#and then i can start up on doing stupid shit for the bank to prove i got scammed because they need proof so i have to send faxes

[yoshistory]

thank GOD they were able to process the bill via my checking account directly. phew. okay. now im getting a burger

[futuremrscameron]

❀˖°bahamian!reader❀˖°

content warnings: suicidal ideation, (accidental) shooting, symptoms of mental illness, hints of dom/sub dynamic, referenced sexual content, implied/referenced violence, major spoilers for outer banks s1-3, hints of rafebarryoc

bahamian!reader and rafe met in the bahamas. after shooting sarah and behaving his worries dismissed by ward, rafe found himself standing at the shoreline contemplating ending it all when a voice called out to him. he thought she was an angel at first but no angel would call him "bey"

he whips his head around to find the voice. it’s an angel?

"what the hell were you doing?" her thick accent catches him off guard. he rationalizes it though, angels are theoretically from all over and he is in bahamas, so if he died there then that would make sense

“ay? ya hear me man?”

he looks around for anyone else and points at himself?

“ya see anyone else in the water?”

he shakes his head. she chuckles and it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“are you an angel?”

she smirks, “angel? never heard that one before. no man, i’m just a gal.” she chuckles as she makes her way down the sandhill.

“am i dead?”

she frowns as she closes the distance between them. “if i ain’t an angel how are you dead?”

he blushes, embarrassed at the stupid thought but intrigued by the woman.

“it’s okay. so?”

“so?”

“wanna get out of the water?”

oh right. he is in the water. he didn’t get too far before she came, the waves come up to his hips.

“sure.” he pushes past the current to reach the beauty on land.

three hours later

“your ole’man sounds like shit.”

“yeah.”

“well.”

“well?”

“what ya gon’ do?”

“i don’t know.”

“well, how long you here for?”

he squints, “why?”

she shrugs, looking down at their hands side by side, “can help ya figure it out. and,” she connects their fingers and meets his eyes. “you’re cute.” she smiles.

bahamian!reader is the oldest of five siblings so she can somewhat relate to rafe’s struggles

bahamian!reader who owns a bar that sits on a dock near the same beach she met rafe at

bahamian!reader and rafe long distance dating after she refuses to go back to obx with him.

“what do you mean you can’t?”

“what part of i cant is confusin’?” she rolls her eyes, she loves the boy but his emotional maturity and poor communication skills leaves much to be desired.

“i got family. little ones who rely on me.”

“i could take care of you.”

“i know and i love that about you but… i gatte do this on my own.”

he gets out because he understands what it’s like to want to prove yourself and be the hero/savior.

“i’ll call you every day ey?”

he nods. that won’t do. she softly but firmly grips his chin, making him meet her eyes. “ah, use your words.”

he lets out a soft, “okay.”

a grin blooms on her face, “good boy.”

bahamian!reader who the pogues (mostly jj) do not believe exists. rafe shows her off to to kelce and topper at the country club and jj sees her over his shoulder while working

“no way she’s real.” rafe doesn’t look back as he flicks off the boy.

“fuck off pogue.”

jj smirks, knowing he got under the kook king’s skin with his comment. he leans against the wall behind them. “next thing you know you’re gonna tell me she’s from canada.”

rafe nearly knocks the table over as he bolts up from his chair. he reaches the blonde boy in two strides, holding his collar in his hands. “you wanna keep this job and your teeth i suggest you mind your business and get our fucking order down.

bahamian!reader who answers rafe’s calls all the time no matter what she’s doing

“how could she do this? i mean we’re her family!” rafe paces back and forth in his room as he rants into his phone.

she holds her flip phone between her neck and ear while she washes the remaining dishes from the last couple of guests. “rafe, you tried to kill her.”

“oh so you’re on her side.”

she slams her fist down against the counter, “don’t start rafe. i’m not in the mood ey?”

bahamian!reader who meets up with rafe in guadeloupe. she missed rafe so when he told her about ward’s plan to move after acquiring the cross she knew it was the perfect opportunity

she wanted to surprise him, it’s why she didn’t tell him about her plan to hop on a plane and meet him in guadeloupe. it was hard to act like she was too busy to facetime but the look on his face when she surprised him at his home was worth it.

“ray!” he turns around at the familiar melodic voice and is tackled with a hug.

he looks up at the woman hovering above him, grinning down at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky. his chest feels warm, it’s a good feeling, he never wants to let her go.

“you’re here.” he cradles her face in his hand, he pulls back like he’s been burned when he makes contact with flesh.

she frowns, “wouldn’t pass up the chance to see you bey! not when you’re so close.”

she closes the distance with a kiss, he’s surprised at first but reciprocates almost immediately. he wraps his arms around her waist as she moans into the kiss.

“rafe!?”

the couple parts at rose’s interruption. she looks at rafe, at the mystery girl, and back at rafe. “who’s this?”

rafe sighs, “we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

bahamian!reader and rafe who spend all their time in guadeloupe in bed

she traces circles on rafe’s chest as the overhead fan does its best to cool the couple down. it’s no use, they’re sweat like pigs in a blanket. from their strenuous exercise. a very expensive blanket. she breaks the silence first, “ya know some fresh air wouldn’t kill ya.”

rafe looks down at her with a raised brow, “yeah?”

she pouts, “you don’t agree.”

she tries to hide it but he sees her. he immediately tries to soften the blow, “i didn’t say that, i just… we’ve only got so much time together.”

“yeah and i don’t wanna spend it all inside.”

he smirks at her soft tone and pouting, its not often he gets to see the usually bold woman like this. “you weren’t complaining thirty minutes ago.”

“mmhm you just want me to yourself.” she stretches her arms above her head, the sheets fall showing off her figure.

rafe grips her thigh, “can you blame me?”

she throws her legs over his hips and smiles down at him, “no.”

the pair spend the rest of the day inside.

bahamian!reader who is very strict and it’s her coworkers and only soft with her

“rafe i told you not to call me when i’m working.”

“i miss you.”

she instantly melts upon hearing the desperation in his voice, “awww i miss you too. how’s my baby doing?”

bar patrons and employees alike stare in shock and confusion as they watch her speak softly to someone other than her siblings. they all agree to find out who this mystery man is and why he has this affect on her.

bahamian!reader who gets along well with barry despite rafe trying to keep the two apart because they represent conflicting parts of his life (he’s jealous)

“barry!” she all but hops out the passenger seat as the car comes to a stop in front of barry’s trailer.

“there’s my girl.” she runs to the man and throws her arms around him. he spins her around, once, twice. too many times for rafe’s liking. she giggles.

“yo keep your hands where i can see them.” the pair turn to face rafe who slams the car door shut behind him.

“me or barry?”

“yes.”

barry rolls his eyes and looks down at the woman in his arms, “he in a mood?”

“ey, its awful, cried all the way here.”

barry smirks, “our boy don’t know how to act.” she shakes her head in faux disappointment, “at all at all.”

“i can hear you!”

bahamian!reader splits her time equally between the bahamas and obx

“i can’t believe you’re leaving me.” rafe sits on his bed watching her pack her suitcase.

she rolls her eyes, “hey! none of that ya hear. you had me for the summer now i got to go back to the chirren.”

he wraps his arms around her slowly kissing her neck, erasing the little sense she has left. “the oldest is sixteen baby, they can look after themselves for a little longer.”

“rafe.” she groans.

the kisses grow more frequent and feverish, “come on. one more week.”

she knows she shouldn’t but he’s so persuasive. she looks back at him, who can say no to those baby blue eyes.

“fine.”

he grins and kisses her face, she giggles at the feverish but silly flurry of kisses.

bahamian!reader says “i love you” first which shocks herself and rafe

bahamian!reader who really likes rafe but refuses to go any further until she gains the approval of her siblings

rafe is not the gretest with kids. he couldn’t even watch his seven year old sister at ten because he was “untrustworthy” and “immature” (that part never made sense to him he was ten for fuck sake). he knew he wasn’t number one on the ‘trustworthy adult to watch kids’ list, its why he knew something was up when rose left wheelie in his care.

all that to say he was sure he was gonna fuck up the first meeting he had with her siblings. “what if they hate me?” he looks at his reflection.

she looks up from her magazine, “they won’t.”

rafe nods but still doesn’t meet her eyes. he fiddles with the family ring before asking, “what if they do?”

she manages to catch his eyes this time, her cold smile sends shivers down his spine. “then i’ll dump you.”

he frowns, “not funny.”

she shrugs, “not jokin’.”

“great motivation. seriously you should do ted talks.” she leans up and kisses his forehead, “you’ll do great.”

he does great. especially after he realizes that their deep questions and calculating stares are there to made sure he doesn’t hurt their sister. he can respect that. he would do the same.

bahamian!reader who wants to have a family with rafe and is ecstatic when she sees those two pink lines

[molsno]

yeah finnster fucking pisses me off why the hell wouldn't he. every fucking tranny I know has been bullied and beat and abused and raped by every tme bitch in their lives and then when I try to talk about it by posting about transmisogyny not only do I get held to this impossibly high standard but even when I meet it I STILL get treated like shit! a bunch of fucking cis bitches and terfs and cuntboys and theyfabs will harass me, bait me into fucking up, call me a man, call me a rapist, make up stupid bullshit lies about my sexuality so they can turn people against me, tell me to kill myself, and they do this not just to me, but any tranny who dares to stand up for herself and her community. for fuck's sake, I'm so fucking privileged for a tranny just because I can afford to rent an apartment all by myself and I have a cozy office job and nobody irl can even tell that I'm trans, and I STILL get subjected to this shit! and then I'm forced to see every other tranny, people I love and care about doing so much worse, people who can't afford homes, who are being abused by their partner or their family, who get harassed and stalked irl, and THE MOST I CAN DO is to write fucking tumblr posts explaining our oppression and PLEADING for people to recognize how fucking aeful we have it.

and then along comes this fucking cis dude who wants to make a quick buck by capitalizing on the transmisogynistic culture war. he starts dressing up as a girl and streams himself playing video games and going on omegle to trick straight dudes into thinking he's a "real woman" for clicks, and he makes fucking bank for doing it! he wpild be fucking NOBODY if he didn't do this shit. he'd be just another fucking white dude streamer. but no, instead he has hundreds of thousands of fans who won't fucking shut up about him! the dude posts his fucking birth certificate to "prove" that he's really male, he keeps releasing these stupid fucking trap videos, and people fucking send him clothes and makeup and all kinds of shit that none of us could ever hope to afford! he lives so fucking comfortably and every fucking time that ANYTHING inconvenient happens to him he receives loads of support from his stupid fucking fans. and then when we complain about how he's fucking exploiting our struggles for cash those bitches rush to call us gender essentialists, terfs, gatekeepers, all this stupid fucking bullshit that they don't even understand because they don't have to deal with ACTUAL gender essentialists, gatekeepers and terfs. I get it! you think cis men make for better trannies than us! it's so much easier when you can jerk off to him and let it be your dirty little secret. you don't have to contend with the fact that you like girls with dicks, because if you did, then you might have to think about seeing us as actual people and giving a shit about us! I hope finn dies but I hope all you bitches die too you seriously make me so sick

[evvlevie]

You are not bad at manifestation.

I was looking at my most favourite shoes in the world, the ones I use for EVERYTHING. I went to work in them, go to my driving lessons in those, I‘ve been in clubs with them and wherever Evie is, is where Evies black converse shoes are. These shoes have been in Italy with me, they have been through half of Germany they are BUSTED looking. So I see these dirty ass converse and I‘m thinking „you know I might need to wash these“

I come home, to my shoes drying off under the heater in my bathroom. My mom decided to wash my shoes, although I never mentioned to her that I wanted to clean them in the first place.

You always get what you want. The universe is ready to lay all your desires in front of you, if you let it.

If only you let the universe create a path for you.

Soak up my words please:

It’s okay to relax and to stop thinking about it and to enjoy your life because that’s how manifestations manifest. The laws are always working to get shit to you. They don‘t work against you.

You are not bad at manifestation, you just think that you need to prove something to someone or else you won’t get it. You don’t have to constantly affirm/remind yourself that you have 10.000 on the bank, hoping that the more you say it the sooner it will manifest. You will get after voicing your desires even once. One single time will be enough for the universe to understand that you want to. One single thought is enough to communicate that this is your desire, which automatically translates to „I want it, I got it“.

If you are driving a car and your friend is standing in front of it and keeps telling you „Please go and buy me a birthday cake“ but doesn’t move out of the way, how are you supposed to get them that birthday cake? Your friend can scream and yell at you like a crazy person full of desperation that you need to get them that stupid cake but you won’t be able to start driving to the bakery unless they move out of the way and let you do it.

Stop worrying, stop crying and stop begging. The universe knows what you want. Let the universe get it for you. The universe is in love with you so desperately it will do whatever you ask. It wants to kiss your feet and shower you with love and gifts, but you need to step out of its way and let them create the path for all of your desires.

I Hope whoever needed to hear this today, got to hear it. I send out positive vibes and master-manifestor energy to all of you!

Yours in every reality,

Evie <3

[ameagrice]

night changes ; chapter two

obx || topper x reader

Sticky weather brought out all kinds of attitudes from people. Some complained, some found excuses to drench people with their water bottles, and others—the more normal kind—tried to get through their day as calmly and without fuss as possible, determined not to make themselves even sweatier and hotter.

You were the last kind of person. Wiping the sweat on your forehead with the back of your arm, you got on with writing websites and books you’d need to reference. You were thinking maybe actually visiting some of these places you’d looked at would be beneficial; hands-on research would mean proving your point and could get you both some kind of extra credit. The fact that you had about eighty dollars in the bank was the issue.

Topper huffed slowly, tipping his head back, arms crossed loosely. Showing skin around Topper wasn’t something you were overly excited about, but in this kind of sticky heat where the fans in the room weren’t doing a thing, you didn’t give a shit anymore. You’d settled for denim white and grey striped shorts and a black oversized tee loosely tucked in. You almost said something—how could he look and sound done in when he’d done nothing since this two hour class began this morning but scroll on his phone.

For the first time since the semester started, the classroom was pretty much empty. Besides the two of you, Mia and Hazel, and three girls at the front, it seemed everyone else had taken the sweltering day off. In a way it was sort of relaxing having an emptyish classroom. Topper being the only boy in the room must have felt at least a little out of place. If he did, he didn’t show it.

“So how are we doing this?”

Your hand stopped, and you looked up. “Doing what?” You frowned.

He gestured to the paper briefly, like you were stupid. “This. This topic thing. How are we starting. If I don’t pass this class my mom’s gonna kill me so, you know, explain away.”

You still panicked when he talked to you. Topper was always someone you heard of but never spoke to. Someone you got near to but never close to. Now, beside you, you felt slightly claustrophobic. He was intimidating despite looking lean rather than firmly strong. His whole vibe was mean, rich boy.

