#they're not there. they won't stand up for me but they will hold me back

[dragonbabes]

*F*cking Yap Warning; expect run ons and awful grammar and cursewords*

This is a super interesting thought. Cause I sorta agree. This isn’t to say that I’m upset that they gave the companions main character energy — cause they are, in a sense — and I adore all of their quirks and whatnot’s. But they put too little effort into Rook. From the very beginning.

I remember thinking that Rook is such a disposable character. I played a Shadow Dragon on my first playthrough, and I remember straight up snorting at Rook's response on why they couldn't navigate to Dumat Plaza: "Not my part of town." Seriously? But worry not, we have Harding, who can figure out something that Rook, who's probably lived in Minrathous for years, couldn't! (Lame)

Crow Rook: is assassin... Like Lucanis. Love this man to death but, why can't Rook do the stabby stab at Ghilan'nain? Does it have to be the sexy, coffee-obsessed man? Is Rook de Riva not sexy enough to brandish a weapon at the nefarious Ghilan'nain or the not-too-intimidating Elgar'nan? It was never explained it was just *shrug* Two's better than one ah-hyuck... When Neve was like "We need an assassin" to my very crow Rook, I was literally there like

( L a m e )

In my Shadow Dragon playthrough, I sacrificed Minrathous and I loved that Neve and the others are so much more critical than they are with other Rook origins, but literally no one on the team was like: how are you? That Lucanis - the soft, yearning, feeling man that he is - did not approach Shadow Dragon Rook that sacrificed their home, their city, their people, to protect his is so fucking wack to me. And - hot take, I think there's a lack of this throughout all of the games - no one ever checks in on the leader, because why? They're this amazingly unbreakable person that can face anything? No! Any hero worth their salt breaks, but they get back up. That's what makes em the hero. Iron Bull literally says "leaders are made of the people that can make the hard decisions, and live with them" but we never get to live with it, do we? They don't give us the chance to see them process that, and learn to hold it, because none of the companions bother to ask, "Hey I know you literally just had to sacrifice an entire city, how are you?" (Lame) If you want a player to feel immersed in your game and take joy in it, you give them the ability to affect the world. You make them feel the story by asking them "How do you feel after making this awful, awful decision?" Then, you let them choose how to answer the question... This was a huge fumble.

And oh my gawd the whole reason that Varric ever recruited Rook is just... Puzzling to me. He was just like "a-ha, yah, i want that one" because Rook is unpredictable? That's it? No actual purpose to the plot, they're just here to be like "haha he won't expect us to drop a building on him c'est la vie..." (l a m e)

Can we please also talk about how Rook can't have any side conversations with their companion outside of the cutscenes? In Inquisition, you could walk up to Solas and be like "what the fuq is up big dawg" then dap him up but in DATV? You're a sad loner sitting at your own lunchtable because they unfortunately don't have enough chairs at theirs (you can see an empty chair, but they need it for Neve's bag). You have to stand there like a creep and just be like "definitely not eavesdropping, nope nope nope. uh-uh, I merely entered this room that I really have no business in to stare into the void don't mind me carry on... Pleeeease I'm desperate to explore your character but can't outside of seeing how you talk to the others and plot-related developments."

And let me reiterate that I do love this game. It's fun to play and there are a bajillion things I do like about it... But how they handled Rook is very disappointing. Creating a character blank enough for a roleplay game is tricky, I get it, and i'm certain there are things I don't understand about it, but it's also the most important character in the game. Period. Let your players play their characters, is what i'm sayin.

If you got this far, I admire you.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[pretchatta]

Family Dinner

After Ezra builds his lightsaber, the Ghost crew introduce him to the celebratory tradition that has evolved over the years, growing with each new member that joined the Spectres. It's one they're all too happy to add Ezra to – and he has a perfect addition of his own.

I wrote this three years ago (!!) for the @legacy-rebelsfanzine fanzine and was waiting to post it until after I received my copy. Unfortunately that never happened so I never posted it, but (spoiler alert) I'm coming back to writing and right now have a couple of pieces I'm sitting on for exchanges. This means I'm chomping at the bit to post something, so I figured it was finally time I shared this outside of the zine. Enjoy!

The delightful illustrations were all drawn by @wachie

you can also read, kudos and comment on AO3! ->

---

Ezra held his breath as he waited for his master to pass judgement on his newly-built lightsaber.

"Well, it's different," Kanan said finally, "but that seems about right for you. Go for it."

He handed the unorthodox hilt back to his Padawan and, holding it apprehensively out in front of him, Ezra ignited the blade. With a snap-hiss, the blue beam of energy came to life, its glow illuminating the Ghost's common area and reflecting in five pairs of awestruck eyes. The whole crew gazed at it and the boy holding it with a mixture of pride and reverence.

"I think this deserves a celebration," Hera murmured, breaking the silence.

Kanan gave her a knowing look, a grin playing at his lips. "Our usual?"

"Let's see what Ezra wants," she said, mirroring his smile. She turned to Ezra to explain, "It's become a tradition on this ship to mark special occasions with a particular meal, but since this is your achievement, is there something you would like? Something to celebrate the day you built your lightsaber?"

"Well..." Ezra stared thoughtfully at his still-lit lightsaber for a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He seemed to come to a conclusion and thumbed the switch to retract the blade, dimming the light in the room back to its usual levels. "When I was a kid and my parents were making their broadcasts, there was a stew we'd have after each one. I remember it had these dumplings on top and when we made it, they'd let me make the dumplings. It was our tradition."

"A traditional stew, huh?" Zeb asked with a grin. "I think we're having our usual, Hera."

Ezra quirked an eyebrow at him. "You have the same thing?"

"Not with dumplings."

"Not yet," Sabine corrected, a glint in her eye.

It's our own special kind of stew," Hera explained to him. "It's changed a lot over the years, but it started when I first set out to fight the Empire. Whenever I had a few spare credits I'd treat myself to fresh  produce – whatever the local market had. I'd slice it up and fry it to add some flavour and texture to the usual rations. Each time someone joined my crew, it changed."

"It always went cold quickly, so I turned it into a broth," Kanan said.

"And it was vegetarian," Zeb added with a grimace.

Hera turned to him with a frown. "We couldn't afford meat regularly until you joined us," she pointed out.

"Somehow it was still lacking flavour when you picked me up, so I was the one to add spices," Sabine chipped in.

Hera smiled. "It improved each time."

"And your dumplings will make a great addition," Kanan told Ezra. "They should cook in the broth, and with them we won't even need to supplement it with rations any more."

Hera picked up her datapad and moved to stand in front of her crew. "It sounds like we need to make a market trip."

There was no need for everyone to go, but no-one wanted to stay behind – not even Chopper. Once everyone was out, Hera locked up the Ghost behind them as Zeb led the way to Kothal. Kanan hung back to walk with her behind the kids, and she slipped her hand into his and gave him a smile of thanks. The soft look he gave her in return warmed her heart.

Something had changed in him since he'd taken Ezra to that Temple, and something had changed in Ezra too. They had both come back different – calmer, more sure of themselves, more comfortable in their roles as Jedi Master and Padawan. She'd always done her best to support Kanan, but she knew Ezra and the Jedi Temple could give him something she had never been able to. However, the look in his eyes reminded her that she gave him something just as important.

The market wasn't overly busy this late in the day. They split up in order to find everything – and therefore get back for dinner – faster. Zeb went to a local butcher's stall with Chopper not far behind, and Sabine said something about running low on a few of her spices. Ezra seemed to be looking with interest at a selection of baking ingredients, so Hera left him to it and went to her favourite fresh produce stand.

Hera knew she was here for vegetables but the display of imported meilooruns did look good… She turned to ask Kanan if they had the credits for one, but he wasn't behind her where she had expected. A search of nearby stalls found him only a few metres away, wearing–

"Kanan," she called, incredulity colouring her voice, "is that a 'kiss the cook' apron?"

"What do you think?" he asked, giving her a roguish wink.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back a grin. She allowed herself one meiloorun as she bought the vegetables, and then went to round up her crew.

Surprisingly, Chopper was the first she came across, and he seemed to be in a very good mood. She assumed he'd been looking at the displays of mechanical oils again. Zeb was next, who had managed to haggle an extra steak into his bag, and then Sabine, who had been about to wander over to a dye stall. Kanan fetched a suspiciously flour-covered Ezra and then she was leading the way back to the Ghost after yet another successful supply run.

Cooking began as soon as they returned, with everyone eager to eat. Kanan made a start on the broth, with Hera by his side slicing the vegetables. Sabine brought the pestle and mortar out to start grinding her spices as Zeb sharpened his steak knives. Kanan helped Ezra get ready to make his dumplings, and Hera saw what looked like a pang of nostalgia pass over the boy's face as he laid out his bowls in a very specific way.

