#SHUT UP its midnight and i hate both of them

[lazaruspiss]

still working on typing out the arkham knight stories. its weird, seeing so much mention and description about how the jokers death changed him (the one im working on now, "Faithful Servant" in particular seems to imply a developing eating disorder) and yet not much mention of jason. i assume thats because he has been gone for a while at that point, given that tim was already robin as far back as arkham city, but theres still something gnawing at me about it. maybe its something like, the writers are telling me jason is right, bruce really doesnt care about him, but that feels like too simplistic of an interpretation. jason/robin dying is an occupational hazard. acceptable not because it is good or right but because it's a simply a reasonable possibility. joker dying is unthinkable. it forces bruce to reevaluate himself (or moreso how he does his work) which has never come naturally to him. maybe the joker was his better half. maybe he made up such a significant part of bruces own sense of self that he doesnt know how to deal with the sudden change. maybe its not about the joker at all. maybe the joker is just the catalyst from which hes forced to truly address what hes been doing all this for. joker as a representation of everything bruce has staked himself on. not antithetical to his personal philosophy, but a corrupted branch of it. the whole "we have a lot in common" shtick weaved into a macabre show of mutual insanity.

... me @ me im not proofreading all that, congrats or sorry that happened ig

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

Every time someone talks about Midnighter or Apollo or their relationship and ONLY talks about them "being a superbat pastiche" i kill a hostage.

[leafyln4]

"Can you keep a secret? I hope not."

warnings: sub!reader, dom!lando, switch!oscar, threesome, p n v, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, silly), blowjob, lando x oscar, lots of lando x oscar, reader gets fucked silly, carlos's mentions, dirty talking, degradation, praises, the smut is actually really short lol. angst if you squint. tell me if i forgot to add anything.

author's note: this is part of an au i'm working in. reader is way too dumb and naive for her own good. also, my first time writing a threesome and its not proofread... hope you guys enjoy!

Lando was bored out of his mind. He didn't feel in the mood to go club hopping, he didn't feel like playing videogames and he wasn't in the mood to get his creative thoughts out of his head. But he was bored. And a bored Lando is a rather dangerous Lando.

His phone was thrown across the room, his right arm wrapped around the sleeping girl besides him. He let out a deep sigh, looking down at her. She was sweet, cute, an easy fuck, but she wasn't his. No. Everyone knew who her owner was.

And that pissed Lando off so damn much. Fucking Carlos Sainz. It was almost ironic how a guy he hated so much got his hands in the only person that Lando ever really cared about. Well, besides him, of course. Ha. How ironic.

She was so pretty. An angel, even. Her naive, yet innocent, behaviors, how she worshipped the ground he walked. God, he didn't deserve her. But neither did Carlos.

Lando didn't really know why he hated Carlos so much. Maybe it was the fact he had it easier than him, maybe not. But one thing was for sure: he wanted Carlos's girl all for himself. Okay. Maybe he could share with a guy or two. At the same time, mind you.

He kept caressing your hair with his left hand, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. He didn't want to wake you up, but something inside of him was stirring, bubbling up. He felt like he wanted to explode. Or explode someone. He didn't care.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his mind. Carlos really made sure to tell everyone how you were his, right? What if he proved you weren't? So, while you were still fast asleep, he texted Oscar, his dearest friend, the one who understood all too well what Lando was feeling.

mate, you up?

lando, it's way past midnight???

i have a crazy idea lol

what if we shut carlos up?

i'm hearing.

come to my place and i'll tell you everything

He felt like he was going crazy with the wait. Oscar was taking soooo damn long to get to his house, he was afraid of you waking up with his absence on the bed. He was louging on the couch, almost biting his nails off in that anxious habit of his.

The bell ringing was a reassurance, really. He was by the door in seconds, opening it so the aussie could enter his apartment. They both sit on the couch, silence hanging heavy on the living room as Lando pondered how to word his idea.

"She's here?" Oscar's voice was low, almost as if he was considering his words before he said them. He knew Lando was a dangerous path, one he fell for too many times to count. "Or is she with him?"

"Fast asleep. My bed. Wouldn't allow her to go straight to him after a day with me." It was a matter of dignity. Lando would probably die if you spent so long with him but ran to Carlos as soon as you could.

The baker shakes his head, not fully grasping what Lando's wonderful idea was. Not that he said it was wonderful, but it was in the air. Lando was arrogant, of course everything he did was the most wonderful thing in the world... To him.

The DJ seems to feel Oscar's confusion, opening and closing his mouth for a few times before talking, his voice low yet charged with something similar to determination, "Carlos should learn a lesson. She is not his property. I'm done with this shit."

"Oh, yeah? And what are you planning to do? Go fist to fist with one of the most influential guys on the world? Lando, this is a terrible idea and--"

But Lando cuts him off, that devilish grin on his face.

"Not fist to fist. No. I won't even touch him." He paused, waiting for Oscar's reaction. Noticing the younger still seemed rather confused, his grin widened. "Her. She's already fucking wipped. Gonna fuck him out of her mind. And you are going to help me, Osc, won't you?"

Lando's voice was low, seductive, manipulative. He knew the effect he had on Oscar, he knew how to make the younger baker do whatever he asked of him. It was endearing and so fucking hot, in a twisted way. Lando loved how easily he was able to break and fold Oscar.

"I don't know, Lan... It's-- It's Carlos, he could try to take my bakery off of me if he found out I helped." Oscar was clearly hesitating, his whole body tensed up. His bakery was his most important thing and Lando knew that. He would never allow anyone to take Oscar's bakery out of him, for sure.

The brit's left hand rests on the aussie's right thigh, his thumb running up and down the so familiar place. Oscar shivered, Lando smirked. He didn't care if it was risky for Oscar this time, though. He wouldn't allow Carlos to take his bakery out of him.

He wanted Oscar to know that.

Lando leans closer to Oscar's ear, whispering softly. "No one has to know. We're going to fuck her, like many times before. I will fucking mark her up, claim that pussy mine and she will go to Carlos's with our marks all over her. Imagine his face, hm? Don't you want to make him shut his mouth, too?"

At this point, Oscar was too far gone to even refuse anything. So he agreed to the plan, making Lando smirk as he knelt down in front of him, wanting to make sure Oscar knew how proud Lando was of him.

You wake up earlier than you should, stirring into the bed, heavy eyelids opening slowly. The other side of the bed, where Lando should've been, was cold, making a small whine leave your lips. You were rather clingy after waking up, so the fact Lando wasn't there was really bothering you.

So you get up on your feet, knowing it would be useless to just stay in bed and sulk. Not even bothering to put on your slippers or checking the time, you head straight for the living room. You didn't expect to see Oscar there, your half-asleep state immediately dropping on Lando's lap.

Good, Lando thought, he didn't even have to do anything go get you exactly where he wanted. His arms wrap around your frame, his mouth planting small kisses along your cheek and then up to your ear. He whispers some sweet words, some compliments, but you're not awake enough to do that.

"Hm... Hello, pretty girl. Won't you talk to Osc? Thought I fucked that attitude out of you, hm?" Your sleepy state, eager to please Lando, turns t Oscar and mutters a really quick 'hi'. The aussie only giggles, used to the way you acted. He had his few experiences with you, too, after all.

Carlos's personal slut being passed around through everyone they knew, kind of ironic. Especially considering how possessive Carlos was of you. But you just couldn't help. They were all so attractive. It was not your fault your poor cunt got wet only by seeing them.

You couldn't help but let them taste you. Not when so many of them said it was good for your health! Not when so many of them were so nice to you! Especially Lando and Oscar. And Carlos, of course. But there was something special about the first two. You just couldn't tell what.

Lando tsks, clicking his tongue as he shifts you around in his lap. His hands mess with the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Oh, how much of a slut you were, wearing those slutty little shorts and the tiniest tops to sleep.

Oscar was very obviously staring at your ass, hypnotized by how tight the shorts were. He could already feel his cock getting hard at the thought of you rubbing against him, desperately grinding on him. He could never degrade you like Lando, but he couldn't disagree on how desperate you were.

Always begging, always pleading. So, so sweet for them. He was so hard, it was almost painful. Lando wasn't that different. The thought of claiming you over Carlos's was hotter than it should be. So he slowly starts to tease you, not letting you fall asleep yet.

You can feel your whole body shiver, his touches getting closer and closer to your pussy. When his hands finally get into your shorts, under your panties, you're already breathless and so wet. Lando groans, it never failed to amuse him how wet you always got at the smallest touches. Such a good girl.

He signals for Oscar to come closer, the two of them sandwiching you on the couch. Lando's left hand was on your chin, making you look him in the eye, while his right one messed with your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. Oscar was holding your waist with both hands, trailing kisses up your neck.

He makes eye contact with Lando, silently communicating with the brit. Then, he sucks a deep purple mark right on your neck, in a place anyone could see.

Your mind was dizzy, your body fully awake and burning up. Little gasps and moans leaving your lips, Lando's eyes admiring how much of a good girl you were for him. You felt like you were going to explode.

One of his fingers enter your tight cunt, a groan leaving his mouth as he feels just how tight you are. You shift around in his lap, wanting more, needing more. He pumps that finger in and out before adding a second and a third one at the same time. He knew you could take it, you were his good girl. His.

Meanwhile, Oscar kept marking you up, your top now long forgotten at a random corner of the living room. You feel Lando's fingers leaving your cunt, just so he could take your bottoms off and turn you around, making you face Oscar.

The younger man settles between your thighs, assaulting your breasts like it's his last meal. Lando's fingers go back to your sweet cunt, making you throw your head back in pleasure.

"You like this, don't you? Getting used by the two of us like the slut you are. So pretty. So ours. Who you belong to, hm?" He wanted to hear you say this. He needed this like he needed air to breathe.

"You! Ah, you! Lan--" His fingers keep pumping in and out, his other hand toying with your clit. You could feel your orgasm building up, your tight walls clenching around his fingers. Oscar's hands hold your waist, to make you stop squirming around.

Soon enough, you cum all over Lando's fingers, a loud moan leaving your lips of both of their names. Oh, but they weren't done with you at all.

Lando makes you stay on all fours on the couch, taking off his pants and boxers in a swift motion. He positions himself with your entrance, Oscar mimicking his actions and positioning himself in front of your pretty lips. "Such a dumb girl, already fucked out of her mind. Gonna use you like the whore you are."

Lando was mean, his words making you blush. But it didn't bother you at all, it only made you clench around nothing. In one move, he thrusts his cock into you, a groan leaving his lips and a loud moan leaving yours. Oscar takes advantage of this and, gently, inserts his cock in your mouth.

You felt on Heaven. Your mind too fucked out to even think about the scene, to even think about anyone other than the two of them. Lando's thrusts are hard, rough, fast, making you gag around Oscar's cock at each of them.

The younger was gasping, his eyes filled with small tears of pleasure, just like yours, as Lando talked you both through this. His two pretty sluts. You cum for a second time, your liquids gushing down the couch.

This only fuels the fire in Lando, making him fuck you even harder. You were sobbing on Oscar, the sight of you so pretty like that making him come down your throat, a whine leaving his own.

But Lando doesn't stop. Not until he has you trembling. He holds your body up, one of his hands on your waist while the other fidgeted with your nipples. He wanted you to cum again. "Come on, baby, I know you can. Just one more."

Oscar, still hard, jerks himself off by the sight of you two. His hand pumps his cock up and down, his eyes never leaving the sinful view in front of him.

Finally, you come for the third time, triggering Lando's own release. He cums deep inside of you, Oscar cumming on your stomach and couch. You were all breathless.

Lando makes you lay down, admiring your body. You were all marked up. Hickeys, hand prints, everything. So fucking hot. So fucking his. His. His. His. His. His. His girl. Well, his and Oscar's, that is.

They clean you up, Oscar taking his sweet time to soothe your shaking body before dressing you. Lando took pictures of you, knowing his memory wouldn't do this justice.

You didn't have a clue of how many hickeys and marks there were on your body. And Lando would make sure that it stayed like that. He wanted Carlos to see. Carlos wouldn't see if you covered it with makeup.

But it didn't matter, you soon went back to sleep. Oscar was also fast asleep, both of you naked, even though he didn't see when Oscar undressed.

So he decided he should sleep, too. And sleep he did, cuddling you and Oscar.

The next morning comes fast, both boys with waking up before you. You tried to stand on your feet, but your legs were obbly and your body was sore. But you do your best, nonetheless! And manage to stand up and walk to the kitchen, your mouth feeling dry.

