#and Grunt is going through puberty

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[sticky-sugar]

ask you something. (iwaizumi hajime x reader) chapter one

>> you grow up with a lot of questions, and hajime learns to answer them <<

tags/cw: very very slightly suggestive, a little unhealthy/codependent if you really stare at it with both eyes open, iwa realizes some things about himself and deals with friendship guilt, innocent reader

masterlist || chapter two

it starts when he’s seven. 

“haji,” you say, reaching over and trying to put another block on his tower. you topple over, bringing the whole thing down. he just helps you sit up and starts the tower again while you finish your thought. “can i ask you something?” 

you and that question.

“mm?” 

“have you ever held hands before?” 

“with oikawa,” he mutters plainly, very carefully stacking the red blocks together because he likes them that way. you’re both sitting in the backyard of your house, the spring breeze soft as it passes through the grass between you. 

“with ‘kawa?” you ask, leaning close. your eyes are big and wide, and hajime wonders — in a brief moment of maturity — if you’ll have them when you’re older, too. if he’ll like them when he’s big, or if he just likes them now because he’s small and you’re smaller. 

“for school,” he says. “buddies hold hands.” 

“i know,” you pout. “i’m starting buddies soon.”

the buddy system, hajime thinks. you mean the buddy system, but you just call it ‘buddies’. he usually lets it go when you don’t know things. 

“i’m scared to hold hands,” you say, stacking a small pile of blue blocks together messily. 

“what’re you scared for?” he asks roughly. he makes you cry sometimes, when he’s too mean. he doesn’t mean to be, but his mom tells him he yells a lot. 

“i dunno!” you say, your bottom lip wobbling tellingly. “never done it before.” 

he clicks his tongue against his teeth, setting his block down and reaching over. he takes your hand, clammy and smaller than his, and holds tight. his frown is deep and frustrated. 

“what’s so scary about this?” 

you stare down at your joined hands, and then you look up at him with a big smile. 

“nothin’, i guess!” 

you scoot by his side and hold his hand for the rest of the playdate. he stacks blocks with one hand.

—

“haji, can i ask you something?” 

he glances up at you through his lashes, grunting his acknowledgement while he works. he’s got to finish his homework before oikawa calls, because he knows the annoying little shit will come around eventually to rope him into practicing in the backyard.

“have you ever hugged a girl before?” 

you do that a lot. since that first day in your backyard, you’ve done it. you ask what it’s like to have a seatmate in school, what it’s like to share food with a friend, what it’s like to have a playdate at a classmate’s house. most of these things you asked years ago, in elementary school. you ask things he doesn’t even think to worry about, but he doesn’t find it odd that you worry. you’re a worrier – he’s always known that.

he’s in his third year of middle school now, nearly in high school. you don’t ask about childish things anymore like seatmates and making friends. 

one day, sometime last year when you were starting at kitagawa daiichi, you realized that hajime’s a boy and that you’re a girl. the questions had changed then, and he’d had a feeling that middle school and puberty were changing the way you saw the world but not him. not really. 

to you, he’s still haji, even if he is a boy. ‘boys are weird,’ you’d told him once. ‘i don’t understand them.’

he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he doesn’t understand girls, either, and that knowing you doesn’t change that. because he gets the feeling that you don’t think the way other girls think.

you ask about things that everyone worries about when it comes to issues of boys and girls and things that change between them. the difference, hajime thinks, is that no one else asks them. not so blatantly the way you do. 

but he knows that you’re innocent, and he worries that if he tells you it’s weird to ask, that you might never ask again. that you’ll worry silently, and – while he’s always known you’re a worrier – he’s never known you to be silent. 

so he lets you ask, because he likes helping you not worry. he likes that you’re innocent, because it feels like he knows more. that he can be the one to help you know more, too. 

because even though it’s weird to ask, hajime had never found it weird that you ask. 

“we hug all the time,” he mutters, running through his fractions like busy work. he’s still rough, but he’d gotten more patient with you. it’s easier to be patient with you than it is with other people, even with your never-ending stream of questions. 

“no, i know that,” you say, and he can see you chewing on the end of your pencil. he reaches over blindly, pulling the eraser from your mouth with a quiet ‘that’s not good for you’. you just sigh, dropping the pencil in the spine of your workbook and letting it fall shut. “but we hug like friends.” 

“we are friends-”

“you know what i mean!” you pout, giving a small tantrum that makes him smile at his fractions. “have you ever hugged a girl in a way that’s not like friends?” 

he gives in finally, sighing loudly and tossing his pencil down, too. his fractions worksheet is done. 

“no, y/n. i haven’t hugged a girl in a way that’s not like friends.” he shrugs. “i don’t even know what that means.” 

“you do!” you argue, pulling out your phone. you pull up a video, an episode of one of those cheesy romance dramas you like so much. “you do know how boys and girls hug, dont’chu?” 

when you hit play, he watches the guy on the screen wrap his arms around the woman’s waist, pulling her close, a love confession yelled into the wind. she throws her arms around his neck and shoves her fingers through his hair, crying. 

hajime blinks, leaning away from you when you pause the video and look at him expectantly. “don’t we hug like that?” 

your deadpan makes him feel a little dumb. he doesn’t like feeling dumb around you. 

“no, haji. we hug like this-” you lean forward, throwing one arm over his shoulder and one around his torso. it’s awkward, considering you’re sitting on different sides of the little table in his room. “or like this-” you move both arms around his waist and forcing his up to your shoulders. “or like this!” you give him a one-armed side hug now. 

“what’s the difference?” hajime says, pulling away and pointing at your phone. “they hugged like that, too.” 

“ugh, never mind,” you say, throwing your phone down and going back to your workbook. he feels frustrated that he doesn’t understand. that he hadn’t helped you. 

“alright, fine!” he snaps, shoving his body away from the table and standing. “c’mon, up- up, up!” 

you scramble to stand, eyes wide. “what-”

“c’mon, hug me-” he says, gesturing you toward him. he does it again when you don’t move, impatient and annoyed. “hug me, damn it!” 

he was too rough with you again. your eyes betray it, even when you don’t let him know, and your lip wobbles. but you step toward him, anyway, so he tells himself to be gentle with you now. a calming sigh and a reminder of what you are to him is all it takes for his jagged edges to melt away. 

when you set your hands carefully on his shoulders and slide them around his neck, he realizes that, no, he’s never hugged you like this. 

he closes the distance between you, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist. he pulls you in, flush to his chest, and bends slightly to accommodate your height. your hands touch hesitantly to the back of his head, and then your fingers are in his hair. he can feel your heart beating against his chest, steady and strong but a little nervous. 

he feels a little nervous, too.  

—

“haji,” you whisper in the dark. hajime swallows hard, because you only say his name like that when something’s about to change between you. he’d faced away from you on purpose, the two of you cramped up in his twin-sized bed. 

“can i ask you something?” 

it’s the middle of the night, in his third year at seijoh. he’s going to america soon, and he knows you’ll follow him. you follow him everywhere, and he waits patiently – eagerly – for you to do so. 

he’s just won another game, just before playoffs are set to start. you’d greeted him and the rest of the team outside the locker rooms, your arms thrown around him and a squeal of excitement in his ear before he’d even noticed you were there. 

mattsun had made a joking pass at you, asking if you’d be so kind as to give him a congratulatory kiss. oikawa had delivered a brutal punch to the taller man’s arm before you could react, telling him to leave you alone. 

hajime wonders how oikawa had known he’d been upset with mattsun’s unserious crack. 

he’d brought you home with him, asking under his breath if you wanted to stay the night. you’d done it often, ever since your first year at seijoh when you’d asked if he’d ever had a sleepover with a girl. he hadn’t had it in him to tell you then that the two of you had slept at each other’s houses since you were kids, that you’re a girl and he’s a boy — because he’d known that that wasn’t what you’d meant.  

“sure,” he grunts. he probably could have stayed silent until you’d assumed he was asleep, but there’s a part of him that knows what you’re going to ask and an even bigger part that wants you to ask it. 

“have you ever kissed a girl before?” 

his heart shouldn’t jump the way it does, but it does anyway. 

“no.” 

“oh.” 

you’d learned at some point, without him telling you, that asking things like this isn’t socially acceptable. he’s not sure if maybe you’d mentioned it to your girl friends and they’d interrogated you about it, but recently your questions don’t come in questions. 

they come in silences.

but you still ask him, anyway. and there’s a terrible, evil part of hajime that preens when you do, because it means that you’d decided asking him is worth it, society be damned. that, even though you’d never ask anyone else, you’d always ask him.

that part of him likes when you ask. it feels like a secret, this habit that you have of coming to him for things you aren’t supposed to. he likes it. he craves it, waiting for the next time you discover something you want to try. 

it’s terrible and evil – hoping that, as you grow up, the things you’ll want to learn about will be grown up, too. that you’ll want to learn about grown up things with hajime. 

terrible and evil. something as simple as a kiss feels terrible and evil, because he doesn’t want you to experience this first with anyone else. 

so he turns, hearing the question in your silence like he always does. 

you’re facing him, staring right at him with wide eyes. your bottom lip is trembling, but not because of him. it’s because you’re nervous, like there’s a terrible and evil part of you that knows it shouldn’t be him, too. that iwaizumi hajime is a friend, nothing more. 

but if you’re going to try something, then you’re going to try it first with him. you’d always been that way.

when hajime props himself up on one elbow and stares down at you in the dark, you flatten your back to his mattress. a thought flashes through his mind, seventeen years old and characteristic of guys his age, of you in his bed, flat against his mattress in ways you shouldn’t be. 

he should be the one to make the first move, because that’s the whole point. it should be him that guides you. 

but this is his first kiss, too. and he’s nervous as fuck. 

so he just stares down at you, swallowing hard and hoping you can’t hear how loud his heart is in the dark silence of his bedroom. 

when you reach up slowly after a moment, wrapping one arm around his neck and letting your other hand, trembling and cold, sit on his bicep, he feels less bad about letting out the most embarrassing, shaky breath he’s ever drawn. 

your mouth is soft and makes his brain go fuzzy with static. he hopes his lips aren’t chapped and that he isn’t bad at this. 

your tightened grip on him and the way you shuffle marginally closer are terrible for feeding his ego. his desire to keep doing this, to keep being your first. 

he sets one nervous hand on your waist, and your lips part for the sole purpose whispering ‘haji’ against his when he does. 

this isn’t how things are meant to be between friends, but he’s so fucking happy they are. and he has no clue if you’re allowed to know that. 

—

a few months later, you ask if he’ll go on a fake date with you, just to show you what dates are like. just in case, you say, and he knows you mean while he’s gone next year. 

just in case things change again in the year he’s apart from you. 

he doesn’t like that, but he shoves it aside in order to give you the best first date you’ll ever have. 

and then he walks you to your door, like a gentleman should. he tells you that boys shouldn’t try to kiss you on the first date, that they should be respectful and not push your boundaries. because the moment you’d said ‘just in case’, he’d realized just how awful boys can be, and he’d wanted to warn you of those boys. boys like him, who don’t tell you what’s on their minds while you’re on dates with them. 

but he’s leaving in two weeks, and you’re looking at him like he doesn’t count as one of the boys that shouldn’t try to kiss you. because he’s never counted. he’s never been one of those boys you couldn’t understand. because he’s always been haji.

so he kisses you anyway, with the same breath he’d used to tell you that boys who do this are terrible and bad. and you kiss him back, arms around his neck and chest pressed to his and his name on your lips, whispered and full of so much more than just his name. 

hajime realizes he’d do this all over again — again and again, every time you ask, no matter how much he shouldn’t. 

—

he leaves for california. you follow him a year later. things have changed. 

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat 10 part 2/2

masterpost

Sam craned to listen to secondhand sounds of combat. It was all filtered through Val’s headset, so it was vaguely electronic.

“Up!” Said a female voice. Was that Robin? Sam tried to piece it together. The little one had been Robin, she'd thought. Could have been a boy or a girl. Robin looked around Dani's size. 

Ah, hell. She pushed down the recurring dread that thoughts of Dani brought up. 

Dani was probably fine. She just wasn't answering them because she was fabulously busy in Malaysia or Guam or somewhere else gorgeous and fascinating. She wasn't in one of those labs. They hadn't left her in a lab for a month. Sam’s hands were shaking. She squeezed them hard, angry with herself. Good thing she wasn’t in that fight, she’d be useless like this. Useless!

The percussive sounds of fast, expert violence came through Val's sound system. “Damn,” Val said. “Nice swing.” 

The answer was a feminine laugh. Man, who was that? “Not half bad yourself,” said the unknown girl.

Sam untensed, a little. They didn’t sound stressed. It was probably going fine.

There was a groan. “Spoiler, please,” said Red Robin, in a tone he probably thought was too soft to be overheard. Ha. Val was using Vlad's creepertech, and Vlad was one of the best creeps out there. Sam felt weirdly proud of him for a moment. It bordered patriotism. Their freak was the best freak in the business. Eat your heart out, Batjerk.

“Like you're the only one who can pick up girls on the job?” The girl who had to be Spoiler said. 

Sam snorted. Good luck with that one! Val was spectacularly unavailable. She should know, she had tried. 

“Spoiler, Red Robin, and Robin.” Sam listed aloud for Tucker. “What do we know?” 

“All known associates of Batman, Gotham operatives, estimated active dates are at least a couple years each. Robin is clearly an inherited role, but this current one… been in for two years, I think.” Tucker listed off. “I think Spoiler and Red Robin were both former Robins, that's not too subtle.” 

Sam snorted. Her breath fanned out as visible moisture in the cold night air. 

“Likely older teens or early twenties, both of them. Robin is obviously pre puberty. 13 at the oldest.” 

Val made a subvocal grunt that meant she agreed with Tucker's assessment 

That fit. And she really didn't like it. Sam felt her hackles rise up. What was wrong with Gotham? Her group was all child vigilantes, sure, but they'd had no adult help. They'd also all been 14 or older when they got involved. Except for Dani. God, Dani, please don't be in that building. Sam had to relax her grip on the bazooka handle because she squeezed it so hard that the metal creaked. 

Danny was older now. But she didn't like that this was who he'd ended up with. Sam gritted her jaw hard and tried to keep her temper on a low simmer. She didn't have enough facts to think Batman would put Danny in danger. 

“Clear.” 

“Clear.”

The operation inside seemed to continue smoothly. 

“That should be all the staff members on the premises,” Red Robin said. “First lab, coming up.”

“Behind me.” Batman practically growled the order.

A door opened. Sam held her breath. 

“...Are those samples?” 

Val grunted slightly. Why? What was going on? “Cores,” Val said. “Basically, people who have been injured into a coma. Left like that, they're gonna die slowly. Starvation.” 

“What do we do?” Spoiler cut in. “I mean- what can we do?” 

“Is there a way to transport them?” Val dodged the question. “I don't- yeah, that's good.” 

“Can you provide treatment?” Batman pushed. “Where will you take them?”

Val let out a long, annoyed sigh. “I don't trust you enough to go into the details.”

“Why should we trust you, vixen?” Spat a very young voice.

“Vixen?” Spoiler repeated quietly, incredulously. 

“Robin, you can't say things like that!” Red Robin hissed. “Ow- little asshole.” 

“Enough. Thank you.” Batman cut off the chatter. “Let's clear the facility.” 

They found more cores in the labs. Sam felt her stomach condense tighter and tighter into a knot as they came across research areas time and time again. 

They hadn't taken the GIW seriously enough. They'd thought they were incompetent and funny. How long had scientists been experimenting on captured ghosts here? How many of them had totally withered away? 

“Fuck,” Sam said quietly, and wiped her eyes off with her arm. 

They were clearly finished. No Dani, not unless she was one of the cores rolling around on GIW shelves like she wasn't a person.

Batman and crew came out. She could hear Batman clearly making some kind of call to…. To a Green Lantern, she thought, to pick up the GIW agents. 

Oh. That…

“Probably legit,” Tucker said on the line. He let out a big sigh and his chair clicked when he leaned back, no doubt crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess we should talk to ‘em. Should I come out there?” 

“Yeah, do it,” Sam said. “You want a pick up?” She moved the bazooka from a ready position to rest across her back instead.

Tucker hummed. “That would probably be a little cooler than using my bike.” 

Val snorted, but didn't chime in. Sam dipped back to town and let Tucker climb on behind her. He crouched to hold onto the board with both hands, because he was a sweaty nerd with no balance. 

“The bike might have been cooler,” Sam teased, and then she accelerated hard. She met them back in the field where Batman had landed his plane. As soon as she veered into sight, all of the bats looked at her, clearly ready for a fight.

“Calm down,” Val ordered. “You're all so jumpy.” 

Sam snorted and came to a sharp stop. She braced against Tucker's weight (she knew he'd be jostled.) She aimed her hardest glare at Batman. Fuck everyone else. “Danny said you wanna talk.” 

Behind them, unseen, Val double-checked the straps of a new black bag. Sam had no doubt it was full of helpless cores. 

Batman frowned at her slightly. “...Samantha Manson.” He looked behind her. “And Tucker Foley.” He didn't seem surprised, exactly,  but he didn't seem happy to see them either.