The sounds that filled the galley were almost like music; the steady chop of Hera's knife, the sizzle of Zeb's pan, the scrape of Sabine's pestle and the gentle simmer of Kanan's broth. It didn't take long for some amazing smells to start wafting around the small space either.

"Hey, Ezra," Sabine called over the noise. "Have you ever had bisawa paste before?"

An array of jars and pots were open on the counter in front of her, the contents of which she was carefully measuring into a bowl. The one currently in her hand was filled with a bright green paste.

"Nope," Ezra replied, looking at the contents of the jar with interest. "What is it?"

Instead of replying, she used a spoon to scoop some out and offer it to him. "You should try some!"

Behind her, Zeb's ears pricked up with interest as he started to carefully transfer the contents of his pan into the broth. "Yeah, kid, try some, it's really good!"

"Okay," Ezra said, shrugging as his curiosity got the better of him.

He let Sabine feed him the mouthful of paste. It was as she removed the spoon and her eyes lit up with mischief that he realised his mistake – his tongue was burning. It was too late to stop himself from swallowing. The heat spread throughout his mouth and down his throat. Ezra felt his face flush and his eyes start to water.

He let out a pained groan. "Sabine!"

She tipped her head back and cackled with laughter. He lunged towards her, intending to wipe his floury hands on her in retribution, but Sabine was too fast. She ducked nimbly under his outstretched arms, still laughing. The galley wasn't very big, and as his vision blurred with tears he stumbled into the back of someone.

"Hey!" Zeb complained as Ezra knocked him.

Ezra started to wonder if his vengeance on Sabine could wait until after he found some water, but was distracted by the sight of the perfect white handprint on Zeb's back. Sabine noticed too, and they both burst into laughter together.

Zeb realised he was the butt of their joke, but fortunately for all Hera stepped in before the situation could escalate.

Ezra, get yourself a glass of water," she said calmly, "and Zeb, now's a good time to lay the table."

She wasn't sure if it was her or their hungry stomachs that made them obey, but her crew did as they were told. She left Kanan to stir the last of the vegetables into the broth as she went to check on Ezra. He was mostly recovered from his first encounter with bisawa, and while she had sympathy from him, every crewmember had at some point been subjected to Sabine's "taste test". It was part of the tradition now.

Soon, they were all sitting down together, rubbing elbows in the cramped space of the galley. Kanan served them each a bowl of warm, rich stew, but remained standing.

"Congratulations, Ezra," he began with a smile. "Finding a kyber crystal and constructing your lightsaber is an important step on your path to being a Jedi; we're all proud of you."

Ezra's face warmed at the attention. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Though I wouldn't have even made it this far without you."

"He's right, love," Hera said. "This isn't just about Ezra's achievement – you're a great teacher for him."

"The best," Ezra agreed.

"To Ezra and Kanan!" Sabine toasted.

"Yeah, yeah," Zeb said. "Can we eat now? The smell is making my mouth water."

With a laugh, they all set about eating their stew. It was delicious. As they ate, each person found themself thinking the same thing: sure, the meal had been perfect before, but just like their crew, it was even better with Ezra's addition.

[sissylittlefeather]

I Got My Mojo Working (but it just won't work on you)

A/N: This is a completely random one shot that just showed up in my brain and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. It was super fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut (oral sex, p in v sex), also talk of demons and hell, reader is a succubus (but not like a mean one lol)

Word count: ~1.5k

“Ah, fuck!”

A hard thud accompanies the exclamation and Elvis sits straight up in bed. He blinks a few times trying to let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness. When he can finally see around the room, he looks down at the floor where you're lying flat on your face with the moonlight shining on your hair. You groan and start to stand up gingerly touching your horns to make sure they're still where they belong.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” He asks. His voice is all honey-smooth and you kind of melt despite yourself.

“No! Um, wait.” You try to arrange yourself into a seductive pose, your silky black robe slipping off your shoulder to reveal your red satin nightie trimmed with black lace. Lowering your voice to a husky whisper, you continue. “Just lay back and enjoy it.”

You start to walk towards him slowly, swinging your hips and trailing your fingers down your chest. His eyebrows shoot straight up and you're pretty sure you're on the right track when you step on your own tail, trip, and catch yourself just barely on the side of the bed. “Shit! Fuck!”

Elvis gives you a twinkly-eyed smirk as he tries to suppress his laughter.

“That wasn't supposed to happen. Pretend it didn't.” You stand up and try to go back to your sexy pose, but you really just look like you need to go to the bathroom.

“Darlin’ whatever you're doin’ ain't workin’.” He chuckles.

You groan and drop your hands to your sides. “Okay, just let me… okay?”

He holds back another laugh and nods, trying to be serious and gesturing to you. “You go right on ahead, honey.”

“Thank you.” You take a deep breath and close your eyes. As you do, he looks up and down your body in the sexy little nightie. When you open your eyes, he has his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth and it almost undoes you completely.

You move your hands around in what you hope is a sexy gesture and slide your robe further down your shoulders. He notices your tail and starts to put two and two together as you attempt to dance seductively.

“You're a succubus!” He hollers. You stop dancing and sigh in exasperation.

“Yes. And I'm trying to seduce you. So will you just… y’know… let me?” His lips curl into a smile and he nods as you resume your awkward movements.

“Sure, honey. But you might be the worst demon I've ever seen.” You stop and glare at him, your hands on your hips.

“Seen a lot of demons, have you?”

“No, but I'd imagine this usually goes a little more smoothly.” You stomp over to the bed, damn near twisting your ankle when you slip off of your heel, and plop down on the edge of the mattress.

“Yeah. I'm not very good, am I?” He watches the way your face falls and you look down at your hands in your lap.

“Oh, I dunno, I was enjoying it.” You look up at him suddenly.

“You were?!” He smiles and nods.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was.” You sit for a second just looking at each other. “Come up here.”

He pats the bed next to him and you bite your fingernail. This isn't exactly how this is supposed to go, but it's been a long time since someone has acted like they appreciated your company. Most of the time it’s like your awkward clumsiness is the worst sin under the sun.

You kick off your shoes and crawl across the bed, accidentally crushing his shin and hitting him in the face with your tail.

“Sorry! Shit. I'm sorry.” You grab your tail and move it back out of the way. He just laughs. It's the first natural, genuine laugh he's experienced in a long time. He's been back to performing for a couple years now and the shine is starting to wear off. His wife is gone, but nobody knows, and he's tired of this big lonely house, even when he fills it with people. Honestly, you're a welcome change.

You sit next to him in the bed, your shoulder touching his, and sigh deeply. It's nice to just sit with someone. He wraps his arm around you and pulls your head against his chest, poking him first with your horn. Eventually, though, you're able to settle on him comfortably.

“I like this.” You whisper as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Me too.” He kisses the top of your head and squeezes you gently. You look up at him and he's so close to you that you could count his individual eyelashes if you really wanted to. His hair is long and shaggy and he keeps looking at your mouth.

“Do you get… credit… or whatever if we, um, if we have sex? Like do you have to steal my soul or something for it to count?” He asks quietly, his eyes still fixated on your lips.

“I think I could call this a win if we… y’know–” He doesn't wait another second to lean in and press his lips to yours. They're soft and warm and you melt into his kiss like you've never been kissed before. His tongue presses into your mouth and you make out for a while as the heat between you grows and his hands begin to wander. Without thinking, you crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs, and grind on his cock where it strains against his pajama bottoms. He pulls back from the kiss breathing heavily.

“Wait. Are you… normal? Like, human? Down there?” You giggle at the question, not sure what he's expecting.

“Elvis, my whole existence is fucking. You think I don't have a pussy?” He shrugs and blushes a little. “Why don't you find out?”

You lift off of him and guide his hand in between your legs. He grunts softly when he discovers you aren't wearing panties and then full-out moans when he presses his fingers inside you and feels how tight and wet you are.

“Goddamn, baby.” He looks into your eyes as he pumps his fingers into you and you moan with pleasure. “I need that in my mouth now.”

“Oh! Well okay then.” You whimper as he slides down in the bed and situates his face between your thighs. This never happens since most men are concerned with using you for their own enjoyment. When his tongue makes contact with your clit, you moan loudly and resist the urge to grind down onto him.

“Holy fuck.” You groan as he licks over and around your hardened bud. He pulls back a little and laughs.

“Pretty sure this is the definition of an unholy fuck.”

“Don't stop!” He laughs again and goes back to eating you like you've never been eaten before. Being built for this, you rush towards a climax quickly and start to shake as it approaches.

“Cum for me, little devil.” He almost commands it and your body listens, throwing you over the edge into a bone-rattling orgasm that vibrates across your whole existence.

“Fuck!!” You scream as he licks you through your release, shoving his tongue inside you for good measure. He slides back up and you frantically reach into his pajama pants to free his aching cock. You moan softly when you see how hard he is as he leaks precum onto your thumb. He grunts and you drag the head of his dick through your perfectly wet folds.