A pair of hands hugs your waist, Lando's head resting on your shoulder. "Good morning, baby. Slept well?" He murmurs against your ear, pressing his hardness against your ass. God, that would be the death of you!!

"Lan... Please..." So needy. Just woke up and was already begging for him. So he sat you up on the counter and spread your legs. You were already naked, so it was really easy to slide into your cunt.

He fucks you slow, deep. Each thrust gaining a moan from you. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands stay on his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. It just felt so good, poor you. Clueless about his real intentions.

"So tight f'me. Fuck, baby... D'you want me to cum inside, hm? Make you full with my cum? You're just a cumdump, aren't you? Good girl, yeah."

You couldn't form a coherent sentence, your pussy clenching around his cock. You were milking him, coming around his cock as soon as he came inside of you. Your eyes roll, your head thrown back as he still kept moving, overstimulatating the both of you.

He comes inside of you a second time, wanting to make sure you took all in. Maybe if he fucked his baby into you, you wouldn't leave him for Carlos, right? Poor Lando.

After you're done, he helps you down, a mixture of his cum with your own juices dripping down your thighs. And you wore it like a fucking slut, you didn't care about it. Such a dumb girl, that must be why you let everyone into your pussy. Dirty girl.

Oscar comes into the kitchen not long after, murmuring you a soft "morning" before planting a small kiss on your cheek. He ignores Lando's cum dripping down your thighs.

When you go back to Carlos', saying the older called you for "important matters", Lando has the biggest smile on his face.

He would love to see Carlos face after he saw you.

[jadastarkey]

Nice!

taylor swift x fem!eras dancer!reader

warnings: none? lil smooch?

genre: fluff

sypnosis: dancer!reader and taylor are secretly dating but before the show, you agreed that you'd surprise her to make it public.

~°•☆•°~

the whole show was filled with tension between you and Taylor. she was so on edge because of the promise. the promise that you'd make it public. the promise you'd both be out.

she was messing up when you got close. lyrics were getting mumbled, and she'd zone out, lost in your face, or sing the wrong part.

the whole time you were internally laughing your ass off, seeing her so spaced from the thought of you.

it was in the midnights era when it finally happened. during bejeweled, you asked kam if you could do his little dance solo, and being the absolute g he is, he obviously said yes and agreed to keep it a secret from taylor.

"I polish up real, I polish up real nice!" taylor sung, looking at kam so he could step forward. the shock on her face when you stepped forward was humorous.

you took her micless hand and twirled her around before bringing her into your body and holding one of her legs up. she let out a squeak of surprise before you brought your lips down to hers and caught her in a kiss.

she smiled into it, and her cue to sing again passed by many beats before you disconnected, smiling at each other.

it felt like it was just the two of you, in your own euphoric world of bliss.

you let go of her and continued to dance. your eyes didn't leave her, but neither did hers, so it was fine.

the audience went absolutely crazy. they thought she was with travis? they thought she was straight? no. she was with you. she was in a pr relationship with travis to be with you and it was clear the contract was over now.

the song choice was quite ironic too.

~°•☆•°~

After the show had finished, you knocked on the door of her dressing room "tay?" you called out, beginning to knock again but the second your hand was even close to the door she opened it, making you step back, almost hitting her

"come in" she smiled, grabbing your hand and pulling you in

you closed the door behind you and sat on the couch, gently yanking her down to sit with you "surprised?"

"yeah I was actually. but I was expecting it because it took you so long to do it" she said while you rolled your eyes

"welllllll I know you were still surprised. you should've seen your face"

"I'm sure I will tomorrow" she said more seriously. she knew coming out would come with backlash. she had to keep karlie a secret too.

you could feel the regret seeping out of her. you cupped her face and pulled hit closer "taylor, look at me" you said softly

she bit her gums and looked into your eyes.

"dont overthink. there's nothing we can do about hate because, shit I know you hate me quoting you but the haters are gonna hate. you can't stop them.. its just what they do. you'd get backlash for breathing the wrong way so don't stress it. you've advocated for gay rights and pride multiple times before. if that wasn't hint enough I think this is. I know I'm not big like travis but I can still protect you like he does." as you spoke, she let out the smallest of smiles but it was clear as day to you "I love you, and no jealous troll will ever make me think any differently. you're mine, forever And always"

"I love you too" she whispered and sunk into the quiet "but please stop quoting me. I swear it's my 13th reason why"

"isn't 13 your lucky number though?" you smirked as she hit your arm

"shut up, you actual moron"

soon, the room was filled with laughter and any regret or guilt had diminished. it was just what you did.

~°•☆•°~

a/n: first little les thing on here how we feeling, guys?

two posts in one day, you're being spoiled

uhhh not proofread

[ghostgirl-22]

art fucking/getting fucked by a random dude and patrick finds out and gets jealous so he also sleeps with the dude as revenge or smth. they both pretend the dude is the other one.

hope you get what i’m trying to say :3

Yes i get it—im with you anon!! They’re so silly. Using this poor guy as a proxy for each other. This is a little bit of a post break up au for you anonnie— hehe.

CW: NSFW MDNI

___

Patrick shows up because of course he does. 

He wouldn’t answer a 3 am call for his own siblings but for Art Donaldson apparently he’d still do anything. He rolls down the window to wake himself up but also some part of him hopes the crisp air of the early spring night will bring him to his senses. That he’ll make a u-turn and go back to his apartment and pretend none of this happened. It’s not his fucking problem anymore. He scrolls his phone at the red light. Texts starting around midnight and getting more and more incoherent. Starting with: 

Hey you're in Boston right? I’m in town for this wedding thing— my cousins wedding. 

My aunt was asking about you. 

Remember that bar O’malleys we snuck into when we were 19? I’m here if you wanna stop by.

He’d stared at the messages mildly confused. Unsure of how to feel. All of it so out of the blue. Part of him would believe Art’s phone was stolen if he hadn’t mentioned O’Malley’s. The memories of that place clear as if it was yesterday sneaking in when Art’s cousin worked on shift. Summer nights with live music, dancing with hot 21 year olds, and way too much to drink. The thought of it making him nostalgic. Nostalgia laced with bitterness. After years of no contact then it’s just… hey I’m in your city at a family wedding you weren’t invited to want to get drunk?  

He ignores the texts. And every text that follows but as a true masochist he stays up late to watch them come in. Each one drunker and more desperate than the last. They stop around two in the morning and distantly Patrick wonders if he should be worried.  He had to shake himself out of that mindset. Art is a big boy. Art is and adult. Art didn’t choose you. No one did. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep when his phone started buzzing non stop. A call. He almost didn’t pick up, but part of him was so surprised that Art actually had the balls to call him. 

“It’s three in the fucking morning,” he says coolly. 

“Please, Patrick please ‘m at this bar. ‘m really drunk. ‘m sorry to bother you. I just can’t—I can’t— i cant drive— i think I’m gonna be sick.”

Patrick doesn’t realize he’s grinding his teeth until he opens his mouth to take a breath. He can tell that Art’s probably been crying  just from the way he’s breathing. “Stay there. I’ll come get you.”   

He still hates himself as he pulls up to O’Malleys. This Irish pub not far from his sometimes girlfriends place. He and Art had taken the train here plenty of times all those summers they’d spent roaming around downtown Boston when Art would come stay with his Aunt and Patrick would come down from his parents estate on Martha’s Vineyard and stay with him in the city. It feels like it was a different life now. One he can’t believe was his.

The bar is clearly closed, though some patrons are still lingering. Art’s on the outdoor patio furniture talking to some guy. Tall, lanky, bent over… he’s rubbing circles along Art’s back as he takes a sip of whatever clear liquid is in the glass. If he’s smart… its water. 

Patrick actually realizes he’s grinding his teeth this time. “Hey!” He calls out the window. 

Art recognizes his voice but he’s not the only one that looks over to Patrick. Tall and lanky and (somewhat handsome apparently) is staring too, along with a couple of older women sitting on a planter having a cigarette. 

Art makes his apologies to tall and lanky and stumbles towards Patrick’s car. He’s sloppy, messy drunk. Clothes all wrinkled. Hair disheveled. His jacket open, fly half zipped. He gets in and shuts the door weakly behind him. Patrick leans over him and pulls it shut properly before peeling off without a word. 

“‘m sorry,” Art says. “‘m sorry Patrick.” He says again when Patrick doesn’t respond.  And Patrick gets the sense he’s apologizing for more than just tonight. “Thank you for coming. ‘m sorry. ‘Mm so embarassed.” 

“what street does she live off of again?” Patrick asks about his aunt. 

“Please i— i can’t go there. Not like this.”  

Patrick huffs a laugh, incredulous. “well where the fuck do you want me to take you?” 

Art starts to take little shaky breaths like he’s gonna cry. Patrick hates himself. Hates that those sniffles still make him care. Make him feel responsible. “I did something bad. I— i did something really bad.” 

“What did you do, Art? Kill someone?” Patrick mutters dryly.  

“No,” he exclaims quickly. “I uh… well… i had sex.” 

Patrick grips the steering wheel tighter. “Who fucking cares? You’re a grown up. You’ve had sex before.”

“No… i mean…” he sniffles. “Not… it was sex with… I can’t face her like this… my aunt…s-she wouldn’t understand. God.” He pulls a few condoms from his pocket and drops them into Patricks empty cup holder. “This was a mistake.”

“You think she’s gonna smell it on you and kick you out?”  Patrick glances at Art and he looks miserable. Patrick feels a small twist of sadistic satisfaction somewhere deep down. Maybe he’s not the only one struggling. Then he remembers the way Arts career is taking off and his impotent frustration with him returns even stronger.

“It’s…you know how my aunt is. Really religious. And i let the bartender… i let him fuck me. I let him… god just a fucking stranger he was so nice and funny and his accent was cute and i was really drunk so… i let him…” he’s wiping his nose on his wrists. Eyes all wet. 

“Oh.” Patrick feels this tight bitter lump growing in his throat. His heart rate picking up. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Doesn’t really trust himself to say anything that isn’t gonna come out bitter and desperate. 

His mind returning to the moment he’d pulled up in front of the bar. Art on the patio furniture. The tall lanky somewhat handsome guy massaging his back. Feeding him water. Taking care of him. That stupid guy. That fucking random stranger. Taking it just like that. After years and years of… of what…

Is Patrick admitting it? Admitting it even to himself what he desires. It makes him feel weak. Makes him hate himself even more. Art can push him out. Push him away. Take Tashi’s side. So easy and so cold. Knowing how much Patrick loved liked her. Knowing how much Patrick loved him. No words. No apologies. Just this out of the fucking blue. And now he’s fucked some guy. Giving a stranger what should have been Patrick’s. Giving him what Patrick fucking deserves especially after all Art has put him through.

“I’m so fucking embarrassing. I know its… I’m not even into guys I just. I’m so… i don’t know why i did it… ” Art sniffles quietly. “Can you stop, please? I think I’m really gonna be sick.”

Patrick pulls over on the side of the road. Watching Art bend over a public trash can. He should be glad Arts having this reaction to it but his own stomach is twisting into knots. His chest aches and the lump in his throat is so large it's difficult to swallow.

All those touches between them that lingered too long… all the times Art would self consciously push Patrick away whenever other people were around. The lie he told Tashi.  “No, no, nothing… is that surprising?” 

And Patrick let him lie. Even backed him up. Because sharing clothes, crawling into the same bed, sleeping tangled up with each other, wet dreams. Touching themselves in the same bed, sitting too close together, hearts racing when they finish, filling the awkward space with heightened giggles. Dumb secrets. It was all just nothing.

And yet even now, Patrick knows he’s gonna cave. That he’ll bring Art back to his shitty one bedroom. Let him sleep it off.

“I don’t know why i did it…” is all Art can say. Head resting on the car window, street lights flash across his body, illuminating his tear streaked face as they drive home. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Patrick is burning up inside. More than usual. Teeth grinding in a way that kinda hurts. This hurts but he’s not going to admit that. “Was it the guy giving you water?”

Art sniffles. “Um… yeah. Justin um… Fuck.” He laughs but theres no mirth in it. “I don’t even know his last name.”   

Patrick bites his tongue to stop himself from saying what he wants to say. Things that will make Art hurt as much as him. Maybe more. “So you dont like guys… but you like Justin no last name?” Patrick says quietly. He hopes he sounds as even and uncaring to Art as he’s trying to be.

”I know you don’t believe me.” He lifts his head and rolls the window down. “It was a mistake. I’ve never— I swear I’ve never done that before. I had too much to drink.” 