“Old man,” she shot back. “You've got half an hour. But first off, what the hell kinda game are you playing with Danny? Because this-” she waved a hand at his child soldier platoon. “is some bullshit, okay. What's going on?” 

Val shot vertically up with a whoosh of air that blew Spoiler’s hair out. All four bats whirled in time to see her blast off into the distance. 

“Focus!” Sam snapped her fingers. “Why are you here?” 

A muscle twitched in Batman's jaw. “My only intention with Danny is to ensure his safety. I have some concerns about the GIW and about his home situation that I want to look into.” 

Sam scoffed. “Bit late.” She wound some hair around her finger. “They're gone. All of them. You saw what's left of the GIW. The Fentons disappeared the day after the GIW did.” 

She heard the first hint of urgency and upset in his voice when he pressed, “Jasmine Fenton?” 

“Gone.” 

[elexaria]

Simon Riley who had been on a lookout for a particular peer of his after high school, sweet little girl who normally did all of the schoolwork for him. Even behind the teachers back. Even when their handwritings never, ever matched up; but the teachers only let her off because, at the very least, he was passing with an A.

Sweet, somewhat nerdy!Reader who actually felt bad for a guy, in general just a person, going through such a rough time when in reality school would only fuck up people into being robots for the government and absolutely do no help for the post puberty and traumatized Teenager!Simon. She tries to have sweets on her for whenever he pops in, also tries her hardest to be nice to the other Riley. Sweet young lady Reader who somehow becomes well known around their high school after winning a last minute game in volleyball, followed by basketball, tennis, track, and soccer. Medals and whatnot. Even earned a goddamn picture in the Coach’s office — the female coach, the male one who seemed to be more like a father to sweet Reader.

Sweet!Reader who is suddenly gone. Desk of hers absolutely empty. No pens, no pink notebooks mixed with pastels. Not her signature backpack in sight. No scent of hers, no constant chirping, no glances that arrived at Simon once she caught glimpse of him in the hallways right before first period. Third period feels… loud. Ironic since there’s a pin-drop silence, even breathing. He normally has the rest of the periods with her from then out, until seventh period. He could recite her entire schedule.

Simon can’t help fidgeting, biting his tongue from asking where she is. Not to be nosy, not to be teased, outwardly and fucking pushed into the lockers teased. Perhaps she was coincidentally absent?

Years pass on, evidently screaming she was, in fact, gone. Even on missions, Simon can’t help but glance everywhere. He’s more fucked up, a bitter version, working exactly for the monarchy (almost forgot he’s British, for God’s sakes) and saving his people.

And just one day, one day that everything seemed normal for Johnny and the rest of Simon’s boys, he catches a goddamn glimpse of her. Her face, specifically. Rushing around, apron around her waist and down her thighs. Appropriate attire of a waitress serving a man with a comically huge cigarette and in a suit whilst speaking to another duplicate of his.

His grip on his whiskey tightens.

(Andddddd you continue!!!)

-🍓

ohoho, strawb anon you genius >:)

simon feels his chest tighten up, his grip on his drink tightening as he glances at the mom and pop diner across the street. no… could it..?

before he can indulge himself with another thought, gaz nudges simon gently. “you alright there lt?” he asks sincerely, an eyebrow raised as he tries to figure out what simon was glancing at. he just grunts in response, relaxing his shoulders as he downs the last remaining drops of whiskey. “thought i saw someone. ‘scuse me—“ he murmurs in response, standing up from the pub booth as he saunters past gaz and up and leaves. when one of the lads asks where he’s going, simon grumbles out a ‘goin for a fag’ while lifting up a ciggie and his lighter.

simon leans against the alley wall that faces the diner, deep in thought as he exhales plumes of smoke while glaring right at the restaurant. come on, he thinks to himself, show yourself. he begins to wonder if he was just seeing things, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert or something. wishful thinking, he muses to himself.

and just when he pushes himself up from off the wall, his lips drawn into a thin line in disappointment— he spots her.

she’s absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. the faint crows feet around his eyes crease as his gaze softens. it’s funny how time has treated them both. one of the only friends he had considered himself to have during school has found herself working as a waitress, cute pinafore hugging her curves in all the right places— while he’s just a bigger, meatier version of the boy he once was. he’s just a husk of a man now. war’ll do that to a bloke.

he fidgets nervously with the zipper of his windbreaker, chewing the inside of his lip as he contemplates popping over to say hello. would that be weird? hell, would she even remember him anymore? his feet are itching to move, but he’s cemented right there— forced to stare at the diner, and the siren within that seemingly tempts him.

with a groan, simon pulls out his phone to text the group chat— “gonna head off, see you back on base” before shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. and with a clear of his throat, he steadily paces across the road to the mom and pop diner. simon feels sick with anticipation, a feeling he’s never really felt before in his life. even when he had found the bodies of his family, even through the torture— he’d never felt quite a strange amalgamation of emotions before. and that really freaked him out.

the diner’s door bell rings, the dulcet tones of doo wop music playing in the restaurant greeting simon when he steps inside. he waits patiently in the small foyer, calloused fingers reaching out to smooth over the creased laminate menu on display. and his heart damn near falls out of his ass when the waitress greets him with a friendly smile.

“hi there! welcome to pop’s EZ diner! my name is ____ and i’ll be your waitress today!” you greet enthusiastically, beaming up at the stranger stood in front of you, awkwardly glaring right into your soul with hauntingly beautiful stormy blue eyes. it was kind of creepy, but weirdly endearing. you just wrote it off, assuming he was socially awkward— after all, he clears his throat and struggles to find the words to say for almost a minute before finally opening his mouth.

“uh… hello. you don’t—“ simon pauses, clearing his throat again as his hands continue to fidget with the menu, his gaze nervously flitting from the menu back to you. “you don’t happen to recognise me, do ya? simon? simon riley? from st matthews?” he says, the timber of his voice itching the back of your brain in a pleasing way. st matthews? how did he know where you went to school?

you shake your head politely, nervously tucking your notepad and pen back into your pinafore pocket. “oh, um. sorry, i don’t—“ you reply, offering him a sympathetic smile. the man, simon, turns bright pink— again, nervously clearing his throat as he nods, lowering his head as he turns on his heels to head back out the diner. “oh, sorry. nevermind.” he murmurs, raising his hand politely to you before his hand reaches for the door handle.

and then it clicks.

oh. my. god.

it’s been YEARS since you had thought about simon riley, and suddenly your mind was being overwhelmed with all these memories of helping a teenage simon out in school. your eyes widen, a hand reaching out to gently grip on his windbreaker sleeve. he freezes, half glaring and half shocked as he turns to face you. but the expression on simon’s face eases when he realises that he was right, it was you.

“simon riley? oh my god—“ you gasp out, eyes wide as you look up at him with a dumbfounded expression, one that sends a shiver down simon’s spine.

what an interesting reunion this would turn out to be..

[themultifandomgal]

Sister Shelby- Fainting

All YN's life she has struggled with fainting. The first time she lost conscious was when she was only a year old. The baby had been crying none stop, then in Polly grays arms the little one passed out. The doctors had said it was because of her not able to catch her breath but as the years went on the fainting got worse, especially when YN started going through puberty.

13 Years Old

"YN your gonna be late for school" Tommy scolds the youngest Shelby storming into her room. YN groans throwing her bed sheets over her head "now YN!"

"Don't feel well"

"You just want to get out of school" Tommy rips off the quilt

"Fine" YN grunts and gets out of bed. But as quick as she's up, she's back down passed out on the floor. Of course Tommy panics and calls for Polly who runs upstairs. Only a minute later YN is awake again

"Ok no school today" Polly places her arms on her hips as Tommy helps his sister back into bed

"I think we need a doctor Poll"

The doctors checked YN out and found that her heartbeat is irregular which is what has been causing her fainting spells.

15 Years Old

YN can now tell when she is going to faint and what could trigger it. One of them being excessive exercise. Now it's no secret YNs teacher, Mr Jones doesn't like her just because she has the Shelby name. The teacher had announced that they would be running around the field at the back of the school, YN immediately protests saying she can't run that far, but the teacher had said if YN didn't partake then she could expect 100 lines and the ruler across the hand. So YN begin running.

After running once she was told to run again, and again and again. No matter how many times YN said she needed to stop Mr Jones threatened the poor girl and so she carried on. She did this until she passes out on the field, thankfully her friend Eleanor saw and ran to Mr Jones, but he didn't believe her.

When YN came around she decided to just walk out of the school and head home

"What are you doing home from school?" Arthur scolds seeing his little sister walk through the front door

"Mr Jones made me run even when I told him I couldn't. He said it was either run or have the ruler. I passed out but he didn't believe Eleanor when she told him" Arthur's eyes widen

"Go to bed and rest. Let me speak to Tommy and Aunt Poll"

This caused the Shelby brothers and Aunt head to the school and Tommy even got the teacher fired!

18 Years Old

It's a hot day in Birmingham and YN is sat in the betting shop helping Arthur with the books

"I'm gonna get a Drink" YN sighs feeling the heat. Arthur nods his head not looking up. YN stands up but immediately her eyesight starts to disappear and a ringing starts in her ear. Before she can even sit back down Arthur finds his sister on the floor passed out. Knowing exactly what to do Arthur gets up from his seat and first of all checks that YN hasn't hurt herself on anything. He then rolls her so she's on her side. Tommy walks out of his office and frowns

"Has she fainted?" Tommy asks looking at Arthur and YN

"Yeah" Arthur sighs

"When she walks up take her home. It's so hot in here"

"Ok"

22 Years Old

YN is now an adult who has just moved into a house with her boyfriend Alexander. At first the Shelby's were not happy about this and they worried for their sister especially since Alex has yet to see one of YNs fainting episodes as she is now more aware of her body and when she may pass out. YN comes home from a long day of shopping when she begins to feel faint. Placing her bags down in the kitchen she slide herself down the kitchen counters and sits on the floor. Normally this would do the trick, but today this isn't what happens. Alex knows about his girlfriends irregular heart and he knows that she faints because of it, but he's always had one of her brothers or Polly around. So when he walks through the front door and into the kitchen, panic sets in seeing YN on the floor. Immediately he runs up to her and starts to try and wake her up, but it doesn't work

"YN. YN can you hear me?" remembering Tommy once checking her over for injury's he does the same. Then he remembers that Arthur would check the time to see how long she was unresponsive for, so he does just that. Unbeknownst to hun Tommy has also entered the home of the young couple and is watching Alex tend to YN "ok come on YN isn't been a minute since I've come home. I need you to wake up"

Luckily it's not to much time later, maybe about 20 seconds, YN finally starts to wake up

"Hey YN, how you feeling?"

"Tired"

"Ok. Let's get you a drink and put you to bed" this is when Alex notices Tommy stood watching the interaction "Tommy what are you doing here?"

"Was coming to see if YN wanted to head to the Garrison but I can see that's going to be a no"

"Sorry Tom"

"Don't apologise. Your in safe hands here. Take tomorrow off" with that Tommy leaves.

For YN hearing her brother is ok with her relationship means the absolute world to her.

[rudspankow]

this was smth i wrote when i was bored, don’t hate me if it’s shitty, just wanted to post it for funsies ..

MDNI 18+

perv!!jj , smut

Context -

Your bestfriend is a sick perv who’s obsessed with you

He’s a perv, and you knew it the moment you found his eyes darting upon your cleavage longer than a friendly gaze should’ve. His greedy hands always finding a way to smush against the flesh of your hips or lace into the belt hooks of your shorts before ripping you into his harsh frame. Cuddling up to you in the Château and purposely crushing your body with his, in hopes to feel every ridge, curve, and pulse that you could grant. Feeling the blood rush straight to his cock that swelled between your legs from his perverted positioning.

Everybody saw JJ’s intentions, continuously telling him to leave your little innocent self alone. But he just couldn’t, not when you sat perked up like a pretty princess. Teasing the mutt he was with your small sundresses, hiding barely anything as your tits pooled out of the top, catching his attention every minute of everyday.

It’d take less than 40 minutes for him to rush off for a ‘leak’, ending up in the bathroom abusing his cock with his hand. Fastening his pace torturously as he imagined your silky pussy swallowing him whole, a bundle of whimpers he was. Submissive to his imagination as you ruled his entire fantasy.

JJ loved being a perv, it was his second nature.

“Jayj, you’re suffocating me. .” You choked up, slipping a small chuckle as he trapped you beneath his broad body. A grunt left his lips as he positioned himself between your legs, left cheek resting above your swollen tits. His cock began to expand, feeling the warmth that radiated between your legs as he sunk into your embrace. Completely subsiding the fact you were lacking oxygen and needed a breather.

“So comfy Y/N, can’t help it.”

You always loved helping JJ, heck. He was your best friend for crying out loud. There wasn’t a single thing you wouldn’t do for him, no matter the cost or consequence.

But nothing prepared you for the moment you stood in his room shutting the door behind you, eyes wide and pupils blown as JJ trembled before you. An aching pain of lust consuming his body as he held himself through his shorts, fighting the urge to breakdown from the intense pressure his member caused.

He was an idiot, and he knew the results when it came to taking something like E. So where did he go when he needed a quick fix, a sexual reliever?

The person he could always count on, his forever wet dream. You.

After 5 minutes of absolute blabber and begs, you sighed heavily with a silly feeling in your chest. Standing before JJ and giving him everything he’s wanted the moment you hit puberty, finally awarding the boy with the scene of your body on full display.

It was awkward, invading in a way. But nothing felt more right once his fingertips danced upon your burning skin. Letting his lips latch onto you and taste the desire that layered on your skin. JJ Maybank had officially sweet talked your pants off, caving into his puppy dog eyes and tearful pleas as he watched your body shudder with fear. Afraid this would falter your friendship heavily.

But none of that mattered after he had the privilege to slaver his pallet with your taste, ignoring every thought that urged him to step away. Guilt vanishing as you became everything he needed, suddenly his body was going through drought and famine until you rocked up, sitting pretty on a silver platter as he couldn’t wait to dig in.

“This won’t affect anything right?” You whimpered, feeling his hips buck into you fast and rough. Harsh thrusts connecting with the bruised flesh of your ass as you bent lower, feeling his fingers thread into your hair before pulling you up.

“Shh. . So sweet for helping me out Y/N—Shit! Yeah, always there for me.” He moaned, shoving you back down before hovering above you, drilling you into the bed. Your eyes rolled back as he impaled you with his cock, his hips never stuttering as he felt you flutter around him, motivating his body to impossibly fasten as you cried out his name.

“Shitshitshit,”

The feeling of your velvety walls sucking him deeper managed to throw him off the deep end, driven to the hardest release he’s ever had once your pussy leaked cum and smoothened every thrust. His girth soaked in your white sticky bliss as he fucked his salty seed into your cunt with no mercy, never stopping as he felt his greedy heart tempt him for another round.

Urging to feel your pussy pulse around his cock again and absolutely coat him in your cum.

“Such a princess for this, Y’know? Lettin’ your bestfriend stuff you with his cock because he needed help. Perfect little thing, can’t take you for granted.”

After that night you were sure things would continue forward, attempting to brush it aside and forget about the please he exhilarated through your body.

But it was so hard when all he did was watch, beg and act.

Act on every sexual desire once you entered the room.

“W-What’re you doing Jayj. .” You whispered, feeling your cheeks burn pink as your best-friend humped you under the covers. His hips rutting into your clothed core as he found home inside your arms once again, this time, you were surrounded by all the Pogues. Gathering together to watch a movie Sarah suggested.

When you pulled up in nothing but your skimpy pajamas, JJ felt every gear in his head turn as he bolted to cradle you towards the couch. Gently pushing you down before sinking between your legs and nestling his cock inside the gap ontop of your sweet, warm pussy.

“I’m gonna cum, just let me. .” He whispered into your ear, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck as he drowned his sounds with a chaste kiss across your skin. You bit your lip feeling his length rub against your core, the friction he caused turning you on crazily as you listened to his quiet sinful songs.

“So pretty Y/N, jus’ need you so bad.” He whimpered before releasing into his boxers, stuttering his hips as he came hard and fast. The wet patch seeping through his fabric and all over your clothed heat, you fought the urge to groan in annoyance. Having to stay seated with the remnants of his cum splattered on both of your crotches.

He made sure you would stay there for the rest of the night, knowing how dirty it was for you to sit there covered in his cum. It made him almost want to coat you in another load.

It was the weirdest thing, realising the boy who you’ve known since third grade desired you everyday. JJ was always attractive in your eyes, but you never seemed to step over that best-friend boundary in worry he’d reject you, or that your friendship would crumble to pieces once you squeezed it with hope for friendly affection replaced by love.

But he looked past all problems aside, just following the pathway of lust and determination as he made it his every mission to feel, touch, and talk to you. He was obsessed, crazed at himself for waiting so long.

He enjoyed knowing you flustered at his gazes, following your train of thought to the night he fucked your brains out, or the hours before where you’d let him eat your pussy. You wanted to help him, always needing to reassure JJ you were forever there.

Understanding his current home situation, you became his outlet the moment he realised how shitty his life was. Breaking down in tears and sobbing inside your embrace.

