#i almost just fucked you anyway right then & there for even saying it

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?” 

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on. 

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless. 

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile. 

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

[redwinelew]

knee socks | lewis hamilton

summary | singer!y/n released a song which exposes lewis' lack of attention toward her in their relationship and he isn't too pleased with it.

warnings | 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, vaginal sex, dirty talk, lewis being a little mean, english is not my first language, pls lmk what else i missed

author's note | i have nothing to post rn and this has been sitting in my drafts so weeks so here you go. lmk if u guys enjoy this and if u want me to write more written fics.

lewis is a private man, he made that clear all throughout his life, since the first world championship trophy was handed to him, the moments everybody's eyes in the world started to set on him, following his every move, to this day. he doesn't like channeling his personal matters to the public. sure there are a lot of people who'd be interested to know, journalists who would sell their souls for an exclusive interview with him, but nothing can make him give up his peace anymore. he had his moments when he was younger. everything was open to interpretation for the media and fans. but as he gets older, things changed. private life should stay private.

you are a musician. and it's risky, dating a musician. he's seen it. he's been with one, and he is one. he thought he already knew, he thought he understood what he was getting himself back into. you are different from his ex. you make your own music, write your own songs, not afraid to be vulnerable through your art, never care however fans and media are going to interpret them. they'll never know the truth. it's none of their business anyway. he doesn't regret dating you, though. nothing could make him regret being with you. he wouldn't trade it even for his 8th championship.

but deep down, lewis knows this day will come. where a little inconvenience happens in your relationship was enough to set you off completely. the day where you stopped listening to the logical part of your brain and follow your heart instead. the day you pissed off enough to finally say fuck it.

in your defense, you were so caught up in your feelings. part of you also honestly didn't care. you are a singer, a musician, as much as he is. this is how you express yourself. he should have known that by now. if he didn't want the whole world to know how fucking busy he is with the race season to the point where he never spent time with you anymore, he should have pay more attention to you.

you would have argued with that if only you could form a single coherent sentence right now. but all you could say was—

"please...."

do not ask how long has this been going on. he could lie and say hours and you'll believe it. he could ask you to do anything and you'll obey. it's not like you have a choice. if it pleases him, if it will somehow get you the release you have been desperately craving, fucking hell, you'll do it. that's how it is right now. you, half naked on the bed. pants discarded somewhere on the carpeted bedroom floor. panties gone to fuck knows where. his old band t-shirt that you're wearing is pushed up, exposing your belly and almost your chest.

him? in between your legs. inked hands holding your thighs open for his tongue to explore your folds in every way he knows, drawing all kinds of sounds out of you, pushing you to the edge again and again but not quite giving you the release you've been desperately needing. not after what you said about him in the song, no.

a whine escapes your lips yet again when he pulls himself off of you just as you're about to reach another peak. he looks up, a smirk decorating his face as his tongue licks your arousal from his thick lips.

bastard.

"i didn't ask you to beg." he replies calmly, caressing your inner thigh all the way up to your knee, making you almost jerk up at the slightest of his touch.

of course he is calm. he's enjoying this. torturing you. driving you insane. god how you wish the tables are turn right now. how you wish that you have the energy to flip the two of you and get your revenge on him, showing him how it feels to be in your shoes. he'd be worse than you are right now. you can say that confidently because you've seen it. some rare moments where he handed over the control to you, letting you take charge in bed and do whatever you wanted to him. easiest way to say, he was a mess.

"you're not being fair—" was instead all you could say in such a pathetic tone that even you did not recognize yourself.

"i wasn't planning to be."

your pussy clenches around nothing at the casualness of his reply. your mind is pissed at him for ruining your orgasms but your body couldn't help but craving for his touch. you've seen the dominance side of him almost every night and yet the calmness that he's radiating right now even though you know how angry he is at you and your song is enough to send shivers down your spine.

there's something about lewis being angry and yet not completely showing it.

it turns you on even more.

"tell me what i want to hear first." he demands, his thick digits rubbing your bundle of nerves. your back arches into his touch. your eyelids flutter, broken moans fall from your lips.

the pleasure didn't last long. a soft, frustrated sigh leaves you as do his fingers from your clit. just when you were going to try catching your breath, he plunges two fingers inside without warning.

"fuck— oh my god—"

he hovers above you, eyes never leaving your face, watching your every reaction, the way your jaw hangs low. the thickness of his digits makes you feel so full already, you couldn't form neither words nor sounds.

"fuck, fuck—" and when he moves his fingers, you already saw heaven. the wet squelching sound from your arousal is so sinful it almost made you feel embarrassed at how wet you still are even after having your pleasure punished by him. your hand reaches up to his free arm near your head, clinging to him for support. your nails dig deep into his inked skin, drawing a silent hiss from him.

"come on," he says again. "tell me what i want to hear."

this might be it. he's fingering you with passion, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making your legs tremble. he never half-assed anything in his life, especially when it comes to your pleasure but something tells you that maybe this is when he thinks that you have had your lesson and it's time you give you that release. he just loves you that much. and you always get what you want.

"n-no." you stutter in defiance.

he smirks again. your denial only makes this more fun for him, which is apparent in the way his fingers move rougher and faster right now. and you notice how his other digits are avoiding your clit, making it a little harder for you to reach another peak.

"four orgasms denied and you still wanna be stubborn?"

only four? it felt like hundreds, you manage to think to yourself despite how hazy your mind feels right now.

"please...." you croak out, and that's how far you'll beg for his forgiveness.

but he's not satisfied. he pulls out his fingers, and you would have groaned if you could even speak right now.

"no...."

"don't worry, sweetie," he cuts you off surprisingly, sitting up straight again. you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he lines up the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing your folds slightly. you feel as if air has been knocked out of your lungs. you didn't even think that this was a possibility tonight, to be fucked by him. to feel his thick cock inside you. genuinely you thought he would leave you high and dry, though it's very unlikely for him. but still. he could truly be that cruel when he wants to.

"i'll make you come if that's what you wanted so badly. but only on my cock. and i'll make you come again and again until i finally get my apology."

you swallow thickly.

that is certainly a promise.

[hiiikiko]

𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖊𝖇

[6: nerds and jocks]

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

tlou m.list | series m.list

spider-man!ellie x reader

synopsis: guess who’s back?! wait…. actually.. god no

“Ellie, I already told you to fuck of—.”

“Who’s Ellie?”

Mother fucking hell.

“Abby, what the hell are you doing here,” you furrow your brows and pinch your nose bridge, not in any mood to deal with her.

“That anyway to greet your favourite ex?” she teases, putting her hands up in mock surrender.

“Seriously, just tell me.”

Abby smirks, “Can I come inside first?”

You knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so you reluctantly make room for her to enter.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

ELLIE’S POV:

What the fuck was she doing with Abby? Why was Abby at her fucking door?! Actually, what am I doing here?? Why did I think I even stood a chance with her, of course, she’d choose that stupid fucking rich jock.. Ugh, I’m such a fucking loser..

Ellie scoffs as she gazes at your apartment from the building across yours, I can’t watch this bullshit anymore, I should get going.

Ellie swings off the roof and heads back to her place, muttering to herself, “Can’t believe I was going to tell her about this stupid power.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

She smiles and sits down on your couch, “Came here to ask if you’d go to that Winter Ball thing with me.”

You had totally forgotten all about the Snowflake Ball, a shitty fundraiser banquet hosted by Abby’s parents along with the rest of the city council.. you had gone every year since you were about 12.

“Shit, totally forgot about that,” you groan, “but the answer is no,” you lead her to the door, gesturing for her to leave which she comply with.

Abby narrows her brows at you, “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no as in I’m not going,” you begin to shut the door.

Abby puts her hand on the door, “What do you mean you’re not going.”

You groan, “I mean that my presence will not exist in that vicinity.”

She rolls her eyes, “Well, I knew what you meant but—.”

“Good night, Abby,” you smile a sickeningly sweet smile and shut the door.

You felt a little bad about being so blunt but, come on, there’s no way Abby would’ve taken a hint.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next day, you woke up with a headache, there was no way that you could make it through today without a coffee, especially since you woke up to a flurry of messages from Abby and… your father… that can wait till later, right? Coffee first.

You head across the street and grab a quick drink then hail a cab, today you had a photoshoot… with Ellie… that is if she didn’t cancel again.

You sigh and lean your head against the window, watching the towering buildings pass by, hoping to catch a flicker of red and blue.

“Finally, you’re here,” Markus, your stylist and designer, cries dramatically as you enter his studio, his voice almost too high for your headache, “God, you look like hell.. well, I suppose nothing a little concealer and blush can’t fix.”

“Good morning to you too, Marky,” you roll your eyes and toss your scarf and sweater off, taking a seat on a nearby chair while the makeup artist Andy prepped his tools, “So, what kind of shoot are we doing this morning?”

Markus beams widely, “I’m going for uptown girl but if she were a downtown girl with a hint of espresso and some indie undertones but not leaving out a hint of city pop.”

Wow.

You just smile and nod, something you had grown used to.

“So… just Andy, Leoné (the photographer), you, and me today?” you quirk your brow as Andy begins to apply concealer to your dark circles.

“Yeah..” well, shit, “oh, but that scrawny white girl is coming to, uh, Ellen?” he says as he flips through his look book.

You try to suppress an ‘oh’ expression so you just nod, “Ellie, you mean.”

“Whatever, Ellen sounds better anyway.”

You roll your eyes and laugh a bit.

As soon as you’re done being prepped, Markus practically shoves an outfit into your chest and throws you into a closet to get changed, warning you over and over to not ‘force’ anything.

The dress fits, just needing a few alterations which Markus quickly fixes with a few clothes pins and stitches.

“Perfect,” he claps and shoos you off to the set which is the next room over, he decided to use the brick wall of the old building and a simple stool.. you didn’t really understand what he was going for but I mean, as long as you got paid, right?

Leoné greets you as you come into his cameras view, “Hello, Y/n.”

“Leo,” you smile and take a seat on the stool as Markus adjusts your hair and the way the dress falls around you.

Your eyes dart past Leo and land on ‘Ellen,’ who’s fiddling with the lights and making sure everything is plugged in.

You try your best to stay mad at her, not wanting to forget how she had made you feel like shit last night and how she seemingly likes to play with your feelings.. but it was hard when she looked so adorable clumsily messing with the camera lenses, her hands a little shaky under Leoné’s critical eye.

You giggle softly and rest your chin in the palm of your hand, tilting your head a bit to show more of your neck and the dresses straps while your hair fell to the side.

“Good, good,” Leo yelled, using his hands for emphasis as he snapped picture after picture of you, directing you with his sharp words and gestures.

