#maybe i’ll meet someone who changes my mind. I dunno

[chartreuxcatz]

*blinks*

Bro, idk what I am.

[idontplaytrack]

Aj x Reader, reader is Dylan’s sister? Truth or dare? Some kind of party game leads to a confession of feelings but reader has a boyfriend? I want some angst lol

Fall Into Me

AJ Campos x fem! reader

Warnings: mature themes, MDNI. angst, coarse language, quarrelling, underage drinking, attempted/sexual assault.

AJ wishes she could turn back the clock to save reader.

All eyes were on AJ the second she walked into school. Many did a double-take, buzzing about who she was. The girl was no longer dressed the way you knew her to be for as long as you’ve known her. Ten years. Also, you came back to school without your best friend. She’d ended the friendship with you. The summer ended painfully, with more heartbreaks than one. All because of one game.

~~~~~

“Why don’t you want to go to the party? Stacey’s parties are always fun!” Dylan asks. “I don’t like parties, Dyl.” You told him, calmly. Unlike his current mood— he was desperately trying to get you out of the house.

“Come on, you love going to parties with me, y/n.”

You sigh, tempted to agree, but something was holding you back. Or rather, someone. Should you tell Dylan? No, he’d kill ya.

“y/n, you’d be home alone and that’s so boring.” Dylan continues, “You literally told me you hated being home alone.”

You huffed, “Fine. Fine. I’ll go.” You got off the couch, plugging your phone in on the way to your room. “That’s more like it.” Dylan exclaimed. “We’re gonna get so wasted tonight.” You laughed, then sighed while you entered your room and shut the door. You put on the first outfit you saw then proceeded to do your makeup. “We’re leaving in an hour!” Dylan knocks on your door.

“Alright!” You replied loudly.

After getting changed, you went back downstairs. Mainly to check your phone. You had a few missed calls from your boyfriend so you called him back.

“Where are you?”

You flinched at how fast he answered your call.

“At home.”

“Then what took you so long to answer my calls?”

“What? I left my phone on silent and it was charging downstairs but I was up—”

“Don’t give me excuses. You know I—”

“y/n!” Dylan called for you.

“I gotta go, I’ll meet you soon, bye.” You cut him off and hung up.

Putting your phone down, you ask, “Yeah?”

“Stacey says we can go over earlier if we want. So, you wanna?”

“Uh, actually. I’m gonna meet you there. I kinda promised Xander I’d meet him for a bit.”

“Since when? You said you had nothing to do all weekend— and that he was out of town.”

“Maybe he came back early, I dunno.” You shrug, “I’ll be at Stacey’s as soon as I can, alright?”

“You’d better show up, y/n.”

“I will, promise.”

Hurriedly grabbing your purse off the hook, you shove your wallet and keys inside it then left the house with your phone in hand. You walk to a secluded park near home— where Xander was waiting for you. Impatient, antsy…his frame was trembling as his fists were balled up on either of his sides. You had half a mind to run away and just stay home until it was time to go to the party for Dylan, but another part of you went ahead and approached him.

“Xander.” You said, coming up behind him.

“Took you long enough.” He scoffs.

“I literally came here as soon as I called you back.”

“Lose the attitude.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What I want is for you to get this fact into your head. You’re mine. You don’t go around getting kissed, hanging out with your people.”

“My people?” You shot him a bewildered look. He glares at you displeased. You gulped, inching away timidly.

“Who’s this girl kissing you?” He immediately shows you a picture on his phone.

“That— that’s Stacy. Our student body president. She has a boyfriend. My brother.”

“Some girlfriend she is just going around kissing people.”

“It was my birthday. It was pose, nothing more. Her boyfriend is literally in the picture.” You told him, biting back a scoff.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He snarled, hands gripping onto your shoulders.

You seethed, squirming to free yourself from his grip.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

You shrug. He always apologizes but never meant it— it’ll happen again. And again, and again.

“Then this?”

“That’s my brother Dylan, Xander.” You said flatly, tired. “He hugged me, because I got him something he’s been wanting a long time for his gift.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“Whatever, can we just get to the party?”

“Ew, I don’t want to go to some lame party of yours.” He scoffs, “Come on, get in the car.” His hand ran up your side. “No.” You told him firmly. Your words fall on deaf ears, his hand nearly cupping your breast.

You slapped him, “What the fuck!”

“You bitch! What was that for?” He shrieked, holding his cheek. Xander lunged at you, hand grabbing your neck, “How dare you hit me?”

He pushes you to the ground before you could say anything else. Then, he huffs and got into his car, driving off. “Fuck you.” He shouts as he drove off.

You help yourself off the ground, dusted yourself off and went on your way to Stacy’s— in tears. But checking your neck to make sure there was no bruising. There was redness, which you hurriedly covered up with the makeup left in your purse as you walked the distance to the party.

Making sure the red marks were covered, you rung the doorbell. “Hey! Come on in, girl!” Stacy immediately hugs you as per usual.

“Hey.” You give her a forced smile, hoping she couldn’t tell.

“You know where everything is. Make yourself at home, drink up, eat up— we’re gonna play a game soon.”

“A g-game?”

“Spin the bottle.” Stacy grins, “In the den.”

By the time you got to the den, you were a little tipsy since you chugged the drinks. Desperate to forget the earlier events with Xander. “Just the person we’ve been waiting for.” Dylan announces, “Sit down, join the circle. Let’s get that bottle spinning.”

You were praying that empty beer bottle doesn’t stop at you. And it was going smoothly. But soon came your turn, so you had no choice but to spin it. It lands on AJ. Tipsy, tipsy AJ. Grinning, about god knows what. Was she happy that you made the bottle land on her?

Rules were, you had to kiss whoever the bottle stopped at. So, you did. Xander wasn’t here anyway…so who was stopping you from having a little fun. It was just a kiss, right? The moment your lips met hers, you felt a spark, a fluttering in your chess that made you feel giddy. No, no, no. Shit. You couldn’t feel this way. You shouldn’t be feeling like this.

“I like you.” She whispers.

You froze, somehow or other, your heart was happy. Relieved and scared. All at once. Then, you slowly broke away from the kiss before it got too heated. “I have a boyfriend.” You said apologetically, “I’m sorry.”

That look in her eyes, it broke your heart. You felt terrible. AJ was a really nice person. She didn’t know, because Xander wanted to keep things lowkey. She was a pretty close friend of yours too. You could’ve told her sooner because she wouldn’t have told anyone that you were dating someone already. She has never let out any of your secrets, and never will. But, it was Xander. He’d find out you told someone, somehow. And you’d be his punching bag. You didn’t want that.

“Sorry.” AJ’s apology pulls you out of your thoughts.

The rest of the night went by uneventfully, until you got home and were in bed. You’d received a text from AJ, asking if she could give you a call. You called her first and it takes her awhile, but she answers eventually.

“y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should’ve just told you sooner.”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking for a bit. I don’t think we can be friends anymore. Because I don’t think my feelings for you will be dying down anytime soon. I can’t hate you and I never will. I don’t want to make things weird for you. Or your boyfriend. Goodbye, y/n.”

You’d barely processed her words before the dial tone was heard. “Shit!” You cursed, throwing your phone across the room. Well, that night? Ended in tears for you. You cried yourself to sleep, muffling the noise with a pillow.

~~~~~

Six weeks later, AJ gets woken up from her slumber by a call from an unknown number.

“Hello, may I speak to AJ Campos?”

“You are.” AJ answered, clearing her throat, “Who is this?”

“I’m calling from Keck Hospital of USC. You were listed as y/n y/l/n’s emergency contact.”

“What?” The blood instantly drained from her face, “What happened to her?”

“She came into the ER with a head injury claiming she fell because she was drinking. But upon further examination, we found that she’d been sexually assaulted.” The nurse explained, “She said we could tell you. The local authorities are also on their way here to find out more about what happened, but if you would like to come over and see her—”

“I-I’m on my way. Bye.” AJ hung up and scurried out of bed, hurrying downstairs to her car and just drove off in her pyjamas.

“Please be okay.” AJ kept repeating to herself as she drove, “I can’t lose you.” Just like that, she’d forgotten why she even tried to distance herself in the first place. Regretting the fact that she ignored you in class when you asked for help on the trig worksheet. She chokes on a sob, “Why wasn’t I nicer to you? Why did I have to—”

After driving for a damn long time, AJ finally arrives at the hospital. Hastily parking her car in the rather empty parking lot, she rushes through the automated doors, asking the front desk which room you were in. “She’s still in the ER. To your left, bed 11. The SVU detectives are with her now. So you may want to wait outside.” AJ ran to look for you, stopping outside the hospital room like they’d told her to. She couldn’t bear to listen to the details— she couldn’t stomach it. As much as she felt that sickening feeling in her stomach, she also felt so angry. Who would do this to someone? Someone as sweet as you? She wishes it was at just a bad dream. But no, it was so very real.

AJ sat in the plastic chair leaning forward, head buried in her hands. Waiting, and waiting. She hears you talking to the detective indistinctly, your voice getting quieter and quieter, then you started to cry. Shit. That sound crushed her heart.

AJ hears them leave the room, she looks up, meeting the sympathetic eyes of the detectives. She got up and walked into the room immediately. You were a wreck the moment you saw her, wanting nothing more than a hug from her. She gave it to you, that hug you’ve been longing for. It always made you feel better. But not so much now, maybe you just missed her.

“I should’ve just left him,” You started, “I should’ve left. I’m so stupid.”

“Honey, don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it though? I knew he was hurting me but I couldn’t do it— I couldn’t leave. I was so scared, AJ. I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed on.”

“Baby, please don’t say that. It’s not your fault. Please.”

“Someone showed Xander a photo of us at the party during the game.” You continued to talk through tears, “He got so mad...”

“Xander did this?!” AJ’s voice came out louder than anticipated. You flinched and cried harder. “Shit, y/n. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She apologizes profusely, rubbing your back.

“I told them. I told the police already, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told them everything.” You hung onto her even more tightly, tears seeping into her baggy t-shirt endlessly. One you bought her several years ago.

“They’ll get him, okay, baby?” AJ whispers, “They’ll get him. You’re safe here, alright?”

“I can’t go home, AJ.” You gasped, getting into a coughing fit and she broke away just in case. “I can’t go home. My parents will be so disappointed in me. Disgusted by me…I don’t want to tell them about it, AJ.”

Since you were of age, your parents weren’t notified. So far, AJ was the only person who knew other than the police— who you’ve also told to not inform your parents. Thankfully, they agreed and you could only hope it stayed that way. It was going to be a long night ahead. They still had to do a kit, which took quite awhile. But you knew they had to do it, they needed to get the DNA evidence against your abuser. You cried for AJ to stay with you, feeling absolutely terrified. She agreed to without hesitation, staying with you and letting you hold onto her hand to divert the pain away.

————

Hours later, you were in AJ’s car, half asleep as she begins the drive to her own apartment. You were terribly exhausted but fighting sleep. You were so on the edge, worried and anxious about something happening. About somehow seeing Xander show up.

“You’re safe with me. Close your eyes. I’m right here with you.” AJ says, turning the volume of the radio down.

“You said close your eyes

Don't look down

Fall into me and I'll catch you, darlin'

We'll dance in the street like nobody's watching

It's just you and me and the song on repeat in my head”

You fell asleep to that song softly playing through the speakers, giving into the exhaustion. You knew you were safe with AJ— like always. She softly nudged you awake once you two arrived at her apartment building. You jolted awake, but quickly realised where you were and who you were with. “Let’s go, we’re here.” She gets out of the car, shut her door and went over to your side to help you out. AJ was apprehensive, but she eventually wrapped an arm around you fully seeing that you were comfortable with it. You simply followed her lead without saying a word…what could you possibly say anyway?

Quietly shutting the front door, she leads you to her room, asking if you wanted to take a shower. You said yes and she got you a towel and clothes to change into afterwards. She leaves you alone, but in the meantime, you also got a glass of water ready along with the medications the doctor said you could take. She puts them on the nightstand, then she paced her room for awhile, thinking and thinking. Feeling herself getting angrier. She huffs, sitting down on her bed eventually. The bathroom door was left ajar, and she hears a bottle drop. You screamed and started crying. Could she walk in there? She didn’t want to upset you any further.

She stood directly behind the door, knocking softly, “It’s okay, y/n. You’re alright.” AJ hears the sound of the bottle being put back on the shelf, but you continued crying. She doesn’t stop you— you needed some form of release for the hell that was tonight.

Thirty minutes later, you walk out from the bathroom. Freshly showered but still feeling absolutely dirty. You’d nearly scrubbed your skin raw…your head was throbbing and you were starving. But you couldn’t eat. You felt too sick to eat, scared that you’d just throw everything up. “Take the pills on the nightstand.” She nudged you gently, “Are you hungry? Do you feel like eating something?”

You quietly shook your head, “I feel sick. I can’t.” You sat down on her bed carefully, reaching for the pills on the small table. You swallowed them with the water one at a time and put the glass down, staring blankly into space…your mind was racing.

“Hey.” She sits down next to you, “Let’s get some sleep, okay? Come on.”

You crawled under the covers and laid down on your back. AJ wanted to leave, letting you take the whole bed. “Will you stay with me?” You asked meekly.

She stops in her tracks, turning around, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Thank you.” You looked at her, then away and shut your eyes.

“You’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you.” That was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4]

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a Bat.

Ao3 Link (available only to Ao3 members)

When Wes gets home that night, he cuts off the part of Tim’s note with his name. His contact information has already been added to his phone, so he tears that part of the note up and then trashes it. The part containing his signature, Wes dumps into an envelope and scribbles out a note on a different sheet of paper: 

You owe me one. 

                —Wes

Wes seals the envelope, stamps it, and writes Tucker’s address in the center, and uses one of his mom’s fancy returning address stickers so he doesn’t have to write anymore. Then he rushes out the townhouse and drops it off at the USPS outgoing mailbox, and rushes back inside before the powers that be decide Wes should be mugged again.

Tucker may be one of the Gaslighting Trio, but he was still nice enough to help Wes in their computers class. 

xxXxx

Wes: Hi, it’s Wes! You gave me your number yesterday so I could give you coffee next time I went on a coffee run?

The reply comes unexpectedly fast for someone who runs a Fortune 500 company and is a whole entire vigilante, but maybe the coffee addiction is just that strong.

Tim: Wes! Yes, please. Have you left yet?

Wes: No, I haven’t even made the mobile order yet. Wanted to give you time to respond. Why?

Tim: Just a sec

Wes stares at his phone from his place in his mom’s office, where he sits in a brown suede chair that sits in front of her desk. His mom is typing away on her computer, a look of concentration on her face. 

“Huh,” he says to himself, then exits the chat to return to putting in orders. He’d like to just click on a past order and reuse it, but Felix and Kourtnie are always changing their orders. He’s convinced it’s because they hate him, but maybe it’s that he’s letting his experience with Jade color his vision. 

“What is it, sweetie?” his mom asks without pausing in his work. 

“Well, Tim asked me to text him next time I went to get coffee. And like, I did. And he answered, but then told me to wait a sec.”

“Can’t ignore orders from the big boss,” his mom says, and Wes nods. 

“Yeah, but I think Kourtnie will die if she waits too long for her caffeine fix.”

“She’ll have to get over it, or stop by Batbucks before she comes in.”

“I don’t think she wakes up early enough for that….”

His mom snorts, “You’re right on that front. How did you even meet Mr. Drake?”

He shrugs and looks back to his phone, “I dunno. He pressed the elevator button for me a few days ago, and now suddenly all of this—” he gestures to everything, “—is a thing.”

“Teenagers,” his mom mutters under her breath. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. Just that you suck at describing things.” 

“You’re mean. I’m disowning you as my mother.”

“Have fun on the streets of Gotham.”

“I’ll sell your credit card numbers online to buy a bus ticket back to Amity.”

“Greyhounds don’t go to Amity. Try again.”

“I’ll hitchhike and get serial killed by a semi-truck driver to get back to Amity. Then I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you and Gotham.” 

“Not Amity Park?”

“No, they have other problems.” Like the Guys In White. Gotham has issues, but at least they aren’t government-mandated war crimes type of issues. 

His mom goes to say something, but a knock at her office door stops her. She finally looks up from her computer and makes eye contact with the interrupter, and says, “Oh, come in, Mr. Drake.”

Wes has to physically stop himself from whipping around, “Oh, hey, Tim! What’s up?” 

This is it. He’s finally figured out what I figured out and now he’s come for my kneecaps.

Okay, that was dramatic, even for him. He was making the Bats sound like a little family of mob members. Really, they were just superheroes. They couldn’t do anything harmful to Wes. At least not physically.

….Would they erase his memories? Is mind-fucking considered physical harm? 

Wes breaks into a nervous sweat. 

“I just want to help Wes out with his coffee run,” Tim explains with that charming Wayne smile that wins the hearts of anyone who feels. “I hope you don’t mind me going out with your son, Penny?” 

“Not at all,” his mom answers. “Have fun, boys. Oh, and Mr. Drake?”

“Yes?”

“Tell your brother to stop flipping off the cameras every time he spots paparazzi.” 

Tim winces, “I’ll send the message, but we can’t really run a business and control Jason at the same time.”

Jason Todd. As in Red Hood, the second Robin. The one who was pronounced dead overseas, but was miraculously found safe and somewhat sound several years later. Fantastic.

Wonder how much of that death was real? Wes has had enough ecto-exposure thanks to his stalking hijinks in Amity Park to know when he’s around others who have been touched by Death. He’s about 60% sure he could clock that in Jason Todd if he ever happened to get near him. 

Hopefully while in his civilian persona. Wes is uninterested in meeting any more vigilantes, thank you very much. 

They say their goodbyes to his mom and he gets up to follow after Tim, his knees a little wobbly. How long can he pretend to be nervous about hanging out with the guy who signs not just his paycheck, but his mom’s? 