So, the boy took it one step further than just a place to stay or eating food you prepared. You became everything he needed, everything.

Eventually, one night turned into many, and friendly hugs turned into stolen gropes and whispered temptations.

“You need me to do what?” You repeated, feeling embarrassment flourish your blossoming cheeks as he stood in front of you, all teary eye’d. The scene of his sadness made you want to help him further, to draw him away from whatever bothered him so harshly. Knowing it was his piece of shit father who neglected his kindness, painting your perfect boy’s skin black and blue.

JJ sniffled, wiping his nose with his wrist before shrugging. As much as the interaction with his dad affected him, he knew he was putting on a more ruthless production, all in hopes you’d let him fall into you once more.

“JJ, i don’t know. I want to help you but, that just seems—,”

“I know, i know. I jus’ really want to feel you Y/N.” His voice croaked, and it sent a pang to your heart. Watching his lips quiver as he sat in front of you all weary and burdened, a sigh left your lips as you pulled him in. Closing a gap between the two of you as your arms wrapped around his shuddering frame.

“Okay.”

His eyes widened as you agreed, pulling away from the hug and peeling off every piece of clothing you wore. His cock jolted to life as he pushed himself against your head board, your body walking towards him seductively as you unzipped his shorts.

“This what you want J? My lips around your dick?” You murmured, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock pulsing after your smooth mouth. He nodded vigorously as your mouth gathered his leaking tip, sucking on it gently before taking his entire length.

He was a mess before you, hands tangled into your hair as he moaned and fucked your mouth. Salvia trailing down your chin as his force picked up nailing into your raw throat.

“Just a blessing aren’t you? Gonna cum princess, keep doing that. .Shit!”

JJ breathed heavily, his body sizzling and mindset foggy as he released his hot white ropes of cum inside your mouth. Sliding across your tastebuds and falling deeper down your throat. You gagged as he shoved you lower, spilling every last drop into your mouth and keeping you there to watch you swallow his filth.

JJ made it very clear he was into you, publicly voicing his opinions whenever you were close. To your face or even just with Pope, wearing a large prideful smirk trying so hard not to spill your secret meet ups.

“Dude, you’re such a pervert.” Pope chuckled shaking his head slowly, JJ’s grin only widened as he watched you laugh alongside Sarah. Laid out on the beach towel soaking in the sun, glistened in tanning oil that ran down the valley between your tits.

“Can’t tell me you haven’t thought about hitting that, like really man! She’s a fucking sex dream, i mean look at her.”

His lips reddened from the way he bit it religiously, shifting in his position as he felt his cock swell at the sight of your half naked body. Pope grimaced at his comments, shaking his head at the boy again.

“Of course Y/N is attractive, but don’t you think you’re being a bit weird? That’s your best friend, y’know?”

“I’m not a child Pope, i’m simply appreciating her beauty—,”

“With a weird sex craze to it.”

JJ rolled his eyes.

“So what, i’m not gonna sit here and deny what i’m feeling. I’m as honest as they come Pope, who cares if i lust after my best friend. Can’t help she’s everything i want.”

[jd07201990]

I watched from the kitchen door, with a wide grin on my face, as my previously combative, nerdy Stepson watched his laptop, eyes glazed, for the umpteenth time these last 6 months. Nobody would ever remember tiny, snarky little Theodore. They’d only ever see Theo, this bulky, sweaty brute, lifting and fucking his way through college, just like any red-blooded young man should. And it was all thanks to my buddy Sarge’s “attitude adjusting” self help videos, he custom designs for a slew of shady clientele after he retired. Mostly foreign governments, some loony cults here and there. But for me, he’d done a personal favor. I filled out a details chart, every last trait, from his voice to his hair, posture, everything. I thought about everything he’d said about “those sweating, grunting behemoths” that all got into school with free-ride scholarships for athletics. Theo was going to helplessly, desperately, insatiably grow, eating and grunting his way to 215, the weight I’d maintained all through college. He’d also dress, walk, and talk like the testosterone (and a slew of supplements Sarge gave me with the videos) filled cocky young male you see frequenting college courtyards, throwing footballs between bros and chasing pretty sorority girls like lovesick puppies. Their dumb, dopey demeanor would seen pour from Theo’s mouth, his shoulders back, pecs out casually. He’d grope and adjust himself, sitting down with his legs wide no matter where he is. His diet would change, adding raw calories and protein, chuckling dumbly with the other gym rats as he gulps down creatine powder, dry, and chugs a shake to wash it down. The supplements Sarge gave me to add to his meals, ensured he’d bulk up fast, and solid. As long as I fed him enough, which I was warned would triple our groceries, at least, He’d gain the weight, and the thickness I was looking for, while his body would be thrust through a second puberty, allowing for the subliminals to work on other, aspects, of his masculinity. Let’s just say, we all know what they say about dudes with big feet. And his will be a hefty size 14. Too bad for his mother, our house is also going to reek like a Varsity locker room, because those feet, and the rest of him, will be all raw male, all the time. Pumped and ready, brimming with energy, like a Golden Retriever, if it were a 6’2” behemoth. The toughest bit was straightening him out. Giving him that good old fashioned, hot-blooded straight male instinct, making him drool over the coeds and cheerleaders, chasing girls like every young man should. The videos worked their magic well, the supplements setting his balls ablaze, churning out testosterone to fuel his primal need for aggression, for hard work, and effort, and sweat and sex. He fought it until his best friend Jenna, without realizing what her playful teasing was doing to him, had been on the couch with him, and had leaned over, and nibbled his ear one night while watching a movie. He'd lost his gold star that night. Quickly, and with all the confusion and passion that comes with young love and first times. Jenna had been stunned when he’d practically pounced on her, and from there, hours passed, and they wore themselves out right there on the couch. The next morning, he was mortified, but he couldn’t help but kiss her when she woke and complimented him on his… performance. It's been 6 months, and you’d never know he wasn’t always a muscled up, sweaty, straight boy, chasing girls at school, slacking off in class, and riding his new Lacrosse Scholarship that Sarge so nicely arranged when Theo got big and dumb enough to join the team. It seems Sarge knows quite a few coaches, Alumni, and Board members with a good bot of influence. It also seemed the school’s Jock population was skyrocketing, coincidentally at the same time as Sarge added a pool, an extension, and a garage full of classic cars to his house…

[axeeglitter]

Hey, I'd like to see a story where a younger brother turns into inanimate objects, mostly clothes to be used by his brother. If he only feels or takes over him, that's up to you. I just want it to be very spicy :P thx, your friend

The Dorm Room Nightmare

Alex trudged back to his dorm room, his steps heavy with exhaustion and anger. Sharing a room with his older brother Tyler was like living in hell. They were only a year apart—both 21 and attending the same university—but they couldn’t have been more different. Tyler was the epitome of the stereotypical jock: tall, broad, a football star with thick, defined muscles and hair sprouting in all the places that gave him that rugged, alpha-male look. He was always drenched in sweat after practice, and even when he wasn’t working out, he seemed to exude an overwhelming musk that lingered in the small, shared space of their dorm room.

Alex, on the other hand, was lean, quiet, and far more introspective than his loud, boisterous brother. He preferred books and video games over sports, which made him an easy target for Tyler and his jock friends. Whenever they were around, Alex was treated like nothing more than a joke—a weakling, the little brother who couldn’t measure up. But even if Tyler had the body advantage, Alex had a special talent too. As puberty hit him, he discovered that when he was over stimulated by his emotions, his body would turn into inanimate objects until he was calmed enough. On some situation, it was life saver, just like when he was chased by jocks. But on other, it could be quiet annoying, like when he turned into a backpack in the middle of a concert. But overall, it was who he was and in better then bad points, a blessing to enjoy. The only thing he was scared was not to turn back, but until now, all Alex was in need of, was to calm down and find a calm place.

As Alex reached the door to their shared dorm, he hesitated. He knew Tyler was already back from football practice. He could hear the music blaring through the thin walls, the low bass shaking the floor. The smell of sweat, body spray, and something more primal wafted out from under the door, mixing in a way that turned Alex’s stomach. It was always like this. Tyler’s presence filled every inch of the room, from the discarded clothes strewn about the floor to the smell that clung to every surface.

Taking a deep breath, Alex opened the door. Tyler was sprawled out on his bed, dressed only in his football shorts and a sweat-stained tank top. His thick arms were folded behind his head, and his chest heaved as he caught his breath from whatever workout he had just finished.

“Hey, bro,” Tyler called out without even looking up, his voice deep and commanding. His chest gleamed with sweat, and his shorts were damp, clinging to his muscled thighs. The room reeked of his body, and Alex could barely stand it.

Alex offered a noncommittal grunt in response, already feeling the familiar resentment bubbling up inside him. Every time he walked into this room; it was like being reminded of everything he wasn’t—strong, confident, dominant. And Tyler didn’t help; he basked in his physical superiority, completely oblivious to the fact that he overshadowed Alex at every turn.

Alex tried to move quietly across the room, hoping to avoid a conversation, but Tyler’s heavy-lidded eyes flicked over to him, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Tough day, little bro? You look like you could use some exercise. Maybe you could come to the gym with me sometime, you know, bulk up a little.”

Alex clenched his jaw, feeling the heat rising to his face. “I’m fine, Tyler,” he muttered, heading for his desk and trying to focus on anything but his brother’s imposing presence.

“Suit yourself,” Tyler said with a chuckle. The bedsprings creaked under his weight as he stretched his massive legs out and got up from the bed and undressed in the middle of the room before going to the bathroom to freshen up for his date. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.” He finished as he closed the door, leaving his sweaty garment on his bed.

The tension in the room was thick, a mixture of frustration and years of sibling rivalry that had never been resolved. Alex sat at his desk, his back turned to Tyler’s bed, trying to calm his racing heart. But the anger, the humiliation—it was all too much. He hated how easily Tyler dominated the room, how effortlessly he overshadowed him. And the worst part was, Tyler didn’t even realize the effect he had. He was so absorbed in his own world, his own strength, that he never noticed how much Alex resented him.

It was happening again. Alex could feel the familiar tingling sensation spreading through his body, starting at his fingertips and moving up his arms. His breath quickened as he tried to suppress it, tried to calm himself down before it was too late. But it was no use. The transformation was inevitable, just like every other time his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Before Alex could stand or even shout, the tingling intensified, spreading across his entire body. His vision blurred, and the world around him began to spin. He felt his limbs start to dissolve, his bones softening, his skin turning into something else entirely. The transformation was happening faster than ever before, and this time, it was way more intense then anything he ever felt before.

As the transformation took hold, Alex felt his consciousness splinter. His body fragmented, becoming not one object but several, each piece of him taking on a new form. His senses shifted, and suddenly, everything was different.

He still could see and feel. Every inch of him was hyper-aware, more so than he had ever been before. The first thing he noticed was the moisture, the overwhelming sensation of warmth and thickness all around him. His body had transformed into something soft, something well used, something on the ground just in front of Tyler’s bed. “Wait, could it be?” thought Alex as he saw his naked brother coming back from the bathroom still naked and still not showered. “God please not his clothes!” muttered Alex as he saw Tyler’s hand coming down to grab him as he started to put the clothes back on.

The realization hit him with a sickening jolt—he had become Tyler’s clothes. He could feel the rough fabric against his skin, the tightness around his limbs, and the constant, suffocating presence of Tyler’s sweat soaking into every fiber of his new form.

But what happened to his head was what scared Alex the most. He could see himself in a dark secluded small place. Hearing muffled sounds coming in his direction. That’s when he felt his inanimate new form move around and banging on the wooden walls that were all around him. And then he saw it, Tyler’s face smiling as he grabbed his new metallic compacted face and started to put it around his veiny, hairy musky cock. Alex felt like gagging on the huge dick. For him it felt like he was forced open and feeling something going all the way through his throat without moving. Worst, Alex could feel Tyler’s dick spasming with every heartbeat. His head had transformed into something horrifying, something intimate. He was no longer a person; he was a cock ring, snug and tight around the base of Tyler’s thick, muscular cock. The pressure was constant, a suffocating grip as Tyler’s manhood pulsed and throbbed with life. Alex could feel the heat of Tyler’s body radiating through him, the dampness of sweat and something far worse soaking into him.

Alex’s arms had become socks. He could feel them, wrapped tightly around Tyler’s feet, absorbing the sweat from his brother’s damp skin. Each step Tyler took sent a shockwave of pressure through Alex’s entire being, the weight of Tyler’s body pressing down on him with every movement. The smell was unbearable, the sour stench of Tyler’s unwashed feet clinging to the fabric that was now Alex.

His torso had turned into Tyler’s sweaty stinky tank top while legs had turned into Tyler’s shorts, clinging to his brother’s thick thighs and hairy legs. The fabric was damp with sweat, sticking to Tyler’s skin as he moved. Alex could feel every flex of his muscles, every subtle shift of his body as Tyler adjusted himself on the bed.

And the worst part—the part that made Alex want to scream, even though he had no voice—was that Tyler had no idea. His older brother, his tormentor, was using him, wearing him, completely unaware of the horror Alex was experiencing.

“Fucking bitch cancelling on me an hour before!” Tyler muttered as he sat back on his bed. He shifted on the bed, his massive frame moving as he reached down to adjust his crotch. Alex could feel the pressure increase as Tyler’s hand brushed against him—against the cock ring that was now his head. The touch was rough, careless, as Tyler squeezed his cock, adjusting the ring and unknowingly squeezing Alex tighter. “Fuck this bitch, I don’t need anyone to have some fun!” He said groping a bit harder his hardening cock.

Alex’s mind raced, but there was no escape. He was trapped in this new form, spread across his brother’s body like a second skin. Every movement Tyler made sent ripples of sensation through him, and he could feel everything. The heat, the sweat, the tightness—it was all too much.

Tyler, still oblivious to his brother’s suffering, shifted again, this time more deliberately. Alex felt a sinking dread as Tyler’s hand moved down his body, sliding over his groin. The cock ring tightened as Tyler’s cock swelled, growing hard under his touch.

“No,” Alex thought, though he had no mouth to speak the words. “Please, no.”

Tyler’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Alex could feel every inch of it, every pulse of blood rushing through the thick shaft. The cock ring squeezed tighter, trapping Alex in the horrifying intimacy of his brother’s self-pleasure.

Tyler grunted, his hand moving faster, his grip tightening as he jerked himself off. Alex could feel the slickness of pre-cum leaking from the tip of Tyler’s cock, dripping down onto the cock his face. He could taste it and he hated it. The warm, sticky fluid soaked into the material, mixing with the sweat that already drenched him.

The sensation was unbearable. Alex could feel the pre-cum dripping down, seeping into the shorts that was now his lower half. The fabric pressed against Tyler’s balls, cradling them as they tightened with each stroke. Alex could feel the heat building, the pressure growing as Tyler’s hand moved faster, his breathing becoming more labored.

Alex’s sock arms were damp with sweat, and Tyler used them to brace himself, his legs shifting as he found a more comfortable position to continue pleasuring himself. Alex could feel the rough fabric of the socks tightening around Tyler’s feet, the sweat pooling inside them as Tyler’s toes curled with pleasure. Each time Tyler adjusted, Alex felt the weight of his brother’s body pressing down on him, crushing him beneath the overwhelming heat and stench of his sweat.

Alex’s mind screamed in silent horror as Tyler’s hand moved faster, his breathing growing heavier. He could feel the tension building, the tightness in Tyler’s cock as he neared the edge. The cock ring squeezed tighter as the cock spasmed harder, and Alex could feel every throb, every pulse as Tyler’s arousal grew.

And then, with a final, guttural grunt, Tyler came.

Alex’s world exploded with sensation as Tyler’s cock pulsed, sending thick ropes of cum shooting through his shaft. Alex could feel the warm, sticky fluid pumping through the very core of what used to be his mind. The cock ring that was now his head squeezed tighter as the cum surged, soaking into every fiber of his being. He was drenched in it—trapped in the most intimate, degrading part of Tyler’s release.

The waves of sensation seemed to go on forever. Each spasm of Tyler's orgasm reverberated through Alex’s form, his awareness scattered across the socks, the shorts, the shirt and the cock ring. The fabric that made up his new body was saturated with sweat and cum, the scent clinging to him in a way that felt suffocating, inescapable. Every movement of Tyler’s body was a fresh reminder of Alex’s horrifying fate.

As Tyler’s breathing slowed and he came down from his climax, he casually wiped his hand on the shorts that Alex had become, further smearing the mess into his transformed body. Tyler seemed completely unaware of the suffering, the terror that Alex was experiencing. To him, Alex was nothing more than a collection of garments, objects meant to serve his every need.

Alex tried to scream, tried to will himself out of this nightmare, but there was no escape. Alex felt the tingling appear again as Tyler undressed once more to go take a shower. Except this time the transformation never came. Instead, Alex felt the tingling going further and further, muted as time went on. He could feel the sweat drying on his fabric, the cum crusting and sticking to him as Tyler moved about. Alex wondered why nothing was happening, he was alone, thee was space around him, and the tingling of transformation had already hit. What was taking so long? But as Alex was wondering all of this, that’s when he heard his brother coming back from the shower only dressed in a soaked towel around his manly groin. As Tyler sat one more time, he grabbed his shorts and laughed out loud. “Fuck, looks like this solo action was the one too many for you buddy” he said as he pushed his finger through the freshly appeared hole between the thighs. “A hole?” Wondered Alex. “No please that can’t be, I can’t be.” That’s when the realization hit him, he was stuck like that, permanently.