You cleared your throat gently, looking down at your papers. “I was thinking a research paper type thing.” You shrugged. “Just get a load of information and shit and put it all into an essay.”

“That’s boring,” he sighed.

“Well you haven’t been much help,” your shot back.

“We should do a video like Vaughn said. Less effort and a lot faster.”

“A video of what, though?”

Topper actually sat up properly, leaning over you to pull your notebook. He slid his phone on the table and held the notebook in both hands, leaning back again with one foot on the table to hold there. “The effects of environmental stressors on human behaviour. We’ll find some dodgy places, research the area, get a couple photos or videos as proof and you can do your thing. Put them together. Extra credit. You can thank me later.”

Doubt began to creep up your veins. “Dodgy places? Like…?”

He actually snickered. “Skid Row? Look, I don’t know. I’ll find somewhere and then get there.”

“With what money? I’ve got like eighty dollars.”

“When did I say you were coming?”

Your mouth shut instantly. He hadn’t actually mentioned bringing you with him. Did that mean it didn’t hurt? Talk about humiliating. A twinge ran through your stomach like a jolt, and you picked up your pen again, crossing out a line you weren’t fond of. Your cheeks were hot.

“I’m going. I’m not sitting here for another hour.”

You could have laughed then. “I’m not doing this on my own. It’s way too much to get done before—”

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed. Mia turned her head to look at him. Topper kicked his chair under the desk and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “If you’re that bothered, Pogue, I’m just gonna go. If you care so much fucking text me or something instead. I’m not sitting around with you.”

His tall figure was out of the classroom before you had a chance to ask just where the hell you were gonna get his number from. He let the door slam loudly behind him, and you dragged his chair over to you to put your feet up as you wrote.

-> ->

“What the hell was all that about?”

Yourself and Mia trekked across the playing field under the sun. Since the boys who typically played football at lunch had taken the day off, it was practically empty besides others with the same idea to sunbathe or sit and eat.

“What?” You raised your brow.

“Mr. ‘I’m gonna storm out of this class like a douche’.”

“Oh,” you mouthed. “Topper being Topper, I guess.”

“You say that like we know Topper.”

She sat down on the grass, and you followed suit. Pulling out a water bottle, you unscrewed the cap, shrugging. “I’m gonna have to get to know him,” you realised.

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

You flayed your hands, accidentally throwing water. She yelped. “I don’t know what to tell you! Just Topper being Topper!”

“Alright! Geez, woman, is he that annoying?”

“Yes. Yes, he is. The man doesn’t like to work.”

“I wouldn’t either,” she said, leaning back, skin slightly pink from the sun. “If I didn’t have to. Which speaking of, I’m supposed to be in at four tonight but I don’t know if I can bear listening to rich kids moan that it’s too hot when they’re sipping on iced lattes.”

You dug around your bag, looking for your lunch. It had gotten squished under your three water bottles—spares, in case you ran out—and found a slip of paper you couldn’t recall putting in there this morning. You fished it out from between your bottles, flipping it the right side up. On the ripped slip of uneven edges, blue pen scrawled a number.

And underneath that, a single word. A name.

TOPPER.

-> ->

If school was stuffy, your bedroom at home was even worse. Your mom had been at work and shut your bedroom window before she left, it seemed, so opening your bedroom door to your curtains closed and the room like a sauna that had been ramped up to four times it’s normal heat had not been a pleasant surprise.

Now, stripped down to socks, a tee, and your pants, you lay with your feet up on the wall at the head of your bed, the slip of paper from Topper in one hand and your phone in the other, looking back and forth as you put his number in your contacts list.

Do I text? Give him a call? No…I’m not calling…

Your thoughts came quickly, but you wondered. You were partners in this test of patience. He’d given you his number so you could work together on the project. A part of you wanted to wish he’d given you his number for another reason, but you realised quickly: this was Topper Thornton, and he didn’t so much as treat you kindly. Why would he want you as anything more than a project partner?

In the end, you tapped on his contact and tapped the text option.

Your thumbs held over the screen, moving slowly as you thought.

Hey, thought I’d give you a text so you have my number too :)

Instantly your heart plummeted after the text turned blue, delivered appearing underneath. Regret began to creep up.

At first you thought he wouldn’t reply at all. You wouldn’t expect a boy like Topper to give you the time of day.

Your phone buzzed, your hand falling from your hair to pick it up. Holding it above your face, you pressed the home button to light the screen up.

Topper Thornton

Is this that sociology girl?

Oof. How many girls did he give his number out to? Scratch that, you didn’t even want to know.

You waited a little bit before texting him back.

Yeah.

-> ->

Sometimes, it was as if the universe hated you. Had you done a terrible thing in a past life? Were you so lucky in it, instead, that this time you deserved to struggle? If God existed, you felt he hated you the most some days.

Because he sent Topper Thornton and his family into The Whitehouse. A fine dining restaurant serving flame-grilled steaks at ridiculous prices and funnily expensive drinks and deserts all at over $30 each.

A perfect place for a perfect, rich family.

A place called…your work.

As if seeing him at school wasn’t enough, you were on reservation and bar duty tonight. Living in Kilsdare County, it wasn’t uncommon to see people from school. The Outer Banks was a wide place. But at the end of the day, there was only one high school, and a few select places everyone could go to. Tonight would be good, you’d thought. You’d take people over to their seats and take drinks over from the bar. An easy night. Or so you’d wished.

In a white polo shirt with some logo on it in fancy blue writing you didn’t recognise, and expensive-looking jeans, Topper had sauntered in first, holding his arm over his mom to get the door for her. Her, wearing a red shirt with gold lining and black pants and heels. His dad wore a silver Rolex watch on his wrist and had his hair slicked back. Topper resembled his mother the most. He’d taken on her loose hair, at least—tidy, very blond, and soft-looking.

Your uniform began to grow uncomfortable—a white collared shirt with silver buttons and a fitted black skirt and tights. You’d decked out and broke your pockets for the loafers you wore, shiny and black and very uncomfortable. At your interview months back, the owner had made it clear the look here was clean, tidy, and spotless. You’d fit the description so far, she said, you just had to find shoes that fit your uniform. And based on what everybody else wore, you couldn’t be the odd one out. The silver bar across the front of each even had to be polished.

Wasn’t there some way out of this? The three of them stood waiting at the small Japanese-inspired waterfall that doubled as a ‘wait here’ monument to be seated. Beside it, almost hidden, was a small stand holding a white, sleek laptop for bookings. Topper’s mom tapped her foot impatiently while Topper spoke quietly with his dad, looking around as he did so. You turned back to the bar, considering going over and beginning for someone to take your place just this once.

Your manager was helping herself to free drinks, while you stood dying for one, and watched you carefully.

Sighing, with your stomach tugging itself, you began to head over, throwing a polite smile on your face. As if she could sense your presence, Topper’s mom turned her head, following you.

“Hi, can I take a name—”

“Do you know it’s rude to keep people waiting?”

You blinked, hand paused on the laptop mousepad. “Sorry about your wait—” although you were barely waiting at all, you wanted to say.

“That isn’t the point!” She snapped. Irritation built in your body, and you had to look away. You knew by now Topper must have noticed you.

Deciding to ignore her anger, you looked back down at the laptop. There, at the very top, sat the name Thornton, with the time of their booking set for fifteen minutes from now. You turned your head to the right, checking the elevated area. You almost wanted to cry. You had a seriously angry lady here, your project partner beside her, and their booked table was still in use.

“Can I take a name?” You asked again, trying furiously to prevent your voice from shaking. You glanced up. Topper was staring at you.

“It’s Thornton,” his mom said with a bold laugh, as if everybody should have known it. Her face showed what was almost disbelief. “Table for three.”

Table 15. Which, when you turned your head again, was still in use by a couple with a baby. You were not kicking them out for this woman. 

You bottled your nerves as best you could and met her eyes again. “So, you’re a few minutes early which means I can’t seat you yet--”

She gasped a laugh mockingly. Topper’s dad came to her side. And Topper behind her? He looked almost embarrassed. And no matter what, he couldn’t meet your eyes, finding interest in the floor or the ceiling, hands stuffed in his expensive-looking pockets. 

“Look,” his dad said firmly. You swallowed hard, finding your throat was beginning to clog up. “We booked a table and you’re holding us up.”

“There is--”

“I don’t give a damn if there is already someone there. Just put us somewhere else.” 

“Are you new?” his mother cut in, stepping closer. She looked absolutely disgusted and your heart plummeted. You tried so hard to hold back the angry tears. Who did these people think they were, giving you shit for something you couldn’t control. It wasn’t the confrontation bothering you, it was the sheer audacity they had to speak to you like garbage and demand things you’d get in trouble for giving. As if they couldn’t use their eyes, the restaurant was nearing full, hence having to book a table. 

Finally, when his mother opened her mouth again, Topper came to your defence, shocking you. He placed his hand on her arm. “Mom, come on, we’ve only got like ten minutes to wait.”

“I’d like to talk to your manager,” she decided. You nodded, not even willing to put up a fight. She’ll just say the same thing as me, you thought. 

“Of course,” you locked the laptop screen and began walking to the bar. Your manager had already stood, putting down her iced drink in its fancy triangular glass on the bar, making her way around. 

You stood on the corner of the bar with one of the other girls, Sandica, who watched the scene with you. 

“Dr. Thornton,” she muttered. “She’s a total bitch. Can’t count the amount of times she’s nearly gotten me fired from this place.”

“If she’s that much trouble why don’t they just bar her?” You wondered, crossing your arms and leaning your elbows on the bar, head turned to watch. 

Your breathing froze momentarily, as Topper looked at you. He didn’t show anything on his face, but shrugged lightly. Was that a sorry or a you got what you deserved shrug?

“I think that’s her son,” said Sandica. She began polishing glasses, and you set about helping her. Anything was better than having to wait on the Thorntons. “Think he was two grades below me.”

“He is,” you confirmed. “He’s my project partner in sociology at school.”

She whistled. “Sucks to be you. What’s he like?” “Rude. Likes to let me do all the work. His friends are horrible. I wouldn’t speak to him ever if I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I bet. Rich boys always have the worst attitudes. It’s like they feel they’re better than everyone, when really, barely anyone likes them.”

You wished her words were the truth. But the truth was, Topper Thornton was well-liked by his peers. There was a reason he came to places like this, and could talk to anyone he met. Topper was confident, rich, and well-mannered. You could dislike him for his money or his attitude, but in actuality, the boy was popular for all the wrong reasons. 

You watched them be led over to a different table and your heart sunk. 

“So now I’m gonna go over there and have to serve them after not letting them take another table.”

“Anything goes when you’re the manager,” Sandica sighed. “We get in trouble for shit she tells us not to do. It’s like she’s just going back on herself.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “And we get the shit for it.”

Policy stated you had to give customers at least ten minutes before going over and asking if they were ready to order. In those ten minutes polishing at the bar, you had thought of ways to get out of this:

1. Hide out in the toilets and blame it on girl problems. 

2. Just refuse to go over. 

3. Quit your job. 

Ugh, you couldn’t do that. Your mom would kill you three times over. 

You slapped the rag down you’d used for polishing on the bar, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Wish me luck. I’m off.”

“If you don’t come back alive, can I have your earrings?”

Topper was talking animatedly with his mom, you saw as you neared. She laughed at something he said while he just blinked at her, unmoving. 

And then...

You stopped in front of their table, and only Topper and his father looked at you. Your hands shook, so you held the iPad against your stomach in front of you. 

“Are you guys ready to order?” 

“Yeah.” Topper briefed, shifting in his seat. “Mom, you wanted the salad and caviar, right?”

“Not from her, no.”

You rolled your eyes. You just couldn’t help yourself. How could a grown woman twice your age at least, be acting like a child?

Topper didn’t say anything about your eye roll. “She’ll have the caeser salad and caviar with a side of prawns. Dad?”

You swiftly typed it all on the iPad, watching the bill rack up instantly from twenty dollars exactly for the salad to thirty. Fine dining was a massive joke. 

“I’ll take the glazed confit duck leg with braised sweetheart cabbage and red pepper gastrique.” He closed his menu, looking to Topper as you did. 

You’d expected him to make your life difficult when his parents seemed dead set on doing so. 

He flipped through the menu for a moment, the sleek, black book with fancy lettering and written in both French and English. 

“Uhh, I’ll have rolled sage and onion pork with fondant potato.”

Without missing a beat, you rambled on almost automatically, having it all memorised by now. “Are we thinking of ordering deserts yet?”

“No deserts,” his mother snapped. “We won’t be here that long. Can we get the bill, please.”

Please? Who knew that word could be in her vocabulary. 

“So your total comes to sixty-five dollars and eighty cents, whenever you’re ready.” 

His dad simply whipped out a plastic card without looking your way. “And we’d like a receipt.”

-> ->

There was a wait time on food.

You screamed into your hands, mouth tight so it muffled. Sandica laughed and fell to her knees behind the bar.

“They already hate me!” You expressed, removing your hands from your face. You shook your head. “I can’t do it.”

“You have to!” She stood, wiping her eyes and still laughing. “Otherwise they’ll complain.”

You waved a hand firmly in their direction. “They complain anyway!”

She laughed even harder, but wandered off to the other side of the bar to serve customers. It left you polishing menus with a rag and strong-smelling liquid.

“Can I add something to our order?”

You put down the menu and rag, smiling politely before you even saw who it was. “Yeah, the—”

You stopped short. Topper leaned on the bar facing you to your right, his eyes moving across your face. Clearing your throat, you carried on. “There’s about an hour wait from now. Your order’s being cooked but there’s still about forty minutes left to wait.”

He clenched his jaw. “You wanna tell my mom or should I?”

“You, please.”

The words slipped out before you could stop yourself. Eyes widening, you looked away from Topper. He shocked you when all he did was grin crookedly.

“She can be a lot but, uh,” he turned his head to the bottles of alcohol in the optics on the mirrored wall. “She’s pretty harmless.”

“I’ll let you do all the talking.”

Silence overcame you both, and you turned the cleaning bottle in your hands. Topper sighed, and reached his arm up to scratch his neck awkwardly. You watched while he didn’t look at you.

“I’m sorry about, like, before. She can get like that.” He said.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s restaurant work. I’m used to it.”

Were you really standing here and talking civilly with Topper Thornton?

A line settled between his brows. “You just let people speak to you like shit?”

You huffed a laugh. “Like I have a choice. They can talk to me how they want but if I say anything back it’s me being ‘disrespectful’. I’d lose my job.”

“Damn,” he muttered, his blue eyes once again shifting over you. “That’s shit.”

