#brief recollection

[expoundingspark]

Inoubliable

I cannot function. I cannot move. Then I remembered how you and I (groove, grooved, and) will groove... Suddenly, limbs were free and I could clearly see. Breathe evenly. Become giggly... (*concentration dissolves to daydreaming*)

[gunkbaby]

ok so you don't have to answer this bc I know you're really only here for Shuu BUT do you have any thoughts about Hide with BPD?

i will be honest : i know almost nothing about Hide, so I don’t feel I can answer this properly - so Hide fans can feel free to sound off in the reblogs if they have ideas (I would ask for people with BPD/experiences with it to answer particularly, because of how stigmatised BPD is!). I will main tag it so more people can see and potentially offer food for thought - people with more Hide knowledge.

But regardless, with my very limited memory of him - I don’t know if I would say he has it? Like I said, I really am not a Hide expert. I like him well enough, but I don’t think he really reads as BPD to me personally. Maybe it’s just that my experience with BPD is on the more outwardly obsessive, dependant, toxic side - which is why I think I see it so clearly with Shuu (and potentially Kanae) - but I mean. My experience isn’t final or universal. I’m not saying it’s a complete no-go, but my immediate reaction is that I’m not sure I would associate him with BPD. Again, like I said, I’m basing this off of my very limited knowledge, and my personal experience. I haven’t started my re-read officially yet (so many books on the go atm…mon dieu…), so maybe my thoughts will change during that time - in which case I will reblog this post with any new takeaways I might have for you.

I’m sorry, this is is such a shite answer 😭 I just haven’t analysed him as deeply as other characters - I’ll make notes during my re-read and see if I notice anything and report back

[meatriarch]

waiting for melatonin to kick in so i can maybe actually sleep but having thoughts on dire au maria but im also tired so coherent? maybe not,

after the first year, once she's gotten used to the new normals in her life: used to both keeping back and watching, or pursuing and luring, or actively killing their targets or trespassers on the property. how over time it went from being horrified at watching what johnny would do to others he'd drag down into the basement, to horrified at leland's early treatment in nosy ( or danny's ), to the slow-building curiosity at why the fuck any of this is at all enticing in the slightest.

the slow embrace and acceptance of not just hanging back and watching the killings, the butchering, the eating, but also actively taking part in it after a while and how the weight of all of its always lingering at the back of the mind. the guilt of it all, the uncertainty, the fear of things going wrong.

i could see there being a few hiccups especially at the start of using the aliases, of testing the waters on working alone for brief windows. and especially in those early instances, and then the attempts right after the dire reunion, those hiccups stemmed namely from feeling very much on her own and it in turn diverting her attention at points.

[byakuyasdarling]

I hate randomly blocking people that follow me for no reason other than “what they draw makes me uncomfortable” because it illustrates a fundamental misunderstanding of MY SCRIMBLO (/lh). I understand it’s simply conjecture, but people who highlight that part of his light novel (a part that was revealed to be a dream and not close to canonicity) bother me a lot.

[mangled-by-disuse]

not to be an old codger shaking my stick at the youth of today (jk that's literally my whole vibe) but like

why are advent calendars Like That now?

"like what?"

why do they all have stuff in them?

like correct me if i'm wrong but is it not less than twenty years since your average advent calendar was a wee cardboard envelope with doors cut into it and then your grand reward for opening the little door was a sense of seasonal accomplishment and a little picture of a robin?

is it not in this millennium that it was a shocking and exciting treat to have an advent calendar where - in a show of luxurious excess - you might perhaps open a wee door and be rewarded by a small tree-shaped bit of cheap shitty chocolate?

why is lidl selling advent calendars for kids where every door has an ACTIVITY BOOK IN IT? why am i seeing advent calendars with toys we would have considered at the very least stocking stuffers EVERY DAY OF ADVENT? what is all this stuff about paying £900 for special boxes with £500 of make-up in? do not get me started on christmas eve boxes, and GET OFF MY DAMN LAWN

[sunni-stuff]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

His question hit like a punch, and the pressure of it lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating. Armed Forces Day? Three years ago? A sharp jolt of recognition hit you, though the details of that night remained fuzzy. The memories were there, but they felt distant—like something you hadn't allowed yourself to fully remember after becoming a mother. 

You steadied yourself, trying to mask the unease rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?” you tried to sound steady but the tightening grip on your purse betrayed the rush of nerves running through you.

Simon shifted, his broad frame nearly eclipsing the dim light of the bar. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed to wrestle in his own head, as though each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. “There was a night,” he began, his tone low and rough, every syllable deliberate. “Here. Three years ago. You were here. So was I.”

Your heart skipped, a wave of realization hitting with an almost physical force. The hazy recollections of that night flooded back, slowly accumulating together—laughter, drinks, an unexpected connection. Something that hadn’t felt planned but had burned far too bright to ignore.

The knot in your stomach twisted painfully, every part of you urging you to push it away, but the truth had already begun to sink in. “You’re…” The words stalled in your throat, heavy and lodged, the sentence unfinished as the reality stung like an accusation between you.

Simon exhaled sharply, part sigh, part laugh—but there was no humor in it. His gaze locked onto yours with unsettling intensity, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for you to break. “Yeah,” he replied simply, the word thick with certainty. “And she’s mine, isn’t she?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine, your body instinctively stiffening. The truth strung in the silence between you both, too glaring to avoid. Heart racing, every sense screamed to deny it, to distance yourself from this conversation before it spiraled out of control. But anything that could be said felt wrong, heavy on your tongue as you forced them out: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Simon’s eyes held yours, filled with something you hadn’t seen before—a desperation that cut through his usually composed demeanor. “Please,” he urged, the plea more potent. “Just tell me.”

How could this be happening? How could something so raw, so unspoken, suddenly spill into the air between the two of you? The weight of the moment anchored you, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a way to move past it. 

“She is,” you muttered at last, the confession slipping out like an unwanted secret. Fingers clenched tightly against the table’s edge, grounding yourself against the suffocating reality pressing in. “I never thought… never thought you'd come back into the picture.”

A brief silence stretched out before you spoke again, everything tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t even know your name. All I recall was you kept making me." The admission hung in the air, lighter than it was, an attempt to lighten everything you didn’t want to say. 

The memory refused to stay buried. His face from that night, the intensity of his stare under the bar’s muted glow, how his presence seemed magnetic and overwhelming all at once—it all surfaced, unbidden. The connection had been undeniable, but that was your secret to carry. He didn’t need to know the details you still clung to.. 

“I don’t even know how it happened,” The sentence barely made it past your lips. “We used protection.” Doubt crept into your mind, unraveling the careful narrative you’d built for yourself. Did we? The past, fogged by alcohol and blurred moments, refused to come into focus.

Simon blinked, the blankness in his expression giving way to confusion, then disbelief. “Did we?” he asked with an edge of uncertainty. He was searching for answers neither of you seemed able to provide. Silence filled the space between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

"That parts a bit fuzzy," you admitted quietly, thoughts drifting away, the edges of the remembrance blurring with every passing second. “And clearly we didn't given our current situation.” 

Meeting his gaze, you knew this was the man from that fortunate night. Only different. More mature as if life hadn’t been kind to him. “All I know is… I woke up, and it was just me.” The recollection hung heavier than expected, twisting in your chest. "I never imagined I’d run into you again."

A heavy silence settled between the two of you, the gravity of everything left unsaid pressing down on the air. Neither of you knew how to move forward, or even if moving forward was possible.

“I knew she was mine,” Simon muttered, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, fighting against his own emotions threatening to break free.

You blinked in disbelief, the reality of his revelation settling in like ice in your veins. “You saw her?” The shock was evident. The idea that he had been so close—watching, perhaps even knowing—yet remained silent was almost too much to process.

Simon nodded, his gaze never meeting yours as he began. “Last month. When you were leaving the café with her. Johnny stopped you, and I was there.” He hesitated, swallowing hard as if the bulk of it all was pressing on him. “Johnny and the lads, they were the first to say they saw a little girl with my face. I was skeptical at first But then… then I saw the two of you together. And I saw it. Saw me in her. I had no idea she was even a possibility. Or that you were, for that matter."

Your breath hitched, a sharp sting rising in your chest. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, the hurt, and the confusion all collided in one sudden wave. “Why didn’t you say anything?” The question shot out before you could stop it, the accusation sharp and loaded with all the frustration. He had been so close. Watching. Why didn’t he speak up?

Simon paused, his gaze dropping to his hands, fingers flexing as if he were trying to grasp for something he couldn’t hold. The silence stretched long between you, the tension palpable, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. 

“I…” He started, staring at his hands as though they might hold the answer. “I’m not good with things like this, love.” He rubbed the back of his neck, having a hard time fully expressing how he felt but this moment needed authenticity. “I needed time to figure out if I could step into a life that was already doing fine without me. I was afraid of complicating things, of ruining something that was just fine without me."

You didn’t expect what he said to hit you so hard. The impact of his confession—that he had stayed away because he wasn’t sure if he was fit to be a part of your life, Adira’s life—settled deep within you, heavier than you could have imagined. You’d been fine, hadn’t you? Raising Adira, carving out a life on your own. But there's always been that lingering voice in the back of your mind, that small, quiet thought of “what if?” What if things had been different? What if he had been there from the start? Maybe you wouldn’t have had to quit those overpriced mommy-and-me classes because of those judgmental women who gossiped behind your back. Maybe things would’ve been easier.

“I wasn’t about to just waltz in, love,” Simon’s voice softened, more vulnerable now, like he was carefully weighing his thoughts. “I needed to know if you’d even want me here. You and her…” His gaze darkened for a moment, his voice trailing off as though unable to bear too much out in the open. “I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to step into something already so… perfect.”

In those words, there was something you hadn’t expected to hear from him: honesty. He was afraid. Afraid of being the one to ruin what you had built. Afraid of not being enough for you or for Adira.

“I guess I understand,” you said quietly. "I just wish you showed up sooner."

Simon didn’t answer right away. Something within him flickered with guilt, and for a moment, you both stood there in silence. He glanced down at his hands, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"Can I meet her?" Simon asked nervously, a grown man fidgeting in his seat, the weight of his request sinking in.

"Now?" You chuckled, trying to brighten the moment. "It's late. I'm sure she's already asleep."

Simon’s gaze flickered with hesitation, but the desire was clear. He was barely holding it together, as if afraid that the chance to meet his daughter would slip away if he didn’t ask now. 

"I understand," he mumbles after a pause, almost to himself, but there was a longing there you couldn’t ignore. "I just…I need to see her. To know her. Even if just for a moment."

The magnitude of the situation pressed down on you again, this wasn’t something you had expected when you woke up this morning. You had no clue what to do with all of this, with him, with Adira’s future—your future. But still, you could hear his sincerity.

"Tomorrow," You decided. "We can meet up tomorrow, but it has to be on her terms. She's not exactly the warmest with new people."

Simon nodded, his expression a mix of relief and determination. "I can wait."

You gave him a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. There was still so much to figure out, but at least now, for the first time, there was a possibility. A chance to rebuild what had been lost. "Bring toys," you suggested sincerely, thinking about what would make her happy. "She likes trains. Doesn’t need to be anything cartoon-ish, just a proper train."

Simon blinked, a touch of confusion in his gaze. "She doesn't like dolls? Like most girls?" His tone had a hint of disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite picture a little girl who wasn’t into the typical, pink frilly things.

