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sharkenedfangs · 3 months ago

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— ☆ “PRETTY BOY.”

— expect the worst when whitney has a stupidly, dumb puppy love crush on his upperclassman that happens to be you and even more so, when you predictably take notice of it. but, remember— he asked for it first, didn’t he? 3.5k w.

— warnings? yeah, mildly dub-con, handjob in broad fucking daylight, somewhat exhibitionism although no one gets to see the stupid, pretty boy squirm and upperclassman male reader who’s sort of.. a bitch. y’know the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. I’m not into that sorta shit.)

Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, he’s no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who can’t seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their direction— y’know, the ones he’d audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the other’s every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crush’s approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, it’s gross, and the blonde doesn’t make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for it— yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.

“It’s nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyes”— he’d openly say with an absent shrug of his broad shoulders, glinting, barely visible glimpse of the metallic barbell freshly pierced upon his curved tongue proving his judgemental statements to be otherwise.. fuckin’ hypocritical, no? ‘Cuz, isn’t that same piercing found in his mouth done due to one, single, stray comment you aimlessly made by chance?

Not like your liking of things plays a grand role in whatever he does, trouble he’s immediately roped into, fuck— no, definitely not! It’s a stupid, damn coincidence is what it is, nothing more and nothing less either. No need to uselessly pry any further in the meaning of his baseless actions. Just.. happened to have it done on the same consequential day you confidently expressed your idea that he’d get one because— y’a said it’d look good on him, didn’t you? And, look here, he fuckin’ did it like some cheap mutt. Obediently parted his rosy lips for your viewing pleasure to willingly prove to your pretty eyes that he truly went along with your absently made suggestion, for real. Gleefully hung upon your every important word like his life depended on it— god, it isn’t like that, okay?

An upperclassman he’s briefly looked up to is all you are, all you’ve ever been for that matter, and he’ll punch the shitty, fuckin’ lights out of any big mouthed idiot who dares to say so otherwise. Right in the guts for spouting out complete, nonsensical bullshit, alright?

Or is it time to reluctantly admit it with a bashful blush apparent upon his contorted features— accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if he’d ever would in your presence, which he possibly can’t help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes that’d you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.

Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isn’t so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses he’d routinely poke fun at, huh? Time to face the embarrassingly evident reality set before him, whether his gaze dares to instinctively stray away or not from the unsettling truth— ah, good thing you’re here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ain’t that right?

As for the so-called, morally ethical path he’s hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, that’s a plain, ol’ lie he’ll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to — as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that — your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, he’s not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someone’s heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that he’s officially lost his goddammit mind, that’s what.

Listen, you’re the one who faithfully promised and guaranteed your unwavering protection if he stuck to your sides like some fuzzy pet, so he did the obvious choice. Specially when met with the shitty conditions this rundown town, definitely shady for that matter, is. Rather be silently stamped as the ‘sly follower’ who went along with the smartest choice presented to ‘em— your offer, by the way — than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, that’s what likely replays on and on in his mind like some cheap, broken record to dumbly convince his unmoving mind of what this annoyingly persistent feeling is deep within the pit of his quivering tummy. Annoying, ain’t it?

Speakin’ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, aren’t ya? Not that he necessarily minds nor will outwardly admit the slightest shivers that comes to grace the entirety of his figure when met with the briefest grazes of your fingertips flush against his bare skin. Likes the physical contact intimately shared between you two? Fuck no— just keeping himself on your good side in case you were to suddenly discard him like you habitually do with your other.. nameless toys, which he doesn’t possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesn’t happen to stray too far from his, he’s actually, pretty content.

‘Course, it did progressively start off with the sorta things you’d absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlight— shit, even acted out like some cheesy rom-com at the way his face instantly heated up, glimpse of vulnerability you seem to so easily catch on with him and fuck, does he detests it— truly does like no other. Still, lets y’a carelessly stroke your fingers throughout the mess of a hairstyle the delinquent wears, even fucking.. tenderly pushed a single, stray strand of hair behind his burning ear. Shoulders instinctively drawn up in sheer defence at the tension residing within him because, really, how do y’a expect him to relax and ease up when it’s with you?

“What? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethin’?” Oh yeah, nice goin’ on that fuckin’ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his face— god, even down towards his neck too— immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, he’s got this instinctual urge to not come off as some try-hard desperately trying to butter you up in hopes of your returned approval of him.

“Hm? It’s nothing, I just think you’d look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Don’t you think?” Ah, and there you go— with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.

“Cute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?” Defensive mechanism or whatever to draw up that blank conclusion since this is just about the first time any sort of adjective resembling that of ‘adorable’ by the way, could’ve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.

“What? You don’t think so? I think you’re cute as shit, Ney-ney.” That fuckin’ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, don’t try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamn— ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. “Real fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy that’s for sure— prettier too, but you’ve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, don’t you?”

At this point, you’re practically taunting him, and he would’ve unabashedly swung his fist if it weren’t for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look he’s greeting you with, seemingly unable to utter so much as a word to that uncharacteristically depraved statement, or is that your idea of a damn compliment to another guy? Shit, that’s right! Both guys is what you two are— so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldn’t be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called ‘pretty’ by you. Nor profusely encouraging the alarming amount of translucent pre-cum dizzyingly forming at the swollen tip of his cock head, crudely staining the material sheer. Give the blonde a supportive head pat while you’re at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethin’ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.

“I don’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t swing that way, I know. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just telling the truth as it is. Got any idea how many guys would line up just to fuck your dirty mouth? Maybe your tits too, if they’re into that sorta stuff— shit, I think they’d go for the ass too, definitely. I could make a goddamn fortune just whoring out your pretty, slutty body to the old fucks at the pub, y’know that, Whit?” Endless chattering on and on, explicit details of how some grubby old men could be here, disgustingly groping his flesh instead. Yet, that lingering glimmer within your gaze, noticeably darkening in return at the mere idea of it as your thumb comes forth to idly tap at his blazing cheek.

“But, you know.. I don’t. I won’t. Not cuz’ I’m a nice guy or anything— hah, truthfully, I’m no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.” You’re.. god, he can’t keep up with whatever shit you’re nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, can’t really say it— fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nights— wanting to fuck him too.

“Honestly, do you know why I don’t use your sorry fuckin’ ass, Whitney?”

If he’s meant to attentively keep up with your words by now, then his brain has happily shut off due to the dizzying amount of semi-insults, degration and somewhat praise shot in his way. Like he’d fucking know, shit!

“See, it’s cuz’ it’s real funny to watch you trotting ‘round my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its owner’s attention. I give you just a bit of praise, and your doggy tail would start wagging if you even had one. You look so goddamn stupid that it’d hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I don’t like it when other fucks touch what’s mine either. I’m not running some gracious charity, am I?” To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, he’s bound to boil over like some screeching, burning kettle considering.. the obscene amount of scorching heat riddled across his features currently, adorning his cheeks so stupidly — and prettily too, huh— crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like you’re liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, aren’t you?

Stunned would’ve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression he’s nicely sporting right about now.

“Shut up.. I’m not—“ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckin’ dumbass! Visibly seething would’ve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, but— but— fuck! Entirety of this crap is all too quick for his sluggish mind to steadily keep up with your unpredictable actions, pathetically keening with a drawled out curse— no, more like a high-pitched whine is what it truly sounds like, once your calloused palm gingerly strips him free from his relatively loose jeans in one fell swoop.

“What the fuck’re you doin’—?? Mmph, fuck.. don’t—“ Dumb question to be asking when the self-evident answer is plainly in front of him.

Weeping cock, flushed in the cooling, outside air, naturally springing forth out of its constricting confines to audibly slap against his bare rigid tummy. Aw, now ain’t that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blonde’s stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.

Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, haven’t you? By god, he’s half-hated ya for meddling with others private businesses to begin with, although his throbbing cock being so smoothly tended to can say otherwise, idly disagree with his withering logic. Shakily sighing, puffing out heated huffs of air as your so— fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks ‘round his fat cock, teasingly squeezes him down at the base. Meanly drawing out more pearly globs of his dribbling pre-cum with a resounding, wet squelch!, undeniable proof of his shared arousal at the newfound situation he’s unfortunately finding himself in.

‘Unfortunately’— one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.

“My, who’s the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Y’seem pretty hard to me. Actually, you’re dripping wet down there, y’know that?” No fucking shit. Ready to single-handily cum from a single, measly stroke of your fist snugly wrapped around the veiny girth of his quivering length— fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, ‘course you would, wouldn’t you? Lazily pressing hot, heated kisses along the sharp edges of his jawline that soon has the same bully, known to be so very resistant, stifling wanton moans, firmly clasping a palm over his gaping mouth in a heedless effort to remain discreet as possible. Slithering, pink tongue laving and tracing over the heated shell of his ear, ushered snickering coupled by bouts of utter filth being so brazenly whispered towards him. And your canines— ah, are not helping at all either. Grazing the bobbing curve of his throat, delicately sucking a bruising mark upon the tanned skin to pridefully admire over later. “Nnh— no, fu— ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!”