You nodded your head and pressed your lips together. “Can I get you anything, anyway?”

As if snapping out of a trance, Topper stood to his proper height, taller than you, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “My dad wanted desert. His friends just bailed anyway so I don’t think we’ve got a reason to be in a hurry anymore.”

You walked round the bar, picking up Sandica’s iPad and logging in with your code. You put in what Topper wanted, feeling under scrutiny as he towered over you on the other side.

“Anything else?” You selected his table number and put the order on. When he said no, you told him the remaining price and he handed over the cash.

Before he walked away, and after you’d set the cash in the till, he leaned on the bar again, and held out his hand for you. You blinked at him unsurely.

“Take the tip,” he demanded softly. “And shut up about it.”

You didn’t say a word as you carefully took the notes from his hand, tucking them in to your shirt pocket quickly. For some reason, you felt odd about this. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he huffed, and pushed off the bar, heading back over to his table.

Once out of sight, you pulled the cash out of your pocket and sifted through the three notes. Thirty dollars, your mouth gaped. Not bad at all.

Rich boys could surprise you, you thought.

finally got this one finished! I thought about adding some more but figured it’s long enough lol.

tagging:

@totallynotkaibiased

[whetstonefires]

you know what this twitter fiasco is putting me in mind of, it's the weird narrative betrayal at the climax of last year's silly romcom Free Guy.

not the stupid annoying one where human/AI romance is too weird after all, so the titular protagonist turns out to be just a proxy for the man who programmed him, the other more jarring one,

where during the dramatic buildup we cut from Guy's security-guard-at-the-MMORPG-bank friend Buddy heroically buying time before his own deletion, to the tech company's actual human security guards watching the livestream and passionately identifying with him going, "that security guard is a goddamned hero."

shortly before Taika Waititi's character, an awful bro-CEO with fabulously awful fashion sense and no actual abilities, starts hitting the servers with a fire axe to cover up his illegal code plagiarism that's about to be livestreamed to millions.

because the entire setup there called for him to be stopped by his own security. there was a clear line of dominoes set up for them to be doing this. it would have been logically and thematically consistent, and really satisfying.

and correct! that's the thing about owning a corporation: its property is not your personal property. this legal construct protects you in a lot of ways, which is why it's worth incorporating even a one-man business, but it also means you cannot, legally, just smash the company's shit. especially once there's public stock, which in this case there was. it's not yours in your capacity as an individual.

like realistically these guys can do whatever they want, especially as sole-owner, but between the fact that the AIs in those servers had just turned out to be people, the fact that he was going crazy with a fire axe, the fact that his reasoning was 'hiding the evidence,' and the fact that he was not actually entitled to break those things, the security guys should have pinned the CEO down and taken his axe.

but for some reason, instead the female lead just offers to give him everything she's dedicated years of her life to proving he stole if he'll just leave that last server unbroken.

and that's the resolution. and all the digital people are restored somehow by computer magic and it's all fine? good end??? i was so mad!

and also kind of appalled by the implication that showing a corporate edgelord's manbaby smashing meltdown being something the peons could rise up and interfere with would be too radical somehow???

[merge-conflict]

The appeal of starting from the ending and working back is that you put a cap on every Might Have Been, every wandering tangent, etc. that your drafting mind might otherwise wind down. And there's nothing more irritating then having a good idea when wrapping something up only to realize you didn't have time to foreshadow it like you did the other 2 or 3 recurring consequences (TV writer woes).

Everything in the final conversation Abernathy has with Valentine has to be doing the work of two or three callbacks. Right now I've only hit the initial callbacks, and as I sketch out the ideas mentioned her in passing, which evoke certain strong emotions, then I know I need to do something with V's work involvement with Biotechnica, with some sort of clash with Jenkins, with what Valentine is like when she loses her temper. And I know that because it's what Abernathy is fixated on trying to control this breakup conversation, and also reveals what Abernathy herself is concerned about, and perhaps has been concerned about for a long time and never shown. (Or has she?)

Anyhow I love talking process, so this is the kind of skeleton script I'm going to be working backwards from. It will most certainly not survive exactly like this, but it's a good anchoring point:

<>

“If you tell anyone about anything, I’ll have you removed and handled as a double agent. You have been awful involved with Biotechnica lately.” - “I’m not going to warn you again. Do you understand?”

(dully) “You do that and they’ll know I was telling the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter what they know, it matters what they can prove.” (you know this. we've talked about this. don't be stupid.)

“I suppose next you’ll be asking me to use my new position to spy on Jenkins for you.” (petulant. bitter. a tool, you were always a tool, do you understand?)

“No. I know how you get when you’re angry.” (thinking. malicious. flippant.) “Besides, I thought you’d enjoy a chance to get your claws into him.”

(silently angry. is the implication that she’d do for him what she’d done for her? that she’s just a dangerous beast? that she knows her and her anger so well?)

“Well?”

“What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea? You want me to ask if you ever even gave a shit about me? You want me to put on a show?” - “You wouldn’t believe a word I said anyway. Give me a cigarette.”

(hands one over, lights it. finally makes eye contact. this is real.) “Don’t look so glum. You wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have without my help. You can cry into your bank account if you want, but it’s not like I’m kicking you out on the street.”

“Alright.” (inhale. peace. emptiness. drains her drink. drops the cigarette into abernathy’s.) “It’s done.”

<>

Re-reading this I already know I need to work in some reference to Valentine's mother and some warning/advice/celebration they have near the end of this reverse story. Something that ties back to her own failed marriage and divorce and dashed expectations. Something about finding a reason to keep going on until you can't bear to any more. Something that echoes the familial stubbornness which means Valentine in the damn things overlap will endure anything so long as she knows the expiration date.

The most fascinating part of writing these two to me is that Abernathy has this very strict rule about never admitting guilt or regret directly, but she'll say something like "I'd apologize but it's already done, isn't it?" and it's like YOU COULD STILL SAY IT! But she sees that as weakness. And Valentine picks up that same attitude here "What do you want me to do? Beg for leniency? Make some emotional plea?" They're mocking each other for the very normal human desire for acknowledgement. They're intelligence agents who think they're just making sure they're not fooling themselves (they're fooling themselves). Sincerity is only useful for pre-empting someone else trying to expose your vulnerability.

Anyway, they're operating on a certain set of fucked up toxic social rules that are in some respects even harsher than the normal corpo set. They're self-policing, because Abernathy is obsessed with gaining favor with someone who is a misogynistic homophobe, and she's playing for keeps against people who aren't reviled by this person. The idea might also come up that she doesn't NEED to be doing it to this degree, but she's warped her own idea of what she needs to do, and what kind of person she needs to be, and applied that to Valentine as well. The tragedy is that they love each other. They work well together. It's never going to work out. It didn't work out. But look at what they had, and how fucked up and funny and exciting it all was before it went to shit.

[the-firebird69]

Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play 💃 #erastour #taylor...

Of course I've had enough and shaking it off is not going to do it and this idiot has got to go who the hell wants to go to a homeless shelter anyone okay this stupid f*** Charles Manson wants to go there and says it's to threaten for the program and he doesn't have to go there he just keeps saying it in a stupid f*** is getting us in trouble and stanis said it several times so you can just move back in and I can't f****** understand why this idiot doesn't get it and we're going to go after him and Tuesday will prove it that he's a stupid s*** and I want to extend this day and yeah I have to take his stock he says it's one way to do it it's rather than harsh hey I get that his Ted Williams experiment on himself

Taylor Swift

We have to be there that's all there is to it and who the f*** wants to be in a homeless shelter this idiot Trump we're going to get rid of that piece of s*** he's so f****** stupid

Gaga

You're so stupid Trump that I don't want to go there usually I would say I go there and you get raped but you're getting raped anyways and start threading more at those places and they start going after you more but really I don't think they can go after you anymore than they are it's not true

Zues Hera

I kind of get something he's been destroying me with what I'm doing and all of us actually and we're surrounded because of what we're doing and dying apparently we don't get it but we're starting to and he's saying Dave is laughing at me from beyond the grave just one of those things in life that you're trying to avoid because everybody stress laughing and starts taking advantage of it so I get something he's out and I'm getting my ass kicked by him and people are kicking my ass because of it I'm saying it I guess it's annoying people and I can be at me and I want that because it ties people up and he says Jason and Tommy F were tied up so I'm starting to get something this s*** doesn't work that good but I keep doing it

Trump

Haha okay I see that he's ready to go and we need the money

Kamala

Who taught you to talk to people like this Trump we think it was him and he's laughing at you all the time he's just fat f*** who has his money in the bank and won't let him have it now I know that you're dying mostly because of what he's doing and you don't think it all about it that way and you're stupid I don't want to keep on doing it so we have to stop you cuz you're the problem

Garth

It's not really true and Garth always says it try and threaten me and his piece of s*** too he's dying because of the program that's a big one by the way it is dying cuz he took everyone's stuff and he's dying cuz he took everyone's weaponry is dying cuz he's holding on to other people's money just like he's only mind and Garth should know better because he's holding on to his money and people kill people who's holding up the money and should know better there Garth should know better there because he's killed Trump himself and murdered tons of his people there are others who killed just a lot more than that and they know why it's because the a****** is driving hits on himself and he doesn't get it he will shortly and when he doesn't have anybody off Island I suppose he might notice it a little

Zues Hera

Shit

It's true too I really can't wait to go to their funeral but I'm going to be at 1:00 myself in a casket and that's not fun

Sarah

Olympus

[horce-divorce]

thank you everyone who was replying and sending well wishes. I spoke to him for the first time yesterday (FOUR DAYS in) and we ended up just pulling him out last night. he went to the psych ward for help and all they did was traumatize him further, blame him for his own trauma that he came there to fucking get help with, humiliate him and gaslight him, and ofbuscate information from ME even though i was literally up their buttholes the whole time.

They even tried to confuse him and gaslight him into a corner IN FRONT OF US, both me and our roommate!!! 2 whole witnesses!!!! And thank God our roommate was there bc they take no shit and were able to turn those fucked up questions back on the nurses to make THEM look stupid. Really direct stuff, like, "yeah that was a super convoluted way to word that, especially for mentally ill people. maybe if YOU were communicating more clearly, you'd get answers that don't confuse you?" I am SO glad they were there.

We are still looking for patient advocacy and legal resources though. It may be standard to just give ppl meds and make them go to groups, but Bel has been to the psych ward over a dozen times and he's never had an experience this traumatic and bad. It should not be standard to fucking humiliate and abuse vulnerable people who came to you for fucking help. It shouldn't be standard to confuse and gaslight people until they no longer understand what you're asking in order to "prove" that they aren't competent enoguh to understand their own treatment.

at EVERY step of the way he made it clear that help was all he wanted, and they were being condescending and dismissive and ignoring absolutely everything he said and needed. They didn't even treat him like a fucking human being, let alone a patient. When they asked about what led to him coming to the hospital, he said he's been homeless, and they IMMEDIATELY BLAMED HIM! They treated him like an animal in a zoo. It was obvious that they were banking on him not knowing his rights (which they TOOK from him, btw, along w his phone numbers, so he couldnt reach out to anyone), and expecting us to not wanna keep advocating for him. Literally all of their excuses boiled down to "well I don't know, but that's just protocol" like??? It's protocol not to know fuck shit? OK cool then that's not the protocol we need right now, thanks karen!!! We will be leaving!!!!! "Ough are you sure he said he can't be safe." WITH YOU. SPECIFICALLY. why would i leave him with the people he's unsafe with!!!!! jesus christ!!!!!!

Even when I had started calling every couple of hours demanding updates, asking for detailed answers and taking down names, they still tried to give ME the fucking runaround, were leaving out crucial information related to both his care plan (info i had POINTEDLY ASKED FOR), as well as BASIC information like "where is the ward located in the hospital and when can i speak to him?" Our roommate and I went to visit him initially last night, but we checked him out and brought him right back with us because it was so bad, we were NOT leaving him there another night.

Overall, he's more traumatized and worse off than he was before he went in, but he's better off and safer with us now than he was in the hospital. We have a thorough plan going forward, we discussed at length what he would like to do and how me and our roommate can both better help him when things get worse.

One thing we need to get sorted out asap is his phone service. He's had his cell service cut off for some time, and he needs his own phone number and the ability to reach out to folks of his own accord, without using my phone. Theres so many resources and people he needs to be able to contact, that he could access on his own if we can just get this sorted. I'm about to put a post up about that, so if anyone is willing or able to help us recover from this supremely fucked up week, we really need money right now. But, if you have resources about holding hospitals accountable we'd be interested in that type of stuff rn as well, we will BARE MINIMIM be filing complaints about this.

Anyway. Thanks for the well wishes and concern and death to America, of course. And a special "fuck you" to every single nurse and doctor who treats their job even more carelessly than minimum fucking wage workers. You are a HEALTH. CARE. WORKER. Why did you take that fucking job if caring for peoples HEALTH is such a FUCKING CHORE. If I was working retail and a customer said to me "heres my complaint" and I said "I'm sorry you feel that way" I'd have lost my fucking job. That is NOT the response to "i experienced trauma at your hands and i don't feel safe in your care, let me leave." Im sorry you feel that way my hairy fucking ass hole. You're not sorry!!!!!!!!!!! "Just doing my job" like a fucking cop!!! Quit your asshole job if it's SUCH a burden to you to treat PEOPLE like PEOPLE!!! Christ!!!!

So I still haven't talked to Bel (3 days now) but I just talked to his nurse and it was NOT good. I was shaking before I even got off the phone. Does anyone have any experience with/resources about patient advocacy bc I need them asap

[laneydays]

you owe me, part 2 // billy showalter x reader

i dont rlly like this put here u go the long awaited part 2.

part 1 here

we're gonna IGNORE the fact that i was supposed to publish this like 5 days ago im so sorry for lying i had school and family stuff and guitar lmfao

anyways school is cancelled for the rest of the week cuz of a hurricane, i might start writing another oneshot ;) maybe vance? dont know! but i hope u guys like this, felt i couldve done better but eh :)

___________

after billy showalter had showed up by your house on his bike, your day was just a little brighter. he had really cared enough to go out of his way to deliver one more paper, just for you. he remembered, that you read the paper and kept it to make art or decorate your room with. even if reading the paper made you look like a total old man nerd, he went that extra mile for you. or in his case, a few blocks down from his route. the thought made you feel giddy and high.

you had came back in the house with a little more pep in your step, a stupid grin on your face that kept coming back whenever you looked at the flower pressing that you preserved on your dresser. the muscles in your face hurt from how good you felt. it was funny, to you. teachers would always say how one small thing a person can do can make another person's whole day. no one ever listened, including you. you thought it was bull, so it was amusing how the paper delivery boy proved you wrong. even if the flower seemed to shrivel slowly after a few hours, you couldn't help but think about it. billy showalter, of all people. he must be a goddamn saint if he can make me change my mind about him after a day, you thought. 

