#flash drabble

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when gojo satoru sees a tiktok that says “she won’t marry you if you don’t bake her cookies” and takes it way too seriously?

a/n : satoru in a small ponytail. that’s it. i am so ill.

it starts with a tiktok.

some ridiculous, pastel-filtered, bubbly-voiced thing that popped up on his for you page. satoru wasn’t even paying attention at first—phone half dangling from his hand, his long legs stretched across the couch, socks mismatched, one slipping off at the heel. eyes glassy from too many cursed reports. a headache blooming behind his infinity.

then he hears it:

“she won’t marry you if you don’t bake her cookies.”

the video loops, endlessly.

satoru’s entire body tenses like he’s been struck. won’t marry me? the phrase echoes. his thumb hovers above the screen, then slowly lowers it like he’s disarming a bomb. he watches the video again. and again. and again. each repetition more damning than the last.

because here’s the thing—he’s already imagined it. you, in white. your name beside his on every formality. the tiny domestic moments. the matching toothbrushes. your socks in his drawer. the way you scrunch your nose at strong coffee but drink it anyway because it reminds you of mornings with him. gojo satoru, known for his irreverence, hasn’t taken anything seriously since he was sixteen—except you.

so, of course, he can’t take any risks.

within five minutes, he’s spiraling. tabs multiplying like cursed spirits. “best cookie recipes to make her love you.” “is baking a love language.” “can cookies be legally binding.” he’s skimming mom blogs and side-eyeing user reviews like they’re jujutsu intel. he gets into an argument with a reddit user named sugarboi92 about sea salt ratios. he forgets to blink.

you’re across from him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, headphones in, humming softly to yourself. your lips move slightly with the lyrics. you don’t even notice the way his blue eyes flick toward you every thirty seconds, like he’s checking the stakes of the mission. his gaze lingers on the slope of your shoulder, the arch of your brow when you’re concentrating. the way you curl your toes slightly when you're content.

the next day, the kitchen is chaos.

flour in his hair. streaked across one cheek like warpaint. he’s tied his hair back, sort of—a stubborn, barely-there stub of a ponytail held by one of your elastics, fraying loose at the crown. his bangs still refuse to behave, fluttering messily over his forehead. he’s in your apron. pink. frilly. a cartoon cat winking on the chest. it rides up awkwardly over his broad frame, and he wears it with the dignity of a man crafting destiny.

his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. his forearms flex as he stirs. his fingers are clumsy, smudged with brown sugar. a smear of chocolate ends up on his temple. he mutters under his breath with each step, reciting the recipe like a curse formula. every so often, he glances toward the door, listening for your footsteps.

jazz plays faintly from the speaker. something soft, velvety. the smell of vanilla and browned sugar hangs heavy in the air. when he spins to check the oven, his socked foot slips slightly on a patch of spilled butter—he stumbles, catches himself with infinity, then growls, “no, no, no—these are for my wife.”

satoru tries. he really tries. he measures, levels, even uses your little kitchen scale. but halfway through, impatience wins. he eyeballs the butter. forgets the baking soda. adds too many chocolate chips. licks the spoon like it might tell him what love should taste like.

the cookies come out uneven. some puffed too tall. others thin, laced with caramelized edges. a few… a few are better left unnamed. but he arranges the best of them on a plate, forming a heart that leans to the side like it’s shy. he pipes icing across the center: “marry me?”

it’s crooked. a little desperate. but honest.

the kitchen is still warm when you shuffle in, rubbing your eyes, hair sticking up from sleep. your sleep shirt hangs off one shoulder. you freeze mid-step, blinking slowly at the sight of him.

he’s standing like a statue—plate in both hands, held up like an offering to a divine force. his hair is coming loose, white strands falling into his eyes. powdered sugar dusts his collarbone.

“...did you bake?”

your voice is raspy. amused. your brows lift slightly.

“for you,” he blurts. “they’re… hideous. but they’re made with love. and maybe some shell. tiny bits. character-building crunch.”

you blink. then smile. soft and slow. your hand comes up to stifle a laugh, but it slips through anyway—light and warm. he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a century.

you take a cookie, nibble it, eyebrows rising in playful surprise. “not bad. crunchy. very... bold.”

he grins, triumphant and sheepish all at once. “bold like my love.”

later, you’re curled into him on the couch, your fingers idly twisting the hem of his shirt. his hand is at your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles over your hipbone, grounding himself. the crumbs from the cookies are scattered on the coffee table, forgotten.

satoru murmurs into your hair, “you would marry me even if i didn’t bake, right?”

you hum, teasing. “maybe.”

you don’t see the way his jaw tightens slightly. how his hand stills. how his eyes lose focus, staring somewhere into the middle distance.

that night, he doesn’t sleep.

by 3 a.m., he’s back in the kitchen. hair tied up again, face set in grim determination. this time, he double-checks the measurements. preheats the oven properly. watches every timer like a hawk. he sifts the flour twice. levels every cup. wipes down the counter with surgical precision.

because gojo satoru might be the strongest sorcerer alive—but when it comes to you, he won’t risk anything. not even with cookies.

he knows the video’s probably a joke. he knows you’re not the kind of person who’d break up with him over a batch of chocolate chips. he knows tiktok is 90% lies and 10% cat videos with manipulated audio. but what if it’s not? what if, deep down, there's a part of you that really does want warm, homemade cookies from the person you love? what if someone else bakes them for you first?

that’s not a chance he’s willing to take.

not when he’s already seen every future where he loses you—and in none of them did it start with cookies. but maybe that’s why it’s so dangerous. maybe the end begins with small, quiet things.

so he bakes.

and love, unlike cursed energy, can’t be tamed. it pulses, wild and unscripted, without binding vows or techniques—just a heart stupid enough to keep trying.