They get home and Patrick lets him upstairs. The place is bland, undecorated. Patrick’s barely affording the $900 a month as is. His furniture all comes from ikea or its makeshift. Art doesn’t ask any questions, he just uses the bathroom and plops down on Patrick’s sofa. Thankfully before Patrick says anything because Patrick is pathetic enough he probably would have let him have the bed. 

“I can be out of your hair in the morning,” He promises when Patrick comes back with a flimsy blanket. He curls up and Patrick hears him snoring not too long later. Patrick’s in his bedroom looking at the blank wall. at the blinking red dots in the center of his digital clock radio. Almost 5 in the morning. He can’t stop thinking about it. 

I let him fuck me. I let him fuck me.

Patrick can see the guys face so clearly in his head and he’s furious. He’s been to O’malleys enough times. He’s been served by Justin. Never bothered to learn his fucking name. 

He eases his hand into his sweats. He’s so hard it’s embarrassing. He jerks himself off. Cursing Justin. Cursing Art. Cursing the idea of them pressed up against each other in a messy bar bathroom. Justin fucking into him— his dumb voice getting pitchy. Maybe he’s whining asking Justin to take it slow cause he’s never had sex with a man before. Patrick would’ve taken it slow. Patrick would’ve kissed his throat, nibbled hickies so everyone at the wedding would know what Art did last night. So he’d have to tell his aunt some kinda lie. Patrick squeezes a little tighter. So horny he doesn’t even have the patience to spit in his hand to help the chafing.

Maybe Justins big. Maybe he’s huge. Maybe he’s got a bigger fucking dick than Patrick does. Maybe he made Art moan for it. Act like a slut for it. Blue eyes rolling back because of how good it feels. Then all at once Patrick’s coming. Its been less than a minute and he’s breathless against his blanket. After all this fucking time.

Fuck this. Fuck him. 

Art does leave the next morning (closer to afternoon) as he promised. Makes it to the wedding on time.

*

Justin is working again tonight at O’Malleys. Hes a real friendly guy. Tall, handsome and flirtatious. Patrick’s been flirting with him for an hour now. Justin seems to like his company. Eyes lingering on his smile, his body.

“That one’s on the house,” he says, in his regrettably sexy Irish lilt.

“Oh thats nice of you, how will i ever repay the favor,” Patrick says, raising his shotglass with a smirk before swallowing it down.

Justin grins, “I can think of a few ways.” 

Patrick leans forward on the bar. “What times your break?”

*

The drinks are stronger than he anticipated. He feels it all when they’re in the small space of the backseat of Patrick’s jeep and he’s fumbling with a lubricated condom. 

He’s trying to be cool and sexy and just like the hottest fuck of this guys life. Wants to make himself forget all about Art but hes so buzzed he feels a little dizzy. 

“Those shots taste delicious, huh?” Justin teases. Patrick wonders if the accent is what made Art fall for him. Or is it his hair? (Full head of thick dark hair). Or his hands? he’s got big hands but Patrick thinks his are bigger. Maybe it was the kiss?  (It was… fine… he’s fine… but Patrick still doesn’t understand what makes him so fucking special). 

He manages to roll the condom on before he grabs at Justin's jeans and makes quick work of getting them down so he can see what he’s working with. Boxer briefs, like what Art started to wear shortly before he left for Stanford. 

Of course. Of course. 

Patrick can see Art in briefs just like this. 

Rolling in dizziness of the alcohol, his heart pounding in his ears Patrick bends him over. He’s imagining Art doing this. On his hands and knees in the backseat, sliding the briefs down. Imagining Art wiggling for him as he grabs him by the waist… slides his dick between the crevice of his ass cheeks. 

“Mm your so ready for me, aren't you?” Patrick sighs and there's a soft answering moan.

God. Art was just like this. Slutty waist bent in half. Perfect little ass. Presenting for him. For him. Patrick can’t wait another minute, he grabs him by the waist and presses himself inside. 

Oh. Oh god.

It’s so tight.

So virgin fucking tight, the heated ring of muscles practically choking his dick. “Fuck yes, oh so tight for me Art. I can barely fit… fuck.” He hums. “Gonna open you up… make it easier to take. I promise.”

“Mm it’s cause I don’t usually bottom… but you’re so hot I couldn’t resist… should’ve known you’d be massive.” The voice shocks Patrick back to reality. He’s not Art. But Art did this. Art bent over like this. His Art. Just like this.

Patrick takes his time rocking into him. Heartbeat in his ears, sliding in and out. His body starts to relax… accommodating the size. The whole time Patrick’s brain keeps imagining that Art felt this tight. That Art moaned just like this. That Art began to push back as he got used to it… just like this and before long Patrick isn’t sure what’s in his head and what’s real… but he knows the word mine keeps slipping from his mouth. Distantly Patrick is aware but he can’t stop. Can’t slow down. Art beneath him. Art whining and moaning like a…

“That’s right… take it you fucking slut.” Patrick hisses. “On top of everything else who knew you were a slut? Taking anything, anyone. Fuck you. You don’t even fucking deserve this.” He’s grunting, the pace of his hips rapid as he chases his own pleasure. Fingers gripping tight enough to bruise. The car rocking gently with the force of it.  Patrick feels it… slowly building and then its all of a sudden. “Oh shit,” he grabs hold of Art’s cock and starts to jerk him. “Fuck… oh fuck, Art… I’m gonna—“  He cuts himself off with a loud groan, filling the condom up. He keeps jerking him off… a few more rough strokes and he’s shocked back into reality again when Justin grunts out his own orgasm and Patrick sits back feeling dizzy and mildly unsettled. 

”Fuck,” Justin gasps. As they both breathlessly try to put themselves back together. “You can’t possibly be the Patrick.” 

“What’s that mean?” Patrick squints, tying off the condom and shoving it into an old grocery bag that’s become his makeshift trash bag. 

“Last night I met this guy, a blond, who claimed he was waiting on his friend, Patrick. Except he never showed up… and I felt a little bad cause he seemed lonely.” (Patrick almost feels bad for that… almost). Justin wiggles his hips, lifting his jeans up over his ass. “I thought he was really cute… so I might have made a few too many mixed drinks for him, on the house. I thought I was cheering him up… getting him to smile. Long story short we ended up going outside for a cigarette and that turned into sex up against the wall of the alleyway, with one of these that I’d grabbed from the bowl behind the till…” he picks up the condom wrapper and tosses it into the makeshift trash bag.  “and the whole time he’s calling me Patrick. Telling me how much he thought about me. How sorry he is. How bad he wanted me to fuck him. How much he just needed to feel it.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. 

“So I just go with it… I’m thinking who fucking cares… let the poor cute guy call me by his exes name. But then the next night here you come…  calling me by one of the most unique names I’ve ever heard and it just so happens to be… last nights boy toys name. Art. He’s a tennis player, ring a bell?”

Patrick can’t help smirking. “What else did he say about me?”

”Well afterwards he broke down in tears and I was trying to calm him down and… did you… it was you… last night in the car.”

“I did pick him up.” Patrick admits.

“Oh fuck, I’m… did he tell you about me?”

Patrick shrugs and Justin grins. “He told you and you came to find me. Well don’t I feel fuckin special.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Patrick says, lightly. 

“No I’m sure it has nothing to do with me… but do you need a third? Cause, holy fuck I’ll be honest, after being dicked down like that by an ex… I’d sit in a bar by myself and get drunk enough to cry too.” 

That actually makes Patrick laugh. 

Justin leaves shortly after to finish his shift. “I wouldn’t drive tonight if I were you, maybe call your ex,” he smirks before getting out and leaving Patrick alone.  

It’s perfect actually. Patrick texts Art, time for you to return the favor.

*

It’s after Art’s snuck him into his aunts house at 1 in the morning that Patrick explains himself (“By the way I fucked that bar tender… the one you let fuck you last night. he told me all about what you really wanted.”) And Art, who’s gone all cherry red and incredulous, doesn’t protest for very long after Patrick gets his mouth on him. And in the familiar room they shared during high school summers, with Art’s religious aunt just a few bedrooms away, they’re all over each other in the race to each make the other forget all about Justin.

[luvseisagi]

— strawberries and cigarettes.

ft. itoshi rin x reader wc. 2.7k

summary. rin doesn't like parties, but he likes challenges —and when you show up with a cigarette in your mouth and a smirk on your lips, he knows he can't back down. content. fem!reader, slow burn, suggestive (like. they make out. idk) reader is very flirty, rin is an introvert. a loooot of sarcasm and tension i guess. they both smoke !!! also mentions of throwing up (at a party). rin is ooc bc he would never smoke and hes way too playful. author's note. its called like this but it has nothing to do with troye sivans song. actually, ive been listening only to chase atlantic while writing this. its been a while since i write something suggestive and its my first in english so i hope its fine, enjooy :)

rin doesn’t want to be here.

the lights are too bright, the music too loud, and he hates having sweaty, drunk bodies brushing up against him while he tries to sip his soda quietly in the corner of shidou’s enormous living room. his friends —if he’s still calling them that after they abandoned him to his fate— are somewhere in the crowd. or in the garden. or in the pool. or maybe tangled up with someone in a bedroom upstairs.

the last time he saw isagi, he was drunk off his ass, rambling about metavision in front of a crowd that watched him like it was a ted talk. his face was flushed red from the alcohol, his words slurring, and rin was pretty sure everyone was only pretending to care just to have an excuse to end up in a bedroom with him.

bachira, on the other hand, had vanished the second they walked through the front door. after greeting shidou —then like fifteen people in a row—, he dove straightly into the pool. rin hasn’t seen him since. nor has he asked.

there are other familiar faces floating around. he spotted karasu and yukimiya in the kitchen, mixing drinks like they were concocting a new chemical formula. otoya’s teaching some girl how to play pool, hands all over her under the excuse of helping. reo and chigiri are probably gossiping out in the garden, cocktails in hand.

rin could try to find someone to talk to. start a conversation. make new friends, be normal. socialize. pretend he’s having fun at a party.

but he really, truly doesn’t want to be here.

so he leaves.

he finds the front door easily—no surprise, considering he never wandered more than five steps from it during the hour and a half he spent trying and failing to enjoy himself. he only ventured as far as the fridge to grab a coke, then retreated to a corner with his phone like it was a shield.

the soft spring breeze hits his face as he steps outside, and he exhales, relieved. one more minute in that hellhole and he would’ve thrown himself into the pool and never come up.

he leaves the empty can on the windowsill beside the door, shoves his hands in his pockets, and fixes his hair. then he lingers on the porch, eyes drifting to the houses across the street. it’s quiet, way past midnight, so there’s no one around. the only sound is the muffled thump of the party music, like a ghost haunting the silence.

he sighs again. 

he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. but his ego—his massive, infuriating ego—dragged him here after shidou’s jab a few days ago. 

“hey, guys, throwing a party this friday.” shidou had announced to his group of friends.

rin scoffed. “always throwing parties, never focusing on practice.” 

“shut up, rin. learn to have fun and be a normal fucking teenager for once, then you can scold me, yeah?”

it hadn’t been even that serious, but his so-called friends had agreed with shidou —“yeah, a little fun wouldn’t kill you.” “he’s right, rin, why don’t you come and relax?” 

so he took it like a challenge, and he went to shidou’s on friday to prove he could have fun. that he did know how to enjoy a party.

that delusion lasted an hour and a half.

he can’t keep lying to himself. this isn’t his scene —full of drunk people, weird smells and undrinkable drinks. the music’s so loud he can’t hear the voices, the laughter’s so loud he can’t hear the music. 

rin tosses his jacket over his shoulders and lazily stretches his joints. he’s not going to pretend he's enjoying this when he’d rather be home.

he takes a step toward the stairs when the front door swings open again, and a body barrels out, nearly crashing into him—he catches it just in time, instincts quick as ever.

“what the fuck? watch where you’re going.”

“uh, sorry. someone threw up inside, and i took that as my cue to go.”

rin grimaces. good call, he’s thankful he left a few minutes before the incident.

“whatever.” he mutters. “try not to barrel into people next time.”

you push off his chest and straighten up, brushing yourself off with a bright smile. you tilt your head slightly to the side, grinning. shameless.

“yeah, yeah. i will, uh …?”

but rin doesn’t answer. it’s like someone punched the air out of his lungs —you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen.

“let’s try that again.” you smirk, clearly aware of your effect on people. “my name’s yn. and you are?”

rin blinks. once. twice. then he realizes you’re waiting for his name.