You could feel Ellie’s eyes locked on you, you couldn’t tell if it was because you were the subject of today’s shoot or something else..

After the shoot, you’re allowed to change back into your clothes. You walk over to Markus and thank him again for giving you this shoot.

Making your way out of the studio is such a relief, the studio was hot from the lights and equipment. Before hailing a taxi, you just lean against the brick wall of the building and take a few deep breaths.

“Hey,” Ellie says softly.

Your eyes snap open and you look up to Ellie who’s leaning against the railing of the stairs, her eyes fixated on your form below her.

“Hi,” you mutter and push yourself off the wall and make your way to the edge of the sidewalk, clearing your throat to hail a taxi.

Ellie scoffs and follows you, “So, you and Abby back together?”

“What?” you furrow your brows and look back.

“You heard me, are you and Anderson back together?” she crosses her arms and looks at you, though it seems she’s staring right through you and into your soul, making you feel a little uneasy and shift your feet.

“What the hell? No, of course not,” you scoff.

“So what was she doing at your apartment last night?”

“H-How did you know she came over?” your eyes widen a bit.

“I-I saw her go into the building when I was leaving.”

Bullshit.

You scoff, “You’re such a shitty liar!”

Ellie’s eyes widen, she actually thinks that maybe you’re the one with spidey sense for a second, “What? No, I’m not! I’m a great liar!”

You fold your arms, giving a look that screamed ‘really?’

She quickly pushes her glasses back up her nose bridge, a nervous tic you think, “I-I mean, I’d be a great liar.. if i were one, that is..”

You can’t help but laugh a bit but quickly resume your angry expression.

“Are you stalking me, or something?”

“What? No, of course not, I’d never do something like that.”

“I don’t believe you,” you scoff and make your way back to the street.

“Why not!”

You spin on your heel, “I don’t know, maybe because you somehow know my place of work? Know who comes over to my place? Somehow show up wherever I’m at? Need I say more?”

“I-I.. I can explain..” she sighs defeatedly.

“Do tell.”

Then her phone rings, “C-Can I tell you later? I gotta take this.”

You sigh, “Whatever.”

She gives you a sorry look and quickly runs to her truck, disappearing into the sea of cars.

“I can’t stand her,” you scoff.

Maybe going to the ball with Abby wasn’t such a bad idea.. I mean, at least Abby had some rep.. even if she could be such a boneheaded jock.. and so what if you like Ellie, she’s kind of nerdy.. and sweet… and a complete fucking idiot.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

ELLIE’S POV:

“Fuckin’ Jesse!” she mutters as she turns the key in the ignition, “Why did he have to call now of all times, it better be fuckin’ urgent.”

Ellie tried to play it off but there was something in the pit of her stomach telling her that something was gravely wrong..

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

tags: @elliecoochieeater @wavesgocrash @g3latin @elliesflowersblog @usuck @elliessweetheart @miss-chananandler-bong @lvlymicha @prettywhnyoucry @g0d-wont-let-me-die @errorlovernotfound99 @thatgiraffefromtlou @ilovewomenfr @abbyswh0r3

[bbearthyy]