[superbat-love]

Batman may claim to have no powers, but Green Lantern knows better. He’s convinced that Batman’s cape is sentient.

Green Lantern has observed it on quiet nights in the Watchtower, when Batman thinks no one’s paying attention. He releases control over his cape, letting it unravel and float menacingly around him in different directions. It moves on its own, sweeping across nearby surfaces, carelessly knocking over items.

There’s one thing Green Lantern knows for sure—Batman’s cape has a sweet tooth. Every time Batman passes the candy bowl, it’s mysteriously emptied.

Even stranger, it seems to influence other capes. Once, while Batman was talking to Superman, their capes briefly touched, and Green Lantern saw Superman’s cape come to life—swirling and fluttering as though it had a mind of its own. Superman, unfazed, didn’t even react to the way their capes were flapping erratically around them. Green Lantern was relieved he didn’t have a cape.

He told the others about his theory, but they were skeptical at first. They eyed Batman’s cape with suspicion as he was distracted by a mission briefing with Wonder Woman. But even the Flash had to admit Green Lantern might be onto something when Batman’s cape swiped their feet out from under them, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Martian Manhunter nodded sagely and agreed on its intelligence, having felt the minds of four little beings flitting around underneath Batman’s cape. Maybe one day they’d feel comfortable enough to run underneath his cape too.

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce enters the conference room on the Watchtower. He is wearing a baby carrier with a baby inside it.

There is a hoo-ha.

"Why is there a baby," whispers Flash to Superman.

Clark shrugs. "It's probably one of the Robins."

"What?" says Barry tightly. "No, none of them are that age!"

"Jesus Bar, it's like you've never heard of de-aging beams."

"I'm not feeling good about the fact that you're taking this so lightly." Barry scratches at his five o' clock shadow. "If it is a Robin, it's very weird. But it's more weird if it's not."

"Maybe it's a Batgirl," suggests Diana, leaning in. "Cass or...or Steph. The purple one."

"That fits the purple diaper," says Barry reflectively.

"Barry stop hyperfixating on this," Clark says. "Let it go."

The baby is crying a little, sucking on its thumb. Batman gives it a chew toy as he continues working, and then produces a bottle out from under his cape, and holding the baby's head at a careful angle, begins to feed it.

"Batman..." Flash says, miserably curious. "Why do you have a baby?" He points at it, as if to make clear what baby he is talking about.

Bruce looks up, his brow furrowed. "Newly orphaned. Mother threw her from the spire of a church tower in Scarecrow-fear-toxin-induced hallucinations. Then she threw herself. I could only save one."

Barry looks like the dictionary illustration for the word 'flabbergasted'.

"Oh," is all he says. "Oh. Okay."

"I've found her a good home. She'll leave in a few hours." Bruce looks down, and then mutters to himself, "I just wanted to hold her".

Superman pretends he doesn't have super-hearing.

[hanasnx]

am I allowed to request another? if so, hear me out- wally west using his speed to vibrate his fingers/tongue to pleasure you in the heat of the moment, too preoccupied with trying to please you to realize that you’re freaking out bc he never told you he was the flash and you don’t understand how he’s moving his fingers like that, sending vibrations pulsing through your whole body for the most mind blowing orgasm you’ve ever experienced.

MINORS DNI 18+

NOTES: DC is for December Event!

“What are you doing? What are you doing—? How are you doing that?” you gasp, speaking over your own squeals while your body squirms against your will. Head jerking side-to-side, arching your back off the bed like you’re possessed. Your spine aches while it bears the snap of your twisting, but WALLY WEST is steadfast—for the first time in his life. One hand is clamped securely on the inside of your thigh, reminding your hips to stay still when need be, pinning you with his strength while his right hand consumes you.

If you were able to curl your neck and focus on what’s between your legs, you wouldn’t be able to see his fingers. It’s not because they’ve disappeared into you, it’s because they’re moving faster than the naked eye can comprehend. It’s a vibration. It’s a precise and highly skilled kind of vibration, better than any sex toy you’ve subjected yourself to. Your entire body breaks out in a sweat, dampening the hair at your scalp while you howl from the overwhelming stimulation. Once again, he’s gotta catch your naughty hips and keep them where he wants them, “Now, now, baby, don’t be like that.” he croons through his pant, glancing up at your pretty face scrunched up in an expression akin to anguish.

Your poor clit is battered and abused and puffy—just taking what he’s feeding it as you near the edge because of it. “Wally—“ you heave, your entire chest rising and falling with your deep breaths. “Wally—!” He eggs you on, taunting you with exclaims as you say his name like you want his attention. “Wally, I’m gonna—!” you cut yourself off with your own shrill shriek, dissolving the end of your sentence as you burst. A white hot explosion erupts within you, and you had no idea such a feeling could arise from simple but dedicated clit play. He slows his fingers as he helps you ride it out, watching the signs of your body, and when you fall completely limp, he gives you a little love tap with the flat of his fingers. The subtle strike against your bud makes you jump, and you grin, swallowing thickly while you hold his gaze.

[serqphites]

can't stop thinking abt losing ur v card to ellie. how gentle she'd be, so so fucking gentle. ellie takes her time, a tamed make out sesh and a mindless hand on ur thigh evolving into her mouth attached to your neck, ur hand tangled up in her hair as her own toned hand travels higher and higher... goshhh need her to talk me thru my first time so bad. those little praises. a cheeky tease at the mess u've made before she's even touched u. not to mention she'd defo overstim u at least a lil bit... she for sure made sure u both came up with a safe word before hand tho <3 anygays rant over, i need her!!!