As Tyler got up from the bed, pulling on his torn shorts and adjusting his socks, Alex felt the suffocating weight of his new reality as his cock ring head was put back inside the box in his bed table. He would feel his brother’s presence surrounding him, every flex of muscle, every casual movement pressing into him, suffocating him in the heat and stench of Tyler’s body.

Alex’s mind raced in panicked horror, but there was nothing he could do. He had become Tyler’s possessions, inanimate yet aware, forever entwined with his brother’s physicality. The terror of his permanence settled in, and Alex realized with sickening clarity that this was his existence now—trapped, used, and discarded without a second thought.

The nightmare had just begun.

_____________________________________________________ Hey everybody! Here is the second prompt that was sent to me. Hope you'll like it. As always, feel free to send me messages to talk about ideas and you can still send me prompts in the ask if you want to see them written. Hope you'll enjoy ;)

[pedropascalsx]

Restless Spirits. Joel Miller x F! Reader.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 2.4k.

Summary: Joel finds respite in you after being visited by the ghosts of his past.

Warnings: P in V sex, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Oral (F) Receiving, Creampie, Fingering, Squirting, Some Angst and Mentions of Child Loss. 

A/N: This is my first attempt at smut for Joel. I hope you like it.

Thank you to my loves @djarinispunkk @theewokingdead & @chaoticgeminate for reading this over and providing support. 

And a big hug to my beloved @foli-vora​ for providing feedback, support and encouraging me to continue with it!

The grip on your hips is bruising, you want to wince from the pain but you know that he needs this. He needs you to be pliant, he needs you to be still, he needs to mindlessly fuck you until the only thing his body feels is a wave a euphoria that’ll be quickly followed by exhaustion. He needs to wear out his already tired body until it can’t do anything except succumb to whatever amount of sleep his brain will give him.

This isn’t about your pleasure, he’ll give that to you tomorrow, or maybe when he wakes during the night. But right now this is almost for survival, a quick respite from the hell that’s currently ravishing his bones and tormenting his mind. 

“Take it,” he grunts as his hand fists your ponytail, his rhythm getting sloppy and sloppier as he nears high. “Good- good fucking girl.”

He pulls out and fists his cock furiously for a few moments before groaning in pleasure as thick’s ropes of his seed start to coat your thighs. 

*

You can’t help but think about that look in his eyes from earlier. Before the ghosts of his past unknowingly haunted whatever hope he held for the future.

It’s a look you think you’ve seen once before, but you can’t quite place it. His eyes had something that years ago someone would have described as a glimmer of hope and maybe that’s what it was, but it just seems easier to disregard it as desperation. But right now you can’t. 

She was giggling like a child, the shredded remains of a newspaper printed decades earlier crumbled up in her hands as she read an obscure comic strip of a large ginger lasagna loving cat. 

Youth coats every inch of her face, she’s still tiny in stature, puberty is still very much a work in progress but still it’s easy to forget that she’s a child.

The way she talks, the unexplainable bravery she exhibits… and then in these passing moments she’ll remind me that she is just a child. One who giggles uncontrollably at stupid comics. 

He studied her for a few moments, he watched the way her eyes lit up as she laughed, it was like for a second he truly believed she could be the way out of all of this. And then it fizzled out. The demons he’s created in his mind coming out of the woodwork to shame him for feeling anything but numbness or a crippling sadness that he attempts to disguise with anger and an unfriendliness. 

After a few seconds he simply got up and left without saying another word, possibly to down a shot of whiskey or to quietly think about the daughter that lives on through his unwavering pain. He doesn’t speak about her ever; you only found out she existed through Tess. And Tess made it abundantly clear that any conversation that involves his daughter is strictly off limits. 

Instead he wears the pain of losing her on his face, it lingers in his bones and bleeds out of him like a wound that’s begging to be

cauterized and causes him to seek solace in debauchery and drink. And you can’t blame him. You never would. 

You’ve never experienced that kind of loss, you didn’t know your parents, you were the product of two fools that didn’t think before they acted and left in the hospital you were born in. Raised by the church for a while, before the epidemic hit and then you were carted off to a school for orphans. They attempted to protect you from the hell that you were living in, but you’d seen things, heard things that made your skin crawl. And the day you turned 18, you were left to fend for yourself.

Ten years on you still go to bed resenting the way they didn’t prepare any of you. Instead they made you sit in classrooms and learn about a country that had since crumbled and rotted away as the dead took over the cities and started to line every crack in each pavement. 

You’re awakened from your thoughts by the sound of metal hitting the concrete. Her beloved knife slamming against the cold ground after a miscalculation of her party trick. “Be careful,” you tell her and she shoots you back a look that could kill you instantly. 

“I’m hungry,” she eventually says after getting bored of her knife and losing interest in the comic, “Where’s Joel?” 

“He’s in the other room,” you say as you silently order her to remain, “He’s tired. He needs a break and you have food in your backpack.” 

She scoffs loudly in response this time, her signature eye roll accompanies it and you can’t help but choke out a laugh. “Eat. And get some rest. Lord knows how long we will be staying here.” 

*

It’s cold. Colder than it has been in the past few weeks. A sign that winter is well under way and is likely about to get a whole lot worse. You’re holed up in an abandoned apartment. The building was surprisingly clear and secluded enough for him to deem fit to stay. 

Of course he insisted that the large bookcase from the hallway was to be pushed in front of the door but seemed to almost relax a little when he realized there was no balcony or other way of entering or leaving the apartment than the front door.

Ellie had perked up a little once she saw the amount of reading material in the place, old newspapers, magazines and books. Enough to keep her entertained for a little while and a mattress that didn’t look too dirty in a room that she could have to herself. You were assigned the living room couch and Joel took the other room. He gave you a silent nod that told you to join him once she was definitely asleep.

Creeping into his room, you're surprised to find him awake. Silently watching you as you tiptoe over to the bed he’s sprawled out on and carefully climbing into. 

“She asleep?” he asks as you tuck yourself in.

“Yeah. For at least an hour.” 

He hums and your stomach flutters at the way his southern drawl seems to drip into every sound he makes. 

“You tired, girl?” he asks as his eyes dart around the room seemingly looking at everything but you. 

“No.” You respond and he wastes no time, he pulls the blanket from you and starts gesturing for you to take off your panties.

“Good, ‘cause last time you didn’t cum,” are the last words you hear from him before he’s impatiently yanking your underwear down the rest of your legs and spreading them in front of him. 

Joel isn’t generally the most patient man but at this moment you’d never know. He’s got you exactly how he likes you, bare to him, pliant and ready to take whatever he’ll give you. And right now he’s savouring the view, slowly palming at the obvious bulge in his threadbare boxer shorts whilst bringing his tongue out to wet his lips.

“The prettiest goddamn pussy I ever saw,” he mumbles before running a finger through your slit and tutting at the obscene amount of arousal that coats it, “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you whimper as his fingers work magic on your clit, “It’s all for you.”

“You gonna be a good girl and keep quiet for me?” he asks before ripping his fingers away.

“Yes,” you immediately moan out, the loss of his fingers making you groan beneath him.

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Sir.”

His face immediately dives into your pussy, his tongue licks a wide stripe through your folds and you whimper his name as his groans vibrate against your core; as he laps up the arousal that had started to spread down your thighs. The taste of you is heaven. Tangy yet sweet and the noises that filter through your lips as his tongue flicks against your bundle of nerves makes his cock throb even harder with need. 

“Please,” you whisper as he teases a finger around your vagina, circling the entrance a few times before chuckling, “Please, Sir.” 

And without a beat he thrusts two of his thick digits into your heat, curling them up into that spot that only he is able to find before thrusting them in and out of you.

He groans in delight as your fingers entangle in his locks, pulling on his curls as he sucks on your clit. You quietly chant his name as his lips let go of your clit, and his tongue begins its glorious assault on your bundle of nerves again. A moan of his name falls from your mouth before your thighs are squeezing tighter around his head and your pussy is clamping down around his fingers. It’s glorious, white explodes behind your eyes as your body convulses from the pleasure he rips from you.

He doesn’t stop, his tongue continues to lap against your clit, his fingers continue to work their magic inside of you and it becomes clear that this isn’t coming to be the only one he’s pulling from you with his mouth. 

His fingers curl up against that spot inside of you one more time and you see stars, your body trembles and an intense pressure builds and immediately snaps as a trickle of liquid gushes from you and coats his face. 

“Oh, fuck,” you splutter as you realize what you did, “I’ve never done… I’m sorry.”

You fingers unclench in his hair as you gently move his face away, finally getting a glimpse at the way your arousal is glistening on his face and beard.

“You apologize again and I’ll give you something to apologize for, pretty girl,” he warns before bringing the fingers that were buried in your cunt to his mouth and sucking them clean, “You want to sleep? Or do you want me to fuck this pretty little pussy?”

“You already know,” you mumble as you writhe beneath him, studying his face as he licks his lips, his eyes still focusing on your glistening cunt.

“Yeah, but I ain’t doing shit until I hear you say it, pretty girl.” He says as his eyes slowly sweep up your body and burrow into yours.

“I want you to fuck me, sir,” you say as he pushes your t-shirt above your tits, and bends down to take a nipple in his mouth. His teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his lips envelope it and he sucks hard. You moan quietly as he snakes his hand between you both and starts rubbing your overstimulated clit. He chuckles as you hiss as he works your clit. “I need you to fuck me, Joel.” 

He lets go of your nipple with a loud pop before shaking his head. “Not good enough, girl,” he taunts before moving across to the other nipple. 

“Please, Joel,” you beg as his nimble fingers work your clit a little harder and faster, “Need you inside of me. Need you to take whatever you need from… Please, please, sir, -ooh- please fuck me.”

His tongue teases your nipple as he pulls a third orgasm from you, “Let’s make this pretty pussy come around my cock, pretty girl.”

He finally pushes his boxers down and lets his cock break free, it bobs up and down a few times before he takes it in hand and strokes himself roughly a few times. You wet your lips at the sight, the tip of him almost purple with a bead of pre-cum that’s begging to be licked clear. 

He reaches over and grabs his pillow with his free hand and you lift your hips for him ready to place it beneath you.

“Be a good girl and keep quiet for me now,” he orders as he lines himself up to your entrance and slowly pushes himself in. Your breath hitches at the stretch of him, and he takes it slow. No matter how many takes he fucks you, the way he fills your tight heat always takes a few moments for you to get used to.

“Like a fucking glove,” he murmurs as he waits for the okay to move, “Always feels so perfect around me.” 

“Fuck me,” you moan as clamp down around him, “I need you to move.” 

Without missing a beat, he pulls out and immediately pushes back in, his hips finding a steady rhythm as he fucks into you. His thrusts are perfectly precise; his cock dragging against that spot inside of you with every punch of his hips. “Good girl,” he grunts, “Always taking my cock so fucking good.” 

You keen at his praise, your walls fluttering around his cock as he builds you up and towards the edge of paradise once more and then you see it.

It’s fleeting, unbearably quick and almost undetectable but you catch it. That look in his eyes again. The one that almost resembles hope, this time aimed at you and this time replaced by a look of exhilaration instead of misery as you clamp down around him. He continues thrusting in and out as you deliriously chant his name. You feel the warmth of his pleasure begin to coat your walls as you rip free his pleasure. A groan of delight floods the air with every one of his thrusts until you’ve milked him dry. 

His mouth possessively envelopes yours and takes you by surprise as his tongue licks its way into your mouth. You keen at the feeling of his fingers gripping your jaw as he swallows the moans you breathe into his mouth. His teeth capture your bottom lip and he gently nibbles before letting it go and resting his forehead on yours. 

You see it one more time, just as briefly as before, his lips slightly curling upwards before the ghosts of his past chase it away. 

Hope? Excitement? Happiness?

He retrieves his pillow from your underneath your hips and snuggles down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your neck. 

“So, no one has ever made you squirt before, pretty girl?” He mumbles into your skin and you can feel the grin that’s clearly spreading across his face.

“Go to sleep, Miller,” you murmur back as you close your eyes. Enjoying the warmth of his skin settling onto yours. 

Maybe you won’t ever truly know what it is, but what you do know is that you’ll give him whatever he needs to see it pass through his eyes again.

[writingoneout]

Untilted Katamari Reflections

Preamble:

Content considerations for the following include:

Parental abuse

Bigotry

Worldly anxiety

You're welcome back another day if that's too much right now.

I.

It’s fall of 2015.

You and your virgin college friends drink shitty cocktails called the “Slutty Will Rodgers.” They’re just Pepsi rawdogged with indeterminate amounts of grenadine and Captain Morgan. When you bought the mixers a Wal-Mart stocker yodeled “OOOOoOoooOH, maKIN sOMe DRINKS?!?!” and you knew it was time to leave.

We Love Katamari is on the Telly. It’s a sweet, trippy game you first bought to cope with high school. On Dark Fridays at 1am, when your inbox was barren and your balls were full, you’d drive to the empty gym downtown and sprint six miles. Then you’d come home and replay the firefly level until you fell asleep with your pug.

Your college friends are bad at the game, so they pass the controller. You’re playing the underwater stage. A spaceman falls in the pond of people gunk and stacked crabs. It’s going really well if you’re honest. You point to the screen and say “this’ll be Florida if Trump wins.” See Fig. 1.

Figure 1: Rick Desantis has big plans for Disney.

Your friends don’t reply because they soon won’t be virgins and their tongues battle each other’s. It’s a different game they play, one with fuzzier rules, but greater industry respect. You wish the campus gym was open 24/7.

. . .

Your skills as the prince are not inherent. You first meet him in 2005, when your dyspraxic hands can barely tie a shoe. Your parents catch you lose shit for the Toonami review of Me and My Katamari. They buy it for Christmas, hoping to steady your nerves while your father’s in therapy.

Dr. Flam is a Neo-Freudian hitched to your mom’s guy, Dr. Flim. She’s deep in your dad’s dream journal and makes him watch movies like Cool Hand Luke to really reign in his ego. He gets the DVDs from the Netflix site, then through the mail. As a family you watch your dad’s therapy films and reruns of Inyuasha.

In the waiting room you barely navigate the sticky ball through Namco Bandai’s Satoshi Kon parade. See Fig. 2. You’ve only seen adults express anger verbally, so when you mess up you grunt a lot and let out those Leopold Butters Stotch swears like “crap,” “shoot,” and “gosh darn.” You’re not particularly self-aware, so you probably just say “god fucking damn it” a few times and don’t remember. Years later you realize there was probably a secretary behind the glass watching you do all this.

Figure 2: Bwahbwahwabhbawahbwaaaaah.

Sometimes there’s a girl in the room with you, just around your age. She’s stuck while Dr. Flim teaches her mom about what dream snakes mean for her fear of male puberty. That's what he did for your mom, anyway.

You think the waiting-room stranger is cute, but you won’t admit you like girls yet, especially not to yourself. To cope with the cognitive dissonance, you do your weird shit louder while refusing to make eye contact with her. If you get real stressed you crank up the main menu track and yell “ahhhhh that’s so relaxing” while the “nah nah nah nahs” play through your headphones.

At one point the girl stands against a wall and stares at you with her arms crossed. You bet she thinks you’re cool, but she’s probably just annoyed and hopes you’ll notice, or maybe just ask if she’s OK. It’s probably good you don’t talk with her. You might ask something stupid, like if she's seen the roach corpse in the stairwell. It’s been there for a year straight, isn’t that crazy?

For better and worse, you power through your little game alone. Every time you lose the King of All Cosmos beats, shoots, and belittles you. See Fig. 3. It reminds you of when your own dad shattered your Harry Potter wand over the kitchen counter because you dropped a mini pizza.

Figure 3: The King of All Cosmos offers little constructive advice, all things considered.

You fail quite frequently. Eventually you drop the game because it’s getting stressful and you have the power to relieve yourself of the situation—not the Freudian lobby, just your fake dad.

II.

It’s 2012. PlayStation Network uploads The Prince’s primeval outing: Katamari Damacy. Within, Padre Cosmotic flaps his gums over too much hooch then slams his dump truck ass through the better part of our solar system. He dislodges every recognized constellation and even the moon itself.

Cosmos sends Prince to Earth—the last brick left in the shitstorm—to make slop of our planet and bodies. With the slop space itself will be made anew. The Good Son does as he's told, and every living entity experiences euphoric ego death within the bulbous heaven of the Katamari.

As a Real Gamer Teen you lose a lot less in this one. You really go in and fix Fake Dad’s mistakes, no problem at all. This is why a year ago you hailed “gaming journalism” as your calling. You write clean and play tight; should keep the lights on. It’s the most concrete idea you’ve had since 7th grade when you outlined a YA novel called Tooth Pocket. Even you didn’t think Scholastic would buy that one, though. It was just too hot for the book fair.