“Need to be inside you, baby.” He groans and grabs your hips, pulling you down around him as he pushes up into you. “Oh, fuck.”

He's never felt anything quite like being inside you. It's an earth-shattering experience and he leans his head back against the headboard as you start to move on him.

“God– fuck– shit– I ain't gonna last long at all– fuck.” You giggle at his reaction to you and kiss him deeply on the mouth. The taste of you is still on his lips, but you barely notice as he grabs your hips and starts to thrust up into you powerfully.

You whimper with each driving motion and he hurtles towards the edge of ecstasy recklessly. He slides the straps of your nightie off your shoulders and exposes your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“God, honey, you're gorgeous.”

“I was made for this, Elvis.”

“S’more than that, baby. Fuck.” You feel his body shake as he gets closer and closer to release. “I'm gonna cum.”

You lean forward and whisper in his ear. “Good. Come on, daddy.”

That's all it takes for him to slam into you one last time and tumble into oblivion, shooting you full of the essence you need to survive. You groan as you take it in and feel the pleasure of satisfaction. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close to him as he pants and tries to get his heart rate back to normal.

“Am I condemned to an eternity in hell now?” He whispers and you're not quite sure if he's serious or not.

“Elvis–”

“Because if you're there, it'll be worth it.” You sit up and look into his face. His hand makes its way to the side of your neck and you revel in the warmth of being seen.

“You're not condemned.” He pulls your lips down to his and kisses you gently and you whisper against his mouth. “Wouldn't hate it if you were, though.”

“Me neither, little devil. Me neither.”

You spend the rest of that night wrapped in each other, but when he wakes up in the morning you're gone. He tells himself it must've been just a dream, but it felt so real. And then he finds the note on his bedside table written in lipstick and smudged.

Until next time.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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[yuuchama]

A small cluster of freshmen knelt in front of Riddle. The white trousers of their dorm uniforms were stained with grass from being on the ground for so long, just as Riddle's heel was sunk into the dirt from standing in place for an hour.

The housewarden brandished his staff at his underclassmen. "Do not forget. Rule 228 so clearly states that flowers in gardens must never be picked on Wednesdays. If I catch you again, there will be serious consequences."

No one dared raise their eyes. "More serious than this?" somebody whispered under their breath.

It was drowned out by a sharp bark of "you are dismissed!"

The freshmen did not need to be told twice. They clearly learned the importance of following rules, and wasted no time in staggering to their feet. With a "Yes, housewarden!", they fled.

Riddle huffed. His job wasn't easy. Back in the Heartslabyul kitchen, Cater and Trey were waiting with a spot of tea and a fresh slice of fruit pie - the best remedy for fury.

Riddle stabbed his fork into the flaky crust. "These incoming freshmen have no decorum or respect for the Queen's rules. They are an utter disgrace."

"They're new," Trey explained. He draped a napkin over Riddle's shoulders. "With a little time and a few heart-to-hearts, they'll settle in."

Cater turned his phone screen off and placed it down on the table. What he was about to say was important. "Chin up, Riddle! You just have to speak their language!"

"I am certain we already speak the same language, else they wouldn't have enrolled here." Half of the pie served well to make Riddle calmer. He already stopped squeezing his fork and was more conscious about crumbs falling off the plate.

"No, no. I mean, you have to think like a freshman! These kids grew up in a totally different era from you and me," Cater clarified.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "Even though they're only a year or two younger?"

"Exactly!"

Trey was getting a bad feeling about the whole situation. "They've only been here a month," he reminded them. "Everything is still so new. Most are living on their own for the first time."

"Riddle needs to get with the times!" Cater insisted.

Trey flinched. This was not going to end well at all.

"Explain," Riddle ordered.

"Learn the lingo that everybody's using these days. If you speak to with the freshmen in clear language that they understand, communication will be a piece of cake!"

"Anyone up for another slice of pie?" Trey tried, and failed, to change the subject.

"If only it were that easy." Riddle wiped a spot of cream off of his lip while mulling over Cater's advice. "What do I need to say for them to listen?"

Cater leaned over. This was important intel the housewarden needed to hear. "Instead of that long, difficult lecture, try being like, 'Hey, freshies! You've gotta obey the code, don’t be grabbin’ flowers on hump day or you’ll face mad heat. Capiche?'"

There was a long, slightly uncomfortable pause. Riddle's eyes went wide. He mouthed Cater's sentence, trying to make heads or tales of certain words. Words he knows very well, but would ordinarily never be used in such context.

"I don't think I've heard anyone use 'capiche' outside of a mafia movie," Trey mused.

"This... is how our freshmen are used to talking?" Riddle asked.

"Oh, yeah. This is how all the lit youth be vibing with each other now."

Riddle knit his brows together and pushed his empty plate aside. "This is worse than I thought. Trey, gather the freshmen. They must be taught the importance of proper speech. I won't stand for Heartslabyul students besmirching our dorm with incomprehensible slang."

Cater jumped up. "Now hold on, Riddle. I think you're misunderstanding something!"

Trey, having choked on the tea he was sipping, coughed. "T-that's right. Hold on a second, I think Cater is exaggeratin-"

"Nonsense." Their housewarden stood up and folded his napkin. "I have to nip this in the bud before it becomes a serious problem. We're having a dorm meeting."

[diomedrian]

-

[ddejavvu]

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

[bi-writes]

thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup

mail-order bride

"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"

you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).

a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.

you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.

you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.

the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.

"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"

"wot?"

"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"

"for wot?"

"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"

you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.

simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.

his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.

"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."

you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.

"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."

he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.

"simon?" you whisper.

he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.

"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.

he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.

there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.

"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.

when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.

he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.

joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.

and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.

"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--

"love you, too, baby."

"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.

"if i tell ya, it won't come true."

"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."

he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.

that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

(The last thing Sonic!Reader or Flash!Reader sees after being chased by an alternate version of Mark.)

The Marks all have a bone to pick with you, each and every last one of them. In every universe, you either get killed by Mark for not joining his empire or for not becoming his pet. In each universe, a Mark has confessed to you or afforded a spot in his empire, and each time you turn him down because this isn’t the Mark you fell in love with in high school or the sweet boy you met at the comic book store. This is a whole different man—one who is filled with bloodlust, one with the mind of a conqueror, one who cares only for the dominion of the universe. But you’re the only you who hasn’t left Mark; you’re the only one who stands beside him, and the other Marks think it’s unfair. You were supposed to be on their side; you were supposed to hold their hands, pat them on the back, and tell them they did a great job. You’re meant to hold his arm as the two of you watch cities burn. So when they hear there’s another version of you, they’re up and ready, offering you the same thing they offered a different version of you years ago.

"We can finally be together now that the empire figured out a way for you to live longer than your short, pathetic life, and you won't even age, love."

"Don’t be foolish like others, [Name]; please just come, and you’ll have a place in my empire."

"How could you leave me, my queen? You were meant to remain here with me forever."

"Really, you chose him over me? We're practically the same person, [Name]!!"

Doesn't matter what they tell you; like Usain Bolt, you're running off in a haze of blue lightning. Let's just hope they don't catch up or slow down. But then again, these boys might destroy each other before they get their grubby hands on you. They're yelling your name, screaming it, actually, but you won't slow down. You've been running so long, I don't think you can slow down. Oh, fuck, you've been thinking too hard. The one with the ridiculous Mohawk is gaining on you. Girl, if you don't run faster—oh, shit, you can't feel your legs, and you feel him getting closer. Is this the thing Red Rush warned you about? You have to stop running before you give out or explode into millions of atoms. But you can't let those creeps catch up, so smile through the pain and leave those idiots in the dust.

[witherby]

Continuation of the biting baby, y/n as a toddler somehow developed the habit of headbutting people in the gut but not bruce. He still gets bit but aye, he's not alone anymore lmao

(Baby has to be put in air jail almost everyday buy the moment they're out they headbutt the person who placed them in air jail as hard as possible)

(Also just in case people doesn't know what air jail is,u just hold the baby/animal In the air with ur hand)

A pattern is forming. I think you all want Mouse to be a violent baby.

Including me, so —

The Littlest Wayne: Air Jail

"AHH! SHI-AHhhghh sugarhoneyicetea..."

Bruce lifts his eyes from his newspaper and looks at the couch, waiting for the inevitable. Like clockwork a pair of hands shoot into the air, with you as prisoner, and you start complaining and windmilling your limbs. The hands holding you are encased in leather; Jason must have been the victim then.

"Mousey, I'm workin' with two broken ribs and a concussion," the man complains, jostling you for emphasis. You squeal, giggling. "You cannot keep running into me with that thick little noggin at full speed. I felt a third rib crack upon impact. You're killing me. You're killing your brother. I'm gonna die again."