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne being the crush of nearly all the Justice League members...

Clark is regularly seen more happy than usual in Batman's presence, offering the stoic man an absurd amount of help for no reason, even if he is pushed away by the Bat. He's always keeping tabs on the man's heartbeat to make sure he's safe and healthy because he can't bear to even think that his best friend could be sick or dying somewhere.

Hal is snarky and throws more comments around, yet everyone can see the way his gaze appreciates Batman's wide chest. He'll blame it on thinking his logo changed if anyone asks. And, sure, he'll throw little flirty jabs at Batman, but everyone else does, too, so it's okay, right? ...right...?

Diana is... normal. Nobody really notices the way her gaze lingers on Bruce's body for a moment more than everyone else's after a long mission, checking to see if anybody is severely injured. Maybe it's just because he's human, so she wants to make sure her teammate is safe.

Barry grows increasingly red (nearly the same shade as his suit) whenever Bruce is near him. He doesn't understand why—he has a wife, after all—but maybe it's just the tall, dark, and handsome cliché getting to him. Maybe the Bat is just an awakening of a part of him he didn't know he had.

Oliver torments Bruce as a civilian and in uniform. He's one of the few who can interact with the Bat in any situation, and he uses it to his advantage. He openly flirts at galas (Bruce is forced to return the sentiment to keep up his Brucie persona) and during missions, and nobody outside of the JL can put together the dots that these two particular men are weirdly romantic with one another.

Then, there's poor, poor J'onn who has to listen to all their ridiculous thoughts like he's being strapped to a chair and forced to watch the most dramatic soap opera that has ever been created. (He does not miss Bruce's little proud comments to himself after each weird interaction.)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The dragon – astonishingly – was a surprise. Even in his worst nightmares there hadn’t been a dragon. But the chains were too well fastened to fight and he supposed that getting eaten was at least quicker than starving to death on this damn mountain. He closed his eyes, but the thundering shake of the ground as the dragon landed was as bad as having seen the claws dig into the earth. He closed his eyes tighter.

“Are you the seventh son of the seventh son?” The voice was inhumanly low and it shook the fear in his bones loose.

“Yes!” he screamed. “Yes! Cursed, blighted, whatever you bloody want! Just get it over with.”

There was a short, tense silence.

“I have not come to kill you, human. I want to offer you a deal.”

His eyes opened in shock. “You what?”

The dragon was sitting a few paces away from him, its scaly claws crossed over one another and its massive, shimmering wings folded behind its hulking back. The look in its glittering eyes was intelligent and calculating, but not unkind, certainly not threatening. It waited.

“What—what kind of deal?” he stammered, heart racing with a wild, terrified hope.

“I understand that you have been left here to die by your fellow humans, because you are an extremely rare type of human, that they are afraid of. Is that correct?”

He studied the dragon’s interested expression for any trace of sarcasm, but there was none. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well then!” the dragon exclaimed. “I propose to you this: I will break your chains and save you from the humans, and in return you will join my hoard and live in my nest.”

“I’m sorry. Join your—what do you mean live in a nest. Humans don’t live in nests.”

The dragon gave a sideways movement of its massive head, scales glinting in the sun. “There is plenty of room. It used to be a cavern in a mountain, of very respectable depth and dimensions, but during one of my hibernation some humans built a castle on top of it, so it is very suitable for humans.”

He was almost baffled enough to no longer be scared. Almost. “What happened to the people who built it?”

The dragon, somehow, managed to arch a nonexistent eyebrow. “They live there,” it replied, slowly, as if it feared that he was rather slower on the uptake than expected. “That was the start of my hoard, you see.”

He hadn’t misheard it. It did say ‘hoard’. “But...dragons hoard gold, jewels, riches…”

“Uninspired amateurs,” the dragon sniffed. “All very well for one’s hatchling years, but honestly.” The glittering eyes squinted down at him. “Do you not want to join my hoard?”

“I…” Living in a castle with a dragon for a protector sure beat being chained to a rock by feral townsfolk, there was no doubt about that. And what other choice did he have? He swallowed. “I do.”

“Wonderful!” Joyful sparks snapped off the dragon’s jaw as it gracefully leapt upright. “I shall do away with those pesky chains.” And he came towards him with remarkably light steps.

“Do you live very far away?” he blurted out, nervously watching the dragon as it studied the iron rings hammered into the stone. “Will I be able to—I cannot just leave my brothers behind!”

The dragon, who had just crushed one end of the chain to warped bits of broken iron in its claw, looked up distractedly. “Whatever are you talking about? All your brothers are at my nest already. Who do you think told me where to find you?”

His heart leapt in his chest. He didn’t even notice the heavy weight of the chains fall away as they slid to the ground. “You...you’d want to keep my brothers too?”

The dragon made an indignant noise, bowing down low and motioning rather impatiently for him to climb on its back. “What kind of dragon do you take me for! I must have the whole set.”

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Y! Young Justice (the og) x villain! reader

You twist, defiant even now, and they feel it—their adversary, their ghost, the one who slipped from their grasp with a laugh on the wind, now held tight. Tonight, the uncatchable is caught, and their silent victory thrums like a heartbeat in the air around you.

Kaldur’s water binds hold fast, yet there’s a strange gentleness as he looks at you, eyes deep as the sea he commands. His grip is sure but reverent, each ripple around your wrists a silent hymn to the dance you’ve led him through, chase after chase, like a lover drawn to shore by the moon. His eyes are an ocean, quiet and unfathomable, but tonight there’s no mistaking the longing within them—a soft, undulating desire to hold what he’s finally claimed.

