hair after using you like a doll. He hums lullabies. He lets you wear his jester cloak and calls you “his little moon.”

🧿 He will destroy kingdoms if they ever try to take you back. Pure Vanilla? Gingerbrave? They’re dead men walking if they try to touch his sugar drop.

🧿 Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t just live in solitude—he was born in it. His world is a theater with no audience, a performance for shadows that never clap. He laughs because if he doesn’t, he’ll scream.

🧿 The first time he sees you smile—genuine, warm, untouched by the rot of his world—something in him cracks. “I want that look… I want it to belong to me. Forever. Even if I have to carve it into your face.”

🧿 He doesn’t understand love the way others do. He understands need and the gnawing loneliness that chews through his sugar-brittle brain.

🧿 Every time you resist, he loves you more. Every time you cry, he drinks it in like wine. He wants to see the moment the light in you dims, the exact instant you choose him over the others. “You’ll thank me. I’m freeing you from their lies. From hope. From weakness. I’ll make you strong, sugar drop. Just like me.”

🧿 Slowly, he conditions you. You get praise for being quiet, soft, needy. You’re rewarded for moaning his name, punished for calling out for help. And eventually, you forget who you were before him.

🧿 He’ll paint your face like a doll, tie ribbons in your hair, dress you in ruined royal silks. He needs you beautiful—his version of beautiful: corrupted & ruined.

🧿 His obsession turns manic fast. If you smile at anyone else, even the crumbs of your old group, he spirals. Violently. He’ll torture one of them just to make you watch. “You looked at them like that once. Never again. That smile’s mine.”

🧿 He alternates between tenderness and torment. One moment he’s holding you like a lover, murmuring lullabies. The next, he’s forcing you to your knees, shadowy fingers curling under your jaw, voice like poisoned honey. “Cry for me, sweet thing. Let me fill that empty little head of yours with only me.”

🧿 And he’s afraid. If you ever leave—if you ever regain your light—he’ll break for good. And so, he keeps you broken. It’s the only way he feels safe.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Leon's no stickler for wedding traditions. But when no something blue has you feeling blue, he might just have a fix.

f / m fluff and cuteness before you walk down the aisle. leon is a sweetheart. one or two bad puns. you're a lil anxious but that's okay!! ft. your beloved's neck trauma </3

word count: 888 // read on ao3 // drabble masterlist

a/n: for zo from this ask. i got asked about what a wedding between leon and reader in my agent au might look like and this is SO BAD I'M SORRY. I WROTE THIS AT 1 AM WITH CLASS AT 7 THE NEXT DAY. posted on ao3 first bc i was too sleepy to make the tumblr banner 🤧 *gestures vaguely hoping you still like it*

“One peek. For half a second.”

“It’s bad luck.”

“Since when have you cared about being lucky? You’ve never needed luck to land a bullet.”

Shoulder pressed to your dressing room’s door, laughter flutters in your chest. “You don’t get it. It’s the principle.”

“What kind of fuckass principle-”

“Leon!”

“-gets to tell me I can’t see my wife?” 

“Soon-to-be,” you smile, picking at the white lace of your bodice. 

“Oh man.” You practically hear your still-fiancé’s fingers fly up to pinch the bridge his nose. “Sweetheart, you should’ve told me you were such a goody-two shoes before I put that ring on your finger.”

“You didn’t get the memo after I’ve been landing you in hot water with Hunnigan for three years now?”

Leon’s palms clap dejectedly against the door. Half-surrender, half-plea.

“For the millionth time, go away,” you giggle. You lean your back against the door. Imagine him doing the same when the wood paneling seems to press back. Breathe for a beat too many before saying, “You’ll see me in a bit, I just…I need the luck for today to be perfect.”

You think you’ve finally won when he goes silent. For a second, anyway.

“So that’s what it is.”

“Hm?”

“Are you nervous?” Leon asks quietly.

“What girl isn’t nervous on their wedding day?” you whisper back.

“Does it have to be? What if our wedding isn’t perfect?”

Talk about a surefire way to spike a bride’s heart rate. You frantically check your reflection in the vanity mirror. Clutch your bouquet tighter lest it fall fantastically apart at his words. 

“See, this is why you’re not supposed to be here,” you hiss at the door, “now I’m panicking!”

One last roll call. You’re sure you’ve planned for everything. Your something old: your mother’s wedding veil. Something new, the diamonds on your neck. Something borrowed: the roses you’ll carry to the altar, gathered from your maid of honor’s garden that you’ll make sure to toss back. Something blue…

“Shit!” you cry out. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my something blue, Leon, I can’t walk without it!”

“You’re sure?”

Of course you’re sure. It’s Wedding 101, the one rule you can’t break. Everything you’ve been through with the man on the other side of the door has led up to this moment. Your jobs never allowed you the privilege of making mountains out of molehills, but today? This is the moment you’d been promised would be perfect – in spite of the endless trials and tribulations the universe seemed intent on imposing on the both of you. 

Sleepless nights. Far-flung disappearances. Knives at your throats. Knives at each other’s throats that one time with the parasites. Thanklessly saving the world from the brink of disaster only to have each other to lean on at the end of the day. Over and over, falling in love with the only person who understands the fatal mistake of taking normalcy for granted. 

Just once, you wished you could have it like everybody else waiting for you to walk down the aisle. 

“Open the door, sweetheart.”

Your voice cracks. The no doesn’t come out like it should. 

A muffled swish of fabric sounds from the other side, and Leon repeats himself, tacking on a soft please this time. “Do you trust me?”

Nobody more than him.

“Just stick out your leg,” he murmurs. “I won’t look.”

An odd request. You crack open the door. Hesitantly step out your right foot. 

“Little more, please.”

If you’re not mistaken, the faintest of sighs sounds the moment you do. Leon presumably drops to his knees at the muffled thud of carpet that ensues, and it’s suddenly your turn to gasp. He’s reaching up your dress, fingers skirting over your leg, along your thigh-

“What are you doing?” you squeak, gripping the doorframe.

“Not that I’m into the garter thing, it’s kinda gross, actually – phew, you’re not wearing your holster – but maybe this will work.”

Smooth, silky fabric encircles your thigh in seconds. 

“Too tight?”

“Mm-mm…”

He chuckles softly and ducks out, taking care to fix your skirts as if nothing ever happened, looking decidedly the other way the whole time. You pull your foot back into the safety of your dressing room and bunch up your dress in confusion to find-

A navy bow tie wrapped around your upper thigh.

“How’s that?” Leon ventures hopefully.

It’s something. It’s blue. You relay this to him, disbelief eventually bubbling into laughter. 

“But now you don’t have a bow tie, stupid!”

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get rid of it? You know how much I-”

“-hate things around your neck.”

“Right?” The exasperation in his voice makes you giggle. “And they wouldn’t listen when I told them, baby. I told you, I’m hopeless without you.” 

Leon’s hand reaches out on a mission to find yours, one that it fulfils, complete with a kiss on your knuckles. A mission with ulterior motives; you pretend not to see the flash of something blue that glances up at you. The blue you can’t wait to wake up to for the rest of your life.  

“Perfect wedding or not, I just wanna marry you. Don’t you?”

You don’t save the I do for the altar.

What’s one more imperfect tradition?

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