One day you’re cranking through FFVI and your real dad swings by, mad you're young. He grills your ass and says “I bet you can’t even tell me the biggest thing happening right now.” It’s some real “What’s a gallon of milk cost?” shit, he could mean anything.

 Surprisingly, you can’t think of a good answer. You and your friends are actually pretty informed because John Stewart is still at the desk and y’all chime in every day. See Fig. 4. You also spend hours each week tearing through MSN slideshows in your Graphic Design class because the Photoshop takes five minutes. You’ve seen a staggering amount of the Syrian civil war.

Figure 4: Sometimes in Snapchat you draw glasses on your cat to make him look like Mitch McConnel. You wouldn't do that without this guy.

Still, you’re a little stumped. It’s the middle of a phenomenon native to moralist presidencies known as "a slow news week.” You actually ran out of war shit the other day and clicked through some slides about Pakistani wrestlers. The seniors who offered you Jack Daniels in the Whataburger lot saw it and laughed. They thought you were peeping dong in class. You really weren’t, but they didn’t believe you. They graduate certain you were bricked up in the Dell Lab over big guys in spandex.

“I don’t know,” you tell your dad.

He throws his hands behind his head, hard, like an orangutan chucking logs at a poacher.

“It’s the fucking carbon tax,” he yells. This comes as a surprise, you think, because that shit is last month’s news. It really didn’t go anywhere.

“Do you not pay attention because you don’t give a shit, or are you just a nihilist and think you can’t do anything?” You can tell in his eyes he thinks there’s a real answer. “Seriously, which is it?

You don’t remember what you said. You probably just stammered until he walked off.

A month later he picks you up from marching band. Your phone is dead, so he had to wait twenty minutes longer than anticipated while you found his car. He punches the rearview mirror until the windshield cracks then screams of how your birth kept him from New England.

III.

It’s 2016. A rockin’ MILF in the Psych department gets you really into Hamilton. See Fig. 5. Every day you wake up on the grind and blast “You Aaron Burr, sir?” through your shitty 7-11 cans. While cramming foreign language Quizlets and McGraw Hill Online you do this thing called “Hafilton.” It’s where rock up to “Nonstop” and quit listening just before Hamilton decides what he will stop is being a good husband.

Figure 5: Like Kojima, you know "MILF" is a mindset, not a factual inquiry.

It’s 2018. Your grades are notably better and you’ve snuck into the honors program. Like Hamilton himself, you really flourished at 19 and thought about running for office. You immediately abandoned this idea after remembering your allergy to recordings of your image or voice.

You cohabit with the Psych MILF, and she offers some advice: she’s really had her boots on the ground with this whole “clinical psych thing” and honestly, respectfully, she loves you, but dear God it might not be your scene. It’s taken a real toll on her and the friends, and she can’t imagine you going through that shit.

At 1am in your living room you boot up DOOM (2016) and listen through some Hamilton. Angelica is thirsty on main when you remember that you, yourself, could be a lawyer. You don’t have to run for Congress to fight the establishment. There’s just the common law, and it’s right there. You can just get your grubby little hands in that shit and work your magic.

. . .

It’s the last semester of undergrad. Your Western Thought professor says Hamilton wasn’t really a huge deal and really James Madison shat out the big parts of our faction-proof empire. Yes, there was, in fact, a civil war, but the caplock rifle worked it out. After the Federalist papers he has you read the Bill of Rights but no Supreme Court cases. There’s a lot of talk on negative liberties.

Just before finals, the learned doctor says your generation only has two things to worry about: the climate and the poverty. Yeah they’re big, he says, but they’re just two things. You’re crafty kids, smart as the framers, even.

. . .

The state decides law school is your jam and lets you come inside.

There’s the negative liberties but you actually read Supreme Court opinions when the big boys aren’t shaking fists for Valley Forge. They have you listen to Hamilton for context. You feel dirty. An LRW professor puts on the “I’m Just a Bill” video and your sectionmate with Ivy degrees gets really, really mad.

. . .

The Federalist Society has a comfy presence at your law school. Along with Big Oil they sling out free pizza to every Little Scalia with a rumbly tum tum.

On your way to class you hear what the pizza boys feel. They hate Europeans, those social democrats with the rotten armories and clumpy cash. The Euros, they think, give too much wiggle room for the mentally ill, and by that they mean they mean gay people and probably just women overall.

There are more than two things to fix, you think.

. . .

The pandemic hits. You and some pals start a Google Doc to stay afloat. It barely works. In the Zoom review for the property final your professor catches multiple people crying. "You don't have to be here," he tells them, “there are other jobs.”

. . .

A year passes. You’re in a niche public interest class you do all right with. The professor looks you and thirty-five others dead in the eye and says how sorry he is that law school is traumatic. You shed a single tear in your little window. You're pretty in the shit and haven’t worn pants to class in months.

Then public interest prof takes a big, big drag from his long, fat spliff. He spins his desk chair and baseball cap at the same time, never letting go of the joint.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s not your fault, really, but the world is fucked. It’s time to fix what your parents did.”

The next week he gives a practice exam where the best solution is to sell an old lady’s house to Nestlé.

IV.

It’s 2022. After throwing your whole gooch at it, you fail the bar exam.

You fall back hard into exercise. When you’re not slamming Barbri you’re at the gym binging curls and cranking the Chainsaw Man soundtrack. One night on the way to squats you finally hear “Black Parade.” Just like you, Mr. Gerry Wayland is stuck between global disrepair and the desire to write Funny Little Books.

You just started an FLB yourself, actually. It’s spin on a Story Break episode you love. In your version there’s a fucked up civil war horse that moves like a spider and is covered in bugs. Rich people kill the planet then the horse gets lost in space. It’s compelling, you promise. There’s body horror and pirates dressed like Gorton’s Fisherman. See Fig. 6 It’s about the horrors of the contemporary world state. It’ll be fun.

Figure 6: An untapped horror icon. Imagine blood contrasting that yellow.

Big problem, though: you remember rich people love hiking. There’s no grass on Mars, not that good shit anyway. Would they really fuck all of it?

You edit. In the last few years, the real breathless ones, the oligarchs cash their tab. A cartel, they think, could really muscle those stragglers, the tragically common. There’s one city left with both breathable air and refugees. They level it. The few survivors are spread amongst the stars, so their loves and languages may die.

. . .

It’s the middle of Bar Prep Round 2. You and the patient MILF see Hadestown in the Big City.

There’s a juke joint on stage flanked by devil trombones. A sad little guy slinks in from the janitor’s closet. His name is Orpheus and, just like you, he’s a sad, short writer who likes a lady so much it comes out weird. He has a vision, he says, for a little ditty. It’s compelling, he promises, and shit’s gonna change. His love is functional and realized, worth the investment of a hardened woman displaced by capital’s torture. She believes him.

You cry because you know where this goes.

It’s just a single tear.

Don’t worry.

Nobody sees.

. . .

There’s this game you like, by some corporate anarchists who hate themselves. They’re Scandinavian, from the spot in Tallin where you stopped for a cruise. Every gift shop there had swastikas and gas masks leftover from the bloody years.

In the game is a liberal yacht MILF. She thinks you’re stupid but someone’s helping with your gun, so you’ve got that on her. And yet, she pins you, re your whole writing thing. See Fig. 7.

Figure 7: She sucked, but it still hurt when she left.

Your favorite Supreme Court podcast says the ocean’s last hope is other countries. But those countries’ people cry to the Disco game, and their ministers also bought The End of History. You meet them on the subreddit. You're all geeked out, waiting for the tide.

. . .

It’s the era of desert cradles. God thinks you’re disgusting, so he sends his better kids with a memo: the flood was too much work on his end, it’s time for something different.

“Just keep walking,” he says.

Your skin bares his figure. So do the corpses. You little birds among billions, gassed out and screaming, move to clean.

V.

It’s 2023.

We Love Katamari is up on the PlayStation store. You sit with the cats and mow down some crabs. You don’t need it so much these days, but it’s nice.

There’s a Bar card in your wallet, just below your gym tag. There are two interviews in your Google Calendar. Good stuff might happen, hopefully soon. You crawl into bed and wrap an arm around your wife’s rib cage.

Everything matters and nothing is safe.

You are loved enough to sleep.

[kit-williams]

Can I get some cream pie action with Tulio?

This is at the start of my inbox...

I guess happy Mating Press March

Male Lead: Tulio Female Lead: Psychi Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marines Canon Status: I dunno probably not its why I gave it the ending that I did I let the spirit of the fic take me TW: Smut, Yandere behavior, Tulio behavior, dubcon?, cream pie Tag List: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

Note: Yeah keeping the canon status format thing from Fluffuary it's helpful for these sorts of asks.

The spice wine rushed over their tongues as it flowed freely and by the throne he wished he could allow such things to get him somewhat intoxicated but he would not stoop so low as to drinking mjod. He looked over to Psychi who wasn't used to such fine wines as her cheeks were flushed and given how her tunic was he could see how the tops of her breasts were flushed as well.

He forces himself to think about fighting tyrannids instead of the thoughts of how soft those would feel against his face... or how his tongue would run against her nipple... how he would suckle hard like a hungry babe. He grits his teeth as he forgets about the foul xeno he was suppose to be thinking about and thinks about the woman drinking and eating with him naked.

"Tulio?" She slurs softly as his eyes look to her and notice how her eyes are looking down... he follows her gaze and his face flushes as his own tunic is doing a terrible job to hide his desire.

"P-Psychoula I can explain." He felt like he was going through puberty again.

"No need Tulio." She says putting down her goblet as she crawls into his lounge chair and the wine must have made his darling bold as her hand starts to pet the cloth covered cock.

It twitches under her ministrations... of course it would for her hands. Tulio can't help but moan like some sort of virgin with the way her hand touches him. "Psychoula!" He bites his cheek to stop cumming right there.

His cry out causes her to flinch her hand away but she still felt emboldened as she leans forward with tears in her eyes, "Tulio please I have to repay you somehow!" He goes to stop her but she undoes the ties for her tunic letting it fall to her hips bearing her breasts to him and she crawls between his legs nuzzling his clothed cock. "Please... let me repay you." She hiccups softly.

He shouldn't he really shouldn't... it isn't proper.... so why was he undoing his tunic?! Why did he order her to undo her hair... of course it was to thread his fingers through her hair griping a handful as he watches her run her tongue against his cock. He shutters as he watches her lick a pearl of precum from the tip of his cock watching the way the white pearl of cum smears upon the pink of her tongue. How her eyes are half lidded as she lavishes her affections upon his flesh... running her hands up and down the shaft that isn't receiving her direct attention.

Tulio grits his teeth as he resists bucking up... as lurid as his desires and dreams may get he knows she has limits and he can't hurt her... but the way she tries to take as much as she can in her mouth... he hears her gag softly and the sensation of her saliva running down his cock is too much. He gently pulls on her hair, "Off now." He orders and she pulls off with a pop as she pants softly. She rubs her face and the flesh of her breasts against him.

He should stop. He should stop.... why isn't he stopping?! The voice inside his head whimpers as he grabs her chin and pulls her into a deep kiss tasting himself mingling with the spiced wine as he is doing everything wrong as he doesn't spend the time to prep her he just rubs his cock head against her cunt and then feels how she pushes herself down onto him... slowly pushing down each inch after inch... his hand against her cheek as he watches her get that blissed fucked out look.

"Please Tulio... please..." She begs softly and he bucks his hips up as his reply. He grunts and huffs and snarls as he has to restrain himself from burying hard and fast... he wants her and she's there on him pleading for him to fuck her and he wants to do so much! So MUCH! To her but he has a limited amount of time... unless he just keeps going until his body gives out. He pants at the horrid thought as they seem to spiral out of him as she... should be awake for these moments... but she didn't need to be awake is what the voice in his head says.

He came inside of her at those thoughts and lurid desires. He flipped her over less then gently as he looked down at her spread cunt still wrapped around his cock as his cum overflowed the sides and he pulled her legs to his chest as he thrusted down listening to her cries of pleasure and mercy as he knew she was overstimulated but just a little more! He bucked down hard, grunting like an animal, as he chanted her name and she mewled his own name so pathetically and at his mercy. He moans as he felt her walls strangle his cock and he flooded her fertile valley with his seed looking down at the way her walls were so spread as cum stained her thighs and oozed down her ass, making its way over her puckered bud. Tears left their mark on her face as she was sprawled over his lounge chair just looking up at him whimpering.

But he wanted more? Why? Why was she looking at him like that?

"Tulio?" She whimpered before flinching-

He snapped awake feeling his hearts racing and his thighs moist and his own release filling his nose. He rubs a hand over his eyes groaning before he realizes something is on his arm... and that something is a someone... a Psychi just snuggling against his arm... the chill of the night not an issue with how she was wrapped around his arm like a hot water bottle keeping her warm. He groans feeling like an awful creature... it was not often that she slept over and whenever she did... he had such intense sexual dreams which made him feel like a monster just barely hanging on...

But he wasn't one... he reassures himself as he tucks her into bed... and he watches her for awhile... before he takes a small piece of her clothing to release the rest of such pent up feelings.

[pogueswrld]

nsfw | peter parker 🦢

this is inspired by this (nsfw twt link!! why was that so embarrassing to admit omg) and this is a hc that peter has hyperspermia 🤞

after being bitten by that spider, everything was suddenly so much more than how it was before for peter. he was a teenager going through puberty, so everything was already heightened for him, but with the toxins of the spiders running through his veins and mixing in with his dna... peter didn't stand a chance.

before the spider, peter remembers distinctively how his body reacted to the random bursts of hormones every other day- he'd sweat, lock himself in the bathroom all day, and take multiple cold showers because he read somewhere that they could help. it worked, most of the time. but now as an adult with unfiltered stamina and hyper-everything, none of those old methods work anymore.

he simply could not function properly once there was a twitch from his cock. it's like it had a mind of its own, coming alive at the most random of times, and refusing to leave until he rubs one out wherever he was.

the first time it happened was after a robbery he stopped. as the rush of adrenaline and excitement slowly died down, he began to realize the strain of his cock against the latex fabric of his suit. he'd meant to adjust himself, try to push it down and away, thinking if he ignored it then it'll disappear, but the moment his hand made contact with the fabric and pulled it just a tiny bit around, a whimper escaped his lips. he tried again, this time cupping his member, and a shiver twiddled up his spine.

he simply couldn't do anything without whining at the friction he received, he felt somewhat pathetic.

and that wasn't the worst part. personally, peter thinks the worst part about coming to age with the toxins of a spider that advanced every part of him to nearly unrealistic standards, is how much bodily fluids he is able to exceed. he cannot ignore an erection as the simplest of movements will send a wave of pleasure through him, and he can't hold down on his noises any better than biting back his snarky remarks while fighting criminals on the daily, so he's out to exclude himself somewhere private. if he did manage to pull out his cock, the amount of precum dripping from his slit and down either his suit or straight to the ground was unholy, and it would never stop until he managed to push himself to the brink of an orgasm.

and if he did manage to reach his high, there was no stopping the flow of ropes of cum ejecting from him, and there was no possible way for him to keep quiet. his whines, grunts, groans, and moans would echo throughout the space he was currently occupying, and a puddle of his seed would have painted either the wall or the ground of the area.

he was always red in the cheeks by the end of each session, but he can't help it, everything about him has just grown to an abnormally hyper level and there was nothing he can do about it.

[thevestigeofvanillaan]

You and Stan Marsh were young when you'd met. Only five years old when you'd meet on the first day of school.

The two of you and three other boys became friends awfully fast and the five of you grew together.

Elementary school went by quickly, and effortlessly. You were smart, and it got you through all the years that led up to seventh grade.

Seventh grade sucked, you started your period, all the boys started puberty, everything got harder. It wasn't great.

That year, too, happened to be the year school taught you about sex and the human body.

Masturbating was something you started to do frequently.

The only time you'd ever "experimented" with a boy was when you kissed Kyle on the cheek at recess in the second grade. That all changed in your freshman year.

"Hey Stan, can I go to your house? I want you to teach me something."

And then that's when you and Stan would be alone in his room, sitting on his bed together.

That progressed to him showing you his cock and letting you masturbate him, and he'd return the favor to you.

It was about a year or so and a few months between that when your next interaction like this would occur. Though this time it went slightly further.

Homecoming weekend of your junior year– Stan and you got bored of the party quickly and decided to leave together to his house where nobody would be home.

The two of you would kiss and touch eachother, getting completely naked and laying with one another.

About a week later you'd done the same thing but this time Stan would ask, "Can I put it in? Just the tip?"

You'd lay on your back and Stan would hover over you, kissing your neck softly and muttering praise into your ear.

"So pretty, know that? God how I love the scent on you, it's addicting."

"You ready?" Stan'd ask and you'd hesitate before nodding. He'd rub his tip on your wet folds and make eye contact with you before looking down and sliding into your entrance with only about an inch inside.

And there you'd sit, moving your hips, gripping and scratching at his forearms so hard it leaves read marks. "Stan—"

"What?" He grunts, clearly struggling.