Wally stands close, not taunting but transfixed, his smirk softer than usual, as though he’s taken his place beside you at last. You’ve always been the thrill, the pulse in his veins, the rush of the wind at his back. The quicksilver desire he’s buried comes to the surface, flickering like light itself as he watches you now. There’s something poetic in his gaze, like a line of verse held just for you, words spinning in the silence as his fingers twitch, yearning to trace every inch of the face he’s only seen in blurs of speed.

Robin moves with precision, binding you with a care that’s more art than security. His eyes linger on every knot, every inch of skin beneath his gloved fingers, crafting his hold as if sculpting something sacred, every tie a testament to the chase that brought you to this point. He’s not simply holding you down; he’s committing you to memory, carving his mark into every second. The vigilante has become a poet, each knot in his rope a line in the unspoken sonnet he’s woven around you.

Conner watches with an intensity that goes beyond duty, his protective instincts woven with the depth of a soul that’s finally found something worth holding. His admiration is fierce, a silent ode to the strength you’ve shown against him time and again. The quiet in his gaze is the chorus he’s always sung for you—a promise etched in steel, a love wrapped in the strength he wields, silent but unbreakable. He’d turn worlds to dust before letting you slip away again.

Above, M’gann floats with a gentle, boundless reverence, her empathy a quiet lullaby echoing through your mind. There’s a depth to her gaze, a wish to hold you safe, to shield you from every shadow. Her presence wraps around you, the warmth of a song without words, each glance a silent lyric, a promise she wants to whisper only for you. Her thoughts spill over, her devotion filling every corner of your mind like a quiet symphony, promising to keep you safe, her heart’s song bound to you.

And Artemis, fierce and unwavering, watches from the edge, her gaze sharper than any arrow she’s ever shot. The smirk that once mocked you has softened into something reverent. She’s a huntress who’s caught her elusive prey, but there’s no more need for the chase. She wants to keep you close, to pull you into her orbit as if you were a star meant to be drawn to her. Her pride for you is fierce, unbending; her eyes drink you in like an anthem she’s claimed for herself.

Each of them stands close, a circle drawn tight, their poetry woven around you, their gazes fierce and unbreakable. You’re no longer simply their rival—you’re a muse, their song, the obsession they’ve crafted verse by verse in their minds. They’ve turned the chase into a masterpiece, and now, their poem is complete: you’re here, captured by verses only they can write, bound to them in a love that echoes like a heartbeat.

(A/n: when will I make a real story? I think never)

[invincibledc]

“Pft, jealous? Me?!!!”

Wally West/Kid Flash x Tamaranean! Male reader

Genre: slight angst & fluff

Warning: miscommunication

Jealousy! What a dumb word, especially to Wally as he just watched you kissed someone for information. Wait…What the fu—

“KF? Dude snap out of it.” Wally snapped out of his trance, seeing you talk the same language as the person who you wanted information from. Robin just frowns seeing his best friend dazed out. “Dude, you cool? Remember to stay whelmed.” “I’m whelmed..” Wally says gruffly as he looked away from you. Robin seemed to pick up quick, seeing you wave the stranger good bye while Wally was acting as if miss Martian said no to getting her cookies.

“Jealous?” “No!” Wally says quickly to the Robin. Robin kept smirking, “well if you say so.”

It’s been two days after that and he hasn’t talked to you since. Was it bad he felt bad for basically ghosting you in real life? He did but he couldn’t help but feel his heart break seeing you kiss someone so carelessly! Sure you can copy languages through kiss. But..why did it hurt when he saw you doing that..

You kissed him when you came onto earth, bonded with him most, he taught you how to be an earth kid. And even…became someone special to you. For you, you sulked. You missed your Wally. And Robin was comforting you, telling you that Wally needs to get use to your usage of ways to get through language barriers. You were thinking that Wally must hate you as you started to cry, Robin immediately patted your back awkwardly as he goes to talk to his best pal.

“Wally dude, talk to him. He thinks you hate him.” Wally looked at dick who seemed to frown in disappointment at the speedster. “I..I don’t know how! And I don’t hate him..I love him..” Wally says with a frown, a rosy tint to his tan cheeks. “Well, tell that to Fire! Cause he’s bawling his eyes out right now.” That’s all Wally needed to hear before he sped off to you. Immediately he stopped in front of you. Your glowing red fiery hair and green glowing eyes made him feel like he was seeing you for the first time.

Your teary eyes widened at the sight of the speedster, dried tear stains. “Wally?” You said softly with a raspy voice. Wally frowned with sincere guilt at how you looked and sounded. He caused that. “Hey Y/N….” You sniffled as you floated towards him. Wearing your home wear while your fiery hair floats with fire trails. “Wally..do you..hate me?” “What! No..I could never hate you Fire…” he says, wiping away any tears. He soon grabs your two hands with his. “Then why…push me away? What have I done wrong?…” you questioned with urgency, you wanted Wally to speak to you. To make you feel not so confused.

“It’s…pretty dumb.” He grips your hands with his. You narrow your eyes, “if it is so dumb. Then I do not matter?” Wally eye’s immediately widen before pulling you more towards him. Making you stop floating and having your feet to the ground. “No! Not at all, you do matter to me Fire. A lot actually. It’s just that when I saw you kiss that guy. Even if it was for information. It..stung me to think of you kissing anyone else but me. We built such a great friendship..or relationship with each other that I thought…” he paused, realizing at this point he was confessing to you.