JJ and John B have shared everything since they were 8

~~~

this is just a lil something i was thinking about this morning and figured i could write to ring in the new year. it’s kinda short sorry😭

Smut!!! MDNI

they’d figured it out very quickly - how to share things. john b shared with jj because he could, jj shared with john b because he had to. they both knew this and were perfectly fine with it.

the first time jj slept over at the chateau they shared the bed. jj was supposed to sleep on the couch but there was a thunderstorm roaring outside, and the noise terrified him. jj poked his head into john b’s room seeking comfort and before he knew it he was waking up, cuddled so closely to john b in his small twin bed that it was hard for them to decipher where one ended and the other began. it became instinct at that point. every morning that they woke up together (which was almost every morning, as long as jj snuck back into his home before his dad awoke) john b would give jj his clothes to wear, and jj would give john b a hat to borrow. they shared a plate at breakfast when food was low, shared toothpaste, and of course all of john bs toys were jjs as well. and as they grew older they shared bigger things, such as their vehicles, beers, their surf boards, girls.

so it should come as no surprise that they had to share you. john b never understood how jj bagged a girl as pretty as you, but he couldn’t think too much on it right now. couldn’t think at all really. your back was pressed against his chest, arm reached behind you to jerk him off. your legs were spread wide, jj’s strong hands pinning your thighs to the bed as he ate you like a man starved. you didn’t think he could get any deeper, but john b reached out anyways, placing a firm hand on the back of jjs head and pushing, forcing jj to press even further into you. you wanted to pull away, worried that the blonde couldn’t breathe, but by the time you could grasp a coherent thought you were cumming. your juices spilled all over jjs face, meanwhile john bs hand kept him pressed into you, giving the blonde no where to go, not that he would’ve pulled away if he could. your hand kept stroking john bs thick cock even as your orgasm rushed through you, and he soon was cumming too, release spilling over your back. it was lucky your long hair was pulled up into an updo, otherwise it would’ve been ruined by john bs massive load.

you were still awake, fighting the aftershocks of your orgasm, but your eyes were fluttering shut. jj took note of this once he was able to pull back from your center, reaching a hand up to swiftly but gently tap the side of your face. “hey,” he mumbled, “don’t forget about me sweet girl. papa j needs some loving too.” he sealed the deal with a kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue before he pulled away. you giggled at his words, body going lax as he picked you up, laying you back onto the bed on your stomach beside john b. jj spread your legs, squeezing your thighs as a silent way of saying keep them open. john b laid down beside you, hand gently caressing your cheek and murmuring words of praise as jj stripped out of his shorts. your eyes had closed once more, relaxing under john bs gentle touch and kind words, but abruptly snapped right back open. jj has his thick cock in his hand, smacking the heavy tip against your clit. you moaned out, making the blonde chuckle. “oh baby,” he began, “i haven’t even done anything yet.” but it didn’t matter. because then he was reaching up with his other hand to grab your hip, the hand on his cock pushing it forward, forcing his way into your gummy walls. “fuck mama,” jj panted out, clearly wanting to say more but being unable to after feeling your wetness around him. the blonde began moving immediately, heavy sack smacking against your clit with every thrust. you were soaked, arousal spilling out all over jjs cock. his eyes rolled back into his head, hips slamming harder into yours. john b reached out, grabbing onto jjs hand to pull the boy back into reality. the blonde smiled gratefully, looking at his best friend, before his head turned towards yours. “‘m gonna fucking ruin you.”

[1425fivefive]

10 Landoscar

body worship for landoscar! this is unabashed small dick worship 🥰 (for the kink prompt asks)

“Oh,” Lando breathes, eyes fixed on Oscar’s dick.

Oscar flushes, has to shove his hands under his thighs to stop himself from covering it. He knows how it looks, his dick almost comically small between his thick thighs, resting on the neat little package of his balls. He wonders if Lando thinks he’s soft. It’s happened before with girls and it’s—yeah. It’s not Oscar’s favorite thing in the world, having to break the news that this is all there is.

“You don’t—you can be mean about it, if you want,” Oscar says flatly, staring at a point above Lando’s head. It’s better when he doesn’t look at their faces, when he doesn’t have to see the barely-disguised disappointment.

At the edge of his vision, he sees Lando’s brows furrow, nose scrunching. “Why would I be mean about it?” Lando asks.

“It’s just—” Oscar takes a shaky breath and tips his head back, trying to exist somewhere outside of his body. “Some people, uh, enjoy that sort of thing.” He feels pressure building behind his eyes and squeezes them shut. “All it’s good for, anyways,” he grits out.

Oscar feels a palm on his thigh, a thumb brushing over his skin. Lando’s familiar voice saying, “Osc.”

Oscar forces himself to open his eyes. Lando’s staring up at him, something that looks like—like pity on Lando’s face. And that’s worse Oscar thinks, worse than if Lando was just fucking mean about it.

Oscar yanks a hand out from under his thighs, meaning to cover his dick, tell Lando to get the fuck out of his hotel room, Maybe find some bloke on Grindr and send him pictures of his dick instead, have him tell him how fucking tiny it is, how useless, how embarrassing. Shove his face into a pillow and rub himself off against the sheets until he’s crying.

But Lando catches Oscar’s wrist before Oscar can hide himself.

“Osc,” Lando says, voice soft. The nickname in this context makes Oscar want to sob. “Do you want me to be mean about it?” Lando asks.

Oscar doesn’t know what he wants. He gets off when people are mean about it, but it never makes him feel good, exactly. Makes him feel sort of used and gross, a tight knot of shame settling in the pit of his stomach.

But it’s either that or having people ignore his dick entirely and he fucking hates that, makes him feel even worse, like it’s so humiliating people can’t even look at it straight on. When he asks people to be mean about it, it sort of feels like he’s in on the joke. Like he’s acknowledging how embarrassing it is before someone else can do it without his permission.

It’s always—there’s never been any other option.

“What if I wanted to be nice about it?” Lando asks.

Oscar barks out a laugh. It feels like Lando’s making fun of him, like Lando has to be taking the piss. There’s nothing—what’s there to be nice about?

But Lando’s looking up at him, his expression devastatingly earnest, like he doesn’t understand why Oscar’s laughing, and Oscar realizes he’s serious.

“If you’re doing this because you, like, pity me or something,” Oscar says, cringing when his voice shakes like he’s about to cry, “I don’t—not really interested in that, mate.”

“No, it’s not—” Lando trails off, eyes cutting away. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, the tender skin underneath his eyes flushing pink. But he flashes his eyes up to Oscar’s again and says, “It’s ‘cause, like, I think it’s hot.”

Oscar hears himself make an awful sound, something that could probably be called a whimper.

Lando’s flush deepens. When Oscar glances down at Lando’s briefs, he’s stunned to see Lando’s hard. That Lando’s maybe telling the truth. That maybe he—

Oscar’s gone slightly soft from the stress of their conversation, but the realization that Lando likes it has Oscar’s dick hardening, a bead of wetness forming at the tip.

“Jesus,” Lando groans. He’s staring right at Oscar’s dick and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s imagining— “Can I?” Lando whispers, staring openly at Oscar’s dick. “Osc, please, let me—” He trails off, eyes flicking up to Oscar’s, and he looks—he looks fucking desperate. Like he might die if Oscar tells him no.

Oscar doesn’t want to tell him no.

“Yeah,” Oscar says shakily, spreading his thighs. “Yeah, I—yeah.”

Lando doesn’t say anything more, just moans and leans forward, dragging his tongue over the head of Oscar’s dick, eyes fluttering as he licks up the wetness there.

Oscar thinks for a moment that he might come just from that, just from the shock of seeing the blissed-out expression Lando gets when he tastes Oscar’s pre-come. But he manages to hang on, manages to watch Lando wrap his lips around Oscar’s cock and suck, cheeks hollowing.

“Fuck,” Oscar gasps, hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms. “Fuck, that’s—”

Lando moans and drags his tongue over the head of Oscar’s dick while he sucks, and it’s—Oscar feels like he’s shaking out of his skin, like he’s having his dick sucked for the first time. Plenty of people have sucked his dick before, but no one’s ever looked like Lando, like they’re having a fucking religious experience or something.

“Christ, Lando,” Oscar moans. He can’t look away, feels like he’s trying to commit the sight of Lando on his knees to memory, like he wants to take a picture of it, look at it every time he feels nauseous at the sight of his little dick.

Lando’s hand’s still wrapped around Oscar’s wrist and Lando tugs Oscar’s hand to his hair, letting out a content hum when Oscar slides his fingers into Lando’s curls, Lando’s eyes sliding half-shut as he licks and sucks at Oscar’s cock. Lando stuffs his newly-free hand down his briefs, stroking himself rough and fast, moaning desperately around Oscar’s cock.

“Oh my god,” Oscar groans, fingers tightening in Lando’s hair, pushing a whimper out of Lando. “You like it.”

Lando whines, nods. He’s looking up at Oscar with hazy eyes, hips fucking forward into his hand, and he’s dragging his tongue over the head of Oscar’s dick, over and over again, flat, firm pressure that has Oscar grinding against Lando’s mouth, moaning and spilling pre-come against Lando’s tongue.

After a while, Lando’s technique gets sloppy and desperate, panting against Oscar’s dick as he fucks frantically into his fist. Oscar wishes he could see it, wishes he could see how fucking hard Lando is, but Oscar doesn’t have a chance to say anything before Lando’s coming with a breathy moan, staring up at Oscar with a dazed expression, the fabric of his briefs darkening as he spills in them.

“Jesus, Lando,” Oscar gasps. “Jesus, that’s so fucking—” And then Oscar’s coming with a moan, spilling across Lando’s tongue, thighs shaking, cock twitching in Lando’s mouth. Lando swallows it all, letting out these high, pitchy whines, looking up at Oscar like he’d be content to stay on his knees forever, like he’d be happy to have Oscar’s dick in his mouth for as long as Oscar wanted, and the thought’s enough to have Oscar spilling a little more into Lando’s mouth.

Lando keeps Oscar’s dick in his mouth even after Oscar’s finished coming, just blinking dazedly up at Oscar, hand still stuffed down his briefs.

“God,” Oscar says, breathless. “That’s—you’re, uh, good at that.”

Lando lets Oscar’s dick slip out of his mouth and the sight of it, tiny and spent, doesn’t bother Oscar nearly as much as it normally does.

“I meant it,” Lando says. His voice’s rough, almost like he’s had his throat fucked, and the thought has Oscar’s cock twitching painfully.

"Meant it when I said s'hot," Lando says, and leans forward to plant a soft kiss to Oscar's dick.

Oscar doesn't say anything, can't say anything with how choked up he is, but he cards his hand through Lando's hair, forcing himself to stay still as Lando nuzzles his face against Oscar's sensitive dick. Forces himself not to pull away when Lando starts licking at his half-hard cock, coaxing it back to full hardness before Oscar's really ready for it.

He reckons he'd let Lando do anything to him, come as many times as Lando wanted him to, if it meant he could feel like this—safe and secure and wanted. So fucking wanted, he thinks, as Lando wraps his lips around Oscar's little dick. Oscar still doesn't like his dick, but like this, with Lando's mouth on him, Lando's soft eyes blinking up at him, Lando's hands gripping his hips, tugging him closer, urging him deeper, Oscar realizes Lando likes it.

Maybe, Oscar thinks as he grinds against Lando's tongue, Lando can like it enough for the both of them.

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

kiss and cry

summary | you’ve learnt to build your walls sky high in the wake of dick grayson’s abrupt departure from the world of skating. but one decade later, he’s back like nothing ever happened, and you’re back to square one. prompt | language of flowers event: a bouquet of purple hyacinths in blue wrapping paper with a pink ribbon ♡ pairing | dick grayson x gn!reader wc | 3.2k warnings/tags | pairs figure skating, childhood friends to strangers to ???, mutual pining, repressed feelings, angst, swearing, insecurity, no use of y/n, very liberal interpretation of how you’d qualify for the olympics ty @strangergraphics for the divider!

Brian Orser is a liar. 

“Oh c'mon kid, I had no idea. I thought this was a good kind of surprise! You might have a chance at the Olympics this time around!”

You should’ve known something was up when he asked you to stay after practice. The old man is annoyingly close to catching up with you, and if you weren’t wearing skate guards right now, you’d speed walk to the lockers faster. 

“Isn’t this good? You need a new partner, Dick finally decided to call me back, and anyways, I thought you l-”