“Not here? What’s the matter, Ney-Ney? Can’t fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?” Would’ve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that would’ve had an elderly woman shockingly clutch her pearls if given the chance, but stealing a discreet glance down to humiliatingly witness how sticky and wet his tip has gotten, messily stained your palm in a string of creamy, white pre is not.. Possessing way too much pride to do so. “Y’see, you like this— hah, fuck— you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?”

“I-It’s not like that—“ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, ‘s that it?

“No? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?” Oh, fuuuuckkin’ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called ‘pretty’ by your lulling voice.

Have any idea the way your hushed words dizzyingly affects his fuzzy brain? Renders him alarmingly stiff like a stoned statue, wobbling knees surely bound to buckle beneath the weight of your relentless taunting, all the while being boldly jerked off in broad, fucking daylight — hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you — still, very much in an open space where one can be so easily seen by oncoming passerbys. And even then, the absolute control you possess over him, sneakily snaking your arm ‘round his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blonde’s mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.

Yeah, one more minute? He’s fucking busting by then.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up? Gon’ shoot your filthy load soon, ‘s that it?” Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, what’s that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your soft— so fucking warm, shit.. hand relentlessly fisting him dry, milking every thick droplet steadily trickling forth. Uncaring for the accumulated mess below you both as his hips instinctually roll forward against the rewarding palm of your curled fist, sickeningly jolts at a noticeably harsh press of your padded thumb atop his oozing tip. “Well, then.. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you, am I?”

“Cmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?”

Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmed— how downright desperate Whitney’s always apparently been for you to the damn point that he’s automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its owner’s words and oh, was it fucking worth the extensive wait. Stifled whimper weakly slipping out, fingers immediately latching onto the comforting feel of your forearm lazily slung around his quivering figure for proper support. No use in making a fool out of himself by clumsily buckling down to his slacked knees— not that he hasn’t already, though too late to be thinking about it twice, huh? Thick, sticky strings of his hot seed directly shot out of his pulsing cock and into the air to, as expected, pervertedly dirty your open hand in a mess of his load which is kinda.. hot, no? Fuckin’ get ahold of yourself, shit! Minus the rest having uncontrollably splattered downwards onto the ground, pitifully traced in a puddled mess of droplets.

And somehow, the barely discernible hint of a relieved breath tumbling from between his parted lips. The natural conclusion that this is it, oncoming closure bound to take its place yet still— still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, haven’t you?

So, truly, it shouldn’t have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. “Ah, fuck.” Swiftly freeing your fat— well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, y’know.. fuck, he won’t outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated need— god, to merely sling down to his knees, sloppily drool all over your tasty-looking cock and coat it all shiny and wet with his spit. Although, too busy admiring the rare glimpse of your contorted features strained with pure, unrestrained concentration to bother paying much attention to the repeated, distinct fapping! noises of your cock being so hurriedly stroked raw, as if in a hurry, almost.

Furrowed brows deepening, lashes fluttering in their wake as your rosy lips that he’s known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grin— now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. “Don’t— ugh, fucking look at me like that.” You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. “Hah, it makes things kinda awkward, y’know?” Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process what’s hit him before given the proper chance.

Something hot— and sticky too, actually it’s pretty evident what it should’ve been if he wasn’t so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess you’ve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform you’ve taken a gleeful joy of permanently ruining. Judging by the cackling laughter soon drawing forth outta ya thanks to the sheer, dizzying sight of the cum-stained mess he’s forced to pitifully endure for the time being.

Look what you’ve done, god— even if you manage to be one step ahead of him, as always, in such a predicament as the delinquent merely receives a thrown jacket straight in the face. “Sorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldn’t really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?” Exhaling out shakily in the chilling air suddenly alarmingly cold without your warm weight shifted against his own, too deliriously fucked out of his mind to muster up a rightful remark to your cheaply made one. Dumb, little ol’ puppy is what he is to you, no?

And perhaps then, it’s the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadn’t even taken place right at this very spot. Footsteps progressively fading amongst the rhythmic crunches of fallen leaves fluttering down from the withering trees, gaze tentatively flicking downwards to where your stupidly soft, discarded jacket rests within his arms. Meaningless gesture is what it should’ve been notably perceived as, though that doesn’t really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.

That’s not— oh.

Oh.

“..Fuck.”

Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

#sorry just had to get this out of my system after not writing for around 2 weeks straight #so if this is utter dog shit I’m sorry for having forgotten how to properly write #but yknow nothing beats a whimpering whiny bitch of a mess Whitney #although this was meant to be a short drabble and not a full on lengthy one #not to say 3.5k is all that much in comparison to some but 2k+ isn’t a drabble to me anymore #we’re back to our regular schedule — balls deep in boypussy #had lotsa fun doing this as a warm up and god I cannot wait to expand upon upperclassman reader #dol #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully #whitney dol #dol whitney #whitney degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity whitney #x male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #male reader #character x male reader #— ☆ burnt ashes.

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occamstfs · 2 months ago

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Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all.

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace.

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake.

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself.

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning.

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault. Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right?

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it.

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him.

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates.

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord.

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate.

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model.

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow.

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

#male tf #racial change #mental change #masculinization #hair growth #muscle tf #reality change #cultural change #male transformation

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 5 months ago

Text

.⋆｡Forgotten｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

To love Bruce was risky and it was exhilarating but you weren’t ready to deal with its consequences when everything suddenly changed.

Warnings: angst, amnesia, injuries, unplanned pregnancy, fluff, i couldn’t help but add bat family shenanigans, hints of smut, scarecrow fear toxin, mentions of self-harm as a result of toxin, hospital visits/health scare, happy endings baby, age difference WC: 7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You knew Bruce Wayne.

You knew the depth of blue in his eyes, the placement of every scar and mole and freckle on his body, the little cowlick at the back of his head that would only appear when he had gone too long without a haircut.

You knew he liked tea but only when he didn’t have meetings, his right shoulder locked up when it was cold and wet, he hated the beach but loved the ocean, he regularly brought home stray animals until he was 12, and he was a hopeless romantic.

And you loved each other deeply, so deeply that you felt like there was no colour in your world before him and he had no light in his before you. It had started out simply enough, you were his secretary. Fresh from your Masters program, you needed a job and he needed a new assistant after the retirement of his last one. You were hired on the spot with the promise that it would only be temporary until you got a job in your field. But that was almost 4 years ago now and you had no intention of leaving the man you had fallen so hard for, he guiltily admitted once that he did not want you to leave either.

There were countless date nights and sleepovers, weekend getaways and times where you would spend the entire day naked in bed. You saw each other almost every day and yet it ached when you were apart for even just a few minutes.

But no one else knew.

Besides the fact that he was your boss and 10 years older than you, Bruce wanted to shield you both from his life as Batman and from the public eye. And you were terrified of the judgement of his family especially given that there was only a couple of years difference between you and his oldest kid. And it was fine, for a while at least. You got to exist in this perfect little bubble of love with the only man you could envision a future with, away from the harshness of your lives.

As it must, the real world crashes down upon your little bubble, shattering it.

“Bruce! You have a meeting!” His teeth sunk into the column of your throat with a discontented grunt as he pressed his hips even closer to your own, his arms winding around your plush middle.

“They’re not as important as this.” The tip of his nose brushed against your pulse. You let yourself melt into his strong hold for just a moment, savouring the feel of his toned body against you like you always did when Bruce lathered you with attention. With one last squeeze around your torso, Bruce reluctantly let you go. His huge hands lingered on your wide hips as you shifted so you were now facing him.

“You’ve blown them off three times already, you have to go.” You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing along the 5 o’clock shadow that was already growing along his jaw.

“I’d rather you blow me off instead, sunny.” You smacked his chest as Bruce chuckled.

“Alright rein it in big boy, you’ll get your fill of me soon enough.”

“I think you’ll find that it’s me that does the filling.” You glared at him and stepped away, making his hands fall from your body.

“Go, before I start to rethink about our ~plans~ for the weekend.”

“Oh you fucking vixen. If I can sneak away from the boys tonight, you’re gonna be eating those words.” You spun on your heel, letting Bruce get a good look at your ass in the tight work skirt you knew he loved on you.

“I think you’ll find that you’ll be the one who will be eating. I’ll see you tomorrow Mr Wayne.” You cooed, not bothering to look back at him as you left Bruce standing in the middle of the hallway with a stunned expression and a straining in his pants.