They walk through the PR Department and make it to the elevator, painstakingly going through the motions of small talk. Wes is aware of every word he utters, carefully asking himself what could be taken the wrong way, and what is innocuous enough to say. 

“So what did you want from Batbucks?” he asks as the elevator lowers. 

“Oh, the same as what you got last time,” Tim answers, and Wes abides by that request with a single press of a button. Their conversation moves to favorite TV shows as they leave WE and head to the crosswalk to make it to the Batbucks across the street, and once there, Wes pushes the check-in button to signal to the baristas that he’s there for pickup whenever the order is finished, and they take a seat against a wall and far from the windows. 

“A Trekkie, huh?” Tim asks when Wes tells him his top five TV shows. “And a crime fan, too.”

Wes shrugs, fiddling with his fingers, “I like to figure out the ending before the characters do, and honestly, I just like George Takei.”

Tim tilts his head, “That’s fair. I like crime shows, too.”

Haha yeah, I bet you do.

“What’s your favorite?” Wes obligingly asks. 

“Oh, Criminal Minds, easily. Spencer’s a great character.” 

Wes wonders how a person with two full-time jobs like Tim has time for hobbies that include 40-minute episodes. 

“You just like seeing characters in pain, don’t you?” 

“I do not!” Tim protests, affronted. “I just think he’s a good character! With good development!” 

“That’s what I’d say, too,” Wes teases. 

Tim shakes his head, “You’re impossible. He’s just a good character! He’s so smart and awkward. What’s not to love?” 

Wes gives a half-shrug, “I mean, I guess that’s fair. He is a good character. But I’m more of a Garcia person.”

“They really make the show,” Tim agrees. “Their dynamic is iconic.”

“Speaking of iconic….” Wes takes a deep breath disguised as a sigh. Okay, so if he were going to be interrogated, it would have happened by now. So it’s probably not happening unless he’s going to see a Bat on the fire escape tonight. But if he can just reveal a tiny bit of his hand—just a little smidge—maybe he can avoid suspect altogether. 

“Yeah?” 

“I have to ask,” Wes says nervously. “It’s definitely not my business, but yesterday, when I dropped off the coffees…. I kind of saw the picture of that villain? And I was wondering… who told Mr. Wayne that the villain had a sticker of a My Immortal quote? Who had to explain to him what My Immortal is?” 

Because surely Tim knows, if not from having read the infamous fic then from doing research about the villain. 

Tim smirks and says, “That’s the best part, Wes. Bruce already knew.” 

He choked on air, “You’re kidding me!”

“I’m not. I’m really, really not. You didn’t hear this from me, but,” Tim pauses, giving a playful, sneaking look around for any listeners, and he whispers, “my brother Dick referenced it so much that Bruce read it himself.” 

“Bruce Wayne. Read My Immortal.” The fucking Batman read My Immortal? Willingly? 

“Oh yeah, he did.” 

“Did… did he recognize the quote? Did he remember?” 

“No, but he did when Dick said, ‘Damn, I hope Batman puts his middle finger up at that prep villain.’” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Wes knows he’s getting a modified version of what really happened, but he can fill in the gaps. Nightwing quoted My Immortal to Batman. And Batman recognized it because he once read the fic in an effort to relate to his teenage son. 

Well, vigilantes are human, too. Why shouldn’t Batman know who Vampire and Bloody Mary are? 

The next few minutes pass in friendly conversation before their order name is called, and both get up to collect. Wes tries to get two out of the three carton holders, but Tim intercepts. 

“Tim,” he says, half-chastising. 

“I just like helping! And this is getting me out of a board meeting.” 

Wes’s face screws up in distaste. “Well, that’s fair, then.” 

They make their way back to the 73rd floor of Wayne Enterprises and they are hounded in the way that has become so expected for Wes. A new addition to the coffee delivery is Rebecca’s eyes lighting up upon seeing that Tim is helping Wes. 

“Did you like last night’s meme, Mr. Drake?” Rebecca asks, collecting her venti iced mocha latte.

Tim nods, “I did. Nice work on the Photoshop. And the filming equipment should be down today.” 

Wes watches as Rebecca does her best not to squeal in excitement, “Thank you, sir!” 

He nods and turns to Wes, “I’ll see you later, yeah?” His black bangs do nothing to hide the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Wes nods wordlessly, his throat suddenly tight and full. Tim’s smile widens and he leaves for the elevator. 

When the doors close on his figure, Rebecca jams her index and middle fingers into Wes’s ribs, “Oh my god, were you two on a coffee date?” 

“Ow, Rebecca, what? No! He just wanted to escape the board.” Wes rubs his ribs comfortingly, his muscles stinging. “That hurt, what the hell?”

“Sorry!” She’s not sorry at all. “Do you think we can get him to do a TikTok for us?” 

He spares a glance at the elevator, which has long since taken Tim up to whatever floor he haunts. “Maybe? It’d make sense, considering the whole CEO thing. Why wouldn’t he be in a TikTok at some point?”

“No reason,” she says, but there’s a fire in her eyes and a mischievous cut to her grin that she fails to hide behind her coffee. Wes’s gut curdles in dread. 

“You terrify me.”

“Thanks! Now come to my office. You need to practice your lines for the TikTok.”

“I feel like my mom has to sign some kind of release form if I’m going to be on the WE TikTok,” he warns, but dutifully follows after her. “Also, you have a cubicle. Not an office.” 

“Hush, or I’ll take away your stool. And your mom already signed one, so ha.” 

“Hushing.” He mimes the action of locking his lips and throwing away the key. 

“Ugh, you’re adorable.” 

They get to the cubicle and each takes a seat, Rebecca immediately sorting through several stacks of papers before making a triumphant noise and handing him a sheet. Wes takes it and stares at it uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. 

“Rebecca, this is just stage directions and the lines to that Cunk on Earth audio.” 

She nods, “And if we get the TikTok approved fast enough, maybe we’ll even post it when the trend is still semi-popular.” 

“And what will I be actually saying?” 

“Don’t worry about that. Just focus on being able to lip sync.” 

“Oh boy."

xxXxx

Wes had thought he would have at least a few days to get used to the idea of having his face plastered all over the internet. Unfortunately, it would seem he underestimated Rebecca’s work ethic when it came to something she wanted because she only made him do three retakes, and then she made quick work of editing. Wayne Enterprises' first-ever TikTok would be ready to go live in the morning with his mother’s and Tim’s approval. 

The TikTok in question is Wes standing in the Wayne Enterprises lobby, smiling wide and happy at the camera when he first begins talking: “It’s hard to believe I’m walking through the ruins of the first ever city.” He pauses, drops the smile, and says, “Because I’m not: that’s in Iraq, which is miles away, and fucking dangerous.” Then, he holds up two cartons of coffee into the camera frame, all filled with (secretly) empty paper venti cups, and is swarmed by various WE employees who volunteered (or were coerced by Rebecca) to be in the TikTok. 

Rebecca doesn’t let him see exactly how she subtitled the video, but he can guess. And sure enough, when the TikTok profile and video simultaneously go live the next day and Wes sees it, he is proven mostly right. 

“It’s hard to believe I’m the new face of Wayne Enterprises’ official TikTok. Because I’m not: I’m just an intern, and I get the f*cking coffee.” 

Rebecca had even captioned it as if he were the one writing and posting: It’s at least a paid internship. The words are then followed by a string of hashtags. Well, that just goes to show that you can’t trust corporations’ social media, even if they do try to come across as real and friendly and like a person who could be your friend. Parasocial relationships are dangerous, who knew?

“The likes and comments are coming in fast,” Rebecca says, staring down at the WE phone that Tim had sent down with the filming equipment to use for the WE TikTok. She’s also done more than she needed to with it, downloading other social media and logging into them on her personal profiles. Wes didn’t comment on it, even if he did think it was not the smartest move, but she said it was so she could get away with “studying” current trends easier. 

“It is Wayne Enterprises,” he remarks. “It’d be like if, I dunno, if Superman finally downloaded TikTok. But, like, this is more corporate greed than ‘protecting humanity’ type of thing.”

“That’s true,” she nodded. “But I mean, the Waynes are pretty generous. I make more here than I would anywhere else.”

“Yeah, fair. And paid internships aren’t exactly common, either.” 

Wes wouldn’t admit it, but while he’d given up on proving the Fenton-Phantom conspiracy and other identities, he did still have a bit of a stalking problem. So when Google sent him a news alert about the Waynes making a press statement about the break-in, he immediately hit it to read the article while Rebecca read new comments on TikTok aloud for him to hear. 

The Waynes Speak About Break-in At WE

The article discusses how grateful they were to Batman and his flock for stopping the break-in, even if they hadn’t caught the new villain. Really, it’s just a puff piece about the Princes of Gotham’s perception of the Knights of Gotham. And considering Wes’s insider knowledge, the article comes across as a little condescending and self-praising, and he’s close to exiting the website when a throwaway comment near the end of the article catches his eye, and he reads on. 

VV: And are you at liberty to say what the villain was looking for? Is it something we should have our eyes on?

BW: [laughs] Well, it’s something that has been spoken about before, I believe? I think Tim could tell you more about it than me. He’s definitely got the brains. You know, when he was—

TDW: Haha, thanks, B! I can’t give too much away because the lead scientist on the project, Dr. Michelle Amir, will get upset, but I can say that we’re expecting a breakthrough in renewable energy. 

VV: Are you sure that’s all you can tell us? 

TDW: I’m afraid so. Dr. Amir is very protective of her research.

VV: And it would seem with good reason! It’s a good thing Gotham’s own….

…And the interview returns to preaching the Batfamily’s praises.

Wes has to roll his eyes at the Brucie Wayne persona trying to take every conceivable opportunity to gush about his children. 

Still, he recognizes that the article was published just a few hours after the TikTok started to go viral. Any reports about the WE break-in will be buried under tabloids dissecting the new TikTok profile and what this means for future WE advertisements. Clever, and exactly what he expects from the Bats. 

As he exits the website, a text notification pops up at the top of his screen. It’s from Tucker Foley and all it says is, “YOU!” in all caps. 

He sighs as a rush of other texts hit his phone from his classmates at Casper High, some even including the link to the TikTok. 

And so it begins. 

xxXxx

Tag List: 

@theamazingfox @quietlyscared @lumosfeather18581  @blankliferain @amercurio @gin2212 @starscreamlover @hoarder-of-gender

If you want to be added to the Tag List, just ask in the replies 💙

[resowrites]

Hitch - oneshot.

Summary: Henry and his girlfriend hit a bump in the road…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: angst, fluff, relationship difficulties/argument, language, pet names, nondescript OC body type/appearance, brief allusion to smut, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 1630

A/N: Hi folks, still not back in the writing groove but gave it a go and this was the result lol Sorry for deleting the last request, still having a crisis of confidence but I appreciate all interactions (especially as it helps me figure out blog direction). Not sure how often I’ll continue posting atm but feel free to send requests etc. - R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Hitch - oneshot.

"I just want you to tell me why."

"Henry, do you not think if there was another reason, I’d just say so? Especially if it meant not having this conversation again?"

"So you honestly expect me to believe that you won’t get married simply because don't want to?"

"Yes! I said as much not long after we got together, why did you think I’d change my mind?"

"I dunno, I thought maybe you were trying to protect yourself. I know being with someone like me will never be straightforward, but why is marriage an impossibility given how long we've now been together? I've never done anything to make you doubt me or my love for you." She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, struggling to comprehend how watching some dreadful reality show about matchmaking had led to their current discussion. 

"Henry, I really can’t have this conversation again. I've told you my reason why and won't keep repeating myself. Goodnight." Henry dashed between her and the living room door.

"Darling please, we need to talk about this. Surely you can appreciate why I’m confused? You won't attend premieres with me, you don’t often travel with me. I respect that you're your own person and want to be out of the spotlight at much as possible, but now I'm worried you don't feel the same way about me anymore."

"Henry, you already know that isn't true. For fuck's sake I take care of everything each and every day don't I? Your house, your personal affairs, even your dog! I live in the middle of nowhere for you, I get abused every day worldwide for you, and I can't even walk down the fucking street without the risk of being photographed - all for you! Why would I do any of that if I didn't love you? I've never wanted your money, connections, or anything else, and yet here you are questioning me!" But her anger only served to rile him up further. 

"Well, I wonder why! You sound pretty resentful even though this is our house, our dog, our fucking life! For God’s sake I thought we were past this, what else can I do to prove that you're my priority?"

"I'm not resentful, that's my point! And we didn't choose this house or other aspects of our life together but I'm still here, still dedicated to you. What else do I have to do, to prove that?"

"So that would help? If we moved, chose a house together?" She clasped her forehead, exasperated.

"Ugh, no! I love this house because you chose it, just like I love you. Now let me go to bed." Henry blocked her path once again.

"No, please… I'm just trying to understand. You forget that I know you were engaged before, so is it that? You love me but you were in love with him?"

"Or the experience just confirmed marriage isn't for me. If I'd lost the person I loved most, why would I settle? I'm hardly the type, am I?" He searched her eyes.

"But if it's inconsequential to you why can't we do it? I just want you to be my wife, you know fine well I'll never hurt or leave you!"

"Except I don't! No one can. I don't want marriage because I don’t believe it's a vow anyone can honestly make. You might wake up tomorrow and decide you don't love me anymore, or next week you could meet someone who makes you realise you never did. I'm sorry but having to get divorced just adds insult to injury and I won't do it to myself. I refuse to."

"Oh, darling." Henry tried to move in for a hug but she swiftly raised her hand.

"Stop it. Whether you accept it or not, I continue to be here because I love you, and I'm sorry you think I haven't done enough to make that clear."

"And I'm sorry you think I don't love you as much as you love me." A look flashed briefly across her face.

"When did I say that?!"

"Throughout this entire conversation! So I was right all along, you think I'm just a selfish prick who wants to have his cake and eat it. First it was your father, then your ex, and now me. I'm just the latest in a long line of disappointments, aren't I? What do you want me to do? Give up acting? Will that be a big enough improvement for you?" There was no mistaking the look on her face anymore.

"How dare you. I've always respected what you do--"

“She said sarcastically.”

"Oh whatever, all this really comes down to is you not being able to control me any further than you already do." He stepped back a moment, turning around only halfway when he was ready to speak again.

"You don't really believe that?"

"Either way, I'm never getting married or having children. If that's too much for you then, I suppose... our relationship is already over." Her eyes were distraught and Henry rushed forwards, gripping the sides of her arms.

"No, no. Please, don't say that. I'm not losing you over something like this. Having children is different and besides, I don’t want to share you with anyone else," she felt her heart pinch. "I'm sorry, Okay? I'm just hurt, but I'll get over it. Yes, I'm old-fashioned, I find it hard that you don't let me spoil you, or that we have to take turns paying for holidays. You even have to pay for the upkeep of this place!”

"Yes, because you bought it despite us both living here, why can't I at least contribute?" He finally let her go, sighing as his head dropped down.

"I just want to care of you."

"And you do! Which I'm grateful for and is the reason I do whatever I can to take care of you as well. Marriage gives me the ick, alright? I'm just not lovey-dovey, sue me."

"Bollocks. You spend ages cuddling Kal, cooking for me… do you know you even cuddle up to me at night after you've fallen asleep? I try and stay awake just so--" his voice caught in his throat, "I don't miss it. We don't have to have a wedding, though you seemed to enjoy Mark's and Claire's...”

"I'd enjoy myself at funerals if they had open bars." 

"Well, what if something happens to me? I need to make sure everything's taken care of."

"We can go to a solicitor for that." Henry rubbed his jaw.

"What if we make it just us? We don't have to invite anyone other than the witnesses." She pondered the suggestion for a moment. 

"How about we have a civil union?" He scowled.

"What, where you don't have to change your title, surname, or even be called my wife?"

"Henry that's my last offer, take it or leave it. For fuck's sake why can't I just be your partner? That's all I've ever wanted to be..." She swallowed back her tears but practically fled the room. Henry just stood with his head in his hands. Neither of them slept well that night.

***

The next couple of days passed uneasily, not that she didn't try her best to make things better. She still didn't want to give in to Henry though, no matter how bad it felt not to. She thought she’d sacrificed enough for them to be together. If she said yes to this, then what would be next? It was as she was curled up on the sofa, letting such thoughts churn over and over in her mind, that he came and sat down beside her. After a couple of minutes, he gently took her hand. "Listen, I've thought about what you said and I think I finally understand. With that in mind, I'd like you to accept these as a promise that we'll belong to each other for as long as possible and as best we can.” He looked at her knowingly while pulling two velvet boxes from his pocket. “I got you the same promise ring as mine as I know you don't like anything sparkly, mine's just wider cos I've got big hands and need it to last. You don't have to be a Mrs or take my surname either, though I know you don’t like yours so I thought maybe you could anyway?" His hopeful eyes were met with the mischief in hers.

"But your surname’s awful as well!" He snorted.

"Fair enough, I know it's a nightmare changing everything by deed poll anyway. We can wear the rings on our right hands if you want, so... what do you think?"

"I'll accept it on one condition," she teased, though the tears in her eyes were plain to see.

"Which is?"

"You get down on one knee." Henry stared at her for a moment in disbelief but soon hurled himself to the floor, grinning as she presented her right hand. He took his time, making sure to slide the band on carefully. Once that was done she grabbed his and as gently as her patience would allow, twisted it over his finger. They beamed at each other before he leaped to his feet, pulling her with him so they could kiss and embrace. His heart felt like it was about to burst. "You know, if I'm not your wife then what will you call me?"

"How about 'wagon?'" She giggled and swatted him on the arm. "What about me?"