The thought of dolls made your stomach tighten, and you shook your head vehemently, as if to expel the very idea. "God, no," you replied, unease creeping into the conversation. "Please, don’t bring dolls. That’s the last thing I want." You shuddered as you spoke, recalling all the unnerving memories. "She gets all Sid from Toy Story with them."

Simon’s brow furrowed even deeper, clearly unsure. "What does that mean?"

You visibly grimaced, the image flashing vividly in your mind. "It means I wake up to doll heads scattered all over the place," you say, your voice low and serious. "And it's... creepy. Like she's planning something with them. It’s like waking up in a horror movie."

Simon chuckled at first, but as he saw the unflinching seriousness in your expression, his laughter quickly turned uncertain. His grin faded, and the unease that filled his eyes told you that he was realizing this wasn’t some joke. "You’re messing with me, right?"

Your stare at him, completely deadpan. "I wish I was."

For a moment, Simon just stared, taking in your unwavering expression. His lips parted, a nervous laugh escaping him as he absorbed warning. "Alright," he said slowly, now understanding your cautious warning. "No dolls. Trains. Got it."

You gave a relieved sigh, feeling the baggage lift off your shoulders. The tension hadn’t fully gone, but for now, at least the toy issue was settled. There were plenty of bigger things to confront later, but this? This was a small victory.

This one is a little shorter than the rest, simply because I want the meet up chapter to be really long for yall! :3

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[cxncrie-a]

Anonymous asked: What can completely break your muse? (All muses or whoever you'd prefer)

Untitled Headcanon Questions || Accepting

I'll answer these for who I can !! Cause I have some muses that I'm not 100% sure what the answer is to this just yet. 

Nimue ;; Unfortunately, she's already technically completely broken. There's only really two verses where she's pieced herself back together and that's the Main verse w/ Tera's Pentious and the Angel Au where she ends up in heaven. Otherwise, she's all kinds of fucked up. Neglect is a big thing as is, it makes her feel unwanted, useless, that alone is enough to break her down and feel extremely empty. Basically tell her or make her feel unwanted and that's enough to just shut her down.

Daisuke ;; I'm not really sure he can be easily broken, but I do know he'd be very upset / hurt knowing that not only his sister is in Hell but that she's still being treated poorly because he had worked so hard to make sure she wasn't completely alone.

Alastor ;; I'd say maybe someone he's actually fond of getting hurt. I know it seems like he doesn't care but I do think he has a few select people he cares for quite a lot. Charlie and Mimzy being two of them. Instead of like a ' depressed ' break, I think he'd absolutely become EXTREMELY violent instead.

Charlie ;; We've technically seen what breaks her and I think it's not just the concept of ' losing friends ' but seeing innocents get hurt in general. 

Damien ;; Oh this bitch is possessive as fuck, so take anything of his and he absolutely snaps. Like Alastor, he gets violent in response and will not hesitate to hunt down the person who took something of his and tear them to shreads. 

[tojisun]

EXPAND ON THIS

https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/758472884430716928/no-matter-how-hard-you-try-you-just-cant-make

AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

aww im glad that u (all) liked that blurb!! didnt expect the vitriol in ur guys’ reactions but ykw? samesies <3 oki uhh so heres something quick and simple

cw: fivesome (but they go in order, also simon doesnt properly get a turn im sorry 😞); f!reader; subspace; builds up into consensual noncon; unrealistic sex; rambly as hell and its set up messily; wc is 3.6k :’3

(you tell them it’s a wrong send, and that it’s meant for johnny so they all said, “oh damn. welp,” and leaves you and johnny to go at it all night long teehee <33) (jk) (unless) (no ok im jk)

johnny fucks you first. the guys didn’t complain, and trickled into your room, ready to fall to whatever place they could sit down to watch. johnny laughs, and tugs you towards him, gently slapping your hand away when you try to cover yourself up with your shirt, and tells them, “watch me.”

not us, but me. like you’re a nameless hole whose only worth is to be fucked, and somehow that… doesn’t deter you at all.

instead, you ignore the warmth flooding in your cheeks and the stares that drag on your body, and focused on johnny’s smirk and his crooning words and his wide palms roving over whatever sliver of your skin he can touch. he positions himself in between your legs, his fatigues an uncomfortable sensation against your oversensitive skin.

he doesn’t care. he drags down his zipper and frees his cock from his briefs, before swiping his palm on the inside of your thigh, gathering the excess lube glistening there to use it as oil for his prick. your nose scrunches when he brings his hand to give himself a quick tug, foreskin peeling from the head to show off how flushed it is.

he crawls until he’s on top of you, and throws out, “let me show ye how to fuck ‘er, yes?”

you don’t even realize the words are for the rest of the squad because he’s already slipping his cock in your cunt, slow and careful, and you keen because yessss—

this is the delicious burn you’ve wanted. oh god oh god—

it didn’t even take johnny long before you’re cumming, your throat spasming at the scream that rips itself out from within you. your hips rise from the bed, your body jolting, unable to ground itself at the breaking euphoria that forced shockwaves to raze your synapses.

you fall on the bed limply, satiation filling you up in lapping waves. johnny pulls out and fucks his fist and sprays his cum all over your stomach. he musses it up, rubbing his palm against it like it’s a damn lotion, and lathers whatever inch of your belly he can cover.

it’s gross and weird, especially as the recollection that you’ve had an audience hits you, but then johnny’s stepping back and moving away. you try to shut your legs close, but someone’s already shuffling in, taking up the space that johnny had carved out.

you stare up at your captain, shock filling you up. he doesn’t ask with words but he quirks his brow up, waiting, and you don’t know what it is, but you give him a nod before ducking your head to the side.

which was a mistake, you learn, because you make eye contact with kyle; kyle who is—was—slowly rubbing himself through his pants, his palm gliding over his chub. his eyes are blown wide and he looks ravenous as he meets your gaze.

you hiccup, feeling cornered and delighted at the same time, but then john’s rubbing his cock along your messy folds, using the mess you and johnny made to lube himself up, and you mewl, tearing your eyes away from kyle to meet john’s stare head on.

he looks… calm. not teasing nor hungry, but poised with forced grace like this is another mission, and he has willed his full body to sync together so that not even a stray strand of hair will falter and miss a beat.

you don’t know how to position that with yourself, not like you needed to dwell on it any further because john’s already thrusting in. like johnny, he is careful, but he is more cautious, pushing inch by inch without even a ragged breath like he’s scoping out your reaction before he could let out his.

god, why’s everything so difficult with him—even now, speared with his cock, you still don’t know how to react. it’s like you’re a recruit all over again, dawdling underneath your CO’s scrutiny. it’s jarring, terrifying, really, but then john’s drooping onto you, his head tipping down to nuzzle close to your jaw, and this level of intimacy is what rips a moan out of you. it is drawn out and high-pitched, and so, so utterly debauched.

you hear more than see john’s pleased laugh, his breaths coming out in puffs that brush against your neck in a ticklish manner. the moment drags on—nuzzles and quiet huffs, and slow rocks of his hips almost like he’s taking his time to savour you; to allow you to get used to his size because he’s so different from johnny.

johnny is thick, but john is long. he is reaching deeper than you have ever known, and it’s so overwhelming that you begin to cling to him, in need of any way to ground yourself down from the slow-racing pleasure.

you don’t know how long he’s got you like that, but then he’s pulling back and away, and, “nonono, please. please, sir—”

“shh, i’ve got you,” he rumbles, still so utterly quiet that it forces out the tears faster, and you know something’s changed because john is looking at you with a proud smile, all tactile as he manhandles you to your side, before disappearing behind you. you feel your head being lifted then dropped onto something harder than your pillow, and it is only the smell of ozone that lets you know that john had pillowed your head with his arm, while the other snakes around your waist to pull you closer to him.

you stare at the expanse of your room but everything looks like they’re appearing underneath a hazy filter, so you blink your eyes to clear them from that mist but it remains unchanged. you feel heavy, all of sudden, like you’re submerged in water, wading through the ripples. floating.

you try to look at the others but all you see are blurs of colours, and you know this should terrify you, you know something’s happening in your mind, but you feel so good. so happy. so you fold into yourself, accepting the haze with a keen because john’s fucking back into you.

it is still so utterly gentle, like love-making, and this makes you sob because the euphoria is dizzying and overwhelming. it is something you haven’t felt before—johnny fucks you like a man starved; john fucks you like he’s trying to meld himself into you. or you into him.

it is so drastically different, and you were made to navigate the changing tides. but you can’t, not when john—

“fuck!” you scream, thrashing in his hold, but john ignores your voice as his heavy hand falls on your cunt with consistent smacks.

you feel lightheaded, untethered, and this is what pushes you to the edge. your orgasm is cataclysmic. it’s like having the fabrics of your reality collide until you are a supernova, bright and burning and so, so, so ecstatic.

you don’t even know how you came down from that high, but when you wake up, john’s already pulled out and your thighs feel extra sticky. you sniffle, turning to accept the quick kiss he leaves on your cheek. he pulls away and you watch him sink back to the lone chair in your room, and only then do you realize he’s still in his uniform. still in the fatigues.

it makes you extra vulnerable somehow and you twist, trying to find anything to cover yourself with, but your shirt’s been thrown to the floor, far from your reach, and your blankets were kicked off the bed.

you grumble, shyness encroaching again now that there’s no one to monopolize your attention, but a movement from the corner of your eyes makes you jolt. you turn, forcing your eyes to focus, and you blink in surprise because you are sure that kyle wasn’t there before—close to your shelving that is stuffed with little knickknacks and souvenirs brought to you by the boys when they take on separate missions that don’t require your involvement.

the same shelving where you’ve plopped your charging vibrator on. the very same one that is being held up by kyle.

“kyle?” you ask, unable to say any more with how wrecked your voice has become. but the call echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly stifling room, and they all look at you as one. like it didn’t matter if kyle was the one holding the wand because they all knew what they want, and it is to see you be fucked with it.

excitement fills you up despite the throbbing exhaustion settling in your bones, and you wonder if they could scent it with the way the pressure in the room grows heavy, almost bladed—ice shards against still waters.

kyle moves towards you and your eyes track the wand, almost hypnotized by it, and watch as he drops it on the mattress to shuck off his clothes. it is only then do you turn to him, hungry in the way you devour how he moves, how he breathes, how he unbuckles his belt.

his trousers come first, then his shirt. kyle is a catastrophic wonder—seeing him naked like this makes your core throb, aching need stretching in the yawning of your stomach, because he is so beautiful, terrifyingly so.

he reaches for your waist and drags you so you’re laying on your back again, your legs sprawled out on either side of his hips. he looks down at you, his eyes crinkled in his smile. he looks so charming, boyish and youthful, and he makes you thrum with quiet desire because you feel safe even when you’re bare before him.

you feel particularly cherished, like you are the apple of his eye.

“you’ve been so good to us, love,” he murmurs, but in the silence of everyone, his voice bounces off the walls, seeping into where the others are, watching raptly once again.

you nod, not knowing what else to say. kyle chuckles, the sound trickling like quiet chimes, and you wonder if he’s doing this for you—talking to you in whispers to give your body time to come down from the tremors, or filling you up with something other than a cock because johnny had come in scathing, and john had pierced you with something consuming, and kyle—

kyle is trying to distract you.

you’ve forgotten about the toy, sitting there so innocently. it’s out of your reach, tucked preciously close to kyle’s left leg the way he treats all his smaller guns—never straying beyond his person, and hovering close. you’ve once asked him if it wasn’t more comforting to have it on him where he can feel its weight and kyle had looked at you with that soft smile like you’ve uttered something so delightful, before telling you, “there’s a certain pleasure in having it displayed.”

like a promise and an assurance—he will always be faster; the one who is more in control.

and today, kyle is treating the wand with the same vehemence.

you didn’t even know you were already shaking your head until kyle had cupped your cheek, quiet sounds of comfort rumbling from his chest.