"Wanna!" You insist, back to windmilling. "Down! Jay-Jay, down!"

"No down. You get Air Jail 'till you say sorry and promise not to headbutt me again."

"I sowwy..." You whine, jutting your bottom lip out for emphasis. "Down, p'ease."

"Jesus Christ, the puppy dog eyes are lethal. I — ugh. You gotta say you won't headbutt me anymore. No more headbutt, okay?"

Your eyes start to water. Bruce watches you sink back down, vanishing behind the back of the couch, and snorts into his paper. He lets out a full laugh when Jason cries out a minute later. You've struck again.

"WE HAD A DEAL. Get over here, you're going back to Air Jail."

You shriek with delight, toddling away as fast as your chubby legs will allow. Jason, as injured as he is, actually can't catch up to you before you spot your dad and make the motion for Uppies.

"Daddy!" You cry. Bruce sets the paper aside and scoops you up.

"Are you being naughty?" He asks. You grin and hide your face in his shoulder. "Uh oh. Maybe I'll let Jay put you back in Air Jail — OW?"

He winces and your peals of laughter ring right next to his head. You open your mouth to bite him again, but he's the one to lift you into the air this time. "Daddy! Down!"

"I'm calling the police," Bruce deadpans, dropping into the Batman Voice. "Your rampant string of crime has gone unchecked for too long. Victims are piling up left and right. You've headbutt all your brothers this week, and Uncle Hal, and Titus. How Grandpa is escaping your tyranny is a mystery, but it's time to turn you over to the law."

"No powice, daddy!"

"Yes powice, child."

Bruce stands up and carries you into the day room, lowering you down into an extra tall play pen.

"Time out for five minutes."

You pout and cross your tiny arms, glaring at the ground.

"Don't wike, daddy. Want out."

"Yeah, well Daddy doesn't like getting bitten like a cookie, and your brothers don't like taking your skull to their bodies at high speeds. We want our skin free from bruises and teeth marks."

"Ha-ha," Jason teases from the doorway, pointing at you. "Get got, criminal!"

Your pouting intensifies. You reach out to Jason and make small whining noises.

"Want out. Want Jay-Jay, p'ease! Jay-Jay!"

The smug little smirk fades from Jason quick, turning into something fond and pitying.

"....I mean...c'mon, B, they're three. Five whole minutes?"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "This is why we haven't been able to curb this behavior yet. You can't fall for big eyes and a please every time —"

You hitch a little sob, and like a wet paper bag, Bruce folds.

"Maybe I'm being a tad harsh. They're three years old..."

[steviewashere]

Oh, oh, oh

Eddie thinking Steve is kind of a good dude, but still holding his biases after Vecna. Oh, the way he looks at Steve is with his nostrils flared and his eyes skeptical. He stomps on Steve's interests because it's just "sportsball talk" and it's "not that important"; and he holds his own interests higher on a pedestal because they're all about "giving voices to the unheard" and "making others feel at home". Having this incredible, unmissable, unavoidable hypocrisy when it comes to Steve Harrington.

He greets him with a mocking, "Harrington," but never a "Steve" or a "Stevie." It's strictly last name basis. Eddie refuses to reach out to him, unless it's truly dire. He refuses to meet-up with Steve for hangouts—even if it's a movie night with everybody or it's an arcade trip with the whole party or a late night diner call. He wants nothing to do with Steve. But he can admire the way Steve calibrates himself with others, saves them time and time again, sticks up for them.

And the real kicker?

Steve is trying to be the best for Eddie. Not for himself. Not for the party. But for Eddie. He's not sure why it matters at all that he has Eddie's seal of approval, but if he doesn't...for some reason, it brings a hard-hitting ache to his chest, a stomach dropping sort of nausea, a burn behind his eyes. It shouldn't matter to him that Eddie won't hug him, won't indulge his interests, won't call him by his name. It really shouldn't.

But he keeps pushing, keeps trying. Calls Eddie, well, Eddie. He asks Dustin for advice, how he could approach, how to appease him. Erica puts on campaigns, just so that Steve can learn how to play; maybe Eddie wouldn't mind Steve teaming along for campaigns, as long as he can play. He's offering rides. He's giving Eddie his monthly free pass at Family Video. He's trying to laugh the hardest at Eddie's jokes, keep silent when he doesn't get something. He bites back on his retorts, on his usual catty playfulness, his jokey assholery—all because Eddie got on the defense and practically snarled at him the last time he tried to joke around with Robin about her failing dates. He pulls back and he keeps himself polite and he smiles when appropriate and he tries to expand his style, his music taste, his movie likes, his nerd vernacular. And he thinks he's doing a good job, pleasing Eddie. Because Eddie doesn't roll his eyes, doesn't snap at him, doesn't sigh at him, doesn't flare his nostrils—none of that.

Until...

Steve does something, he's not sure what. Maybe made a joke at the wrong moment? Argued a little too loudly? Didn't give Eddie what he wants? It had to be something he did. Something wrong.

Because Eddie's all mad at him, beyond pissy, beyond offended. Angry in a way that scares Steve, almost. Red-faced and stomping and big. And then, as the walls begin to close in, just as the floor begins to sink at Steve's feet, just as he's ready for Eddie to just slap him or punch him or knock some screws loose—

"I hate you."

And it's not the same as a punch, but it lands like one anyway. Knocking the wind right out of Steve's sails. He's standing straight one moment, off-kilter and ready to collapse the next.

"You hate me?"

He doesn't even hear the next thing Eddie says, blood rushing to his ears, drowning out the sounds. Because with his back against a wall, in the Wheeler's empty basement (as the kids all went up for some lunch, their D&D stuff strewn about), a sick curl of dread in Steve's stomach, he makes a haunting realization:

Nothing he does will ever be enough for Eddie. No matter the battle they fought. No matter the space they shared, chuckling into each other's ears, telling each other they were better than expectations. No matter the stuff Steve learned, or the way he cleaned Eddie's vest, or the media training he's essentially done to himself. None of it will be enough for Eddie.

Because in Eddie's head?

Steve Harrington is kind of a good guy.

But one act of bravery doesn't immediately erase an image. It doesn't get rid of drilled in biases. Or a well-crafted, initially well-meaning rule set in one's head.

At the end of the day, Steve Harrington was still King Steve. He was still this jockish asshole with a bit of boyish charm.

And Eddie's not a fool, no he isn't (except yes he eventually is), flattery won't work on him this time. All it takes is one moment, one vulnerability, and Steve will be showing his true colors. Any moment now, is what Eddie is constantly telling himself, any moment, the other shoe is going to drop.

He doesn't want to admit it. That Steve is good. That he's funny and charming and smart and wonderful. That, even in his attempt to put distance, Eddie is sort of falling for this version of Steve—supposedly this real version of him.

Again, though, he isn't a fool.

Even if he has a chance.

Because Steve didn't know why it mattered, not initially. But up close, Eddie's angry flaming eyes in front of him, his soft freckles dashing across his face, the thick furrow of his eyebrows—even angry, Steve can see that Eddie is handsome. Even angry, Eddie is everything Steve's wanted. Even angry, Eddie is light. And Steve?

God, Steve's in love.

He wanted the validation because he's in love. But Eddie won't ever know that. Because he apparently hates Steve. And Steve also isn't a fool. There's no point in sticking around if he's only going to make things worse, there's no point in befriending Eddie when he's already made up his mind. There's no point trying to earn a love that's worth half a dime to even his own parents. There's no point.

Maybe the distance is good.

Maybe the distance is just what they needed.

Maybe, just maybe, the friendship was dead in the water before it had the chance to swim.

Steve dashes away from it all, from the Wheeler's, from the party, from their game, from Eddie. What's he gonna do now? He's not sure. Maybe a bouquet of flowers and a well meaning apology would mean something. Maybe some dice and an apology?

But what did he even do? What's he apologizing for?

Maybe it wouldn't mean anything, especially since Eddie seems damn set on refusing to listen.

(Do they make up? I don't know...maybe...you decide.)

(Also...parallels? Me writing parallels? More likely than you think.)

[osachiyo]

❛ WHAT'CHA READIN'? ❜

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — n/sfw content, teasing, edging, getting caught while reading erotica/smut, full nelson, oral (m recieving), cock warming, kolya's is the longest bc yea, squirting, kind of 4th wall breaking in kolya's etc • here it isss !! i didn't expect so many people to want this but im glad i got to write it. anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! not proofread

ps. reblog to show your favorite writers support, they're greatly appreciated ! <3

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟏 — 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

his hands flew to her neck, squeezing not too hard — but firm enough for her to get dizzy with pleasure. "lily, you're simply ethereal like this," the man on top of her groaned, hips still pounding away, his pelvis slapping against her thighs with each thrust. she moaned, nails raking down the crown prince's back, all while —

"..her pretty cunt squeezed around him at the heartfelt praise,"

you felt someone whisper from behind your shoulder, making you quickly slam your book closed and whip your head towards that direction — only to see your boyfriend, dazai, standing there with a cheshire-like grin on his pretty face.