You don’t need to hear the rest of his sentence to know what he’s about to say. “I didn’t. And I don’t anymore.” Neither of you seem convinced, but at least it gets him to shut up. 

What pains you the most is you can’t even be mad at the older man. You can’t cry, or scream, or throw a tantrum like you were 9 again, because at the end of the day, this is the coach you had begged to take you on. The one who has been behind so many legends and basically built your career up from the ground. Had this been any other situation, any other person, besides the Boy Wonder himself, you would probably be on the verge of much happier tears. But you know, just like last time, he won’t be here to stay. And you don’t know how much more heartbreak you can take.

Before you get the chance to talk him out of it, a pair of footsteps joins you. Speak of the fucking devil.

It’s like they had planned some flanked attack, with Brian herding you towards the front of the building and Dick stepping in to cut you off as you’re about to make your grand escape. No idea, your ass. Brian knew you wouldn’t be able to say no if they had you cornered like this.

“Dick!” he exclaims, pushing past you to wrap the black-haired man in bear hug. Normally, you think you’d be hurt by how his face is practically illuminating (he had never greeted you like that before). But you have your own worries to deal with: namely, a heart that is currently trying to claw its way out of your throat and lungs that have forgotten how to inhale air. You think Brian might still be speaking, but if he is, you’ve tossed that all to the side in lieu of studying the man in front of you.

You make it a point not to meet his gaze, even as you feel him trying to meet yours. Perhaps it’s pride, perhaps it’s fear, but either way, you know as soon as you look at him, properly look at him, any objectivity will fly out the door.

So you settle for the obvious things. He’s taller, and his face is sharper, no longer rounded by baby fat. Even the spiky haircut you used to tease him for is grown out now. He looks good—but nothing like the boy you have enshrined in your memories. This isn’t the boy who would stay behind to help you practice your jumps. This isn’t the boy who would pack an extra lunch for you in case you forgot yours. This isn’t the boy you cried yourself to sleep over for months, the boy who almost made you quit the one thing you loved most in the world because the thought of skating alone made you want to hurl.

This? Him? It’s just a bitter reminder that figure skating wasn’t the only thing he left behind all those years ago. 

You think you hear the two of them discuss the technical details. Practice schedules, song choices, choreography—it all goes in one ear and out the other. It’s a conversation you have with the older man at the start of every season. An annual promise that that year would be the year you finally earn the recognition you had worked so hard for. 

Technically, everything had been perfect. Technically, you were good. Enough to consistently land a spot at the Grand Prix Final.

But not good enough for a medal. It was never enough. No matter how much training you did, how many extra jumps you crammed into your programs, how many partners you had cycled through. There was no use in denying it: after Dick had left, you hadn’t been the same skater.

It’s pathetic. Your crush had not only abandoned you at 14, but any hopes of even making it to the podium had been crushed then as well. And you hate that 10 years later, you still haven’t moved on. Not enough to say no to his offer. Because like it or not, chemistry is everything in pairs, and there’s nobody like him. There is nobody like Dick Grayson.

It’s silent now. They’re waiting for you. 

You finally look up to meet his gaze. “Okay, I’ll do it.” 

—

It’s too easy to fall back into step with Dick. He always greets you with a smile, brings you snacks before practice (homemade ones at that), and carries your bag to your car for you, even though you insist that you’re more than capable of doing it yourself. He’s certainly trying, but the more effort he puts in, the more you can’t help but resent him. 

His kindness is all just a means to an end for him. He’s buttering you up so your movements are less goddamn stiff when you’re next to him, so you at least vaguely resemble an evenly matched pair. You know from Brian that he’s only coming back because of a stupid bet he made with his brother. He’s just here to prove he can make it to the Olympics. Your childhood dream, what you’ve decided would be the sign that you’ve made it—to him, it’s just another achievement he can use to inflate his ego. The worst part about it is he’s good enough that he could genuinely make it happen that effortlessly. And once he’s satisfied with that, he’ll waltz out of your life just as quickly as he came in. 

So when he offers you a hand as you step out of the rink, when he happens to have an extra energy drink, when he suggests a “team bonding” dinner, you don’t accept. You’ll let yourself entertain him on the ice for the sake of the skate. But nothing more. 

At the very least, you can admit that your performance aspect has definitely improved since skating alongside Dick. You breeze through Eastern Regionals, then Skate Canada, then Skate America, and in no time at all, you’re at the Grand Prix Final: the one barrier you’ve always hit. 

The short goes even better than you imagined it would. Too good. You’ve seen the posts that the fans have made about the two of you, digging up old skating clips to support their theories about the two of you. There’s a poorly worded interview by Brian that does nothing but fuel the flames, and even some of the commentators have been talking about how good the two of you look together. All signs seem to be telling you that you have nothing to worry about; the two of you are perfect. They don’t understand that that’s exactly what you’re worried about. 

You don’t catch yourself until it’s too late. You’re slowly getting consumed by him—by his soft smiles and whispers of encouragement and stupid, stupid puns. You’re back where you started, feeling weightless as the two of you skate your free program, actually losing yourself to the music. There’s nothing to prove anymore; this isn’t a performance—this is just how it’s always meant to be. It should feel right. But it doesn’t, because you’re terrified that if you let yourself get comfortable in his embrace, you won’t be able to skate like this ever again.

You pop the triple Lutz. Then you go into an Euler and a double toe loop that’s under-rotated too. You don’t understand, your jumps have always been pristine, especially your doubles. You haven’t made a sloppy mistake like this in a while. The last time was when–

Shit, you’re too early into the step sequence, the turn too sharp at the corner. You meet his gaze repentantly, like that will absolve you of your guilt. You don’t know what emotion you’re expecting to find in eyes. Maybe anger? Frustration? That’s certainly how you feel at the moment. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not adoration. 

You want to ask him what the hell is going on, but there’s no time. Last move. Death spiral. You have to hold hands, and the contact makes your skin burn. You don’t have the heart to look at him again. You’re afraid of what you’re going to find.

Suddenly everything feels too tight: the rink, your chest, the skates around your feet. You have to get out of there. One revolution, two, three, four. You can hold on, it’s almost over. Another four. He pulls you back towards him. It’s your final pose. The two of you are chest to chest. 

You just have to hold this for a second, and then you’re free. You can do it. You can do it. And then he’s leaning in even closer, until his forehead is pressed against yours and your lips hovering over each other. 

You can’t do it anymore and all you can think about is how to get out of there. You don’t even bother to wait for your score; you’ll deal with Brian’s scolding later. But you know if you stay out there any longer, you won’t be able to scrape together what little sanity you still have left. 

You’re leaving. You have to leave.

And as you run back to the lockers, you realize somebody’s been calling out your name.

“Hey, wait! Is everything okay?” Of course, the one person you don’t want to see would follow you. “Why did you leave like that? Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovers over your arm for a moment before he pulls it away and you don’t know whether you should laugh or cry. He used to do it with practiced ease back when you were kids, when you would joke that he had cooties but let him do so all the same. Now, you’re not sure if you can stand his touch, and from the look on his face, it seems to break his heart.

”Nothing, let’s just forget about this.” You feel like you’re being strangled and it takes all of your energy not to burst into tears at the moment. 

”No,” he says softly. “No, I know you, I know you’re not okay. Please, let’s talk about this.” 

And suddenly, everything’s just too much. He’s acting too nice to you, like he actually cares. Like maybe the fervent glances and lingering touches on the ice mean more to him than just pandering to the judges. But you know he doesn’t, because then he wouldn’t have left.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, you don’t know a single thing about me. So don’t act like you care about me now.”

”I do though!” 

“Bullshit. We’re not anything to each other.” 

His face crumples immediately. He takes a step back. This is the closest he’s ever been to tears.

On a kinder day, you’d take it all back. You’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness and he would be disgustingly kind like he always is and you could both forget about this. But you’re tired of dancing around the issue and you think there’s a sick part of you that revels in his pained expression. 

You take a step forward. “You’re just a coworker. This? This act where we pretend like we can stand to be in the same room as each other? This isn’t real. So stop acting like it is. You didn’t care about me when you left. So why the change now? Do you know how fucking hard it was for me to move on? I couldn’t even skate afterwards. I thought my career was over. And I’ve had to fight every single day to prove that—that I’m still a capable skater, that I have a place in this sport.” 

Your voice trembles, and it takes all of your strength to swallow the lump in your throat. “I had to fight to be able to skate without you. To have the courage to stand on the ice alone. So I’m sorry that I’m not willing to welcome you back with open arms, because I know this is just some stupid game to you. You’ll get to the Olympics, because of course you will, and I’ll get to ride on the coattails of that. And that will be the greatest moment of my career, but to you, it’s just another thing on your checklist. Then you’ll go back to whatever you decided is more worthy than m–” You choke on your own words. “Than skating. And I’ll have to pick up the broken pieces again. But frankly speaking, I don’t know if I can do that a second time.”

It’s dead silent, save for your panting. You feel like you just ran a marathon. And Dick? You can’t read him, and that’s what scares you the most.

”Forget it.” The silence is driving you insane, and you just start running your mouth. “Fuck, forget it. I should just be grateful you’re even my partner this season. It’s the only way I’ll make it to the Olympics. I know you’re thinking it, you and Brian—”

“Don’t say that.”

“—that’s why you left, isn’t it? Didn’t want to be tied down to a pathetic fucking loser.”

“I never said th—”

”I can’t blame you. I’d leave me too—“

“I DIDN’T LEAVE YOU!” 

Now you’re both silent. You’ve never heard him raise before. You’ve never seen him this desperate either. He’s shaking as he stands in front of you. “You’re right, I didn’t care about skating. It was always just a hobby to me. But I stayed because of you. Because I was young and stupid and in love and the only way I knew how to show you that was to skate with you. And it killed me when I had to quit, but I just…I saw how much passion you had for skating. Like it was the air you needed to breathe, but I knew I couldn’t dedicate myself to the sport like you could.. And you deserved a partner who would love skating as much as you do.”

You think your brain short circuits after “in love,” and if he says anything else after that, you certainly aren’t processing it. “…You loved me?”

Dick laughs like you’ve just asked if water is a liquid. ”Of course I did. Everybody knew it too. Brian used to tease me about the way I would look at you. And I figured I would finally tell you after I quit, in case it would make things awkward, but then…”

“I blocked you.” You whisper in horror. 

“Yeah, so I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me after that. I didn’t realize quitting meant I would lose you too.” 

And suddenly you’re 14 again, watching the boy you’ve had a crush on for over half of your life tell you that he doesn’t want to skate anymore, and you feel so small and so stupid. “Oh god. So all of those years…”

He nods, “I lied about the Olympics thing. Or well, I really did have a bet with Jason, but when Brian told me that you needed a new partner…I came back hoping it would be a chance to make it up to you.”

You’re still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that maybe Dick had genuinely been trying to make amends with you. “So you being nice wasn’t just for show or team-building or whatever?”

“Team-building? God, I don’t think there’s a world where I can love you in any other way.”

The first realization that he had loved you in the past had been enough to nearly give you a heart attack. But to hear love? In the present tense? You think back to how he’s been acting for the past few months. All of the weird incidents that you can’t just explain away by saying that he’s making fun of you or being civil to you as a teammate or just being nice because that’s how he is. 