“don’t worry,” he says, eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “all good girls have to be rewarded.”

kyle doesn’t fuck you with his cock right away; instead, he’d bent over and took a nipple into his mouth. it makes you gasp, back arching at every wet suck. there is pleasure to derive, but it is so muted that you begin to settle back into your mattress, waiting, almost in bated breath because kyle has yet to reach for the wand.

you jolt when he finally uses his hands, stomach tensing in anticipation. but still, kyle doesn’t reach for it, and instead he swipes a finger to your slit. your pussy’s still so sensitive so it makes you buck, a sharp animalistic sound tearing from your throat, and kyle takes advantage of the sudden change in the pace.

he slips in two fingers in your cunt, curling to poke at your walls, before fucking them out—he lifts up and sucks your other nipple—and punching them back in. it’s a wet slide, each thwaps ring in your head, and you moan, clawing at kyle’s back because how could he make you feel good just like this?

it’s almost a laughable parallel—just an hour ago, you had been in the same position, with your legs parted open and two fingers fucking in, while your other hand flicks at your nipples because you had so desperately wanted any form of orgasm. god, it didn’t even need to feel ecstatic, just something that’d rip your aching need into quiet tides. and now here you are, spread open with kyle mirroring every flick of his fingers and every pinching sensation on your nipples, and he is making you feel good.

how dare he. how dare he give you unadulterated pleasure with just his fingers? how could you ever go back to masturbating now that he’s even triumphed over your previous failures, showing your body that there are ways to make your toes curl without a cock nor a toy?

how dare he—

“no!” you whine, circling your hand around his wrist when he pulls out. you were so close; its tendrils spreading all over your body in the wake of your encroaching orgasm. you thought you were going to be rewarded? kyle promised. he said so!

“oh, love,” kyle coos, breaking through the swirling turmoil in your head. “i’m not done yet, i promise.”

you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the sob that is lodged in your throat as you watch kyle give his cock a pump before lining it up with your cunt. unlike johnny and john—and the reminder that they’re there, with simon, makes you jolt for a quick second—kyle doesn’t press in slow nor gentle.

no.

kyle punches everything in. you scream, the sound guttural as you are filled so quickly and so deeply, leaving you to feel the sudden crescendo of your pleasure. your body spasmed—because there was nothing else that could explain the sensation of having all your synapses sing with a ripping pleasure—before you black out for a second.

you come to the feeling of kyle’s hand mapping your belly, digging just enough that his fingers dimple your skin. you are still stretched and stuffed, and the remnants of your pleasure fire up again.

he flicks his eyes up to you with a smile. “came so soon f’r me, love.”

your only response is a gurgle. it makes kyle laugh.

“that must mean y’r ready for something else, yeah?”

a confused whimper bubbles from your throat. kyle just snaps his hips in reply, rendering your mind shut again. you hear him shuffling against the sheets, his free hand reaching for something you cannot see, and you feel your mind pressing at its edges, trying to retrieve the memory of what it is he is looking for because you know what it is, you’re sure.

buzzing noises fill your ears, the sound ricocheting around the space, and your body locks, recollection slamming into you. you tear your gaze away from the far wall to look at kyle.

you wonder what your face must’ve looked like because kyle begins to croon.

“i’ve seen this from a homemade porn video.” he shrugs at the incredulous expression on your face. “and i’ve always wanted to try it because sweetheart, they didn’t press it on her clit.”

what—

kyle moves, his body rippling with ease. you don’t notice but the boys crowd in, interest bright in their eyes. only ghost continues to be rooted in his spot, and it is only his head tipping to the side that lets the others know he’s just as interested.

kyle presses the toy on your belly. your nose scrunches in displeasure because it just feels like you’re being massaged incorrectly, but he keeps shifting, hunting, and it’s weird because kyle’s still in you so what—

you gasp, eyes widening at the odd sensation. kyle freezes, his body curling into something predatory, and digs your wand there on your—

“no way,” johnny laughs, and you want to snarl at him to go away but you can’t because he’s right.

no way.

kyle had pressed the vibrating bulb of your toy just below your belly and slightly before your upper pelvic area—kyle had pressed the toy on your womb.

the pleasure is new, uncharted, and it is petrifying because you’ve never felt this way before. you didn’t even know it was possible to stimulate yourself there, but kyle’s already resuming the pace he’d set, fucking his cock in deeply almost like he wants to feel the buzz from within.

you begin to sob but the tears feel different this time. they’re still out of pleasure, but the swirling surprise melts the euphoria into something frightening. you don’t even realize you’ve begun to babble.

“no more!” you hiccup, weak fists thumping against kyle’s chest only to be restrained by john and johnny, each man pushing them down with their own hands.

everything feels too scary, all of a sudden. this pleasure of yours is bigger than you have ever expected and it’s building up too fast and too soon, and still, kyle remains unfazed.

“i’m scared! i’m scared, kyle please!”

your words turn into unintelligible warbles, and kyle just says how you are so adorable like this.

“y’r pussy’s going stir crazy, baby,” he croons amidst your tears and you want to scream at him, to be mad and say something mean, but you feel so utterly lost in the bubbling bliss.

it is something you’ve never felt before; it’s almost like you are relearning your body at this very moment—like kyle is unmaking you, and remodelling you, and you feel this cathartic bloating of your orgasm.

kyle sees the moment you succumbed to the enveloping terror of your euphoria, and it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment because he begins to fuck you faster. deeper. his pelvis meets the plush of your ass with every thrust, while he digs the toy further down your flesh.

how could the vibrations ripple past the fat, you don’t know, but your orgasm is building, peaking—

it breaks with another scream tearing from your lungs. this one is much stronger than the previous ones, and enveloping because it feels like your whole body has shut down in the wake of your release.

your mind splinters, your body falling limp like your strings have been cut loose, and kyle turns forgiving again because he shuts the toy down and throws it away. he pulls out and only then do you feel the trickle of his cum sliding out of you.

he leans in, brushing his nose over your cheek. then, “just one more, little bird.”

kyle slides off the bed, but so do john and johnny, and you hiccup, still sobbing, still floating from the world-shattering climax, when simon greets you.

he is quiet for a while, watching as you catch your breath. you couldn’t even stop yourself from sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes to stain your already blotchy cheeks. he grunts, hand falling to brush unimaginably soft touches across your body, observing.

waiting.

“was’it?” you finally bite out because you know simon—you know ghost—and there is something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he so desperately wants to spit out.

simon grumbles, rolling his eyes.

you groan, growing impatient. “tell m’.”

but he still doesn’t talk, choosing instead to manhandle your body until it is close to him. you want to tell him to give you a minute; that you’re still so sore and tired, and kyle just fucked you mindless that you need a goddamn break, so, “s’mon, no…”

he grunts, palming along your waist, then your hips, before it stops on the fat of your ass. he grabs a handful.

“won’t you let me fuck this hole instead,” simon finally replies.

your heart lurches to your throat, and you’re not the only one surprised because johnny’s bounding in close, excited, chatting simon��s ear how he wants to go next, “please, LT?”

you want to tell him to ask you, not simon, but simon’s already giving his assent with a huff, chirping how johnny’s so impatient—a master and his dog—before they turn to you again.

it is only then do you realize that simon hadn’t been asking for proper permission; it was all formalities because he was not going to settle for anything that isn’t yes.

anal sex hasn’t been something you are really interested in; no amount of porn and online anecdotes can change your mind, but simon’s gaze is heavy. it’s final.

before you can even reply, john’s already throwing something to simon. he catches it with ease, and only when simon flicks his hand do you recognize it to be the lube you’ve chucked away in your anger when this whole night started. kyle returns with the wand.

you lay there, on simon’s lap, seeing them flanking you for this… corrupting.

“okay,” you muster, trying to stake even a semblance of control.

thankfully, they ignore the shaking of your fists or the way your chest begins to heave in your morbid anticipation. simon laughs, and swoops down to nip your cheek.

“good girl.”

whew whyd it become a long ramble of smut??? it was supposed to be a john n johnny centric fucking bc of the prelude but alas, i needed to write a semblance of dark!kyle so here we are <3

temp taglist bc yall are animals (affectionate)!!!: @getosuguswhore @slut-lmao @mxtokko @imjusthereforkonig @bratzdolly4 @mabelwinters @stars4sar @sergeant-jasper @spiceywawa @j0r-d1e

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

��O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[shoomlah]

Oh gosh, if you're taking questions I have like, a bajillion. The neopets "style" has been pretty loose over the years but... What sort of guidelines did you have to follow? Were there any hard "no"s? Was there a style guide or bible? In terms of design, what were you most proud of? Anything that was rejected that was disappointing to not see come to fruition?? Pardon my excitement!

From my recollection there was no official style guide, which I'm sure is pretty apparent from the art on the site—we'd run things by our art director Anthony/Tigercatcher for feedback, or by Adam or Donna to get their stamp of approval, but otherwise it was relatively lawless. It is fun to be able to look back at the old art and immediately tell who drew it, though!

A couple memorable anecdotes:

There was this brief phase in the early years where we had anthropomorphized neopets, but we hadn't really standardized how we drew them. They eventually got fingers and fully rendered eyes BUT I do love this transitional period where I just drew a bunch of sexy aishas with nub hands and dot eyes:

At one point there was a moratorium on giving the anthropomorphic characters helix piercings. It had become a kneejerk instinct to just toss a couple hoops onto a character's ear as you were designing them and it got: wildly out of hand

the worst notes were the ones we'd get on the Neopets Magazine covers, hands down. We could have so much fun with the on-site art, but anything public-facing like merch and the magazine were under way more levels of impenetrable scrutiny. The feedback was always to make the smiles BIGGER and B I G G E R

[theorist-fox]

A little scrap of inexperienced Simon (my beloved, my baby, I love you) because it stuck to my brain like glue.

Simon, who comes back from deployment, and his anxieties slowly ebb away the moment he sets foot in the house—because there's an extra pair of shoes by the door, an extra set of keys on the shelf. 

You're already tucked in by the time he's silently walking in the bedroom, quiet like a mouse, dropping duffle bag and wind jacket on the floor. His clothes follow soon after, and before he even knows it, he's under the bedsheets. 

Shower be damned, he'll have plenty of time in the morning.

Naively, he thought sex would be off the table because he is too bloody tired to even concoct the thought—but you look heaven-sent, the first scrap of peace life has given him in ages.

And fuck, you're asleep, but his cock suddenly isn't. He has to get adjusted to that—arousal rearing its head only when you're close enough to smell.

Selfishly, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, hoping it would be enough to gently wake you up—but he should've known better, because you swivel around quicker than his reflexes and elbow him in the face. 

Only seconds later, when your ears perk and your eyes peel open, attentive and aware, you recognize the familiar shorn blond hair and the string of curses that leaves his lips, big hands cupping his nose. 

Curses and apologies flow down your tongue so anxiously he can't help but drawl a "S'nothin', s'fine," followed by "Been through worse, swear it."

And then you're peppering apologetic kisses all over his cheeks, and he can't help but deflate because, after all, he's had plenty of elbows in his face but not as many lips. 

He chuckles, a rough sound that rarely leaves him, and your giggles follow soon after. Until your kisses land on his lips, and he sighs in pure contentment. 