"i didn't know you were into historical books, babe!" he said with a teasing tilt in his voice, making your right eye twitch. "r-right... ahem — anyway, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that, osamu," you scowled, clutching said book close to your chest.

"yeah? and you really shouldn't read dirty books at work like this, sweetheart," he tilted your head up to face him, "what if it was kunikida-kun instead of me, hmm?" his voice was playful, and if you knew him, you knew that he was hinting at something — if it's wasn't obvious already by the prominent bulge in his slacks.

"well, aren't you eager?" dazai huffed out a laugh at the way you grinded on his thigh, trying to reach your precious book that was in his hands now. "her back arched like a cat's as the prince pounded away at her — not having an ounce of mercy for the poor maiden," dazai read in a mocking tone — all while flexing his thigh under your cunt, which you were humping for dear life. "please," you pawed at his chest, hips twitching with the need for release.

"please what, baby?" he grinned mischievously, free hand snaking down to land a playful smack on your breasts, before squeezing them. "please let me cum," you whined once more, batting your wet lashes at him in hopes of getting at least a tiny bit of mercy.

"well.." dazai hummed, placing the book to the side, before sitting you fully on his lap and unzipping his slacks — "since you want it so bad, work for it."

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟐 — 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀

you and chuuya were in his office, with him working and you on your phone.

chuuya noticed how unusually quiet you got — and how.. strange you were acting as you scrolled further down on your cellphone.

his eyebrows furrowed as he saw your pupils dilate, your breathing getting uneven and you clenching your thighs.... oh.

a smirk found it's way on his handsome face as realization hit him — you dirty, dirty girl.

"what'cha readin' there, babe?" chuuya raised an eyebrow at the way you flinched when he suddenly spoke up. "um.. just some romance story, you won't like it, chuu," you tried to keep a straight face as your boyfriend got up from his seat, and stalked closer to you.

"oh yeah?" chuuya inquired further, "let me see."

"NO!— i mean — you really won't like it, babe," you smiled nervously and clutched the little device closer to you, which only made chuuya's grin spread further. "riiighhtt."

a gasp tore from your lips when your phone was snatched away from you by the ginger man — he was way too fast and strong for you to fight back, so you just sat there — blinking dumbly as he read the contents of your little "romance story."

"really? a mafia boss x reader? heh," chuuya snickered, voice holding a teasing tilt to it, "ya got a thing for boss, or somethin'?"

"NO! oh god, chuuya — give it back!" you finally recovered from your state of stupor, lunging at chuuya — who caught you in his arms with ease. "easy there, sweetheart. now, how about i give you the real fucking thing instead of this stupid... fanfiction, yeah? bend over f'me, doll."

loud clapping could be heard from outside of chuuya's office — it was so embarrassing if anyone walked by, especially akutagawa, but chuuya didn't seem to care one bit.

your tight little pencil skirt was bunched up, panties pulled hastily to the side as chuuya's narrow hips slammed against your ass, gloved hands gripping your hips so hard that you feared it would leave marks. "you like that, baby? like it when i grind into you like this?"

chuuya slowed his thrusts only to grind his hips in circles — making you see stars as you desperately clawed at the mahogany desk.

a sudden knock on the door sent your mind spiraling from pure pleasure to uneasiness. surely he wouldn't —

"come in, akutagawa."

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟑 — 𝐅𝐘𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑

"don't flip the page, darling, i'm not done yet,"

you flinched at hearing fyodor's smooth, rich voice from behind you — startling you enough to drop the book from your hands, which conveniently landed on your lap. you looked behind to see your husband, who had a smirk on his handsome, pale face — "f-fedya!" you smiled nervously, "you were.. behind me this entire time?"

"why of course, my dear. i was wondering what type of book my beloved wife is into, and i.. certainly didn't expect this."

fyodor's tone was condescending, derogatory even — making your face heat up in embarrassment and shame. "now now," he tilted your chin up to look him in the eye, "there's no need to be ashamed, darling. though i can't deny that i'm a little upset from you going behind my back to read something so sinful," fyodor clicked his tongue, shaking his head gently before narrowing his amethyst eyes at you, "i believe you need to.. make up for this little... mistake of yours. won't you be a good girl and do as i say?"

you gulped before nodding hesitantly, sweat dampening your palms at the sheer nervousness you were feeling.

"good. on your knees."

fyodor held your head down on his cock, the small tuff of black hair tickling your nose —he didn't give you a chance to catch your breath. the feeling of the tight walls of your throat, along with the pretty view of you looking up at him with those teary eyes almost had him going feral. he wanted nothing more than to just pull your head back and face fuck you — but no, he had you cock warming him with your cute little mouth instead. all while he read his own book.

now, you might want to think twice before reading something so filthy behind his back again — unless you wished for an even worse punishment, that is.

𝟎.𝟎𝟎𝟒 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈

"dove, can i ask you a little question?"

nikolai wrapped his huge arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest and resting his head on your shoulder, waiting for an answer with a grin.

"what is it, kolya?" you tried to turn to face him, but nikolai's grip only got tighter — his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, "who the fuck is 'toji fushiguro' and why were you reading smut about him?"

nikolai felt you stiffen in his arms — a shiver running down your spine at his warm breath hitting your skin, along with the embarrassing fact that your boyfriend had seen what you read on your phone. fuck.

"hmm? no denying?" he teased, freakishly large hands skimming over your torso, then settling all the way up to your breasts. "he's just a.. fictional character, love," you winced at how fucking embarrassing that sounded — which only resulted in nikolai letting out a snicker.

"really? you wound me, sweet pea — am i not good enough for you, that you have to settle for reading smut about fictional men?" he dramatically put a hand over his chest, but you both knew that was not true. "i'll just prove myself to you then, mm?" nikolai grinned, planting a kiss on your clothed shoulder.

you groaned, "n-no! baby, it's just —" "full nelson, huh?" nikolai cut you off — his expression dark as a borderline scary grin settled on his lips. "that was the position right? you could've just told me you wanted to try it! come on, little dove — i'll show you full nelson."

that's how you ended up with your legs against your chest, nikolai's huge arms hooked under your knees to keep you secured against his chest — all while his thick cock plowed into your cunt.

your mouth dropped into an 'o' shape, drool dribbling down your chin to your tits — the mounds bouncing up and down erotically as you were drilled into from below.

"god, just look at you,"nikolai groaned — his arms flexing beneath you as he bit the juncture of your shoulder, the soft skin littered in bruises and bite marks. his heavy balls were clapping against your ass with each rough thrust — your pussy felt like it was splitting in half from the sheer girth of his dick.

"oh yeah, baby — cum f'me, a-agh — cum on this cock," nikolai's voice was slurred, thick and heavy with lust as he encouraged you to soak his length in your juices.

and soak him you did — spraying your arousal all over the floor, his cock and balls were dripping with it — as you went limp in his arms. but he didn't stop, no — he didn't stop until he was cumming deep in your womb, the creamy substance leaking from your cunt from just how much there was.

© 𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ do not copy/translate/repost and/or recommend any of my works on different platfroms under any circumstances. reblogs greatly appreciated !

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[totalswag]

Hi! I have a request if you are up for it!

Okay so how about reader and Drew are together and they have a fight before an interview with the obx cast. And reader is skipping her meals and didn’t sleep properly. During the interview she zoned out multiple times while fidgeting with her fingers. The others notice that she’s unusually quiet and are a little confused and concerned about what happened. Maddie pulls you aside when she notices that you’re hands are slightly shaking due to the lack of food and sleep and asks if everything is fine and maybe Drew hears it and is concerned. I just need some angst

fractured moments ⎯ 𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑾 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝒀

authors note super sorry this is so late! i’m catching up with my requests atm (bare with me lovies). please remember to take care of yourselves beautifuls. i hope you like this <3

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary getting into a heated argument with your boyfriend, drew, before an interview with your co stars. you haven’t been taking care of yourself, you co stars notice and drew is concerned.

warning(s) angst, fighting, loss of sleep, not eating enough.

Today was gonna be scattered with interviews back to back⎯a long ass day. Been up since four in the morning to get ready then drive to the studio where the rest of your co stars await.

Drew and you had a fight. The fight had left both of you hurt and frayed. Words you couldn't take back echoed in your head, leaving a terrible taste in your lips. You both shedded a few tears.

When you arrived at the studio for the Outer Banks cast interview, you put on a faint smile, hoping it would be enough. The rest of the cast was already present—Maddie, Clarcia, Chase, Madison, Rudy, and JD—chatting and laughing as usual. You attempted to join in, but the pain in your chest made it difficult to concentrate.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Maddie asked softly, putting her right arm around your shoulder, pulling you in close, before sitting in the chair next to you.