"Hmm, let's see... what else begins with 'w?'" He roared with laughter, planted another kiss on her mouth, and swept her up into his arms. She knew they were headed for the stairs before he even turned round.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@marytudorbrandon @luclittlepond

[sunarots]

baby, its cold outside

pairings: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: it’s christmas day, and you just had to get away from your overbearing family. you love them, but you need a break from them. in one of the only open bars, you meet their only other customer: one atsuma miya. and he is not quite ready to let you go home after only one drink.

warnings: alcohol, strong language

christmas masterlist

“Come on, lovely. I haven’t even caught yer name yet.” The blonde signals to the bartender for another two drinks, sliding into the seat beside yours. “You can stay for just another drink, can’t ya? It’s freezing out there.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempts — he’s certainly determined. “Okay, fine. But just one more. I really do have to get home to my family.”

“I’m sure they can wait just another ten minutes,” he assures, sliding a large note over to the bartender. “Keep the change.”

His entire demeanour amazes you. “Trying to impress me even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, finishing the glass to swap the bartender for your new glass.

“Why would I have to impress someone when I don’t even know their name?”

You laugh, lifting a hand over your mouth. “I’m y/n.”

“Well, y/n, it’s my pleasure,” he responds, tugging the hand from your mouth and pulling it into a handshake. “I’m Atsumu Miya.”

The name rings a bell, but you don’t linger on the topic any further. “So, Atsumu, what brings you out here on Christmas day?”

He beams, sipping his beer. “Overbearing family, just like you. My brother’s brought his pregnant girlfriend, which has obviously gotten me under fire about my lack of relationships.”

You raise an eyebrow and eye him up and down. He certainly doesn’t look like the type of guy who wouldn’t have a girlfriend. He’s got a good physique and, even you have to admit, he’s very good looking.

“Keep it in yer pants.” He laughs, and a red tint rises to your cheeks at being caught out. Atsumu doesn’t take his eyes off yours. “What brings you out here?”

“My family at Christmas are very stressful. There’s not enough alcohol in their house to make me stay there the whole time. So, I said I had some work to finish up before tonight.”

“Families, eh?” He clinks your glasses together and brings it to his lips.

“Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass.” You look at the clock on the wall behind Atsumu’s head, trying to figure out how much longer you could put off returning. Dinner isn’t until half 3, which is an hour away. You could get away with…

“Aw, ya can’t leave me on my own yet. When you leave, I have to go as well!” he whines, tilting his head.

You can’t help but smile. “Why do you have to leave when I go?”

“Because otherwise I’ll just be that guy in the bar, alone on Christmas. I can’t have that bein’ everywhere by New Year.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why will it be everywhere by New Year? Who has to know?”

Atsumu turns and looks at you as if you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and maybe you have. But you don’t know why he’s looking at you that way, and it hits him that you have no idea of who he is.

The smile returns to his face and he shrugs his shoulders. “I dunno. Don’t listen to me, I’ve had three drinks and not eaten anything to prepare for Christmas dinner. I must be drunk.”

Tilting your head to the side, you don’t completely believe him. But you have nothing to back yourself up, so you remain quiet. “How will you get home if you’re drunk? You’re not driving, are you?”

“Nah, I’ve got a ride. Don’t worry yer pretty head about it’.” He winks, and finishes off his next drink. “Did you drive?”

It’s not until he asks you that you realise you can’t drive back home. Your face must show it because Atsumu bursts out laughing. “Okay, maybe I was a little caught up in the moment of needing to get away and didn’t think that far ahead,” you defend yourself, sipping your gin.

“Would ya like a lift home, darlin’?”

He flashes you a smile and the same question runs through your mind once again. How is a man like this still single? He can flirt, he’s hot as hell, and his smile. God, he had a truly beautiful smile. Your knees were weak, thank god you were sat down.

Oh god, what if he’s a murderer? That would explain why he’s single. No man can be this nice and attractive. He has to be a serial killer, and you’re his next victim. You just can’t catch a break!

“Well?”

You shake yourself out of your spiral, giving him a hesitant smile. “Um…”

“I’m not gonna hurt ya. If it’ll help, you can sit in the front with my driver and I’ll sit in the back?” he offers, taking out his phone as it starts to ring. He sighs. “Sorry, darlin’. My brother.”

You nod, considering his offer as he swivels in his chair and brings the phone to his ear.

“What? Tell ma I’ll be back soon. What? You what!?” Atsumu drops back his head and tries to contain his noises of frustration. “Congratulations. I’ll be back in an hour. Yeah, whatever.” He ends the phone call and drops his phone on the bar, downing the rest of the drink.

“Rough call?” you joke, watching the smile return to his face and a laugh slipping from your lips.

“They’re gettin’ married,” he whines, turning back to face you. “Married, y/n! Mrs. Osamu Miya. Fuckin’… It’s like he’s out to get me! He wants this holiday to be miserable for me.”

“He’s not out to get you, Atsumu. What would he gain from this?”

He chuckles. “He’s my brother. He loves watchin’ our parents interrogate me after he drops news like this. Last year he posted it on the Onigiri Miya TikTok page and I went viral. My teammates still watch that fuckin’ video.”

“There’s a video?” you ask, eyes wide. “I would kill my sister if she did that to me. She’s constantly bragging to our parents about her career, she’s going to be an environmental lawyer. I’ve gone back to university because I changed my mind on what I want to do again, and my parents are acting like I’m insane. How can you choose just one thing to do, you know? I wanna be everything, but there’s not enough time.”

Atsumu nods along to your words. “Yeah, I get that.”

“What do you do? How did you choose?”

“Well, I played volleyball in high school and loved it. I got an offer not long after I finished and decided that’s what I wanted to do,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “You’ll figure it out eventually. Ya still have time.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You pick up your drink to sip a little more, before turning to look at him once again with furrowed eyebrows. “Wait… You’re that Atsumu Miya?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. Was waitin’ to see how long it was gonna take you to realise.” He laughs, looking over his shoulder to catch the time.

“Wow. The camera really doesn’t do you justice,” you comment, finishing off your drink. “Is your driver here?”

“Unfortunately,” he responds, pushing himself off his chair. “Ready to return to hell?” He holds out his hand for you to take with a smile, using his other to grab his coat.

You sigh. “Not quite, but we don’t seem to have a choice.” You take his hand and follow him to the door of the bar. “Are you allowed to leave the bar holding my hand? Or are people going to assume you have a secret girlfriend?”

Atsumu pauses before opening the door, turning to face you. “I don’t care people think yer my girlfriend.” He gives you a smile and rests his back against the door of the cafe. “Yer cute, sweet. Different to my exes. I think, if anything, it should be you worrying about bein’ seen as my girlfriend. Does it bother ya?”

You shake your head. “No. Because we were sat at the bar for over an hour and you didn’t once glance at my boobs.”

He laughs, pushing the door open with his back and pulling you with him. “Come on, darlin’. There’s champagne in the limo, let’s get a little more tipsy.”

[frikatilhi]

may i ask some nice, sweet bojere in these trying times? sad bojere bitch peak rn :((

You may! Except I don't know if I can deliver anything more than more sadness.

I went to my ideas file, and there was this snippet I had to get out of my system the day the Perfect Date interview came out. It's a conversation between them during karaoke night.

Several warnings: they are only friends; I even briefly mention Jere's relationship situation; it's not edited; it's just this little dialogue-only stream of consciousness... thing.

But I guess here it is anyway.

"Was it too much? When I kiss you?"

"No, are you kidding? Everyone loved it!"

"But for you, it is okei?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okei."

"Does it ever weird you out though? How much they love it?"

"Sometimes. When someone mention the fanfictions about us."

"I know, right? Have you ever looked?"

"No. But my friends sometimes tell me."

"Those four fuckers, too."

"It’s... weird, yes. But also… kinda nice."

"Nice? Them imagining us… you know?"

"They see the love."

"Huh. I guess."

"Is it hard for you? Because… you know."

"Because of what I am?"

"Yes. Does it bother that they write you gay?"

"Well. Can’t really blame them, can I? I mean, they are not wrong."

"Yes, but. They don’t know. It is maybe not nice when they speculate."

"It’s sometimes scary. I’m not ready yet. Dunno when I’ll be."

"They want best for you. They cheer you. You know?"

"I guess. Sometimes I do feel like I’m disappointing everyone. Those fans that want me to be. And those who don’t."

"You not disappoint me. Or your friends. Is that not most important?"

"Yeah. Well."

"I know."

"What about you? Does it bother you?"

"They can think what they want. I hold a flag at the gig and they scream and be happy. Everybody win."

"And, what about her, she doesn’t mind…?"

"Are you kidding? She is the worst of them. Probably would invite you for threesome if I say yes."

"Ha ha. Like I would dare."

"Too bad."

"Stop."

"Do you ever wonder? If we meet and both are single."

"You’re not, so it doesn’t matter. You’re also straight."

"I don’t know. I don’t think I care, that much."

"Huh."

"You are beautiful man, Bojan. I see you."

"Ok, we need to change the subject."

"Point is, I love our friendship. It shine the light in my life. Is it wonder that fans see it? People just want to be happy. They see happy people, they like it."

"Yeah. It’s still a bit weird."

"You are weird. I am weird. Everyone is weird."

"So, weird is good?"

"Yes, of course! And not everything need to be so serious."

"You have that right. So let them imagine me railing you in Tavastia showers as much as they want."

"Oooh no no no no no, it is me! Who is doing you."

"Haha, sure, right. Keep telling yourself that. It is not me they call their babygirl."

"And it is not me who always cry a lot in stories."

"Wait, how do you know? You said you haven’t read them?"

"Maybe I read a little."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Oh look, is it my turn to sing already?"

[autisticlancemcclain]

five times keith kogane didn’t celebrate his birthday, plus one time he did

1.

“You’re getting big, kiddo! Double digits this year an’ everything. Next thing I know, you’ll be towerin’ over me and askin’ me when I got so small!"

Keith giggled. He knew his Pa was teasing, because Keith was still very small. In fact, he was the shortest kid in his class. (Which didn’t even make sense, because Pa was as big as a mountain!)

“I’m not that big, Pa.”

“Oh, I dunno. I don’t think I could even lift ya up anymore.”

“Yes you can! Yes you can!”

Pa pretended to think, tapping his chin and screwing up his mouth. “Well, I could try, I ‘spose…”

Keith cheered, and Pa grinned before scooping Keith right up and throwing him up over his shoulder. 

“Make way for the birthday boy!” he called, even though they were the only ones in the house and it wasn’t even his birthday until next month. 

“Not yet, Pa! It’s in –” Keith paused to count carefully on his fingers, Pa waiting patiently – “twenty-nine days!” 

“Aw, my little boy’s almost a grown man!” Pa tossed him down on the couch, flopping down beside him with his hand over his forehead dramatically. “My little baby Keith, ten years old. Whatever shall I do?”

Keith laughed, crawling into Pa’s lap and curling up under his chin. “I’m just ten, Pa. Nothing’s gonna change, ‘cept I’ll be bigger and smarter and stronger.”

Pa hummed, bringing up a hand to brush through Keith’s shaggy hair. “That’s right, kiddo. Nothing big will change. But we can still celebrate, huh? Whatcha wanna do?”

Keith brightened, flicking excited eyes up to meet his father’s. “Can I go for a big long ride in the firetruck? With the sirens? Please?”

Pa chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of Keith’s hair. “‘Course, kiddo. Anything you want.”

“Happy birthday,” Keith mutters to himself, glaring at the headstone in front of him. “So much for no big changes. Liar.”

He has the sudden urge to stand up and kick the cold grey stone. ‘TEXAS KOGANE,’ it reads, in big black letters, ‘LOVING FATHER AND LOCAL HERO.’ As if that makes it better;  he’s dead, sure, but at least he was a hero. 

A tear drips down Keith’s nose, without his permission. 

He doesn’t want a hero. He wants his dad back, to take him on a ride around the town for his birthday, like he promised. He would even take just his dad, no birthday celebrations necessary. He’d give up a million birthdays to have his dad back. 

2.

Keith stares at his watch as the minutes tick down. 11:58. Really, he’s not allowed to be up this late. The lady in charge of this home is real strict about bedtime – lights out at 8:30, no exceptions for homework or reading or playing. 

Or birthdays. 

Keith doesn’t much care, though. He hasn’t cared about his birthday in two years. It doesn’t mean much anymore, anyway. The only thing that happens if he tells someone it’s his birthday is they look at him in surprise, then look at him with guilt, then half-ass a birthday wish or maybe some stupid little dollar-store present that Keith doesn’t even want. He only ever wants one thing, and he’ll never get it, so it doesn’t matter. 

Sometimes, thought, secretly, in the very back of his mind, he thinks it would be nice to have someone plan a whole party just for him, with chocolate cake that’s mostly icing and sprinkles, and no candles – candles mean fire, and Keith doesn’t much like fire – but maybe the stupid little song, too. Maybe he would have a bunch of imaginary friends gathered around him, excited to celebrate with him, who smother him with hugs and kisses and happy birthdays and even birthday beats. Maybe there's someone who knows all the books Keith likes, and gets him those fancy hardcovers he can never afford, the ones that look real nice and feel even nicer. 

But the clock ticks right past 12, and his birthday is over, and no one even remembered or cared, and Keith convinces himself that it’s better that way. 

Birthdays are stupid and pointless. What does he care if no one loves him enough to celebrate? He wouldn’t celebrate even if someone did love him. It’s stupid. 

3.

“Hey, buddy,” Shiro says, shooting him a smile as Keith walks through the door. 

“Hi.”

Keith moves to head to his room – he likes Shiro well enough, sure, but he’s not really in a social mood and doesn’t want to make Shiro hate him just yet – but Shiro speaks up again before he can. 

“I have a couple questions about tomorrow, when you have a free minute. It doesn’t have to be now, just before you go to bed. Okay?”

Keith swallows roughly. Fuck. He was hoping they were going to ignore tomorrow, actually, but rationally Keith knew there was a fat chance of that. Shiro’s the type of guy to celebrate his plant’s birthday – and that’s a fact, they celebrated Shiro’s favourite cactus last week with homemade cupcakes that Shiro burnt so badly that Keith couldn’t actually tell what flavour they were supposed to be – so, of course, he’s going to want to celebrate Keith’s. 

“Celebrating my birthday is against my religion,” Keith blurts, because he didn’t prepare a lie ahead of time, like a dumbass. 

Shiro blinks. “Shit, kiddo. Have you been missing religious services, or something? Oh, God – fuck, I mean, not God – is it God? I don’t know jack shit about religion, sorry – shit, is swearing against your religion, too? Fuck. I mean, not fuck – fuck!”

Shiro’s getting so frantic that his face is turning purple, so Keith decides to put him out of his misery, even though watching him freak the hell out is admittedly kind of hilarious. (Shiro freaks out a lot, like he’s terrified he’s going to be the one to fuck Keith up. It’s very sweet, so Keith has yet to inform him that Keith’s already plenty fucked up, thanks, so he’s got nothing to worry about.)

“It’s a religion I made up,” Keith says, and figures that’s a decent enough lie as any. “It doesn’t have a name or services or anything.”

Shiro breathes a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Or, er. Not God.”

Keith cracks a grin. “Thanks, Shiro, but don’t worry. You can chill out. We’re good.”

“Okay, kiddo,” Shiro says, smiling back. “Sounds good. You heading to your room?”

“Yeah. I’ve got English homework.”

Shiro hums, tilting his head. “Do you want to do it out here? You don’t have to, and I’ll certainly be no help – I’m hopeless with lit analysis, unfortunately – but it might be nice to have company.”

Keith considers him for a moment. He – he hasn’t done homework with someone since his Pa died. No one else just wanted to sit with him, or whatever. 

“I don’t make very good company.”

Shiro smiles. It’s a little sad, and Keith’s not sure how to feel about it. “I like your company plenty. If anything, I’ll be the one who makes bad company – I turn into a zombie when I have too much marking to do.”

Keith glances at the truly giant piles of student papers in front of Shiro. He thinks of his room, lonely and undecorated, ‘cause Keith is still waiting for Shiro to gently sit him down and explain that Keith’s a great kid, really, but there’s only so much Shiro can handle. 

Shiro’s already lasted much longer than any other foster parent he’s had. 

And, uh. Keith likes it here, a little. Sometimes, late at night, when Keith is imagining the birthday party he might have one day, he sees Shiro’s face smiling over at him. 

“I guess I don’t mind doing homework with a zombie,” Keith says, and Shiro lights up. 

4.

Keith reads a lot. Whatever he can get his hands on, really. It’s for that reason that he knows, for a fact, that the man to coin the term déja vù was Émile Boirac, a French philosopher from the 19th century. 

Keith hopes that motherfucking bitch is writhing in the deepest pits of hell. 

Because Keith is quite happy to pin the blame on him for the horribly familiar ache he’s filling, looking at Shiro’s memorial on October 23rd, birthday plans fluttering away in the stale desert wind. 

“Am I cursed?” Keith asks out loud, to whomever may be listening. “Did I do something? I’ll do anything to undo it, I promise. I’ll fucking – forget me ever even thinking about celebrating a birthday again, okay? I promise I won’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll – fucking – live in that stupid shack for the rest of my life and eat canned tuna until I die. I’ll do whatever you want. Just – please.” His face crumples, and his knees hit the hard cement floor, but he barely registers the pain. The same tear makes its traitorous path down his face, splattering on the floor. He reaches out and brushes his fingers over the carved stone: ‘TAKASHI SHIROGANE’.

There’s no other carving, this time. No star pilot, or explorer. 

Loving brother. 

“Please just – please just bring him back,” Keith sobs, even though he knows it’s just as fucking hopeless as it was ten years ago, and he’s alone, again, and this time there’s no one else coming. 

Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe, as he shoves images of smiling faces singing happy birthday – a stupid fucking fantasy for a stupid fucking kid – into the back of his mind, where it belongs, this is for the better. The less people who care about him, the less people at risk, right? And the less people who can hurt him by breaking their promises and leaving him behind to pick up the pieces. 