It's a slow dance you welcome him home with—tender touches that make his stomach tingle all the way to his scalp. He almost falls asleep, but the feel of your skin on his has his body think otherwise.

Which is why gentle turns urgent, and you comply because, for some reason, you seem to want him as much as he does you.

And then he has you on your back, all wrapped around him, like a bow on a present. Frantically struggles to untie the drawstrings of your sweats, grumbling something about his fingers being too big, to which you reply with a cheeky remark that has his cock twitch in his briefs.

He crashes his mouth onto yours because words aren't his forte, nor are his actions—however, he'd like to try.

But your teeth knock together so hard that Simon feels his skull vibrate. He's disoriented and in pain, and, while not many, he surely doesn't recall any past sexual experiences leaving him this sore before they even began.

As soon as he starts worrying about your well-being, he finds you hysterical, holding your stomach in a laugh that exposes pink-stained teeth. You try and spectacularly fail (several times) to recollect yourself.

He thinks you look beautiful, even if you're struggling to form sentences. But he gathers you don't need words, because you finally pull him down to meet you halfway, and he lands softly this time.

He's cracked your lip, and your tongue tastes of copper, but still you smile. And while once he might have questioned your sanity because you're bleeding and his nose is throbbing, now he sees no wrong in it.

Happiness comes in different boxes, after all. And his own is shaped like you—bleeding lips, hysterics, and all.

[book-extravagance]

2023 BRF Predictions (from a Rookie Royal Watcher)

Going way out on a limb here, because predictions are never fun unless you do.

1. Archewell makes its social media debut on a POC-founded Twitter alternative.

2. Anti-Diana Youtubers have a Hot Moment with a breakout viral video. When the creator gets profiled in 2024 we discover that they broke into the 100,000+ bracket in income the year before.

3. George does an engagement with William. (He answers like two questions clearly and creditably. British royalists explode with admiration for this incredible exploit. I am underwhelmed, but concede that it was nice.)

4. Buckingham Palace releases a 3-page refutation nitpicking not-terribly-essential quotes from Harry's memoir. This causes the entire legal staff, such as it is, to have a collective coronary, but Charles is determined.

5. The press arse-kissing leading up to Charles's coronation is nauseating. (Okay, so I have one safe bet.) They emphasize how much he's a man of the people and also how many black clients friends he has. Some RR reporter writes an op-ed on how Charles is akshually far more anti-racist than Harry and Meghan.

6. Charles does bestow the Edinburgh duchy on Edward, shortly before the coronation. I'd say one month. Kingly sense of noblesse oblige and all.

7. a. What I'd like to see happen for the coronation: Harry and Meghan stay home. (They might not even get an invite, because I think Charles would work it out with them that if they intend to decline, he won't send it. Whatever. H & M are pleased to have no more to do with the dumpster fire.) Charles tells Andrew to stay home too. (Andrew throws a temper tantrum that will be related with great gusto in royal biographies years down the road.)

b. What I think will happen: Harry goes to the coronation because he's a glutton for punishment he has a misplaced, battered, yet still-operant sense of filial duty and Crown veneration... and Meghan goes to stand by her man. Fuckin' Andrew is there too, because Charles is already considered too much a wild-eyed radical and he needs the support of the worst dregs of the aristotrash, who all think Andrew has been rather mistreated.

We all know who the press spills more ink analyzing and digging up dirt on.

8. A would-be regicide gets arrested before the coronation. The government and press use this to beat the royalist drum harder than ever. There are grave op-eds about the danger that the royal family faces in these troubling times of social media radicalization.

Will and Kate brief that they will be making fewer public appearances due to security concerns. (Charles is rumored to be Unamused.)

9. Kate looks bloody stunning at the coronation and/or wears a new tiara.

10. Camilla also looks the part. Very shiny.

11. Kate astounds and impresses us all by doing two solo foreign visits. At least one is European. Similar to the time she went to Denmark and appeared with Mary.

12. Season 2 of Archetypes features a genuinely tone-deaf moment (more tone-deaf than having Andy Cohen and Judd Aptow on for the grand finale). Press is fuckin' gleeful.

13. Someone publishes a questionable tell-all about Elizabeth's final days.

14. Charles has a health scare. Maybe planned surgery with a longer-than-expected recovery. He pulls through well in the end, but not after the papers have enjoyed running hundreds of articles speculating about what an early William ascension would look like.

(Spoiler alert: They all reckon it looks like a Tory's wet dream! But they don't say it in those words, of course.)

15. A Twitter account pops up, tracking either William's or Harry's itinerary & flights. If it's William, it's taken down pronto and there is much hang-wringing about the invasiveness of the press. If it's Harry, it stays up and, bonus! Musk has a truly hilarious reason to explain why.

16. Meghan appears at a very political gala. Probably not Biden but a high-ranking Democrat, like Pelosi. Americans are pretty shrug because Meghan's giving Last Year's News at that point, but the UK press goes into a complete meltdown.

17. An unnamed victim brings another suit against Andrew. The British press has significantly less to say about this than a financially independent American going "partisan" four years after the UK establishment pretty unambiguously told her to piss off and die. It's settled quietly. Charles manages to avoid it officially getting out that he pays the settlement until 2024.

18. There is chatter from "palace sources" that Charles is considering having Beatrice do some engagements in order to bring some youth and glam to the rota. The only ones considering this are some courtiers, and the "chatter" goes nowhere because neither Charles nor Bea want this.

19. Another big story from "palace sources" is that Kate has also been struggling with depression, etc (or possibly a miscarriage). The narrative is that Kate herself would never dream of telling anyone about this or ever speaking in public but her dearest friends want to speak out because people who exemplify grace never get credit... Kate is so brave and she's so relatable and also this is how you deal with mental health problems, Harry and ME-AGAIN!!1!!! Keep calm and carry on without a pity party, like an ADULT! Will and Kate allow this narrative to stand (because of course; it came from them), thus doing real damage to the public perception of mental illness and how to best treat it. Otoh, the press goes to town crowning Kate the and Patron Saint Princess of Ordinary People Struggling with Mental Health. (The press does not mention Kate's previous claim that she's never suffered depression because of how wonderful her upbringing was.)

20. Harry and Meghan's popularity in the US spikes around the time of the Spare release and then they get a little stale in 2023. Ironically, the hundreds of references to their "falling star" or "loss of luster" in (American) media actually helps keep their brand pumped up.

21. They come in strong with the unveiling of a big Archewell initiative in December, though. It's been underway all year and they're only spiking the football once they get results. They bring some charity to international prominence with this event. (I can't possibly hazard a guess as to what kind of initiative or event. One thing I seriously respect the Sussexes for—their humanitarian work is creative, authentic, never cookie-cutter. So I'll wait and see.)

22. British papers and news programmes, without directly referencing William, start pushing the narrative that "Open Relationships" might be Okay, actually? Some are skeptical, but! Experts say they're hip and relatable, but also traditional, and they've long been the well-kept secret to a healthy long marriage!! (Obviously I don't have anything against consensual open relationships. But the purposefulness of this Engineered Cultural Moment will be hard to miss.)

23. And you know what this means! Earthshot in Sydney, baby!! Oceania tour time, bitches!!! All three kids, cute as a three-buttoned coatdress!!!? Let's gooooo.

Big splashy Wales moment, it gets good play in mainstream press. Louis behaves fine for his age but gets side-eyed for a random look on his face as it appears in one photo.

24. I think Charles will be able to refrain from briefing against Rishi Sunak for 2023.

He's gonna do a lotta that sort of thing in the future, though.

[dilfartist]

A foolish endeavor

Pairing; Yandere Miguel O’hara x reader

Synopsis; You manage to snag Miguel’s gizmo and escape to another universe. How long will it take before he, or the spider society, find you?

Word count; 2.8k

Reader description; Female/GN

TW; kidnapping, probably terrible spanish (i did use sources Spanish-speaking users suggested), non-con touching, yandere themes, dark writing.

Notes; {if i mistranslated any of the spanish please do contact me in my DMs. I wanted this fic to be better but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Did not proofread.}

Midnight coated New York in a dark blue hue. Most nights the city lights illuminate the darkness, providing the ability to see. However, the motel you find yourself ambling to is the more isolated part of the city.

Rain poured down heavily, producing cacophonous echoes of raindrops slamming against the concrete. Clad in a drenched hoodie and damp black yoga pants, you scurry to the other side of the street just in time to avoid being hit by the passing truck.

Cigarette smoke and frigid rain overwhelm your senses, mainly due to the cigarette buds scattered on the motel parking lot.

The motel is okay looking. By no means does it look nice, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Guess this is where I’ll sleep tonight,” you mumble to yourself. You take a brief glance at your surroundings. Night overcame the sky, giving the atmosphere a dark hue but the lights gave you a clear standpoint.

Numerous lights hummed irritatingly, not even a minute passed and you found yourself obtaining a headache. You navigate the main office, which is on the left side of the horseshoe-shaped building, and a blue neon sign points in the direction of the office. You started sauntering over, putting pep in your step when the cold rain declined heavier than it did the last five minutes.

Six months ago, you wouldn’t be having this problem. At least that’s what you believed. You could’ve been at your apartment, catching up on a show you’ve failed to complete thanks to your busy work schedule.

Unfortunately for you, doing a task as simple as watching your television, in your home, was truly impossible. Why? Because the earth you roam isn’t yours, to begin with. Your apartment isn’t yours. The job you work isn’t yours. You aren’t certain you even exist in this universe.

You can’t find the strength to complain. Honestly, you’re delighted to be away from the man who stole you away from society.

Miguel O’Hara.

Otherwise known as Spiderman 2099. You know, the superhero.

It must be confusing to hear that a superhero kidnaped a poor civilian. Superheros don’t normally commit unforgivable acts. Regardless, Miguel didn't care. Miguel is aware he is different from other heroes given his beliefs. Abducting you was just one of the many wrongs Miguel fulfilled.

You just wished you knew his motives at the beginning. If you did, you wouldn't have to search for sanctuary. You wouldn't have to lie low in a different universe.

Before Miguel, you lived a decent life that included a decent job. It was a Tuesday afternoon with sunny weather and clear skies. Your friends invited you to a picnic at the park and, for once having a clear schedule you agreed. You recall the sun beaming down on you, overheating your body to the point shade was a necessity. You moved from the picnic blanket to a nearby bent tree. One moment you're enjoying the shade, the next you're falling. Then something transpired. You jerked in the air, something white clinging to the front of your shirt. You felt your body floating in the air, legs thrashing in fear when your body conceded it was in mid-air.

You must have fainted because you have no recollection of what transpired next. What you do remember was watching through bleary eyes as four strangers hovered over you clearly disputing. Currently, you know them by Jessica Drew, Peter B. Parker, the iron spider, And Miguel O’Hara.

The accountability for your well-being somehow landed in the hands of Miguel. In the beginning, Miguel had such a short patience for you, not that he didn't possess an attitude with anyone else, he just happened to have a really short fuse with you.

His explosive temper with you was undeserving. You hardly gave him any reason to blow up. Your presence alone just pissed him off, at least it appeared so.

You avoided him as much as possible; Departing a room when he entered. Ensuring any errands were accomplished before he arrived home, so you didn't have to leave your room to aggravate him.

Then he began to seek you out; popping up wherever you were in his apartment. Alone watching television on the couch? Not anymore. Miguel joined you on the other side silently watching as well. Sitting silently in the dining room eating lunch? Miguel enters with a bowl of cereal, starting a conversation about the day’s news. Enjoy video games and decide to play by yourself? Miguel grabs a controller and questions the rules and certain controls.