"holy shit," donna had blurted out from the phone when you told her. you had hushed her, even if no one was there to hear you besides your sleeping dog early in the morning.

"he totally likes you." she teased. you almost stumbled, clutching the phone in your hand a little tighter. "thats funny, donna. well, i don't like him," you scoffed.

you told her that to get her to leave you alone about it. (you doubted she would) but you would be lying if you said billy showalter didn't intrigue you with his actions toward you. nevertheless, you owed him big time. so, begrudgingly, on the monday before school, you emptied your piggy bank and counted the dollar bills and cents to pay billy back for everything he did. it was five bucks. you sighed, it was a decent amount of money to owe a boy. and it made you realize just how nice he was being to you.

you pocketed the money, getting ready to go to school. you jumped down the stairs, alerting your dog. they circled around your feet, barking and jumping excitedly. you rubbed their ears, talking to them in a high pitch.

your parents said your name, making you look up. "i thought we told you not to jump down the stairs. you'll break something," they instructed with a disappointed voice. your mother was at the table, and your father cleaning dishes at the sink. you winced slightly. "yeah, sorry."

you sat down at the table, eating the slightly burnt piece of toast your mother had set out for you. chewing on it, you watched your mother open up the paper as she sipped her coffee. you nearly choked, coughing. she was reading the paper.

she looked at you. "yeah, where did you get this? we don't get the paper," she asked. drinking your water, you tried clearing your throat before you replied. "yeah.. you know billy showalter delivers the paper, right?" you said slowly. your father chimed in, "of course. he stops by every sunday to get what we type up." your mother turned back to you, finishing for him. "but he doesn't stop by our house." 

you smiled sheepishly. "yeah. well, we're partners in class for a project. he stopped by yesterday because i told him i read the paper."

your dad looked over at you with a confused smile. "you read the paper?" he said, obviously making fun of you. your mother gave him a look before sipping her mug again. "how sweet. he's such a lovely boy. i'm glad you're becoming close," she said to you. "yes, it's about time you got a boyfriend," your father finished. you finished your toast, extremely flustered while your mother scolded him for assuming things.

you took a shy drink of water. "i have to go to his house later today. for the project." smiling, your mother held your hand. "good, that's good." 

"don't come back late," said your dad. you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it over your shoulder. "yeah, don't worry." you kissed your mother on the cheek, and hugged your father goodbye. 

"be polite, and tell billy and mrs. showalter thank you," she said before you left. you agreed, closing the door. you took a breath, trying to console yourself and your embarrassment.

you walked to school. it was starting to get colder out, now. and you wished you had brought a thicker jacket. you spotted more kids walking as you got closer to school. you rubbed your arms, feeling the chill of the weather.

hearing your name being called, you turned around. gwen was jogging to catch up to you, finney following right behind her. "hey," you said to the small girl. "hi," finney finished for her, as she was catching her breath. you three walked together to school every day. it was a shame donna couldn't, her house was further away from yours. "kinda cold out, huh?" gwen said. you scoffed, "no kidding. wish i had brought a different covering."

as you got closer to school, you turned to the siblings. "i have to go to the library, i'll see you later nerds." gwen hugged you goodbye. "why the library?" finney asked. you turned away. "for a project. see you." they waved you goodbye as you entered through the double doors. there were less kids in the halls because you were a little early. 

you weren't lying to finney, you really did have to go to the library. you wanted to put effort into it the same way billy was, so you thought you'd find a book or two to help you with research.

upon entering, the library was pretty much empty. it was silent except for the pages being flipped by the librarian behind the counter. she muttered a 'good morning' under her breath as you walked in.

the isles were empty, but you saw a silhouette of a young boy. you searched through the books, in the history section. taking out many, reading the backs and then returning them to the shelf. you were impatient, and already becoming antsy. you wish you could just find a book already.

you turned the corner into the next isle, stopping when you saw the boy. it was griffin. he was reading a book, when he noticed you standing there and looked up. he was surprised to see you, you noticed. "hi, griffin," you said with a smile. "hi." he replied. you approached him, sitting next to him. "what are you reading?" griffin tilted the book so you could see the cover. it was the shining by stephen king. "stephen king? he wrote carrie. you like him?" he nodded at you. you were a bit shocked that a kid as young as him would be into that stuff. but he was smart, so it was probably okay.

"what are you doing here?" griffin asked you this time. he was right, you weren't usually in here. "i'm looking for a book. for a project."

"is it the one with billy?" he asked quickly. you almost stuttered, he was fast. you swallowed. "yeah. how'd you know?" you asked. griffin closed his book. "he told me." you smiled. "oh yeah? what else did he say?" you joked. the boy looked up at you. "he said you make him nervous sometimes."

you pressed your lips together tightly. a weird tight feeling in your stomach. "oh." griffin shook his head lightly, his curls bouncing. "but in a good way, he said. i don't know." the weird feeling was replaced by a new once, a weird kind of knot. you smiled sheepishly. 

"he likes you. you should be friends," the boy said. you looked away, trying to tame the heat in your face. "o-okay. i just need a book first," you laughed. griffin asked what type of book you needed. you told him what your project was about, and he got up enthusiastically, taking your hand and dragging you into an isle.

"this one," he said, taking out a book and holding it out to you. taking it gently from his hands, you read the back. it was great for your project. you looked back up at him, smiling. "this is perfect. thanks, griffin!" 

he smiled bashfully, his freckled cheeks rosy. you looked up at the clock, at the time. "the bells gonna ring in a minute," you looked at him. "want me to walk you to your first period?" griffin smiled wider. "okay. but its in the sixth grade hall," to which you replied that it was okay. you checked out your book, and the younger boy hung onto your hip the whole time. 

the bell had rung as you walked out the door with griffin, the book tucked into your backpack safely. griffins classroom was a little further than expected, but it was okay. you said goodbye to him and went back to yours. you kept thinking about him as you sat down, and how you really saw him as a little brother. it was a sweet feeling. 

the period was unfortunately very boring. you were learning about the layers of the earth, and honestly, you weren't really paying attention. you were just doodling all over your paper. until you felt a pinch in your back. you turned around to see robin arellano. "you free after school today?" he whispered. you shook your head. "no, i have to work on a project with billy showalter. sorry." robin's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "huh? showalter? for real?" you nodded, shrugging with a smile before turning back to your paper.

you continued drawing before a piece of wrapped gum dropped on your paper with a smiley face and an '-R' written on it messily. you turned around, blowing robin a joking kiss. he 'caught it' in the air, and held it to his chest. you held your hand to your mouth, trying to stop yourself from laughing as you unfolded the gum wrapper and placing it in your mouth. 

the bell rang, the class was over. you didn't listen to whatever your teacher was saying, and you just packed your stuff to leave, stopping by the door to wait for a slow robin. he caught up to you, and you walked together.

"so, you and billy?" he asked. he had a teasing look on his face. what was it with people joking about you and billy? "yeah, i have a project with him in civics." robin rolled his eyes, looking off. "just say you're going out with him. i've seen you giving him heart eyes across the lunchroom before." you turned to him swiftly, pushing him harshly. "shut up! i do not!" you growled, a furious heat in your cheeks.  robin held his hands up, trying to defend himself from your wrath as he giggled uncontrollably. 

you sighed angrily. "i'm serious, though... its just a project," you mumbled. robin flashed a smile. "sure, okay. i'll see you later." you were about to make him stay so you could keep defending yourself, but you just sighed once more as you watched robin head off to his next class. you would keep getting teased. and you would be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on billy showalter.

you sat down in your next class, trying console yourself. it's not like you liked him that much. maybe the reason you disliked him at first, was because you wanted an excuse. but it was hard, with his stupid smile and his stupid laugh, and his stupid hair and his stupid job. it was stupid. you were stupid. you hated having crushes.

the rest of your classes went by faster.  they mostly consisted of you laying your head on the desk and sleeping, and or ignoring anyone who tried to ask what was wrong with you. the only person you'd answer was donna.

"you're a mess," she shook her head. you peeked up at her. "no kidding." she sighed, slumping down next to you. "maybe you should just talk to him." sitting up straighter, you took a deep breath. "i will. when i see him." 

donna looked at you pitifully. she knew how much you hated these type of things. you looked back at her, reading her eyes and sighing. "don't look at me like that. i'll get over it, i always do." donna pushed your arm slightly. "but do you want to get over it? it's nice when someone likes you, yknow," she told you. you didn't reply, you only put your head in your hands and groaned.

lunch came quickly. you sat down with robin, finney, donna, and gwen, chewing on an orange slice. they were talking about whatever while you zoned off, thinking about the upcoming week and your assignments. until there were fingers snapping in front of your face. you looked up to robin leaning toward you and snapping from across the table. you smacked his hand down with a growl. he sat back with a grin. "stop daydreaming about your boyfriend," he giggled. your eyebrows furrowed and you stood up in your seat, your hands placed firmly on the table. leaning forward, you gave robin a mouthful. "he is not my boyfriend!" you exclaimed with a heated face. finney and gwen looked at you both with puzzled expressions, while donna seemed concerned.

"leave them alone, robin," she whispered. taming your outburst, you looked away shamefully. you saw griffin and billy sitting with each other. and bruce yamada, was his name? sat with them, too.

"wait, you have a boyfriend?" gwen said dumbly. you sighed with a dry chuckle. "no. it's a long story." gwen and finney looked at each other before the curly haired boy shrugged. he looked at you again. "is it billy?" he questioned innocently. you shut your eyes tightly. "ugh," you groaned, and that told the siblings what they needed to know. 

you felt the dread set in your stomach as you walked to your period after lunch. it was funny to you how people described getting butterflies as a cute fluttery feeling. you didn't get those. it was more like fuzzy worms crawling inside your organs. both of them still came from the same thing however; and it was liking someone. the someone that happens to be out of your league, and the someone you completely denied your feelings for a few days ago. you huffed, you weren't gonna be a pussy about it.

you sat down in your seat, watching as students piled in after you. you didn't care, until billy walked in. your chest tightened a little and you watched him sit down in his seat, his hair framing his face perfectly. he looked back, and caught your eye. he gave you a comforting smile, and your heart squeezed, giving him a simple wave back.  

no! don't let him seduce you with his attractive antics! you furiously told yourself, placing your fuming head in your hands.

everyone was seated, your teacher beginning to speak. "settle down. settle down," she projected. people got quieter.

she interlaced her hands together. "alright, this period will be dedicated to working on your project. i will pass out a paper to fill in information, but remember it will have to be put on a project board. you may use your notes for it aswell," your classmates got louder once again. she cleared her throat angrily. "don't think this is a free period. i will be watching you and making sure you're actually working," she snapped. they muttered words under their breath.

"thank you. now, you may join with your partner while i pass out the paper."

everyone stood up, giggling and gossiping. you pushed your chair back dramatically, making your way to billy. you made eye contact, but you immediately looked away as you sat next to him. "hey," he greeted. "hi," you replied.

he coughed awkwardly when your teacher came to you, giving you one paper. you looked up at her confusedly. "don't we need another?" she nearly rolled her eyes at you. "we're sharing," she sighed. you slumped down in your seat slightly at her annoyed tone as she walked away. 

billy looked at you again. "so, do you have any ideas?" he asked. he wanted to get you talking. he wanted you to talk to him, and hear your voice.

you perked up. "yeah! i do. i actually went to the library this morning because it felt like you were doing all the work, and you're probably smarter than me and i wanted to carry my own weight, y'know? so i got a book," you rambled, taking out the hardcover book. you mentally pinched yourself at what you said. sometimes billy made you want to talk ten times more or never talk again. the latter seemed more appealing when you looked up to see an embarrassed look on his face, his cheeks flushed. 

"i-i'm sorry," you stuttered. "i didn't mean-" you cleared your throat. just stop talking, you screamed internally.

"you're smart, too," billy mumbled. you almost crumpled the paper from how tight you gripped it. you laughed nervously, averting your eyes to the paper. you tapped your pen anxiously on the table, extremely aware of the noise it made. "so, do you still want me to come over after school? to study, i mean. you got the supplies, right?" billy nodded at you. "yeah, i did. my mom freaked out i was having a friend over."

you stopped tapping the pen. "oh, was she not expecting it? sorry," you fretted. billy shook his head. "no, no." he looked away bashfully. "it's just, erm. she- uh," the boy stuttered. he cleared his throat when he saw you blink. "nevermind," he muttered. 

it took a lot in you not to laugh at his embarrassment. and billy recalled the conversation he had the previous morning with his mother, and it made him even more embarrassed.

he had just gotten back from delivering papers, feeling extra good about the gratitude he saw on your face. his dog barged in before him, alerting his mother standing by the coffee maker.

"what took you so long?" she tapped the counter suspiciously. billy hung up his bright jacket on the hook by the door. "i delivered an extra," he replied. his mother sighed. "you know you're supposed to stick to your route, billy."

he shrugged, sliding into a chair at the table. "it was just someone from school.." he said shyly. unbeknownst to him, the woman felt a knowing switch in her mind. 