“oh. rin.”

“rin…?”

“just rin.”

your smile deepens. he’s stupidly handsome, and you hadn’t expected anyone to be out here when you sprinted away from the chaos.

“right. just rin.” your lips curve, his name leaving an aftertaste of alcohol and challenge in your tongue. “i’ll make sure to watch my step the next time i gracefully fall into your arms.”

he snaps out of it slightly, raising an eyebrow. then he lowers his head to look you in the eyes.

“the point is, you won’t fall into my arms again,” he deadpans. “and that wasn’t graceful. You almost flattened me.”

you chuckle.

“sure. whatever.”

and rin assumes that’s it, that you’ll turn around and head back inside. but instead, you stay put —after digging in your purse, you pull out a small red box and flip it open.

you take a cigarette and place it in between your lips. rin watches the motion a little too closely.

he’s not being subtle.

“want one?” you offer, cig bobbing slightly with your smirk.

rin doesn’t smoke. he knows its bad for his health —really bad, specially for an athlete. he knows he should say no. 

but you’re looking at him like eve tempting adam, head slightly tilted to a side, lips full and reddish around the tip of the cig, brows raised. he doesn’t know if you’re asking or demanding, but your gaze looks defiant and your smile smug.

and rin can never back down from a challenge.

so he takes one.

“got a lighter?” you ask.

he shakes his head. 

“that’s a shame.” you pull out a silver lighter covered in glittery stars. “you’d look so hot lighting a cigarette.”

he has no response for that. honestly, he might’ve short-circuited —especially when you light your own, then lean in to light his, too.

your hand cups the flame near his face, the other shielding the cig between his lips. his gaze is fixed in your eyes, focused on the action. the breeze tangles in his hair and pushes it back.

the cold teal of his pupils seems to condense the air around you as it collides with the hot smoke coming out of your mouth. you hold his gaze.

“have you ever smoked before, rin?”

it sounds more like a taunt. 

“no." he frowns, pulls the cigarette away. "is it that obvious?”

“well, yeah.” you laugh gently. he exhales, awkward. “wait, let me show you.”

you don’t grab the cigarette, as he expects you to. instead, you take his arm and pull him to the stairs. you sit down first, and pat the spot next to you.

he obeys without hesitation.

sitting side by side on shidou’s porch steps, your bodies are close —maybe even too close. when you turn to begin with your explanation, your nose nearly brushes his.

“put it back between your lips.” you instruct. he does it without question. “yeah, just like that. good boy.”

you burst into laughter as his face turns violently red, and he immediately takes the cig out.

“god, you’re just like shidou.” he scowls. his frowning looks chronic. “shut up, you’re not that funny. stop laughing.”

but you can’t stop now.

“no, that part wasn’t funny. your face is, though.”

rin doesn’t say a single word more. actually, he looks like he’s about to get up and storm off, face flushed —he feels mortified—, but you grab his wrist before he can.

“sorry, sorry.” your voice softens, genuinely this time “come on, sit. i’ll teach you.”

his brain scream that this is a bad idea. he should just go, toss away the cig, and try to forget this night. but your voice sounds sincere, and when your thumb strokes the inside of his wrist gently, his skin tingles.

maybe it’s not a bad idea to stay a while more.

“fine.” he mutters, like you’re the one begging.

“okay, look. you want the tip like this, right at the edge of your lips. it won’t fall, promise.” 

a little bit unsure, he follows your indications —he tries, not quite right. 

you shake your head, laugh softly, and take the cigarette from his lips —then bring your hand to his face. you gently guide his chin —touch is firm, not forceful. you’re not pushing him, just holding, and waiting.

“here. like this.” you reposition it. tilt his head up. “now, breathe in. don’t let the smoke sit on your mouth, swallow it. then exhale.”

you pull away, then take a puff of your own cigarette to show him how it’s done. your eyes stay locked on his. expectant.

rin is not really sure about your indications, but he tries anyways. takes a big breath, then swallows as you said —and the smoke is so bitter and hot in his throat that it stings. 

he takes the cig out of his mouth before coughing hard.

“fuck.” he swears. “that tastes like shit.”

he expects you to laugh at him again, but you don’t, this time. you just take another puff from your own, then you shrug.

“i mean, it’s not easy the first time. it gets better with practice, you’ll be fine.”

he frowns, absentmindedly looking at the cig between his index and heart fingers.

“i don’t really want to get better." he says, like a confession. "i don’t want to smoke, at all.”

you turn your head to look at him.

“then why’d you take it?”

rin shrugs. he doesn’t really know how to admit he’s supposed to be trying to learn to have fun. more exactly, demonstrate he already knows how to have fun —but there are no excuses he can make up anyway.

“my friends said i don’t know how to have fun at parties.” he says, turning his body to you. he leans against the stair railing. a strand of jet black hair falls over his right eye. “and i came here to prove them wrong. but this party sucks.”

he looks at you. you look at him.

then you start laughing again, hard.

rin groans and nudges your arm, complaining, but you can see a discreet smile growing on his face.

“stop laughing, it’s not funny.” 

but he knows how absurd it sounds saying it out loud, so he can’t help widening his smile as your laugh tingles in his ears.

“i mean, it is a little funny.” you say “but still, you don’t need to smoke to have fun at a party. specially when you clearly don’t want to”

“i know.”

“you could, i don’t know, choose any other thing.” you continue. “get wasted with shidou’s drink collection. or cannonball into the pool fully clothed.”

rin shakes his head. “no and no. i don't like alcohol, and... just no, to the second one.”

you shift your position to face him fully, knees brushing his. you lean your back against the railing of the stairs, too. your voice is cautious when you propose the next idea.

“then, maybe… talk to a stranger. make out with them.”

he doesn’t answer. 

you take another puff, and exhale slowly. the smoke curls between you like a curtain rising before the first act.

your knees touch, and your fingers are close. you start to wonder if he hasn't understood you or he's just ignoring you.

“why do you smoke?”

you blink.

the question catches you off guard, but the moment holds. his voice is slightly deeper, softer, now —and his gaze is so intense you feel your legs tremble.

“i don’t know.” you answer, quietly —as if scared of bursting the bubble that has just emerged around you, enclosing you in a strangely intimate moment “i guess it relaxes me. it’s a habit.”

“it also ruins your lungs and damages your throat. it's bad for your body, in general, leaves your mouth pasty and stains your breath.”

you raise a brow at the sudden reprimand, but his tone is still the same as before —low, and soft. a little dangerous, even. he’s lowered his head slightly, and is slowly leaning forward.

“yeah, that too.” your voice is definitely a whisper now. you sit up, getting closer to him “but my breath isn’t that bad.”

he looks at your lips. slowly. deliberately. thoroughly —his sharp teal gaze traces the line of your mouth, the cigarette practically consumed on the edge of your lower lip. 

you see a spark of something in his eyes. desire, you guess. hunger, maybe. a challenge. definitely.

he looks nothing like the guy learning how to smoke just ten minutes ago. but maybe, you wonder, he was never that guy —maybe this has been his play from the start, and you were the one falling for it.

you lean into his body, tossing the cigarette aside and bringing your face closer to his. your eyes are about to close, the feeling of his hot breath is on your lips.

but something suddenly stops you.

it’s his hand, you realize —three fingers under your mouth, two at the base of your neck. just like yours before, he's not aggressive, just firm.

you swallow.

rin raises an eyebrow, closing the distance as much as he can without actually touching your lips. looks like he's about to smile, but he doesn't quite do it.

“i’m not kissing someone whose mouth tastes like smoke.” he murmurs.

you step back and furrow your brows. what are you playing? you want to ask —his hand hovers now on your knee, suspended halfway between you both.

he’s waiting. letting you decide.

but rin doesn’t know what possessed him. seconds ago, he was convinced he was a social disaster —but something in the way you looked at him, like you wanted, really wanted him to kiss you, flipped a switch.

it felt like a beast stirred inside him. the same one he only ever met when he played —hungry. ruthless. ready to devour rivals. ready to devour you, now.

“fine.” you say. you reach your purse on the stair below you. “is a strawberry mint enough for your majesty?”

a low laugh escapes him. something glints in his eyes. the ghost of a smirk appears on his mouth. “yeah. sure. whatever.”

you pop the mint, still frowning, still holding his gaze as it melts on your tongue. you’re sure this would be awkward in any other moment —but now, it’s charged. electric, like time itself holds its breath.

“done, happy?” you retort, opening your mouth in mock presentation. “you can kiss me now, or is there, like, a checklist i have to-”

you don’t finish. his hand is already grabbing your neck as his lips crash into yours.

rin kisses like he plays —like he means it. he's dominant, but hungry, mouth moving against yours like your lips are a five-star sin and he’s been starving. he’s firm, but needy, a small whimper leaving his lips when you smile in the middle of the kiss. his hand is in your neck —won’t let you move your head or get away from him. his grip is sure, holding your head still, but his fingers press in so gently it tingles. 

you pull back, breath caught somewhere in your throat —you feel dizzy, somehow stunned. the boy kisses good. too good, like he’s trying to ruin you. 

and you’re so okay with that.

“see?” he mutters, mouth brushing yours, smug and breathless. there’s a taste of sarcasm in his lips. “that’s what smoking does. steals your breath.”

you snort.

“sure. let’s blame the smoking.” 

you don’t give him the pleasure of admitting you are breathless because of him. however, from the way he’s looking at you —smirking, glowing— you’re pretty sure he already knows.

“whatever. now come and kiss me again.” he murmurs. 

your mouth is shaped like a smile when you lean back in, obeying him without question, eyes closed as your nose brushes his. 

however, again —he stops you. not even a millimeter from his lips. not even a breath between your mouths.

“yeah, just like that.” he whispers. “good girl.”

the smirk he throws you before pulling you back in is downright filthy, and your cheeks burn in fluster, annoyance, and desire.

“shut the fuck up, rin.”

he grins, and as requested, you kiss him again —lips tangled with his as he brushes them against you, now a little bit softer, but still hungry.

he tastes every corner of your mouth, then smiles mid-kiss —sweet with strawberries and just a hint of smoke.

masterlist.

﹫luvseisagi, june 2025.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Outcasts.

Synopsis: Outcasts who rushed their wedding? no quality comes out if rushed.

Word Count: 1,120

Karina X Male Reader

Tags: Angst.

You were both trouble—but different brands of it.

Karina, the infamous valedictorian with a cigarette tucked behind her ear, skipping class like it was part of her schedule. Teachers hated how she made a mockery of the system—disappearing for days, then walking into exams and acing them with a half-smirk. She was all red flags and sharp eyeliner, but god, she made being untouchable look beautiful.

Then there was you—golden boy of the basketball court. Cocky, hot-headed, the kind of kid who got suspended on a Friday and scored thirty points on a Saturday. You had a reputation: mouthy, reckless, but too damn good to bench. You made headlines. You got away with it

You and Karina didn’t speak much at first. Just exchanged glances in the hallway. Her eyes said, “I know your type.” Yours said, “I’m not your type.” But both were lying.

It started with detention.

She was sprawled across the back desk, headphones in, scrawling equations like they were poetry. You were throwing a ball against the wall, counting the seconds it took to bounce. Bored out of your minds, too proud to admit it.

“Keep that up and I’ll smash your ball,” she said without looking up.

You grinned. “You watchin’ me, Karina?”

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

But she was.

And you were watching her too.

Weeks passed. Detention turned to smoke breaks behind the gym. Smoke breaks turned into bike rides at midnight. You learned she played the piano—beautifully, violently. She learned you hated silence more than anything.

You kissed her in the locker room after a bad game. She tasted like mints and recklessness.

“We’re gonna ruin each other,” she whispered against your lips.

You didn’t deny it.

The school called you distractions. The rest of the world called you wasted potential. But when it was just you and her, nothing else mattered. She wore your jacket. You showed up to her debate competition like it was the playoffs.

People said you two weren’t supposed to last.

But you weren’t listening.

You were too busy trying to bend the coin.

So you could finally be on the same side.

It was cold, but not the kind that bit—just enough to make the air feel heavier. The moon was doing its job, silver light stretched across the water like a half-hearted apology. You were fresh off a win, bruised knuckles and sweat still clinging to your skin.

She handed you a bottle. Nothing fancy—just something that burned going down and felt warm when it hit.

You both sat with your backs against the railing, sneakers tapping against the wood. Her hoodie smelled like smoke and cheap perfume, your jacket stained with victory and exhaustion.

Karina took a long sip and exhaled. “We’re outcasts, y’know?”