——————

You were getting nervous now. You hadn’t seen Bruce in almost a week, which wasn’t unusual considering his ‘nightlife’ but to have no communication from him at all? That was completely out of the ordinary. There had been a message left on your office phone from his butler that Bruce had some business to attend to and would be unreachable for the foreseeable future but the way your stomach twisted in fear told you that something else was going on. He did not, in fact, sneak away that night to see you nor come to your apartment over the weekend as you both had planned. But there was nothing you could do without exposing your relationship.

So, you did what you could to keep WE functioning without him: misdirecting calls, charming impatient board members, even sending phoney emails from his account to placate people as with each passing day, that little spark of anxiety grew into a blazing fire.

Then, at promptly 9 am on the sixth day of Bruce’s disappearance, your routine was disrupted once more. You were typing away at your computer, having been in the office for almost an hour already, when you heard the elevator doors slide open and the click of men’s formal shoes against the tile. You eyed the bottle of Tylenol on your desk, anticipating yet another headache from some prissy rich boy who couldn’t take no for an answer. But you froze as soon as an imposing figure turned the corner.

Your breath caught at the sight of him. Mostly unharmed, save for the wicked looking cut across his left eyebrow, he was dressed the same way he normally would, but there was something about his posture that was completely wrong.

“Bruce.” Your legs shook as you rose to your feet. His steely gaze flicked to you as he nodded politely, not even missing a beat in his stride.

“Miss Y/L/N.” His office door slammed shut behind him and you felt your heart splinter. Silence washed over the hall and for just a moment, you could almost believe that he had been a hallucination that your anxiety ridden mind had conjured up. The ping of an email notification from your computer broke you out of your desperate reasoning and suddenly you were following his steps.

Your knuckles curled over the steak knob, just as you had done so many times in the past and you pushed open the door. Bruce looked up from the pile of papers that you had left on his own desk over the past week, brandishing you with a look far more harsh than he had ever given you before.

“Bruce, what’s going on? You’ve been gone for days with no calls, no texts. I’ve been worried sick.” His jaw clenched, sending a shot of panic up your spine.

“Miss Y/L/N I don’t know where this feeling of entitlement has come from. What I do with my time is none of your business. I am your boss- not your friend and I would keep that in mind if you wish to keep your job.” He snarled. You physically recoiled as if he had struck you, unconsciously taking a step backwards. “Please refrain from using my first name, this is a place of business.”

Never, in your many years of working for this man, who was now a stranger, did he ever speak to you with such contempt, even hatred. And it broke your heart.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed down tears. “Of course Mr Wayne, I apologise for my unprofessionalism.” He grunted in acknowledgement. Your hands shook as you closed the door to his office, shutting yourself out from the man you loved with every piece of you.

——————

There was no greater torture than this, you thought, to watch as your soulmate iced you out until you couldn’t remember what his warmth had felt like. When was the last time his name slipped past your lips or when yours escaped his. You were forced to see him almost every day and yet, he was more like a ghost to you.

He wouldn’t even speak to you anymore. At first, he kept his interactions with you to a few words in the mornings when he arrived and evenings when he would leave. But as the weeks carried on, he spoke less and less until he would barely even look at you as he passed.

Your chest burned with thousands of questions, each breath laced with the poison of doubt and fear. You wished for this behaviour to be some sick dream, oftentimes you thought that this could be a result of Scarecrow’s fear drug. But when you awoke each morning, you knew, deep down, that this was very real. You could only wonder if this was an inevitable fate that you were meant to suffer for loving someone as unobtainable as Bruce was.

You had known since the very first moment that his blue eyes held something more than friendship for you, that your love for him would always be greater than he would ever hold for you. You knew this, and yet you didn’t think you would have to accept such a devastating truth so soon. You were greedy for him and perhaps, you had taken too much.

“Y/L/N.” The sudden call of your name snapped you from your spiral of self-pity. You looked up and met the bright green eyes of the youngest Wayne. The ever-frowning Damian was now glaring at you, an almost perfect replica of his father. “Where is my father?”

“He’s-“ You cleared your throat, feeling incredibly uncomfortable under the 10 year old’s scrutinising gaze. “He’s in his office. You can go right in.” Damian observed you for another moment before he turned his nose up and walked past you. You breathed a sigh of relief as the door behind you opened and closed, seemingly leaving you alone once more.

“Are you quite alright Miss Y/N?”

“Jesus!” You yelped in surprise, clutching your chest. The ever present force of Alfred looked down at you, lips pursed in concern. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

“I believe it is I who should be apologising, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But, are you very sure you’re ok? You seem to be out of sorts.” He stepped closer, placing Damian’s jacket on the coat rack just beside the office door.

You waved him off, your throat suddenly thick with emotion. Alfred had always been immensely kind to you in the fleeting encounters you’d had with the man. And for a while, you believed that he knew about you and Bruce, but since he had been acting the same way since Bruce’s unexplained absence, you were obviously wrong.

With a glance over your shoulder, as if to double check that your boss wasn’t listening in, you grabbed your purse from the floor and quickly slung it over your shoulder. “He doesn’t have any other meetings today so I think I may leave early. It was nice to see you, Alfred.”

And before he could even get a single word of protest out, you had already dashed to the elevator and slipped inside. As the reflective doors shut, you were able to catch the way Alfred frowned, his brown eyes dark as he watched you run.

You managed to hold off your sobs until you were safely in your car. Grief wrapped around your chest like a snake, slowly crushing your ribs inwards until all you could manage was small gasps of air as you slowly drowned in it. It was all getting too much, Bruce and work and this stupid fucking nausea that kept showing up at the worst times.

The stress was going to wear you down until you were nothing and what did you get out of it? A boss that couldn’t even look you in the eye even after years of sharing your life and your bed with him. He was acting like he didn’t even know your first name. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.

Tears still rolled down your rounded cheeks as the car’s engine turned over and you pulled out of your designated spot. The white paint that they used to write your name was chipping away, leaving a faded imprint of each letter like a child’s chalk drawing that was being washed away.

Your hiccuping sobs were slowly dying down until you pulled into your apartment complex and a notification appeared on your phone. The screen lit up the inside of your car, immediately drawing your attention to it.

‘Your period is 6 weeks late, is it stress or something more?’

——————

Silence in the office was not unusual for the top floor of Wayne Enterprises, though a complete lack of any noise was deeply concerning. Bruce once again glanced over his monitor to the open door where your vacant desk was clearly visible. His eyes flicked to the time displayed on the screen in front of him, you were over a half hour late and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Just as Bruce was reaching over for his phone, you turned the corner. Your heels, far smaller than you normally wore he noted, clacked against the flooring as you strode towards him. Before you could spot him looking at you, he forced his gaze back down to the spreadsheets he hadn’t even bothered to read when he arrived this morning. His stomach fluttered as he heard you enter his office. Bruce tried to swallow the feeling down like he always did when you were around.

“I’m resigning.” His neck audibly popped as his head snapped up, suddenly all of his attention on you. Your hands trembled as you put a sheet of paper on his desk and quickly took a step back like a deer preparing to run. Bruce kept his eyes on you, the muscle in his jaw rolling as he bit back a thousand questions.

“I’m assuming this is effective immediately?” You nodded while he leaned back in his chair as nonchalantly as he could. “Is there any reason why? I thought you were happy working here.”

Your left eye twitched but you steeled yourself with a deep breath. “I’m not obligated to tell you the reason why I’m leaving, just as you promised when you hired me. I have responsibilities elsewhere. I left candidates for your next secretary on my desk.” You turned on your heel, intent on leaving as quickly as you possibly could.

“Wait-“ Bruce darted out of his seat, sending it flying back as he rushed forwards. “Please I just want to know why, I think I deserve that much.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist in an iron grip, forcing you to stop your retreat.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that Bruce.” You didn’t even bother to look at him as you spoke. “I really thought you were different. But obviously, I was wrong. You’re so selfish and cruel and I made the mistake of falling in love with you.”

He stumbled back as you finally met his gaze. Your eyes were burning with a loathing that sent a chill to his bones. “So no, you don’t deserve to know why I’m leaving. Be glad I even did you the courtesy of giving you my resignation in writing.” You yanked your hand from his hold. “Goodbye Mr Wayne. Don’t contact me.”

And then you stormed out of his life, leaving the feared Bat of Gotham confused and with a massive pit in his heart.

——————

“Okay, so we agree that this isn’t an invasion of anyone’s privacy, Y/N or B’s, because it’s for the sake of the greater good.” Dick made eye contact with each of his younger siblings as if to reinforce this statement.

“Yeah cause if B doesn’t stop moping around and nagging us, I will actually kill him.” Jason quipped from where he was perched on the fire escape. Cass nodded in agreement from beside the bigger man as Steph snorted under her breath.