"and i hope you don't mind them coming over after school. we have a project together," he stated innocently. she folded her arms, a grin on her face. "are you two dating?" 

billy choked. "mom! no, i- they're just-" he stumbled over his words angrily, a furious flush on his face. he stood up, stomping upstairs to his room while his mother giggled. 

he shook his head back into the present. "let's just work on this," he sighed loudly. you grinned at him warmly.

the class period consisted of billy doing most of the talking. he was really serious about school. you would add on your own knowledge and he would smile excitedly and scribble it down on the note paper. it made the wormy feeling in your stomach disappear. maybe the worms actually turned into butterflies.

eventually you took out the book you had checked out after you two went through all of the notes. you opened it up to the table of contents, sliding it over between you two and letting billy read the contents. you pointed your finger at a chapter, "i thought this one had a lot of good information." he nodded, flipping the paper to the right page number and leaning towards you to read what was inside. you held your breath as you saw the details of his face, the curl of his eyelashes. he looked up at you again to find you were already staring, and he swallowed, leaning back after he saw your face close to his. 

you checked your watch awkwardly. "it's almost time to go. we can finish the notes at your house, yeah?" you asked. billy agreed. "yeah."

the teacher tried to tell everyone goodbye, but without success. the bell rung and everyone bolted. you waited for billy by the door as he got his stuff, and you two walked out together. 

the halls were crowded, you and billy pressed shoulder to shoulder to get through without running into someone. you felt a sharp tug at the back of your hood, making you step backwards and grab billy's shoulder for balance, making him stop as well. 

you turned around to see robin with a shit-eating grin on his face, looking from you to billy and back to you. huffing, you fixed your hood. "you scared the shit out of me. come on, you're crowding the halls," you snapped, taking robins hand and dragging him forward next to you and billy as you kept walking. the bandana wearing boy couldn't help but giggle at you two, and you almost pushed him into the wall telling him to shut up.

you made it out of the school, turning to robin. "fuck you," you said bluntly. he held a hand to his heart, "you make me blush." you sighed. "you make me blush too, unfortunately. tell finney and gwen i'll see them tomorrow, i'm going with billy for the project."

robin winked at you. "right, the project." you held back an angry remark, holding your breath instead and grabbing billy. "let's go.." you muttered. the blonde smiled awkwardly as he led you to the bike rack by the school. 

you stopped as you watched him put in the lock combination for the bike. he held the handlebars. "wait, i don't have a bike," you said quickly. billy hesitated. "oh, right."

he thought for a moment. "you can ride on the back. just.. hold on," he told you, swinging his leg over. you nodded slowly, stepping over and sitting down, holding onto the sides of the bike. to say this was a very awkward situation was a huge understatement. nevertheless, billy pushed onto the pedals, harder because of your extra weight. he tried very hard to not show how weird he felt in the moment. he had scooted forward so you had room to sit, but it was tight, and you were nearly pressed against his back. he didn't know if it was the sun but he felt incredibly warm in the moment.

he must have ridden over a tree root, because you both felt a bump, and you reached forward on instinct and clutched billy's shoulder so you wouldn't fall over. "sorry," you breathed onto his back. "it's fine," he said. no, it wasn't fine, he almost crashed the bike but it was okay, he didn't want you to fall.

finally, you arrived at his house. you stared up in awe at it, the front door a pretty blue color. you finally jumped off the bike, billy kicking the kickstand down by his garage. "sorry if my mom is weird," billy told you, unlocking the front door with the key in his pocket. 

he opened it, and you walked in. the inside was even prettier. you knew billy lived in a pretty white kid home, but it was still nice. until you heard barking, and saw a golden blur and felt a pressure on your chest. you were on the ground now, a golden heap of fur between your legs and barking at you. now winded, billy's dog began to lick your fingers. 

he immediately grabbed it, yelling "no," or "bad dog." you held yourself up with your hands. billy turned to you after calming his pet down, rushing to help you up and rambling nervously. "are you okay?" "i'm so sorry," "are you hurt?" he helped you up on your feet, and you patted his shoulder reassuringly. "i'm okay, don't worry." he sighed. 

"who's this?" a voice said. you turned your head, to see a woman with a striking resemblance to the boy next to you. puffy blonde hair, with pink lips and glittery blue eyeshadow. you smiled. "hi, i'm billy's friend. i came to work on a project with him, i hope you don't mind." the woman smiled, flashing her pearly white teeth. "oh, yes! billy told me about you, it's so nice to meet you!" she gushed, grabbing your hand and clasping it between her red nail painted hands. 

"would you like anything to eat, or drink?" she asked cheerfully. you shook your head. "i'm okay. thank you, ms. showalter." 

she smiled. "of course. you two hurry on up and get your work done," she ushered. you and billy looked at each other. he pointed to the stairs.

you sat down on a chair in his room, spinning and admiring the interior. the habitat of billy showalter. he had a few posters up, and a messily made bed. "cool room," you said. he sat down on his bed, opening his notes. "thanks. i have the poster board over there, so we can start working on it now," he got straight to the point. you sighed, throwing you head back as you spun. "oh, right," you groaned. 

billy stopped for a moment, watching you spin around endlessly, and then back to the binder in his hands. he looked back up. "we don't have to do this, you know." 

you stopped spinning, feeling dizzy as you turned to him. "i thought you wanted to?" you asked, confused. he sighed. "you think i actually like doing schoolwork?" you bounced your leg. "yeah, you're like, the grade golden boy," you stated, waving your hand around. billy shrugged. "i'm still a teenager."

you watched him as he put the binder back in his backpack. "then what did i come here for?" ouch. did you not want to be here? billy inhaled. "we could do teenager stuff?" 

"i don't do drugs!" you said frantically. billy stuttered in shock. "i don't either! i meant like, cards or something!" 

you blinked. oh, that was embarrassing. you couldn't ever see billy doing that stuff either. "okay, okay, good. keep being golden."

speaking of golden, billy's dog burst through the door, trotting laps around you and the boy excitedly. you ran your hands through its thick fur, it turned around to sniff and invade your personal space in reply. you laughed, it tickling your ears with its breath. "what's the name?" you asked. billy watched you carefully. he was glad you liked dogs. "cooper." you rubbed cooper's ears, staring into his big black eyes. "he's cute."

he watched you, his heart swelling. he was really, really glad you liked dogs. 

"so, you got a girlfriend?" you asked out of the blue. you were actually curious. not that you would be jealous or anything. he just looked at you, a furrow in his brow. "what? no." you looked at him in return. "a boyfriend..?" billy shook his head furiously. "i don't have anyone." you gave him an 'oh' face. he hesitated, looking away. "do you?" 

you set your hands in your lap, cooper licking your fingers. "no, i don't. do you like anyone?"

"maybe," he replied. "what about you?"

you broke eye contact sheepishly. "maybe." 

it was quiet for a few moments, neither of you looking at each other. you coughed. "so, what about those cards?" billy got up from his bed, you on the floor. he got the pack of cards from his bedside and sat down on the floor directly in front of you. "you know how to play uno?" you squinted. you had seen them in the grab 'n go, but you never cared to buy them. "no." 

he smiled at you. that god awful, perfect smile that made you want to crush him. "cool, i'll teach you then." 

he distributed the cards between you, each getting seven. you had grinned idiotically while you watched him struggle to shuffle the cards. 

"okay, so basically, you have to match the card to the one the other person puts down. so if i put down a green 8, you have to put down a green card or an 8. but there are also special cards, and they can make the other person draw more cards, or skip them. but the objective is to get rid of all your cards. you get rid of them, you win. got it?" he looked up at you from his eyelashes. you nodded. he explained it well. "okay."

he set down his card. a red 4. you looked through your cards, making sure he didn't see any as you set down a red card. he set down his, and it kept going between you. either of you would put down a plus two or plus four and the other would groan dramatically, the other laughing. billy won, eventually. so you played again, over and over. and billy beat you every time.

"you've gotta be cheating," you huffed. you were a sore loser. he squinted. "beginners.. misfortune?" he said questionably. you threw your cards up. "man, thats not even a thing, you just wanna make me feel better." he chuckled at you. "yeah." billy scratched cooper's chin. he sat next to both of you the entire time, wagging his tail when either of you got excited. 

you were interrupted when billy's mom called you and him from downstairs. "i made dinner!" she sang. you checked your watch. "ah, i didn't realize it was that time."

billy and you headed downstairs. you smelt the food she prepared, and it smelt good. "thank you for dinner, mrs. showalter. i hope you don't mind." she set down the hot plates on the table, your silverware already out and ready. "of course not! billy's father is coming home late because of work, so i really appreciate the company. and billy does, too," she winked at you, making your cheeks warm. you sat down at the table, billy across from you next to his mom. she instructed you to eat, and you started. it was delicious, noodles and cheese and bacon bits sprinkled on the top. good thing you remembered your table manners, or else you would have wolfed the whole thing down.

"so, you two. how's the project going on?" she asked you. you stopped eating for a moment, looking at billy who was already looking at you. you tried to hold back a smile. "it's, uh, going good. we have the notes ready." 

she nodded. "that's good." it was silent after that, just the sound of the forks on the plate as you ate. you looked at billy again, who was trying to hide his smile as well. you decided not to tell her that you two were just playing cards the whole time.

you all finished up, bringing your plates to the sink to wash them. "billy, would you take out the trash, please?" his mother asked over her shoulder. he nodded, pulling the trash bag out of the trashcan and leaving your view. mrs. showalter stood next to you, drying the plates you cleaned. "so, are you two dating?" she asked innocently. 

heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you scrubbed a little harder. "aha, no, it's not like that, we're just friends." whether you were trying to convince her or yourself, it didn't work. she sighed. "denial, denial. from a mother, i see how my boy looks at you. and i see how you look at him. look a little harder, okay?" she murmured sweetly. you handed her the last plate. you hated it, but she was right. 

billy came back, and told you it was getting late. almost 7:00. you went upstairs to retrieve your stuff to go home. 

you had to say something to him now. "i never got to thank you, by the way. for the newspaper," you said slowly, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. billy was sat on his bed.

he shrugged. "it's no big deal."

you sat down next to him, looking away and fiddling with your fingers. "no, it is. i don't know why you did it. but thank you."

thats why billy did it. he would never admit, but he was a sucker for praise. hearing it coming from you felt ten times better. he could have kissed you, if you were looking at him.

"you're welcome," he whispered. 

you turned to face him. his heart was beating, and he wouldn't be surprised if you could hear it. the air felt thicker and heavier than it did a minute ago, as he stared at your face, which seemed to get closer the more he looked.

his eyes were so pretty, and so brown. his skin seemed glowier than it did in school. 

you looked away again, trying to steady your breath. "christ, showalter." 

billy frowned. "what is it?"

you ran your fingers through your hair. "i don't even know. you make me feel things i don't want to," you huffed. billy's chest squeezed. reluctantly, he touched his pinkie to your hand next to his. you flinched slightly, but interlocked pinkies with the boy. a simple, innocent gesture that made you feel fuzzy. 

you inhaled sharply. "i should go home now," you said quietly.

billy stood up, holding his hand out for you to take it. fighting a smile, you slid your hand in his and got up.

"you're free to come any time," mrs. showalter said gently. "it's our pleasure having you here," she winked. you grinned faintly, thanking her for her hospitality.

"i'll walk you home," billy volunteered. you furrowed your brow, "are you sure? i know its-"

"no, i want to walk you," he insisted. you nodded, smiling at him. "okay."

he pushed the door open for you. the sun was down, the sky a beautiful mix of purple and orange. you walked silently, side by side with the delivery boy, your hands interlocked. 

you didn't want to hide your feelings from him anymore. when you did, you felt that wormy feeling. but when you were with billy, it wasn't there. mrs showalter was right, he did look at you. he saw you. he saw the way your hair rounded over your head, the curve of your brow and the dip in your nose. he saw the way you looked away when you got shy, and the way you fidgeted and held your fingers, and the way you would flinch ever so slightly when he made contact with you. and he loved every part of it.

you saw billy, not just in the halls, or on the streets. you saw the corner of his lips twitching upward into a smile, the scars on his palms, the golden glow of his brown eyes. and you were attracted to him.

your house got closer, the slightly scratched up door in your line of sight as you walked beside billy on the sidewalk.

just say it.

you breathed. "i think i like you, billy." 

both of you kept walking. you didn't hear the quickened pace of his heartbeat, or see the growing hotness in his cheeks, or feel the slight sweatiness of his palms.

"i think i like you, too."

you stopped, your front door not even 15 yards away now. you turned to him, slowly. he looked at you, from the corner of his eye. you gave him a closed-mouth smile, to which he smiled back instinctively. a pure, genuine smile. both of you laughed slightly, your hands still interlocked. 

you felt weird now, like you had just taken multiple shots of pure caffeine. but you stayed in place, your knees threatening to give way as you and billy showalter stared at each other.

you slipped a hand into your pocket. "right, i, uh. i wanted to pay you back for, everything. i owed you," you told him awkwardly, holding out the crumpled dollar bills. he frowned at you, asking if you were sure, that it was really okay and you didn't have to pay him. 

you shook your head. "no, i want to. let me do this." you flipped his hand over, sliding the money in his hand. "so we're even now." 

he closed his hand around the money, a smile growing on his face. "yeah, we are." 

you averted your eyes bashfully, looking to the ground. his converse were almost touching yours, by an inch. you stepped back, a sweet, nervous look on your face.

"i'll see you, then?" you said unsteadily, backing towards your house.

billy nodded, shuffling his feet. "yeah. you bet." 

you grinned, your fingers wrapping around your doorknob. "okay. bye, billy." 

he raised his hand in response, watching you close the door, and standing there for a second before turning around and making way back to his house. all with a stupid smile on his face.

you stood behind the door for a while, rubbing your eyes and your warm cheeks. it felt like a dream. a really good dream.

you ran immediately to your room, ignoring the yelps of your dog and your parents greeting as you dialed donna's number with shaky hands.

you liked billy showalter, a lot.

_________

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...

What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.

What happens next?

Title: Eat the poor

Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university

Part 2

It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.

You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.

“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.

“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.

Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”

You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.

“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”

This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.

-------------------------------------------------------

After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.

In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?

“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.

“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.

Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.

“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.

“I knew you would come around, bunny.”

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 2 (Rowaelin)

Part 1

~Rowan~

Rowan didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

The only time that even came close was when he lost his first and only court case, but over the years he'd come to live with that.

This though?

This immature, childish, irritatingly clever woman... he had a feeling he'd carry the rage he felt against her until the day he finally died of it.

Although, if he was honest, his returning move had been a little childish, too.

He'd ordered one of the guards to strip her cell of everything except the chess set. Her mattress, the makeshift knife he shuddered to think she'd had in the same room as him, her pillow.

If she wanted to steal his shit, he'd steal hers, too.

He'd also had the guard move one of his pawns forward on the board.

Not the most creative, but he didn't have many options.

What did you take from a woman who had nothing? How did you punish someone who was already serving the longest punishment available?

The bank had seized her assets when she'd been locked up, and the lease on her apartment had long since run out. She didn't have any personal items with her, didn't seem to even care about anything besides making his life hell.

Case in point, when he got home that night, exhausted from dealing with Aelin and spending a long day at the office, he'd discovered her retaliation.

She'd stolen his bed.

The whole goddamn thing, frame and all.

How she'd managed to get it out of a penthouse condo with security not realizing a thing, he had no idea. He knew from experience it wouldn't even fit through the door.

It'd seemed if she was going to be uncomfortable, so was he.

Steaming with anger, he'd showered and flopped on the couch like an idiot, not even able to sleep thanks to the rage she'd worked him into.

She was completely kicking his ass. From the inside of a jail cell.

He hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep before giving up on even trying. At six, he'd dressed and driven to Whitehorn and Salvaterre, the law firm he was a partner at.

If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least figure out how the hell she was pulling this shit off.

Looking through her folder, he went through her daily schedule, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

Eight am wake-up, breakfast, shower, lunch, yard time, dinner, lights out at nine. Between activities, she worked out in her cell or read a book from the run-down prison library.

In the eight years she'd been in prison, she hadn't had a single visitor. Her cousin Aedion--a playboy Rowan couldn't be paid to associate with--delivered a care package on the first of every month.