You nodded, watching the water ripple. “Yeah. But with value.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Value?”

“Yeah. You’re smart—like, freak genius smart. I’m athletic. We’re not just noise, we matter. They’ll get it eventually.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t her usual one. This one cracked a little. “What’s the point of value when the holder ain’t worthy of it?”

You turned your head. She was staring straight ahead, eyes glassy. “Like, picture a chipmunk… but it’s got a bomb. Like a world-ending one. That’s us. Holding power we don’t even deserve.”

You stared for a moment, then cracked a dry smile. “That’s the most Karina metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

She snorted. “Shut up.”

You took a sip. Felt bold.

“Whatever. I think we should get married, Karina.”

Her gaze snapped to you, unreadable.

You didn’t back down.

She watched you, searching. Then she smiled—not wide, just that small, dangerous kind. The one that made your chest tight.

“You’re an outcast. I am too,” she murmured, leaning her head back against the pier post. “They say you get drawn to someone just as fucked as you.”

You leaned in just enough to meet her eyes. “So that’s a yes?”

She didn’t say anything.

Just passed you the bottle.

And kept smiling.

The wedding was barely legal. A two-day blur in Vegas sealed with a $99 chapel special and half a tank of gas. She wore white—not because she planned to, but because it felt right. You wore your letterman jacket under a wrinkled blazer, like a kid trying to play grown-up. You both laughed through the vows, slurring your way into forever like it was a dare.

There were no formal photos. Just shaky selfies and a blurred shot of you two kissing outside the chapel neon. She signed your name wrong on the marriage papers and grinned.

“Guess I’m yours now.”

And you looked at her, steady and soft.

“You’ve always been.”

For a while, it was magic.

Magic in the way her bare feet padded across your apartment floors. In the way old records crackled through cheap speakers. Magic in burnt pancakes at midnight. Shared showers when the water heater broke. Nights on the balcony, chain-smoking under a sky too wide for your small lives.

You were poor. You were messy. But you were in love, and that made the world feel tolerable.

Until time did what time always does.

You had morning practices and aching muscles. She had long silences and disappearing acts. You craved structure. She needed freedom. The life you rushed into suddenly felt too small for the both of you.

She forgot to pay the rent. You forgot to kiss her goodbye.

She stopped waiting up. You started sleeping on the couch.

The dishes. The noise. The silence.

Everything that used to feel light began to carry weight.

Then one night, over a dinner that neither of you touched, she looked up at you—fork suspended mid-air like the thought had just landed.

“We really thought this was forever, huh?”

You stared back, throat tight.

“Didn’t we mean it?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry. Just offered a tired smile.

“We meant it. We just didn’t know what forever costs.”

She moved out in June.

No fight. No screaming. Just a small envelope on the counter—inside, her wedding ring and a Polaroid from that Vegas chapel. The one where you’re both laughing like fools, like you truly believed love could outpace reality.

You kept the photo.

Because letting go of the memory felt more painful than holding on to the lie.

Years later.

You spot her at a gas station just outside town. Hair longer. Eyes quieter. She’s wearing someone else’s hoodie, holding a bottle of water like she’s just passing through.

She sees you. She smiles.

You do too.

No mention of vows.

No mention of what went wrong.

Just a nod between two people who once thought love was enough—

and learned, gently, that sometimes it’s not.

Love without action is dead.

[notchedwhip]

☥ World of Darkness Meetcute Event ☥

Art by @belthegore, who owns Gabriel. The writing and Belmont can be blamed on @bonecraftprodigy. This was posted on a co-admined sideblog.

Belmont just wants to get through the workweek without his new coworker finding out he's a vampire. But he's not the only one hiding something.

Content warnings: canon-typical violence, brief Christian fanaticism

Nick, night manager at Quik'N'Go Gas, waited in cheerful ambush at the store’s timeclock. “Hey, Kevin, say hi to the new hire!”

Kevin Belmont typed the remaining digits of his employee number with slow. Emphatic. Jabs. Of his forefinger. Deep breathing, he reminded himself. Just like that YouTube video said. In-two-three, out-two-three.

As a vampire, breathing exercises didn’t usually work well for him.

“You said I could trade shifts with Andrew to handle that family business and we both confirmed with you that’s what we were doing. So if I’ve got no call/no shows on my record, it's not my fault, and making me train my own replacement–”

Nick had the decency to look genuinely appalled. “God, no, Gabriel here is replacing Andrew ‘cause Andrew’s the one racking up no call/no shows. Show him how to clock in and open a register, would you? I set up his PIN already.”

Belmont pictured all the tension and anger draining down, down, through his body, down to his feet, dissipating into the floor. When that didn’t help either, he moved on to visualizing a training bonus on his next paystub. Something reasonable - fifty cents an hour? Ooh, maybe seventy-five….

Nick cleared his throat.

“Uh, right. Sorry, third shift sleeping problems. I’ll be fine once the RedBull kicks in.” He finally turned to face the men and size up this Gabriel person. The kid matched his height, give or take an inch. Long face, bad haircut, a scar carved from hairline to jaw. He stared back at Belmont with sullen tension. Well, that was fine. Belmont didn’t plan on getting too friendly either.

He showed Gabriel the nightly cleaning checklist, the supply closet with its broken door lock, how to wiggle the register drawer loose if it jammed. The kid didn’t make small talk and Belmont heard his teeth grinding when they paused beneath a buzzing fluorescent light.

“My old boss hated those things too,” he said, pointing at it. “Almost as much as he hated scented candles and admitting he screwed up. Do you smoke?”

Gabriel nodded.

“So do I. Take your smoke breaks whenever you want, as long as we aren’t busy and it isn’t midnight or three AM. That’s when I take mine and I’ve got seniority.” Belmont watched for any reaction.

The kid nodded again.

“Any other questions? …And you have worked a register job before, right?”

“None right now, and yes, I have.”

“Cool. Once you’re logged in, I’m gonna go restock the coolers. It takes forever even if you know where all the inventory is so you get to stay up front tonight.” That was tonight’s real gift, Belmont decided: someone else to park at the register so he didn’t have to deal with every kine who waltzed in smelling like dinner.

Five nights later Gabe and Belmont still hadn’t said a word to each other that wasn’t directly work-related. The kid kept his mouth shut and head down, although his eyes rarely left Belmont’s back when they were alone.

It made Belmont’s fangs itch. He watched Gabe right back, tracking him out the corner of his eye when Nick wasn’t busybodying around.

Six nights later, Belmont slogged back from his break to an old man a head taller and half again as broad as either of them getting in Gabe’s face about– rising chocolate prices, or something equally stupid. The poor kid was backed against a shelf clutching a pricing gun like it was his only salvation, his whole body so tightly wound that fight or flight would be equally disastrous.

Wuss, sneered Belmont’s nasty little inner thoughts.

Be nice. Poor kid’s about to crap himself, said his second thoughts.

Should probably do something before Nick checks the camera feeds and calls the cops, his common sense pointed out.

“Hey,” Belmont snapped, jogging closer. “Hey, he’s new, let me see if I can–”

The man wheeled around, face red and hand raised, the moment Belmont touched his shoulder. Everything in the vampire’s mind screamed FIGHT. Vitae surged through dead veins. Fangs pricked, threatening to emerge. Cold black malice crystalised the air.

Belmont caught the man’s fist before it was halfway to connecting with his face. Very quiet, very deliberate, he said: “You should leave. Don’t argue,” he added, slowly squeezing his grip tighter. “Just go.”

The man left.

Gabe stared bug-eyed at him. Belmont shrugged away the lingering Presence. “Sorry about that. You want to take your ten now? Clear your head?”

“You don’t look like someone who could do that,” Gabe blurted out, still staring.

Aw, fuck. “I used to do full-contact combat LARP stuff, live action roleplay? Once someone dressed like a dollar store Uruk-hai clobbers you often enough, you figure out how to stop getting hit. Had to quit when I left college but I guess the reflexes are still there, heh.”

“I see.” Gabriel’s tone indicated that he did not.

“The Uruk-hai are a kind of orc,” Belmont offered. “From The Lord of the Rings?”

“Oh.” Gabe faintly shrugged. “I was told that book had witchcraft in it, so I never had a chance to read it.” He turned a dial on the price gun and resumed applying stickers to bags of chocolate-covered pretzels.

“Oh,” Belmont said, because he couldn’t think of anything else.

On the seventh night everything went wrong.

Gabe always let Belmont empty the big outdoor trash bins, which he was in the middle of doing when some jackass with a lifted truck parked at pump 5 decided the guy who pulled up to pump 6 dinged his paint. Six Guy matched Five Guy’s volume while denying the allegations. Five Guy got up in Six Guy’s face. Six Guy stood on tiptoe like a bantam rooster ready to throw hands. Wings? Whatever roosters fought with.

Belmont called over to them, “Hey, sorry, yeah, if you’re going to fight can you do it about twenty-five yards away so it’s not on Quik’N’Go property?”

“Fuck off,” came the response from Six.

“I really do not care if you kill each other as long as you do it somewhere that won’t make me fill out an incident log.”

Six chose to punch Five in the nose. Five retaliated in kind.

Belmont’s teeth ground together so hard the enamel squeaked. He set down the roll of garbage bags. He stalked closer. He warned them, “Break it up. Now.”

They did not break it up.

Well, Belmont decided, they asked for it.

He wrenched them apart by their shirt collars. Five threw himself at Six anyway, fabric tearing free. Belmont dropped Six and shoulder-rammed Five. Old reflexes flared along with his vitae. He snarled in the man’s face, fangs bared, eyes bloodshot. Five went rigid and printer paper white with fear.

Good. He should be afraid. Fucking kine. Belmont wheeled around to tackle Six who was crabcrawling away, also terrified. He pulled a fist back for a bone-cracking fight-ending blow–

“Kevin!” Gabriel yelled, barrelling out the door.

Belmont’s blood flashfroze like a cold Pepsi slammed on a table. Fuck. Oh, goddammit shitfuck. He’d blown it. He’d have to vanish, move cities again, start all over from nothing a-fucking-gin….

He let Gabriel yank him off Six and drag him back inside the store. Mental alarms didn’t start ringing until he realized they were headed for the giant beer cooler in the back. The one with no view of the front windows. And only one security camera because the store owner was too cheap to rework the system.

Uh oh.

“Hey, can we just talk about–”

Gabe shoved him against a wall of Bud Light 36-packs. “Devil. Demon! Unclean thing, tainting the earth wherever your poisoned blood takes you! Our paths were meant to cross so I could save those mortal lives from you,” he spat the final word, “Vampire.”

Belmont kept his hands raised. “Gabriel. Gabriel, you’re not wrong about that, but we need to know how much time we have here. Did you call the cops?”

“‘We’? Your time, stolen from others, is reaching its final moments. You may make your peace now.” Gabriel fumbled a boxcutter out of his back pocket.

“Gabe, respectfully, fuck that.” Belmont grabbed Gabriel’s wrist and yanked. The boxcutter clattered to the floor as they switched places. The kid’s skin was cool under Belmont’s fingers. “Listen. You’re obviously not from one of the organizations, and if my old boss sent you he did a really shit job choosing a hunter to–” He frowned, adjusted his grip to feel for a pulse.

There wasn’t one.

“You’re shitting me. You’re fucking shitting me. You too? Since when?!”

“The whole time, you blind beast!”

“Oh, my god.” Belmont adjusted his glasses with one hand, keeping a squirming Gabriel scruffed with the other. “Okay. Look. I know we probably have about thirty seconds left before the cops show up and bust both our covers, but since this might be the last teachable moment we get, maybe don’t try to kill the Brujah with twenty years of Sabbat experience using a utility knife.”

“I don’t bring my rifle to work,” he snapped, clawing at Belmont’s arm.

“That might work. What is it, a deer gun? AR-15? –Never mind. Christ, this is just my fucking luck.”

“Stop taking the Lord’s name in vain!”

“If I stop, will you tell me what sect you’re with? I’m guessing Anarch.”

Confusion flickered in Gabriel’s zealous eyes, just for a moment.

“...Do you know what the Sabbat is? Camarilla?”

“Vampires are vampires,” hissed Gabe. “All of you will burn in Damnation where you belong.”

“Fucking hell. Your sire ditched you or something, I bet. Okay. Look.” Belmont weighed his directions of conversational attack. “I really don’t want to kill you. I screwed up, I get it. But those two guys are still alive because you stopped me, and now that we know a little about each other I can help you save more people. Twenty years in this rodeo, remember? I know things. Hell, by Sabbat standards I was basically a career academic. The clans, tricks of the blood, legends about where we came from - I’ll teach you. But we have to get through tonight first, okay?”