“I’m just here for the drama. I’ve never seen him acting like a moody teenager before. Babs wants me to keep her updated.” Dick sighed heavily, deciding to ignore her comment as he continued to address the others.

“We stay hidden and only observe. Got that Damian?”

“Why am I being singled out when Drake was the one that hacked into her medical records?”

“For the last time, it wasn’t her medical records, it was just her employment records!”

“Like that’s any better.” Tim glared at Duke.

“You’re the one who snitched.”

“Hey!” Dick stepped in before they could escalate their little squabble, “That doesn’t matter now. What does matter is finding out exactly what happened to make Y/N quit and B so fucking miserable.”

“Ooo golden boy swore, guess that means it’s serious.” Jason jostled Cass with his shoulder as she giggled quietly. Dick rolled his eyes.

“If you’re not gonna take this seriously, you can just go home.” Red Hood rose to his feet, his gloved hands raised in surrender.

“I am taking this seriously, I just also enjoy annoying you. It’s called multitasking.”

“Father is fine. I don’t understand why this is necessary.” Damian huffed from his place at Dick’s side. He had been adamant that nothing was wrong with Bruce, even after the increased number of injuries he had been receiving on a nightly basis and a general disinterest in anything besides crime fighting. All the kids knew that it was a problem but Damian got to go on more patrols so he was content.

“Because demon brat, ever since Y/N quit, he’s been in an awful-ass mood and has been making it our problem. I would rather not have the old man keep sticking his nose in my business just because he’s cranky.”

“And-“ Duke shot Jason a look, “he’s getting extremely reckless. We’ve all seen the amount of med supplies he’s been going through. If we don’t find out what’s going on, he’s gonna end up in a body bag.” Silence fell upon the rooftop.

We can help both of them. Cass signed. I really liked Y/N. She was nice.

Tim cleared his throat. “So, can we go now? The longer we’re not responding to Alfred, the more chance B comes after us.” Dick put his hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“Tim’s right. We stay low and we stay quiet. Duke, Jay you two go on ahead and we’ll follow behind. Do not engage and don’t be creepy.” He spoke specifically to Jason.

“This whole thing is fucking creepy but fine, I guess I won’t look in her nightstand.” And before Dick could even open his mouth to scold his younger brother, he was gone over the side of the building. Duke shrugged and followed after, his footsteps silent beneath the sounds of the city.

Damian jerked forwards but Nightwing’s grip on his shoulder kept him stuck to the spot. “You’re with Steph. You two keep an ear open for the big man but other than that, stay off the comms. Cass, Tim with me, we’ll cover the street and then come up behind.” Cass nodded and pulled her mask up higher over her nose, following after her older brothers.

“Are you sure about this Dick? If we’re wrong-“

“I know T, but what if we’re right? Something happened between those two and maybe, we can make it right. B isn’t himself and it’s affecting all of us.” Dick then released his youngest brother. “Remember, stay out of sight.”

As soon as he disappeared into the night, Stephanie muttered. “This is bullshit.”

“I agree.”

Your apartment was easy to find— the 7th floor of a relatively upscale building, one that was suspiciously out of your price range. Jason raised an eyebrow at the double glazed window panes as well as the discreet sill reinforcements he could just make out around the edges of the glass.

“She’s either extremely paranoid or someone else is.” Duke grunted in agreement.

“Think B is behind it?”

Jason shrugged as he lowered himself down onto the steel grate of the fire escape that snaked past the apartment’s windows. “That or she’s got a hell of a lot more secrets than we thought.” Duke dropped down beside him, the two of them moving in sync along the catwalk.

The kitchen was dark, as was the living room. Duke’s head jerked to the right, drawing Jason’s eyes to the soft glow coming from the last window. He gently squeezed the shorter man’s shoulder as he slipped past.

Jason pressed his bulk against the naked brick and crept his way forwards, keeping to the shadows as much as he could. Thin curtains covered the window from the inside, but it did nothing to hinder his view of the brightly lit bedroom.

You were sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, eyes locked onto a small black and white photo in your right hand. Your left gently cradled your belly, your thumb gently brushing over the soft layer of fat. Even through the haze of the sheer curtains, the sadness on your face was as clear as day.

Jason’s own eyes narrowed in on the image in your hand before he stumbled backwards, almost falling from the fire escape. His neck clicked as his eyes met Signal’s who was suddenly standing ram-rod straight.

“Holy shit she’s pregnant.” But before Duke or Jason could even begin to comprehend the magnitude of their discovery, the bedroom window slammed open and suddenly, you and the Red Hood were face-to-face.

“Do you all want to come in for tea or should I tell you to fuck off now?”

“Huh, I guess she did have some secrets.” You moved out of the way, letting Duke slip into the warm apartment and leaving Jason stunned for only a second before he clicked on his com system.

“Yo, we’ve been caught.” And then he followed behind.

The bedroom was smaller than he thought it would be, but it was cosy. A thick duvet on the bed, a candle on the vanity in the corner. It was… nice. Duke had already made himself comfortable at the kitchen counter by the time Jason stepped out of the bedroom. The thick black and yellow helmet he donned was neatly placed on the chair beside him.

“Dude.” Jason whined but his little brother only smiled at him, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Would you like milk in your tea Jason?”

“What the fu- goddamnit. Yes and honey too please.” You hummed softly and set the kettle on the stove.

“I take it the same way. Mugs are in the cabinet above the sink, grab them for me. Duke, would you mind opening the front door, I’d rather not have mud tracked into my bedroom.” The teen dutifully stalked off as Jason retrieved said mugs and set them down on the counter. His own helmet soon joined his brother’s as he leaned against the wall across from you.

You continued to fuss about the kitchen, pulling out some biscuits and sugar as well. “It’s Bruce’s isn’t it?” Your body stuttered but you were quickly composed once more, though you did not look Jason’s way.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” He lurched forward as if he were about to defend his adoptive father but then just as suddenly, he leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus. I just thought you got sick of him.” You chuckled under your breath though it was plain enough that there was no joy in it. You looked truly exhausted as you placed a tea bag in each mug, the dark circles that marred your face almost broke Jason’s heart.

“You’ll find that it’s the other way around.” But before he could open his mouth to object, the rest of his siblings burst into the apartment, led by a frazzled Dick.

“How!”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t yell in my apartment Richard, I don’t want a noise complaint.” Dick’s jaw shut with an audible click, his shoulders slouching in defeat.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good dog.” Steph cooed as she strutted past, her own mask already off and safely tucked into her belt. She gunned straight for the freshly poured tea. The others shambled around the stunned man, each finding their own spot in your apartment.

The air was stale with questions that none of them wanted to ask though the answers were obvious. Damian settled himself beside you, the top of his head just barely peeking out over the top of the stone counter. The blank white eyes of his mask were fixed on the steaming mugs.

“This is acceptable.” This time your laugh was genuine as you gently pushed the largest mug towards the 10 year old who quickly snatched it off the counter. Jason noticed the way the tension in your shoulders gradually eased as each of his siblings took their own tea, filling the room with quiet murmurings.

Dick was the last to approach you. “So you know.”

You nodded and offered him his own cup. “I know. Figured it out pretty soon after I was hired.”

He gratefully took the mug, letting its warmth seep into his gloved hands as he sank onto a chair from the dining room. You smiled sweetly at him before your attention was pulled away by Steph who interpreted for Cass. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrugged, the fingers of your left hand brushed against the swell of your belly. “What could I have said ‘hey I know you and your kids dress up in costumes and run around Gotham at night punching people, anyway, can you sign this document?’. Bruce- Mr Wayne and I had an understanding; I don’t mention the whole bat thing and he actually starts doing work and showing up on time. Plus a great health care package.”

“Apparently that wasn’t the only package you were getting.” The words had barely left Jason’s mouth before Cass slapped the back of his head, hard. “Fuck! What was that for?” She gave him a withering look then met your eyes once more with a silent apology.

You smiled at her and continued. “I wouldn’t put it as crassly but yes, we were together. Our anniversary was supposed to be next week.”

“And now you’re pregnant.” You nodded at Duke.

“I’m 12 weeks as of yesterday.”

Tim cleared his throat but kept his eyes locked on his now empty mug. “There was an incident during patrol a few weeks ago. Bruce got hit with a new serum scarecrow had been developing and- it was really bad. He threw himself at walls and us, screaming about how he needed pain. We were only able to stop him when he knocked himself out on a pipe. He was in really bad shape, when he finally woke up after three days, he couldn’t even remember his own name.

“We all had to come home and essentially re-introduce ourselves to him but he did remember us, some just took longer than others. He recognised Cass as soon as she smiled at him while it took Dick swinging from the chandelier in the dining room for it to click.” Dick’s cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

“I did what I had to do.”