“You thought we were something” Wally nodded looking down at your hands linked with his. You smiled, feeling your [color/orange] cheeks heat up. “I also thought as well. I would like to be something with you Wally.” You said softly. Wally looks up surprised, you let go of his hands. Cupping his face, then finally putting your lips against his. Your warm body heat made him melt against your touch. His arms start to wrap around your waist, despite you being tall. Wally felt like the man for scoring you right now.

“Ahem!” Wally immediately break the kiss but not the hold on you as his face was certainly red while you smiled and kissed his cheek. Dick stood there smirking, “I see you two finally made up?” You stopped cupping Wally’s face. “Yes we have! It is amazing news that me and Wally are meant to be!” Dick smiles to hear this, clapping for his best friend who seemed to stare lovingly at you.

“Awesome..but just don’t kiss infront of the team, or in any room.” Dick says before leaving. Wally could only roll his eyes before you kiss his cheek again. “I shall mail a letter to my family about our love hehehe!” You flew off quickly. Leaving a speedster who felt like the luckiest boy alive other than fastest.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

you wonder how todoroki shoto is doing.

you remember him being the boy that sat a row away from you in class. he always kept to himself, never raising his hand to answer questions but always able to answer when he was called on. also, he was endeavor's son.

even if most of the parents at your private school where big shot's, apparently endeavor was in a league of his own. and so was his son, apparently.

nobody even dared talking to the todoroki son, and neither did you, but you liked looking at him. he's always so meticulous and calm as opposed to your rowdier louder classmate's. despite his quieter presence he always seemed to stand out to you. his bag is big enough to carry everything he needs without having to shove anything inside or leaving it half opened. he wipes his mouth with a tissue after he's done eating his lunch alone and his handwriting is pretty. his lashes are long and he's pretty.

you remember being partnered up with him for a class project once. he'd immediately cut to the chase and split the work for the both of you, clearly not humoring your attempts of starting conversation.

slowly though, you start getting him to stay behind to talk to you a little longer after the bell rings until he invites you to get your work done in the library, just to get your work done. until you ask him about his favorite colour and he doesn't know, so he asks you yours. and then you ask him about his favorite ice cream flavour, he says he doesn't have sweets a lot and he asks you yours. and you keep talking and he keeps listening and asking. you ask him if it doesn't bother him that you're talking so much but he says he doesn't mind.

you liked spending time at the library talking with shoto and you think he enjoyed listening to you. you liked riding your bike home with him while he walked next you, before he agreed to ride on it with you sometimes, but one time you both fell off and you hurt your knee, and he promised to never get on again if it meant you getting hurt while carrying you on his back. you remember him smelling really nice and you tightening your arms around his neck and nuzzling into him, and his grip on you tightening as well.

you liked holding his left hand when it got cold out even though he didn't like it much, but he'd do it for you. you liked it when you got to switch seats and sit next to him and you think he liked sitting next to you. you didn't see shouto smile often, but he did when he was with you and you liked that. and you think he liked that too.

you think so at least. you hope so, because when break was over he was gone.

you'd heard he got pulled out of school, some other people just said he'd switched, to go to a better cooler private school. you hated it when people said that because the shoto you knew wasn't like that. he knew people talked about him and he hated being associated with his father. he likes the caramel you sneak in for him at school and you like the way his eyes light up when he guesses the flavour of fruit candies you make him taste. the shoto you know that ties your shoes for you and shares his umbrella with you, the one who half heartedly stomps into wet puddles with you, the one with the pretty lashes and pretty smile and pretty handwriting isn't like that.

and you wished you could've asked him where he went, and why he went and took his warmth for snowy winter days with him, but you couldn't because he didn't have a phone and neither did you. you weren't old enough for one yet and you'd told him that as soon as you'd turn thirteen he'd be the first contact in your phone and he'd smiled.

you couldn't do that anymore. and you wonder how he's doing four years later.

you don't very much, but you think about him sometimes when his soft hair and pretty eyes cross your mind. he never cared for his looks much even after being voted the most handsome boy by the girls in class.

"i didn't know people thought i was..handsome." he ponders, scratching at the corner of his paper with his pencil. you kick your legs in the air where you're sitting next to him, you pout.

"why not ?"

"because..my scar.." he trails off, he keeps erasing at a spot he'd already wiped the pencil lead off of. you lean in so you get into his field of vision and he leans back a bit with widened eyes before leaning in towards you again, you're forwardness always took him by surprise.

"nuh-uhn, the others say it makes you look even more handsome !" you reassure and he blinks.

"do you think i'm handsome ?" he asks, tilting his head cutely. you splutter and feel your face heat up.

"e-everyone does.."

"do you ?" he leans closer.

you gulp, gripping your chair you turn your head away from his to the side and nod. you get the courage to peek up at him and you're surprised to see a smile pulling at his lips and a light tint of pink on his face.

"that's good." is all he says, but you feel so much warmth swarming through you, and you think he does, too.

so you wonder where he is and you wonder how he's doing. you wonder if he has any new friends or if his most handsome boy award got him a girlfriend. you wonder if he truly felt the same way you did way back then and if he liked holding your hand just as much is you did his because it was warm but also because it was his. and you wonder if he thinks about you.

except you don't have to wonder anymore. because on your first day at your new school, he walks into class. his eyes widen when he locks eyes with you and you recognize him, and you think he does too.

[juicykvnture]

MANEATER

Wally West x fem!reader

Wally West x his (completely and 100% normal) vampire!gf ☆ headcannons/drable

tags: fem!reader in mind but it’s not THAT specific, mentions of blood (not graphic), fluff

a/n: yk what hell yeah

Wally West who didn't even notice that he was down bad horrendous for a vampire at first.