Gabriel scrutinized him as if deciding whether or not to feed his heart to a crocodile. “Every night that you want to live, you’ll tell me something that will help purge your kind.”

“Our kind, but okay. You got a deal.” Belmont kicked the boxcutter out of reach and released the other Cainite. “So what are we telling the cops?”

“I didn’t call them,” Gabe mumbled. “I was going to kill you, lock the store, and leave.”

“And I think one of those guys pissed himself, so with any luck he’ll be too embarrassed to file a complaint. Well, Gabe, here’s to the start of a beautiful hostageship.”

[sur-i-ki]

Love You Anyways

(ok, writing is a little different here, cuz im trying smth new. also ik how to write to an extent, these notes js help relieve some of that burden i put on myself lmfao)

16/20

He was so sure he was going to win. The world tilted on its axis. He was so sure.

The ground surged up to cradle him in her arms. He can feel your thundering footsteps as you near him, your body casting a shadow on his as you approach.

"You idiot!"

And what a sight for sore eyes. Sword gleaming like a shard of moonlight as you sheath it with practiced ease. Face covered in dirt, skin pale, but glowing with power regardless. Your eyes blazing with fury as they look upon him. And something else flickers in them. Something he shouldn't name. Something dangerous for the both of you.

He takes in a shuddering breath as the crowd roars in anticipation.

"Careful, rival of mine, or one might think you care for me." He coughs out. Space. You both need space.

Your skin is flushed, chest heaving with the aftermath of the fight. A fight between two prisoners. You bite your lip as you kneel by him. He wants to kiss it. God, was his side always that sore?

"Shut up." You seethe, finally reaching him, calloused hands paradoxically gentle with care, even as the harshness of your words tear into him, "You could've easily blocked that! Where do you get off humiliating me like this?" And he knows, gods, he knows it's the pain speaking, but it hurts him regardless.

Last night rings through his body, a once-unstoppable war machine now ravaged with the aftershocks of brutal punishment. His body is now a map of bruises and cuts, the consequence of denying to fight you. He can't hide his wince as you accidentally press against a wound. Horrified understanding flashes across your face, your urgency matching his own as you lock eyes. Eyes that could ruin him. Have ruined him.

Space. He needs space. He needs time.

"That's not how you use that expression, love." Not for someone you want to kill. " His voice is loud, volume calculated. Your face pinches with annoyance, but he can see the undercurrent of concern, "It was either you or me." this was for comfort, pure vulnerability that comes with weeks of imprisonment.

The confession comes out as a whisper. Fury ignites through your bones. He feels it. That's what you are- a firestorm temptress that lays waste to her surroundings.

You've always been possessive. He hopes it survived the brainwashing you've gone through.

"You're safe now, rival of mine. Give 'em hell." The world darkens at the edges of his vision as you nod with steely duty, standing tall, a blazing light against the encroaching darkness.

He smirks, even as his body aches. You're going to ruin them. Then you're going to come for him. He pushes himself to the edge of the arena, as you lift off the ground, planning his escape. The cold, unforgiving walls of the arena loom over him.

Who knows what you'll do when you realize your greatest enemy loves you? Not that was always the case. Your ruthlessness would never let you ignore that, would it? He would know. He's seen it. Never against him, but he's seen it regardless.

He needs time. Enough time for you to remember the truth. The past rushes through his veins—moments of you fighting with him, not against him. Of midnight bickering over the leftovers, of laughter.

He tilts his head back against the blood-soaked walls. At least, you never were the brains of the team. He can use that.

"See you soon, love."

He disappears from his prison. You slaughter your way out of yours.

But as you watch him slip away from the corner of your eye, a horrifying urge rises within you to follow. An urge to protect, to demand answers. Why his face haunts you, twisted in ways you don't know, don't understand. Why, when you think of him when exhausted, it's with safety and care, and something you don't want to name, rather than the hate you should feel.

In due time, you will kill him. That is fact.

And with that thought, you turn back. Back against the grotesque faces of your former prisoners.

But he was never theirs to torture. You will exact the price from them. After all, no one touches what's yours.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[sturniolo14]

panic attack

summary: when chris has a panic attack, your there to help him.

contains: pure fluff !

i came back from work, after a long day. i struggled to keep my eyes open as i set my bag down. i looked around, searching for chris, my boyfriend of 2 years. i sighed thinking he was probably in his room, after all it was past midnight. i took off my shiny black heels of my feet, delighted to finally have them off my feet. i went to the kitchen, in search for some food but couldn’t find any. i sighed as i climbed up the stairs to chris’s and i’s bedroom. 

i opened the door and stepped into the room. i looked around in confusion as chris was nowhere to be found. i knocked on the bathroom door, “chris…”? i asked, confused. 

i heard a muffle cry through the locked door. my eyes widened in shock. was chris crying? “chris? honey, open the door please,” i asked worriedly. “i-i cant,” is all i heard from the other side of the door. 

“chris, please. its me, y/n. i’m going to help you,” i pleaded. i heard the soft click of the bathroom door unlocking. i stepped inside cautiously, my heart shattering the moment i saw chris, dark red bloodshot eyes. he was shaking uncontrollably, sitting on the hard, cold bathroom tiles. i quickly ran to his side.

chris squeezed his eyes shut as more tears pored out. my heart stopped as i stared at him. i took his face in my hands and tried to look into his eyes. “chris, my love, what happened?” i asked softly. he avoided eye contact and looked at his feet in despair. “i-i do-don’t know… i c-c-can’t breathe,” he stuttered. he was having a panic attack. almost immediately, i sprang into action. i put my hand on his chest as i felt his heartbeat. it was so fast.

his shoulders were quivering and i put his palm on my chest, directly on my heart. “chris, can u feel my heartbeat?” i asked him. he took in shuddering breaths and nodded slowly. “good, can u match yours to mine?” he looked at me for the first time and pursed his lips together as he tried to match it. “ honey, can u tell me 1 thing you can smell?” i asked, in order to help him calm down. he looked deeply in my eyes, eyebrows scrunched together in thought, and i thought he looked adorable. he took a small sniff and said, “your lavender perfume”. 

i nodded. “can u tell me 1 thing you can see?” i asked again. “uh yo-you,” he said. i nodded once again. “now tell me 1 thing you can hear?” “yo-your vo-vo-voice”, he said. i nodded.

“feeling better ?” i asked he nodded. we slowly made our way to our bedroom. he layed down and so did i. he nuzzled his head into my chest. “what happened, chris?” i asked. after he few moments, he answered.

“i’m just stressed with all the work for our youtube channel. im forced to make new ideas every week for the videos and whenever i try to talk, i’m always forced to shut up. i can never talk. i feel like all my fans hate that i talk. i can’t control it, its so hard,” he blurted out. 

i took a few moments to respond. “chris, everyone loves you. if you ask your brothers, they will tell you that they really appreciate you for thinking of new ideas for a video. you may think you talk too much, but that’s what keeps the video going,” i said.

he looked thoughtful as he nodded and said, “thank you, y/n, i love you” “i love you too chris.” i said as we both drifted off to sleep, in each others arms.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 || 𝐂𝐇.𝟏

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Hangman is the certified ladies' man and everyone thinks they can read him like a book, but what neither the Dagger Squad nor anyone else can even begin to imagine is where the hell Jake has been going every Saturday night for the last few months…

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x male!character

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 : mentions of alcohol, some making out but nothing too smutty, emotional distress lmao, age gap relationship (27-35), some religious trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, post Top Gun : Maverick, the Dagger squad is stationed together.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2k

𝐚/𝐧 : Gif by @tay-swifts , M/N (Male Name). Hello beautiful people!!! I'm so exited about posting this project I've been working on for a while. I just wanted to say that since it's my first time writing for Jake this might be a bit OC Jake but I do hope I got it right hehe. Enjoy the fic and stay tuned for the next parts!!! (Edit : part 2 posted!)

It was well after midnight when Jake arrived at the club’s entrance. The throbbing bass emanating from inside made the whole building shake, making his mind wonder what it would be like to live on top of such an obnoxiously loud place, contrasting with the quietness of the accommodations the Navy offered. The reflection of the neon sign reading  “Mon Ange” turned his natural olive-toned skin into a vivid dark azure that matched perfectly with the baby blue in his eyes. The smokers (all with stamps on their hands) were all gathered some feet away from the door to get back in after dragging a final puff from their cigarettes. The queue was not very long, mainly because everyone who was meant to be there had arrived way earlier than him. He reprimanded himself for getting there so late ; in less than two hours the nightclub would shut its doors and Jake would feel like he wasted four hours of his life for nothing. Well, his journey would not be in vain if he caught a glimpse of- 

“Jake”

This was L.A, a city 118 miles away from the Marine Corps Air Station located in Miramar, which is a two-hour long drive away from everything he knows. He had to remind himself of those facts to avoid spiraling  at the sound of his name in such a place; he hated how his body kept reacting to these kinds of situations, but not even a skilled lieutenant like himself could take the reins of these unnamed emotions that coursed through his entire being.

"What are you doing here by the door? I was worrying about you not showing up today, I was just about to send a search party. C'mon , let's grab a drink. Perhaps I can even convince you to dance this time" A wide playful smirk accompanied the flirty comment exquisitely and, even though Jake was more than used to these antics, his heart skipped a beat. Trying to compose himself, he answered while staring at the concrete floor. 

"I don't belong on that dance floor and y'know it, darlin' "

“Oh don’t say that, the 30s are the new 20s! … Even if you’re not planning to dance, you must’ve driven all the way over here for something, right?”

The damn question hit him like a truck. He could try to think of the right answer, but putting something into words made it terrifyingly real, and that was exactly what he'd been avoiding for months. The breeze made them both shiver, as the party outfits didn’t properly protect them from the chilly weather. 

“You're right” he muttered “Okay, lead the way. Make it worth the while, mh?" he teasingly replied. Even if what he was doing was definitely outside of his comfort zone, something about the constant banter between them calmed him.

"Don't you always have an amazing time with me? I thought that was why you only talk to me" a fake pout appeared on the face which Seresin couldn't help but to stare intensely in awe. Their hands intertwined and the pilot quickly melted into that comforting touch. His companion briefly exchanged some words with the bouncer and the doors opened for them. 

"Thankfully it was Joseph working tonight, I don't think Marcus would have let you in for free just like that" “I’m sure you would've charmed him into doing whatever you wanted anyway”

The thick air of the room embraced him as soon as the doors closed and the familiar feeling appeared in the pit of his stomach almost instantly; it seems like it was yesterday when he first stepped into the nightclub he now knows like the back of his hand, but in reality, that day was what it feels like ages ago. Still, the contradictions that manifested within him every time he returned persisted and only grew each day.

“I’ll go to the bar while you stay here and look pretty, okay? Same drink as always?”

It was because of moments like these that Hangman felt comfortable enough to let his guard down and be his usual extroverted self. Grabbing his wrist to stop him from going any further, he raised his voice so his words could be heard even though the music was top volume. “ Don’t you even dare to try to pay for those drinks, they’re on me.”

“Here it is, the Texan charm of Jake Seresin. I didn’t know you could apply those rules to this situation. Are you trying to imply I’m the girl in this whole affair? Shouldn't we at least draw lots for it?”

"Very funny, M/N'' the hostility that emanated from his rolling eyes made the other man realize his comment had affected Jake on a deeper level than intended. “Hey I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t hav- I know it’s  a touchy subject and I’m extremely sorry, please forgive me” the regret was visible in his expression and it also could be detected in the stuttering caused by the words rushing their way out of his mouth trying to obtain his forgiveness as fast as possible. Jake took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. 

Hangman was no saint, he didn’t go to church every Sunday or tried to look for a good christian wife to have kids with like his father did in his day. He knew God was not exactly pleased with the way he was running his life but he used to think that when the time came, He would welcome him with open arms (after having apologized profusely, that is). But now that he had fallen for the most vile trick in the book, he couldn't trust that previous statement anymore. Lust was a capital sin, pretty serious if you asked any priest from the church the Seresin family attended back in Texas, but sodomy? Say goodbye to eternal salvation, son. If Jake was being honest, the promise of heaven or the threat of hell didn't scare him. It was the destruction of all the life lessons that made him act the way he acted,  of his purpose as a son, as a man. The thing that truly haunted him at night  was the thought of a deity (and his father)  designing him to be this flawless individual with a very clear life path , only to end up as a filthy, disgusting f-

“Hey, are you okay? Would you like me to leave you alone for a bit?”