"Stan, just fuck me.. please." You wiggle underneath him and bite your lip, desperate to lose your virginity, especially to someone who knew you and your body so well.

He placed a hand on your lower stomach, putting a small amount of pressure on it as he tries to make it as pleasuring for you as he could. You were so tight, so wet, so needy for him.

Stan would stay inside you, waiting for you to tell him to go. "You can move, Stan." You nod and sit up slightly to rest on your forearms, watching him slide out and back inside you at a slow pace before looking up into his eyes that were watching as he fucked into your tight cunt.

It was surprisingly big for being quite young, but he always grew faster than the other boys. His voice deepend faster, his balls definitely dropped faster, everything with Stan was better.

"Fuck–" He groans out as you wrap your legs around his waist, trapping him inside you. "No, don't do that.. what if– god." He feels himself coming closer to his release.

"Just do it Stanley." You say, gripping at his bare biceps with a loud moan and arch of your back and he feels himself bottoming out with a loud groan.

He'd lay beside you on the bed and the both of you would breathe heavily. There was silence, and you moved yourself to rest on Stan's chest.

Stan kissed your forehead and softly rubbed a hand through your hair, "Do you.. need anything, or.?"

"I'm okay. Just want you, Stanley."

He'd scoff in a laugh, "You're the only one who calls me that." He places a kiss on the top of your head, "It's cute."

[p4rallel-universe]

brokeback (pt.2)

(Lip Gallagher x male reader)

summary: part 2 to my previous fic of the same name. Lip and Y/N deal with the aftermath of their kiss in different ways, and they both find they have questions that need to be answered.

it's saturday and Lip hasn't slept a full night in 4 days. between school and work his head is too full. and of course, something else is plaguing his mind. but he'd rather not think about it.

he feels like a dick, really he does. because he's been avoiding you, and it feels different to when he'd blow off Amanda, or even yell at Mandy. because then, he was angry with them, or just didn't care. but with this, he's just angry at himself. he smokes and smokes and doesn't feel any better about it. which is a new experience.

you, on the other hand, can't help but think about what happened. and you don't want to not think about it. it was the type of thing you just can't fake, or explain. you haven't slept much either. Ian's wondering what's going on and you can't not notice. thankfully, his very-straight brother having a passionate encounter with you isn't the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of reasons why Lip is avoiding you.

a hot cigarette makes the cold morning better for lip. standing in his tank top and boxers, in his old bedroom where the boy he doesn't want to think about has been sleeping. behind him he hears movement in the hallway and the sound of Ian grunting in the doorway. he turns to see him doing pullups. which is a good thing, because it means this is a good phase (as long as pull-ups doesn't turn to 3 hour runs, which turns to 3 hour drives, which turns to another stint in the psych ward).

"yo," he says, flicking his cig out the window, Ian nods, as he counts to himself in grunting whispers. Lip considers a second before asking a question,

"hey, so when you were, uh, growing up, how'd you know about the uh...gay thing?" he cringes as he asks, because it's never really been something they talked about,

"what?" Ian pauses, taken aback and Lip covers for himself,

"i mean uh, c'mon you were like 14...15?- like, what made getting screwed by your 30 year old boss so appealing, ya know? i guess i always wondered that, how you knew." he hopes this make it sound more like a jokingly invasive question than a plea for advice,

"i dunno man, guess i just...felt different. then when i reached puberty i knew i couldn't get it up to girls. you know, Kash wasn't really my first choice, he was just there." Ian looks solemn for a second before he resumes his efforts on the pullup bar.

"yeah, fucking creep..." Lip chuckles and pauses, and he's really cautious now,

"look, and what's the deal with Mickey? you, and the roughest catch on the southside. he your boyfriend? or are you just fuck buddies?" Lip tries to sound insulting instead of curious, and it works, because Ian withdraws for a second,

"i don't really know, i guess we hang out." his jaw hardens and he strains to lift himself up again,

the room goes quiet of voices for a second, before Lip speaks up, "you love him?", and Ian drops off the bar,

"look, why do you care anyway?" Ian looks puzzled, and rightly so, because Lip has never taken an interest before and has no reason to now. Lip shrugs in an attempt at nonchalance,

"i like how he smells. and his face, like, his eyes or something. his hair when he wakes up. it doesn't mean i love him, i guess we just hang out." and then he leaves.

Lip mellows in that for a bit, and he sits on the bed next to where he's been stood. his eyes fall to a discarded shirt on the floor which isn't Ian's and isn't his, so be guesses it must be yours. he picks it up and holds it close to his chest, he closes his eyes and breathes for a bit. "i like how he smells."

it's later on that night when you come home, walking through the door just as Ian's heading out, away to see Mickey - who you've heard so much about, but not actually met - and he says hello and goodbye before shifting past you. it's another rare quiet night in the Gallagher house, which you've gotten very used to. it feels a lot like a home should - but it's not like you'd really know.

"hey," a voice startles you, "not seen you around today." it's Lip, and this statement is pretty funny, because he's the reason he's not "seen you around" today. or any other day this week. but you're not angry, really, you can't be.

"was just out." you reply and he nods. you raise your eyebrows a bit because it honestly looks like he's studying you. probably some pretentious college class excersise, "analyse your roommates faces and unlock the secrets of their psyche". "you good?" you ask, because for the first time in days, he's not just meeting your eyes but really looking in them. like he's trying to find something he lost there.

"yeah, yeah." and it's like he snaps back to reality. you secretly hope this means what you want it to mean. Lip, on the otherhand, has just memorised everything from your lips to your y/e/c eyes. "his face, like, his eyes or something."

"i'm, uh, going to bed." he mumbles. and then you're alone in the living room, and feeling very fucking confused. because seriously, what is this guys deal? he kisses you till your lips are bruised, then ignores you for days, now he stares at you like some fancy painting and seconds after just runs off? it should piss you off, but it doesn't.

it's 1 AM, you can't sleep and everythings too quiet. you can't stop thinking about Lip. his blue eyes when he was staring at you. his strong arms you held onto when you kissed. his mind and how he thinks, and how you can't for the life of you figure him out.

it's this train of thought that brings you to his bedroom door. you don't really bother to knock. you open the door and there he is, sleeping. and it's honestly really attractive how boyish he is in sleep. limbs splayed, his already messy curls even messier. the urge to shake him awake and kiss him fills you. that's when you decide there's nothing to lose, really. either way you'll get the answer you need.

you walk over and stand over him for a second. you admire his face and how young he looks. without really thinking, you reach out a hand and run it through his hair, over the side of his face. you think maybe you shouldn't wake him up, because this is too perfect. but this won't last forever, and you can't hang in the balance. you just want to know how he feels, even if it isn't what you want to hear.

you shake his shoulders gently and he stirs, his eyes open when you whisper his name. he looks at you, confused,

"Y/N, what the hell?" he rasps, voice groggy with sleep. everything you had planned out in your head to say or do escapes you. so you just kiss him. and he kisses you. hard.

he pulls you ontop of him, his hands traveling up your back. your hands are in his hair, it's needy and a bit rough. which is understandable, because you've barely spoke for days let alone come close to kissing like this. and when you want someone like this, when you can't even sleep for thinking about them, you can't just kiss them once and not want- no, need to do it every second for the rest of your life.

when the kiss ends, it's you who pulls away. you're both breathing heavily, and Lip has his hands clasping your face like he's scared you aren't really there. he looks into your eyes and it's like the whole world becomes blue.

"i'm sorry-" he starts, panting,

"no, no, it's okay. it's okay, look, just tell me what you feel." you kiss him quickly again and he holds your face tighter,

"i just- i want to be with you." he kisses you this time, and again, and again.

"that's it then." and you don't really need to say much else about it. he kisses you again and this time you just don't stop

the next morning, Lip wakes up first, and looks at you, asleep next to him. he thinks you're beautiful, really. in a way no girl ever has been to him. you stir and he chuckles,

"hey, morning." and you smile at him, too tired to reply yet. he notices how your hair sticks up and falls on your face, boyishly. he smiles to himself as you rub your eyes. "his hair when he wakes up".

something about this morning makes Lip feel so much better. like he doesn't need a cigarette, or college, or to break anything. like it's okay to just sit a while.

he thinks that's pretty fucking great.

A/N - i've always really loved the scene where Ian tells Carl he and Mickey "hang out" and that he likes how he smells. i thought it really applied to a lot of mlm relationships? especially in brokeback mountain, where the title ofc comes from lol. so i figured i'd include it kinda as it adds to the plot lmao.

(also, @thehermitsaltar, p sure you wanted a pt. 2? well here you go👍)

[dickgraysonwayne]

Underneath

Ao3

Summary: Agent 37 seems familiar, but nah…he couldn’t be.

@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 5: Dick (Helen) of Troy | Batfam Meets Agent 37 | Polyamory

Jason fucking hates Tuesdays.

Fuckin’ Tuesdays, he stews, kicking a can at his feet. Fuckin’ Batman. Fuckin’ drug dealers. Fuckin’…

“Hey,” Tim says, adjusting his baseball cap over his forehead. “Are you blaming Tuesdays again?”

“No,” Jason grunts. He doesn’t make eye contact. “Aren’t you annoyed, though? That we had to come all the way here…”

Tim shrugs, all smarmy-like. “Hey,” He says. “I get to miss school this way, so. I’m not too bothered.”

“But,” And Jason gestures around the alley they’re in. The mist hands low over his face, leaving him with a permanent vaguely damp feeling. “We’re not even in Gotham.”

“So?” Tim says. “I like travel. Anyway, it’s not even that different from Gotham…”

“We’re not even in the country anymore!” Jason hefts his backpack on his shoulder, irritation growing.

“Dude,” Tim says, summarily unimpressed. “What’s with you? So we do a little trip to the UK to investigate some drug operation Scarecrow’s running. What’s wrong with that?”

“I just…” Jason’s face screws up, pushing back at the memories in his head: the heat, the exhaustion, the pain. “I…I don’t like travel. That’s all.”

Tim sighs. “Well,” He says. “You better pull yourself together. Unless you wanna tell Babs you’d rather come back home and not do the mission she asked you to do? Or Bruce?”

“No need to go that far,” Jason mutters

“And,” Tim says. “Do you want to take shit from Damian about not being able to handle a ‘simple fact finding mission’ that even a ‘fool’ could complete?”

“That one,” Jason says, shrugging. “I don’t particularly care about.”

“Well, I do,” Tim says. He looks through the alleyway grimly before pushing forward. “So let’s go. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we come back anyway. So. We headed in the right direction?”

Japan glances back down at the phone in his hand. “Yeah,” He says. “Building should be showing up soon. It’s a bakery, top floor.”

Tim nods. “Okay then,” He says. “Plan confirmed?”

“Reconnaissance,” Jason drones out. “Get a sense of the operation and get out. Yeah. I know.”

“No tipping them off,” Tim says sternly. Jason hears a tinge of Bruce-inspired gravitas in his tone. It’s not quite as effective in a just-hit-puberty vocal range. “I mean, we can probably develop something to counteract the drug now, but still…don’t risk it.”

Jason grins. “Aye aye, Captain.”

He can practically feel Tim’s glowering frown. “Hey,” He says. “Why do you always—” He pauses. “Oh. Hear that?”

“Oh, yes,” Jason says, the feeling of being watched prickling over his back. “Think they’ll attack?”

“Well,” Tim says. “They’re still following, so.”

Jason nods. “Yeah,” He says. “Get ready..”

He barely has time to pull out a weapon before all hell breaks loose.

-

“I. Fucking. Hate. Tuesdays!”

Jason rolls, dodging a sword (a sword?) that clangs heavily against the cobblestones of the alleyway.

He looks up. A veritable gang of people seem to have rolled up on them in the last couple minutes, all outfitted in the same dark outfit and face covering.

They’d been ready for them. This is an ambush.

“Stop it with the Tuesday thing already,” Tim says, whacking a man around the head with his staff. “It’s obnoxious at this point.”

“You’re obnoxious at this point,” Jason kicks another man in the chest, then zaps someone else with an escrima stick. “You know what else is obnoxious? Not having a fucking gun.”

“I guess you—oomph—missed the point of a covert operation,” Tim says, staggering back at an attack, but recovering quickly.

Jason, about to go help him, is stopped by three attacking him at once. “This look covert to you?” He asks, zapping at someone else. “And anyway…shit!”

There’s too many people. It’s taking all his concentration to stay alive, stay uninjured, and he senses more than sees someone start to make his way around them, to the vulnerability of his back.

Jason grits his teeth, doing a final large sweep before turning back. “No you don’t—”

But he turns to see a nozzle pointed directly at his face, and stumbles back automatically. “Shit..”

He flips through days worth of research in his head substance distribution memory issues side effects no treatment yet magic involved and holds his breath, swearing internally…

A crossbow bolt suddenly embeds itself in the man’s chest, who gives a kind of choked gasp, shudders, then collapses onto the damp cobblestones, twitching a couple times before going still.

Jason doesn’t have time to react. He whirls back around, lifting a stick to protect himself from a blow to his head. Tim is standing nearby, still fighting, still upright.

He sees another man aim a knife at Tim from behind, then draws in a breath to warn him, before…

A gunshot rings through the air, and the man screams, clutching at his bloody hand and dropping to his knees.

Guns? Jason thinks frantically. He dodges a blow to the head, feeling weirdly vindicated. He draws an arm back, ready to zap another person, before—

A large figure runs in from the side, tackling the person in front of him and taking him both to the ground. They collapse into the shadows, tussling in a smaller alleyway to the side.

“What—”

Jason whirls around back to Tim, and sees someone else jump into the fray next to him. It’s a woman this time: face uncovered, clothing casual, and punches lethal.

Who the hell…

He feels something sting at his shin. His leg buckles, and he swears as he stumbles to his knees, trying to find his bearings.

The sticks drop from his hands and roll, and he dives frantically to try to grab them back. He looks up to see another nozzle aimed at his face, and…

Time slows down. Jason sees the finger on the nozzle tighten, then push, and he knows that there’s no stopping it, that he won’t have time to move backwards or to the side…

Suddenly, he’s looking at a gray t shirt covering a broad back, and it’s so unexpected that he thinks there’s something wrong with his sight at first. Instead, he hears the nozzle being deployed and then a cough, and he knows that it isn’t coming from him, so…

A woman’s voice cries out “You idiot!”

The back in front of him bends, then falls, revealing the startled eyes of the masked man that Jason had been staring at earlier, still holding the spray bottle. This snaps Jason back into movement, and he picks the sticks back up and delivers a hard thwack to the man’s head.

He hears the thrmmm sound of another crossbow bolt, then keeps fighting, mind whirling. He notices almost instantly that the crowd seems to have thinned out, but he doesn’t know if that means that they won or that they lost.

It feels like minutes, but the alleyway empties out, save for a few of the men that they had taken down. The woman with the crossbow stows it away then runs, falling to her knees in front of Jason, pulling at the downed man in front of him.

Tim follows close behind, looking tired, but cautious. Jason nods at him, then waits for Tim’s answering nod.

“So,” Jason says eyeing the duo in front of them. “You think they bulk ordered all those ninja outfits or did they have them laying around?”

Tim gives a tired laugh. “Maybe they got them from the Minion Coat Factory,” He suggests,

“Not your best work,” Jason comments, before the woman gives a loud sigh.

“You idiot,” The woman hisses again to the downed man. She pulls at the man on the ground, who slowly goes upright, head bowed. “What are you doing?”

The man looks up. Jason literally feels the color drain from his face.

“Dick?”

Tim stops in his tracks at the word, drawing a quick, choked breath.

Dick looks him in the eye (it’s him oh my god it’s him it’s him it’s him), and then, with a slight air of confusion, says:

“Who?”

-

Jason’s blood freezes in his veins. “That’s…” His kind is whirring in all sorts of different directions, not knowing where to stop, and how. “That’s…that’s you. That’s you, right? It’s you?”

Dick’s (maybe?) eyebrows furrow. “I…” He says. “No. I’m…” He looks up at the woman with him, who gives him a curious stare. “Who are these people? Do we know them?”

“No,” The woman says, giving him a furtive look. “What’s wrong with you?”

It’s at this point that something in Jason snaps.

He surges forward, grabbing Dick by the shoulders and pulling him close. He stares intently into his face. “It’s you, isn’t it? It’s you. It looks like you. What happened? How is it you?”

Dick’s startled eyes darken quickly. A hand quickly latched onto his wrists and bodily throw him off. “Get off me,” Dick says, voice dangerous. “Don’t do that again.”

“Stop being a dick,” Jason yells, trying to get closer. “What was it? Lazarus Pit? Did it make you forget or something? Did it—”

A hand yank at his shoulder, pulls him back. He startles, looks down and Tim, white-faced and tight lipped, holding onto him for dear life.

“Stop,” Tim says, and it comes out quiet. “This is…look, we don’t know what’s going on, okay? But we need to find out. Obviously.”

Here, the woman with Dick steps in. “We all need to calm down,” She says. “Look. I’ll introduce myself, okay? My colleague,” and here she points at Dick (it’s him!) “And I represent a global organization that specializes in, hm, covert operations, let’s say. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this at all, but,” And here she gives him a searching look. “I have a feeling you would have found out about us either way.”