Birthdays are stupid. Caring about people is stupid. Keith is – Keith’s done being stupid.

5.

Keith’s not big on eavesdropping. If he can, he minds his business. 

But he figures if people are talking about him, then it’s not eavesdropping anymore. By then it’s just…gathering intel.

Yeah. That’s a great explanation for why Keith’s crouched by the common room door like a weirdo, straining to hear every last word coming from his teammates’ mouths. 

“...I mean, it can’t hurt, right? It’s not like we’re doing anything obnoxious. Just the song and the cake!”

That’s Lance, unmistakably. He sounds a little annoyed, like he’s been arguing his point for a while – Keith is very familiar with that tone. He can imagine Lance’s face: mouth twisted into a petulant scowl, dark brown eyes narrowed and deadpan, arms crossed over his chest with his left hand’s ring finger tapping his bicep. He sounds snooty, too, so he’s probably even straightened up his posture and rose up to his full height. 

Keith can’t quite tamp down his smile. God, he loves riling Lance up. Massive kudos to whoever’s doing it now, Keith’s jealous. 

“I’m not sure, Lance.” That’s Shiro. “Keith isn’t huge on celebrating his birthday.”

Keith’s smile drops. Aw, fuck. He checks his watch, frustrated with himself, seeing clear as day that today’s the twenty-second. 

Fuck. He let it sneak up on him, and now he’s going to have to shut it down like a jackass. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“You guys never celebrated his birthday?”

“Well, we didn’t at first, but he warmed up to a small thing eventually –”

“That’s settled, then!” 

Keith can picture Lance throwing his hands up, surely smug about winning the argument, but likely annoyed at having to argue at all. 

God, Keith needs to stop thinking about Lance so much. It’s honestly embarrassing. Here he is, having a crisis, and all his stupid gay brain can focus on is a Cuban accent and the image of a bright smile. 

Humiliating. 

“Hunk’ll make a cake, we’ll wish him a subtle happy birthday when we see him tomorrow. We won’t even make a big deal about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Shiro says reluctantly. 

Oh, damn you, Shiro, you bleeding heart. Heaven forbid you be a surly jackass for once in your life and tell everyone to piss off. 

“Good. I can’t believe we missed it last year, I feel horrible.”

“Last year, we spent Keith’s birthday in a pile of corrosive alien goo on that mission,” Pidge points out drily. “Also, he told us his birthday was November thirty-first, and every one of us fell for it.”

Keith grins, because it’s true and he did. He laughed to himself for like forty minutes when they realised, and they were so ticked and preoccupied with throwing things at him – Allura and Lance were the ones throwing things, that is – that they forgot to ask him for his birthday for real. 

Someone sniffs derisively. “Makes sense for his scorpio ass,” Hunk says. 

“Is scorpio the bitchy one?” he hears Allura whisper.

“Yes,” Lance whispers back, as if he’s not a fuckin’ leo.

“Okay, let’s talk about literally anything else. Don’t we have preparations to do?”

Keith scatters before everyone can file out, hearing Hunk and Lance start talking excitedly about making their way to the kitchens. He makes his way to his room, racking his brain for a way to stop this in its tracks. Hunk and Lance will have already started on the cake, so he can’t hide ingredients or anything. Honestly, his best bet will probably be to hide the cake and hope everyone gets the message. It’ll be awkward, sure, and he’ll feel bad about ruining their hard work, but it’s for the best. 

After all, birthdays are stupid. 

+1

He waits until he’s sure everyone else is asleep, and then sneaks his way into the kitchen, using all the ninja training he has available. He doesn’t turn the kitchen light on, using the cover of the shadows to hide his misdeeds. 

(...Misdeeds? Who says that? Keith reads way too many novels.)

He finally closes his hand around the fridge door, pulling it open as quietly as possible. There, placed carefully away from anything that could ruin it, is a – chocolate cake. With more icing than cake. And endless sprinkles. No candle in sight. 

Keith swallows the lump in his throat, forcing himself to get his shit together. It’s a fucking cake. So what if his team knows exactly what he wants? So what if the stupid little fantasy he dreamed about as a stupid little lonely kid is a very real possibility?

It doesn’t matter. Keith doesn’t do birthdays. Not anymore. 

“Now, if I thought you were just stealing a bite, I wouldn’t stop you. But something tells me that’s not the case.”

Lance’s voice startles him so bad he jumps up with a yelp, braining himself on the fridge door. 

“Jesus motherfu –”

Lance laughs quietly, cutting Keith off mid-cuss. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Bullshit, McClain, you jackass.”

Lance shrugs, grinning. “You’ll never prove it.”

“And they’ll never find your fucking body if you do that again,” Keith snaps, but there’s no bark behind it. “Why the hell are you here? You’re supposed to be asleep!”

“So are you. Instead, you’re committing birthday sabotage. What’s up with that?”

Keith stiffens. “No I’m not. I’m just – admiring it.”

“Uh huh. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I’m not –” Keith sighs, deflating. “Yeah, okay, whatever. I just – I don’t want to celebrate my birthday, okay? It’s no big deal.”

Lance stares at him a moment. Not glaring, or judgemental, or – anything, really. Just stares, until Keith starts to fidget. 

“What?” he snaps. “Say something.”

“I don’t think you actually want us to pretend it’s not your birthday,” Lance says. 

Keith blinks. “That’s – yes, I do.”

“I mean, I think you think you do.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Lance hums, pulling out two chairs and sitting in one. He pillows his head on his arms, resting on the table. He looks at Keith expectantly. 

Keith rolls his eyes and stomps over to the chair, slamming the fridge door shut behind him. The room goes completely dark, save for the faint glow of the emergency light casting shadows on Lance’s face. 

“Well?” 

“I think, if you really wanted us to stop the birthday planning, you would have come inside and said it, instead of crouching outside like a weirdo.”

Keith startles. “There’s no fucking way – you saw me? I was behind a wall!”

“I heard you.”

Keith slaps a palm to his head, frustrated with himself. How could he forget? “You and your fucking bat ears.”

Lance laughs, poking Keith gently on the shoulder. “Me and my bat ears,” he agrees. He doesn’t say anything more, waiting patiently for Keith to organise his thoughts. That’s the thing about Lance – you’d think, with all the talking he does, that he wouldn’t be a great listener. But he is, really. 

“Every person I’ve ever celebrated my birthday with has bailed on me,” Keith says quietly. “It’s not – it’s not always their fault, sure, but it’s a pattern.”

“Two’s not a pattern,” Lance whispers. 

Keith shrugs. “Feels like one.”

“I bet.” 

Keith’s heart starts to feel heavy. It always does, when he remembers anything adjacent to his Pa, and more recently to the memories of losing Shiro. He lays his head on the table, mirroring Lance, to see if that will ease some of the weight. 

“I don’t want you guys to make it a pattern.”

Lance hums. “Not to be a bummer, but the chances of all seven of us surviving this whole thing is pretty slim. We’re going to do our best, obviously, but – it’s grim.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well, if we’re going to die anyway, why can’t we also celebrate your birthday? I don’t think acknowledging the fact that you were born and we’re happy about it is going to make us any more or less likely to die.”

“This is a really shitty pep talk.”

Lance laughs. “Yeah, it’s not my best.”

“Not even close.”

Lance grins at him, a flash of bright white in the dark. “Is it working anyway, though?”

“A little.”

“Yeah? Where’re you at?”

Keith hums, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a Real Human Sentence, instead of the jumble of emotions it is currently. “Objectively, I know celebrating my birthday isn’t going to get anyone killed. But my birthday feels kinda shitty, usually. I don’t want to make more shitty memories with you guys than I have to.”

“I dunno. I think any memory I make with you is a pretty good one, so long as you’re in it.”

“...McClain, that is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your goddamn mouth.”

“Heh. You like it when I’m cheesy.”

Keith realises he has a choice to make. 

He and Lance have been doing this – flirting, thing, for months. It’s – stupid. They argue and drive each other insane and tease and play and both of them know damn well they only do it to get a reaction out of the other, because it’s fun, and because they have this thing between them. They’ve never gone past flirting, though. 

Keith kinda wishes they would. And birthdays – they’re for wishes, right?

“I like you.”

“Yeah, Kogane? You should do something about it.”

Keith has never been able to back down from a challenge. Especially not from Lance. 

He reaches forward blindly – emergency lights or no, he can’t really see anything other than the vague silhouette of Lance’s face – brushing his fingers over Lance’s cheek, his eyebrow, his nose.

His lips. 

Once he knows where he’s aiming, he leans over, pausing just millimetres away from Lance’s face. 

“I think I wouldn’t mind. Celebrating my birthday with you guys. I think… I think I could trust you. To handle it.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Lance whispers, and closes the gap between them. 

++1

“Happy birthday, baby.” 

Keith opens his eyes to see his boyfriend of three years on the pillow next to him, shooting him a tired grin. Keith grins back. 

“Thanks.”

Lance leans forward and pecks him quickly – close-mouthed, so there’s no morning breath. 

“I am going to go get in the shower,” he says as he pulls away. “If you would like your first round of birthday sex, I would suggest you come join me.”

“If I ever say no to that, check me for a fever,” Keith jokes, and Lance laughs. 

After they’re more than ready for the day, they head down to the kitchens, where the rest of the team meets them with more excitement than usual. 

“Happy birthday, Keith!” they all say together. 

“Thanks, guys.”

He slides into his seat, Lance sitting down next to him, not pulling away for a second. 

“Here’s your icing with a side of cake,” Hunk teases, sliding him a plate. 

Keith smiles, thanking him and diving in before Lance can steal it all, like the little shit he is. 

“Any plans?” he asks, because that’s normal for him, now. Normal for him to wake up beside the man he loves, normal for him to meet his team and family, normal for him to spend the day with them. 

Normal, even, for him to celebrate his birthday once a year. 

“We were thinking we’d stop by Earth, pay your dad a visit,” Shiro says softly. “Then spend the day goofing around at that old arcade I used to take you to. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and he’s delighted to find he means it.

[ratcatcher0325]

Hi Penn! My name's Kit and I'm probably one of your biggest fans. (And also Travis of Sticks and Stones. He's pretty amazing too). I've been following you since Seattle and I'm having a bit of a fangirl moment sending you this Ask...

OK... my question: Describe an average day in your life.

Oh, hi, @kitn-underfoot ! It’s amazing to meet you! Biggest fan you say? Since Seattle? Damn, that’s like… early days…. I was still knocking at the knees back then. Hey! Hey Trav!! You can tune that later, come here…. We’ve got our biggest fan, Kit, say hi!

Hi Kit!! Pleasure to meet you! Thanks for enjoying our stuff! Who knows, maybe we’ll stop near you on tour and we can say hi in person!

Okay you’ve said your piece, now get outta my ask inbox. Shoo! (He just rolled his eyes at me and jabbed me in the shoulder with his finger). He’s lucky I’m in a chipper mood…. I’m kidding, I love that man, I dunno what I’d do without him.

Describe an average day in my life? Hmm, it still blows my mind how much that’s changed, and so quickly too. God, I mean, the lives I’ve lived before now, compared to the one I count myself lucky to wake up to every morning??? It’s like night and day. So, I’ll give you a window into my current little slice of heaven:

Most mornings I stir awake at 11 at the absolute earliest, most often lying atop Eveline’s heart, but sometimes we switch it up and I curl up in her hand or her hair. Neither of us are big on rising early. Most of the time we snooze our alarm three and four times. Travis usually ends up having to slam on our hotel room door just to finally get us up. He loves that, I know (sorry, Trav…). One of the things I absolutely love about my life is I find myself someplace new sometimes within the span of 24 hours. We always love exploring wherever we are: see the sights, get lost, meet up with friends if we have them there. Sometimes we all hang as a group, sometimes it’s just Ev and I.

Alternatively, if the weather’s shitty or we’re tired from being on the road, we’ll just hole up in one of our hotel rooms and jam or write something or just order room service and pig out.

Then, when the sun goes down, it’s time to get to work. Sticks and Stones warms up and goes through sound check and I check my equipment backstage… then, before I know it, I’m suddenly onstage with my best friends behind me and so many wonderful friends in the making in front of me, swaying and singing along with me. I play my heart out, have fun, usually make an idiot of myself one way or another, meet people backstage, sign a million things until I’m terrified my skin is just going to permanently turn silver, and then, we crash, and I find myself settled back over the beating heart of the woman I love and we get ready to do it all again, someplace else.

Isn’t it insane that I get to claim that as my routine? Never in my life would I have thought something like that would ever be possible for someone like me. And yet, here I am, living it. It’s craziness. But…. It’s our craziness and it’s something I enjoy sharing with people like you. So… thanks for enjoying my stupidity captured in sound waves. And thanks for believing in me. It means in the world.

With love, one of Kit’s biggest fans,

Penn

[general-du-vallon]

Change of plans, this was going to be 8 parts but I think I am done with it so this is the last bit :) Aramis and his babies, modern Portamis au where Aramis has 3 (only 3 per the poll really) babies, he meets porthos. part one is here.

“Can I see you sometime, alone, in the daytime, without any of this lot?” Aramis asked Porthos.

He was lying on the sofa, Porthos had continued on his saviour streak and ‘what’s next for damage control?’ roll, scooping up Hugo, Louis, Marie and Luc, Grace. Paulina was staying, she was eighteen though and had no need for collecting or saviours. She’d only been with Aramis a few months, the daughter of an old, old friend he’d thought dead, who needed help. Unofficial, quiet. She’d come with her mother sometimes, too, afterwards. And then as she grew up, she’d come visiting. It was nice. Now everyone was in the kitchen with Paulina helping her make dinner, drawing, or something else quiet and contained, and Porthos was sat on the floor with his back to the sofa looking through homework and listening in on the kids.

“Hm?” Porthos said, frowning down at someone’s maths.

“I want to see you,” Aramis said. “Alone.”

Porthos looked up at him, surprised.

“To dump me? Are we even dating yet?” Porthos asked, frowning.

“To talk,” Aramis said. “How long do you have Grace, this time? Though if I find a babysitter they could probably have her too.”

“Dunno, Flea’s gone off to Manchester, thinks she’s found Charon. Haven’t told you much about that, have I?”

“No. Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, no, just thinking about what context you need. No knowing how long she’ll be, and if he’s there and comes back, well, he technically lives at mine. Or I live in his flat. Grace stays with me then too sometimes. Depends,” Porthos said. “I dunno.”

“Okay. A babysitter who’s happy to keep an eye on all four of the little ones,” Aramis said.

“And Beep, just in case,” Porthos said.

“Oh yeah, mustn’t forget the cat. Maybe Athos and Sylvie would do it. I’ll ask,” Aramis said.

“Daft question, old thing, never mind. But, am I in trouble?” Porthos asked.

“No. If I had something like that to say, we could have that sort of conversation in the hallway. Perfect place, a hallway,” Aramis said.

“Not fucking you in the hallway,” Porthos said equably, going back to the maths. “Okay. I’m probably free more days than you at the moment, I’m just doing Tesco, my degree stuff is flexible. Pick a few dates, once you find a sitter.”

Aramis shut his eyes, a headache growing. He felt like shit, but it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Something crashed in the kitchen and Porthos rolled up to his feet, Aramis opened his eyes and saw him get up, graceful and powerful, all muscle and certainty of his own body, moving out to the kitchen to investigate. Aramis waited, heard laughter, and shut his eyes again figuring Porthos could manage for a bit.

Once Athos had agreed, Aramis realised he’d have to formulate a plan. He considered taking Porthos to a cafe or something for about two seconds flat.

Once the children were all ensconced with Athos, Grace looking a bit concerned but relaxing when she realised Luc and Paulina were going to be around, and Hugo had climbed into Athos’s lap, Aramis commandeered Athos’s car. He had to hot wire it to start it, Athos would never lend out his car, especially to Aramis.

“Er,” Porthos said.

“What? You want to walk?” Aramis said. “It’s far.”

“Don’t want to walk. Don’t want to piss off a man willing to babysit, how’ll we ever have sex if he stops saying yes to your requests?” Porthos said.

“Good! You’re a man who thinks with his dick, absolutely my kind of man,” Aramis said.

“I am not ever fucking you in that fucking hallway!”

“You just called it a fucking hallway, aka a hallway for fucking.”

Aramis wasn’t actually invested in having sex in the hallway, but he was endlessly amused that Porthos kept interpreting him as angling for it. The more Porthos said it, the more Aramis took it on as a challenge and badge of honour that was his for the taking, if he was just persuasive enough. He whistled as he drove, one hand on the wheel, window open. Porthos sighed and sprawled against the car window, watching Aramis. 

He didn’t ask where they were going, he just followed on when they pulled in and parked up, hand groping for Aramis’s hip. Aramis skipped out of the way and Porthos followed a bit of a distance instead, hands in his pockets, pace steady and unhurried. He came to a halting, skipping stop when Aramis pulled open the big church door. 

“What?” Porthos whispered, tiptoeing in after Aramis, taking off the bandana that was wrapped around his hair today, crossing himself. “Thoughts I was having when I stepped in here! Aramis!”

Aramis laughed. Porthos’s whisper echoed. He was lucky no one was in there today, if it had been a day the father was in with a sermon it would have been all the old folks turning their heads to tut. As it was, the church was empty, so Porthos’s dramatics went un-noted by anyone other than Aramis. Aramis noted happily, then wandered over to the font, running his fingers over the stone, eyes still on Porthos, watching him tentatively moving further into the church, looking around, and up. He whistled when he saw the ceiling.

“You brought me to a church to show me a ceiling?” Porthos asked, still at his ridiculous non-whisper.

“I didn’t actually,” Aramis said.