Because there’s no other explanation for why he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, why he lifts you with a reverence that could rival the likes of Keats and Byron, why he lingers on the ice after every practice, like he’s chasing the last vestiges of your warmth. 

And you have so many words dancing on the tip of your tongue, ways in which you can lay down your heart for him as he has done for you. But both of you know that even this stolen moment is just that: stolen time.

”Shall we go back?” He offers you his hand evenly, but there’s a tremble in his voice that gives him away. Like he’s worried that even after all of this, there was a universe in which you still don’t reciprocate his feelings. 

Your heart is screaming at you to assure him, promise that yes of course, you would accept him. But the words evaporate from your mind before you have a chance to grasp onto them. So you hope that at the very least, your actions can convey a fraction of your feelings. Hand in hand, you make your way back to the rink. No matter what the result is, you think it’ll be alright if you have Dick’s shoulder to cry on after this is all over. 

—

“And with a free score of 129.44 and a final score of 205.57, that puts America’s own duo from Gotham at third place in the Grand Prix Final!” 

Third, the word echoes in your head, taking you a few moments to process. Third, and there were no other American teams on the podium. Sure, it isn’t exactly the most fairytale ending, but it’s better this way—more real. You turn to look at Dick, who you’re sure has the exact same look of astonishment that you do. You remember Brian doing the math before you guys had even made it to the venue. Based on this event and the rest of your results this season, it was clear that the two of you were the uncontested pair in the whole country. 

“You’re going to the Olympics!” Brian whoops, hugging the both of you and jumping for joy in a way you think only he can get away with. You’re grinning so hard your muscles are starting to twitch but honestly you could care less about that. All of the training, all of the sleepless nights had finally paid off, and you felt like you had really, truly made it. And the fact that you did it with Dick makes it all the sweeter to you. 

You got a medal, a boyfriend, and that day, the kiss and cry finally lived up to its name.

more dick skating hcs | event m.list | main m.list | navi

[buzzcutlip]

hiii can i request “i just wanna take care of you” with lip x fem reader? maybe he’s caught a christmas cold 🥺 he’s so pathetic i love him so bad!!!!!

Maggie, here it is. Short and Shamelessly dirty <3

Lip Gallagher x gn!Reader Rated E 607 words

“You’re the worst patient, Philip Gallagher!” “I didn’t ask you to go get me,” Lip shrugs, as much as he can anyway, with several bruised ribs and one broken leg propped up on a stool.

His answer makes the blood in you boil. “Oh. So next time you want me to drive Liam to the ER, or pick one of your siblings from jail, I’m not gonna bother,” you seethe. You don’t approve of Lip’s lifestyle. Or that of his family. But somehow, after sharing a few classes in college, Lip’s stuck to you. “I’m not your charity project,” Lip jerks his chin away from you defiantly, staring into the wall. The words cut through you like the sharpest knife. You’re speechless for a moment, staring at him being so fucking stubborn in his family’s living room. There’s no one who could look after him at the moment anyway. Even though you want to kill him, you don’t have the heart to leave him sitting here, on the ugly sofa, rotting away until one of his siblings comes back.

The silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. Lip doesn’t look at you, and you don’t trust yourself to speak. It’s not like he doesn’t have a point, but his stubbornness, his damn pride, makes you want to scream.

You cross your arms, leaning against the edge of the Gallagher's ancient coffee table. “You think this is fun for me? Hanging out in your roach motel, trying to keep you alive while you act like a petulant child?” Lip’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back. Progress, maybe.

“I’m not doing this because I get off on it, Lip. I’m here because for some unfathomable reason, I actually give a shit. But you keep pushing me like—” You stop yourself, words catching in your throat.

Like I’m disposable. Like I’m just another person who’s gonna leave.

Lip finally turns to you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I didn’t ask for you to give a shit,” he says harshly from where he’s sitting uncomfortably. “No, you didn’t,” you snap, stepping closer. “But that’s the thing, Lip. Sometimes people care about you even when you don’t think you deserve it. And you don’t get to decide that for them.”

He blinks, and for a split second, you think you see something crack in that steely facade—something raw and vulnerable underneath. But then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar wall of sarcasm and self-preservation.

“Fine. Do whatever you want,” he mutters, slouching deeper into the couch. “Not like I can stop you.” “Damn right, you can’t.” You grab a pillow off the couch and toss it at him, though it lands harmlessly on his lap, wanting nothing more than to shut him up forever.

Taking two orange containers with painkillers from your bag, you put them on the coffee table, then set the bag down. Lip’s eyes are burning holes into you, narrowing as you take off your sweater, then unzip your pants. “What the fuck are you doing?” “Whatever the fuck I want.”

Lip shuffles on the sofa into a more upright position, hissing in pain as the movement jostles his broken leg. You ride him on that gross, dirty sofa, one naked knee digging into the cushions, the other one still clothed. You’re angry but surprisingly mindful of Lip’s injuries, careful as you bounce up and down his cock. He doesn’t say a word but he’s staring up at you, wide-eyed, as if witnessing an apparition.

It feels so good, and you almost don’t care when Fiona storms in with Ian in her heels, deep in a heated argument.

[the-guppy-fish]

HC - Simon "Ghost" Riley

Types of relationships - friends with benefits

Part two😗✌🏻 (written so reader can be either military or civilian, but reader knows tf141- we're not picky about jobs)

MDNI 18+

Warnings: the fuckening, sex, p in v, fingering, handjob (foot job? Kinda, but also not), oral m&f.

Slightly proofread

What started out as friendly chatting quickly turned into heated banter when it was only the two of you.

Throughout the months upon months, you had known each other, one secret rendevouz turned into many, many more.

It all began when Price had invited everyone, he knew and enjoyed spending time with, to a garden party at his home.

During the afternoon, you and Simon danced around each other. Not really talking. Not really showing an interest in one another. Not until the evening came along, and the surprisingly large garden was bathed in a gloomy light.

Simon appeared from the shadows (like a fucking vampire - sometimes you cursed the abilities he had learned through his job).

"You've been avoiding me." He stood behind you, glancing over the garden in front of you. His deep voice filtered through the warm air.

"I have not. You have been avoiding me." You heard Simon chuckle behind you.

"Right." You felt his hand snake around you waist. Slowly, you turned your head to face him, body still facing the slowly decreasing crowd in Prices garden.

"Simon?" You looked at him questioningly as his hand travelled further around your middle. His fingers spread over your stomach, thumb grazing the space between your breasts.

"Tell me to stop, and I will." You breath hitched, but you said nothing.

"Say nothing, and follow me."

Simon led you into the treeline surrounding Prices garden, which merged into a forrest. Once you were out of sight, he placed you between himself and a particularly large tree. His arms caged you underneath him as he dipped his head down to look into your eyes.

"You want this?"

You tipped your head up, facing him fully. "Do I want you?" You countered him.

He nodded.

"I do want you." You answered his question. And when you did, your words were almost swallowed by him. His lips came crashing down onto yours. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing, holding, digging his fingers into your soft flesh.

Your own hands squeezed at the strong muscles of his chest and neck. Simons tongue had slipped past the seal of your lips, and his fingers had lifted your dress, exposing your thighs and hips to the cooling air.

He pulled back to look at you, searching for permission to move forward.

You nodded feverishly, giving Simon permission. His fingers pulled your knickers to the side, letting his fingers dip into the wetness between your thighs.

He fingered you while his lips roamed over your neck. He sucked hickeys into your skin as his fingers swirled around your clit and into your heat.

Soon enough, you came undone on his fingers. Moaning and sweating lightly, you held on to him.

"Fuck Simon." You panted lowly. He chuckled at your state and pulled his fingers from you, wiping your slick off on the inside of his shirt.

"Yeah, love. Best we keep this to ourselves, right?" He looked down at you as you came back to reality.

"Right, yeah." You nodded while looking up at him. He was right. No one should know. You should keep this a secret.

"Alright. I'll drive you home. Meet me at my car in 5."

He kissed your cheek, and then he left.

Simon texted you every now and then. But always only when he was home. Never when he was out on an OP. You still met up with your common friends and all, but to the outside world, you were 'just friends'.

You up?

Love, can I come over in 10?

Idc if you're home or not. I'll stop by your place anyway.

Just wanna say hi

And he did come by to say hi. You were home, chilling on your couch as he knocked at your front door.

He stood before you, in some of his tactical gear and face hidden by a mask. He had just come home.

"Can I come in?"

Simon led you to the couch. He peeled away your clothes and his own as you walked closer and closer to the couch. His lips were on you the second his mask left his face. He kissed you like he was a starved man.

Soon enough, you were naked on your couch. Simon laid on top of you as he kissed at your lips with a feverish rhythm. His hips thrusted into yours, his hard cock weeping with precum. Desperate to find comfort in your dripping cunt.

Simons lips moved from yours, down to your neck, nipping at the soft skin.

"I need you." He bit softly into the muscle connecting your neck to your shoulder.

"I missed you." His deep voice seeped into your ears as you parted your legs wider for him. He slid his cock into you with no trouble, your juices coated his cock, letting him slide right into you.

"Fuck love. I missed you so much."

You were a moaning mess, holding on for dear life as he fucked you into your couch.

Simon loves to eat you out. Whether it's just a taste or hour long sessions, he doesn't care. That man just wants to taste you.

Especially when he is staying the night and you're walking around in one of his shirts. The fabric sways around you like a short dress, your legs bare as you walk around the kitchen.

At some point, he snaps. He can't just sit on the bar stool, as you dance around on the other side of the counter.

With a swift motion, he turns the heat of whatever is on the stove down to a simmer and lifts you to sit on the counter. Legs parted and fingers curling into his hair, Simon eats you out while your dinner simmers in the pot.

Simon loves the sounds you make when he sucks at your clit, his fingers massaging that spongy spot inside you. He loves it when you clench around his fingers, and your juices leak onto his chin.

Simon is the type of man who doesn't come before you do. No matter how much you tease him. He will hold you down and make you come before he even thinks about himself. That is, if you don't turn him into a desperate, leaking mess first.

Also, he found out that he likes to play with you in public, hidden from everyone around you.

So, when you're at the bar, sat in a booth with your friends, Simon, is 🤏🏻 this close to murder you when he feels your sock clad foot inch it's way up his inner thigh under the table.

You had discarded one of your shoes to tease Simon through his jeans. Once he felt your foot inch closer and closer to his cock, he shifted his hips closer to the edge of his seat and leaned forward to hide what you had going on.

There wasn't much you could do in your position besides just touching him through his jeans. But your ministrations did their work, and Simon grew more and more tense. The look on his face was stoic, but you sensed what was happening behind his dark eyes. He was growing desperate for more. His aching hard cock was pulsing under the arch of your foot. His eyes flickered back and forth between you and the bathroom at the other end of the bar. His hand had found its way around your ankle, holding your foot close to his crotch, pressing it down onto his aching cock.

Soon enough, he snapped. He reached for his phone and shot a message to yours

Bathroom. Now.

You looked at him questioningly. He only squeezed your ankle and pushed your leg down. You got your shoe on again and excused yourself to leave for the bathroom.

A few moments later, Simon appeared in the hallway, leading to the restrooms.

"Get in. Little minx."

He pulled you into a stall and locked the door behind you. As soon as the lock clicked, his lips were on yours, desperate and needy for more.

You unzipped his pants and tugged his weeping cock out. It sprung free and stood stiffly in the cool air. Simon hissed against your lips as you began to work your hands around his shaft and tip.