The thought of M/N walking away while he sank deeper and deeper in the sea of guilt and fury frightened him. “Please don’t” he begged “everything’s fine, I promise. Let’s down a couple shots and , who knows, maybe I’ll be in the mood to dance for a bit” the last comment was a futile attempt to hide the everlasting agony that clouded his mind. M/N moved so they were a few inches away and raised his hand to caress his cheek. His next step consisted in resting his arms around his shoulders and starting kissing him delicately in the neck and in the whole face in general, in hopes to kiss the discomfort away. 

How could something so delicate and sweet be so dirty? Was it even dirty to begin with? What about the women he had dated? He was attracted to them but now he- Too many questions Jake was not willing to answer that night. He only wanted one thing, and he was about to claim it. 

After regaining control of himself, Jake put his right hand on the younger male’s back to guide him to the counter where people were piling up fighting to get the barman’s attention. Being as attractive and well-built as he was, he obtained the alcoholic beverages rather quickly. After the last drop of tequila had made its way down their throats, Hangman took control and led him onto the dance floor. His mind was only filled of the smell of M/N’s cologne mixed with his natural scent enhanced by their bodies crashing against each other while swaying to the 2000s pop remixes, his eyes fixed on his partner’s hypnotizing movements and his hands focused on feeling what they can reach, testing if they can go further in their journey through M/N’s body. Jake was simply standing close and moving according to the song's beat but in a subtle way, just like he would do at the locals he frequented with his coworkers ; manly enough to keep his dignity intact but provocative enough to awake that lustful hunger in the other person’s soul.

‘Mon Ange’ had finally closed down and the two men were still all over each other on the angelino streets. The tingle settling in his chest could only be compared with the adrenaline rush he had previously experienced on those wild nights spent in college, the farewell by the porch of the first girl he had taken on a date or the night out after his first deployment; if he closed his eyes he could swear he was 20 again, but reality made sure to remind him of those fifteen more years that had passed. 

M/N had this juvenile thing about him, Jake couldn’t guess confidently his age from afar and his curiosity was finally satiated after befriending him and asking him about it directly ; he was 27, even though he looked some years younger. His bold character combined with his kindness and humor made M/N resemble a butterfly flying around collecting the pollen from every flower in the garden and making it seem effortless. That was one of the many things that hooked Jake on him as if he were the most addicting drug out there, making him throw away his plan of not getting attached and limiting this experience with sporadic hookups that would end then and there, never with the same person twice. That was the problem, he appeared and started moving his hips to some song, making the whole room turn around him and ever since then (even if Jake was still in denial), he was a goner.

The next thing he knew, he was laying down on M/N’s bed, a king size mattress close to a very big window that allowed him to take in the beautiful sight of the sleeping city. He had only been to the apartment twice, but he had always  left before the sun had made its appearance in the sky, moved by remorse and skepticism. This time though, he had stayed the whole night that was filled with passionate sex and heart to heart conversations and finally some cuddling that lured him to rest for a while. Now he was wide awake, sitting against the headboard, resting his eyes on the sunrise and on the slumbering figure facing him. He looked so calm, so peaceful. In that moment, turning his gaze away, he tried to repress a sob that came with a single tear falling through his left cheek. 

M/N had always known he was queer, embracing his bisexuality in childhood. Jake had never had any problems with people who were not straight, even if the people around him growing up did, but everything was different when it came to himself. For fuck’s sake, he was closer to being 40 than from his teenage years, what was he doing? He could only paralyze at the idea of anyone seeing what he was doing. It was definitely too late for him. Risking his life everyday up in the sky felt like a minor burden compared to the endurance of the dilemmas he carried with him everywhere, just like Christ had carried the cross all the way to Calvary.

He could feel himself falling for the person right next to him, and that was the worst thing that had ever happened to Lieutenant Jacob Seresin. His calloused hand cupped M/N’s soft face, making the other man lean in closer in search of that delightful warmth. Jake’s lips burned in desperate need to say something out loud. His heart started palpitating at a dangerous speed, as he knew the thing trying to escape from his mind was a cruel thing to say and that he was a horrible being just by thinking that. It was no one’s fault and it had no solution, yet the idea popped up in his mind like an unwanted ad appearing on your phone. His chest ached at the possibility of M/N hearing the words, so he tried to whisper as quietly as it was humanly possible. 

“I wish you were a girl”

[mountttmase]

It’s Kai and Sophia’s engagement party tonight, but you and mason have just recently split up. You both know excited are going to be there as you both wouldn’t let them down. Mason turns up about an hour early and he is greeting them both when Soph gets a phone call from you saying your cars broke down so you don’t know if you’ll make it. Soph is like “We have an hours till the party starts, i’ll come and pick you up” and after arguing with her you finally agree. When Mason finds out it’s you, he insists on picking you up and practically runs to his car, before Soph can ask if that’s a good idea.

When he gets to your location and you hear a car bib you’re confused as you can’t see Sophias car. Until you realise it’s mason and your stomach feels sick. You go over to him asking him

“Why are you here?!”

“because I thought it would be nice for us to have a talk before instead of it being awkward all night”

*you roll your eyes and get in the car and are playing with your finger nails as it’s awkwardly silent*

“you been okay”

“yeah good thanks, you?”

“Yeah I’m alright. I’ve missed you though”

“Mason don’t start this!”

Can you add something to this please?😅

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR I LOVE THIS SM LET ME SEE WHAT I CAN DO also its midnight what am I doing lol

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ Mason gulped, his hands up in the air as if he was surrendering. ‘I just-‘

‘Look are you gonna help me, or not?’ You cut in sharply, ot ready to hear anything he had to say as you weren’t quite prepared for it. You knew tonight was going to be hard but you were hoping you could avoid him and get through it as best you could but now he was here you didn’t know what to think.

‘Let me have a look’ he sighed. Accepting defeat as he walked around to the front of your car to try and see if he could spot anything going on under the hood and after a few moments he saw it. ‘There’s fuel leaking out everywhere, something must be broken’

‘Fuck’ you breathed, not sure what you were going to do now as you didn’t have the money to fix this but before you could think anything else you heard Masons soft voice. Looking up to find him on the phone talking to someone and before you knew it he was stood in front of you.

‘Your cars fine parked here till tomorrow, my guy will come and get it in the morning and fix it, okay?’

‘I can’t afford that’ you gulped, hating that you had to admit that to he but he seemed completely unfazed and just shrugged his shoulders.

‘I’ve got it, don’t worry’

‘Mase-‘

‘Don’t argue, yeah? Just let me sort it’ he told you firmly and you didn’t have it in you to say anything back but after a quiet thank you, he was popping you in his car and driving you back to Sophia’s house.

As soon as you arrived he disappeared into the crowds and as time went by you felt worse about how you’d spoken to him when he came to help. Eventually going to grab his favourite drink in hopes you could find him somewhere and it didn’t take long to spot him in the garden. His bottom lip pulled in between his teeth as he mused over whatever was going through his mind but you noticed his eyes brighten as he caught sight of you.

‘Hey’ you smiled, passing him the bottle that he took carefully and the small smile he sent your way made your heart flutter. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for rescuing me earlier, and sorry for how i spoke to you’

‘You don’t need to apologise’ he shrugged. Clearly trying to play it cool and show you how unaffected he was but you saw right through it.

‘I do though, I was just stressed and snappy’ you told him but before you could get the next part out your eyes filled with tears and your voice became thick and emotional. ‘And I didn’t want to hear that you missed me cause I’ve missed you too and I hate this so much’

‘Oh baby’ he breathed, wrapping his free arm around you carefully so he could pull you into his body and you went with it. Finally feeling his strong body on yours again as you inhaled his scent after so long. ‘Don’t cry, bug’

‘Everything’s been shit since I left’ you blubbed. Not caring who was around and who could potentially see but Mason carefully steered you to a quiet spot where you could both sit and talk in peace knowing that you wouldn’t want everyone knowing your business.

‘I didn’t mean to upset you earlier, but I really have missed you’ he pouted as he pushed some of the hair out of your eyes but his words just made you cry harder. ‘I’ve been dreading tonight cause I knew there was no way I’d be able to keep away from you but seeing you this upset is even worse’

‘Sorry’ you chuckled as you wiped your eyes. Hoping that if he saw you smile then it might ease the tension a bit and even though it worked you could tell he was still feeling a lot of sympathy for you. ‘Do you maybe wanna get out of here? Maybe we can go somewhere and talk?’

‘Id like that’ he nodded. Squeezing your hand that was still grasped in his and as he lead you round the side of the house and back to his car. The only thing on your mind being hope that he would hear you out and you could put the last few months behind you.

[ghoulodont]

Growing Threadbare

Dewdrop helps Rain unpack something that’s been on his mind.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1.8k

Lingerie, Gender Identity, egg crack (? sort of)

Read below or on AO3

It’s still morning, just barely, when Rain wakes up. He and Dewdrop were out late yesterday, only making it back to Rain’s dorm room — in name, at least, as they may as well be interchangeable at this point — sometime past midnight, giggling as they bumped into each other in dim lamplight with echoes of alcohol still in their veins.

Dew isn’t here now, though. He can’t be far; despite consistently waking up first, he never leaves him for long unless there’s something else he needs to do — and there’s nothing that needs to be done today. Sunlight streams through the window and casts a layer of warmth over the bed, adding to the pile of blankets already there. Rain pulls them around himself and lets his eyelids slide closed again.

Sure enough, Dew walks through the door just a few minutes later with a steaming cup of coffee. “Morning,” he says. “If I knew you were awake I would have brought you one too.”

Rain gives him his biggest, saddest eyes.

“Say no more.” Dew pivots and heads back the way he came.

He sets his coffee down as he walks past the dresser. He pauses. Like a hawk, keen-eyed and always interested in something novel, he hones in the white-gray plastic shipping pouch there, where it’s been since Rain picked it up from the mail two days ago — he hasn’t worked up the courage to touch it since then.

Rain’s heart leaps to his throat as he scrambles out of bed. “Wait—” he squeaks out, chest tight.

“Is it something secret?” Dew coos with a lighthearted lilt.

Dew is never cruel. He loves to tease but hates to bully, a distinction that lends itself to a highly observant sort of dance in which he’s ready to surrender at any moment. He would stop this line of questioning in its tracks if Rain asked him to.

Rain struggles to find an answer that feels both tolerable and truthful. “Well, it was, sort of…”

Dew starts to tear the plastic, tunneling a little hole with his index fingers and stretching it wider, watching Rain’s face as he does it. Any real sign of hesitation from Rain would stop him — he would put the package down without another word.

Some primal instinct of self-preservation inside Rain’s core is screaming at him to react, to say something, to grab the package and run away, but he just stands and watches as Dew keeps tearing the plastic until the hole in it is wide enough to dump out the contents onto the surface of the dresser. What comes out is something deep blue and lacy.

They both stare at it in silence.

Dew speaks up first. “Is it for you, or…?”

Rain nods. His voice comes out quiet. “For me.”

Dew picks up one piece of folded fabric and holds it up, allowing it to assume its actual shape, that of a sheer bralette with a plunging neckline, two triangular cups, satin straps, and a wide band.

Rain searches for words, something to absolve himself of the churning judgments inside him. “Maybe it’s too… much,” he says.

Dew shakes his head. “I like it.”

Rain looks up at Dew, who tilts his head inquisitively.

He holds the bralette up in front of Rain, lining it up with his chest. “I think it’ll look good on you.”

Rain feels his face heat up, no doubt reddening with an intensity that rivals the blue of the garment in question.

Dew folds it neatly in half. He takes the other item from the package — still folded, but clearly a matching pair of panties, the distinctive arch of the leg opening visible — and offers them both to Rain.

Rain takes the bundle of fabric. He stares at it. His hand holding it feels like it doesn’t belong to him.

“Go on,” Dew says.

It takes a moment for Rain to understand what Dew is suggesting. “Oh.”

Dew raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to…” Rain gestures toward the ensuite bathroom.

“I’ll be here,” Dew says.

The bathroom door shuts with a clunk, the faithful latching of antique hardware that may be as old as the abbey itself. Rain is alone with his purchase, clutched as a formless blob in one hand. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but really, could it have gone any other way? He was supposed to bring this up himself, to explain his intention. The courage to do so feels impossibly distant. This is the only way forward.