Porthos turned to him, out of place and awkward, not uncomfortable though. Baffled. Aramis let his smile grow. Porthos huffed out a breath, pulled the funniest face, and then held out his arms, at Aramis’s mercy. Aramis liked that. He took Porthos’s arm, linking them together tight, and strolled them down the nape to the altar, and above the altar the old, old wood carving. Jesus on his cross, a beautiful piece of art, the cross not in the best condition, the wood showing through. Aramis sometimes thought the wood was his favourite part. Dark with varnish. There was paint still, faded. Red on his hands and feet and side, his face from the thorns.

“Fucking hell,” Porthos muttered.

“Right?!” Aramis said, pleased by Porthos’s stunned reaction. When he turned, Porthos was looking at him though not the statue. “What?”

“You’re off your rocker,” Porthos said. Aramis grinned, shrugging. “You said you wanted to talk, I thought, I dunno. A coffee shop.”

“Thought about it,” Aramis admitted, tucking Porthos’s arm into his, looking back up at Jesus, and then twisting to cup Porthos’s face and kiss him. “Shall we?”

“I am not fucking you in a church either, Aramis,” Porthos said, back to his hissing whispers.

“Shall we sit, Porthos! To talk!” Aramis said, hand knitted behind Porthos’s head, holding him steady, laughter bubbling up out of him. “I really like you, I really really like you.”

“Oh,” Porthos said.

“I might love you,” Aramis said. “I do love you. I was going to invite you for a sedate coffee, a nice date, ask you out, see if you’d be my boyfriend.”

“Instead you came here, to look at me like you would worship me, in front of your creepy scary Jesus, under a billion eyes in that ceiling painting,” Porthos said, mouth turning up into a smile. He tipped his chin up. “Kiss us, then. What are you waiting for?”

“To talk to you,” Aramis reminded him, but kissed him seeing as he looked like he might be about to fight for it. “I was going to talk to you.”

“Got it. Love, dating, boyfriends, shit like that,” Porthos said. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want you to fuck me in a hallway.”

Porthos’s breath caught, he swallowed visibly, stepping back from Aramis out of his hold. Aramis followed, then stood still as Porthos backed away more purposefully, staring at him. He bumped into the front pew, stumbled.

“Alright?” Aramis asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, can we go back home?” Porthos asked. “Now.”

“Of course,” Aramis said. “Car’s that way.”

“I’ll just sit here for a bit,” Porthos said, groping for the pew, then giving up and sitting on the floor. “Yep. Here.”

“Can I sit there, too?” Aramis asked. Porthos nodded so Aramis folded himself down to sit cross legged, back against the pew. They looked up at Jesus. “It’s art.”

“You’re art.”

“Are you having a freak out?”

“Little bit.”

“About?”

“Thought maybe I loved you too.”

“Maybe?”

“I can’t do this. Not- I mean I don’t mean this this. I can’t. I don’t.”

“That was very clear,” Aramis said. They sat for a while. “You could tell him up there, if you can’t tell me. That’s what my mother used to say. She’d bring me here and say tell him, I’ll not listen.”

“Sorry about your injuries,” Porthos said, to the statue. Aramis thought he was being teased, but caught a thread of sincerity, and wondered if Porthos maybe wasn’t so keen on the gory Jesus statue. “Sorry about the scratches and nails and things. Um. I’m a bit scared. Bet you were scared too, right? Being put up there. People chiselling you out of that nice tree.”

Aramis leant his head back against the pew. Porthos talked about the statue more than himself, anxiety about the wood and the lost paint, the blood, coming out of him in streams of words. In between Aramis picked out Porthos’s fear, of losing control, of losing himself, of being left. Love, Aramis picked out, was a painful business for Porthos, and was more often slow and easy than headfirst crashing to church flags.

“You can stop if you like,” Aramis whispered. “When I was little, I used to want to climb up to him, whatever statue or picture or whatever. Get him down, bandage his wounds. I became a nurse because of him.”

“I didn’t know you were a nurse.”

“Not any more. Haven’t I told you about my work? I’m a chaplain. It’s a nine to five job, it’s at the uni, that’s why I was there. It fits close enough with the kids’ holidays,” Aramis said.

“You’re a priest. No wonder you brought me to church.”

“I just wanted to show you the art. Kiss you under the millions of eyes in the painting on the ceiling.”

“Hold my hand instead.”

They sat for a long time, holding hands, quiet settling around them until Aramis started idly humming. Porthos sang along, the tune the same hymn Aramis had, but the words something from a pub on a Friday, Porthos’s deep, light voice resonating. Churches were built with acoustics in mind, and it was like the air hummed, notes long, held in the wood.

parts:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 [complete]

[motownfiction]

disharmony

Carrie and Sam meet at a McDonald’s a few suburbs over. They’re having breakfast in the back of the restaurant where no one will recognize them. Sam devours two sausage biscuits while Carrie cautiously sips her coffee. Sam points to the cup.

“I don’t know how you drink that,” he says.

“Pretty easy,” Carrie says.

“Not for me. I think McDonald’s coffee tastes like meat.”

Carrie laughs around a sip.

“You don’t even like other types of coffee,” she says. “You’re biased.”

“Sure, maybe a little,” Sam says. “But I know other coffee doesn’t taste like meat.”

Carrie smiles. She picks at the hashbrown patty she ordered out of obligation. Initially, she didn’t want to eat anything – wasn’t sure she could hold it down on a day like this. But Sam insisted. And if he was paying, like this was a proper date (which, of course, it could never be) … Carrie really couldn’t say no.

She didn’t really want to say no, either.

Sam bites the bullet first.

“So,” he says, “you and Charlie got back together.”

Carrie nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “Like two days ago.”

“I heard. Saw, too. You really do not care who catches you kissing, do you?”

Carrie looks down at her mashed-up hashbrown. She’s pretty sure Sam isn’t trying to make her feel bad … or guilty. He’s just … hurt.

And she is, too.

“It’s not that,” she tries to explain. “It’s just … now that we’re back together, it’s like Charlie doesn’t want to waste any time.”

Sam tries to nod, but he ends up wincing.

“Fucking dammit,” he says. “Carrie, I’m sorry. I love my brother, but why did you go back to him? And why did you back to him like this?”

Carrie shrugs.

“It’s not that easy,” she says. “I just … when I think about my life without Charlie … it’s so much worse than a life with him, no matter how shitty he can be.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work!” Sam says, much more impassioned than Carrie ever would have expected. “That’s not … you wanna be the lovers who are always insecure? You wanna love him knowing he could always change his mind?”

“Everybody can change their minds.”

“Not like Charlie can, and you know it.”

Carrie pokes at her hashbrown patty again.

“I realize there’s been a lot of disharmony between Charlie and me, especially since the end of this summer,” she says. “But when I say I love him … I mean I love him enough that I can’t let him go. I just can’t.”

Sam bites down on his tongue. It feels like three years before he speaks again.

“You don’t deserve that,” he says. “You don’t deserve to punish yourself. You could be … you could be happy, you know? You could be happy with someone who gets you.”

“Sure,” Carrie says. “But you don’t deserve to lose your little brother over this. When you think about who’d lose more … Sam, I hate to put it this way, considering the circumstances, but … it’s not me. It’s you.”

Sam almost laughs a little at that one.

“You’ll see,” he says.

“I’ll see what?”

“Dunno yet. But you’ll see it.”

Carrie waits and waits for whatever it is to come around, but she’s not so sure it can.

[astaroth1357]

I don’t know if this’ll make the cut, but brothers with an MC wearing their (the brothers) clothes, and I’m talking full ensemble not just a random jacket or accessory (you can delete if you’re not comfortable of course)

So when left with the question of whether this was a full on clothing theft or a cosplay of some kind, I'm going with theft because that's just funnier to me. Just a little MC marching around in Beel's tent of an outfit… Hilarious. 🤭

MC Steals the Brothers’ Outfits

Lucifer 

It started out like any other morning, Lucifer woke up early in bed - as he always does - but when he rolled onto his side to stir the MC, he found their side of the bed empty… 

Normally, he’d have thrown up the alarm in an instant, but his mind was still groggy as he tried to recall what happened the night before… He could have sworn the MC slept over… unless…

MC: “Good morning, love.”

Their voice was enough to get him sitting up again and he uh… well he was not prepared for what he saw. The MC was sitting with their legs crossed at his desk, attempting to imitate his “I’m-in-Complete-Control-Here” energy as much as they possibly could, but with an added detail…

They were wearing his clothes. His favorite suit to be specific which was tailored to his much bigger frame, resulting in a frankly ridiculously ill-fitting look on their smaller human body...

MC: *picks up a poisoned apple off the desk, continuing their very best Lucifer-impression*  “You should get up, love. We have an early meeting today and we can’t keep Lord Diavolo waiting.”

The MC appeared to polish the apple with his sleeve for a moment before taking a bite, looking pleased with themselves before their eyes widened in complete horror. It only took a split second for them to spit the unchewed hunk of apple into a nearby waste basket and toss the apple away in panic.

MC: “Ah FUCK!! I forgot I can’t eat these!!! SHIT!!”

Their panic only grew as Lucifer could no longer hold in his laughter, the booming volume of which is enough to wake up all his brothers throughout the House.

MC: “Lucifer, don’t just sit there laughing!! Bring me some water or something!!! LUCIFER!!!”

Mammon

Look, Mammon always gets up late so not being able to find, like, any of his normal clothes was a serious problem! He’d already dug through half his closest and still couldn’t find anything!!

He had a photoshoot that he had to get to in less than hour and he still needed to take a shower, get dressed, get his stuff together, then bolt halfway across town before-

MC: *literally kicks open his door Kuzco-style* “Yo, yo, yo!! What’s up, Mammon??”

First off, the sudden loud bang of his door hitting the wall nearly scared him out of his skin, but before he could even yell at the MC for their weird entrance his brain had to process what they were wearing….

Good news! He found his missing clothes, the MC had thrown them on while he was sleeping - sunglasses and all - and now stood before him with a toothy grin on their face.

MC: “What's the problem, Mams? Lucifer got your tongu-EEEK!”

Apparently, they weren't expecting Mammon to literally lunge at them and capture them in a tight hug, practically lifting them off their feet with a laugh.

Mammon: “What'cha think your doin', MC?? I'm gonna need those back ya know?”

MC: *laughs loud and bright, throwing their arms around his neck* “I know, I know... But I wanted to surprise you!” *stops laughing suddenly and blinks* “Huh…”

Mammon watched the MC experimentally lift his glasses off their nose then put them back down, repeating the action several times before snickering.

Mammon: *frowns* “What's so funny?”

MC: “Nothing really but… Mammon, do you wear these just to make everything look like gold?”

Mammon actually had to pause before responding, pulling the MC closer with a devilish grin.

Mammon: “Nah… I ‘cause got all the gold I need right here~”

MC: *chuckles and nuzzles his cheek* “Nice save...”

Mammon: *his cheeks flush and he frowns* “I dunno what your talkin’ about... But could ya go put on a t-shirt or somethin’? They’re paying me big for this shoot and I really gotta go!”

Leviathan 

Another convention, another cosplay far too complex to ever hope to peel out of… Though Levi would never regret wearing his five piece Lord of Shadow cosplay, it’s a heavy thing and certainly not something he can change out of in a bathroom stall…

When he finally got back to the House, he wasn’t looking to do anything but drag his tired body back to his room and change into some more manageable clothes… but… well…

When Levi opened his door, he saw the MC sitting alone at his computer desk playing a game by themselves. That was all well and good but… WHY IN DIAVOLO’S BLACK HELL ARE THEY WEARING HIS CLOTHES???

When they heard the door, the MC whipped their head back and they both stared at each other in an awkward silence… His clothes didn’t even fit them right!-or maybe they did?? His mind was panicking because they had the collar of his shirt covering their mouth and it looked so moe it was actually ridiculous!

Levi: ……….

MC: ………….

MC: …. “I can explain.”

Levi: ……. “Y-yea?”

MC: “I was having trouble on this one level and you wouldn’t pick up the phone… so I thought ‘What would Levi do?’... and it escalated…”

Levi: “You think??”

Levi felt like he could die right there, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from embarrassment or happiness… On the one hand, the MC was  literally trying to be him in order to get better at video games - which was flatteringly adorable… And on the other, the MC is pretty much cosplaying as him, right in front of him… and looked so damn cute doing it too… 

MC: “Is this weird…? This is weird. I’m sorry, I’ll go change-”

Levi: NO-agh! *he throws a hand over his own mouth, surprised by how loud he just shouted* … “U-uh… no it’s fine…”

MC: “Okay...?”

MC: “But could you put your phone down? I think you’ve been taking pictures for the past two minutes…”

Levi looked down at his hand and sure enough he unconsciously pulled out his phone in camera mode and has been spamming the “Capture” button long enough to have his thumb cramping...

Levi: “Oh.” *stops for a moment, then seems to second guess himself*

Levi: “Uh… just one more?”

Satan

When you share a house with Mammon, you grow accustomed to not being able to find things from time to time, but an entire outfit?? 

When he woke up one morning to find that he couldn't find any of his normal clothes, he blamed Mammon right off the bat… 

I guess in hindsight, what would Mammon want with his jacket? But anger doesn't always jump to the most rational conclusion, you know?

After searching for "long enough," Satan stormed out of his bedroom on a warpath. He didn't stop his march until he was banging on Mammon’s door with a closed fist!

Satan: “Mammon!! What did you do with my clothes you useless, money-grubbing asshole!?”

When he didn’t get a reply, likely because Mammon was hiding in his closet or something, he was about to kick the door in when he felt a tap on his shoulder...

When he turned his head, much to his surprise, he found his missing clothes!... They were on the MC - right down to the single sleeve - and the MC met his eyes with a mischievous grin…

They had a book in their hands he recalled seeing once at the library: "101 Ways to Prank Your Partner," open like they'd been reading down the hallway.

MC: … Page 47.

They winked at him before bolting back down the hallway in a fit of giggles and oooh, it was on now.

Satan spent the morning chasing the MC through the House, both laughing and dashing around in reckless abandon. He really needed his clothes back and he wouldn’t mind an extra hour or two with the MC when he got them… 😏

Asmodeus 

Asmo isn’t exactly a morning person… Though he forces himself awake so he can perform his wake-up routine, by the time he comes to the table it’s a hit-or-miss on how irritable he’s going to be...

Of course, his favorite outfit suddenly disappearing from his massive closet did not help his mood in the slightest!

Who would take his clothes?? Well, that’s not even a question - surely plenty of his devoted, adoring stans would kill to even have his scarf, so maybe the better question was, “How??” Lucifer keeps all the doors and windows magically sealed at night! (He would know, having been locked out on numerous occasions)

Asmo was tearing through his closet, wracking his brain for any place he might have left his beloved outfit, before he heard someone clear their throat by his bedroom door.

What greeted him was a lovely look at the MC wearing the missing clothing in question, even with all the grace and style he would himself!

Asmo: *jaw-drops* “MC???”

MC: *smirks at his delight and winks at him* “Looking for something?”

They strutted into the room with the confidence of a mock fashion model and took a silly vogue pose in front of the closet, barely holding in a fit of laughter from their actions.

MC: “… Or just at me?”

Asmo, of course, snatched them right up in his arms with a delighted squeal.

Asmo: “Oh. My. Diavolo!! MC, you look just gorgeous!!!- Because you look like me, of course.” 🤭

MC: *laughs and cups his cheeks to pull him closer* “Who wouldn't want to be you, Asmo?”

Asmo: “So true… But you’re already perfect, my love~” 😘

And he went on to prove that to them all morning long...

Beelzebub 

Beel didn't even get the chance to notice his clothes were missing. He had a tournament the night before and was sleeping even harder than Belphie that morning...

What woke him up was the smell of food: scrambled shadowhawk eggs, hellboar bacon, pancakes with nightshade syrup…. 

Beel's stomach had him sitting up long before his eyes ever opened, drawn in by his nose alone.

MC: “Beeeeel. Wake up!”

Beel's eyes dragged open at their request and what he found had his mouth watering... The MC had brought him a dining cart with a complete breakfast spread, brimming with portions only Beel could ever finish, but for once he wasn’t looking at the food.

The MC, for whatever reason, had decided to put on his clothes… And keep in mind that Beel's built like an ox compared to almost anybody. They were absolutely swimming under all that fabric (thank the Devil for his suspenders…) 

MC: “Congratulations!!!”

They throw their arms up excitedly, making the unzipped jacket balloon out like a parachute behind them… It's a remarkably cute image.

Beel: *blinks* “Oh.” *he gets a little pink, still very confused* “What did I do exactly…?”

MC: “You won the championship last night, remember? Or did you forget already??”

The MC takes a step to the side and begins pointing at the plates on the cart.

MC: “I thought we'd celebrate with some breakfast! I brought you eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, cereal-”

As they continued their list, Beel's hand naturally reached out towards the cart eagerly, before something finally clicked in his head. WHY were they wearing his clothes??

Beel: “Wait. MC, why are you wearing-...?”

MC *holds their hand up* “Hold on!”

MC: “-oatmeal, muffins, banana bread, annnd…” *they get onto the bed and plop down onto his lap with a grin*

MC: “Me! Congratulations, Beel!!”

They lean up to peck his cheek while his arms automatically wind around their waist. The combination of their scents already bringing out a different sort of hunger in him…

Let’s say if this is his reward, he'll never lose a game again. 😏

Belphegor 

Belphie was in the middle of his afterschool nap in the library. The day was exhausting, so he didn’t even bother changing uniforms… The couches there were comfortable and the space was quiet, really nothing should have woken him up...

But somehow, for whatever reason, something did. A tug… Something was chasing away his dreams by tugging on the cow pillow in his arms.

MC: “Beeelllppphie….”

The tugging did not cease and he half growled in response, still keeping his eyes firmly closed.

Belphie: “What now...?”

MC: “I need this…” *they tug on the corner of the pillow a little harder* “Can you let go please…?”

What kind of question is that?? No one takes away his favorite pillow!