“Tt, you just wished to show off Grayson.” Damian chose to speak up then, making you jump as his voice was far closer than it had been a few minutes before. The youngest Wayne now stood at your hip, barely an inch of space between the two of you. “Father remembered me the quickest.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah definitely, it had nothing to do with you getting upset and throwing a temper tantrum for him to remember.” Damian glared at his older brother but made no move to stray from your side.

“Anyway.” Tim continued. “After what happened we’ve been trying to help him but-“

“He’s fucking miserable.” Duke interrupted, “He has been since the accident and even more so after you quit. At least hear him out.” Duke leaned forward, planting his elbows onto the kitchen counter. “At least you should tell him about the baby so he could help support you.” His voice strained like he was on the edge of tears.

“Your father doesn’t owe me anything. I was greedy and I took too much. I-“ You choked on your words and suddenly, you were just a heartbroken girl standing in front of them. “I just want peace now so I think it would be best if you all forgot about me, about this. I get that you want to protect your father and under any other circumstance, I would agree with you but even if what you said is true, then why hasn’t he remembered me? We were together for almost four years, and saw each other every day. If he needed to see me to jog his memory or talk to me then that would’ve been solved the day he walked back into the office. He doesn’t want to remember- he doesn’t want me.”

No one spoke until you cleared your throat and turned towards the kitchen sink, your back now to the whole group. “I think you all should leave. Just forget tonight ever happened. We’re not your concern and we certainly aren’t Bruce’s. I appreciate that you all care so much but I don’t think this is something that can be fixed.”

“But-“ Steph tried.

“Please, go. This hurts enough as it is, don’t make it worse.”

Dick sighed. “She’s right. Let’s give her some space. C’mon.” You ignored the way their pitying looks burned against the back of your neck as they each walked out the door, donning their masks once more until Dick was the last one in your apartment. “Here’s my number, call if you need anything at all. And I mean anything, even if it’s for stupid cravings. You may think that Bruce abandoned you but I won’t.”

He gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze before slipping out behind his siblings.

You waited until the door shut to finally cry, not knowing that all the kids could hear you.

——————

“Do you ever want to tell them about us?” Your voice was soft, as if you were whispering a dark secret. Bruce’s heart thumped loudly beneath your ear as you rested on his naked chest. You traced the pale lines of scars that littered his torso, occasionally pressing soft kisses to his overheated skin.

His large hand cupped the back of your head as he let his lips brush against your crown. “Maybe one day princess. But I want to keep you to myself just a bit longer.” You wanted to protest but the fight was quickly stolen from you as Bruce rolled you onto your back, slotting himself between your plump thighs as you felt him harden once more. “Let me spoil my girl in peace.” Any protests you had were quickly drowned out as he pulled moans from you.

Bruce lurched up with a gasp, desperately trying to suck in oxygen as the dream replayed in his mind. It felt so real but there is no way that it could be, he would’ve remembered it by now if it was.

“Fuck.” His ribs screamed in protest at his violent awakening. Even a month after his run in with the Scarecrow, his body was barely recovering and he could feel pieces of his mind that had still yet to fit themselves back into place.

The blaring green light from the clock on his nightstand told him that he had only been asleep for an hour, an improvement after he recovered from the concussion but still not great. The cold hardwood sent a jolt of alertness up his spine, but did nothing to subdue the torrent of images that flashed in his mind every time he so much as blinked.

The curve of your shoulder as water droplets ran down your back.

Bruce rocked his weight forward and stood with a groan.

Your thick thighs wrapped around his hips as he gripped you by the waist and thrust downwards.

He slipped a shirt over his shoulders, and tugged on a pair of sweats as he headed for the door to his bedroom.

Candle light flickering across your face as you cradled him against your chest, his lips branding every inch of skin he could reach.

“What a fucking pervert.” He snarled to himself. All you had ever been was kind to him, and respectful. And yet he was imagining you in his bed. Not only in his bed, some twisted part of his mind coos. His nails bit into his palm as he swallowed thickly.

It started the first day back after his ‘accident’. Bruce vaguely knew who you were, fleeting memories of your job interview and casual conversations at the beginning of the work day. Alfred had told him of your intelligence and hard work but none of his family could recall anything other than a professional relationship between the two of you.

The second he saw you, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He wanted to touch you, kiss you, just be in your presence but how could he? You were young, his secretary and you would be in danger if he indulged. And still, you remained.

For weeks, Bruce buried himself in the mystery of you. He needed to know what it was about you that captivated him. Yet none of the information he uncovered gave him answers and you still remained in his dreams. He pushed himself into patrols, into training and work. He had already been on the end of dozens of lectures from Alfred and Dick (and one very strange one from Damian), he kept pushing on.

The cave’s chill sliced through him as Bruce stepped from the elevator and he was greeted by the sight of his oldest and youngest bickering by the huge wall of monitors. He ignored them.

The police scanner was suspiciously silent as he took a seat in front of his workbench. “You shut off the alert system.” His voice was raspy from disuse but it immediately silenced his boys and drew their gaze to him.

“Grayson did it. I was just informing him how irresponsible he’s being.”

“And I was telling Damian that you need a break, desperately.”

“Chum-“

“No. I’m serious Bruce, you’re actively fucking killing yourself and I won’t let you. Jason and Cass are covering your patrols for the foreseeable future and you are staying put. I am sick of this stupid self-destruction rampage you’re going on.”

Dick’s phone suddenly rang, the default tone echoing around the cave for a moment before he fished it from his pocket and answered. “Grayson.” As the person on the other end spoke, his eyebrows scrunched and his jaw tightened.

“Which hospital are they taking you to? Ok, I’ll meet you there, just keep breathing, everything's going to be fine.” The line went dead. Dick regarded his father with a look. “I have to go but this is not the end of this conversation.” Before he could take a step towards the exit, Damian grabbed his brother’s hand.

“Is Y/N hurt?” There were moments like this where Dick cursed the fact that his little brother was so observant. He could see Bruce sit up, his focus no longer on the work in front of him.

“She’s fine, just a little scared but she’ll be alright.”

Then Damian did something so dumb, Dick knew that it was on purpose. “Is the baby ok?”

There was a beat, then another as he waited on his father’s reaction. Damian had already tried to jog his memory on the topic of you but nothing ever worked and he only succeeded in pissing off his siblings who tried to get him to understand that it wasn’t his decision to make. “The baby?” Bruce whispered like the air had just been knocked from his lungs.

Dick’s temples pulsed with the beginning of a migraine and he glowered at the young boy. “The baby is fine, they’re gonna run some tests. You stay here and we’re going to have a very long talk when I get back.”

“Y/N’s pregnant?” He ignored his father and instead shook off Damian before he jogged to the elevator. So instead Bruce looked to the boy that stood alone in front of the wall of glowing monitors. “Is-is the baby-“

“It appears as though I won’t be the youngest any longer. If you run, you could catch up.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped. “I-“

Damian glared at him. “Go.”

——————

“I’m only taking you because I think that you’re still listed as her emergency contact so I need you in order to visit.” Bruce nodded solemnly as Dick pulled into a parking spot in the hospital garage. “You will not talk to her, you won’t even fucking look at her.” He took his father’s silence as agreement.

The powerful engine cut off and without another word, he stepped from the car, expecting Bruce to follow behind. Bruce had always hated hospitals, the air too stale from all the cleaning chemicals they used, the silence, the blinding lights. But if you were here, he would spend the rest of his life on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs just to make sure you were safe.

“I’m here to see Y/N Y/L/N, she called me from the ambulance.” The older nurse at the check-in desk raised her eyebrow at the pair.

“She’s in room 335. Down the hall, third door on your right.”

“Thank you.” Bruce trailed along behind his son, the questions in his mind building up higher and higher with each step he took. But all he could concentrate on was if you were ok.

Dick gave him a warning look as they reached the room. “It’s me, can I come in?” There was a muffled response and then Dick slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him.

The hall was now only filled with the beeping machines from other rooms and the occasional call over the pa system, leaving nothing to distract Bruce from the fear that curled around his heart. He knew what he was going to do was a bad idea, one that could have the potential to destroy not only any redemption with you but might fracture the already tumultuous relationship he had with his son.

But he had to see you, just once.

As quietly as he could, Bruce grabbed the door handle and slowly pushed his way in, praying that the hinges didn’t squeak.

“I’m ok, I just got a bit dizzy and fell down like 1 step. I think the ambulance was totally unnecessary.”

Dick shook his head. “Will you just let someone take care of you for once?”

You chuckled softly and took his hand in such a maternal fashion, it made Bruce’s heart lurch in his chest. “I called, didn't I?”

The door swung fully open, hitting the wall behind with a resounding thud. Both your attentions snapped to Bruce.