"I need more. All your teasing..fuck..please."

'Oh poor Simon' you thought. You had mercy on him and got on your knees. Gently, you licked at his tip, the salty taste of his precum spreading on your tongue.

His fingers curled into your hair as you began sucking in more and more of his length. While you slurped away at his cock, Simon was fighting to keep his moans silent. He was lost in pleasure as you swallowed him greedily.

Before he had time to prepare you, he spilled his cum into your throat in a blinding orgasm. It left him drained and weak in his knees.

Without much power, he pulled you to your feet again.

"Shit. What have you done to me, woman?" He shook his head lightly as a tired smile spread across his lips.

Simon loves quickies with you. But he loves your long sessions even more.

He loves to please you in every physical way he knows. Fill every hole you want him to. Paint your skin with his cum. Try new things with you. Oh, how he loves to try new things with you.

It wasn't much, but you had requested for him to wear his uniform once. Simon didn't think much of it. Until he felt how much it turned you on. To see him clad in his tactical gear (without all the weapons, of course), his face hidden beneath a black balaclava, gloves soaked with your juices.

Even when he was about to fuck you, you shook your head no, when he was about to take off his gear. To his suprise, it turned him on as well. The way the fabric bound around his body as he moved. You laid completely naked before him. Simon stood at the end of his bed, bending over you. His hands gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the matress. He settled between your legs and slid his cock into you.

He fucked you mercilessly. He held you down with a hand on your hip and the other holding your wrists above your head. It was hot. And definitely not the last time Simon fucked you while wearing his gear.

Sometimes, Simon pulls you aside just to kiss you. He keeps saying it just to rile you up. Buuut....you felt something else was the reason for his affection.

You had yet to figure it out. Or wait for him to tell you🫢

[ehh-is-the-name]

Back from the depths I rise to scream about OH MY FUCKING GOD THEY'RE DOING IT AGAIN- OF COURSE THEY ARE.

Back at it again with the killing, I see. Anyway,

As per the last rant, and all of TPOT 10, we know that BH's afraid of everyone fucking dying. He obviously doesn't want to be the source of their deaths, but everyone dying in general is pretty distressing. He's already had one freakout, seeing himself slowly commit his worst nightmare this season, but at least that was a dream. In this ep, he was just watching the whole world crumble around him, and he couldn't even help fix it. The most he could do was panic as the rift became bigger.

Honestly though, really- This ep being his very not good, terrible rotten day, is not an overstatement.

LITERALLY WHAT DO YOU DO IN THIS SITUATION???

There's a reason the bfb 1 motif plays in the back as everyone hugs each other. It's a mirror of the first time the contestants were almost eradicated. A viewing into what would've been BH's biggest regret.

They literally can't give my guy a fucking break. They make him start killing people for the competition (which as I said before was fair but still), then they hit him with the "lol Black Hole's going loco- Marker was always green" unintentional gaslight, then the "wow we're all gonna fucking die" end of the world climax that could—yet again—only be fixed via algebralian magic. Do I gotta say it again?? DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION???

Literally, and I mean literally, he was told to get over his deep seeded fear for the competition, he worked to improve on it, then was faced with the mirror of the mistake that's been haunting him from... 2017. Jeez, didn't realise bfb was that long ago, but yeah something that's been haunting him for about 7 years. Image you were going though the healing process and life just said "how about we remind you of the worst thing you did, but make it actually happen?" Sounds fun right? AAAAHHHHHH- CAN YOU SEE WHY I'M GOING INSANE-

This is so much less cohesive than the og one- but fuck me man, EVERYONE COULD'VE DIED!! GIMME SOME SLACK!

And don't even get me started on the fact DEATH Pact Yet Again is UFE- And of course they were the main ones who fixed shit and are getting the boot because of it- god I hate this show (lying).

TPOT 10 spoilers 'cause BH makes me insane

I mean, c'mon. You can't see this thumbnail and think things are gonna be ok for you mentally if you like blackhole. Like you know what's coming to you.

First things first, let me just scream into the void for a second-

HIS NIGHTMARE IS KILLING PEOPLE AND LETTING THAT CONSUME HIM?????!!?!?

AAAAAAAAAGUH MY HEART??!!???!?

Man- I love Blackhole and this episode just drove the stake into my heart. The fact that he, himself, is a being who causes death by getting too close to people made me writhe in BFB. But actively showing the extent of how it affects him—ack! He knows he causes death, which is why it's so important for him not to kill people, and why he's so strict about the pact rules!!

It makes so much sense... BFB 1 had it all laid out, and TPOT 10 sewed it together.

From the way he was hesitant about helping Flower!!! We know- he knows he's gonna end the world by getting closer, but he gives into it anyway. Instead of putting his foot down to Flower, he gives in to his feeling of wanting to be closer to people—from the way he's so happy about being shrunk—and more later. Then we get that whole thing with everyone about to die.

We know if Four never came, everyone would've died. Blackhole knows that too, from the end of his nightmare. More specific to this clip though, from the scene with Pie and LIY, since he literally just gave in to the urge to get closer and he wants that to never happen again. As a singularity in space, he could appreciate the planet, and life on it, more than other objects. He could see them all interact but never actually interact with them (besides talking), so at this chance of being beckoned, it makes sense that he'd just go "eh, fuck it, alright" then IMMEDIATELY regret his actions. Although his nightmare was about being afraid he'll "give into murderous urges", it can also be interpreted as him being afraid to let go. Something clearly stated in the last scene of his nightmare...

Queue TPOT 10 scene from clip above (I'm so mad that it's only 1 video per post on here)

Over the season we've seen him go from preventing death to just not killing people. It's morphed into his own cut-throat rule for the pact, which, in this context, is fair to see why. He joined the game via him not caring about the consequences, and it's stuck with him, so seeing everyone over and over get away with things made him HAVE to re-enforce to himself that he wasn't allowed. Death PACT doesn't kill people. HE doesn't kill people. He can't allow himself to let go of that regiment.

Obviously, this causes problems in the team- we see the clip. The thing that gets me the most is that this is bona fide trauma we're working with—Fanny telling him to #get-over-it kinda rubbed me the wrong way. And OK! I know- I know that's not exactly what she's saying but that's how it felt, and I know she has every right to be upset 'cause he was fuckin' over his team, but again that's just me! (The fact they got on the same page was enough for me anyway.) I digress, his "obsessive nature" was essentially just a response to everything that's happened to him—it's what makes him feel in control of himself. Poor BH's got trauma bad :(

I think what really twists that knife for me is that... the guy really just wants to connect with his peers normally- He wants everything to go back to normal, and that's one of the reasons he compromises with Fanny. On some level, he knows he's gone too far, but he's just afraid. Even at the end, he can't bring himself to kill Tree, even though he knows it'd be better with the new "focusing on life" angle. Did you hear that shakey exhale? Man's going through the wringer. Obviously, he won't overcome his trauma in an episode, but it's a good step to just playing and enjoying the game.

Anyway... There is probably a shitton of fans that are looking at this like "Yeah no shit Sherlock" but hey! Be nice. Some of us are slower than the others, and by some of us, I mean me. I needed this punch in the face to really see how death was impacting Blackhole's mental state and now I've word vomited my thoughts out.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Unfocused

Roy Harper x Reader

wc: 1.1 k summary: Jason is fed up with how unfocused Roy is getting. warnings: no y/n used, fluff mostly, kinda crackfic?, lots of cussing, hints of previous night activities a/n: this is a drabble but it contains the backstory from Brother's Bestfriend ! hope you enjoy!! divider: @xurengu0

The rain of bullets hit the other side of the car as Jason and Roy hide behind it. It‘s not the best coverage, so they‘ll need to flee soon. Once the goons are reloading their guns, and the assault of bullets is briefly paused, they use their opportunity to run away from the open field. In the midst of it all, Roy doesn‘t see the flash grenade that‘s being thrown at them and almost steps right over it. Jason has to jump at him and tackle him down to create distance together from it. A heavy grunt leaves the red head and he‘s ready to be mad at Jason‘s unreasonable attack, until Jason yells at him first.

»Are you fucking stupid?! Couldn‘t see that fucking flash being thrown at us?«

They don‘t have enough time to argue over it as the goons are starting to catch up with them, clearly satisfied that their distraction worked.

The pair scrambles to their feet and manage to get onto a rooftop without any further complaint. »Focus, dammit!« Jason exclaims back at his partner one last time before they get going with the current plan.

With a silent grunt, Roy squeezes his upper arm and checks his injury. His head thumps back against the container, still trying to catch his breath from the chase. Jason paces small circles until he finally stops and towers over Roy, his frown not evident due to his mask, but Roy can feel it anyway.

»I swear, I will shove my gun so far up your ass, it will get stuck and you can never shit normally again, if you do that one more time,« finally, he exhales after holding his anger in during the run, »What was that anyway? Did you fall asleep earlier?«

Jason cocks his head to the side, resting his hands on his hips like a disappointed parent would. Roy doesn‘t feel too scared, though, simply rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand.

»Was thinking of something. Sorry.« He tries to dismiss it without any further argument, not in the mood to cause any more unecessary anger.

It‘s quiet for a moment until Jason speaks up first, his voice more judgemental than before.

»What‘s tha‘ on your neck?« He regrets asking that in the first place, he doesn‘t even want to know now. The way his best friend tilts his head away from Jason says enough. His cap blocks the sight of his eyes and cheeks, but he is sure that Roy is currently blushing.

A heavy sigh, »Oh, c‘mon… are ya‘ll that freaky?« followed by a, »I should‘ve guessed...«

It‘s clear that Jason is at least a little disappointed at his best friend and his sister, you. The fact that Roy got distracted in the first place, made Jason rather concerned than mad. But to know the real reason of the distraction… it made him want to rip his ass apart and try to lecture you on your actions. Jason knows that couples do… things. But he wasn‘t prepared to see the evidence on his best friend. Especially during a mission that failed. However, he doesn‘t want to prod on it any longer and nods towards the exit of the alleyway.

»I will definitely shove my gun up your ass...«

↣

At first, Jason didn‘t want to let Roy tag along into his apartment, but he couldn‘t deny him after some more arguing. You are already comfortably seated in the couch with a warm cup of tea and watch the newest trash TV in your shared apartment. It‘s nice and warm, being wrapped inside a fuzzy blanket as you get lost in the show. The click of the window snaps you back, looking over to the bigger window in the same room. Red Hood greets you first, although he doesn‘t say anything, just lowly grunting as he climbs inside. Arsenal follows up, bringing a smile to your face. You don‘t see it, but Jason rolls his eyes under his mask, taking a straight route to his bedroom; probably to cool off.

Your smile softens as Roy steps in front of you by the couch, arms spread open as if expecting a hug from you. However, he doesn‘t get it as you stay seated in your blanket with the cup of tea.

»Too warm to stand up.«

He shakes his head and instead flops down beside you, head planted in your lap after taking his cap off. You watch as he closes his eyes and relaxes into the cushion and your lap, a low sigh leaving him. Jason seems to be taking a shower in the meantime, giving you two some more time to be alone.

»How was the mission?« You ask out of curiousity as you tangle a hand into his hair, watching his relaxed expression.

»Bad. Got distracted, we didn‘t get anything from these guys...« He sighs out before opening his eyes to look up at you from your lap. »Why were you distracted?« But before he could answer you, Jason steps out of the shower and reenters the living room.

»Yeah, Roy, why were you distracted?«

You think that Jason is simply mocking Roy because he‘s still mad, but in reality, Jason just wants to verbally abuse his best friend, since he can never look into his eyes the same again.

Jason moves to sit between you and Roy, arms crossed and eyes trained onto the TV, even though he doesn‘t seem focused on it. This makes you scoff lightly and scoot away from your brother, sipping onto your tea.