“I don’t really give a shit,” Jason begins, but Tim squeezes his shoulder tighter.

“Let her continue,” He says quietly. His eyes are fixed on Dick, and his hand is trembling.

“There’s not much more than that, really,” The woman says. “You can refer to me as Matron, and this,” She gestures at Dick. “Introduce yourself.”

Dick nods. “I’m Agent 37,” He says. “I would say pleased to meet you, but…”

“Yes, okay, fine,” Jason says, impatient. “Let me guess. You woke up somewhere and were told that you were this agent guy at this organization and that you’ve always been there, and you rolled with that, right?”

“Hey,” The woman protests, but Dick waves her down.

“No,” Dick says. “That’s incorrect, actually. I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever been Agent 37. That’s just who I am.”

Jason’s eyebrows raise. “Oh yeah?” He says. “Can you tell me anything about your childhood?”

“I…” Dick’s voice trails off. “Why would I tell you that? I don’t know you.”

“Come on,” Jason says. “You very clearly don’t remember a childhood. So what does that tell you? Either you popped into existence as an adult or you’ve been brainwashed in some way. And, since you were fucking dead, my guess would be on a Lazarus Pit.”

“Dead?” Dick asks.

“What the hell is a Lazarus Pit?” Matron says at the same time.

“Fuck it,” Jason says. He grabs at Dick’s arm again. “Come on. Let’s take you home, and we can try to get your memory back. And then when you remember us we can talk for real instead of going in circles like this.”

Dick yanks his arm back again. “I don’t know you!”

“Oh yeah?” Jason says, voice rising. “Then why did you—”

“Let’s talk for a sec,” Tim interrupts, pulling him off to the side. “Stay there, please.”

“What are you doing?” Jason hisses as he’s dragged off. “That’s Dick. You know? Your brother? The one that’s dead? That brother? How are you not…how are you not reacting to this?”

“We don’t know that it’s him,” Tim says, and his voice cracks on the word. “We can’t…we can’t be sure until we can confirm it. And I…I don’t want to say that until…”

Oh. Jason feels kind of bad for snapping. “Hey,” He says. “I get it. But, come on. That’s Dick. It’s very clearly him. And he’s alive and he needs a kick in the ass to remember who he is. And we’re the only ones who can help him.”

Tim sniffs. “Yeah,” He says. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Jason says. “Look. This is good news. He’s alive! We just need to get all of him back is all. And this isn’t our first go around with resurrection, right?”

Tim nods.

“Excellent,” Jason turns back to the two agents. “Now. As I was saying. If you didn’t know us, why did you jump in and save us from those guys? There’s no reason to do that for completely random strangers. Especially not for jumping in front of someone who was about to—”

He cuts himself off. “Oh. Hold on. You got hit by…oh my god. Oh we’re so stupid.”

“Oh,” The Matron says, snapping her fingers. “You’re right! The spray. Or whatever that was. That’s probably what’s going on here.”

“What spray?” Tim asks, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t feel any different,” Dick says, but Jason ignores him.

“Dick got sprayed by something during the fight,” He explains to Tim. “And…hey, remember what we came here for? Scarcrow’s whole operation?”

Tim stares at him for a second before understanding fills his gaze. It’s a second longer than it would normally take. “Oh!” He says. And then, quietly, again, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jason says grimly. He turns to the other two. “We came here to investigate a drug operation, with some sort of magic involved—it’s a long story. The drugs have a…memory issues side effect. And since Dick here lost his memories after getting hit, then—”

“He must’ve ingested the drug,” Matron continues. Her eyes tighten. “Amateur hour, 37. How do you let yourself get hit like that?”

“I didn’t!” Dick protest. “I…” His eyes glaze over. “I…”

Tim interrupts him. “The memory loss seems targeted,” He says thoughtfully. “His whole sense of self is gone, but he still seems to be able to function like he normally does. He has a persona left, but only his primary identity is gone. This is new, we should look into this more.”

“And get you back,” Jason says, staring Dick down.

“And get him back,” Tim agrees. He gestures towards them. “We probably have a formula that’ll be helpful here, to counteract the drug. And that thing Constantine gave us…Anyway, if you’ll all come with me, we can take you back home and—”

Dick shakes his head, speaking before Tim’s even done. “I can’t leave,” He says. “I have work to do here. I can’t leave.”

“You have to,” Jason cuts in. “You need to get your memory back, don’t you? And then, maybe…” His voice trails off. “We can find out what happened to you.”

“He’s not leaving,” Matron cuts in. “We have resources here you can use. A lab, everything. We’ll take you to HQ: we need the real 37 back, so consider yourselves hired. On a temporary basis.”

“No,” Tim says, voice firm. “All our research…we have everything set up at our base. We can take it from here.”

Dick shakes his head. “I’m not going,” He repeats and man does that stubborn expression look familiar. Jason had thought he was never going to see it again. “I don’t know you.”

Tim looks at Jason helplessly.

Jason sighs. Fucking Tuesdays. “Fine,” she says shortly, then tilts his head to Tim. “You got the folder with all the info? And all the solutions and stuff?”

Tim grits his teeth. “Yeah,” He says. “I do. But—”

“We kinda don’t have a choice, here,” Jason says. He glances at the two agents again. “Fine. Lead the way. We’ll go to your HQ.”

“Right,” Matron grabs Dick’s hand, helping to pull him to his feet. “Follow us. 37, you remember the way?”

Dick nods. “Yeah,” He says, then sets off without another word.

Jason swears under his breath, then rushes to follow, Tim right next to him.

-

It doesn’t take long before Tim breaks.

Jason had known it was coming, had seen it in the twitching of his fingers and the telltale furrow of his brow, so he just waits.

He doesn’t want long before he feels him elbow his arm. “Jason,” Tim hisses, clearly trying to remain out of earshot. “We have a problem.”

“You think?” Jason says, eyebrows raised. “What could’ve clued you into that idea? What, with the drug ninjas and resurrected amnesiac brother?”

“Shut up,” Tim mutters. “Anyway. We probably blew the mission. I’d guess the drug operation’s packing up and leaving as we speak.”

Jason sighs. “Get ready for that earful from Damian.”

“You said you didn’t care about that!”

Jason shrugs. “I lied. He’s a tiny little shrimp and his royal shrimpiness gets soooo smug when he’s right.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, but his heart is clearly not into it. “I guess so.”

Jason waits a little more.

“It’s just that,” Tim begins, voice hesitant. “Dick…he got hit by the memory spray thing right? And he got hit because he was saving us, right?”

Jason nods. “He stepped in front of me,” He says. His throat tightens. “He took the hit.”

“So,” Tim says. “He knew to do that. He knew who we were, before he got sprayed. So…he was alive this whole time. Here. And…and we thought he was dead.”

Jason sits with that for a while. A spike of anger and confusion pools up in his head.

“We thought he was dead,” Jason repeats. “And he’s alive. And…and we don’t know why…”

“But he still…” Tim swallows. “He must’ve known. What that would do. And…and he still did it. Why?”

Jason grits his teeth. He stares at the back of Dick’s head. “We’ll find out soon enough,” He says.

A sign in the distance catches his eye. He squints. “Does that say girls’ school?”

-

“Welcome,” Matron says, sweeping an arm out at the entrance. “To HQ.”

Jason eyes the building, skeptical. “Girls’ school?” He repeats.

Matron shrugs, smiling. “The children are our future, and all that,” She says.

Jason waits for Dick to chime in, make a lame joke, continue the song lyrics…

But he just stands there, face blank, waiting.

Matron gives him a look. “Wow,” She says. “You’re really not yourself, huh?”

“Yeah, like we’ve been saying,” Jason says, a little irritated by her overfamiliarty. “So can we speed this up already?”

“Jason,” Tim hisses, sounding embarrassed.

Matron shrugs. “I’ve had worse,” She says. She leads them through hallways, the sounds of laughing women echoing in the distance. “I just need to take you around—ah. Here we go.”

She stops outside a door with ROOM 84 emblazoned on a large sign stuck to it. She creaks it open then peers in furtively before ushering them in “Come on,” She says.

Dick goes in robotically, without comment. Jason follows, seeing a pretty impressive and fully equipped lab on the inside.

“Huh,” Jason says, looking around. “Nice setup you have here.”

Dick, finally, speaks up. “Are you sure about this?” He asks Matron, with only a hint of doubt in his voice.

“Yes,” Matron says. “We gotta get you back to how you were. And, you know,” She gives him a significant look. “I’m going to need you fully with me for what’s coming.”

Dick’s face clears up. “Ah. Right.”

“You don’t have much time,” She says, backing up towards the door. “Try to get it done quick. I’ll keep watch. Good luck.” She nods, then snaps the door shut.

Tim instantly leaps into work, pulling out his file and starting to decipher it. “I’ll need a while,” Is all he says, before his focus narrows and he zones in on the problem in front of him.

Jason sinks into a straight backed chair. “All we can do is wait,” He feels compelled to tell Dick. “I’m gonna nap, I think.”

Dick’s face is blank. Disturbingly so. He nods.

It disturbs Japan so much that he wants to try to wipe it off. “What do I call you?” He asks him. “Agent? 37? Full name? What?”

A bit of emotion leaks back into Dick’s face. “Agent 37 is fine,” He says. He falls silent again.

“So,” Jason says, trying to goad out the emotion again. “What do you like to do? You have any hobbies, anything like that?”

Dick stays carefully blank. “Not particularly,” He says. “I’m too busy for that.”

“Doing what?”

“Top secret,” Dick replies. “Can’t tell you.”

“Then why were we okay to be let in here?” Jason asks. “You sure didn’t put up much of a fight to take us right into the heart of your operation.”

Dick shrugs. “Matron made that call,” He says. “I followed her lead.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “But that wasn’t very international man of mystery of you, was it? What do you think that means?”

Dick frowns a little. “Can’t say it means anything,” He says.

Well. He’s just as frustrating without his memories as he is with them. “Then why are you still talking to me?” Jason demands. “What do you gain? Is that what you’re drawn to do? Have you thought about why that is?”

“You’re very angry,” Dick says, looking a little curious now. “Why?”

“Don’t try that on me,” Jason says. “I know you. That won’t work. And anyway, I’m not angry. I just want answers.”

“And I can’t give them to you,” Dick pins him with a searching gaze. “Look. I know it sounds…illogical, but I think you may be right. Maybe I am the guy you say I am, and the gaps in my memory hold the person you’re looking for. But I’m not that guy right now. And I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

Jason laughs disbelievingly. “You sure about that?” He asks. “You sure sound like him right now.”

“Maybe,” Dick says. “But I’m not him. I’m Agent 37. You’re going to have to wait for this other guy to come back.”

“Hey,”

They both turn. Tun stands there, a glass bottle in his hand. “It’s done. It was mostly done anyway, because of the magic involved, I just added the—never mind. It’s done. You can take it.”

Dick stands up, slowly taking the bottle from Tim’s hand. Tim doesn’t make eye contact, and steps over to Jason’s side as soon as the bottle leaves his possession.

That…that definitely seems like a problem.

“So?” Jason asks. “You ready for the other guy to come back?”

“I…” Dick says. He pushes, drawing in a deep breath.

Jason waits, heart pounding.

Dick breathes out slowly, then says “Okay.”

“What,” Jason says, disbelieving. “Just like that?”

“I guess I trust you,” Dick says. Before Jason can reply, he downs the liquid in one swallow.

-

Jason waits.

Time ticks by, and Dick just sits there, eyes screwed shut.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jason whispers to Tim, eyeing Dick critically.

Tim is so tense he’s about to snap in half. “It probably tastes gross,” He says. “Give it a second. It’ll work. I’m sure it’ll work. Give it a second.”

Jason waits a second. And then another. And then another.

When Dick opens his eyes again, alive, teary, scared, Jason knows. He knows.

He stands up.

“Dick?” Tim asks, voice a tad wobbly. “You back?”

Dick takes a shuddering breath. “Hi guys,” he croaks out. “Long time no see.”

Tim lets out a soft oh noise, then runs toward Dick is one quick motion. He slams into his torso, almost knocking him backward. He wraps Dick in a tight hug, face mashed into the gray t shirt. “You’re alive,” Tim says, voice teary. “You’re…you’re here.”

Dick wraps his arms around Tim, squeezing just as tight. “Yeah,” He says, choked. “I guess I am.”

There’s a part of Jason that wants to join them, to give in to the need to give a hug, to allow a few tears to fall, to let go of that weight on his shoulders.

There’s a bigger part, though, that’s too full of rage to do much of anything else.

Jason crosses his arms. “So,” He says, voice deceptively calm. “Can you explain how you’re alive? When we all saw you die? And why, if you were alive this whole time, you’re here instead?”

Tim freezes, then slowly lets go of Dick, backing up next to Jason.

Dick’s face falls into a devastated expression. He stays silent.

“Dick?” Tim says. His voice is quiet, confused. “Can you answer his question?”

Dick audibly swallows. “I…” He says. “Look. I’m still a little out of it because I just got all my memories back, so—”

“Excuse,” Jason says shortly. “You have your memories back? That means you have your reasons back too. So. Explain.”

Dick sighs. “Look,” He says. “I didn’t want to. I promise you, I didn’t want to. And…and I wanted you to know I was okay. But…I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Jason gives a disbelieving laugh. “That’s barely an explanation,” He says. “Total bullshit, to be honest. Did you even die? Or was that a lie too?”

Dick’s voice softens. “No. That was real. It’s just…I didn’t stay that way. Obviously.”

“Obviously?” Jason says, eyebrows raising. “That’s what you have to say right now? Unbelievable.”

Dick raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way,” He says. “I promise. I…I really am sorry, it’s just…”

“How could you?”

And there’s the Tim explosion.

“You knew. You knew how upset we’d be! You knew. And you still let it happen. We mourned you! We…we had to deal with that all by ourselves! Us, and Babs, and Alfred, and Damian—” and here Tim’s mouth clicks shut, a look of horror on his face. “Oh my god. Damian. Do you know?”

Dick actually smiles. “Yeah,” He says, a heavy sort of relief in his voice. “I…I saw him. On the news. I about passed out when I did.”

Shitty way to find out. Jason thinks. But really is there even a good way? Or just a bunch of really bad ways?

“Then you know! How could you?” Tim’s voice is hoarse by now, his volume increasing with every word. “Not to mention what it’s doing to Bruce!”

Dick’s expression flickers, just barely, at Bruce’s name. Jason knows the signs, and knows exactly what that must mean.

“Tim,” Dick says, voice heavy, but Jason doesn’t let him get that far.

“Bruce,” Jason repeats. “He knew, didn’t he.”

Dick makes eye contact with him, and Jason knows that he’s right. “He’s…he’s the one who sent me here.” He says. There’s an air of resignation in his tone, a total surrender to his situation. It’s disquieting, seeing him like this.

“Of fucking course,” Jason mutters. “Let me guess. He saw an opportunity to use your whole situation and he took it. Motherfu—”

“But you went along with it!” Tim bursts out. He’s still angry (so angry) but not as explosive now. “If you didn’t want to, you should’ve just refused! If you really thought it was wrong, you should’ve just said no!”

Dick chuckles darkly. “You’re right,” He says. “I should’ve. That one…that one’s on me. I’m sorry, I really mean it. And if you can’t forgive me, I understand.”

Something’s still off. Jason frowns at him. “You’re telling me you woke up from near death, Bruce asked you to do this, and then you said yes? Just like that?”

Dick hesitates. “Well…”

Jason swears under his breath. “What did he do?” He asks. “To make you go. What did he do?”

Dick shakes his head, disbelieving. “What makes you think he did anything?”

“Because I know you,” Jason says. “And I know him. And that story doesn’t track, for either of you. Unless you went fully dark side and decided to embrace being his perfect little soldier? You’re telling me that you would ever do that, in a million years?”

Tim’s eyes are on him, a slow understanding dawning in his eyes. “Of course,” He says, voice still a little hoarse. “There’s gotta be something more to this. What happened?”

“Look,” Dick begins, voice heavy. “I’ve worked with Bruce a long time. Ever since I was a little kid. There’s certain things with him that I understand, and if he asks this of me, then, well…”

“Bullshit,” Jason repeats. “And what’s with this little kid shit? You were sixteen when you became Robin. Don’t lie more.”

Dick frowns. “No, I was…” He trails off. “I was…was it eight, or ten? I can’t remember.”

Jason frowns. “Huh? What’re you saying?”

“What’s wrong?” Tim demands. “Are you feeling off again? Your memory?”

Dick shakes his head. “Nah,” He says. “Sorry. Anyway. You know how it is. When it’s something really important, it’s important. Like, world-ending important.”

“Was this world-ending important?” Jason asks. He sees the answer clearly on Dick’s face. “Or was this daddy issues important? Or Bruce being a piece of shit important?”

“You lost the metaphor there,” Tim mutters.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason responds. That’s back to normal, at least. “So. If this wasn’t world-ending important. Then why? Because the Dick I know wouldn’t have let Bruce force him to do anything just because.”