You sat up in bed on the opposite side of the room, dressed in a flimsy hospital gown and illuminated by harsh lights but you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Your fading smile was tired and your eyes bloodshot from crying and Bruce realised that you were comforting Dick, not the other way around. He hadn’t seen you smile in so long.

“Why is he here?” You hissed and visibly curled in on yourself, arms around your stomach.

“Bruce-“

“I know you.”

He knew each dip and bump and curve of your soft body, the colour of your eyes in the sun and how different they were under fluorescent lights, which hairstyle you wore indicating what mood you were in.

He knew your insecurities and your trauma, you hated humidity but didn’t mind the heat, the names of all your plants, and the way you would smile just a bit brighter and just a bit wider when children or animals were around.

He knew you loved him.

Bruce Wayne knew he loved you.

“I-I know you.” His voice shook as he took a step towards you yet this time, you didn’t flinch away. “Sunny. My sun. My light.”

“Bruce.” A tear rolled down your cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” He fell to his knees beside you, his head bowed. “I’m sorry my love. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t- Why couldn’t I remember?” He sobbed.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Your fingers, your perfect delicate fingers, brushed away his tears before you gently cupped his cheeks, lifting his gaze back up to meet yours.

“I was so horrible to you, I didn’t know. And you’re- god you’re pregnant.” His hands slid up the side of the bed, cupping your thigh over the scratchy hospital blankets. You nodded and guided them higher so his palms spread over your growing stomach. “Wow I guess I really did do the filling huh?”

“Oh god, ‘m gonna throw up.”

You laughed as Bruce bashfully looked over at his son. “Sorry chum.”

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, by the time I get back, you two better be fully dressed.” Your lips snapped shut as you looked away in embarrassment and it was Bruce’s turn to chuckle.

“Sunny, I’m so sorry, you deserved so much better.”

“Will you stop that? I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it still hurt you and I made a promise to never do that. So please, let me grovel.” He laid his head onto your thigh while you threaded your fingers into his hair.

“What made you remember?”

“Your smile. I realised that I would always remember your smile and then everything came flooding back.”

“You’re a fucking sap you know that.” You tugged on his hair but Bruce just smiled dumbly at you before he smirked.

“Marry me.”

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st4rtar0t · 8 months ago

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Helping your recognise your superpower

I'm currently doing donation based readings to pay for my tuition fees. DM to purchase a reading!

Thank you so much for your time and energy and I hope you have a great day ahead!

Picture 1

Your lust for knowledge is your superpower. And I know you may think that is a lame power to have but I do want to your realise that knowledge is everything. The more knowledgeable you are, the more mature you become. Maturity comes from a sense of understanding and experience. The way you're always ready to learn new things makes you unique. Some of could be an higher achiver, or your sense of self comes from your academic performance. I think it's good to be knowledge but don't bring yourself down when you don't perform well. Give yourself time to learn and revise.

Your another superpower is your ability to look at situations from different perspectives. You know sometimes our pain clouds our vision making it difficult to acknowledge the hurt of others. But not for you, no matter how bad your situation is, you wouldn't let your emotions cloud your judgement Which is an remarkable ability.

Your faith, whether in yourself, in others or in something greater than us all, gives you strength and resilience in times of difficulty. Your belief in humanity, your trust in kindness and your faith in the possibility of a better future awaiting us uplifts not only you but also the people around you.

Picture 2

Your planning is your superpower. It's like having a secret weapon in life. When you plan, you're like a master strategist, able to foresee obstacles and navigate around them. You can set goals and figure out the steps to reach them. Planning helps you stay organized, focused, and prepared for whatever comes your way. It's not just about making lists; it's about taking control of your future and making things happen. So, embrace your planning abilities, because they can truly make you unstoppable. Some of you could be INTJ/ENTJ.

Your another superpower is your protectiveness. It's your ability to shield and guard the ones you care about, keeping them safe from harm. Just like a superhero, you have an instinct to watch over others, anticipating dangers and swooping in to shield them from harm. Your protective nature is a strength that shines brightly, offering comfort and security to those around you. Embrace this superpower, for it is a reflection of your love and dedication to keeping your loved ones out of harm's way. you may think that this makes you more feminine but caring for the people that you makes you stronger. Your constant transformation is your superpower because it means you're always evolving, learning, and adapting. Instead of being stuck in one way of thinking or doing things, you embrace change and use it to your advantage. You're like a chameleon, able to adjust to any situation or challenge that comes your way. This flexibility allows you to grow stronger, wiser, and more resilient with each transformation. So, don't fear change, embrace it, because it's what makes you unstoppable.

Picture 3

Your love for others is your superpower because it has the ability to transform lives in ways beyond imagination. When you extend kindness, understanding, and support to those around you, you create an atmosphere of warmth and positivity. Your love has the power to heal wounds, mend broken hearts, and inspire greatness in others. It's a force that spreads joy, brings people together, and fosters deep connections. Through your love, you become a beacon of hope and strength, capable of uplifting the spirits of those who may be struggling.

Your powerful presence is like a superpower. It's all about how you carry yourself and how you make others feel when you're around. You don't need special abilities because you are your own strength. People notice you without you having to do anything flashy. Your confidence and the way you connect with others make you stand out. Your presence is like a magnet, attracting attention and admiration wherever you go. It's what makes you truly remarkable.

Your voice and the words you choose have immense power. When you speak, it's like magic weaving through the air, touching hearts and minds. The tone, pitch, and rhythm of your voice can convey emotions and messages in ways that no other form of communication can. And the words you select? They're like arrows hitting their target, shaping thoughts, inspiring actions, and building connections. Whether you're calming a storm with soothing words or igniting a fire with passionate speech.

#tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a photo #divination #spirituality #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick an image #tarot pick a card #tarot readings #tarot deck #tarot cards #tarotblr #tarot witch #tarot community #free readings

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xo-codbby · 18 days ago

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something about the big burly men of the 141 braiding their daughter's hair even if they have no idea what they're doing :")

price: "goddamn it, not again" lowkey getting very frustrated with himself because it wasn't turning out the way he wants it to be and he was ready to quit, to put a headband on and call it a day. but one look from her little face had him rewinding the video, sighing softly as he tried again. he's already run the brush through her hair gently for the umpteenth time, causing her to grumble and wanting to go play instead. but he holds her back carefully, determined to make her braids the prettiest anyone has ever seen. the hair band between his lips, brows furrowed looking to and fro from the video and then back at the hair between his hands

"just a second, honey" it's loose and he doesn't know how to tighten it but he's determined. absolutely nobody is moving an inch until he perfects that braid. his back is curved uncomfortably and he's definitely going to get neck pain from craning down to get the best access to her head but he does finally manage to get it accurate. it only took ages but he's very proud of himself :") takes a sweet little selfie with her in his arms to send to you and makes it his lockscreen. he mightve conquered many enemies but his biggest one till date was tackling his daughter's hair, all completely worth it for how happy she is

simon: "this bit.... goes underneath right? over the top, underneath the side, down back under.... piece of cake, sweetheart" simon is a dedicated man, his tongue peeking out from his lips as he tried his very hardest to memorise what he had learnt from a youtube video. his daughter sat between his thighs, his big fingers working her hair very delicately in order not to pull on any strands. he has the hair grips secured between his lips, eyes narrowed very carefully as he braids her hair trying to get all of the hair. he is a man on a mission and he will carry out the task to the best of his ability. the stares from his little girl didn't help either, was positive he felt sweat beading down his forehead and back. she really was his child with that judgemental look

"bloody hell, that took it out of me" he finally lets out a relieved sigh at his masterpiece, there might be a few strands sticking out and the braid might look a little lopsided but it's unique 🤭 he didn't even have time to grab his phone, to send you a picture only to have his daughter shake her head once, causing the braid to tumble down and his face like 👁👄👁

gaz: "keep your head straight okay, honey?" this mans should def open a hair place, he's already mastered the technique of braiding from his mum especially because his hair type is different and requires a certain amount of care. so he knows exactly how to braid, call it his secret talent ;) lowkey finds it therapeutic and will 100% decorates his girl's hair with different clips and grips, whatever her little heart desires. he loves brushing his fingers through her locks and he always manages to get the parting accurate on the first time. which saves a ton of tantrums on her end. absolutely gets matching braids with his girl, she gets to stick the cute little clips and he loves how happy she gets

"my beautiful girl" best believe he's whipping out the camera to take pictures of her hair and send it to you, marvelling at how gorgeous she looks. he's all smug when she wants to come to him for her hair but it definitely bites him back in the ass when he's half dressed needing to leave the house in five minutes to head to base. only to be tugged by his child by his wrist to have her hair braided in that specific way she loves and she's two seconds away from a meltdown

soap: "christ sake, why would they add so many pieces?" johnny definitely underestimated himself, he didn't mean to blow his own horn but now that he has, he doesn't not accept defeat easily at all. will memorise that youtube video back to front, his daughter seated in his lap both of the criss crossed as he works delicately. his face set intently, eyes slightly narrowed as he braids. he's confused by the movement but gets the hang of it after a while and then it's like second nature, he's so happy with himself.