Strange, considering nothing of the sort had been in her cell.

She'd been in solitary confinement ever since randomly attacking her cellmate a little over a month ago. She was still allowed yard time and meals with the other prisoners, but she was chained at all times.

Also strange, considering Aelin wasn't the type to do anything randomly.

Rowan watched the security tapes he'd strong armed the guards into giving him, going through the past few days to see how she'd gotten out of her cell to rob him.

He watched as she was escorted to the yard, watched as she ate breakfast and lunch and dinner alone, watched as she put herself through vigorous training in her cell.

Days of footage, and he didn't find anything.

Feeling like a bit of a creep, he watched the nighttime footage of her sleeping, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

She didn't move too much or too little--both of which would indicate it wasn't really her under that thin blanket. There were no attempts to pick the locks in between her wrists and ankles, no digging into the wall behind her toilet.

Nothing.

Which meant someone was helping her.

He could go through the official channels and ask the police for her known connections, but he hadn't reported either of the robberies yet.

Partly because he wanted to deal with her himself, partly because he felt a bit stupid getting robbed from a woman in the most secure prison in the city.

Which means he'd have to go about it a different way.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, he debated how else he could make her miserable, unfortunately finding nothing else he could do to her, no revenge he could get from robbing her tiny little cell.

No, he'd have to try something new.

Maybe he could bribe her into confessing. She didn't have anything right now, but maybe he could give her something to lose.

He'd bring her lunch, force himself to apologize for yelling at her, and just politely ask who her accomplice was.

He thought on it as he rode down the elevator to the garage. It probably wouldn't work, but he didn't know what else to do.

And besides, he knew from experience Aelin didn't respond well to his anger.

Checking his email to make sure he wasn't missing any important meetings, he pressed the button on his car fob, expecting to hear the resounding beep from his designated parking spot.

Except the beep never came.

Slowly looking up, Rowan had to amend his earlier statement.

Now he didn't think he'd ever been so pissed off in his life.

He stormed over to the security booth, hardly refraining from grabbing the man inside and throwing him to the ground.

"Where's my car, Rolland?"

"In your spot, boss," the stout little man replied instantly and surely, snapping his gum and looking at him in confusion. "Haven't seen you drive out yet."

"Yes, exactly. Which is why it's a mystery why it's no longer in it's spot."

Rolland caught up slowly. "You mean... it was stolen? From here? From you?"

Jaw so tight his molars were practically fused together, Rowan growled, "Just let me see the security tapes from this morning."

The guard nodded quickly, eyes nervous as he typed something into the desktop in front of him.

"That's weird," he muttered a moment later, typing faster and sending Rowan a nervous glance.

"What?" he asked, trying to calm himself down with a few of the breathing techniques he'd learned over the years.

"The tapes are gone, but there's... this."

Rolland turned the screen so Rowan could see it, and all the breathing in the world couldn't keep him from slamming a fist into the side of the security shack.

The footage was gone, and on the blank black screen read: Bishop to J7.

He was going to fucking kill her.

~Aelin~

"Enjoy your taxi ride here?" she asked sweetly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

Rowan scowled at her as he crossed the small room inmates could use to talk to their lawyers. He yanked the chair across from her out, then threw himself into it. "You are such a pain in my ass."

She just shrugged.

He sat across from her, angry and broody, and for a long time, he just stared at her.

Finally he asked, "Why are you doing this, Aelin?"

"I told you. You locked me up for something I didn't do. I want you to be as miserable as I am. It's simple, petty revenge."

Nothing about it was simple, but that was besides the point.

He was quiet for another moment. "Why now?"

She sighed, but she wasn't upset. Truthfully, she'd been waiting for him to ask that question.

"I want to tell you a story."

He stood up suddenly, face exasperated. "I'm not fucking joking around. And I'm not going to let you waste any more of my time."

He made his way to the door, and his dismissal of her pissed her off enough to say, "Sit down, or your car's going off Whigsby Bridge."

He smiled like he'd won their little game. "So you admit you have it."

"Sure," she said casually, honestly not giving a shit about the car.

His brow furrowed. "You're giving up? Just like that?"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think this is about your car, Rowan. But sure, I admit I know exactly where it, and your bed, and your little dagger are being hidden."

He narrowed his eyes. "This conversation is being recorded, and you just admitted to being an accessory to robbery, so-"

"You aren't going to press charges," she cut him off, pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it.

Nasty little prison habit she'd developed, smoking.

Or maybe she just did it because she knew he hated the smell.

"Oh, really?" he asked incredulously, eyeing the cigarette with disdain.

She grinned. "Once you sit and hear my story and realize I'm telling the truth, you're going to feel so guilty you won't even care about the car. Now sit down. I'd hate to see a classic get totaled because you're being stubborn again."

He glared at her, but came back to the table and sat down again.

Then reached over and snatched the cigarette from her lips, putting it out against the steel table top.

She just pulled out another, lighting it with one of her last matches. The irritation on his face made it worth the loss.

He waved a hand as if to say Get on with it.

She'd debated how to tell him this story for a long time. It was long, and messy and not particularly pleasant for her. But she wanted him to know the full thing, so she'd decided to start at the very beginning.

"My parents died when I was four," she began, ignoring his dramatic sigh. "I went into foster care, and as you can imagine, I was a particularly unruly child."

She smiled at the few memories she had. "I stole from the nuns, snuck out of my room at night and ran through the house, set all the clocks back an hour so we could sleep in. Small stuff. But it irritated them, because they couldn't prove it was me."

"Sounds familiar," he grouched, making her grin.

"I was adopted by Arobynn Hamel a year later."

As she'd predicted, his mouth fell open at that.

Arobynn was the known king of the underworld in Rifthold. He had a hand in every aspect of crime, yet no one could do anything about it because he never committed the crime himself.

His name was revered, so much so no one ever dared to cross him.

"But your record says-"

"That I stayed in foster care until I turned eighteen, I know."

Arobynn hated public records and had a deal with someone in the system that he'd take some of the kids off their hands if they kept quiet about it. Illegal as hell, but he wasn't someone you refused without suffering serious consequences.

It was the perfect crime. No one would miss unwanted kids, and it gave the system one less mouth to feed.

"I didn't know it, but he'd been watching me for a while. He... I don't know, saw something in me. Natural, innocent talent he could work with and turn into something different. He adopted me on my fifth birthday. And then he started training me."

"To do what?" Rowan asked, shoulders tensing.

"Everything," she answered with a shaky laugh, taking a long drag from her cigarette. "Stuff I wanted to learn, like how to pick a lock or walk without making sound. But as I got older, he taught me other stuff. Stuff I didn't want to know."

"How to kill," he finished, picking up on her tone.

She nodded, finishing her cigarette and flicking the butt on the floor.

"I was good," she told him quietly, looking down at the table. "By the time I was fifteen, he said I was the best he'd ever had. None of his other... children could beat me in a fight, not even the older ones who had a hundred pounds on me. And I could steal anything and not leave a trace."

His eyes didn't show an ounce of doubt, and she didn't know how to feel about it. But she kept going anyway.

"I was his favorite. I was his best asset, and I didn't care about anything that would compromise me. I lost my parents, and despite how much he wanted me to, I never loved him. I had no weaknesses. Except Sam."

"Another of his students?" Rowan asked, and it wasn't lost on her he said students instead of children.

She nodded. "We were adopted around the same time, grew up together. He was a year older, and whenever I had a problem, he was the one I'd turn to. He was good to me, and by the time I was seventeen, not a small part of me loved him."

Aelin broke off and took a deep breath, wishing she had another cigarette and trying to figure out how to put into words how much he'd meant to her.

"Was?" Rowan asked, so softly and quietly and understandingly that she was reminded of the man he'd once been, the one she'd loved.

Shaking her head to clear it, she said, "He made a mistake. He went on a job; he was supposed to break into one of the underground casino's owned by Arobynn's competitor and memorize the ledger, but he got caught. It was messy and horrible and stupid, and the owner wanted blood. Arobynn promised he'd kill Sam as retribution."

Rowan's eyes widened, almost like he hadn't realized how brutally she'd been raised until that moment.

"I begged him not to. Sam had saved me and helped me so many times that I couldn't not do the same for him. I told him I'd do anything."

She studied her hands, regret and guilt thick on her skin. "Arobynn said if I took ten of the jobs Sam was supposed to do, he wouldn't kill him. I thought they'd be similar to the one he'd messed up on, small break-ins or robberies. So I accepted."

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she batted it away as she continued, "The second I shook his hand, Tern--another of Arobynn's--shot Sam in the head."

Rowan's face blanched so quickly, she thought he might pass out.

He started to say something, but she spoke faster. "I... snapped. I killed Tern, tried to kill Arobynn. You called me a murderer, and that's true. I am, and I don't regret it. Tern was a sadistic bastard, and I'm glad he's dead. And one day, I'll kill Arobynn for what he did."

Rowan shook his head, confusion and shock and something similar to pity in his eyes. "Why didn't you leave, run away?"

She leveled a look at him. "I didn't exactly have a choice, Rowan. My punishment for Tern lasted for over a year."

There was a long pause.

"Punishment?" he asked in a breathless voice that made something in her chest hurt.

She looked at the table again, skin pebbling at the memory of that year. "He locked me in a cell in the basement, in the dark. Once a month he'd come in to ask if I knew someone named Sam. It took me ten months to get confused, another three to say no."

Still not meeting his eyes, she looked at his hands, noticing they were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. And a part of her, buried under all the rage and resentment and sadness, warmed at the thought that he was... he was angry for her.

"It took me a long time after to figure out what was real and what wasn't. But Arobynn never let me forget our deal. And right before I met you, he told me the first job."

"What were the jobs?"

Aelin looked back up at that, the air thick between them as she said, "You already know."

"The murders."

She nodded, somehow managing to keep her spine straight despite the feeling of a hundred pound weight being lifted from her shoulders.

He at least knows why now, she thought to herself.

It was one of the things that had bothered her over the years. That he didn't know why she'd done what he thought she'd done. That he thought she'd.. wanted to do it.

He was silent for a long time, just watching her with a carefully emotionless face. "Thank you for telling me that," he said eventually. "I never could understand why."

Then he stood and walked to the door again, and it was only when his hand was on the handle she spoke again. "You asked why I'm doing this, and why I'm doing it now."

He opened the door but paused. Waited.

"It's because I tried to tell you this all those years ago, and you didn't care. You just assumed I was guilty because the evidence looked like it."

She spoke around the lump in her throat. "I told you I didn't kill those people, Rowan, and you didn't even care."

He spun around, slamming the door so hard it rattled, and in a split second, he was in front of her. A hand on the table, the other on her chair, he leaned down and got in her face.

He was so angry, so unbelievably enraged she couldn't believe it. He was angry?

"I didn't care? I didn't fucking care, that's what you think? Watching you get dragged away in cuffs was the worst moment of my life, and you think I didn't fucking care?"

Shock hit her like a bucket of ice water.

That moment was crystal clear in her mind, and she couldn't put what he was saying with what she knew.

He'd watched her with that same expressionless face, with cold eyes that had haunted her ever since.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wasn't done.

"I fucked loved you! I thought you were the love of my life, Aelin. I begged you to tell me something that would help, tell me anything. But you didn't! You just kept saying you were innocent; you didn't give me anything to actually work with."

"I-"

"I found that stupid fucking list five days before I reported it, did you know that?"

She shook her head, because she hadn't.

"Exactly. You don't know what the hell you're talking about," he growled, eyes flashing. "I spent five days investigating it myself, trying to make sense of why you'd know those names. After your arrest, I spent two weeks trying to find anything, a single piece of evidence, that said it wasn't you. And after the trial, I spent another two months trying to poke holes in my own goddamn case."

He slammed a hand into the table. "I did everything I fucking could! I was desperate for it not to be you. I argued my case so your lawyer could plead circumstantial evidence. I put you on the stand so you could say anything you wanted. I went for life sentences instead of the death penalty to give you time to actually tell me what the hell was going on!"

She was breathing heavily, heart breaking and reforming over and over again at what he was saying, what he was implying.

"I didn't assume shit," he said in a low voice, so close they shared air. "You didn't tell me anything."

Aelin's voice trembled as she croaked, "I tried."

He shook his head, letting out a breath of amusement. "No, you didn't. If this past week has proven anything, it's that you don't try to do anything, you do it. You didn't tell me anything, Aelin. You're still not telling me anything."

"I'm telling you to look again! I'm telling you you didn't look hard enough, because I left breadcrumbs only you could find, breadcrumbs that explain everything."

"Stop playing games with me!" he shouted, eyes flashing with a fresh wave of anger. "It's been eight years! Stop holding onto whatever secret you're holding onto and just tell me!"

Gods, she wanted to.

He was the one person she couldn't trust with this secret, this stupid, most important secret, and yet he was the also the one person she wanted to tell it to.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but what came out was, "I didn't kill them, Rowan. I promise I didn't kill them. I can't... I can't tell you anything else."

"Jesus, Aelin," he spat, pushing off the table and turning to leave.

"Just look into it," she called after him, fingers digging into the table to resist the urge to try and follow him. "I promise you can figure everything out, and you'll understand everything. Please."

She knew why, after all this time, it was so important for him to know the truth when that hadn't been her original plan.

It was because she'd spent eight years believing he hadn't tried, believing she hadn't been a good enough person for him to even look into the possibility it wasn't her.

And maybe it was because he was once again leaving her, or maybe it was because she felt like she was in that courtroom again, begging him to believe her, or maybe it was because of something she didn't even understand yet.

Regardless of the reason, she found herself saying, "I loved you, too, you know."

He looked at her with sad eyes that she was sure mirrored her own and shook his head. "Not enough, apparently."

"You don't believe that," she argued, shaking her head and trying to keep the building emotions down.

"If you'd loved me, you would've told me. You would've given me the proof, whatever breadcrumbs you're talking about. You wouldn't have let me watch them take you away."

"Rowan-"

"You wouldn't have thought, for a second, that I didn't try to fight for you. And you sure as hell wouldn't have waited eight years to do whatever it is you're trying to do."

"I had to," she whispered, even as she knew it wouldn't be enough.

She shook with the effort to not tell him everything, but even after all he'd told her and how everything had changed, she just couldn't. Not yet.

He stood at the door, watching her with those eyes she'd once thought looked like the most beautiful emeralds. "Sometimes I think about it, you know. What life would be like if I hadn't tried to fix your sink in the middle of the night."

She smiled sadly. "Me too."

Rowan shook his head, gaze taking in her face like he thought he'd never see her again.

He thought it was over now, she realized. He thought that now she knew he hadn't given up on her immediately, now that she'd told him the story she'd wanted to tell him, that it was over and she'd give up.