Belphie: *hugs the pillow tighter* “Go away, I'm trying to nap…”

MC: “Noooo please…! I need it for something right now…!!”

They started really pulling on his pillow now and he only held on tighter in annoyance. Since they wouldn’t leave him alone, he finally opened his eyes.

Belphie: “MC! Why are… you..?”

His voice trailed off as he finally saw the MC standing there in his usual outfit. His cardigan was so long over their arms that they had to grasp his pillow through its sleeves...

While his drowsy mind tried to catch up, the MC snatched the pillow from his grasp with one swift yank.

MC: *grins* “Mine now!”

They turned to bolt out of the library, but Belphie snatched them by the waist and dragged them back to the couch with him.

Belphie: “Fine, but then I get a new pillow.” 😏

The MC yelped as he flopped on top of them, pulling them close like a body pillow and resting his head into the crook of their neck to enjoy the soothing smell of their scent mixed with his.

MC: “W-wait Belphie…!” *tries to wiggle out from under his surprisingly heavy deadweight* “I was just playing around…! Please don't fall asleep on me!!”

Belphie: *yawns and settles in, already drifting off* “Too late… G'night, MC…”

MC: “Belphie!!!” 😫

They could complain all they liked, he wasn’t going to let them go for a few hours. Cute or not, MC, nobody takes his pillow!

[outerbankies]

You know how teenager rafe is gonna just be spiralling over reader going to prom with someone else? I’m going to cry cause like he’s a baby and he doesn’t know why he has these feeling for this one person that he’s always kind of orbited around?? And he knows she’s it for him but only deep down cause he’s trying to figure so much out and how could you know who you’re going to end up with at the age of 17 let alone 10 or 12 but he’s always known and aaaaah imagine that kind of love

an angsty little pre-series prom blurb partially inspired by this ^ ask that made me spiralll. thanks anon i hope u like this!

—

new light blurb: before we knew — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

obv takes place pre-series in high school! referenced in part 1

warnings: underage drinking

“Top, it’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s kinda fucking funny, Y/n/n. Like, way more than a little.”

Rafe had ditched the last fifteen minutes of statistics when he finished his test early today, and he’d been messing around on his phone for ten minutes waiting for the rest of you to come and get in Topper’s Jeep so you could all go to lunch off-campus today.

Rafe stands up straight from where he’d been leaning against the hood when he hears your voice approaching, his smile matching yours once you see him. “Hey, Rafe. How did your stats test go?”

“Good, hey, Y/n. What’s not funny?” he asks, opening the passenger side door for you before sliding into the backseat behind you.

“Oh, get this, Rafe,” Topper says, laughing. You just groan again, clicking your seatbelt on. “Griffin is gonna ask Y/n to prom. Tomorrow.”

Rafe blanches. “Griffin?”

He knew Griffin thought you were hot. Certainly had to hear it enough times in the pool at practice every day. Rafe always found himself biting back a remark—well, almost always. As captain, Rafe was able to tell everyone to run another play whenever he felt like it. The extra exertion in the pool was nothing compared to having to tread water and hear his teammate talk about you like that.

But even after all of that, he still had no idea Griffin had the balls to actually make a move on you. Because Rafe could tell you’d seriously rather die than ever give Griffin the time of day. And Griffin had been pursuing you without luck for months, even though you’d been trying to gently show you weren’t interested. Half of the time, Rafe wished you'd just tell him to fuck off.

The other half of the time, Rafe was considering just doing it for you.

Rafe clears his throat after his outburst, a finger digging into a hole in his jeans. “How do you know?”

“He just told me in PE,” Topper says. “He said he has this huge banner, and speakers, and he’s gonna do it at lunch right in the middle of the quad—”

“Topper.” You cut him off a bit more seriously this time; Rafe can hear the shift in your tone. You've always hated being anywhere close to the center of attention, getting embarrassed by the smallest things others wouldn’t even think about. If Griffin actually knew anything about you the way Rafe does, he’d know you wouldn’t like something big and flashy. “Can you stop?”

“Hey, cut it out, Top,” Rafe is saying immediately. Topper just rolls his eyes, but Rafe doesn’t care. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Rafe,” you say, smiling over your shoulder at him. “M’fine.”

“Do you want me to tell Griffin to—”

Topper laughs from the driver’s seat, clearing his throat to cover it up when you look over at him. You look back at Rafe, and his heart breaks at the worry in your face. “Don’t, Rafe.”

“Are you gonna say yes?”

“No,” you immediately laugh, looking at him like the idea is preposterous.

“Oh c’mon, Y/n/n. Can’t say no to him in front of all those people,” Topper teases. “And where the fuck is Kelce? I’m starving.”

“You’re right,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna embarrass him. I’ll just find him after school today and tell him I’m going with Kelce.”

Topper’s eyes widen, Rafe catches it in the rearview mirror before he hurriedly looks away. Rafe clears his throat, settling back into his seat from where he’d been leaning into the front space to talk with you. “You—uh, are you actually going with Kelce?”

“Yeah,” you nod, distracted by your phone. “We said we’d go together if we didn’t find dates. Kelce didn’t really wanna ask anyone after what happened last summer. And after nearly being set up with Top last night, I’m about ready to throw in the towel.“

Rafe looks to his friend that sits in the driver’s seat, who's looking straight at his lap, the back of his neck bright red. “Wait, you two?”

“It was just our parents, dude. Went to dinner at the club last night and our moms brought it up,” Topper mumbles. You giggle at the idea, completely unaware of the energy in the car right now.

“Yeah, sorry, Thornton. But no thanks. You and Emily should be really cute, though,” you say earnestly, patting his shoulder.

Topper just stares straight ahead. “Thanks, Y/n/n.”

“And then this thing with Griffin—I’m just so over the idea of finding an actual date at this point,” you sigh. “Plus, I know Kelce won’t put up a fight about the color scheme. I’m thinking like, aqua. Or maybe pink? I don't think I'd look good in gold.”

You'll look good in absolutely anything, and Rafe will just have to watch you from across the floor of the Island Club, while Kelce twirls you around the dance floor or holds you close during a slow dance.

The guy in question opens the car door and slides into the backseat next to Rafe right then, sighing as he slides his backpack off. “Sorry guys, coach stopped me in the hall. Where are we eating?”

Rafe glares at him.

“I want a smoothie,” you declare from the front seat.

“Fine with me,” Topper nods, pulling out of his parking spot. “Guys?”

“Can we go to that place with the deli next door? I’m so hungry,” Kelce says.

“Yeah, I like their açaí bowls,” you say, twisting around to look at Rafe one more time. He must not be able to hide his emotions as much as he thought, because your smile drops when you see him. “Rafe? Does that sound good?”

He turns his body to look out the window, eyes flicking back to yours one last time. “Not hungry.”

—

Rafe meets Topper and Kelce at the dock later that night, the three of them intending to get drunk and maybe take Topper’s boat out if they felt like it.

Kelce is already there by the time Rafe pulls up, drinking a beer with Topper while they laugh at something on his phone.

And Rafe paces right down the dock, snatches Kelce’s phone out of his hand, and pushes him off the platform and into the water.

“Rafe, dude,” Topper says, immediately pushing him back by his chest.

“What the fuck?” Kelce sputters, spitting out water as he surfaces and climbs the ladder back up. “What is your fucking problem?”

“You couldn’t ask literally fucking anyone else? It had to be Y/n?” Rafe says, laughing indignantly. He looks down at where Topper is still keeping them separated. “And you—what the fuck—”

“I told you, man. It was just our moms. We didn’t even consider it,” Topper says, rolling his eyes.

“You both lied to me,” Rafe accuses. “Because you knew I’d be mad.”

“And why’s that, Rafe?” Kelce spits, reaching around Topper to try and push at his chest. “Why are you mad? Not like you were gonna ask her.”

“No,” Rafe says immediately. And he isn’t even lying; it’d never crossed his mind as a possibility. Which is why he can’t even begin to try and work out why he’s this upset about it. He didn’t do anything to stop this, but it’s still happening, and it’s making him crazy. “You know my dad’s making me take Reagan since we’re both on prom court.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kelce grumbles. “I was gonna tell you.”

“When?”

“Soon, I just—we made the plan so long ago, bro. Neither of us wanted to worry about dates… but I gave it time because I thought you might—I dunno,” Kelce trails off, shrugging. “I dunno.”

“Thought I might what?”

“Figure your shit out and ask her yourself,” Topper says, coming back from the boathouse with a towel that he passes to Kelce.

“Even if I could, Y/n/n would never say yes to me,” Rafe scoffs, shaking his head and reaching for the six-pack they were working through.

Topper scoffs back. “Oh, yeah ri—”

“Guess we’ll never know,” Kelce says, cutting him off while he dumps the water out of his shoes. He sighs at his soaked clothes before he looks back up at Rafe. “You know I’m not into her right? We’re just going as friends. It’s senior prom.”

“Why would I care what you’re going as?” Rafe says, shifting in discomfort, hand clutching his already-half-empty beer can a little tighter. “None of it even matters.”

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, bro,” Kelce sighs, grabbing his phone out of Rafe’s hand and pushing past him to go change.

—

“Nice taste, Y/l/n.”

You whirl around from where you’d been adjusting Kelce’s boutonnière (you’d only pricked him twice, which was a personal record for you) at the sound of Rafe’s voice, plastering on a smile before you face him. Your eyes drop to his attire immediately. “Oh shit, Rafe. We match.”

“I know,” he laughs. “My step-mom wants a picture.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in your heels, the tule of your dress suddenly itchy against your legs. “Um. Shouldn’t you take one with Reagan?”

“We already took a million. From every angle. With every possible fucking pose,” Rafe sighs. “C’mon, please? Before the limo comes.”

Rafe grabs your hand and you look back at Kelce who just nods, downing some champagne. “Take care of my date, Cameron.”

You can see Rafe just shake his head where you trail behind him, leading you back to where Rose is talking to one of the other moms. “There you are. Your dress is beautiful! I wish we'd found one like that for Reagan. It looks great with Rafe's tuxedo.”

“Uh, yeah. It's nice to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” you say politely, ignoring the last half of what she said completely. She pulls up her phone and Rafe’s bringing you into his side, his hand resting in the middle of your back.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath fanning over your neck as he leans down.

“Yep,” you say quickly, but you can’t help but look around and catch multiple of your friends watching you, including Reagan, who promptly rolls her eyes once you make eye contact with her.

“Y/n, sweetie, just a few pictures for the newsletter,” Rose says, reminding you of your purpose right now.

“Right, sorry,” you say.

“Hey,” Rafe whispers. You look up at him, feeling his hand bring you closer to his body. “Take this a little more seriously, Y/l/n. Don’t you know that the next issue of the Island Club newsletter will be completely ruined without this one specific photo, that will probably be squished into the corner of a terribly- edited collage?”

You laugh in surprise, hitting him on his chest for joking about his step-mom right in front of her. “Rafe. Be nice.”

He just grins down at you, before straightening up and turning back to the camera. “If I’m nice, will you save a dance for me later tonight?”

You’re glad he’s not looking at you anymore, because then he’d see the way your smile faltered before you turn back to the camera as well. “Sure.”

—

“How is my flask empty?” Kelce groans, tipping it over and shaking it out for emphasis.

“That’s what happens when you drink it all, bud,” you laugh, patting his shoulder. He rolls his eyes at you, linking his arm in yours as you both pass through the crowd to find Topper and his date, Emily. You all watch Rafe up on stage, waiting to inevitably be crowned prom king.

He was a shoo-in anyway, but you’d definitely distracted your English teacher with a conversation about the 1984 essay you just turned in while Topper and Kelce stuffed the ballot box he was meant to be guarding.

Rafe seemed like he couldn’t care less about stuff like prom court, just shaking his head when his name was announced over the speaker as a nominee three weeks ago at lunch.

And he’d dragged his feet through finding a date, just shrugging whenever you brought it up to him, prying partially for your own sake.

You couldn’t figure out why he seemed so averse to the entire event, but you supposed that was better than having to hear him go on and on about Reagan and how he asked her and what corsage he bought for her and if he was bringing her to after-prom—or anything else that would’ve dragged up some feelings you thought you’d firmly buried at this point, telling yourself for years that you never stood a chance with Rafe.

But the closer graduation got, the more you’ve been realizing that things with your friends would never be the same. Things with Rafe would never be the same.

“Kildare Academy, your prom king is Rafe Cameron,” the DJ says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Kelce and Topper cheer obnoxiously while you laugh, a little grateful they’re both drunk and distracted—so happy their plan worked (Rafe subtly flips them off behind his back as he’s crowned) that they can’t notice the way your shoulders slump as Rafe leads Reagan, just crowned queen, out to the middle of the dance floor while some Ed Sheeran song starts playing through the speakers. You’d roll your eyes at the terrible music selection if that was what you could focus on.

All you could focus on was wondering if Rafe would even remember that you promised him a dance tonight.

Kelce is dramatically bringing you into his arms as the prom court dance takes place, subtly turning you around so your back faces the stage and the court, smiling as he holds your waist. “C’mon, dance with me.”

—

Rafe’s letting go of Reagan as soon as the song ends and everybody cheers, dashing off to the DJ booth after telling her he’d be back in a bit. She merely shrugged before adjusting her crown and going off to some friends.

“Hey man, can I pull some prom king privilege right now?” he says, leaning in to speak into the guys’ ear. “I have a song request.”

“Playlist is set, approved by the school,” he says dismissively.

“Thought you might say that,” Rafe grumbles, reaching into his breast pocket before he can take the time to wonder if he’s really going to do this—if he’s really going to bribe the DJ to play a song by your favorite band before he goes to cash in on that dance together that you’d promised.

He hands him a crisp hundred.

The DJ sighs, snatching it out of his hand and pocketing it while Rafe smirks in victory. “Alright, what song, country club?”

And then it's practically a race to find you before the Kid Cudi remix currently playing ends. Rafe heads off in the direction where Topper and Kelce had been yelling when he was on stage, evening his pace when he spots you jumping around with Kelce, your dress fanning around you while you laugh, the string lights illuminating your face.

You’re smiling so big that it stops Rafe in his tracks.

Guys had always shown interest in you, and you turned most of them down. Not all of them; Rafe still had to see you with guys who absolutely did not deserve you giving them the time of day, sometimes at parties or maybe at the Club. Rafe could usually lie to himself, write off these feelings as some protectiveness over you, a nice girl who’d been a good friend to him his entire life. Rafe was protective of all the people he held close in his life, why wouldn’t he look out for you, too?

But something must have changed, because now—now Rafe’s looking at you, and he knows time is running out before you both set off on your futures. He has three weeks of school left with you, then a summer of seeing you around. And then... that's it.

And now he’s looking at you, those feelings less and less ignorable with every single second closer Rafe gets to not having you around him every day anymore.

Those feelings are crowding every corner of his mind, finally coming to the surface after all of the drama with prom dates had forced Rafe to wonder why he couldn’t stand you going with Griffin or Topper or Kelce. Couldn’t stand thinking about you ever being with someone that wasn’t him—a reality he knows he’d have to get used to you a lot quicker than it took him to even realize he’d fallen for you.

Because the future’s coming, and maybe in the future you actually end up with someone like Griffin, or Mateo, or that guy from the party that one time, or that touron from New England that your parents tried to set you up with, some hotshot you brought home from California after a semester, or Kelce—even Topper. Your parents would love that one. And one day in this future, you’re running into Rafe on the soccer field; your kids play for the same team together. Rafe ended up settling for someone he could never like half as much as he loved you, and he sees you across the field with a sweater tied around your shoulders, chatting with all of the other moms. The lucky asshole you finally chose just watches you the way Rafe always had, the way he is now as you dance with his best friend, the way Rafe will probably never be able to stop himself from doing.

Or maybe there's another future without you, where you move away to somewhere that suits you; the Outer Banks had never good enough for you, in his mind. Maybe you stay in California after school. And you bring home that hotshot that’s perfectly matched for you, who gets to hold you and kiss you and have you. Rafe only gets to see you every once in a while, when you decide to grace the Outer Banks with your presence for the holidays or for Midsummers. Maybe in this scenario, Rafe was never able to find someone else, maybe he shows up solo while you flash your engagement ring when the old crew gets together for drinks—no, you wouldn’t do that. You’d be absolutely smitten with whoever won your heart, showing the ring he got you to your girl friends with an embarrassed little smile pulling at your lips while they all gush over it. And maybe one of your friends jokes about how Rafe used to have a crush on you. You'll just laugh and shrug it off, nodding—because you knew all along. Of course you knew, everyone had to know at this point. And Rafe can picture you merely laughing at his feelings for you as the other guy gets to pull you closer on his lap.

The opening chords of your song snap him out of his reverie. He can see the exact moment you realize what song it is.

Rafe beelines for you, holding his hand out as soon as he’s in your vicinity, fully pretending he hadn’t just realized he’s fallen for one of his closest friends in the middle of prom. Like he hadn't realized that he wasn't just into you, didn't just think you were cute or like the way you made him feel when you remembered his stats tests or wore his shirt to his water polo games. Like he hadn't just realized that no matter how many times he'd told himself it didn't bother him that much that you'd never come close to giving him the time of day, that he'd never forget what it felt like to not even be on your radar.

“You promised me a dance, Y/n.”

You look at him and his outstretched hand and smile, then look back to Kelce, who's quickly letting you out of his arms, casting an accusatory glance at Rafe. But then he smiles a little. “I'm gonna hit the restrooms.”

“Too bad our one dance is gonna be to a song by a band you hate,” you laugh, accepting Rafe's hand. Rafe’s on autopilot, his hands resting on your lower back while yours move to his chest, swaying the two of you in little circles. The song is already through with the first verse.

“I don’t hate this band,” he lies. But maybe it’s not a lie—how could he hate anything you loved?

“Okay, prom king,” you laugh, fiddling with his pocket square a little, the one that matches your dress. “Still can’t believe we ended up matching.”