"I'm good," you lie but making your voice promising to her⎯so she won't be suspicious.

The interviewer takes a seat across from you, introducing herself to everyone and preparing to ask questions. 

You, on the other hand, remained quiet. Drew was all you could think about, along with the fight. Fiddling with your hands on your lap and looking around your co stars. 

"Y/N, Scarlett, what do you like about your character?" the interviewer inquired passionately moving in her chair. 

You slowly move your head to the side, smiling as best you can. "I would say her compassion for friends and standing up for herself, even in difficult situations," you explain cautiously. 

The cast nods in unison, smiling at your response. Drew placed his right knee over his left, arms crossed over his chest, and intently listened to your words.

As the interview went on, your friends began to notice your typical laughter and outgoing self wasn't in the room. Out of everyone in the cast, you have a bunch of energy, always putting a smile on everyone's faces⎯making jokes, etc.

At the end of the interview, everyone said thank you and goodbye. Maddie's hand touched your bicep as you were getting out of the chair and guiding you to the corner.

Taking both hands, I said, "Baby, there's something going on in your thoughts. Tell me what's bothering you. We're all concerned.

"It's just⎯I haven't been eating lately, Drew and I had this fight this morning, I've been going through so much lately," you say, pausing in the middle of your sentence as you feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Maddie quickly hugs you, holding you tightly, rubbing your back in gentle circles, allowing you let everything out. Madison and Carlacia come over, giving you a warm hug. They tell you they're here for you and encourage you take good care of yourself.

"We love you so much, Y/N, it breaks our hearts you're feeling this way," Madison responds, "have you spoken to Drew?" Carlacia questions. 

In response to Carlacia's question, you shake your head.

All a sudden, Drew's voice appears, your head quickly looking up. Your eyes soften seeing him in front of you.

"Hey, could I please speak with her?" His voice was unusually quiet as he asked. 

After a moment of hesitation, Maddie nodded and gave your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving with Madison and Carlacia.

Drew's blue eyes searched yours as he stared at you. Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?

You said, without raising your voice above a whisper, "I didn't want to make things worse."

His face twisted. "I really regretted everything. What I said was not intended. I hate seeing you in this state."

His touch was warm and comforting as he reached for your shaking hands, causing tears to prickle your eyes. You muttered, "I didn't mean what I said either."

With one hand gently caressing gentle circles on your back and the other behind your head, Drew draws you close to his warm body. He apologized in a whisper and said, "I don't want you to treat yourself that way."

"I love you so much, baby." "To me, you are everything."

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[jinxs-gf]

snack thief

the team x spider!reader

summary: someone is stealing your snacks and you’re going to figure out who.

content, warnings: kind of a crack fic, spider cusses a lot? not proofread

word count: 1.8k

a.n. Aunt May mentioned! who cheered?

It was peaceful in the confines of Mount Justice. So peaceful it was almost suspicious to the team. They barely get downtime nowadays, something they used to practically beg for. Now all they want is a break.

It's perfect and quiet and peaceful.

Until they hear their friend scream bloody murder.

Spider.

Everyone jumps up, alarmed and ready to fight.

You're in the kitchen holding an empty container, the refrigerator wide open, and looking more stressed out than they've ever seen you. But there was no threat?

The team is still worried but confused. There was no one else in the kitchen with you so...? Why were you screaming? And there was seemingly no spider on the container you were holding, the only creature that could scare you bad enough for you to freak out like this. (You denied this claim again and again, unfortunately they didn't believe you. How embarrassing was that? Spider had arachnophobia? How damaging to your reputation.)

You continue to stare at the container, and your friends have concluded their near heart attack at your cry for help was all for not.

Their shoulders all sag simultaneously, breaths of relief leaving their mouths.

Kaldur is the first to speak, "What has gotten into you, Spider? You scared us all." He does not sound happy.

And if you took the time to look at the rest of your teammates, the annoyance would be evident.

But no. You continued to stare at your stupid container.

"Hello!" - Artemis

"Earth to Spider!" - Robin

"We're not getting any younger over here." - Wally

Roy only sighs, shaking his head, Conner raising a brow beside him, amused for the most part.

M'gann just stands quietly, wondering if she should read your mind without your permission to figure out the problem or not.

"Which one of your imbeciles did this?" Your voice was eerily calm...it was disturbing.

They all shared the same sentiment. What?

You glare in their direction, eyeing each one of your supposed friends carefully.

"One of you is the cause of this," you hold up your empty container. "Someone ate my cookies. I've had the worst day of my life and the only thing that could help was having my precious cookies. Only I get here and they're gone!" Ah. They get it now.

"I'm going to find out which one of you is responsible. And it won't be pretty."

"Uhh why was it in the fridge anyways?"

"Shut it Robin. They’re leftovers. And you’re at the top of my suspect list. You and your little buddy there," you eye Wally.

He squirms in his spot.

You were grocery shopping for your aunt when you spotted them.

Spider-Person gummies.

You wince, the name Spider-Person did not roll off the tongue correctly. You prefer Spider like the team calls you. Or maybe Arachnid would be cool? Oh well, it's too late now. The name Spider-Person was plastered onto kid's snacks for Pete's sake! There was no coming back from that.

Whatever. You threw it in your basket and immediately opened the box when you got home. Showing off to Aunt May, she was very proud, just like you thought she’d be. Except for when—

"I always thought you'd be known for curing diseases or something, but children’s snacks? This'll do!"

"Hey!" She was joking of course (right?).

And later that day you brought it to the team's kitchen, wanting to show off to them. You didn't want them to eat it of course, it was going to be your post-mission snack. A little pick-me-up.

No one but Red Tornado was there, which was a little weird but it was a rare day off. You'll just come back when everyone is here.

You made sure to stick a post-it on the box of gummies, effectively claiming them yours that shall not be touched.

You hadn't left your snacks alone in the kitchen of Mount Justice since your cookies disappeared a mere week ago.

You still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.

You will. One of these days.

You leave and don't come back until the next day, everyone is there.

"Oh goodie! I have something to show you guys!"

Only you get to the kitchen cabinet, open the box, and...no.

Nonononono

The box of "Spider-Person Gummies" was completely empty.

The box that clearly had your name written with the words "DO NOT EAT!" on the post-it!

You scream like the first time.

"Who did it?!"

The team is a little slower this time around, not trusting your panicked screams after the first incident.

Robin face palms, "Come on spider, it's not that serious."

You gape at him, "Not that serious?! Are you crazy?!" You eye him suspiciously, "it was you, wasn't it?"

"What?! No! I'm just being reasonable here. You can always buy more,” he shrugs, clearly not seeing the bigger picture. Someone is eating your snacks without permission. Deliberately ignoring your name that was written in bold on the post-it stuck to the front. You try a different approach though.

"First of all, I don't exactly come from a background of money. I can't just waste valuable green for some fruit snacks! And second, it was the last box in that section. How do I know they'll be restocked by the time I get back? What if they were there for limited time?!" The thought terrifies you, "oh no."

The team watches you nearly have a breakdown over your gummies "...those snacks are usually less that 10 dollars, Spider."

"And that's too much!"

"You can't be that poor."

"Eh, you'd be surprised."

It’s a full two weeks of the snack thief’s attacks.

Your spidey senses go off at the two week mark and they lead you to the kitchen.

You gasp.

"You!"

Wally is caught mid slice into the chocolate cake you made for the team, he looks petrified at being caught.

His voice cracks, "what?"

"It's been you! I knew it was you!"

"What! No! You made this for the team, right? That's not fair to pin the blame on me when I have permission to eat this!"

Okay, he's got a point.

"Whatever. You're still at the top of my list."

You’re in stealth mode with the rest of the team, waiting for your cue to attack.

You communicate through the mind link to keep yourself from boredom, this is gonna take a while.

You decide to bring up the most recent snack attack.

‘I still need to figure out who this snack thief is. They took my leftover brownies this time! The ones May made for me. Do you know how upsetting it was to see the brownies made by my very precious, hardworking Aunt all gone?’

You hoped to weed the rat out through sympathy.

‘Oh...that was yours?’

‘M'gann!’

‘I'm sorry! I didn't know!’

Just then, Kaldur makes your cue to attack. And before you know it, you’re in battle. However, your mind is elsewhere.

The distraction earns you a kick to the face, your spidey senses were screaming but you couldn't be bothered to really care at the moment, too focused on the fact that M'gann admitted to eating your brownies.

She's the snack thief?! But she was at the bottom of your list...

You regret ignoring your senses immediately, that kick was more powerful that you thought it’d be. Definitely going to bruise later.