"look at you, my little lass. such a beauty" his little girl perched in his lap as he tightens the braided pony tails, gushing at how cute she is and how perfect the braids he had done on her hair came out. will 100% parade her around so everyone can see how perfect his braids are but no touching his little girl or her hair at all, under any circumstances <3

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #dad!141 #dad!141 x reader #simon riley #cod 141 #tf 141 x reader

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clockwayswrites · 8 months ago

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There was that post going around (that I'm too lazy to find) about the mother who gave her son a shovel to go dig and his whole mood improved.

In a no capes AU that would 100% be Bruce with Dick.

Bruce, intellectually, knew that children were high energy. He understood that adopting Dick meant a great number of life changes and responsibilities. He didn't expect the tornado of energy that was Dick.

See, Dick, being a circus kid, was used to always moving, doing having a task. If he wasn't performing he was practicing. If he wasn't practicing he was helping around the circus. Even on the road there were uniforms and nets to mend and animals to tend to and-- well, Wayne manner is all very calm, isn't it? And poor Dick is hurting and angry and needs to do something.

The gym Bruce installs help, but that isn't enough-- that isn't a task.

One day, in a fit of exhaustion and much needed rest, Bruce goes out to the shed attached to the garage, grabs a shovel, and hands it to Dick.

"Alfred is planing to plant a vegetable garden, why don't you help him dig the plots."

And Dick is off like lightning.

Alfred raise one far too judgemental eyebrow at Bruce. "Am I now, Master Bruce?"

"Hn."

They quickly learn that they have to tell Dick very clearly where to dig and how deep or they'll have to get a ladder and pull him out of a hole halfway to the cave system under Wayne manner.

(Bruce has nightmares that night about Dick being lost to the caves.)

And so the manor gains a garden, Dick learns how, a bit, to be a child outside of the circus, and Bruce actually gets to do some work. It's several months later when Alfred comes to Bruce.

"While I understand that the garden has been useful.... enrichment for Master Richard, I do think that perhaps you should inform him to stop digging."

"Wonderful timing, Alfred. I'm about to be in China for a month. I'm sure that I could extend the trip to two, maybe three months if I tack on some service work in South East Asia and visits to old friends."

"...perhaps an orchard wouldn't be remiss."

#dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #batfam #ficlet?#promt?#something

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iguanodont · 1 year ago

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Introducing a new birg culture, and the reason the Twowi go to such lengths to cross the icy equator with their cargoes of rare metal and pungent gall-spice. The Ss’wassoum are a wealthy empire based on the far southern coast, where the sea-ice melts more quickly in the spring and its people first built their wealth on the sea-harvest. Their language is heavy on harmonized syllables, which lends their speech a distinctive musical quality. Family units are smaller than the fiercely clannish Twowi, and the gender divide is less rigid, though still distinctly matriarchal. Some of their most lucrative raw exports are refined tree-plastics and sea-silk, which is valued for fine textiles.

While the Twowi run on highly specialized industrial clan-towns, the Ss’wassoum exist in more diverse cities, though the class divide is impossible to ignore. The nobility are loud of dress and voice, with their ornate refined plastic head-dresses, vividly patterned veils, and resonators worn over the rear spiracles to enhance their voices. But despite all the attention they draw to themselves, their faces are always covered; to be perceived as gray-furred mortals akin to any commoner is inconceivable. They walk the streets as living demigods. Just below the nobility are the merchant class, which may approach their influence in wealth and education but are legally barred from the elaborate headwear and home exteriors of their superiors. Instead they adorn the insides of their homes with the latest in art and technology, particularly elaborate electric light fixtures crafted from imported Twowi metal. Commoners wear little at all in the sunny months, save for the occasional beaded sash and brass mandible-cuffs. Sailors and other hard laborers frequently adorn their bodies with scarified and dyed patterns to mark themselves for the goodwill of protective gods.

The Ss’wassoum government does implement a standardized education system of sorts, though only those of the upper class can test or pay their way into the finest schools, where they can master the high dialect and the art of Opinion. Historically, etiquette laws forbade the discussion of controversial topics in public spaces; these were reserved for halls of judgement. The rule is more of a social taboo these days, but an ancient loophole ruled that written forms of debate could be presented anywhere, and with the subsequent invention of movable type, a colorful written debate culture flourished. Wherever there is a public bulletin, a cafe wall, a blank space where people gather, you fill find posted essays on anything from the hypocrisy of the noble class to a long winded treatise on the merits of toe-biter clams. It is not uncommon for a debate topic to outlive the original essayists, as hills are chosen to literally die on are then proudly upheld by the writer’s descendants. So ingrained into Ss’wassoum society is this debate culture, that committed debate rivals may be legally recognized as a marriage-like partnership. Though the Ss’wassoum carry no expectations of monogamy to a reproductive partner, the correlation between rivalry and mating season partners does not go unnoticed. As a general rule, a worldly and strongly opinionated individual is more attractive.

Big thanks to @primalmuckygoop for pitching so many great ideas for these guys, including most of the lore on their debate culture, and the very name of this civilization!

—————

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#birgworld #birdbugs #worldbuilding #speculative biology

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milky-fixx · 2 years ago

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day 9, sesshomaru: ruts

kinktobruary day 9

sesshomaru x reader // inuyasha

—sesshomaru has been acting strange lately. the last thing he needs is your oblivious questions.

tw/cws: knotting, ruts, dubcon, sesshomaru being too horny to have self-respect

It is troublesome, this burning heat. It stirs, just beneath the surface of his skin, coils between his muscles. It calls to him, urges him to find a warm body, to mount it. His claws elongate as he observes the heat diffusing from his palm. Hm. Even a demon of high caliber such as himself is powerless to nature’s calling.

Much less… his thoughts began to drift to you, his very human companion. There are things he wants to do to you, thoughts that he’s repressed in the past that come snarling towards him, breaking out of their cage. He frowns. This won’t do.

—

“Gosh, Sesshomaru really has been cranky all day, huh,” you remark, after the third time he’s evaded your presence. His silence and occasional ignoring is something you’re used to, but not him outright using his demonic speed to dash seven paces away from you.

Jaken shushes you urgently, glancing fearfully towards his master. “Lord Sesshomaru is going through a… difficult period.”

You frown. You disappeared to the modern era for a few days to sort through your college midterms, and when you came back, Sesshomaru was in this bristly mood. You can’t help but think you’re missing something.

“Is it Inuyasha?” You ask lowly, knowing all too well of his tumultuous relationship with his brother. “Does it have to do with his father?”

“No, and no, you daft human,” Jaken nags.

You’re more than used to Jaken’s insults. “Okay, so…. what’s up with him?”

The imp glances eyes you, before quickly changing the subject. Your frown deepens as you finish bending the stems to Rin’s flower crown, before calling her over and placing it on her head. While she chatters excitedly to you, you find your gaze straying to Sesshomaru’s tense form in the distance, just far enough where he can still keep an eye out for enemies, but not too close to your group.

Whatever his problem is, you would get it out of Jaken some way.

—

You just don’t anticipate how you will.

Sesshomaru’s been acutely avoiding any and all interactions with your group all day. It’s almost as if he’s a specter, lurking just outside of your field of vision. Except whenever he does get closer, you’re overwhelmed by a sense of—bloodlust? Malice? Something that simmers with intensity. You can’t quite pinpoint it, and whenever you ask Jaken, he seems to evade your question. Whatever it is, it sends shivers down your spine.

When you set up camp for the night, he disappears entirely.

Your thoughts are plagued by worries for him, and you fall into a fitful sleep. What could possibly be causing him to be so on edge all day? You’re stirred into consciousness by something brushing against your nose. Your face scrunches up, and when you open your eyes, you see a flash of silver hair, curtaining your view, the same wave of bloodlust—

“Sesshomaru?” Just as his name leaves your mouth, his presence is gone in a flash, the air around you stirred. You sit up, glancing towards the direction of his after-image.

You weigh your options. Jaken did say he was going through a difficult time…. but you aren’t sure what is troubling him. Maybe it’s a demon thing? Should you really risk getting your head bitten off?

Against your better judgement, you go searching for him. Sure, he’s a big, bad demon, but something is clearly bothering him. And as his.... friend—as loathe as he is to admit it—you can’t just leave him be.