“Great minds, Y/l/n,” he shrugs, eyes trained on your face. Your hands slip up around his shoulders, and you nudge the plastic crown on his head before leaving your arms to rest there, fingers locked behind his neck. Rafe pulls you closer. The second chorus was already starting up. Time was running out.

“I’m not sure what the optics are of our matching and you leaving the prom queen to come dance with your friend,” you say, your small smile turning into a frown. “Reagan already seemed pissed earlier.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Rafe says. “It’s just you and me right now.”

“When we go off to college, I think I might just miss you, Cameron,” you say, smiling.

And Rafe might not ever get to tell you how he feels, or ever be with you the way he wants to, but at least he got to dance with you at his senior prom.

“I know I'm gonna miss you.”

—

@moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @pogueslandia @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @rafeseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46 @cameronsrafe @theepoguelandia @judayyyw @irlpadfoot @synonymforlame @tinawhynot @mildkleptomaniac @ilymarkchan @sofiatheseconf @hockeyshmockey @supersouthy @coffeeandcrimeshows @emptyloverofmine @infinitleyethereal @nerdypartytrashpsychic @mrs-cameron @tcmhollnd @nicavass @sakikos @catonthesideoftheroad @jemimah-b99 @serrendipiity @depressinq @svechnibrock @julianakawaja @ctrlcherries @lostaurorax @wildflower98 @babygirl2022 @lieswithoutfairytales @painlesslies @messagesinthesky @orrsoared @destourtereaux @sammywilscn @tylernagle @anonymousobxfan @lilacsandwhiskey @raphaelcameron @mardema @princesspogue @alwaysclassyeagle @brittlehe-art @drewswrld

[hermiones-amortentia]

This is for people who think Ron and Hermione had no intellectual debates or Ron can't stimulate her intellectually. Here their intellectual debates in the books-

1. House elves

“They’re hats for house-elves,” she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. “I did them over the summer. I’m a really slow knitter without magic, but now I’m back at school I should be able to make lots more.”

“You’re leaving out hats for the house-elves?” said Ron slowly. “And you’re covering them up with rubbish first?”

“Yes,” said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag onto her back.

“That’s not on,” said Ron angrily. “You’re trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You’re setting them free when they might not want to be free.”

Ron is the only one that confronts Hermione about SPEW and really engages into it (So that its clear: Hermione defends that the elves should be free at all costs, Ron says they should be aware and included in this choice = two points of view, both defended = intellectual debate)

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2. Discussing the ministry

“It could be a frame-up!” Ron exclaimed excitedly. “No — listen!”

he went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione’s face. “The Ministry suspects he’s one of Dumbledore’s lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn’t trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they’ve just made something up to get him!”

There was a pause while Harry and Hermione considered this.

Harry thought it seemed far-fetched; Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed and said, “Do you know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that were true.”

Ron =shows how it could have been a frame-up and presents evidence; Hermione =considers his side and changes her mind; they were discussing something and reached an agreement over facts = intellectual

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3. In the creation of the DA, we see Harry behaving quite emotionally (understandable but this does not qualify, using your definition, as intellectual). Ron and Hermione make their case for why he should be the teacher and basically organize the entire thing themselves

“Let’s think,” he said, pulling a face like Goyle concentrating. “Uh . . .

first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who.”

‘ “But that was luck,” said Harry, “that wasn’t skil —”

“Second year,” Ron interrupted, “you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle.”

“Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn’t turned up I —”

“Third year,” said Ron, louder still, “you fought off about a hundred dementors at once —”

“Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We’ve told them to meet us in Hogsmeade”

Hermione and Ron recruited and organized everything for the DA

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4. Discussing Dumbledore and Snape

“I did think he might be a bit better this year,” said Hermione in a disappointed voice. “I mean . . . you know . . .” She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table. “. . . Now he’s in the Order and everything.”

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely.”

“Anyway, I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?”

“I think Dumbledore’s probably got plenty of evidence”

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5. Sirius death

They stayed together in the Hospital Wing for weeks and it can be correctly inferred that this was discussed given their behavior towards Harry

“Ron and Hermione left the hospital wing completely cured three days before the end of term. Hermione showed signs of wanting to talk about Sirius, but Ron tended to make hushing noises every time she mentioned his name”

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6. Mad-Eye’s death and the 7 Potters mission

“Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets yesterday,” said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other.

“We were just talking about Mad-Eye,” Ron told Harry.

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7. Hermione’s parents and the Ghoul (they planned and prepared for the mission together)

“Didn’t realize that Ron and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what you’ve done.”

“Nah, he’s just eaten,” said Ron.

“Go on, he needs to know!”

“Oh, all right. Harry, come here.”

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8. How to destroy Horcruxes

“Hang on,” said Ron, frowning. “The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn’t it? How does that work, then?”

“While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don’t mean holding it for too long, it’s nothing to do with touching it,” she added before Ron could speak. “I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.”

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9. Hallows x Horcruxes

“Well, I don’t suppose it matters,” sighed Hermione. “Even if he was being honest, I never heard such a lot of nonsense in all my life.”

“Hang on, though,” said Ron. “The Chamber of Secrets was supposed to be a myth, wasn’t it?”

“But the Deathly Hallows can’t exist, Ron!”

“You keep saying that, but one of them can,” said Ron. “Harry’s Invisibility Cloak —”

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10. Formulating a plan to keep Hermione safe

“Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and half-bloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin —”

Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you —”

“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.

Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

“Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Lupin.”

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11. Off page discussion

“What’s happened?” Ron asked apprehensively. He and Hermione had been poring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.”

12. Off page (2)

“You can’t tell me you’ve stopped having funny dreams,” Hermione said now, “because Ron told me last night you were muttering in your sleep again. . . .”

Harry threw Ron a furious look. Ron had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

“You were only muttering a bit,” he mumbled apologetically.”

Yet another evidence of their connection and off-page discussions

“Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, but Harry felt sure that they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently.”

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Ron and Hermione have emotional AND intellectual discussions throughout the series. So if you think Ron can't stimulate her intellectually you havent read the books. 😊

[levworship]

cw: dom!reader, fem reader, mommy kink, degrading, dirty talk, oral (fem rec), slight mind break, reader is a lil manipulative. just a bit. probably had errors

summary: you find out while on another blind date with one of mina’s friends that kirishima is just the man for you. he wants to be used, and you’re more than willing to use him.

word count: approx 2.9k

“fuckin’ mina. i’m gonna beat her ass.”

this wasn’t the first time your best friend has tried to set you up with one of her friends. and honestly, knowing her, it more than likely wouldn’t be the last time, either. “but he’s so nice” she’d promise, or “she’s just a little shy,” and perhaps the most common line of “you just have to be a little patient with them”

patient my ass.

your damn patience was beginning to run thinner and thinner the longer you sat waiting at the table for your date to arrive. you’re used to mina’s friends not being the most punctual, but to not show up at all? it was almost insulting. here you were, taking the time out of your busy day to spare some of your sweet time with some rando and—

“hey there, beautiful.” your eyes quickly tore away from the spot you’d been staring at for the past few minutes during your internal rant. part of you wished you hadn’t, because you damn near stopped breathing. typically, you’d never allow a man the satisfaction of hindering you speechless, but fuck. the man before you stood tall and strong, the white fabric of his dress shirt clinging onto his muscles in the most delicious way possible. his hair was slicked up in a style that you could only describe as goofy, and his smile? it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but to toss away the piping hot insults you’d been preparing to shoot his way.

“sorry i’m late. was searching all over town to find these for ya. i know mina said they were your favorite, and well—“ pulling his arms from behind his back, the red-haired man handed you a comically large bouquet of flowers. were they your favorite? no, not at all. but you couldn’t help but to be flattered anyway. “had to look all over town for them. turns out they’re actually pretty hard to find around here. can you believe that?” he chuckled to himself as he scratched at the back of his neck. an unfittingly cute gesture for a man of his build.

you grin sweetly as you grab the bouquet from his large hands, setting them down on the table in front of you and batting your lashes. “these are very beautiful! thank you so much, ...um?”

mina always purposely hid the names of her friends away before setting you up, mostly in fears that you’ll end up googling them and find some not so pretty things, just as you had that time when she tried to set you up with katsuki bakugou. (you noted to yourself that day, stay away from him at all costs.)

“ah- eijirou kirishima!” he filled in for you and held a hand out for you to shake. your eyebrows shot up in realization, leaning forward a bit on the table to shake his hand. you don’t miss the way his eyes shamelessly drift down to your cleavage when you do so. the sight made you laugh.

now you saw why he seemed so familiar at first glance. you’d heard mina talk to you about him on numerous occasions. big, handsome, and dumb. that’s how you’ve always perceived him from listening to her stories and descriptions. and if there was one thing you actually enjoyed about a man, it was how simple they could be. perfect for a woman with your desires.

you open your mouth to return his introduction, but he’s already cutting you off with perhaps a little too much eagerness. “and you’re y/n? did i say that right?” he quirks an eyebrow. “uh- i may have asked mina about you already. a lot.” he flashed you a sheepish smile.

talking to him felt like being a kid in a loaded candy shop. he’d be in the palm of your hand in no time.

the rest of dinner went on moderately better than your previous experiences with these stupid dates. kirishima was a bit of a talker, but you didn’t mind listening if it meant you got to watch the way those puppy dog eyes lit up a little more every time he’d begin telling you a story from his hero work (turns out you were just really behind on the latest hero news), only to quickly become side tracked by one details of his story and trail his way to another mini rant.

finally, you figure you’ve had enough of him rambling. it was time to cut to the point. “does it get lonely?” you asked him suddenly, trying your best to hold in a smile at the way he looked at you confusedly. “i mean- not really? i’m a hero so i’m with people all of the time-“ “that’s not what i meant, red.” hearing you refer to him by his hero name sent visible chills down his spine. just the effect you were wishing to have on him. something about your change in tone knocked him from a highly energetic and charismatic sweetheart, to a blushing and stuttering mess who suddenly couldn’t sit still in his seat. and from just one question, too?

he was almost too good to be true.

“no? i-i mean, yes but... i dunno. i’m busy a lot, a-and i don’t really have time for... yaknow.” “what kind of women do you like? in bed, i mean.” you managed to knock his brain around for a second time as he fumbled around his head for an answer.

“i-i guess it depends?” “hm? what do y’mean?” the way he continued to respond to your nasty questions had you licking your lips. you wanted him. badly. in the most selfish ways possible.

“depends on what the chick is into. i mean- they usually like when i’m on top. but..” you don’t respond this time. instead you look at him expectantly and wait for him to continue his previous statement. something about seeing such a grown man grow so embarrassed that quickly does something to you.

“i guess i wouldn’t mind... having someone take control for once?”

everything from that point felt like a blurred flash. you quickly abandoned the bouquet and called for the bill (which he so generously covered for the two of you) and were stumbling out of the door in no time, speedily walking all the way to your humble apartment. the door had just swung open when you were already shoving him inside.

kirishima spent nearly the entirety of the walk psyching himself up for this. did you know he wanted to experiment with this? had mina told you? how would mina even know? did he even really want this? because by the way he was struggling to catch his breath and connect dots in his mind, maybe he’d gotten too far ahead of himself.

but it was too late for that now. you’d already shoved him all the way down the hall, into your bedroom, and onto your bed before he knew it. you were fierce and impatient. and honestly? he found it quite intriguing.

“red...” you drew him back from falling into his thoughts once again, dragging your knuckles across the rough skin of his cheek. “i said, are you sure you want this?” and he swears he’s never nodded faster in his life, already grabbing onto your waist and hoisting you onto his lap. “yes! yes, i’m sure. please y/n?” and with that, a thread in you snapped.

you pushed him roughly until his head rested comfortably against the pillows, muttering a quick ‘stay’ as you began to fumble with his belt. you’d barely even touched him, yet he still lied staring at you with those same big adoring eyes. he was just too cute for his own good.

it made you want to wreck him.

you practically ripped away his pants and boxers before gently palming at his cock. you had expected him to be big, but not this big. he was long and thick, your hand barely managing to wrap completely around it. wordlessly you crouched down and pressed a gentle peck to his swollen tip, the precum that’d gathered there now sticking deliciously to your lips.

kirishima was getting so restless above you that you could’ve mistaken him for a virgin, hands fisting at your sheets with countless pleas tumbling from his lips. “so impatient, cutie. dont you want to be taken care of?” “i do! i do!” it seemed as if he was completely unashamed of how desperate he must’ve looked right now.

but rather than provide the sweet sweet release you knew he was craving, you tsked and backed away from his cock. much to his disappointment. “you know something, red? i didn’t take you for the selfish type. want me to make you feel good when you haven’t even touched me yet? and i thought you were a gentleman...”

kirishima thrashed below you, fingers digging hard into your hips. “i’m a gentleman! i’ll be a gentleman! i promise!” his lip wobbled cutely. you almost felt bad for having to deny such a pretty face.

almost.

he observed closely as you leaned back on your knees, sliding down the straps of your dress and tugging until your lacy bra was revealed to him. you were going to be the fucking death of him. you couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the way he eyed your chest. “i’ll tell you what.” you said as you reached out and pressed a finger under his chin, forcing him to meet your intense eyes.

“be a good boy for me and maybe, maybe, i’ll let you touch. deal?” and kirishima nodded giddily. truly an obedient little thing, he was.

you gave him a large smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before patting him on the cheek, moving up to straddle his face and... shit. you weren’t wearing any panties under your dress. the smell of your arousal right in front of his face nearly made him overload, wanting nothing more but to bury his face between your legs until you’re heaving and begging for a break. but he had to be good for you. wanted you to rake your fingers through his hair and call him your good boy while he plays with your pretty tits.

“well? dont you want a tas—” you gasp when his mouth is suddenly on you, every sense of restraint abandoned as his tongue slid across and pressed against your poor clit. it was messy, no real technique behind his frantic movements, but he still had your eyes crossing and your thighs squeezing the sides of his head as ear muffs, his fingers squeezing and prodding at the flesh to keep himself grounded.

the sounds that came from your cunt and his mouth were embarrassingly lewd, the sound of his slurping making your entire body go hot. you were so close to losing your composure and letting him have you the way he wants, but you couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. not when you’ve been craving this for this long.

“kiri..” you couldnt tell if you were whispering or yelling at this point, brain all scrambled from the amount of pleasure you were receiving. you nearly doubled over from the vibrations of the small ‘hmm’ of acknowledgment he gave you. your fingers tangle themselves in his stiff red locks, holding his face still to allow you to grind yourself on his mouth just the way you wanted.

your breath hitched in your throat each time his nose bumped against your clit, his tongue buried deep in your hole as he was desperate to taste all of your juices. you could already feel your orgasm creeping up on you..

“oh, shit! just like that. good- fuck! such a good boy” the praise sends him into a frenzy, now using the pad of his thumb to rub viciously at your clit as his tongue fucked into you so nicely.

“‘m cumming, cumming, oh my god!” you’re hunched over now, eyes screwed shut when your orgasm suddenly rips through you. kirishima’s tongue continued its assault on your spasming pussy, the overstimulation becoming almost unbearable. you tried everything to get him off of you to make it stop. tugging his hair, lifting yourself up- but nothing seemed to be able to separate him from you until you literally shouted his name.

he released you in an instant and allowed you to back away to fully take in his form. everything about the sight was downright sinful. your juices covered the entire lower half of his face, and his hair remained matted with sweat against his forehead. and most delicious of all? he still looked hungry. you nearly said ‘fuck it’ and climbed back on top of him again...

but he needed to be punished.

and it seemed that he knew this too, because the moment your eyes met he was already begging for mercy. “‘m sorry! p-“ “i thought you promised you’d be a good boy? yaknow, i’m not exactly a big fan of liars, red. how could i let you have me when you can’t even follow simple instructions?” he’s silent at this point, eyes glued to the ground with an unreadable emotion splayed across his face.

you huffed as you climbed off of the bed, standing on wobbly legs with your back turned to him. you shook your head as you quickly slid your dress back into place. you originally planned on leaving it at this and sending him home, and perhaps you’d consider giving him a second shot if he begged you pretty enough. but kiri had other plans.

he wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but when he realized that you were planning on leaving him like that he couldn’t help but to jump up, gripping onto your waist once again. “kiri! what are you doing?” “please.” he whimpered into your ear, hard chest pressing into your back and his painfully hard cock rutting against your ass.

you probably would’ve collapsed right there if it weren’t for his tight grasp. “please don’t leave! ‘m so hard for you. want you so fucking bad. i’ll do anything, just- please let me cum. mommy.” the word rolled off of his tongue so sweetly, so heavenly, you couldn’t stop yourself from shoving him back onto the bed and tearing off his shirt.

you licked your lips when he was left completely bare to you finally, hand already working at pumping his cock. “suck a dirty boy. men like you are scum, you know that? getting so upset that you didn’t get your way after being so disobedient? i should tie you up and edge you for the rest of the night just for that” he began to mindlessly shake his head, muttering quiet a ‘no, no..’

“however,” you began to drag your fingernail across his chest, playing with the hairs that rested there, “think i’m gonna let it slide this time. well, only if you thank me properly..”