"Look again," she whispered. "You know I didn't do it. It's why you're here, why you kept looking after the trial ended. You know I wouldn't."

"Goodbye, Aelin," he said instead, not telling her any of the things she really wanted to hear.

It wasn't until the door shut behind him she finally let herself cry.

She'd told herself that it didn't matter; that in a month the truth would come out and everything would be normal again.

She'd told herself she was only messing with Rowan for revenge, not because she wanted to see him again or test that he'd find the clues she'd left for him.

She'd told herself this was just a game.

She'd told herself all sorts of things that turned out to be lies.

~~~

Part 3

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.

[dynyamight]

bkdk … 12 ? ༼ つ ◕◡◕ ༽つ

12. “I think we need to talk."

The moment Bakugou opened the gym doors, and smelled rain in the air, he knew he had to book it back to the dorms.

Slamming his feet on the pavement floor, he forces himself to run out. His muscles ache all over, and his arms barely want to stay up, pumping at his side. But, he rather try and make his way to his room dry, than have a downpour soak him to his bones.

By the time he reaches to the safe, dry front steps of the dorm building, the rain finally begins. Lightly, the drops splatter slowly to the ground.

Catching his breath, Bakugou stops by the rails, holding onto one side as his muscles cramp. His thighs are burning, and his arms want to fall off entirely. But, he let's his mind focus on the pain.

He's had a rough fucking week, and for once, his mind was elsewhere.

“It’s starting to rain now, isn’t it.”

Bakugou jolts, quickly facing up to that familiar voice. That voice that haunts his dreams, ingrained deep into his mind. That voice that makes his heart race just a little quicker. That voice, from the one and only.

That forgetful nerd.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to spook you.’ Midoriya says quickly, offering an apologetic smile. He’s sitting on the front porch, holding onto a book close to his chest. “You probably thought you were the only one out here, right?”

“..You don’t have to apologize.” He breathes out. Despite the haywire of his nerves, exploding his insides, the words roll off his tongue easily. It's oddly the same phrase he's used each time they've met. "S'not like you personally screwed me over."

"Ah, my bad—"

"What did I just say."

“I—" Midoriya weakly chuckles, shaking his curls. "I guess I can't help it. I promise I won't forget.”

No matter how many times Bakugou hears that, it always sounds so genuine, so real. Rather than an empty promise. "I'll hold you to it, Deku." He mutters, regardless.

"What does that—" A light shines through Midoriya's gaze, and immediately he smiles. "Wait, you know what. I swear that's not the first time someone has said that to me. Deku."

Chills run down Bakugou’s spine. That's never happened. He's never slipped up. Fuck. “..Really?”

“Yeah, it sounds so familiar. But, I don’t remember exactly where I've heard it before.”

Both disappointment and relief flood his whole entire body. He doesn’t know what he would do if Midoriya would remember all his terrible attempts, though a part of him did yearn for recognition.

However, maybe it was for the best. Give them a fresh start, every time. Fucking hip hip hurray.

Hell, maybe this was the world's way of sending him all the karma that he has built up. It decided to pick the one person he deeply cares about, and make both of them suffer.

Bakugou looks back at the book Midoriya held, something in his mind reminding him about one of the first talks since the incident. “Is that Catch-22?” Bakugou asks, pointing it out.

It takes a moment for the question to visibly register through Midoriya's brain. But, when it does, Bakugou can tell by the way Midoriya’s eyes widen and the wide grin on his face that grows, “You've read it?”

“Nah, just heard about it. A lot.” He doesn’t need to explain himself further.

Leaving his seat off the bench, Midoriya rushes up to Bakugou’s face, eagerly leaning in. “I highly recommend it! It’s a literature masterpiece, the best of its genre!”

For a moment, Midoriya looks up to Bakugou’s gaze, eyes bright in interest. However, the next second, he looks away, with a feeble laugh as he scratches the side of his head nervously. “In my humble, personal opinion, of course..”

“What does it even mean?” Bakugou asks instead, holding tight to their conversation. He refuses to let it go for even a second. “Catch-22.”

“Oh. Uhh, the best way I can describe it,” Midoriya lifts his chin in thought. His gaze drifts up, as if he was wracking through his brain like it were a couple of shelves, “is that it's a dilemma from which someone cannot escape from, because of a set of contradictory rules.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Give an example. I’m too fucking tired to decipher whatever the fuck you just said.”

“Okay, okay!" Midoriya laughs, "It’s like job applications. How can you gain any experience for a job, unless you get a job that gives you experience?”

“Like, how in order to apply for a loan, you have to prove to the bank that you don’t need one?”

“Yes! Exactly that.”

“That shit has a name?”

“They’re hard to find, but even in everyday life, we can find ourselves in our own catch-22’s without realizing it! Isn’t that crazy? For all we know, life itself could be one!” Midoriya rambles, growing louder and louder, to the point Bakugou swears he can hear his voice echo.

Though, Bakugou doesn’t mind. This alone is possibly the most Midoriya has said to him, with all encounters combined.

Surprisingly, a blush forms over Midoriya’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to babble on like that.”

“How do you get someone to remember you,” Bakugou starts, before he can stop himself from asking, “when they keep forgetting who you are every time?”

Midoriya stares.

Quickly, Bakugou coughs, “Ain't that a catch-22?”

For a small moment, all he can hear is the rain, pattering down the pavement around them. But, then, Midoriya hums, tilting his head, lips pursed. “Yeah, it most definitely is. Though, I've never heard of that one, before.”

"Yeah well," Bakugou shoves his sweating hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “That’s the fucking dumpster fire I’m in.”

“With all respect, does your person have medical reasons why they keep forgetting?” Midoriya asks slowly, immediate concern filling his expression.

“Not that I know of." Bakugou admits, "But, I wouldn’t put it past them. Or, they might be plain stupid.”

“That's rude!" However, the accusation sounds fairly weak, when Midoriya's chuckling.

He feels the corners of his lips upturning. "What's 'rude' is the damn bastard not remembering anything, other than random, trivial shit." Bakugou huffs. "Which changes, daily."

"And, you say nothing works? Not even telling them?"

"Yeah. 'Cause they'll fucking forget the next day."

"Have they ever wrote about you?”

Bakugou does a double take. When did Midoriya ever— “Wrote about me?”

Nodding, Midoriya gestures behind him, to the backpack beside the bench. “Personally, I've been using lots of sticky notes, planners, and journals to jot down things I need to remember.”

“Again, my memory's a bit distorted, so in order to tell my future self what I need to know, I write it out for me to read, the next day. Maybe that’ll work for your person?”

Writing. So that the next Midoriya can read it and remember. “..Would it work, if I wrote it?"

Midoriya furrows his brows. "I think it would be better if the person wrote it out for themselves. You know, so that it helps to jog their memory."

Suppressing the immediate heart drop he feels in the pit of his stomach, Bakugou exhales a big sigh. "There's a lot of shit the fucker needs to remember. His purpose. His quirk. His dream. Lots of important shit."

"Why not start with you?" Midoriya smiles, reassuringly. "They're bound to have a diary entry all about you."

Immediately, Bakugou's irked. "I ain't writing material."

"I think you are. Good writing material." Midoriya confesses, never letting that dopey, wobbly smile drop, "I don't know your name, but everything about you is unforgettable, to say the least. I bet even someone like me will recognize you next time."

But, you don't. Bakugou thinks, feeling the tug at his heart tighten, choking him from the inside. You never do.

From the pocket of his gym shorts, Bakugou starts feeling his phone vibrate, before it rings. Despite that, Midoriya's jump causes him to be just as startled.

Rubbing a hand to his neck, Midoriya weakly chuckles, "Sad. We were just starting to get to know each other."

Bakugou doesn't respond.

'ALL MIGHT.' The caller ID states in bold letters.

"I gotta go." Bakugou states firmly, holding tightly around his phone. "I need to take this call."

Midoriya's smile fades, but quickly it's picked up. "Yeah, no worries. I've probably been keeping you outside for too long."

Bakugou curtly nods, "You have."

And yet, even when the ringing persists, loudly telling him to walk away, leave, he stays. Because, Midoriya just looks like he doesn't want him to go.

He doesn't want to go, either.

"I never got your name." Midoriya mentions quietly.

Why would I give it, if you won't even remember?

Yet, that freckled, doey eyed face Midoriya's got never brings out the rationale, spiteful side of him out. Because, no matter how many times he has to say it, he'll do it again, and again. In a heartbeat.

"Just call me Kacchan."

Visibly, Midoriya's taken aback. Though, with the phone call on its last few rings, he finally steps off to the side, giving Bakugou space to walk.

"I'll see you around then," Midoriya waves off to him, "Kacchan."

A personal hell. Bakugou's living his personal hell.

When he walks inside the dorm building, the emotions suddenly hit him hard. Every day, he has to keep putting up with this crap.

Midoriya greeting him, talking to him, and saying goodbye, like a damn fucking stranger.

It kills him, eating away at his brain, knowing Midoriya's unable to look at him, and see nothing, but a stranger staring back.

When looking at Midoriya meant the world to him.

With a swift thumb swipe, Bakugou slides the phone call open. He clears his throat. "What now old man."

"I think we need to talk." All Might's voice crackles. "Privately. The sooner, the better. It's about the quirk that's been affecting young Midoriya."

His entire body tenses, halting him still. "..What about it.."

All Might sighs, long and tired. "The authorities found some intel about the culprit behind the memory loss. And, well.."

"Well, what?" Bakugou snaps.

"Midoriya's in deeper trouble, than we thought."

[iphoenixrising]

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler. 

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read. 

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go. 

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat. 

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did. 

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.” 

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach. 

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses. 

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder. 

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand. 

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side. 

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice. 

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor. 

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out. 

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something. 

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding. 

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath. 

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night. 

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.” 

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this. 

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy. 

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something. 

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him. 

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan. 

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates. 

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly. 

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force. 

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways. 

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…” 

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. 

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change.  He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years. 

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind. 

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy. 

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while. 

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question. 

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own.  I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore. 

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.  

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s  experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months. 

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible. 

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth. 

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.” 

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit. 

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan. 

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years. 

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his. 

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

[kcarreras]

Underneath Tangerine Skies

Fandom: Outer Banks Pairing: JJ Maybank & Kiara Carerra Summary: Set after 2x10: JJ & Kie discuss the events of that day on the ship which leads to some emotional chat which naturally leads to them making out against a tree… you’re welcome.

The Pogues never had any real idea of the exact time whilst they were on the island, for obvious reasons, but on this occasion - with the sun sitting low in the sky, casting pink and orange hues out across the water - Kie’s best guess was that it was early evening. The temperature had begun to drop, humidity dissipating a little, making it easier to breathe.

She had been traipsing around the island for a while now, looking for JJ, when she cast her eyes up to the grassy embankment lined sporadically with trees ahead of her, where the solid ground of the island met the white sandy beach.

“Thank god,” she sighed in relief at the sight of him sitting at the foot of one of the bigger trees. His back was against the trunk, his knees bent and forearms resting on them, looking out across the water.

“JJ!” she called as she made her way over to him and up the sandy slope, but he didn’t seem to hear her over the sound of the lapping waves.

The waves against the shore was a sound they all seemed to find comforting - something familiar to remind them of their real island home - but JJ seemed to seek it out more often than the rest of them.

“Hellooo,” she sing-songed and JJ turned in her direction, a smile spreading out across his features as he noticed her approaching. Kie’s arms were held out either side of her to keep her balance, eyes focused on her feet as she sunk slightly into the soft sand of the slope with each step.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” Kie asked, trying desperately not to sound like an overprotective mother.

“Everyone’s looking for you. We were worried you’d been eaten by your ‘nemesis’”.

JJ raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

“The ‘Killer Island Lizard’, who else?” Kie clarified with a roll of her eyes as she dropped down next to him with a knowing grin, pulling her knees up to her chest to mirror his position as she dusted the sand from her hands.

On their second night on the island, JJ woke everyone up, jumping around and hollering in the dark about some huge lizard-like creature that had apparently crawled into their shelter. By the time they had fumbled around in a panic in the pitch black looking for one of the last remaining flare guns from the raft to use as a light, it had ‘disappeared’.

Once John B had swiftly yet gently smacked him round the back of the head for scaring the shit out of them all in the middle of the night, they tried to explain that it was probably nothing - just a figment of his imagination or a too-real nightmare. But JJ being JJ, he refused to accept all their rational responses. He’d of course began by naming it the most basic yet ridiculous name he could think of - hence the Killer Island Lizard - and had insisted that he sit up through the night and keep watch, determined to prove it was real. Every morning since, though, the Pogues had woken up to JJ passed out asleep at his “post” with his Swiss army knife still in-hand and - unsurprisingly - no evidence. It had kind of become a running joke.

“You know, you guys can laugh all you want, but I’ve seen it, with my own two eyes,” he began, his middle and index finger forming a ‘V’ as he gestured from his eyes to Kie’s. “All scale-y and fang-y and shit,” he finished with a dramatic shudder.

“Right,” Kie drawled with a roll of her eyes, knocking her shoulder into his.

“I’m just sayin’, don’t come crying to me when this little island retreat of ours turns into a low-budget remake of Planet of the Dinosaurs.”

“Planet of the Dinosaurs? Okay, first of all JJ, that’s not even a thing,” Kie replied, her signature ‘where did I even find these boys’ expression on her face, and JJ shrugged. “Second of all, if we have to compare your ridiculous lizard scenario to a movie, it’d be more like Jurassic Park.”

“Whatever,” he said, unbothered by her correction. “Doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cause luckily for you, I owe you one. Therefore, I promise to rescue you first before I come back for the others.” He proudly assured her, as if she needed it.

“Of course… and not that I’m complaining or anything, but what exactly have I done to deserve the top spot on JJ Maybank’s rescue list?” Kie asked, feigning flattery with a hand over her chest.

“I don’t know if you remember, Kie, but you jumped off a freakin’ cargo ship into the middle of the ocean to save my ass. I think you earned the top spot,” he replied.

“Well what kinda Pogue would I be if I’d just let your ass drown like that? Especially since you took the blunt end of that machete to the head defending me,” she said, her tone light. She was still smiling, but JJ saw something akin to guilt flash across her eyes as she spoke.

“Oh, so it was all to do with you maintaining your pogue rep, and nothing to do with how miserable you’d be without me around?” he asked, knocking her knee with his.