‘I'm not the snack thief! I just thought Red Tornado left them! Remember? He said he wanted to be more involved with us outside of missions? I swear I know better! You forgot a post-it with your name this time. I'm really sorry, I should've known.’

You sigh, she sounds too sincere for it to truly be her.

‘It's alright, I forgive you. This time. It was my bad anyways.’

There’s many instances of coincidences as your friends would call it.

Robin caught digging into your chips;

“But you said I could have some!”

“No not those ones! My other chips!”

“Wow, thanks for specifying that.”

Conner caught…eating your candy?!

Conner doesn’t even eat sweets like that, so what changed? Or was that all a ploy? Pretending to not be fond of sweets only to eat yours behind your back…

But his eyes pleaded forgiveness, truth. Damn him.

Roy, Kaldur, and Artemis also had their moments of suspicion.

So who was it?

You only had one more course of action. You beg May to let her borrow your phone.

“It’s an emergency!”

“An emergency that could last all day? Or more?” She lifts a brow, don’t let her intimidate you, Spider.

“Pleeeaaaase,” you bat your lashes at her.

She can’t resist you. The child she’s come to see as her own. You are hers, no one could tell her otherwise. She sighs, “Don’t know why I even try with you.”

“Thanks May!” You plant a kiss on her cheek, “love you!”

“Whatever kid,” trying not to show disappointment in herself for allowing you to get to her.

Set your phone up in the kitchen cabinet of Mount Justice with your snack. Hit FaceTime with Aunt May’s phone and accept on yours.

There’s no way you don’t catch your thief now.

~~

You wait a good 20 minutes before you’re already tired of your plan.

You groan in annoyance, can they hurry up and attempt to take your snack already?!

It takes another three hours before something happens.

Your spidey senses blare, making you jump from your place on the couch with Artemis and Roy. They look at you like you’re crazy, yeah you were getting used to that.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the call.

Whoever is in the kitchen is toast. You look down at May’s phone.

“You!”

“Uh oh.”

“I knew it! I knew it I knew it I knew it! From the beginning! How could I be so stupid and not listen to my gut?!”

Wally states back at you through the phone screen, eyes wide.

“You lying son of a-”

“Listen, we can talk this out-”

“Put my cookies down! You know damn well my name is written on the box!”

He surrenders, placing the cookies back in its place.

The rest of your team came out to witness this very amusing and long awaited moment.

It was funny, the living room you were in was right next to the kitchen, meaning speaking through the phones was pretty useless. They won’t say anything, lest they catch your attention and get yelled at.

“I’m going to ruin you for what you did, Speedy Bitch.”

Roy hears his code name and it’s enough for him to scare. He holds his hands up, “whoa! What did I do?”

“Not you! Obviously not you!”

You get up from the couch, bolting to your “friend.”

Wally panics, “Someone call Superman! Spider’s gone crazy!” And he books it.

It’s okay. He may be the fastest man alive, but no one messes with a Spider’s food.

so who’s attending Wally’s funeral? definitely not spider.

this is based off a video I saw, someone’s sibling was on FaceTime w a phone in the cabinet to catch who was eating their snacks 💀 I just HAD to use it

[gloomwitchwrites]

They have too much fun being a scary dad when their daughter brings her boyfriend home to meet the parents

In general, I hate when men do this, especially if they mean it. That patriarchal stuff really irritates me. But for this, it's a prank. They're doing it to embarrass their child (and I'm in support of that).

Due to the nature of the ask, I'm slightly aging up Price and Ghost, and significantly aging up Soap and Gaz. They're all fathers and have been for a while. Their age reflects this.

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Dad!Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: dad!141, pranks, shenanigans, protective behavior, terrorizing the daughter’s boyfriend

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Don’t answer the door, John."

He winks and reaches behind him, turning the knob, and swinging it wide, startling the young man on the other side.

"I'm here to pick up—"

"Come in," commands John. The authority in his voice makes you wince. "Have a seat."

The boy visibly swallows, looking to you for help.

"I'll grab her.”

John reaches for you. Arm tucked behind your back, John drags you against him, lips pressed to your ear. "Let me terrorize the lad for a minute."

"John."

"Just a minute."

John releases you and turns to the teenage boy on the sofa. You ascend the stairs, heading for your daughter’s room. You count to twenty before pushing open the door.

"He's here."

She squeals and presents herself. "Look good?"

"Gorgeous."

She beams as she rushes past you and down the stairs. You make it to the top in time to hear her chastise her father.

"We're only talking," John says casually.

You descend just as your daughter and her distraught-looking boyfriend leave.

"What did you say to him?" you ask with arms crossed.

"We just chatted,” shrugs John.

"John," you scold, but he ignores you, heading into the kitchen. "John!" 

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Who was—”

You come to a halt in the living room archway. Kyle sits casually in the lounge chair, a soft smirk on his face. Across from him is a young teenage boy no older than sixteen. The boy is clutching a lovely bouquet of flowers.

This is your daughter’s date. And Kyle has him cornered like a kicked animal.

You turn your admonishing gaze on Kyle, eyebrows rising toward your hairline as you throw a silent accusation.

Kyle only shrugs, and then winks like it’s a game.

You introduce yourself and the boy relaxes a bit.

Standing, Kyle saunters over to you, his hand resting low on your back. “And what time did we discuss about bringing her home?”

“Nine, sir. On the dot.”

“Good lad.”

“Did you let our daughter know her date is here?” you ask, keeping your tone even.

“I will now,” replies Kyle cooly, never taking his eyes off the date.

He starts to walk away but your grab hold of him, sliding back to his side, lowering your voice.

“Were you polite?”

“Always, love.”

“Kyle,” you scold, knowing he wasn’t.

His lips twitch as he hides a smile. “I was a little mean.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Don't."

"I won't."

"You promised."

"Said I wouldn't."

His reassurance isn't promising, and that mischievous grin on his face isn't helping things.

"John MacTavish," you whisper-scold as the doorbell rings and he rushes to the door.

You follow him, but you’re seconds too late. John opens the door and grabs the front of the boy’s shirt, yanking him inside before the young man can get a word in.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

Already, you hear your daughter’s hurried steps. She’s going to lose it if she sees her father picking on her boyfriend.

The boy’s face blanches, all the color leeching away as he gazes on this muscled monstrosity before him. Johnny is puffing himself up, appearing much large than he actually is.

“Why are you loitering on my doorstep?”

“Excuse me, sir. I—”

“You what?”

“John,” you warn.

“I’m picking up your daughter, sir.”

“Oh, aye. Why is that?”

The boy swallows, his gaze darting to you for help. Your mouth opens, ready to end this when you hear your daughter’s sharp inhalation.

“Dad!”

Johnny immediately softens, draping his arm over the boy’s shoulders like he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Boyfriend’s here, love. Be home by ten.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon said he wouldn't be home. You knew that was a lie the moment your daughter mentioned bringing her boyfriend home.

He didn’t change—or make any attempt to appear less…intimidating. Simon wears all black tactical gear with his signature balaclava.

And is that? —No. Blood?

You stare Simon down, eyes widening in silent plea. Your daughter looks on, hands fidgeting nervously.

Don't, you mouth.

While Simon appears intimidating, he’s smiling under that balaclava. The boyfriend appears scrawny compared to Simon.

"Mr. Riley," he says, holding out his hand.

Simon doesn't even glance at the offered palm. He only stares the boy down.

"Where are the two of you off to?"

"The movies."

"What movie?"

He answers.

Simon grunts. "What time will you be home?"

"Around ten." Simon's gaze narrows and the boy swallows. "Ten sharp, sir."

"Good."

Simon clasps the boy's shoulder and herds the two of them toward the door.

"Have fun," you say as brightly as you can.

As they walk to the car, you pinch Simon's side. "Uncalled for."

Simon elbows you. "We have a few hours to ourselves."

"Simon," you warn, but he’s shutting the door, hips swaying slightly.

"I've got some energy to burn." 

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[majinbangus]

continuing my big simon x single!mom reader bullshit :P

-> more here

There's a frantic knock on his door.

It's insistent. A peculiar sound to hear near the end of his day during the late evening. Visitors are a rare occurrence, and if he does get them, he usually knows they're coming.

The knocks persistent. Audacious. Bold. Demanding. He approaches the door, not overly concerned with who it may be, but with a healthy dose of caution. Knowing his history, he brings along a small glock.

When he unlocks the door and cracks it open- this complex doesn't have peepholes- his gaze drops down, and he moves to tuck his gun into the back of his jeans, widening the door.

It's your boy, his little name twin. Alone. Scared. On the verge of tears. Like another little boy he knew in another life. A boy he once was. He drops down to one knee, placing a hand on the lad's shoulder.

Little Simon is trembling. He scans the hallway behind his young visitor. Empty. Void of life except for this child in front of him, clearly seeking his help. A tiny storm about to break in this ostensibly lifeless building. The neighbors wouldn't even know it. Then, he cracks. A warning before the lightning strikes.