“thank you mommy!” the way there wasn’t even an ounce of hesitation or shame in his voice had you clenching around nothing. denying him any longer was beginning to be just as much torture to yourself as it was to him. biting down on your lip, you grabbed his cock and started pressing the tip to your entrance.

you began to feel as though you’ve managed to completely break him, watching as he continued to sputter out ‘thank you’s even as you struggled to take his cock in your dripping cunt. the stretch was nearly unbearable at first, but you were never one to back down from a challenge.

you weren’t going to stop until you knew you’ve completely broken him down into a blubbering mess for you. until you were the only thing he could think of. until you had him quivering and begging just for you. the thought of making him into your slave had you bouncing on his dick with energetic vigor.

kirishima was a sight to behold, too. eyes crossed and occasionally fluttering shut, panting like a dog as every bit of his stamina oozed out of him and he had to hold himself back from cumming too quickly.

at one point you caught his eyes glued on to the way your covered tits bounced while you rode him, still clad in your tight dress. you smirked devilishly before reaching behind your back and unclasping your bra, tugging it down with the dress once again and toying with your puffy nipples for his viewing pleasure.

that seemed to be the final straw for kiri, as he was now bucking up into you like a horny mutt. “gonna cum so hard, mommy. please let me cum in you. g’nna fill you up so good. wanna make you a mommy. i want it- i want it- i want it...” with all of his babbling you weren’t quite sure if he was aware of what he was saying right now, but the lewd words still had you spiraling closer and closer.

“cum in me, baby. be a good boy for mommy and give her your babies, okay?” you told him as you gripped his face in your hands.

and like the obedient little thing he is,, he did exactly that.

thirsts and requests for haikyuu and bnha are open.

[djarrex]

Listen, clone wars era rex is the sweetest sub ever. Zero brat energy like others (coughwolffecough), he is absolutely there to please you and experience all the ways you make him feel loved. But it takes a bit for him to find out that he actually likes being a sub. With everything he is responsible for, I think he feels to bring that same energy to the bedroom - only problem is he isn’t very experienced. He’s not a virgin, but the most he's had are some quickies in the bathroom of 79s. So when you first get together, he feels he needs to be the one taking charge (even though he isn’t really sure what to do). It’s only after a particularly difficult mission when he is with you and he is at a loss of what to do. He knows he needs you, but he can’t focus. He just wants to stop thinking about how badly the mission went, how many brothers he lost. He just wants to get lost in you. That’s when you take over. You start showering him with love, kisses, words of praise, everything. You tell him all the things you’re going to do to him and he immediately falls for it. Relinquishing control is calming and a relief, something he never expected. He loves seeing you in power, seeing his smart and strong girl taking over, dishing out orders that Rex is all too ready to follow. As long as it means you’ll sit on his face, ride him, suck his dick, or just touch him, he’s all for it. Not to mention it lets him forget that he is a captain. In these moments, it’s just you and him.....Or I mean something like that. I dunno 😬

insp

VEE!!! 🆘️ "He brings a new meaning to 'good soldiers follow orders'" 😈😏 you rightttttt

Look, I'm all for dom Rex - I love to write it and I love to read it. That being said, I'm totally on board with the idea of having to show Rex exactly what he needs for him to feel good, to forget - especially after an extremely tough and emotionally/mentally/physically draining mission. Rex just wants - no, needs - someone else to take control every now and then, even if he doesn’t realize it at first.

SOOOO this kinda got away from me. literally could have wrote more but I have an assignment to work on (lmaooo). maybe I’ll do like a continuation of this later on? if that’s what the people want? 

some warnings include: face riding, sub!rex, no-no words, uhhh... 🥴

AS ALWAYS, 18+ only under the cut :’)

***

Rex stands at your doorway, his forehead glued to the arm that's propped up against the door frame, helmet loosely gripped by his other hand hanging down at his side. It hurts to see him like this - drained, both physically and mentally. Bags under his tired eyes. Dirt on his face and caked on all over his armor. Even though he was created for battle, it's doing a number on him with each and every one he makes it out of; he physically makes it out of each and every battle, but not mentally, and not emotionally. It's always there - the loss, the bloodshed, the need to take charge, and the responsibility to ensure his men's safety - lingering inside his head no matter where he is or what he's doing.

Including the times when what he's doing is you.

When you and Rex first got together he was unsure, a little on the inexperienced side, but he was rough. You didn't mind of course; you liked it rough, and it was never like he'd hurt you or would ever come near to hurting you. You thought that maybe the roughness was due to his sexual inexperience, that the only other times he’d have sex in the past were just that. You really didn’t think too much about it, especially not when he was in the middle of pounding you into another galaxy before making you cum all over his cock over and over again.

As time went on, you started to understand where the roughness within the intimacy was stemming from; everything that had happened on the actual battlefield before he'd come home - including the battlefield within his mind - was being channeled into the way he handled you. Even outside the warzone, safe within your arms, Rex feels he needs to maintain control - to take charge. You understood, and let him have his outlet - It's not like you weren't benefiting from it; Rex may not have had much to go on before fucking you for the first time, but after months and months of practice, he'd become a fucking god in the bedroom.

There were definitely softer moments when he'd be crowded over you, trailing messy kisses from your collarbone up to your lips, his hips gently thrusting into you while hitting oh so deep. When your lips would be just barely touching as you breathed in each other's moans. When you'd both maintain eye-contact while simultaneously unraveling. The more gentle, loving, and softer moments weren't ones that followed his return home from a long deployment, no - those were reserved for all the times in between. You'd fallen in love with each other, but refrained from mouthing those three words in fear that you'd both be punished from feeling such forbidden things for one another.

And so tonight, seeing the drained and defeated expression engrained in his handsome features and the way his body slumped forward as he entered your apartment after a long couple of weeks was a telltale sign that this would be one of those rough nights.

You wanted to try something new, though.

***

"I want to take care of you, Rex." 

He’d just got out of the ‘fresher, giving you some time to think while he was getting cleaned up. A towel loosely hangs around his hips, water droplets gliding down his toned muscles as he moves closer to where you’re sat at the foot of your bed.

"You will take care of me, cyare." He grins while rubbing his hands along your upper arms. You release a puff of air from your nostrils, focusing on a particular water droplet slowly descending from his collarbone and trailing down to where the material of the towel soaks it right up before tilting your head to meet his eyes. 

You shake your head with a smile, speaking softly as you rest your hand against his abdomen, "No, that's not what I mean." You’re met with an amused yet confused look and you continue, "I want you to just lay back, and let me handle things for once. Is that okay?" 

"I..." He trails off, clearly not sure what to say. You know he must’ve already had a plan on how the night would go, and that plan was probably supposed to take effect after he drops his towel. Now you’re met with the face of a man who is unsure of what to do now that the plans are about to change - he’s nervous. You keep that smile on your lips when you reach down to intertwine your fingers with his, bringing the backs of his hands up to your lips and placing soft kisses on each one.

"You're safe with me, Rex. Safe here. You don't need to think about everything when you're here with me, okay? I just.... wanna try something."

***

Wow. What a fucking vision he is right now.

Rex, the esteemed Captain of the five-oh-first, completely bare and sprawled out on his back on top of your sheets, has his head craned to watch you strip at the foot of the bed. His cock is painfully hard, twitching ever so slightly with each of his eager heart beats as he struggles to watch you undress - teasingly slow.

"Look at you, Rex." You audibly marvel at man you love, knowing what the praise does to him - it's very evident in how his glistening chest rapidly rises and falls and in the twitching of fingers. "My handsome, brave Rex. So good for me, doing just as I say," you coo at him, making your way from the foot of the bed to the side where your naked body can be level with his head. He turns his face towards you, his pupils blown wide and brow furrowed. He needs this. You crouch down, moving to where your eyes are in line with his as you reach to caress his sharp cheekbone. "Does it feel good so far, Rex?" you whisper while running your thumb along his bottom lip. "Does it feel good to let someone else call the shots for once?"

"Y-yes," he strains, followed by a muffled groan when you sink your thumb into his hot mouth. His eyes search for approval and you nod to him with a sweet smile before he begins to gently suck at your thumb - his perfect lips closing a seal around the thickest digit as you move it in and out slowly.

"First," you pull your thumb from his lips before standing up, "I'm gonna ride that pretty face of yours. If you're good and keep your hands to yourself I might sit on your gorgeous cock and ride you until I tell you to cum. How does that sound?" You punctuate your plans by closing your lips around the same thumb that was just in Rex's mouth, giving a couple sucks while staring right into his eyes before popping it out and tracing his abs with the soaked digit. The groan of approval that spills from Rex's lips goes straight to your cunt.

Wasting no more time, you climb on the bed and throw one leg on the other side on his face. Gripping the headboard for balance, you begin to sink down against him and are instantly met with his expert tongue, licking through your folds before you’re all the way sat. Fuck. He always was the best with his tongue, but this time, you’re the one in control. Crouched and straddled over his face, you begin to gently move your hips back and forth against the wet muscle, letting your already soaked cunt slide against his perfect face. You have never done something like this before, and oh fucking boy is it exhilarating. 

It isn’t very long before you start to feel the blossom of heat within your core, the intense shockwaves that trickle through your body making you quiver against his face. You wanted this whole thing to be about Rex, but there’s no stopping the orgasm that shatters its way through you, making you cry out and smack a palm against the headboard. Rex’s tongue works in double-time, gliding back and forth to collect your release and stopping to flick at your clit in between deep groans. You feel him hum - deep and dark - beneath you, the vibrations making you nearly fall forward from the intensity. 

“R-rex,” you pant, peering down to look at his dark honey eyes as they meet yours while his tongue continues its assault. You lower a hand to tap at his head, and his tongue disappears back into his mouth. When you lift off his face, you inch yourself downwards, placing kisses on every spot of skin your mouth can reach as you make your way to his thighs. He’s trembling, fighting to keep his hands at his sides but he does so like a good boy - and you tell him just that.

You let out a blissed-out sigh, now straddling his thighs while your palms rest against his chest. “You did so good for me, Rex. Fuck, you look so pretty with all of me on your handsome face.” He doesn’t say a word, just stares at you with pleading eyes, lips glistening and parted. His cock twitches in front of you - swollen and desperate.  

You lean forward to meet his face, your lips just barely touching his as you whisper into his agape mouth, “You want me to fuck you, Rex?” punctuated by a nibble to his bottom lip. His only response is a throaty moan before you lean back to watch him, your fingers tracing invisible patterns along the dark skin of his thighs. You raise a brow at him, signaling your need for a verbal answer to which he visibly gulps, eyes clamping shut as he nods before choking out:

“P-please fuck me, cyare.”

***

edit: I’m literally so sorry that I keep forgetting to tag my Clone Bois peeps in things like this :(((

@deewithani @chromia7567 @threevie @letitrainathousandflames @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @justanothersadperson93 @ohtobeamoth @14mcmd1122 @tacticalsparkles @cheesemachine44 @bvcketfvcker

[fruitcoops]

You write Moody so well! I would love to see something where Moody and Remus talk for the first time after Coops was outed. Whether it happens after the meeting Coops had with Arthur and Alice or after the all star break. I feel like they have such a good relationship!

Thanks! This was partially inspired by watching The Karate Kid (1984) last night, so I hope y'all are ready for some mentor hurt/ comfort this fine Sunday! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for mentioned forced outing

Remus was almost done. He only had a few more drawers to clean out. The whiteboards were as squeaky and shiny as the day he arrived; the desk had a few more dents and coffee stains decorating the surface, but overall it looked decent. He still couldn’t bring himself to take the pictures off, though. It was his life. His friends. He just couldn’t do it.

The sleeve of his ancient Wisconsin hoodie was still damp when he smudged it under his runny nose. No tears had fallen, but he could feel the maelstrom gathering in his throat. Everything he had worked for, gone because of one stupid mistake.

Not Sirius, of course. Sirius would never be a mistake. It was Remus’ fault they had been caught in the first place.

He stared around his office in misery—no official notice of his layoff had arrived, but he knew it would come, and it was always better to be prepared. Maybe it would hurt less if he did it himself, one final ‘fuck you’ to the homophobes before he trooped off with his tail between his legs.

The tiles were cold through the seat of his comfiest jeans. He tucked his knees closer to his chest.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted the suffocating silence. He didn’t answer.

“Kid?”

Remus’ lower lip wobbled and he croaked out a ‘come in’ with as much strength as he could muster; it wasn’t much. The door opened with a creak—he had never gotten around to having it fixed, after all—and uneven footsteps shuffled in, followed by a sigh as his visitor settled next to him on the floor.

“You have a chair, you know.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“Not all of us have young knees. Doesn’t your ass hurt?”

Remus nodded.

Moody huffed through his nose and hoisted him up by the arm. “Well Christ, kid, up you come. You’re awfully dense for a beanpole. What, you got concrete for bones or something?”

“No,” Remus mumbled as he followed Moody across the hall and allowed himself to be plonked down in the soft chair by the door. It was his favorite of both their offices; as far as he knew, Moody never let anyone else sit there. His chest seized as a sob tried to fight its way out. “I’m sorry.”

Moody shot him a look at he got comfortable in the adjacent seat. “For what?”

“I dunno.”

“I don’t like useless apologies, Lupin.”

Remus sniffled. “I should’ve told you.”

“Says who?” Moody snorted. “Your business is your business. You’re a bright young man, none of this is your f—oh. Okay, Lupin, easy does it.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus blubbered as the tears finally started to fall. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like crying, but I’m kind of a wreck right now.”

Moody made a few soft shushing noises, inching closer until he could wrap an arm around Remus’ shoulders and pat his arm like he was trying to soothe a frightened dog. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

The sobs were near-silent; Remus never cried loudly if he could help it, and he already felt bad enough for dripping his perpetual raincloud all over Moody’s office. He caught his breath after a few hitching inhales and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Remus pulled his knees up again and hugged them tight to his chest. “I haven’t called my parents yet.”

“Did they know?”

His heart gave another painful yank. “Nobody knew. Nobody. And—and now it’s everywhere and people won’t leave me alone and I’m gonna get fired—”

“Woah, deep breaths,” Moody interrupted gently, giving him a little shake. “You’re not getting fired.”

“Yes, I am.” Everything felt gross and cold and sad.

“Who told you that?”

“Coach said it might happen ‘cause I’m a doctor.”

Moody scanned his face for a moment, then reached over and grabbed a box of tissues off his desk. “First of all, take some of these. You look like a mud puddle, Lupin. It’s very unsettling. Second, this is a complicated situation and I wouldn’t be too quick to make assumptions. And third, I’ll go to bat for you.”

He paused midway through blowing his nose. “What?”

“You’re a good man. An excellent PT. The best colleague I’ve ever had, actually. You know your shit and if they try to fire you over this, I’m not going to make it easy for them.”

More tears threatened to fall over the edge of his itchy eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Moody grumbled.

“He hasn’t called.”

“Who?”

“Sirius.” Remus swallowed hard and, before he could second guess himself, leaned his head on Moody’s solid shoulder. “I’ve called him 23 times and he hasn’t answered a single one. He just…left. Didn’t even look at me.”

“He’s making a mistake.”

“I ruined his life.”

“Hey.” Moody’s tone turned stern. “You don’t get to talk shit about yourself in my office. This is a Lupin Appreciation Zone.”

Remus’ shoulders shook and he closed his eyes; he wished he could just dissolve into the floor and stay there until someone mopped him up. Everything hurt. The world sucked. Moody—

Moody was petting his hair.

The tears stopped abruptly and Remus hiccupped in pure confusion. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m bad at comfort, kid, gimme a break.” The sat in silence for a few seconds as Moody continued to pat his head and muss his hair, which was in dire need of a cut but just long enough to cover his eyes when it was pushed forward. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, actually. How did you…?”

Something akin to embarrassment tinted Moody’s cheeks and he cleared his throat. “My cat hates thunderstorms.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks,” Remus said again, much quieter. Moody’s office always felt safe; all the clutter was in its proper place, clean and homey. The touch of familiarity was more of a comfort than he cared to admit. He sat up straight and wiped his face clean, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “If I do get fired—”

“You won’t.”

“If I do, I wanted to say thank you for changing my life.” The words hung in the air. “You—without you, I would never have felt at home here. You were the best mentor I could ever ask for and I’m never going to forget that. You did more than just teaching me routines. Thank you.”

Moody cleared his throat again. “Tissues.”

Remus silently passed the box.

“If anyone gives you shit for being gay, you call me and I’ll take care of it,” Moody said once the tissue had disappeared into the depths of his pocket.

Remis blinked at him. “Are you offering to hurt someone for me?”

“I’ll deny it in court.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he laughed. “Fuckin’ hell, this is a mess. I’m a mess.”

“You just got outed and your boyfriend ditched you in an airport,” Moody said bluntly, fixing Remus with a look. “You’re allowed to be a mess. Now go talk to Lily. Call your mom. Do whatever you do that makes you so sunshiney, and then we’re gonna unpack all your shit and put it back where it belongs.”

Remus swallowed hard. Fuck it. Fuck the NHL, fuck the homophobes, and fuck being sad.

Moody narrowed his eyes. “You want to use the kicking bag, don’t you?”

“I really, really do.”

---------------------

“Stupid—fucking—son of a bitch!” Remus gritted out as the beat-up and half-folded gym mat squeaked under his assault. It was two inches of plastic and therapy—he was 90% sure Moody had stolen it from a middle school gym, and it had rapidly become the team’s favorite way of winding down after a frustrating day.

“Harder!” Moody barked behind him.

Remus wound up and slammed his foot into it again. “I worked too damn hard to be kicked out for this bullshit!”

“Damn right you did!”

The kicking bag creased in the center. “And I’ve got too much student debt to walk out of here like—like a coward!”

“Yes, you do!”

His grief had burnt off at least five minutes prior. Remus was well and truly pissed now. “And it’s nobody’s goddamn business who I kiss!”

“That’s the spirit!” Moody cheered.

“And maybe his face is stupidly pretty!” Remus threw his shoulder against the mat before he resumed kicking it. “And, yeah, he has really nice shoulders and a great ass—”

“Lupin—”

“But fuck him for leaving me in an airport! What kind of douchebag does that to a guy? I’m hot and smart and nice and I can date whoever the hell I want if he doesn’t appreciate that!”

“That’s certainly one approach!”

Remus stopped with a harsh exhale and dropped one last halfhearted kick to the base. “I don’t want anyone else, though. And I miss his stupid pretty face.”

A hand, heavy but gentle, squeezed his shoulder. “Then go get him.”