Kie’s smile faltered at the words “without me around”, and her gaze dropped from his face to her hands, which were hugging her knees as she fidgeted with her rings. She lifted her eyes for a second, looking out to the ocean ahead of them, vast and endless, and quickly blinked in an attempt to suppress the tears that stung at the corner of her eyes.

She took a deep breath, composing herself before speaking again.

“C’mon, we better get going before everyone thinks we really have been eaten by your stupid killer-lizard,” she said with a half-hearted laugh as she moved to her feet.

She had barely left the sand when JJ’s hand reached up and took a gentle hold of her wrist, causing her to land back down on the same spot with a soft thud.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, tipping his head forward to try and meet her eyes, but she was looking straight down into her lap.

“Kie, look at me for a second, would you?” he said, reaching across the short distance between them to tilt her chin up until her eyes met his.

She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were glassy and it looked like tears were threatening to spill. With one blink, one fell from each eye, running down her cheeks until she reached up and swiped her two hands across her face, capturing them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and it sounded so sincere that she was sure her heart actually cracked open a little.

“Nothing, it’s stupid,” she said, casting her eyes upwards to the sky, but she felt JJ’s gaze stay on her. “It’s just, we’ve been here, what? Like a week? And we still haven’t talked about it.”

“Talked about what?” he asked.

“About the ship, JJ. You almost died,” she said, as if he somehow wasn’t already aware.

“Yeah, I know, Kie, I was there,” he said with a humourless chuckle.

“No, JJ. You don’t get it,” she said, taking hold of one of his hands in hers. His eyes dropped down for a second in surprise to look, and her knuckles were pale with the pressure of her grip.

“When I looked over the side of that ship and you were face-down in the water, every instinct in my body told me to jump. So I did, without a second thought.” Kie said, her voice beginning to sound almost panicked, as if she was reliving it as she spoke.

“Kie, it’s okay. You don’t have to-” he tried to interrupt, but she had started and now she couldn’t stop.

“I held you up, and I tried not to panic, and I treaded that water until I felt like my lungs were going to burst.”

She was breathless, her words rushed, and JJ squeezed her hand that was still holding his.

“I don’t know how I did it, Jage. John B and Pope asked me how we didn’t go under, and I don’t know the answer. All I know is that it was never an option for me not to at least try. I mean, I can’t even imagine-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” JJ comforted her, pulling her into his side with the hand they had been holding. He sat back against the trunk of the tree, and she settled into the space beside him, her head resting where his chest met his shoulder. His arm went around her waist to hold her in place, and squeezed gently.

“You don’t have to imagine anything, alright? I’m here, you’re here, everyone’s good, Kie.”

Her hands gripped at the material of his tank, eyes closed as she tried to ground herself and slow her breath. After a few seconds, she felt the side of his head gently rest on the top of hers.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, until she felt JJ shift beside her. He lifted his head and turned at the waist until his body was facing hers.

“You know, when we were on the deck, and that guy was swinging the machete around?” he began, his eyes dropping to look straight down into Kie’s, and she nodded, staring back up at him. “He was behind you, and all I knew in that moment as I was running towards him was that I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as you were okay.”

“Jay-,” Ki tried to say, but he continued anyway.

“It was never an option for me not to try, either… because God know’s, Kie, I can’t imagine-”

Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she leaned up, her hand still gripping the front of his tank as she pulled him down toward her. Her mouth collided with his, then she pushed upward, JJ’s back pressing against the tree trunk behind them. They were still for a second, their lips pressed together, eyes closed and hearts pounding in sync against each other’s chests. Almost instantly, JJ’s hands came up to take hold of her face and then they were honest to God kissing.

It could have been seconds or minutes or hours, who knows, but suddenly she didn’t feel close enough and Kie turned herself more toward him, pushing up onto her knees before straddling his lap. They eventually broke apart, out of breath and eyes bright. Kie’s hands were knotted in the front of his shirt, and JJ’s had found their way to her hips. Her forehead was resting against his, both their breathing still laboured.

“This is a bad idea, right?” he asked, eyes still closed and his mouth inches from hers.

“For sure. Maybe the worst idea either of us has ever had,” Kie replied, but her mouth fell forward to meet his again, and she felt him tighten his grip on her hips before sliding his hands up her back beneath her shirt.

“Do you- wanna- stop?” he hesitantly questioned between kisses, and she shook her head silently, her mouth still against his as she rolled her hips. His mouth fell open for a second, a startled groan escaping, and Kie couldn’t help but pull away to smile against his mouth. In response, one of his hands went straight to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he pulled her mouth back to meet his, kissing her deeper before tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth. This time it was Kie that moaned into JJ’s mouth, and he grinned as her hand raked it’s way through his hair, pulling on it until he released her lip with a groan.

“Up,” she said, gesturing for him to raise his arms with a glassy-eyed smile. He did, and she took hold of the bottom of his tank and pulled it up over his head, throwing it down on the sand beside them. They were kissing again instantly, his hands squeezing her hips as her hands roamed over his bare chest, nails dragging and causing his skin to prickle with goosebumps. She smiled against his mouth, and he pulled back, his head resting against the tree as his hands came to rest on the smooth expanse of her thighs as she sat back on his lap.

“Fairs, fair,” he said, his eyes slowly dropping from her eyes to her chest and back again.

Kie rolled her eyes and smirked, crossing her arms over her stomach and pulling her shirt over her head, tossing it down on top of JJ’s. He smiled wide, eyes ablaze and biting his lip as he slid his hands up her thighs and back to her hips, pulling her forward so they were flush against each other.

She tried to ignore the eruption of goosebumps across her skin at the forefulness of the motion as he ran his fingers up and down the bare skin of her waist, setting her insides alight, and deflected with a question.

“You’ve seen me in a bikini a million times, what’s the big deal?” she asked, arms hooked loosely around his neck, fingers playing mindlessly with the ends of his messy hair.

“When a girl looks as hot as you in a bikini, it’s a big deal every time you see it,” he replied, leaning forward to catch her lips again but she leaned back, throwing a hand up covering his mouth, and he looked at her confused.

“Just any girl in a bikini, or…?” she asked with an exaggerated, quizzical look and he swatted her hand away pulling her to him by her wrist with a roll of his eyes, causing Kie to pull her bottom lip between her teeth to contain a laugh.

“Just you, dumbass. Now stop fishing for compliments and c’mere…” he said as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, all traces of her smile disappearing as her eyes fell closed at the sensation of his mouth against her skin. Her hips began moving against him again, and she wasn’t even aware she was doing it until his name started to fall from her mouth in breathy whispers. This only spurred JJ on, and he began pulling her hips downwards as she rolled them, increasing the pressure.

“Fuck,” she groaned, a little louder than she intended, when they hit a particularly good rhythm.

JJ had moved to the other side of her neck now, and Kie had tilted her head back to allow him more access. Her bottom lip was between her teeth in an attempt to stop any more outbursts that might get them caught.

JJ made his way back up her neck, along her jaw and to her lips, her name rolling off his tongue and into her mouth like a prayer.

Her hands, which were back in his hair at this point, pulled on a handful and he broke away from her breathless, eyes falling closed for a second before his head came to rest against the tree again.

He watched as her hands went behind her back to remove her bikini top, and he groaned, cursing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut as he brought his hands up to stop her.

“Whoa there, hold up,” he breathed.

“Wha- what’s wrong?” Kie asked breathlessly, confusion clouding her flushed face as she tried to catch her breath, her hand running through her long, dark hair.

“Nothing. It’s just…” he said, leaning forward and looking around in every direction, just to make sure no one had wandered nearby whilst they were… distracted.

“Jay, if you wanna stop, we can stop…” she said, suddenly feeling a little on display straddled across him, inches from his face and minus half their combined clothing.

“Are you kidding?” he said with a laugh, his eyebrows raised incredulously. “Fuck no, I don’t wanna stop. It’s just, we’re gonna have to stop eventually because we can’t… y’know, here…” he said, making all sorts of expressions and gestures to get his point across. Kie hummed, one eyebrow raised as she deliberately kept her face dead-pan, enjoying watching him squirm.  

“…not that I’m assuming that this was going to lead to that, but - shit. You know what I mean, right? Please tell me you know what I mean,” and a smile broke out across Kie’s face as her head fell forward with a laugh, forehead coming to rest on his gently for a second before sitting back to look at him.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re finding this so funny.” JJ said, his head falling back against the tree, eyes closed and hands dragging down his face.

“I’m sorry,” she started, pressing a hand affectionately to his chest, still laughing. “I just never imagined this scenario playing out with you being the sensible one.”

JJ lifted his head from against the tree, opening one eye curiously.

“But you have imagined it?” He replied with a grin that made him look far too pleased with himself, and Kie gave a gentle push at his chest with a light-hearted roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, well, here I am, being sensible,” he groaned, sitting up straighter against the tree. “Excellent timing as always, JJ,” he muttered under his breath to himself.

“Anyway, the point is, if you do that,” he said, gesturing to the bikini top she had been about to remove, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna have a problem that’s a little difficult to solve with 5 other people around 24/7.”

“My bad,” she conceded, holding her hands up in surrender before leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth. She settled back in his lap, a little further down his legs to allow him some space to… regroup. She dropped her hands into her lap with a huff as they looked at each other.

“Sooo,” she said, “What do we do now?”

“Excellent question, Kie. I think we start with you putting this back on,” he said, reaching for her shirt and handing it to her. “‘Cause I’m not gonna be able to stand up until you do.”

She laughed with a shake of her head, pulling her top back on and holding her arms out in a “tah-dah” like gesture.

“Better?” she asked, removing herself from his lap altogether and standing with one foot either side of his legs. She extended her hands down to him to help him up.

“Much,” he groaned, taking hold of her outstretched hands, getting to his feet with a huff.

“Okay,” Kie said with a determined sigh. “I’ll go back first, you follow in a few minutes, got it?”

“Got it,” he said, scooping his tank up from the sand and shaking it off, before pulling it over his head.

Kie nodded, but as she turned to walk away, she felt him take hold of her wrist and pull.

“JJ!” she laughed as she stumbled back towards him.

He caught her from behind with his arms around her waist, and pressed kisses into her neck and shoulder, grazing the skin with his lips and teeth.

“Jay,” she protested weakly, tilting her head back and to the side to let him carry on up to the shell of her ear.

“What?” he questioned with fake innocence, his hands pulling at her hips as he pressed up behind her, and she half-laughed, half-groaned.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop,” she reminded him, and she turned in his arms until they were facing each other. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, nails scratching gently at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind,” he backtracked as he turned them round, her back hitting the tree he’d been leaning against earlier. The bark dug into the exposed skin of her back and shoulders, and suddenly she was grateful just to have pressure against any part of her body.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kie said as his mouth came back down on hers. She tried to keep her lips pressed together in protest, but then his knee found it’s way between hers, pushing them apart as his thigh came to rest between her legs.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he quipped against her mouth with a grin, nipping at her lip for entry.

“Not gonna happen, you had your chance,” she asserted teasingly between chaste kisses, and she felt his smile widen before he pushed his leg forward and up between hers. Her mouth fell open on instinct, a moan escaping involuntarily from the back of her throat. JJ’s tongue dipped in immediately, and suddenly they were back in a frenzy of hands and tongues and laboured breaths.

By comparison, JJ kept the movement of his leg that was still between hers steady and slow, but before long Kie’s hips were moving erratically on their own against him.

“JJ, fuck,” she groaned into his mouth, her teeth coming down around his bottom lip and he hummed in agreement.

His hands were roaming the bare skin under her shirt again, and he wished more than anything he hadn’t told her to put it back on.

He dropped a hand to her hip, then carried on down the smooth, bare skin of her thigh until he reached the back of her knee. She whimpered as he hiked it up to rest against his waist and her head fell back against the tree as the pressure he was applying between her legs hit a new spot.

“Oh my god, Jay - fuck, that feels so good,” she was practically panting, eyes squeezed shut and her grip digging into his shoulders to hold herself upright.

JJ knew he was asking for trouble with this, there was no way they could risk taking it as far as they both clearly wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop when she was begging him not to.

“Please don’t stop, JJ, please,” she pleaded breathlessly against his mouth, but to be honest she was doing most of the work, he was just along for the ride. Nevertheless, he responded by kissing her deeper, his grip on her solid and unfaltering, until…

“JJ! Kie!” John B’s voice called from down the beach, and JJ all but dropped her on her ass.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, arm swooping to catch her as her feet hit the ground.

“What do we do? What do we say?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

“Just - just say we got lost?” Kie suggested, still breathless and bracing herself against the tree, with an enthusiastic nod of her head.

“Lost?” he repeated, “A half mile along the beach in a straight line?!” He whisper-shouted in response.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me!” she replied, also in a shouted whisper. “I was ready to leave five whole minutes ago, until you pulled me back,”

“Yeah, for the best 5 minutes of your life,” he countered and Kie scoffed. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

Kie shot him an irritated glare before responding in an even lower tone as John B got closer.

“Well, since you’re clearly a man of so many talents, why don’t you think of an excuse for what we’re doing out here on our own?”

“JJ! Kie! Please tell me you guys are alive?” John B’s voice came again, and JJ cast his gaze upwards for a second, muttering curses under his breath, until he spotted something. His eyes dropped back to meet Kie’s with a grin.

“What?” she mouthed to him with a shrug, too scared to use actual words in case John B rumbled them.

JJ began scaling the tree they’d been sitting under, and when Kie looked up, she saw it too.

Mangos.

JJ began plucking them from the branches and tossing them down one at a time to Kie.

“Over here, bro!” JJ called out to John B, and a minute or so later he appeared.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” he asked, as JJ clambered back down from the tree.

He turned to Kie, throwing his arms up. “Kie, you left ages ago.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t find dumbass here,” she explained, lazily throwing an arm in JJ’s direction, who was currently too busy trying to balance an obscene amount of mangos in his arms to acknowledge the insult.

“Then on the way back we saw the tree, so we thought we’d just collect some fruit for everyone.”

John B looked at her sceptically.

“Look, John B, it’s no big deal. We’re fine. Let’s just get these back to camp,” she said, gesturing to the remaining mangos scattered across the grassy embankment.

“Sure, okay. Whatever,” John B replied, holding his hands up in defeat before crouching down to collect the fruit.

The three of them made their way back to camp in comfortable conversation, and were greeted by a lot of sarcastic “oh, so they are alive” (Sarah) and “we thought you guys had decided just to swim back to the mainland” (Pope) comments directed at their unexplained absence from the group. They soon became distracted once they noticed the fruit, and before long their escapade was forgotten by the rest of the group and no one questioned it further.

As they all sat round the fire later that night having dinner (fish cooked on a stick over the fire, the usual), Kie and JJ sat together like always, only now they seemed hyper aware of each other. Everytime their knees brushed, or their shoulders bumped, they couldn’t help but steal a glance at each other.

Once everyone had settled under the make-shift shelter at the end of the night, they lay in silence, waiting for the rest to fall asleep before JJ rolled over and wrapped an arm around Kie’s waist, pulling her flush against him and burying his face in her neck.