What you are not expecting is to see Sesshomaru hunched over by a tree as if in pain. You call out his name, running towards him, but are stopped by a feral snarl as he turns towards you, his eyes flashing red.

“Leave. Now.”

“What’s wrong? I—”

As you approach closer, you notice several things. His claws are sunk into the tree, the poison leeching from it and decaying the bark. The markings on his face are fiercer, more striking, and his fangs protrude from his lips. His eyes flash more and more red with every moment; he looks every bit a wild animal. But, and perhaps the most scandalous of all, he grips his cock in one clawed hand, erect and red, and apparently he was jerking off.

You try not to stare, you really do, but your eyes instinctively dart down there as you feel heat creep to your cheeks at the position you’ve caught him in.

His hand has stopped moving, but his cock stands throbbing, looking painfully erect. You gulp.

“You’re just a mere human. You wouldn’t understand—”

“You’re… horny,” you state, blandly.

“Human—” His eyes flash dangerously.

“You’re...” Your mind flashes through possibilities. Sesshomaru seems unable to control his... not bloodlust, but carnal lust. He is a dog demon, which means.. he could possibly be... “In a... rut?”

He stills. A vein pops out in his jaw, his fangs seeming even more prominent.

“I… I studied this in school. Once.” Freshman biology, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Do you need—” You’re not sure what you’re asking him. What does he need? A hole? A demonness to fuck?

This is awkward. His eyes follow you like a predator, that wave of lust washing over you again. You stifle a shiver.

“Before your arrival,” he says suddenly, the piercing quality of his words startling you. “I had no such issues dealing with these… urges. But now, they are quite...” His claws dig into the bark further, and the bark snaps. “Incorrigible.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I’m… sorry?”

“This is partly your doing,” he growls.

“Uh-huh...”

“I... am tempted to ask you to fix it.”

This is where your brain grinds to a halt, your jaw dropping. His sharp gaze hones in on the way your mouth opens enticingly, and you notice, snapping it shut. “I—you want me to—”

He makes a frustrated growl in the back of his throat. “Disregard that.” And then he’s stalking away, each step seeming painful, emphasized even more by the engorged flesh sticking out of his pants.

“W-Wait, Sesshomaru—”

He’s on you in a flash, before you can even blink, and you freeze. “I suggest—” The warmth of his breath washes over you, and this close you can feel just how hot he’s running, his entire body diffusing heat. “That you don’t—call me—like that—”

“Like what?” you blurt out. “I’m just saying your name.”

His lip curls over his fangs. His eyes clench in frustration. You seem to be testing the limits of his patience.

“Sesshomaru, what—”

In a flash, he’s pressing you against another tree, and his lips are claiming yours. There’s nothing gentle about it, his fangs digging into your lip. You flinch when you feel blood trickle down your chin, and he snarls at the taste of it, before pulling away.

“For one of the less idiotic humans, you can be quite obstinate.”

“I’m...” You blink, dazed. “Sorry?”

His mouth is claiming yours again, his chestplate pressing you into the bark. You feel the heat of his cock pressed up against your thigh, and you shudder at the sensation. It’s hitting you now.

Sesshomaru, one of the most ethereally beautiful people you’ve seen, the most powerful demon in the Feudal Era, wants to... he’s this frenzied up because of... because of you. You, an average human.

Your thigh nudges against his length, and he breaks the kiss to snarl, his fangs lowering to graze your collarbone. Your breath hitches, and one, clawed finger comes up to shred your shirt. You yelp as the cold air hits you only to be devoured by the heat of his mouth on your skin. His fingers claws through the material of your bra, and you yelp again.

“Hey, that was one of my favorites!” you say, indignant. He scoffs, his mouth suctioning over the give of your flesh possessively.

You moan, arching into his touch, as you stare down at him. You don’t dare touch his silver hair, afraid of how he may lash out on you, but your hands do come up to his shoulders, tugging the fabric.

You tense when one of his fingers lowers itself to your hip, and then he’s ripping the panties and skirt off in one clawed swipe.

“We really... have to talk about you ruining all my clothing,” you say, weakly, your affront tempered by his actions.

He scoffs again. “You won’t need such flimsy things in just a moment.”

“Ah...”

His finger slides against your slit, collecting your release, as you writhe against his touch. He’s aware of the softness of your flesh in comparison to his demon claws so he doesn’t do anything much other than rub his finger back and forth along you. He growls once he’s satisfied with the amount of slick coating your area, before leaning back and aligning the his cock to your entrance.

“A-ah wait—“ Your eyes widen at his considerable length; you’re not nearly ready to take him in. But then he’s canting his hips forward, not penetrating you, but sliding his cock along your slick till he reaches your ass cheeks. He continues this rocking motion, his lips pulled back in a snarl. You moan, dropping your head back, before wincing as it hits the unyielding bark. His hand comes up to cradle your head. “Thanks,” you murmur.

His sharp gaze is fixated on the way his length slides against you, and rubs against your slick; the way your arousal gleams on his shaft under the moonlight.

His hips begin to rock faster now, a growl building up in his throat. You wince at the dig of his armor against your bare skin, gripping his shoulders as you attempt to find some grounding.

You feel his cock throbbing insistently against you, his pre-ejaculate mixing with your arousal to make for an easy slide against you.

He growls, his eyes narrowing. His grip digs into your hip as his thrusts become choppier. You get the sense he’s frustrated.

“Do you want to... put it in?”

His gaze flashes up to you, surprise in the bleeding red, as you continue. “I... that’ll help abate your rut right? I don’t mind... you using me.”

You have little else you can say, because Sesshomaru sheathes himself inside you in one thrust. You gasp, your eyes clenching at the feel of him stretching you to your limits.

“Ever heard of a... a warning?” you manage to choke out.

He shows no mercy, his hips ruthlessly pounding into yours once given the go ahead. It’s clear Sesshomaru is losing his grip on rule or reason now, his eyes maintaining their blood-red state. You wince as his elongated claws press into the meat of your waist. He fucks you like he takes down foes: with ruthless precision. Once his cock hits that spot that has you keening against him, he begins hammeringinto it, and your eyes began to water at the sheer intensity and rapidness at which your pleasure is mounting.

At the sight of your tears, however, he seems to slow down. His tongue darts out to lick them off your face, and he’s observing you, before his thrusts slow to a leisurely lull. When the palm of his hand comes down to press against your clit, the stimulation, combined with the way his cock is plunging into you in long, deep thrusts, has you writhing against him.

“S-Sesshomaru—”

You feel something bulbous forming at the base of his cock, stretching you wider, and you look down. Protruding from his cock is a thick knot, and you gulp once you realize that’s going into you.

You’re approaching your end. He snarls as you tighten around him, both his hands gripping your hips to him now, as your walls clench around him, nearly trapping his cock with their grip.

Sesshomaru thrusts once before pressing deep inside you, a throaty grunt tearing from him. You shiver as you feel copious amounts of warmth seep into you, and it remains inside you due to the knot plugging you up. The moment seems to stretch on forever, his hips jerking into yours in minute movements, and then it’s over.

The two of you are stuck together. You shift only to wince once it jerks at his knot. He grunts, keeping your hips in place.

“Sorry,” you say. And then, when a few more minutes have passed, and the two of you are still in the same position, you ask, “Ah, when can we.... detach?”

Sesshomaru grunts. “Once it deflates.”

“Ah... and when will that be?”

He shifts. “This Sesshomaru is claiming you as his. It will take awhile.”

“Ah, okay—wait, what?”

He presses you closer to him, and you rest your head against his chest. While the feel of cooling cum usually is gross, the heat of his body keeps you warm and feeling full. His clawed fingers gradually begin to trail through you hair. After several minutes that seem to stretch into eons, the bond keeping you to him diminishes, and you shiver when you feel some of his spend trickle down your thigh.

Instead of the hard flesh inside you softening, however, it stays stiff. You still, glancing up at him to see his markings still vibrant, his red eyes glowing distinctly.

“Did you really think we were done, human? The Demon Lord of the West surely does not possess such a meager drive.”

—

The next morning, you come up with some half-assed excuse to Rin about why you’re wearing a kimono from the local seamstress, and not your usual outfit. And why you can’t seem to walk anymore, and Sesshomaru has to carry you everywhere.

“(Y/N) must have fallen and hurt themselves.” She giggles.

“Yes, Rin... on a very large... stick.” Sesshomaru’s claws dig into your backside in warning. “I mean—tree branch.”

“Silly (Y/N)! It’s a good thing Lord Sesshomaru is around to take care of you.”

(Meanwhile, Jaken has yet to be seen since he encountered the two of you this morning. He’s too busy cleansing his eyes and nose out in a lake.)

#sesshomaru x reader #inuyasha x reader #inuyasha imagine #sesshomaru imagine #tati writes #not sfw #kinktobruary

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