He didn't feel your aura of impending doom - or how you only ever left your apartment at night. He just deemed your crimson eyes a unique shade of brown, too distracted by how pretty they looked under your lashes.

Wally West who only put two and two together when he caught you curled up on the couch with a blood bag in hand, your fangs piercing through the plastic like it's a capri-sun.

He was shocked at first, rightly so! Until he thought back to your less than normal tendencies; the weird talismans you wear, the way he often wakes up with you just standing there at the foot of his bed - staring, the way your sharp nails dig into his arms, the way you bite his lip a little too hard when you kiss him.

He stares at you nothing less than bamboozled, his mouth agape as his head tilts to the side before blinking rapidly,

"Huh?? I thought you were just freaky?"

Wally West who gets a little bit jealous when you have the audacity to get your fix from a blood bag. Like, how could you when you have all of him right there?

He's like sulking from the doorway, staring at you,

"Oh, I see. Am I just a common whore, then? Just another concubine of yours?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You glance up from the tv, your tongue darting out for a moment to catch a stray trickle of blood down your chin.

"Nothing! You have fun with your sub-par blood bag, I'm going out for a run!"

Wally West who can't even sit through any sort of vampire movie without him turning to you every two seconds with questions like -

"Wait, do they really do that?" - "Is that lore accurate?" - "You wouldn't do that to me, yeah? Promise?" (He's not entirely sure if he'd be all that offended, though)

When you don't answer that last one he plays it off with a nervous laugh, scratching the side of his neck (as if you can't hear his heart absolutely slamming)

Wally West who just insists on helping you do your makeup, even though you're fully capable of doing it yourself for years.

He claims it's cause you can't see your own reflection in most mirrors, insisting he shows you his handiwork on his phone, (old mirrors have silver, modern phones don’t) sneaking a photo every single time until he's at the point he's got a whole folder of them saved.

It's just an excuse to have you closer, so he can stare at your face for a couple minutes longer in the mornings.

Wally West who randomly pokes at your fangs whenever he feels like it, acting like he’s surprised when you retaliate by giving his fingers a bite. It’s like he’s almost dissatisfied with the fact he doesn't have cool teeth for whatever reason.

Your glare snaps him out of it sometimes, resulting in a stupid grin stretching across his face,

"What? You wouldn't tear up the light of your life!"

Wally West who is now determined to become an expert on bloodsuckers like you (bless him), asking you the most cliche shit he can think of, especially when he's all dizzy after you drain him a little.

"Do you sleep in a coffin?" He pipes up, staring up at the ceiling he's asking you about the weather or what you want for breakfast.

"No, Wally. I don't."

"You sure? Cause I can get one."

Similarly,

"You know, I have like zero problem hanging the bed upside down on the ceiling if it makes you sleep better,"

"Wally, it's fine. I can sleep like a normal person." You stare at him, wiping his blood from the corner of your lips.

"You sure? I have a drill and some rope, somewhere."

Wally West who's gotten used to you sleepily gnawing at his neck or wrist sometimes - to the point that he's actually kinda sad when you fall asleep, not pulling your face away from him unless he absolutely has to get up and do something. It's weird, but he just likes being close to you, even as a walking blood bag.

Wally West who swears on his life that he's 100% fine and not lightheaded when you forget yourself and go a little too far, shaking his head weakly when you start to ramble apologetically, already halfway to the kitchen for bandaids and iron supplements.

"No, no.. come back. It's fine." He insists.

You're not convinced, staring at his head slumped against your shoulder, carefully tilting his head up to make sure his eyes are still open.

"M'sorry."

His only response is to try shake his head, his lips curling into a dazed smile despite the fact his head is spinning.

"No, it's totallyyy fine.. you could like stab me and l'd be like it's okay. cause you're my hot girlfriend."

You're just starting at him now, he's definitely fucked up cause of blood loss.

You're shifting around on the bed, tucking a stack of pillows under his head with a soft frown, his fingers loosely tugging at your wrist so you don't pull away.

You know that any sort of lecture from you would land on deaf ears.

He truly insists that he can walk (well, run) off any and all kind of injury or affliction. He doesn't really seem to be able to comprehend the fact that losing a gallon of blood isn't the same as any run of the mill kind of scratch.

"M'fine, m'the fuckin' flash, know? My hearts like wayyyy better than a regular guys."

"Is it?" You sigh, gently stroking your fingers through his messy read hair.

"Duh? it's yours."

a/n: see! I promise I’m capable of joy and whimsy sometimes..

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when the strongest sorcerer, satoru gojo, meets your strongest period mood swings?

a/n: i teared up writing this. i wish men—real, emotionally available, period-bath-running boyfriends—were real.

you don’t know why you’re crying. again. maybe because the blanket slipped off your shoulder or because the strawberries he cut for you weren’t sweet enough or because the stupid commercial on tv had a puppy in it. whatever the reason, your bottom lip wobbles and you sniffle, clutching the heat pack tighter against your abdomen.

satoru is there in a heartbeat. not because he knows what to do—oh no, he’s scrambling. since this morning when you woke up groaning like a medieval knight struck down in battle, he’s been in full red-alert panic mode. he googled “how to handle girlfriend on period” three times, made a list, burned it, then cried a little in the hallway before gathering the courage to come back in. he even called shoko for backup, only to be met with unhelpful laughter and a “good luck, loverboy.”

now he’s crouched in front of the couch like he’s about to disarm a bomb, blue eyes wide behind his stupidly expensive sunglasses that are now pushed messily into his silvery hair. his lips are pursed like he’s concentrating very hard, but the little twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays his anxiety.