Dick just shakes his head again. He laughs, but it’s hollow. “I didn’t even say anything,” He asks, almost wonderingly. “How do you know this?”

“Because I know you,” Jason says. “Idiot. How many times have I said that already? So? Stop stalling. What happened?”

“You don’t want to know,” Dick says. His face is stuck between a small smile and a grimace. “Trust me.”

“Oh, we really do,” Jason says. Tim nods his assent.

Dick just sighs. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll tell you. I promise. But for now,” He looks around. “We have to get you guys back, okay?”

“You’re coming too,” Tim says instantly.

“What, already?” Jason asks. “You trying to get rid of us?”

“No,” Dick insists. At Tim’s protest, he raises a hand. “I want to go with you, but I can’t. Listen. There’s things going on here right now…I need to see them through. A lot of lives are at stake. But the first chance I get, I’ll come. Promise. I promise. And trust me: you guys knowing I’m alive already lifts a huge weight off my shoulders. Bruce’ll have little to no issue with letting me come back if he knows that you guys know.”

“Letting you?” Jason asks, eyes narrowed. “Also. What makes you think we’ll be okay with doing that? Just up and leaving you here?”

Dick’s face softens. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But, look. We need to make sure to get you guys out of here as soon as possible. It’s…well. I want to make sure the people here don’t get you in their radar.”

“Will you be okay then?” Tim asks, concerned about this development. “Staying here? It doesn’t look like you trust them.”

“I don’t,” Dick says. “And I wouldn’t stay unless I felt like I had to. And…I’ll keep in touch, okay? You won’t be leaving me entirely like that. Bruce has a way to contact me, you can bully him into using his. Tell the rest of the family, okay? I want them to know.”

This, more than anything, convinces Jason that Dick means every word of his promise. “Fine,” he says, over Tim’s protest. “We need to clean up here first, anyway. Which would be faster if I had my gun.” He eyes Dick’s belt. “Hey, can I—”

“No,” Dick says instantly.

“Come on,” Jason whines. “How come you get one and I don’t?”

“If I had the choice,” Dick says. “I’d switch with you. But alas.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Hey,” He says. “Does Bruce know about that? The gun?”

Dick laughs, strangely bitter. “He had to deal with it,” He says. “If he sends me here, he has to live with those consequences.”

Jason knows Dick isn’t the biggest fan of guns either, so this is probably hitting on a sore spot. Kind of his expertise, to be honest.

“I’m still mad at you,” Tim interrupts, staring Dick down. “Really mad.”

Dick’s mood changes again. “I know,” He says softly. “I’m sorry. Really.”

Tim surges forward suddenly, hugging Dick tightly again. “Really really mad,” He mutters into Dick’s tshirt.

Dick hugs back, pats him on the head. “I know,” He says. “Missed you.”

Tim makes a small, wounded sound. “Me too.”

Dick looks up, making eye contact with Jason. “You too, kiddo.” He says.

“Kiddo?” Jason says. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Me too, I guess,” He clears his throat. “I’m waiting for that full explanation. The minute you get back. We’ll decide what to do with Bruce from there.”

“You don’t have to—” Dick says, and Tim lets go of him again. “Look…”

Tim walks to the back of the room, quickly starting to gather up everything they brought with them.

“Shut up,” Jason says. “We’ll handle it then. We’ll head back now, contact you later. Deal?”

Tim pops back up, shoving things into Jason’s backpack. “Done,” He says.

“Deal,” Dick answers him. He gestures at them both. “I’ll lead you back, okay? Follow me.”

He walks them to the door, then pushes ahead, directing them to follow. “Matron,” He says quietly. “We’re good to go.”

She pops back around the corner. “You back now?” She says, giving him a searching look.

He grins. “Like a bad penny,” He says.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. It’s you all right,” She gestures at the rest of them. “Right. Let’s go.”

They walk down the hallways, quietly striding through the creaking building, before Tim whispers. “We’ll need to regroup on this mission. How bad do you think we’ll get it from Damian for failing it?”

“We’re bringing Dick back,” Jason says, eyeing him. “I’m sure he’ll forget all about that.”

“I doubt it,” Tim mutters, but he grins just the same.

They head out the door, following Dick through the hallways. He walks different here, not like a Dick, not really. Like Agent 37.

Jason shakes the unease out of his head.

“Hey,” Tim says. “You still hate Tuesdays now?”

Jason snorts. “You kidding?” He says. “They’re still the worst. Although…” He glances up to see Dick ahead of them. “Gotta say. It’s about…20% less bad than it was.”

“Only 20%, huh?” Tim asks, amused.

“Yeah,” He says, then “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to,” He keeps his eyes forward. “I know you.”

“You do,” Tim says. He smiles again. “You really, really do.”

[writing-rat]

You're Just Like My Son

Pairings: Rio Morales and Miles Morales, Miles Morales and Jefferson Morales

Content: Miles Morales coming out as Spider-Man, just family, fluff!

Summary: Miles Morales is Spider-Man. He thinks he is hiding it well from his family. He doesn't realise he is a bit obvious however due to his dad having some hints until it is too much and he gets confronted...

WC: 2688

One long day and Miles was tired. He had just finished a few tests but he knew he had to patrol around town, not wanting to let criminals run rampant around the city. He knew that he was too tired for it but he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of the city. He still had a lot to learn too. He had been Spider-Man for a month after all. He actually learned how to swing down to a T. He was still learning how to fight while swinging though.

He was currently swinging around in his old Spider-Man suit while Aunt May helped him make a new Spider suit whenever he could go over. It wasn’t as often as he’d like but it would have to do. He also was still growing so they thought it would be good if they waited 3 months before finishing it. He was still a boy going through puberty and growing after all, never mind the fact that he was also becoming Spider-Man which would make him taller. 

As he was in his thoughts looking around, that was when he saw a robber running out of a store. He was quick to swing over and web him up, leaving a sticky note and grabbing the money. ‘Caught by your friendly Spider-Man’ he had written on the note before he went into the store and handed over some money. That’s when he swung away just as the cops arrived.

Today would be easy, or so he thought. He saw his father chasing a criminal so he immediately swung over to help. Eventually, he was just about in front of the criminal. “Hi,” Miles teased the criminal before he went to try and help catch him… at least until he was punched right in the eye causing him to cover his eye quickly and blindly webbing the criminal. “Fuck,” Miles grunted out as it was a hard punch to his eye. He was sure it would bruise too which would make it obvious to his dad since he had seen it. 

“Thank you Spider-Man,” the police officer said and MIles nodded, removing his hand. “It is no problem Officer Morales,” he spoke in his fake deep voice and held his hand out. Jefferson meanwhile shook it and was looking at his guys, telling them to get the criminal. “Hey Spider-Man, can I ask you a question?” Jefferson asked. 

“Sure,” Miles answered, raising his eyebrow as he was genuinely curious. “How old are you?” he asked, looking at him. “You don’t have to say your exact age. I just… I want to know how young you are because it is way too dangerous for a teenager and I am sure you are one,” he explained.

“I am 14,” Miles spoke before he was nodding and swung off, leaving Jefferson shocked at how young he was. He wanted to try and stop him right then and there, he didn’t want a kid to be seriously hurt. 

-

It was Friday and after classes so Miles was bound to be coming through the door soon. Rio was cooking Miles’ favourite meals as he did well on his tests and was finally setting in and doing his homework on time. Rio did make a point to say it wouldn’t happen often though which the young boy understood.

Soon enough Miles was home and dropped his stuff down respectfully. “Mamá, papá, hola,” he called out. 

“Miles!” Rio called out happily before she gasped. “Are you ok?” she immediately added. 

“Yeah! Just… bumped into a streetlight was all,” he spoke, smiling. “Don’t worry, I went to the school nurse about it. She said it’s ok,” he added with a soft smile before hugging his mom who hugged him back. Jefferson soon walked out of their bedroom then. 

“Looks like you’re matching with Spider-Man,” he decided to joke as he went over and joined their hug. Miles panicked a little before he quickly calmed down.

“Really?” he asked. Jefferson nodded with a smile. He was just glad it was by a streetlight instead. He did have a thought about him being Spider-Man but it couldn’t be possible.

-

It was just after Miles’ birthday and Miles had a sponsorship for the first time. It was for one of his favourite sports brands too. Adidas. He had a photoshoot and everything with it too and got to keep the clothes. He had tried on sweatpants, jackets, shirts, shorts and shoes. In fact he started to wear them daily too including the jackets when it was cold. 

Whenever he walked around town and saw photos of him, he just felt pride. No one knew it was him but himself. Everyone seemed to notice the new clothes he got but he just excused it with birthday presents and money. Ganke was keeping his secret luckily and actually called the cops for him a few times when he needed them. He would pay him some money each time, sure, but it was worth it. He was getting more and more sponsorships and photoshoots. In fact he was being called by magazines for interviews and photoshoots which he was taking whenever he could. 

In fact he was glad when he got a baby powder one as he was feeling awkward buying a lot of baby powder dressed as Spider-Man. No way was he doing it while not as Spider-Man. Most people knew his father after all. Sure, the sponsorship did get him cancelled but once he reworked the writing and explained what he meant then most was fine. 

It was another Friday and Miles was coming back from school with a new coat and sweatpants on but had on a plain white T-shirt underneath. Once again he greeted his family before they noticed the clothes. “New clothes?” Jefferson asked. Miles was nearly panicking but he nodded.

“Yeah! Used a bit of my birthday money you know?” he responded and Jefferson nodded.

No way his son was Spider-Man. He was smart enough to not do the dangerous things that the other teenager was doing.

-

It was just after lunch on a Sunday afternoon and Miles was stretching. “Thank you mamà,” Miles spoke with a smile and Rio nodded. “Always Miles,” she spoke and smiled as his dad was on shift. 

“I’m gonna go on a walk is that ok?” Miles asked respectfully. Jefferson looked up and was nodding. “Of course,” Rio spoke with a smile, happy to see her son going out. 

Miles smiled, hugging both his parents before he left the house. That was when Jefferson’s phone rang. “Hello,” he spoke, pausing for a bit whenever he responded to questions. “You need me in? Ok, I’ll be a minute,” he responded to whoever was speaking before hanging up. “Mi amor, I need to go down to the office. I will see you at dinner though,” he spoke to her smiling gently.

“Of course! Don’t be home too late, don’t want Miles to miss you at dinner after all,” she chuckled.

He nodded as he left, annoyed by the fact there was another supervillain event. He just hoped Miles wouldn’t run into it. He proceeded to run down the stairs, wondering why he didn’t pass by Miles but figured he just went down quicker. Soon enough he was at his car, speeding off.

Miles meanwhile was swinging around, following after the villain. He was just wanting to quickly get it sorted out so it wasn’t too suspicious. He was sure his dad was catching on though…

-

Miles had left to go out into town to go around the shops which left Jefferson home alone as Rio was at her job. He was just tidying around the house, not wanting it to be a mess when his wife arrived home. He was hoovering around when he noticed Miles's notebook was on the floor near the door. He was confused as to why as he picked it up and put it on the side, continuing with the cleaning of the house. He would probably look into why it was potentially dropped there because there was no way it was an accident.

After an hour, he was done cleaning as the apartment had been dusted, hoovered and the dishes had been washed. He was happy with how it looked as he was grabbing Miles's notebook but it slipped out of his grasp. He quickly went to pick it up before he saw what page he landed on. It looked like a girl with shaved hair on one side in a Spider-Man costume, except he had never seen someone look like her, Spider-Woman or not. That’s when he decided to investigate more, seeing tickets from a bus ride that took him to the Hudson Valley and also his Uncle Aaron as the prowler. He was wondering how he knew.

That was when he thought about how the media had told the world he was the prowler so he assumed it was that, ignoring the fact that Aaron was wearing the Prowler costume but that could also be explained away as him being in the news as the Prowler. That’s when he put the notebook on Miles’s desk, looking around the room as he was surprised it was quite neat minus the spider web in the corner. He was glad his son was becoming more mature and tidy.

Miles soon came home as he was stretching, and was holding a few bags. “I got stuff in for tacos. Want to help me make them tonight?” Miles asked, holding his bag up and a light in his eyes. Jefferson just chuckled and nodded. “Of course, I’ll help you champ. Also, I noticed you dropped your notebook. I put it back on your desk,” his dad nodded. He noticed how Miles paled but he didn’t blame him if he was drawing his crush as Spider-Woman (well, assuming that it was someone he was crushing on in school). “I didn’t look, don’t worry,” he added and Miles nodded, believing his dad. He wasn’t as pale. “Thanks, Dad,” he spoke with a soft smile. “I love you,” he spoke gently and Miles lit up with happiness.

-

It was just another night and Miles was at the school. It was Wednesday so he would be coming back soon. That was when a text came through. ‘Dad! It’s too late to leave. I left a book in my room. Is it ok if you grab it for me? Sorry for the hassle, I just need it for the next lesson. I admitted fault to the teacher already as I had her today!’ he texted his dad. Jefferson sighed, tempted to text Miles back to scold him but he had taken accountability so he couldn’t be too bad. 

‘Good job for admitting it to your teacher. Since I have the morning shift tomorrow, I will give it over. This won’t happen much though, got it?’ he texted Miles before having to add on. ‘What is the book and where? Is there anywhere I should avoid?’. He understood that his son’s room was his son’s domain and didn’t want to see something that was too personal after all. 

‘It’s on my shelf! It’s for English Literature! Thank you, Dad!’ he saw Miles had texted back. He could tell how happy his son was even through the message. He just chuckled with a smile before he got up and went to the bedroom, flicking the lights on. He saw boxes behind the shelf but didn’t say anything as he grabbed the book until he saw what the boxes said. ‘Webber’s Baby Powder’ it read. He was confused as to why he saw it there. That’s when he thought.

He put the book in his bag before he texted back. ‘Did you get someone pregnant?’ he texted. 

‘???’ was the response he got and he sighed. 

‘The baby powder. Why is there so much?’ he texted back again. 

‘Oh! It’s good for dry shampoo and also for skin irritation. It also makes my shoes smell better. Thought I would stock up so I wouldn’t have to go back soon for it’ Miles texted back. Jefferson sighed in relief then nodded.

‘Ok! I was just worried you got someone pregnant was all’ he responded.

‘Nah. Still single. Anyway! Meet you outside at 7 am?’ Miles texted, switching the conversation.

‘See you there’ his dad finished the conversation.

As he put his phone away he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He was just thankful he wasn’t going to be a granddad early.

-

It was Saturday evening and Miles had been in his room all evening doing homework. As usual, with the homework he finished, he webbed up to his ceiling. There was no real reason why, he just did it out of habit at this point. “Miles?” he heard his dad call out and knock on the door. He quickly took off his headphones and looked at the door. “You may come in,” he spoke with a smile. Jefferson walked in. “So how is the homework going?” he asked. “Good. Why?” Miles responded suspiciously.

“I just want to take you out for some coffee is all, have a chat,” Jefferson spoke. He had been doing this to his whole family due to his brother dying and he didn’t want to ruin any relationship of his.

“Yeah, we can do that!” Miles spoke happily and stood up as he was grabbing his jacket and coat as well as his bag before he was ready. Jefferson did notice the books and the homework on the ceiling however but he decided not to say anything yet, not wanting to ruin their vibe as Miles would say…

-

It was soon close to dinner time and Miles was at the table. He was curious why his dad and mom were staring at him and then at each other (since they just asked him to sit down) before they finally decided to speak up. “So… we noticed something different about you. Would you like to say what it is before we say?” Rio spoke, looking at him.

“Shoot. You guys know I’m bi? I… didn’t think you would find out. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how you would react. I’m sorry,” he spoke, thinking that was what it was. “I didn’t mean to stare at that guy Dad, I’m sorry,” he added, thinking it would be an issue. “Wait, you’re bi? That’s no problem hijo,” Rio spoke, her tone being gentle. 

“Of course it’s alright champ. Nosotros te amamos como eres,” Jefferson spoke.

“Oh… then what is this about?” Miles asked, looking at both of them, relief in his eyes. 

“You being Spider-Man,” his dad spoke and Rio nodded.

“We just don’t want you seriously injured is all,” Rio added, not wanting to make Miles more scared. 

“I’m sorry. I just… it is needed as you know,” he admitted.

“Yes but we don’t want the normal criminals to hurt you hijo,” Rio spoke. 

“With the villains the cops can’t handle then that is ok,” Jefferson spoke. Miles looked at him and nodded, looking down ashamed. “We love you, you know that. But that also means we worry about you,” Rio stated. 

“Also with the drawing of that Spider-Woman… is that who you want to be?” Jefferson asked. “Dad! You said you didn’t look. But no… long story short she is someone I knew and worked with but… she doesn’t live in New York,” he spoke. “I know, I know. I apologise for looking. And that’s alright. We just… want you to be safe,” his dad spoke.“And if you get injured, I want you here so I can help you, whether it is serious or not. Got it?” Rio asked sternly. Miles just smiled and nodded before he saw his parents nod and get up. He was confused why before he was hugged by both of them.

“We love you,” both spoke. Miles was happy. He felt accepted. He couldn’t ask for anything more… except for Gwen but he would be happy to know that she was happy.