For someone who was as snappy at you as a feral dog, he sure did like to invade your solitude.

By the second month of staying at Miguel’s, he found solace in your presence. He became relaxed. Nice even. And then by the fourth month, you became friends. You never visualized being anything other than friends, but unbeknownst to you, Miguel did.

When you first caught the news of Peter figuring out what universe you belonged to, you were ecstatic. After all, the mystery of your universe's number had been the sole reason for crashing with Miguel and not immediately returning home.

You turned to Miguel, asking when was the appropriate time to drop you off. To your astonishment, Miguel’s brows furrowed, and his lips morphed into a grimace, “you will not be returning.” he affirmed.

Miguel shocked not only you, but everyone witnessing the scene. A gauche silence conquered the atmosphere.

You and Miguel stared at each other for a beat, then you voiced your perplexity. “What do you mean “I will not be returning?” Miguel, I need to go home.” you took a step closer to Miguel.

Miguel gazed at you with an uninterested stare. “What I say goes, (Name). And I say you're staying here.” he spun around, returning to whatever he had been working on before. “We all have a busy schedule and dropping you off will only alter it.”

“It’s not worth it,” he said like he was ending the conversation.

“Okay, then Peter can take me home when he needs to drop off Mayday.” you insisted, looking over at Peter to see if he’d be alright with your plan.

No expression was needed for you to catch on to the attitude Miguel began to gain. “(Name), I won’t tell you twice. The answer is no. Now, Peter take her back to my apartment. We’ll speak about the matter later, at the moment there are more important issues happening.”

You found it laughable. To think the minute you stepped into the man's sight he wanted you gone, but now Miguel was fighting you to stay with him. Ironic, isn’t it?

That night you and Miguel, the very moment he came inside his apartment, quarreled for an hour in a half. Your argument being you did not belong to him and could do whatever you pleased. Miguel’s argument was the insignificance of the matter to him.

You detected Miguel’s temper was starting to get out of hand. The way his fists began to clench, the way his brows creased, and the frown deepened after every sentence he uttered. You’ve seen his strength. His fierceness. And you’d rather leave than have any of his tantrums directed at you. Doing what any rational person would do, you attempted to leave the room. You advised him to de-stress before speaking to you again.

Miguel was having none of it. Not even a second passed before you were yanked back by the forearm.

You’re face-to-face with Miguel. Miguel towered over you, looking down at you with his signature red piercing stare. He bends down, momentarily staring at you until he finally speaks. “I can't allow you to leave.” The way he talks is low and if the room weren't already quiet, you wouldn’t have heard him. “I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, closing his eyes as if it pained him to say it. He opened his eyes again. “And I won't allow myself to lose any other person I care for.”

Pulling twenty dollars out of the torn-up wallet you found on the side of the road, you slide it forward on the mahogany brown table. The fatigued receptionist glances at the money, then gazes at you with an irked expression.

“This isn’t enough.” She states matter-of-factly. She slides the twenty back to you.

You purse your lips, staring down at the cash. Twenty dollars is all you had. What were you to do now? The next nearest motel could be miles away; it was a miracle you made it to this.

Your eyes flicker back to her. You take two fingers pushing it back to her, giving her your best puppy eyes. “Please! I don't have anywhere else to go tonight. If I can’t stay here I’ll have to sleep on the streets.”

You were lying. You would’ve taken off by dawn, needing to be on the move after getting rested.

Her hardened expression softens. She takes a deep breath, eyes studying the money. Shaking her head, she takes the cash. “One night only, alright?”

You propose to her a smile, nodding with gratitude. She allotted you a key. A small golden-greenish key, with the number five engraved on the head. Tonight you’d sleep on the grounded floor of the motel.

The inside was decently prepared, having a dingy tone that gave off a haunted vibe. You hum in displeasure. Two queen-sized mattresses are positioned on the right side of the wall. They appeared stiff, and the blankets laying upon them looked thinner than a sheet of paper.

Sighing, you softly booted the door shut. Flopping down on the nearest bed, you groan at the sensation of the rough mattress.

When tomorrow comes you’d have to find a fresh location. Miguel could continually find your locale, thanks to not only Lyla but the whole Spider society. Perhaps you postponed his search this time. His watch or gizmo- whatever the hell it was- rests on your wrist.

Shifting your head to the side, pulling your hand out of your pocket, you glance at the gizmo.

Tightly clutched in Miguel’s hold, you stare quietly at the ceiling. You debate acting on your next actions. There were times Miguel slept lightly, aroused by creaks in the floorboard. Other times when the sound of glass shattering did not bother him even a little.

Glancing down at the arm wrapped securely around your midriff, you endeavor to gradually lift his arm up. He unconsciously retaliates, arms consolidating, resulting in a small gasp slipping from your lips. You’re quick to rub his arm, to offer him comfort, and to calm him.

It works. Miguel grumbles, his grasp faulting. You carefully move his arm aside, then unhurriedly get up from the bed.

Before leaving the room you observe Miguel. Miguel sleeps soundly, an angry expression inscribed on his face. But he is asleep, so you take your chance while you are able.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you immediately spot the gizmo on the marble counter. Compared to the technology you have at home, it was top-notched, a huge improvement. Of course, he lived in the year 2099. Obviously, there would be a difference in technology.

You grabbed the gizmo, examining the complexity. From monitoring the spider people using them, you know it’ll take you wherever universe you request. Great. However, you weren’t a spider person. If you teleported in the middle of the air, you couldn't grapple on the closest object with a web. Or claw your way down a building

Fuck it.

If dying meant escaping him, then so be it.

You didn’t really mean that. Every time you went to teleport to a different universe, you cringed retreating your hand.

“Jesus! Alright, I'm doing this!” you softly berated yourself. Bracing for the impact of the possible fall you might face, you shut your eyes tight and twisted the gizmo. “Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground, Please be on the ground!” you cried.

How long would it take them to find you? How far could you get?

God, being on the run was stressful.

Your eyes flutter closed, plush pillows luling your tired mind. ‘I should get some sleep’ you thought. Warmth spread throughout your numbing body, as you finally permitted yourself to sleep.

When you awake gasping for air, almost as if you’d been suffocating. Instantly you arise, a hand rushing to your chest confirming it still thumped with a beating heart. Your skin is sticky with cold sweat, making your clothes uncomfortably cling to your body. “What the fuck?” you barely uttered, mouth arid.

Suddenly you had a gut feeling to check the window. You stand, groggily walking toward the large window adjacent to the front door. Pinching the hem of the curtain, you haul it aside.

The night is still pristine, the stars glowing in the dark sky. Nothing seems out of place. And yet you continue to have that gut feeling. Look outside, there’s something outside. Your eyes move to the parking lot.

You see it.

Blue and red. Something blue and red is making its way toward the motel. Squinting, you can make out what it is. Miguel. It's Miguel!

“Oh, shit!” you expressed, dropping the curtain. Wasting no time you locked the bottom and top locks. You veered around, frantically searching for a place to hide. You are no fool. Locking the door was simply a distraction; Miguel would tear the door off its hinges in a second.

Hiding underneath the bed is a childish strategy. That and hiding underneath the covers. Still, you drop to your knees, squeezing underneath the bed, using the blankets to cover any spaces revealing you. Pressing the palm of your hand against both your mouth and nose, you listen closely to everything around you.

At first, all you hear is the air conditioning blowing cool air, and the people next door’s baby weeping. Then you hear it. The doorknob oscillation. Your eyes widen, fear causing your breath to hitch. When the door refuses to open, the person behind the door commences kicking in the door. One kick achieves them access to the room. The door slams against the wall, shaking the ground, sending a vibration under you.

“¿Qué carajo?” you know that voice anywhere. It’s Miguel speaking in his native language. A habit Miguel has when he’s angered or stressed. “¿Dónde está ella?” Miguel snaps, striding into the room with anger-powered steps.

You can see through the tiny slit in the blankets, Miguel turning to the table where you placed the gizmo. Miguel picks up the gizmo, putting it back on his wrist.

He shifts his concentration to finding you. He calls out your name, malice dripping from the way he shouts it. He disappears from sight, presumingly moving on to the bathroom. Many things are heard being tossed around. Miguel probably was looking for evidence of you staying here, apart from the gizmo.

You gather the courage to, oh, so carefully stretch your leg out, then proceed to quietly shuffle from under the bed. You waste no time, rushing out the door, feet bare without socks or shoes. The gravel burns the soles of your feet, scraping and imprinting on the skin.

You practically succeeded in leaving the lot until you caught a glimpse of what stalked behind you. On all fours, Miguel sprinted at you, claws scuffing the concrete, like a predator running after its prey.

“Holy shit! What the actual fuck!” you panic aloud, taking your eye off what was in front of you, your mind solely focusing on the man hunting you. Big mistake on your part. A concrete parking block is in your way, but you don’t see it. You jolt forward, tripping over the block, your other foot catching you before you hit the road.

Just when you thought you still had the chance of running away, you’re sorely mistaken. Miguel pounces on you, and the clash of your bodies colliding results in Miguel tumbling down the road, you secure in his arms.

The tumble ends; you’re struggling not to vomit, head resting on Miguel’s firm chest. The world spins. It’s easy to forget your position when the urge to throw up is fresh.

Miguel holds your head, pressing a myriad of kisses on every part of the skin visible, muttering with his eyes closed. “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.” He sounds so frantic, reciting those same words, his tongue stumbling over the utterances.

His eyelids raise, uncovering his red orbs. He presses his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s a domestic stunt that makes your stomach churn. “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.” he huffs, then continues, “I’m happy you’re alright. I don’t know what I'd do if I lost you, mi alma.”

Taking your hand, he places a soft kiss on the back. “Had an anomaly harmed you, I would have ripped their fucking throat out!”

————————

Translations

- “¿Qué carajo?”/ what the fuck?

- “¿Dónde está ella?”/ where is she?

- “Debería estar furioso contigo, pero no lo estoy.”/ I should be furious with you, but I'm not.

- “Gracias a Dios que estás bien.”/ thank god you’re okay.

- mi alma/ my soul

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

6121 words, 34869 characters, 314 sentences, 203 paragraphs, 24.4 pages.

I apologise for the abrupt ending to this chapter, I would’ve posted this yesterday but my draft deleted and I had to re-write everything. So I kind of rushed😔

You slowly blink your eyes open, the haze of sleep still lingering as you take in your surroundings. The room is lit by a soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the surroundings.

Confused, you look around and realize you have no recollection of falling asleep on the couch. The last thing you remember is talking to Jason, then nothing. You frown, the grogginess still fogging your thoughts.

You stir, pushing yourself up on the couch, the blanket that had been draped over you now half-sprawled across the floor. Still a bit disoriented, you rub your eyes and look around. When did you fall asleep? The question echoes in your mind, a befuddled frown on your face.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, the sound cutting through the quiet morning air and echoing through the apartment. You blink, momentarily startled as you sit up straighter on the couch.

Who the hell could be knocking at this hour? You think groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You glance over at the digital clock on the wall, the white numbers flashing a bright 01:24 PM.

Oh. — it’s past one in the afternoon. Your eyes widen a bit as the realisation sinks in; you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept in this late, if ever.

With a groan, you push yourself up from the couch, sitting up, the stiffness of sleep evident in your muscles as you stretch out your limbs.

Another knock sounds through the apartment, louder and more insistent this time. Grumbling under your breath, you swing your legs off the couch and stand up, the last traces of sleep slowly fading as curiosity and annoyance take over.