»Give him a break, I‘m sure it was just a small slip-up.« You shrug and don‘t expect much from the both of them, simply hoping that Jason will stop being so annoying. However, he only gets a bit more aggravated from it.

»Small slip-up… if you two just— okay. I won‘t say it, but you guys need to get it together.«

It‘s almost funny how allergic Jason is to saying some specific words and it almost makes you let out a soft chuckle. Before you realise what he means. You clear your throat in light embarrassment and pull your blanket higher up to your chin, not wanting to let him find out more. A rather awkward silence settles between you three, eventually turning the volume up from the TV.

Jason stays seated between you two, until he finally releases a more softer huff. »I get grey hair because of you, I‘m not even joking.« He shakes his head lightly until he leans back further into the couch, resting his head on Roy‘s shoulder. You notice and quirk an eyebrow at him, scoffing lightly.

»Hey, that‘s my boyfriend!«

»Shut up, he‘s not allowed to be near you until he behaves.«

Roy shrugs with a light huff, unsure if he should laugh or cry with how stupidly protective Jason is being.

»I didn‘t even do anything!«

»Remember what I said about my gun?«

a/n: made this under an hour, it's wobbly and strange, but i had to get this out of my mind

←MASTERLIST

[sturnioloszn]

KISS ME ON NYE? - C.S

summary; while at a nye party with the triplets, you realise you have nobody to kiss at midnight, but neither does chris...

warnings; mentions of alcohol, light kissing/making-out.

a/n; ugh i feel like i've written a million oneshots based at parties lmfao, this will be the last one for a hot minute lol.

Parties weren't my usual scene. The loud music which I could feel in my bones, the crowds of sweaty and drunk people, the desperate men who would do anything to get in a girl's underwear, it all just made me feel gross. However, for the sake of my best friends and the fact that it was new years eve, I dragged myself here in hopes of a good time.

Sipping from my water bottle, I looked around and noticed Nick in the kitchen, pouring himself another alcoholic concoction. I make my way towards him, in urgent need of a conversation, because standing in the corner of a party, alone, is incredibly depressing.

"Ugh, where have you been?" I ask, approaching my friend, leaning against the marble countertops.

"Making out with that insanely hot guy," he replies, nodding his head to the giant standing in the middle of the dance floor. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but that was usually Nick's type anyway.

"How about you? What have you been up to?"

"Literally nothing. I'm bored out of my mind," I admit. I take another sip of my water as I scan my eyes over the house full of people. I notice Matt sitting on the couch with a girl on his lap. Damn, even Matt is getting some right now, and I'm not.

"So you don't have your kiss yet?" Nick questions, tasting his weird mix of alcohol that he had just created.

"Kiss? For what?" I reply, completely baffled.

"Midnight, duh. Are you not gonna have a new years eve kiss?"

"No? Do you have someone to kiss?" I ask. There's no way I'd participate in that stupid tradition. Even if i wanted to, which I do not, I don't have anyone to kiss.

"Um, yes. Mr. 6'3" is my kiss," he grins, offering me some of his creation, but I quickly decline it.

"Is Matt kissing someone?"

I don't want to be the only one not kissing someone at midnight. I'll be the first to admit that it's just a stupid trend, but I'll also admit that I suffer from severe FOMO and being the only one not kissing someone will have me wishing a black hole would open and swallow me whole.

"Probably that girl he's been hanging out with all night," he shrugs, chugging down more of his drink.

"Chris?"

"No idea, I've barely seen him, actually," he says.

"Anyway, I'm going back to my man, it's almost midnight! You better find someone quick,"

I'm left alone again, wondering what the fuck I'm supposed to do. I make my way to the living room and notice a large countdown displayed on the tv. There were two minutes before midnight. Shit.

Just as worries began to flood my head, Chris walked into the room. Our eyes meet before he lazily strolls over with a small smile on his lips.

"Where have you been?" I smile, acknowledging his relaxed presence. I guess he wasn't worried about finding someone to kiss at midnight.

"Honestly, in one of the rooms, on my phone," he chuckles. It wasn't the answer I expected, and he could tell I was taken by surprise. Chris usually loves this kind of stuff; the music, the drinks, the girls. But recently, he hasn't been as into them.

I glance at his drink of choice and notice he was holding a pepsi, not even any liquor.

"You kissing someone at midnight?"

His question made my stomach flip. I'd be completely lying if I said that I didn't have a tiny crush on Chris. I know we've been friends for years, but that's exactly why I can't let my feelings get in the way of our friendship.

But his question had me rethinking everything between us. Did he feel the same? Was he just looking for a new years eve kiss? Did it matter if it was me or any random girl?

I'm broken from my thoughts when everyone suddenly starts chanting numbers. I'm confused for a moment until I realise they were counting backwards from ten. It was ten seconds until midnight. Nine. Eight. Seven.

Shit, was I really going to do this? Six. Five. Four.

I look over to Chris, who's already looking straight at me. Three. Two.

It was now or never I guess. One.

I quickly wrap my arms around his neck and pull his face into mine, crashing our lips together. He doesn't hesitate to kiss me back, and everything feels frozen. The entire room stills, and the only thing I can comprehend was the way his lips grazed mine over and over again.

His hands rested on my lower back, pulling me closer into him. I feel the air being drawn out from my lungs, forcing me to pull away from this dream-like state.

Opening my eyes, I'm met with his dark blue ones. There's absolutely no way he didn't feel anything in that kiss.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," he smirks, pulling me in for another kiss. This time, I open my jaw wider, letting him have full access to my mouth. I feel his tongue dip in and out, leaving the taste of his soda in my mouth. I feel my knees grow weaker, and the butterflies in my stomach stronger.

I briefly pull away from the kiss again.

"Me too," I smile against his lips, wishing I could crystalise this moment forever.

a/n; final oneshot of the yearrrrr, isn't that crazy? anywho, i'd like to just take a moment to thank everyone for all the love i've received. every reblog, every like, every comment, it all means so much to me, and I'm so insanely grateful. i can't wait for this new year, i have some exciting stuff planned, and hopefully, you're just as excited. have an amazing new year, everyone, love you all! 💙

Taglist; @idrk2292 @missmanheim @moonlightsturns @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @chrissturniolodailysluts @sturnobsessedwh0re

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Gentle on My Mind - Chapter 8

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: Just to say there's some fairly dark stuff in this chapter, so please do have a look at the warnings before you read.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 4.3K

TWs: Infidelity, vomiting, graphic descriptions of childbirth, sexual assault (Elvis is not involved), descriptions of an abusive/coercive partner (again, not Elvis), fainting, crying, teasing, oral (m and f receiving), face fucking, size kink, edging, panty sniffing!Elvis.

Elvis knows she’s gone for good as soon as he wakes up and sees the empty bed beside him. He almost feels like he dreamt the whole thing, but as he looks around the room he sees the evidence that he didn’t. The burn on the carpet, a streak of make-up on the mirror, the polaroids on his bedside table. He picks them up and looks through them, staring at the lipstick marks she left and her lazily scrawled message. 

If she loves me, why did she leave?

He starts to cry, big, heaving sobs. His Glory. Gone to get married. 

***

As she says her vows, Gloria feels like she’s outside of her body, watching someone else do it. She keeps telling herself that this is the only thing she could’ve done, the right thing, but it doesn’t feel like it. She watches the Gloria who’s getting married smiling as Roger pushes the ring onto her finger. Watches everyone looking at her, her friends and family, her daddy beaming proudly. She desperately tries to get back into her own body as Roger kisses her, tries to be present in that moment, but her mind still wanders back to him. It’s only been a week since she lay in Elvis’ bed and told him she loved him. It’s not long enough to get him out of her mind. 

***

Roger tells her to throw away her birth control that night, and she does it gladly. She can’t wait to be a mama. Roger makes love to her slowly and passionately, and she finally finds herself almost back in her own body again. They go on their honeymoon the next day. He’d initially tried to suggest Hawaii, but she almost flinched at the word. Instead they fly to Cabo and spend the week on the beach there. Lazy living, cooking and eating outdoors, sex twice a day, cocktails whenever they want. She’s happy, for hours at a time. And then something reminds her of Elvis, and she feels a twinge of sadness. That will pass though, it has to. It’s not as if she’ll see him again now. And she has so much else to look forward to. 

***

The house they move into together is still in ‘Frisco, but a part of the city where she knows no-one else. Her friends are a long and frustrating car ride away, her family too. She walks around the big, empty house and plans the furniture she’ll buy. Wandering into one of the other bedrooms, she holds her belly as she daydreams about the nursery she’ll design for her baby. Not that she’s showing yet, and it’s too early to tell anyone, but she knows. 

In those first few weeks in the house she doesn’t even get the polaroids out. They’re hidden in a book, and she almost forgets about them. Her baby is growing inside her and she’s busy planning and buying, painting and instructing delivery men. Roger comes home every day to a home-cooked meal and he kisses her on the temple and calls her baby. They have sex a couple of times a week, and she tells herself she doesn’t need any more. Soon she’ll be a mama anyway. Sex isn’t that important now. 

***

10 May 1969

Glory!

On vacation in Hawaii and I had to send you a postcard. Congratulations on your wedding, I hope you and Roger are very happy. The sun is shining here and we’ve spent a lot of time on the beach. Yisa loves it here! Maybe tonight I’ll try and cook something on the BBQ. 

Love

Your big boy xx

***

Gloria nearly faints when she sees the postcard. Her legs feel weak and she thinks she might be sick. She sits down on the floor and reads it over and over again. How could he do this? Send her this? When he knows she lives here with Roger? How does he even have her address? Her stomach rolls again and she runs to the bathroom to throw up. 

***

“I DON’T WANT TO PUSH!” 

Gloria feels outside of her own body again, watching the woman on the hospital bed, sweating and bloody and screaming that she doesn’t want this anymore. The doctor tries to talk her down, tells her that it won’t be much longer even though she’s sure that’s a damn lie. Roger left ages ago, he can’t stand the sight of blood and she’d already cussed him out and tried to punch him. Eventually they give her some insane cocktail of drugs that help her give birth but do nothing for the pain. They give her stitches for the tear and hand her a crying, wrinkled newborn. She holds him and cries, not sure whether they’re tears of sadness or joy or both. She’s not in a hurry to do that again. She names him Corey.

***

11 October 1969

Glory,

I’m in Hawaii again and thinking of you. My first shows in Vegas were back in July and August. I wonder if you saw anything in the papers about them. I wonder if you think of me at all. I hope we see each other again some time. I’ll leave tickets on the door for you when I play Frisco. I don’t know when, but I hope to soon. 

Your big boy xx

***

Gloria is in too much of a daze to be upset when she finds the postcard. It’s lucky that she scooped up the mail first, lucky Roger didn’t see it. She hides it with the other one, and the polaroids. Staggers to bed and lies down, hoping to get some sleep before Corey wakes up again. 

She lies in bed that night, waiting for Roger to finish brushing his teeth. He gets in next to her and pulls her close to him, immediately starting to kiss her neck. She grumbles. 

“C’mon, baby.”

He pushes her nightie up and starts to pull her panties down. She stares at him in disbelief. She’s so tired. 

“Roger… I’m still not ready…”

He shakes his head, pulling his pyjama bottoms down and starting to stroke himself. 

“It’s been such a long time, baby.”

She tries to wriggle away from him. He hadn’t wanted sex for a long time. Ever since she’d started to show, in fact. She tried to initiate, but he just rolled away. Even though she’s had her stitches out now and the doctor gave her the okay to have sex again, she feels like she never wants anything else near her vagina. All she can think of is the pain and the tear and it all still seems too raw. 

“Roger, no.”

He leans on top of her, pushing her legs open roughly and starting to push his dick inside. She whines. 

“You’re my wife,” he tells her, firmly. “And I want you now. Be quiet.”

She cries silently as he rapes her. She doesn’t think of it as rape at the time, doesn’t think that’s even possible when you’re married. But later on she realises it for what it is. She said no and he carried on regardless. 