“operation: spoiled princess is officially in action,” he declares, voice light but eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read the weather. his large hands cradle your cheeks with a gentleness that doesn’t match his usual chaos, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he can physically wipe the emotion away. “what’s wrong, baby? want me to punch the strawberries? i’ll do it. don’t test me.”

your nose scrunches, and despite the tears welling again, a soggy laugh escapes you. “you’re so dumb.”

“and yet so handsome. it’s really unfair to everyone else,” he sighs dramatically. his long legs fold awkwardly as he plops down beside you, then tugs you into his lap like you’re made of glass. your face smushes against the soft cotton of his long-sleeved tee, which smells like laundry detergent and a hint of something sugary—probably from the chocolate he was sneak-eating earlier.

five seconds later, your mood shifts again.

“why would you say that?” your voice rises, sharp. you pull back, brows furrowed. “are you saying other people want you? is that it? am i just some girl to you?”

satoru freezes like someone hit pause on him. “huh? what—no! what are you talking about? i just—i meant it like—baby, no, don’t cry again—”

“i’m not crying because of you,” you snap, already blinking back tears. your arms wrap tighter around your stomach. “i just… i feel gross and my stomach hurts and i hate everyone and nothing helps.”

“okay! okay,” he says quickly, hands held up like he’s facing a wild beast. his tone drops to something soft, coaxing. he leans in, his bangs falling a little into his eyes. “you hate everyone. but not me, right? please don’t hate me, i’ll literally explode.”

you glare. “depends. did you eat the last cookie or not.”

he blinks once. twice. “…i—what? baby, this is not the time for interrogation—”

“answer the question, toru.”

“…no comment.”

you narrow your eyes, pinch his side. he yelps like a kicked puppy.

“okay! okay! i did but i didn’t know it was the last one—wait, don’t look at me like that, please, i’m too young to die—”

satoru’s voice cracks just a little, and he sounds genuinely distressed now. the kind of pitiful panic that only comes from being accused by the person he loves most. “you don’t really hate me, right?” he blurts, blinking rapidly as if he could force an answer out of you by sheer will. “like… not actually? you’re just—y’know—period mad? not ‘i want to leave you and never look back’ mad?”

you sniff, pouting at him with narrowed eyes. the silence stretches just enough to make him squirm. he fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, eyes darting from yours to the pillow, to your hand still fisted in his shirt.

“because if you did, i think i’d just crawl into the washing machine and set it to spin cycle,” he mumbles, only half joking. “you’d forget all about me, but the spin cycle wouldn’t forget.”

you break. again. this time with a teary snort of laughter. your face buries into his neck, the tip of your nose brushing his warm skin as your shoulders tremble with exhausted giggles.

he exhales like a man who’s just been handed a stay of execution. his arms wind tighter around you, holding you like he’s scared you might vanish.

“i got you chocolate,” he whispers hastily, like it’s penance. “and those terrible chips you like. and i prepped a warm bath with the glittery bomb thingy you keep hoarding. also, i may have threatened the delivery guy to get here faster. i said i was a government official. please don’t report me.”

he tries to kiss your forehead, but you shove his face away with a palm.

“you smell like cheap cologne. did you use that stupid body spray again?”

satoru reels back, wounded. “excuse me, this is top-tier scent! the internet called it ‘irresistible alpha energy.’”

“more like teenage boy in a locker room.”

“wow,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. his thumb rubs slow circles into your back, his gaze flicking down to your fingers still tangled in his shirt.

finally, you lift your head, your eyes glassy but no longer stormy. your features soften—still tired, but laced with reluctant affection. satoru looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

“you’re the worst,” you whisper.

his grin is crooked, too relieved to be smug. “and you still don’t hate me. noted.”

he bumps his nose against yours, then gently tugs you closer. “c’mon. bath time for my temperamental goddess. i even lit the dumb candle that smells like a bakery.”

he stands, scooping you up with more care than coordination. you press your forehead to his jaw, soaking in the familiar comfort of his scent—minus the cologne.

“your skin glows with divine light… your aura purifies the air… i am but a lowly servant in the temple of your beauty…” he chants dramatically. he slips on your fuzzy socks halfway to the bathroom and nearly eats it, but catches himself just in time, shouting your name like he’s about to perish.

even if he’s overwhelmed, mildly traumatized, and definitely confused by the chaos that is your period mood swings, satoru gojo is nothing if not yours.

[superbat-love]

Flash: I have a confession to make... I think I’m in love with two people, and I feel so guilty about it.

Green Lantern: Don’t feel guilty. You love who you love.

Flash: Wait, are you in love with more than one person too?

Green Lantern: Hell no! I value my life. Good luck, buddy. [pats his shoulder and walks away]

Flash: [sighs] No one understands me.

Superman: I can empathize with you, Flash. I, too, am secretly in love with two men!

Flash: Really? Wow, that actually makes me feel a lot better. Looks like I’m not the only one struggling with a huge secret.

Batman: I’m Bruce Wayne.

Superman: I am secretly in love with one man!

[tom-whore-dleston]

Bed Chem

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f. reader

Word Count: 541

This fic contains: smut, pwp, fwb dynamic, spanking, lingerie, Bucky has different sides in bed, light choking, hair pulling

Summary: Being fwb with Bucky has amazing benefits.

Notes: look, after the release of the teaser trailer of Thunderbolts*, I’ve been feral for Bucky okay 🫣 I couldn’t think of a good title for this fic so I settled for my fave Sabrina Carpenter song lol This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: Change in Tone.