You wince slightly as your feet hit the cold floor, the lack of socks making you feel the chill of the unheated air creeping up your legs. You take a moment to shake away the remnants of sleep, your mind slowly clearing as you move towards the door.

You unlock the door and swing it open, the sight of the taller man leaning against the frame meeting your tired eyes. Dick’s expression shifts, the impatient frown on his face morphing into a more eager smile as he spots you. His grin is oddly comforting.

"Hey," he addresses you, his voice now tinged with a teasing sort of affection. Your tired brain takes a moment to process the words, but you simply roll your eyes and huff softly. Not bothering to hold back the fond smile.

“What are you doing here so early, Grayson?” You don’t remember ever mentioning to him where you lived. Wait, why was he here?

"It's already past one. It's not that early," Dick’s voice cuts through your sleepy thoughts, a playful lilt in his tone. He notices the slightly confused and bewildered look on your face and grins.

"I came to see how you’re doing," he replies, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. Before you can even ask, he adds, "Jason gave me the address."

A pang of curiosity mixed with confusion sparks in your mind at Dick’s words. Jason gave him the address? The unexpected revelation that the two know each other causes your eyebrows to furrow. A flood of questions instantly runs through your brain. How did they know each other? For how long?

You narrow your eyes slightly as you regard Dick, the realisation of this new information sinking in. "You know Jason?"

Dick stiffens slightly, his shoulders straightening as he realises his slip. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, the nervous tone revealing that there’s more to this than he’s letting off.

"You could... definitely say that," he responds, his tone a touch cryptic. The brief flash of unease in his eyes betrays his nonchalant demeanor.

Before you can even react, Dick swiftly brushes past you, stepping into the apartment and moving deeper into the living area. His sudden movement leaves you momentarily speechless. You blink in surprise, your mouth opening to question him as he moves by.

"We’ve got a reservation in an hour," he throws over his shoulder as he continues forward. The sense of urgency in his words spurs you into movement, chasing after him into the room.

Your mind races as you follow Dick further into the apartment. A reservation? You weren't expecting any plans today, least of all with Dick. Questions dance on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be asked, but the time constraint and the sense of urgency in his words makes it impossible to voice them.

"Dick, what –” you attempt to say, but he cuts you off with a firm glance and an impatient wave of his hand. You’ve never seen him so serious, you almost giggle.

"No time for questions," he mumbles, cutting you off, his eyes sharp and focused. The intensity in his gaze only increases as he swiftly starts to move around your apartment, seemingly on a mission. You watch as he makes his way around, his movements swift and purposeful, as if he's looking for something. The grin never leaves his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but an impatient glance from Dick silences you. The look on his face instantly clues you in that something important is happening.

As he moves around the living area, Dick quickly and efficiently starts to scoop up various items of clothing. A hoodie, a pair of shoes, a jacket. You watch as he gathers them up, placing them beside him, as if he's already planning your entire outfit for the day.

You were almost impressed. Every piece of clothing he had picked up was yours, and there was 10x more of Jason’s things scattered around the room.

Unbeknownst to you he’d memorised every article of clothing in your wardrobe. They all had. Needing everything to be perfect for when their plan finally comes into play.

Without pausing, Dick slings the now neatly folded stack of clothing over your shoulder, the soft fabric landing with a small puff of air. With a quick move, he turns away and begins searching the room for a bag.

You sigh, catching the clothes before they fall to the floor and raise a silent brow. “Is this you asking me to change?”

He shoots you a small smile, it’s apologetic.

Dick glances back at you as he continues searching the room for a bag, a sly smile on his lips. "Not particularly asking," he replies, his tone playful but firm. "It's more of a gentle suggestion."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering over your current clothing, lingering on the items of Jason's strewn around the room. He rolls his eyes internally at the sight, knowing all too well who they belonged to.

Returning his focus back to his search, he suddenly spots a small backpack shoved underneath a chair in the corner. Triumphant, he moves over and picks it up, the familiar canvas material gripped in his hand.

He turns back to you, holding up the backpack with a triumphant smile. "Found the bag," he announces, tossing it towards you before resuming his search. His eyes scan the room with methodical precision, leaving no spot unchecked.

Despite the confusion and the thousand questions racing through your mind, you remain standing in the middle of the room, a nervous yet puzzled smile on your face. You glance down at the clothes in your arms, the soft fabric pooling in your grip. Your gaze then flickers over to Dick, watching as he searches through the space.

"Why do we need a bag?" you finally ask, your voice betraying your bewildered state. The sound of your words hangs in the air, waiting for an answer.

Dick pauses in his movements, his fingers curling around the strap of a jacket. He looks over at you, a hint of hesitance in his eyes. He can sense the confusion and worry in your voice, the unease in the way your body has gone tense.

He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He walks over to where you stand, a few steps away, and leans against the back of a chair, his gaze meeting yours.

“We just do.” His voice is soft, an attempt at reassurance.

“Don’t worry about it,” he adds, his tone shifting to a more gentle, soothing one.

The answer is vague, unsatisfying. With a soft huff of impatience, you spin on your heel and march down the corridor, disappearing into your bedroom and shutting the door with an audible click. Dick remains behind in the room, watching your hasty departure with an amused twinkle in his eye.

He moves forward and leans back against the side of the couch, a fond smile on his face as he listens to the soft rustle of you changing behind the closed door. It’s an illusion of privacy. If any of them were really interested they could just watch over the cameras.

After a few moments, the sound of the door handle turning catches his attention. He glances up to see you emerge from the bedroom, now dressed in the clothes he had gathered for you. The clothes fit perfectly, just as he had envisioned.

He pushes himself away from the couch, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over your form. His smile widens as he crosses the room towards you, stopping just a step away.

"See, didn't I pick the best outfit?" he teases, his voice gentle. He lifts his hand to give the sleeve of your hoodie a light tug, the material soft under his fingers.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in every feature. It's a subtle study, an unconscious way of reassuring himself that you're okay, that you're here and safe.

You stand with crossed arms, a small frown on your face as you regard Dick. Your irritation is evident, your annoyance at his presence and the lack of answers growing with each passing moment.

Dick glances up, immediately sensing the irritation in your stance. A sheepish smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. "What's that look for?" he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your irritation deepening at Dick’s attempt to play it off lightly. You can’t help the small sigh that escapes your lips as you shift uncomfortably on your feet. The silence hanging in the air only adds to your growing annoyance.

"Dick, seriously," you say abruptly, cutting through his banter. Your voice is firm, demanding an answer. "Why am I changing? Where are we going? You’re being ridiculously vague."

Dick sighs as your tone washes over him, his smile faltering slightly. He had hoped to avoid this for just a little longer, but he knows you’ll never relent until you get answers.

He runs a hand through his hair, tousling the dark locks slightly. His expression is serious as he stares back at you.

"We’re going out.” it’s a simple statement, one that doesn’t provide any further explanation or context.

Your frown deepens, the vague answer doing nothing to quell your frustration. You open your mouth to speak, ready to press for more information, but Dick cuts you off.

“And before you ask,” he begins, holding up a hand, “I can't tell you where.”

His voice is steady and firm. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes as he gazes at you, a mixture of concern and determination. He knows he can’t reveal too much, not yet at least.

You sigh softly and approach him, your arms held outward. There's a slight pout on your face, the expression betraying your annoyance. You're surprised that Dick didn't immediately embrace you as is his usual habit upon seeing you. You can't even remember the last time he hadn't.

Dick grins at your pout, recognizing the familiar gesture of annoyance. He chuckles softly as he pushes off the couch and steps forward, wrapping his arms immediately around your waist.

He pulls you closer, drawing you into the comforting warmth of his embrace. Under different circumstances, he would take a moment to tease you further, the pout always a favourite of his, but right now there's a sense of urgency weighing on his shoulders.

His arms tighten around you, holding you against him firmly. The solid planes of his chest press against yours, the familiar scent of him enveloping you entirely.

He can feel the tension in your body, the frustration and confusion still evident in the way you hold yourself. He rubs his hands gently up and down your back, trying to soothe the tension away. His fingers press softly into your skin, their familiar touch reassuring.

Dick rests his chin on the top of your head, his eyes closing for a moment. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest against his, the rhythm of your breathing, the steady beat of your heart. He memorizes each sensation, committing them to memory.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He inhales deeply, the familiar fragrance calming his nerves. He can hear your own steadying breaths, the soft exhale against his chest.

With his arms still wrapped around you, he murmurs into your hair, the words almost lost in the soft locks. "Trust me, okay?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You respond immediately to his warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him closer. You squeeze gently, your grip firm yet gentle on his body. As you look up at him, a small smile begins to form on your face. The annoyance from moments before begins to slowly melt away under the comfort of his closeness.

Your gaze meets his, and Dick watches as the furrow between your brows smoothes out, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He feels the tension in your body easing, the frustration slowly fading under his touch.

A familiar fondness blossoms in his chest. He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes. His hand then cups your cheek, thumb gently tracing the curve of your skin. “Ready to go?” He doesn’t want to ever forget this image. His little bird...

A giddy grin spreads across his face.

You roll your eyes, but the gesture is playful rather than irritated. You tilt your head into his touch, your expression softening

"I guess," you respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing your voice. Despite the uncertainty and the lack of answers, you feel a sense of reassurance in being with him. You trust him implicitly.

You push against his chest lightly, breaking the embrace just enough to look at him properly. Your gaze is scrutinizing, trying to decipher the secret he's holding back.

Dick grins as you pull away, his arms falling back to his sides. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. He can see the curiosity and the underlying trust mixed with a hint of annoyance. He's almost amused by the sight.

He returns your gaze, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “You'll find out soon enough, don't worry.”

He turns away, picking his jacket up from the back of a chair. He slings it over his shoulder, gesturing towards the door. “C'mon, we've got a reservation to catch.”

You huff in annoyance but concede, silently resigning yourself to the secret for now. You grab your jacket and follow Dick to the door.

"Alright, but I hope you know I'm grilling you as soon as we're done," you warn, your tone playful.

Dick chuckles, a low, deep sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He holds the door open for you, gesturing for you to step through first.

"Oh, I have no doubt," he replies, his voice filled with a hint of amusement. As you walk past him, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The unexpected action catches you off guard, and you turn to look at him in surprise. The small gesture is so like him, and yet... something feels different. His grip is a little more firm than usual, the touch laced with a sense of protectiveness.

Something feels off but you just can’t put your finger on it.

Sure, Grayson was an affectionate person, you’d be more surprised if he didn’t have his hands on you in some way, it’s something you’ve grown familiar with. But something just seemed different today.

He feels you looking at him, your gaze piercing. Dick gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb caressing your skin in a gentle pattern. He smiles down at you, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He leads you out of the apartment and into the hallway, his stride purposeful yet measured. The light in the corridor is harsh, casting shadows on his face, making his features appear sharper than usual.

As he continues guiding you down the hallway, you keep glancing at him. Each time, your gaze traces his profile. His face looks slightly tired, the usual brightness in his eyes less vibrant than you're used to. The shadows cast by the hallway lights accentuate the hard lines on his face, making his jaw and shoulders appear tenser than usual.

The silence between you feels heavier than normal, and you can't shake the feeling that something is off, despite his attempts at normalcy. It's unnerving, and the unease nags at you.

Dick glances at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing the frequent glances and the growing unease on your face. He can sense your tension, the subtle signs of your increasing worry. He squeezes your hand again, trying to provide a small reassurance, but it doesn't seem to ease your concern.

He takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing as he tries to find the right words, a way to reassure you without giving anything away. He knows he can't tell you the truth, not yet, but the look on your face twists something in his chest.

Dick opens his mouth to speak, to offer some reassurance, an assurance that everything is fine, that you have nothing to worry about. But the words get stuck in his throat, the lie refusing to come out. The silence between you grows heavier, the air thick with the unsaid words.

He can feel your hand trembling slightly in his grasp, a stark contrast to the firm grip he's holding onto. He doesn't want to see that look of worry on your face, he hates it, the sight making his heart ache.

He quickens his pace, his strides becoming longer, more determined. He's not sure if it's to escape your searching gaze or to get to their destination quicker. Maybe a bit of both.

The silence continues, and the tension between you only seems to grow. The walls of the hallway close in around you, the shadows becoming sharper with every step. You're about to break the silence when Dick suddenly stops, causing you to almost stumble into his back.

You catch yourself just in time, blinking in surprise. You look around to find that he's stopped in front of an elevator at the end of the hallway.

Dick reaches out and hits the elevator call button without looking at you. His gaze remains fixed straight ahead. The silence is deafening, the only sound being the steady beat of your heart in your ears and the soft hum of the elevator as it approaches.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft "ding," breaking the stillness. Dick steps forward, pulling you along.

He leads you into the elevator, his hand still firmly grasping yours. As the doors slide closed, sealing you both inside, Dick turns to face you.

His gaze is intense, the shadows on his face seeming even more pronounced in the harsh lighting of the elevator. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s almost as if he’s trying to memorise every detail, every contour, every look of anxiety on your expression.

You clearly your throat, trying to get rid of the tension and have your usual banter back. Rather than this... whatever this is.

The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, his mind momentarily lost in the maze of worries and what-ifs. He focuses on you, refocusing his attention on you and the current situation.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, an attempt to ease the tension. It’s a poor imitation of his usual grin, the familiar comfort not fully reaching his eyes. He lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

Your cheeks would’ve tinged a soft pink under normal circumstances, but the look in Dick’s eyes instantly extinguishes any hint of such a reaction. It’s a look more reminiscent of an older brother or a friend, not a lover. It was almost... dark. You weren’t sure how to feel.

“You’re worrying too much," He tells you, his voice low and rough.

As he speaks, he begins to trace his fingers gently up and down the inside of your wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing against your pulse point. It's an action he does often, a habit he has formed over the years to soothe you, help you calm down. But now, it feels different. The action, though familiar, feels forced, like he's going through the motions rather than genuinely trying to ease your anxiety.

He looks into your eyes, concern etched into every feature. "Trust me," he reassures, albeit in a strangely empty tone.

The elevator dings again, signifying your arrival on the ground floor. The sound feels like a release from some untold tension.

Dick gives your hand a final squeeze before dropping your hand to open the elevator door. The cool breeze caresses your face as the fresh, outdoor air hits your lungs. It's a relief to be out of the small, claustrophobic space of the elevator. But the tension still hangs between you like a thick veil, unseen but undeniable.

As you step out of the elevator side by side, you can't help but glance back at him.

His gaze is fixed straight ahead, his jaw set in a tight line. You've never seen him like this, so... stiff, if that's the right word. It's unnerving, the contrast between his usual laid-back demeanor and the current brooding aura surrounding him.

Dick's shoulders are tense under his leather jacket, and his hands are shoved deep into the pockets. He looks like he's carrying the weight of the world, a stark contradiction to the playful man you know.

You shake your head. You’re probably reading too much into things.

You remind yourself that Dick is nothing but expressive, his emotions always written right across his face. He’s never been one to keep things bottled up, always preferring to let out whatever he’s feeling with a healthy dose of charm and wit. But the man walking next to you is the opposite of that.

Dick takes a sudden left turn, leading you onto the main street. The bustling city life greets you, the usual sounds of traffic and chatter providing a stark contrast to the tension between you two.

You let out a shaky breath and move a little faster to match his pace, your hand wrapping around his shoulder. A small smile dancing on your lips. “Cmon then. Can’t be late to your little mystery, now can we?”

He practically croons when you initiate the touch, a small real grin tugs at his lips.

The familiarity of your voice eases some of the tension in his shoulders, and for a moment, he looks almost like his usual self.

He reaches up to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer against his side. "Don’t worry," he assures, the familiar playfulness finally returning to his tone. "I’ve got everything under control. We’ll be just on time, and you’ll have all your answers soon."

His grip on you is firm, almost possessive, as if making sure you’re as close to him as possible.

Your smile widens at his response, some of the earlier unease melting away under his touch. This is more like the Dick you know; relaxed, charming, comforting. You lean into him, your body molding against his.

The atmosphere between you is still tense, an undercurrent of unspoken words lingering in the air. But his casual tone and reassuring words are doing their job. For now, at least.

“See?” he grins as you lean into him, his hand tracing small circles on your hip. “Nothing to worry about."

He glances down at you, his eyes taking in your slightly more relaxed form. For a brief moment, the mask slips, and a flash of concern flickers across his face. But it's gone before you can fully register it, replaced once again by that confident, charming grin.

He steers you down the street, effortlessly navigating the crowded sidewalks. People move out of his way without even realising, his presence exuding a subtle power and authority.

He keeps you close as you walk, his hand still holding onto your hip, guiding you along.

"You’ll like tonight," he reassures, his voice low as he leans down to speak softly into your ear. "I promise."

The evening has arrived, and the night sky is like a canvas splashed with deep blues and purples. The city’s lights glitter like thousands of stars, casting a warm glow over the streets.

Dick leads you down a quieter street, away from the hustle and bustle of the main road. The ambiance of the area is distinctly more upscale, the shops and restaurants here a noticeable step above the rest of the city.

He finally stops in front of a quaint little bistro, the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns casting shadows on his face.

The bistro is quaint and unassuming, but the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns betrays the upscale nature of the establishment. The menu is displayed in the front, the words written in an elegant script. It’s clear that this isn’t your typical fast food joint.

Dick turns to you, a smug smile on his face, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’ve got this under control," he grins, motioning towards the entrance. "C’mon."

He holds the door open for you, ushering you into the restaurant. The interior is just as upscale as you’d expect, the walls painted in warm, soothing creams and golds, the hardwood flooring shining softly in the ambient lighting. Soft, instrumental music plays in the background, creating a cozy atmosphere.

A sharp, crisply dressed host approaches you almost immediately, his back straight, chin held high. "Reservation for Grayson," Dick tells him, his tone confident and casual.

The waitress blinks in surprise, a grin stretching across her painted red lips. “The four in one show?”

You tilt your head in confusion, not quite understanding the reference. However, Dick grins back, a twinkle in his eye. "That’s the one," he replies casually.

The waitress nods in understanding and leads you to the reserved area. As you follow her, you notice Dick’s hand instinctively finds its way back to your waist, a possessive yet comforting gesture.

The reserved area is tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, secluded from the rest of the dining area. It's a cozy, intimate space, with soft lighting, a small, circular table, and comfortable, inviting chairs.

Dick pulls out your chair for you, waiting until you're settled before sitting down himself.

"What the hell was the waitress talking about?" you ask, leaning your cheek against your palm.

Dick chuckles as he takes his seat across from you, a sly smile playing upon his lips. "You’ll see," he replies evasively, picking up the leather-bound menu sitting in front of him.

He scans the menu listlessly, clearly not really paying attention to the words. His gaze drifts towards you occasionally, watching your every move like a hawk.

You’re preoccupied with staring down at the menu, a frown of concentration on your face and a slight tilt to your head. The elegant, tiny cursive script seems almost illegible to you, making you squint down at it with increasing frustration. After a moment, you huff and turn the menu onto its side, hoping that a different angle may help you decipher the elusive words.

Dick, who had been watching you struggle for the past few minutes, can't help but let out a soft chuckle at your antics.

"You struggling there?" he teases with a smirk.

“How can anyone read this?” You huff, putting the styled paper down in front of you and slouching back in the chair.

Dick grins warmly at your disgruntled expression, finding it amusing and endearing.

"You get used to it," he replies, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. "Reading fancy menus is part of the experience, you know."

He leans back in his own chair, his hands folding on the table in front of him. He watches as you continue to grumble under your breath, clearly not appreciating the overly-stylised fonts. He wanted to coo at how cute you looked with that expression on your face.

"Whoever designed these is a sadist," you mutter half-heartedly as you continue to glare at the menu, as if you could force the words to make sense through sheer will alone.

Dick laughs again, a deep, rich sound that fills the small, intimate space you’re in.

"You’re not wrong," he comments. "But don’t worry, I’ll help you read the rest of it if you need." He grins.

You look up, your eyes narrowing. “I’m not a child. I don’t need help to read.”

Dick holds up his hands in surrender, a smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, I never said you did," he responds, that charming tone still in his voice.

But there’s a hint of something else in his eyes, a mix of mockery, amusement, and something else you can’t quite place. Love. It fades almost as soon as it appears, leaving you to wonder if it was even there in the first place.

"I was just offering my services as a personal menu translator," he teases.

Dick's smirk deepens as you roll your eyes playfully, clearly enjoying your little bit of banter.

"You're cute when you're stubborn," he comments, the compliment slipping out almost effortlessly, like it's something he says every day.

He leans back in his seat, sipping at his glass of water. There’s a brief pause in the conversation, both of you silently surveying the menu before you speak up again.

"So, finding anything interesting on there? Or is it all just gibberish to you?"

“Oh, shut up.” you hiss.

Dick laughs again. He can’t help it. Your defiant, grumpy expression is just so adorable. It’s a complete 180 from your usual self.

"Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t read fancy, tiny writing," he retorts, clearly enjoying your little pout.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Seriously, though, find anything you want? I’ll order for us if you want," he offers, the suggestion a small peace offering.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, though it lacks any real heat. The corner of your lip is still tugged up in a half-smile.

"I’ve got my eye on a few things," you reply, finally relenting and putting the menu down. You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Alright, Mr. Fancy Menu Translator," you say dramatically. "Surprise me."

Dick grins at your response, clearly taking pleasure in your surrender.

"Surprise it is then," he chuckles, his gaze sweeping over the menu again, though his focus is clearly on you rather than the list of items.

He flags down a nearby waiter and places your orders, his voice confident and suave as he converses with him. When the waiter departs, he turns his attention back to you, a smug expression on his face.

"Alright, you're in my hands now," he smirks. Your name rolling off his tongue naturally at the end.

You roll your eyes dramatically at his cockiness, though you can't deny that you secretly enjoy it. Dick always knew how to make things interesting and entertaining.

"In your hands, huh?" you muse, arching an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

You lean forward, resting your chin on your palm, watching him closely.

Dick smirks back, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Oh, I think you should be very worried," he teases, his tone dripping with playful menace.

He leans forward as well, his forearms resting on the edge of the table. He watches you with those piercing blue eyes, that familiar, charming smile still on his face.

"But don’t worry," he adds, his tone shifting into something slightly more genuine. "I’ll take good care of you."

You grimace and let out a mock gag, dramatically clutching your stomach as a playful response. Your voice drips with sarcasm as you shoot back, “What, did you steal that from a soap opera?”

Dick feigns offence, a hand dramatically flying to his chest as he gasps dramatically. "Me? Steal from a soap opera? I’m wounded," he grins, his tone equally as sarcastic as yours.

"You’re supposed to swoon, by the way. That’s usually the natural response to such declarations," he teases. Matching your humor.