"S-Simon-"

He cuts the lad off before he can get anything else out. Before he breaks. "Where's your mum? What happened?"

The tears fall and your boy throws himself into his chest.

"Mama won't wake up!"

-

He carried you from the couch to your bed.

You're sick. Really sick, but Simon doesn't think you need to go to the hospital. Not yet. He places a hand on your forehead. Still hot.

He checked your temperature once he got you settled. Thirty-eight degrees. Simon's no medic, but he'll continue to monitor your status throughout the night. Make sure you don't overheat. Take you to the hospital if you need it. He can do that much. A simple mission compared to anything else he's faced.

There's a creak from your bedroom door, and he drops his hand from your forehead, looking up at the little prowler.

"Simon," he greets and the lad curls in on himself, hesitating before edging closer in the room, walking up to where Simon stands. He stares at you with eyes too haunted a kid his age should have.

"Will Mama be okay?"

His voice is hoarse and his eyes are red. A puffy mess from crying earlier. Simon doesn't shame the boy for it, and he won't lie about your condition, but...

"I'll make sure she is," he promises.

Your boy turns to him then, eyes suddenly sharp. Protective. A cub ready to fight for his incapacitated mother. The resemblance almost makes Simon pause. Makes him think back to when he wore a similar look a few times when he grew up, though your Simon wears the look a lot younger than he ever did. Is braver than he ever was as a child. His own words echo in his ears.

A good lad.

Your boy holds out his little finger, and Simon stares. His little name twin glares at Simon with something akin to judgement. A test. "Pinky promise?"

It's no question what he does next.

Simon reaches out and curls his own pinky around the lad's. "Pinky promise."

A smile breaks out on your boy's face.

Test passed.

-

It's 03:03 when you wake up.

Simon is ready and attentive. He's been taking a nap beside your bedside every other hour in a chair he brought from your kitchen table. Not the worst place he's ever slept and not the worst sleep he's ever had. He's certainly thankful you have cushions for your chairs.

You're groggy. Shivering a little, but Simon knows your fever has gone down slightly since he got here. He's been changing out the cool, wet towel on your forehead every time he woke up, keeping you elevated, making sure you can breathe.

You panic a little when you see him, scrambling to create some space between each other,

"What the-?!"

He turns on the lamp on your nightstand, holding up his hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's just me. Simon came and got me when you wouldn't wake up. I've been keeping an eye on you."

You stare at him, the aghast in your eyes still there, but slowly calming down as you get your bearings. "You're- you're-"

"Big Simon." He cracks a wry smirk, lowering his hands again, giving a lazy bow of his head. "At your service."

He doesn't hold back his snort when you squeak, adorably indignant for someone so sick. "You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"'Course not," Simon drawls and it goes silent for a few seconds as you take him in, studying him with eyes that look just like your boy's did when he made him pinky promise, except your eyes hold a certain level of caution the lad should learn. You shift in your nest of blankets, adjusting them around your body when a particularly harsh shiver runs through you.

"Simon got you, you said?" You finally speak up, voice scratchy. Tired but guarded.

He nods. "Told me he tried to wake you up after that movie you were watching together."

"And you brought me here?"

"Made sure you didn't choke on your snot, too."

The offended squawk that escapes you is hilarious, as if you truly had a high opinion about your runny mucus. Maybe it's because you see Simon as a brute who has no room to talk. Maybe it's because you're embarrassed at being seen at a weak state.

You have no rebuttal, choosing to huff instead, looking down at the blankets covering you, sobering in contemplation. Simon waits for you to speak again.

"You really did that?" You eventually ask, voice quiet, not looking him in the eyes.

"Yes," he answers bluntly, and you look up, trying to get a read on him, but Simon gives you nothing, staring back with a blank look.

You break first, breathing out a slow, wheezy sigh. A yawn escapes you next as you sag onto your elevated pillows. "... Thank you, Simon. Not just for tonight, but also for last time. For being kind to him. Simon wouldn't shut up about you the whole time we were shopping."

He snorts. "Made quite the impression on him, did I?"

You give your own small noise of amusement. "Think it's because you share the same name."

"Like I told your lad before: it's a fine name, innit?"

You bark out a laugh, a few coughs slipping in here and there, but you nod your head. "It is. I wouldn't have named my son that if it wasn't."

A smug smirk stretches across his face, and you grin back, falling into a comfortable silence, staring at each other. The peace and quiet of the night settling in the air. A special kind of tranquility being shared between two people who are still practically strangers. It goes undisturbed until you yawn again, and Simon shifts, getting up to refresh your towel and grab water and the medicine your boy showed him where to find earlier.

He comes back and hands them to you. When you're finished taking the medicine, he offers, "I can leave right now if that would make you more comfortable, although I'd recommend you call someone to look after you if you don't think you need the hospital."

You take a slow slip of your water, keeping your face carefully blank. Thinking. Contemplating. Then, you place the water on your nightstand and shake your head. "No... um, stay. Please. I... you..."

You can't finish your sentence, breaking off with a tired exhale, but you don't need to. He understands.

"Sleep." Simon turns off the lamp and leans back into his chair, getting comfortable once more. "I'll watch over you tonight."

You say something back.

He almost misses it in the darkness of the room, but the words linger, permeating the air. He doesn't think the words are entirely for him. They almost sound like a secret. Like it was meant for someone else. Shared with him only because he happened to overhear.

It doesn't offend him. He wasn't the only one who helped you tonight.

Thank you, Simon.

[harbours-lighthouse]

here's pt. ii !

Jason caught it in the corner of his eye. Sitting in the parking lot beneath your apartment, was a gleaming Yamaha MT motorcycle. Spotless. Clean.

It's a naked model, he thinks, as he can see the engine clearly. It's black, with accented colours streaked along the sides.

Jason glances around the parking lot, eyes sweeping along the shadows and cement pillars. No one else is here. It's only him.

With muted curiosity, he ambles towards the bike with his hands shoved in his pockets. He knows you won't fuss too much if he's a minute behind his schedule (which was simply messaging you about three minutes ago, saying he's arrived at the complex).

Circling the bike, he takes it in. It's a nice model. Sleek. Expensive. He wonders who owns it, because it isn't the smartest idea to keep such a bike out in the open.

Especially in Gotham.

But as he looks down at the tires—that look brand new—he notices three locks wrapped around one of the suspensions. Huffing in amusement, he sees they're connected to the metal guard rail behind him that's been pushed up against the wall.

"Not bad," he mumbles beneath his breath. Steam puffs into the air.

It's cold, and the numbness of his nose makes it to the forefront of his mind again.

Sparing the bike one last lingering, appreciative glance, he crosses the parking lot with long strides, and slips into the elevator when the doors slide open.

When they open again, he's greeted with a long, carpeted hallway. The lights are dim. They flicker. He searches for the woodgrain door with the number 208 painted on the front.

Finding it and feeling his heart flutter in his chest at the thought of you, he knocks on the door. He waits, leaning on his left leg.

There's a muffled commotion inside, a faint 'ow' that makes him frown.

Then your voice calls out, "One sec, I'm coming—damn it!"

Jason's head dips with a hidden smile; he imagines you struggling with something. Maybe the cat got underneath your feet again. Or maybe you were hurrying to put something on, and couldn't get your head through the t-shirt—

The door swings open, and you stand inside the frame with an almost frazzled look about you.

Jason perks a brow. "Hi."

"Hey," you say breathlessly, smiling.

"You, uh...you okay?"

"....I got tangled in my blanket and tripped."

Well, at least you're honest. Jason shakes his head with a soft grin. He steps into your apartment and curls his arm around your shoulders, guiding you with him.

"How you’re not dead with the things you manage to do is beyond me," he murmurs close to your ear.

You groan quietly, "I'm not that bad."

"Babe—"

"I've seen how Tim is. Now he's the definition of clumsy."

"Fair point."

You slip out of Jason's hold, not without kissing his cheek, and move to the kitchen.

Jason, feeling at ease, drops himself on the couch. The TV is still on, frozen on a scene in a movie. It's your favourite movie. Or 'comfort movie', as you've said before.

He hears the clink of glasses in the kitchen. The shuffle of your footsteps.

"How was patrol last night by the way?" you call out to him. "I know you weren't able to drop by 'cause you had to go back to the Manor this time."

Jason runs a rough hand down his face. "Yeah, it was fine. Tiresome, but fine."

He doesn't want to really talk about it. Not here in your warm apartment. Not with you and the normality you give him.

Outside, the traffic hums. He hears the roar of an engine—he remembers the bike.

"Hey, babe?"

"Hm?"

"Who owns that Yamaha bike in the parking lot?"

You come around the corner, holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Your eyes lock with his.

"Oh. It's mine."

"What?"

© harbours-lighthouse 2025