He starts with the panties — they feel like the easier of the two, somehow. He slides off his sweatpants and then his underwear, tossing them aside on the bathroom floor, moving quickly before he loses his nerve. He steps into the panties without allowing himself to think about it and pulls them on, then adjusts the hems here and there until the meager amount of fabric has everything covered comfortably.

He looks at himself in the mirror, brushing his hair away from his face. The new garment is peeking out between his oversized t-shirt and his bare thighs. He lifts the hem of his shirt, observing. The lace waistband arches along his hip bone and dips slightly into a gentle v-shape at the midline of his body. He turns a bit to the side, then forward again.

Without really thinking, he gathers the back of the shirt in a fist behind him, pulling it tight around his abdomen. The sight of this in the mirror, his tapered waist above an exposed stripe of his abdomen, and the lace panties below that, triggers a jolt of something like surprise, or shock, a white-hot bolt of adrenaline. He drops his shirt and brings his hands to his face, covering his mouth like he just said something he shouldn’t have in a silent conversation with himself.

But he can’t stop now. He turns away from the mirror before pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it in the same pile as his other clothes. It feels like letting go of a lifeline — he’s floating away, untethered.

The bralette is simple and elastic, without any clasps or fasteners. Rain pulls it over his head. It’s tight, which, while expected, makes it awkward to maneuver into, and makes him feel as if he’s suddenly forgotten the basics of dressing himself. Eventually, after much arranging, the band is around his chest and the straps are over his shoulders.

Not ready to see himself in the mirror yet, he looks down at on his torso. The bralette appears much more sheer than it did before he put it on, especially on the band, where the lace is hugging his ribcage snug enough to stretch. Even the cup, which is a little loose, fabric draping over itself slightly in the middle, is translucent enough for his nipples to show through, something he doesn’t remember seeing in the product photo online.

He runs his hand over the band, feeling the ridges of the lace, then over one cup, letting the fabric pull taut. He lets the details soak in, the clothing and his body underneath. The imperfections — yes, he sees them that way, but they’re also proof that this is real, without image manipulation or behind-the-scenes magic. What was once just a photo, words on a website, has come to life because he chose for it to. This is the payoff of indecision, fear, and taking a step forward. It’s a surreal joy, like something clicking into place, a key turning in a lock deep within his subconscious.

A gentle knock at the door feels like the loudest sound in the world. Rain freezes in place.

Dew’s voice filters through the gaps around the heavy wood of the door. “You okay?”

“I— yes,” Rain stammers.

“Sorry if I took it too far.”

Rain opens the door a sliver and peeks out. Dew is standing there with a sheepish look on his face, appearing genuinely apologetic about the whole situation.

“Hi,” Dew says, like they weren’t just talking to each other moments ago.

Rain grabs Dew by the arm and pulls him into the bathroom, opening the door just enough that he can get through. He closes the door behind him as soon as he’s inside.

They both stand facing the mirror, eyes connecting through the reflection.

“You look beautiful.”

Rain feels his face heat up even more. “You’re just saying that,” he deflects. Dew is giving him what he imagines he wants to hear, trying to play into what he thinks is just a fantasy — maybe it really is just a fantasy.

“Of course not.” Dew loops a firm hand around his waist and pulls him closer. Their hips bump together, lace against the slippery-smooth fabric of Dew’s track pants.

He circles around in front of him, between him and the sink. Rain can see himself in the mirror still, partially eclipsed by Dew’s smaller form. He looks away, off to the side, locking eyes with a hand towel on the wall. Even then, he can see his own body in his peripheral vision, haunting him like a mirage.

Dew places his hands on Rain’s hips. The heat of his palms sinks in as he drags them upward, slowly, over his ribs, over the band of the bralette, until he holds his chest in two cupped hands. He presses his fingers in, a gentle squeeze of the firm flesh there — more than Rain thought he had, until he saw it gathered this way, felt it, reframed his perception.

“Is this good?” Dew brushes one thumb over his nipple, then the opposite one. Rain suppresses a shiver.

“Yes,” Rain whispers.

“I want to know what you want.” He steps forward, pressing their bodies together. The fabric of his worn t-shirt is soft against Rain’s stomach.

Dew is looking up at him, but Rain can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “I don’t really know what I want.”

Dew hums. He presses a gentle kiss to Rain’s jawline, skin placed in the foreground as his face is tipped away. “Do you like it when I tell you you’re pretty?”

Rain nods. The hot flush in his cheeks spreads down, past the point Dew’s lips touched, oozes into his neck.

“Is there anything else?”

Rain stills. There is, of course, something else, a larger concept. It’s something he’s been telling himself he doesn’t understand yet, but more and more it’s starting to seem like that’s not the real issue. Maybe it’s obvious what he wants, so obvious even Dew can see it. Maybe the bigger problem is that he’s refusing to look.

“When you bought this” — Dew drags his thumbs over Rain’s chest again, pressing the lace into his skin — “is this what you were envisioning?”

Rain’s mouth goes dry. “Well, I…”

“That’s okay. Some other time.”

The relief that washes over Rain’s body is tinged with something else — not quite disappointment, some small sadness in defiance of the way out he was desperately hoping for. He doesn’t have to look yet, but now more than ever he’s sure that he will.

[ouellette]

Could we please have some clockwork headcannons?

AHHHH SORRY I NEVER SAW THIS OF COURSE OF COURSE

she smokes newport greens like theyre going out of style but she hates going to the gas station so she always makes jane buy them for her when she goes to get wraps

did all of her piercings herself, her snakebites almost got infected and she went crying to jack about it in which he promptly scolded her about improper piercing technique. aside from that she has a septum and an eyebrow ring

shes bisexual with no preference, however she would not date cis men. its way more nuanced than just that but u get it

she is extremely close with sally and they are sisters in every aspect besides blood. she sees a lot of her younger self in the girl and will do anything to protect her. shes always dragging toby along to her infamous tea parties and steals her cute clothes when shes out and about

though she has a preference for cats, she LOVES smile dog. my version of smile is a little bit more than your average dog but hes still just a little guy... best of both worlds. his company is nice on her midnight walks

she is a fairly reserved person and prefers to be on her own. i actually headcanon her to not live at the mansion at all, but rather choosing an old hunting cabin to refurbish (jeff and toby helped her turn the place into something actually cozy and livable versus the shack that it once was

ironically, her two closest friends are jeff and jane despite the two's stark differences. when their squabbles get out of hand shes always the one forced to play mediator even though shes really not that good at it

she has a tendency to wall herself off from others, even toby. she'll shut herself up in her cabin and no one besides the people who consistently visit her will hear from her. she knows this type of behavior is self destructive and selfish to those that care for her but in those times she cant bring herself to particularly care. these bouts typically last for a week or so at the least

on a lighter note, she is an extremely kindhearted person deep down. while not the best with physical affection and what to say in certain situtions, shes always there for a shoulder to cry on, especially if no one else is there to help. she remembers what its like to feel as though you have no one to turn to and doesnt want that same hurt for anyone else

[xcerizex]

"Charles"

"Yesterday will slowly fade away, so why not smile today one more time?"

I want to say;

"It's okay."

(awakening!Lars, lars x little painter, mild angst, 600+ words)

Lars breathes an internal sigh of relief as the last of the extraterrestrial creatures dissipate into the darkness. There are no more of them to be found, so he switches the mech back into neutral mode and leans back in his chair.

Breathe in, and breathe out.

The battle has taken a toll on his body, and he feels his mind strain against the psychological damage dealt to him.

"Assessing physiological stats, determining countermeasure..."

Her voice chimes through the mech and Lars smiles.

Tilting his head upwards, he sees the endless void of space. The sight of it makes him feel claustrophobic, and reminds him of the time he hid in a closet afraid of the monsters in the night. Back then, he had a toy lion someone gave to him on his birthday for company.

Now, he has an avatar resembling her to accompany him instead.

"Return route has been decided, initiating transportation..."

Lars feels the Paradise system take over his mind, making him feel drowsy. He hates it, but no matter how hard he tries to fight against it, his eyes flutter shut like a butterfly's wings.

"Please rest well, Captain."

The last thing he does is remind himself that person is not her.

Before, Lars would occasionally take her out on spontaneous trips to the beach at midnight. He'd prepare something new everytime; a blanket covered in lions, a portable disco ball, and pink potty for Beanie whenever he tagged along.

He almost lost his eyes for that, but it was worth it.

She would grumble most of the time, complaining while rubbing her eyes sleepily whenever he showed up at her doorstep. But she still went along with whatever he presented to her.

He once convinced her to lie on the sand with him to gaze at the stars, the both of them laughing together as the sand got into their hair. Not giving a damn even as they talked all night till the morning came at dawn.

She always stayed with him no matter what.

"So if she left me, she must have had a good reason right?"

Lars faces the Navigator looking up at him mutely. Even with her monotonous expression, he can still see the pity in her eyes.

...She resembles her too much. He thinks he might go insane.

The Navigator shakes her head.

"I cannot assume the reason for her departure, in case I am wrong. Even with the records I've looked through and the data you've provided me, it is difficult to determine if it was an abduction, or if she left of her own free will."

The both of them sit down on the boat as it flows through the canals on its own. He knows better, he knows that it's all fake and the pufferfish he sees swimming off at the distance could very well just be more extraterrestrials hiding, waiting to tear him apart.

He doesn't mind them for now, and takes his coin out of the lapels of his pocket. If he flips it and gets heads, it's an alien. Tails, it's not an alien. Maybe it could be her.

He flips once, heads.

He flips it twice, heads again.

He flips it for the third time but the boat suddenly jolts to the side out of nowhere and it falls into an odd sort of position. It sticks out between the seams of the wooden boards upright, being neither heads or tails.

"Forgive me Captain, but the return route has been recalculated to ensure your safety."

He doesn't hear the Navigator and stares at the coin stuck in the floor. Sighing, he picks the coin back up.

Lars wonders, today and tomorrow, how many more times must he flip the coin to see her again.

He misses her.

[marauders-bs]

MCD MCD MCD YOU WERE WARNED

the happy is really good though

just to let yall know this is set on hallows eve. its clear in my mind but eh. ali got it but theyre also like, the other half of my brain

Regulus grabs the sides of James's face, smiling just a little. "Shut the fuck up."

James grins, thinking he might know where this is going. Or he could get hexed.

Regulus surges up and kisses him. James doesn't really get a choice what his hands do; he kisses Regulus back as his hands wins up in the other boy's hair.

They break briefly, both smiling as they pull each other back in.

-

They're running now and it can't be earlier than midnight. It turns out that Regulus told Remus, so he's covering for them as they sprint hand in hand to the forest.

"Why are we like this?" Reg asks, his smile transforming his features and sweet Merlin, James really, really, likes him.

"We just are," James responds, and Regulus laughs and pulls him close.

-

"-Ooh, and I'm so pissed at Slughorn, Salazar he has one job and he can't even do it right!"

James laughs, running his fingers through Reg's hair. "Yeah?'

"'Can't put you in a fifth-year class, sorry boyo!' Ok, dick, just admit you hate me."

"If he hates you, I'll light the Potions storeroom on fire," James says, completely genuine. He'd do it.

"Thanks," Regulus says, and he looks up at James with his eyes soft and smiling, and James is so happy he could- he doesn't even know what.

-

Reg found the Room of Requirement.

"Oh, sweet Godric, Reg, we've been looking for this for years! You're just better than us," James says, looking around at the room.

"We already knew that, though," Regulus says, laughing when James nudges him playfully.

"You're my favorite," James says, pulling the other boy close.

"I know," Reg replies, turning a smug smile up to his boyfriend.

-

"Ooh, for the first time in my life I'm thankful I wan't born a boy," Reg says, bouncing into the Room. "Mother told me over the break that if I was a proper boy I'd have married Narcissa! It's bullshit, she and I are practically identical."

James isn't quite processing. He'll never get used to his boyfriend's - boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend James is going to do a flip - morning happiness. "Narcissa, like your cousin?"

"Yup," Reg answers, curling up into James's side. "It's the Black's longstanding tradition of marrying their cousins."

"That's not- whatever. And you are a proper boy, you know that, right?"

Regulus looks down, hiding his face.

"Reg, look at me," James says. He waits until his boyfriend - James is never, ever going to get over this fact - looks at him to continue. "You're just as much of a boy as I am. Probably more."

Regulus smiles, and James will always love it when that's directed at him. "Yeah."

-

The memories are flooding back. Why can't he have them longer? Why did Voldemort have to show up? Why couldn't Peter have just done his job?

Why can't he ever protect anyone?

Why are his final thoughts so sad?