Despite your sarcastic banter, there’s a hint of a smile on your face. Dick’s easy-going, sarcastic demeanor is something you appreciate about him. It makes even the most mundane situations more enjoyable, and it’s a stark contrast to his more broody, serious moods.

"Sorry to disappoint," you reply dryly. "I’ll be sure to swoon next time. Maybe I’ll even swoon so hard I fall out of my seat."

Dick chuckles heartily at your retort, the sound deep and genuine. He’s enjoying this little back-and-forth.

"Careful there," he teases. "I’d hate for you to give yourself a concussion. I’m still enjoying my night."

He reaches out to gently pinch your cheek before pulling his hand away, his smile still firmly in place.

You scoff at the action, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your cheek. A soft glare thrown his way.

"Stop it," you warn, though your tone lacks any real seriousness. "You’re such a child sometimes."

Dick grins unrepentantly, clearly unworried about your 'warning.'

"You love it," he says, his tone cocky as ever. He has the smug expression of someone who knows exactly how true his statement is.

"I do not," you say petulantly, though your tone betrays your words. You try to glare at him, but your lips are twitching with suppressed laughter. It’s impossible to stay annoyed when Dick is in one of his playful moods like this.

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

Dick grins wider, clearly satisfied with your response. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Oh, I know," he replies, his tone smug. "But you love it, admit it."

The atmosphere between you two is still lightly playful, the tension from earlier having lifted. It feels like things are back to normal, banter and all.

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get me to tell you that.” You shoot him an unimpressed look.

Dick chuckles, not denying your accusation. "And if I am?" he responds, that cocky grin still on his face.

He leans forward again, his gaze never leaving yours. "Admit that you love it when I tease you, and I’ll stop."

There’s a hint of challenge in his tone, as if he’s certain that you’ll give in.

In his head, Dick's heart is practically soaring. The thought of you telling him first, before any of the others, that you love him is sending his emotions spiraling. Giddy, elated, and a bit overwhelmed, he can barely contain the sheer joy that's overwhelming him. His baby bird. Please, just say it.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever. So what if I do?” You relent, leaning back in the chair.

Dick can barely contain his emotions. He wants to leap across the table and scoop you into his arms, to shower you with praise and declarations of platonic love.

But he manages to maintain his composure, schooling his features into a smug smile.

"See? Was that so hard?" he grins, the triumph in his voice clear. "Admitting that you love my teasing."

He leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, watching you intently. His gaze is almost smoldering, an intensity behind the playfulness.

"I knew you couldn’t resist my charm," he adds, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You snort.

No use of y/n, no descriptive features relating to the reader’s appearance, no gender mentioned.

Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony @nickey-diano @sociallyakwardpanda @obsessedwithromance @thickerthanthieves @nckcn @xxrougefangxx @th0rn118 @gaozorous-rex-blog @lyl-3 @wtf-am-i-doing-with-my-life-help

Kind of hate this, but oh well!🥰

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[leclerckiss]

pretty in pink ౨ৎ

notes: oscar piastri x girly!reader, est. relationship, protective demeanour, unwelcome attention from strangers, fluff. requested.

a/n: i adored writing this, and it helped encourage me to stop writing for only charles in all honesty. ily.

The aroma of petrichor against warm pastries from the L'Amour du Pain Vieux bakery nearby lingers, skies over Montréal grey with the lull of clouds where hints of the early afternoon light dance through and upon the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve below, a gentle remnant of dampness about the smooth stone streets from rainfall earlier in the hour that has since come to a halt.

With qualifying to commence in a few hours – highlighting the true beginning of the Canadian Grand Prix where your boyfriend hopes to secure the finest result possible – there is a heightening feel about the paddock as you wander through, latte of oat-milk and vanilla balanced in one soft-skinned hand, donned in your favourite, little dress like blushing, pale peonies.

After an early albeit comfortable, familiar morning waking beside Oscar in your shared hotel suite amongst the quiet luxury of pretty, minimal décor – mussed bed sheets of lush cotton, cashmere throws and interlocked limbs – shared, slow kisses and breakfast consisting of sweet, syruped pancakes and coffee, before greeting the true day ahead, you are most excited.

Amongst conversational journalists with inviting, saccharine smiles merely for enticement and photographers who do not hesitate to notice your face, the lovely and pretty diamond that is Oscar Piastri's lovable girlfriend, you have never quite opposed to the media attention so long as you have him by your side.

"Hm." Chanel ballet flats of embroidered ivory and light-pink clicking on the path, comforted by your sweet treat in hand whilst balancing your iPhone in the other – a brief conversation with your lover concluding he would be busy for another couple of minutes at least due to press conferences – you are mostly contently lost in your own daydreams.

"Excuse me?"

It is the sound of a voice addressed in your direction that has you faltering in your gait, pretty head tilting just the slightest to glimpse over your shoulder just as the sudden voice and approach of a male has you somewhat shy.

"Sorry, I feel like I know you from somewhere," He is youthful, perhaps the same age or a year older than the aforementioned by looks, dressed rather comfortably in a clean, white shirt of linen only half-buttoned against the beige hues of his trousers, Française Cartier watch glinting on his wrist.

His mouth curves on a smile, eyes like caramel dancing over your face and lower until he allows himself the fleeting, silent glance at how the neat edges of your mini dress hug your thighs before straightening his stance once again, lithe fingers threading through his styled, light hair.

The words leave you a touch perplexed given you certainly do not recognise him and lack any recollection of his face, laughing uncertainly as you tuck a stray hair behind the shell of your ear with the clink of a rose quartz bracelet about your wrist, the sound sweet as an angel's.

"I'm sorry, I don't think–"

"It's alright, I don't either." The man continues with an amiable shrug as though pretending to understand or assume what you had been meaning to say, countenance turning more charismatic on the edge of a revealed dimple, "My name's Jacques, love."

There is something in his gaze and the execution of his demeanour which has you hesitating, rosebud mouth parted ajar whilst you glance about momentarily even when the hint of a natural, polite smile remains.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jacques," You reply quietly, the expression you hold towards him is a pleasant one despite yourself, although not enough to reveal the slight discomfort that lurks in the depths of your stomach, "But my boyfriend is–"

"Right here."

As if the mention or mere thought of him was an innate manifestation, you are greeted with the presence of a certain, handsome individual where you recognise the warmth of his aura just as fingertips are felt on the curve of your vertebrae against a splayed palm.

You cannot deny or refuse the immediate beginnings of a soft smile and the ease flourishing within you as soon as his touch is known, the lingering scent of his cologne with hints of patchouli and rosewood permeating, an incline of your head allowing gazes to meet momentarily in mutual greeting.

He stands tall beside you, the limb draped around your waist a familiar presence whilst eyes of an intimate, rich hue that remind you of coffee and autumn dance between yourself and the other man who now stands a touch awkwardly with a dissuaded visage.

"Is this man bothering you, princess?" His tone is honey-like, a smooth and lowered baritone that you adore, though there is the telltale sign of his fingertips that press a touch firmer against your hipbone, and the arch of a brow, that demonstrates the silent brewing of protectiveness in the midst of his affections for you. Oscar Piastri is an affectionate sweetheart, true to his feelings and honest in generosity with the renowned presence of patience, though can be a defensive figure when the subject concerns his girl.

"Not really. He was just being friendly," Your cadence is light and sweet with imploration, the subtle gesture of a kiss left against his cheekbone in comforting warmth as you balance on the edge of your toes momentarily.

You are sweet, almost too much so with your pretty looks and the faint glimpses of innocence there even though you know exactly where you stand; it has Oscar longing to return to the quiet privacy of home where nobody will harass you both for attention, where he can have you to himself even if only for a little while.

Jacques chuckles, almost uncertainly in a manner that juxtaposes his previous incentive whilst tucking one palm into the concealing wool of his tailored slacks when he nods, "I was just saying 'hello', no harm done."

The Australian does not seem particularly reassured though there is no instigation for a disagreement, looking over the other only a moment longer without another word before he's silently coaxing you against his side when he walks with a gait somewhat quicker than his usual.

"Wait," Your kissable lips touch a little downward in uncertain wonder, though you follow his guidance easily, a touch intrigued by his lingering silence that lacks explanation, "Where are we headed? Was I doing something wrong?"

There is no initial comfort or answer to your inquiries as he looks forward, evidently lost to his own thoughts whilst internally calming himself from the dwindling ache of his possession over you, a muscle in the line of his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly.

A boring press conference consisting of being asked the same questions like a repetitive, tedious dance had already left him a touch bitter, and the sight of a stranger trying to steal his girlfriend's attention away only aggravates him further.

Eventually, your shared walk leads to the quieter alcoves of the McLaren hospitality comforts until he's nudging you backwards through a white-varnished door, breathing in the sweetness of your perfume – Good Girl: Blush – with hints of almond against sweet peonies, vanilla and coumarin.

"You weren't doing anything wrong," Oscar murmurs, his arm entwined securely about your figure as his lips ghost over the outer shell of your ear near the glimmer of divine, embellished earrings he gifted you on your birthday after he had seen you admiring them through the glass of a jewellery shop once, swallowing slowly.

It is a quiet, comfortable room – one that he often confides in the refuge of when in need of fleeing from the never-ending attention and demands of his profession, an inviting, plush chaise lounge of white cushioning, shelves and cupboards of various items.

Your glossed lips touch into a delicate pout of mystery, a gentle sound of consideration and acknowledgement leaving the back of your throat whilst arms drape loosely around his neck, the edges of your thumbs tracing along his nape where you feel the soft hairs there.

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing." It is an uncharacteristically brief reply, though the manner his lightly-calloused palms cradle the small of your waist until he cannot quite restrain himself from the tightened grasp there with a brief glance towards the closed door, exhaling through his teeth in some kind of defeat, "I'm... Do you want me to be honest?"

The question is uttered so softly that the question leaves you a fraction breathless, heart thrumming within the interns of your rib cage like a dove locked away as you nod.

"I always want the truth from you, Ossie," You respond in a lull so saccharine it sounds like a sing-song of delight, the edge of your index finger and thumb dancing downwards against the soft fabric of his sweater before pausing when you meet his eyes through your lashes.

Oscar sighs, though there is the slightest of reservations of a smile the corners of his mouth at the manner in which you address him, a nickname reserved especially for when the two of you are alone together and intimate.

He does not immediately bless you with an answer, tilting your head towards him in silent, shared invitation before your mouths melt together. It is slow and sweet, tasting one another and your belongings forgotten on the nearby, makeshift desk of polished oak, a sweetened hint of café au lait on your tongue.

"Seeing that man," He begins between chaste kisses, not quite allowing you the liberty of shying away as he holds you close until your back nudges the ivory-coated wall behind, near drawn photographs of memorabilia from old Grand Prixes, "And how he looked at you, it made me want to–"

He pauses, inhaling audibly as though trying to meditate on his own emotions in that moment, his hands feeling over your body like a sculptor and his finest work before he swallows the remainder of his sentence with a kiss.

Oscar Piastri is an undeniably attractive man when he's possessive over you, touching every inch of you like his belongings, muttered sweet nothings and vows of devotions against your tongue. It is a warm feeling, knowing he will always protect you without hesitance. And he does, cherishes you like the pretty doll you seem to be, because he cares in some earnest, undying reality.

"I love you."

The punctuation of another kiss, "I love you more." And he traces the jut of your ribs through the thin, velveteen fabric of your rosé dress when he holds you close until you're flush together, sighing against your lips, "I will never let anybody hurt you, ever. Understood?"

"I understand."