You and Bucky had a different kind of relationship. You weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but you were both more than friends. For lack of a better term, you and Bucky were friends with benefits. And those benefits were the best terms you both agreed on.

Every time you had sex with Bucky, it was a different experience. Sometimes, his touches would be gentle and feather-like. Other times, his hands would be rougher and he’d grip you tighter in a possessive manner. Then, there was his voice. During his more tender moments, his voice was smooth like whiskey. On the flip side, when he was a little more aggressive with you, his voice was lower and animalistic. Bucky’s range in the bedroom taught you that sex wasn’t a performance but rather an experience. And each time you both ended speechless and satisfied.

In this current situation, you found yourself on all fours on top of Bucky’s bed wearing in a sheer lingerie one-piece. Bucky stood by the bed, admiring your backside with a smirk that you couldn’t see from your position, but could still sense. Bucky wore a crisp white shirt with the buttons done enough to get a peek of his chest hair and sculpted pecs. If you had seen how his sleeves were rolled enough to reveal his forearms, you would have melted into the bed sheets without him having to touch you.

You feel the bed creak under your hands and knees and suddenly Bucky’s bulge is right against your thigh. His fingers ghost above your spine, sending chills down to your cunt. Your breath hitched as you craved to feel his fingers down where your sensations were traveling to. All of a sudden, a hand crashes down on your ass, causing you to yelp in shock. Bucky chuckled, soothing the sting with his palm.

“Tell me what you want, darling, and I’ll give you that.” Bucky muttered, his lips dangerously close to your earlobe, his favorite part to tease.

“I want…you,” you gasped. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough for Bucky.

“How do you want it?” His vibranium hand sensually traces the curves of your body. “Do you want it soft and sweet?” He places a kiss on the back of your shoulder, causing you to smile and bite your lip. A moment later, that same hand yanks you by the hair, pressing your back flat against his chest. “Or would you like it hard and rough?”

You were unable to conjure words. Only a broken moan left your vocal cords. Bucky’s flesh hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. You gulped before Bucky smashed his lips against yours with fervor. His grip on your hair tightened as his teeth grazed your bottom lip. He let go of you once you attempted to grind against his hardness.

Bucky pushed you back down on the bed, your face in the pillow and your ass waving in the air. He unleashed a feral growl as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. The tip of his cock teased your entrance, making your voice drip with need like your pussy.

“I’ll give you what you want, darling, but I’ll give it to you how I want it.”

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[hanasnx]

Wally West trying (maybe failing) to combat the 'too fast' allegations. Please? <3

MINORS DNI 18+

NOTES: DC is for December Event!

WALLY WEST hisses between his teeth, his hand at the back of your neck clenching as if to warn you through his body language. You hum, and his hips jump, that grip tightening on you. “Easy, sugar, or this’ll end before we get started.” he coos, artificially instilling lightheartedness knowing he’s thinly veiling how close he really is. He chuckles nervously, and releases your neck to smooth the palm down your back while your head stays stationary. Eyes peer up at him while he’s halfway in your mouth, scanning him while you make your decision. He visibly melts at the sight of you, so pretty with his cock between your lips. “Don’t look at me like that.” he sighs, and another hot twitch goes through his base, bumping the underside against your lower teeth. He inhales sharply, and your tongue curiously traces the vein there, trailing up to the pad located just below his head.

“Baby,” he scolds in a way, and you get all warm and fuzzy. Seizing you, he clutches onto anywhere he can reach while you experimentally continue to bob your head. His eyes squeeze shut, scrunching that freckled nose. “Baby, we just got started!” he reasons, “Just give me a second because—because—“ His voice heightens, and his grasp clamps while you sink down on him, feeling his length fill the back of your throat. He curses, and even the minutest of sensations sends him into a frenzy. Tipping over the edge, he desperately clings onto the height of the pleasure, and his hands take on a mind of their own to chase it. He laces his fingers together, banding them around the back of your head to guide you down, letting you lift your neck yourself to match his beat.

To capture that relief, he fucks your face in the process, chuffing air between his teeth as he curls forward. The warmth radiates off him, sunning your forehead as you’re stuffed into his crotch. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as that twitch in his base evolves to a tremor. “Fuck, babe, I’m right there, I’m right there—!” You try to relax your throat, but his desperation makes for a clumsy entrance, his tip bumping its way through your mouth until you gag, lurching against him. With it, comes a flood of salty warmth, pumping onto your tongue. A burst of a moan erupts from him as he cums only after a few minutes of going down on him.

[totallynotashieldagent]

okay but imagine wally- whos bad with expressing how he feels so he just sort of ... mimics what everyone else does for their loved ones?

superman gets lois her coffee in the morning, so wally remembers your order and makes sure you have your morning before you start the day

nightwing leaves starfire little sticknotes all through their apartment so wally leaves them in your office or your lunch. sometimes there's a strong gust of wind and a sticky note left behind

constantine wont admit to it and rather die than accept it but the little trinkets he gives zatana are actually love charms that only glow when she touches them so wally gets you little trinkest whenever he goes on an off planet mission (its backfired more times he cares to admit because the things he brings back turn out to be invasive to the planet earth)

aquaman has sea creatures always on the prowl to bring him the most beautiful pearls for mera but wally cant do that so he uses his speed to turn different minerals into stones and gives them to you

and flash... flash slows down for iris. he walks beside her, he talks at a speed she can understand, and instead rushing through everything, he sits and enjoys it with her, so that's what wally does too. he talks slower, he listens better, and most of all, he lives life at snail pace just to prolong it with you.