***

The months pass by slowly, the house is finished and Gloria has nothing to do in the days apart from taking care of Corey. There’s not even any housework to do since Roger hired the maid. Gloria thinks she’s too pretty to be a maid really, but the house is always spotless. She fell pregnant again not long after she gave birth, and it’s not long now until she’ll be in the hospital again. As soon as she found out she started to look for news of Elvis in the papers. Left Corey with the nanny and took herself to the movie theatre to see Change Of Habit. She looks at the polaroids every day, and sometimes sits in the bed she shares with Roger and touches herself, looking at them and thinking of Elvis. She re-reads the postcards too. Missing him more than she imagined she could. 

Her second birth is a lot easier, and this time it’s a girl. She names her Jacqueline, Jackie for short. She knows that Roger will want another child so she calls her sister and asks for help. Her sister’s husband goes with her to the doctor to help her get back on birth control. She doesn’t tell Roger and prays he’ll just give up on the whole thing. She hates him touching her, but what choice does she have?

***

“Elvis! She’s here!” 

Those are the words he’s been dying to hear, thinking about them so hard he almost wonders if he’s hallucinated them. 

“What?” He snaps. 

“Gloria. She’s here, E.” Joe repeats. 

“Well move her to a box, make sure she can see properly. And get her backstage afterwards. Don’t lose her.”

Joe nods and just says yes. He decides it’s best not to get into the fact that he’s already moved Gloria and her sister into a box and told them he’ll collect them afterwards so they can go backstage. He’s never seen Elvis so agitated. 

Elvis’ stage fright is worse than ever before. He can’t believe she’s finally going to see him perform. He has to do everything right. Panicking, he runs to the bathroom to throw up.

***

Gloria stares at him as he comes onstage. He looks incredible in white and she can’t help being reminded of Walter Hale. He launches into That’s All Right at almost double-time, ripping through the words and the music as if he’s in a race to reach the end. She feels like he calms down a few songs in, and his eyes finally flick up to hers. She stares back at him and doesn’t know quite what else to do. She tries to make her mouth curl into a smile but she can’t do it. All she wants to do is cry. 

Elvis sees her looking sad and keeps trying to do things to cheer her up. He messes with lyrics, he karate-kicks the air, he talks about all sorts of nonsense between songs. Somewhere around Blue Suede Shoes it seems to have worked, and he finally sees that beautiful sunshine smile of hers. He wonders what has happened since he saw her last to make her seem so melancholy. He doesn’t have much time after the show before he’s driven to LA, but he has to find out what’s wrong with his Glory.

Her sister had raised an eyebrow at the way Joe had run up to her and made them move seats, the look on his face had suggested that Gloria meant a bit more to his boss than just someone he’d worked with on set a few times. But she isn’t one to ask questions. She doesn’t think Gloria is happy with Roger, and as she watches her sister watch Elvis, she thinks that this is the happiest she’s seen her for a while. 

***

Gloria trembles all the way backstage, sure her legs are going to give out. When she finally gets there he’s almost too much to deal with, it’s like he’s glowing with some kind of ethereal light. 

“Glory? Glory!” 

Elvis catches her in his arms as she faints, carrying her to the nearest couch and shooing people out of the way. She comes round and his blue eyes are the first thing she sees. 

“Elvis,” she whispers. “Is it really you?”

He nods. “Really me, Glory. Just take it easy now. Ya fainted, honey.”

“I’m Patricia, her sister.”

Elvis looks up quickly at the slightly stern tone. Making sure Gloria is propped up against the back of the sofa he stands up and shakes her hand. 

“Pleased to meet ya, Patricia. Do you go by Patricia, or Pat? Did ya enjoy the show?”

Patricia wobbles herself under his intense gaze. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen a man so attractive, never mind had all of his attention focussed on her at once. 

“Y-yes, thanks. And, uh… Pat… is fine.” She finds herself blushing like a teenager.

“Good. Glad ya liked it, Pat. And thanks for coming with Glory-a…” he quickly switches to her full name. “I uh.. I had really wanted to see her.”

Pat isn’t stupid, and Elvis carries on laying it on thick. It’s not long before he’s cleared out the entire room, including her, telling Joe to look after her for the next hour or so. He has to find out what’s wrong with his Glory. 

“You feelin’ better, honey?” He asks, after she finishes a glass of water. 

“Yes. Yeah. I think so.”

“You sure?” He strokes her cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. 

She looks at him for a moment and then shakes her head, bursting into tears. “No.” She grabs his shirt and presses her face against his chest, her body shaking. 

“Oh, baby. What’s wrong?” 

He holds her to him tightly, shushing her and kissing the top of her head. “You can tell me.”

“It’s n-nothing. I’m just tired.” She hiccoughs. 

“Is it Roger?” 

She lets go of his shirt and looks up at him, wiping her eyes. “No. Not Roger.” She can’t tell him. Can’t tell him she’s got trapped in this marriage with a man she hates. She doesn’t know what he might do. “Just um… the kids… making me tired.”

His face lights up immediately. “Kids?”

She smiles a little and reaches in her purse for the photos that her and Roger had had taken the other week. “Here. Corey and Jackie.”

“Oh Glory. They are both so beautiful. Just like their mama.”

She smiles a little more. She does love her kids. Even if they keep her awake most of the night and can’t hold a decent conversation between them. 

“Have you got a photo of Lisa?” She asks. Of course she knows what Lisa-Marie looks like. Everyone does. But she wants to see him puff up with pride again. 

“Yeah… yes… here,” he grabs his wallet and pulls out a tiny photo. 

“She’s beautiful.” She looks up at him through her lashes. “Just like her Daddy.”

He beams back at her, taking the photo back and tucking it away again safely. 

“Did you get my postcards?”

She can’t help smiling again. “Yes. Although you shouldn’t sign them off like that! What if Roger had seen?!”

Elvis chuckles. “Maybe Roger needs to know he has some healthy competition.”

“Elvis!” She shoves him playfully. 

“Oh you never used to call me Elvis, Glory.”

She narrows her eyes at him, still smiling despite herself. “I never used to be married.”

He shrugs, grabbing her and putting her on his lap. “It’s never stopped me.”

She can’t stop giggling now. “Well I know that! Do you think that’s a good thing?!” Her hands settle onto the back of his neck as he pulls her closer to him with his big hands. 

“Cilla’s not the girl for me, Glory,” he tells her, his hand moving to her face, pulling her towards him for a kiss. 

She lets him kiss her a little, then pulls back. “Oh really. And who is, exactly?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

He pulls her into another kiss and doesn’t let her out of this one so easily. Her heart is beating wildly, and she feels familiar warmth spreading between her legs. She feels guilt too. She’s married. 

They pull apart, breathing hard, their noses touching. “Did you like the show?” He asks. 

She nods. “You were incredible. I loved the gospel songs. And the outfit.” She smirks. “And your dance moves.”

He sniggers. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Those aren’t dance moves, big boy, those are sex moves.”

He blushes and laughs and tries to deny it. “N-no, I jus’... feel the music…”

“Oh yeah, yeah. You feel the music. I’ve seen you move your hips like that before and there definitely wasn’t any music!”

They both dissolve into gales of laughter then. He thinks how good it is to see her laugh like this again. He’d been worried about her when he first saw her. Maybe she is just tired. 

When they recover his thumbs are stroking her hip bones. She looks down and then back up at him and smiles, almost shyly. He smiles back and picks her up, putting her back onto the sofa and climbing down off it himself, until he’s kneeling on the floor. He puts a hand on each of her knees. 

“I’ve gotta go to LA tonight, but I’ve got a bit of time to make ya feel good. If ya want me to.”

She doesn’t hesitate, nodding and then croaking out a “yes,” just to make sure. 

He smiles that cute, lopsided grin of his, and then starts to kiss her knee, then the inside of her thigh, pushing her dress up as he goes. She spreads her legs for him, willing his mouth where she wants it. But Elvis is in the mood for a little teasing, and when he reaches the top of her thigh he skips over her panties and starts kissing down the other leg. She moans a little. He looks up, his eyes full of mirth. 

“Y’got somethin’ to say, honey?” Words buzzing against her skin. 

She snorts air out of her nose. “Thought you were making me feel good?”

His head moves back up again, pressing a single kiss to the outside of her panties. “Ya telling me my Glory doesn’t like to be teased no more?” 

She almost squeaks, feeling the words against her pussy, watching him close his eyes and so obviously breathe in her scent.

Chuckling to himself, he kisses the fabric again, a little harder, pushing it against her pussy and then licking where her arousal starts to seep through. Her hands reach to tangle in his hair, pulling his face against her. She feels him laughing against her again. 

“Elvis!”

He moves his head back. “Uh-uh. Ya don’t call me that.”

She groans, pulling his head back where she wants it as hard as she can. “Big boy…” she mumbles. “Please.” Letting up slightly on his head in the hopes he might move her panties out of the way. 

His hands slide up her legs and a finger hooks her panties to one side for just enough time for him to lick a quick stripe up her, making her cry out. Then he lets them go again, breathes in her scent and almost nips her with his teeth through the fabric. She pulls his hair. 

“You’re making me crazy!”

Squirming against him, wrapping her legs around his head now and hoping that will give her what she wants. She can feel when he’s grinning, when he giggles against her, that he’s finding this whole thing very entertaining. Even gripping him with her thighs, rolling her hips and basically grinding against his face isn’t getting her any closer to orgasm. She lets her legs flop open and lets his head go, groaning in frustration as her head tips back and her eyes close. 

Elvis wastes no time taking her panties off and diving right into her pussy, making her moan and throw her head forwards again to look at him. He’s not giggling anymore, he’s doing everything he possibly can to make her come as fast as possible, and it’s working. Her hands find his hair again and she grips it between her fingers as she rides his face, his tongue deep inside her as his nose presses against her clit. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck…” she mumbles, feeling herself about to snap. 

His hands push her legs even further apart and he somehow buries his face even deeper in her pussy, coaxing that dizzying high out of her. He loves watching her come undone, the way her voice breaks, the arch of her back pushing her breasts forward. With one final moan she comes and he licks her patiently through it, trying to somehow keep breathing despite the way she’s holding him against her.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs as she lets him go, flopping back onto the sofa again. 

“Was it good, baby?” He teases, that amused little look on his face again as he wipes it with his shirt sleeve. 

She opens her eyes and shakes her head a little, grinning back. “Oh yeah. Okay. It was good.” Rolling her eyes a little. “You’re still the best I’ve ever had. Come here.” Patting the sofa cushion. 

He grins and does as he’s told, expecting a kiss or a cuddle. Surprised when she leans over and undoes his belt, unzips his pants and pulls his dick out. 

“Payback time.”

His eyes go wide. “Oh honey… no… I mean…”

“Awwww. Big boy doesn’t like being teased?” She taunts, running her tongue around the head. 

He groans. The way he’d just treated her this was going to be torture. 

“Please, Glory,” he tries. 

She just giggles a little and then takes him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around. His hand immediately moves to the back of her head, fingers in her hair. Just as he’s starting to forget what she’d said about the teasing, she pulls off him and licks the tip a couple of times like a lollipop. He throws his head back and groans. 

“Oh, you think that’s bad?” 

Wrapping her hand around him, she starts to pump his dick, picking up speed as she slides her mouth back around him again. Feeling his fingers grip her hair, pulling it a little, hearing his breathing speed up until he’s panting and she’s pretty sure he’s close… and letting go and just slowly licking him again. 

“FUCK.”

She moves her head back off him entirely and leans an elbow on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. His face is red and he’s breathless, and she can’t help but feel he looks a little furious. 

“You gonna say sorry?”

He bites his lip. “No.”

She bursts out laughing and he can’t help joining in. “No?”

His eyes dart around the empty room and then he looks back at her, almost sheepishly. “Do it again.”

She’s only shocked for a second, and then she immediately goes back to work on his dick, not wanting him to change his mind. Getting down off the sofa, between his legs, she works him slowly until he’s whining for more, and then starts to pick up speed, her other hand massaging his balls. Sliding her mouth over the head again, she flattens her tongue against it, listening to his tells, watching his face, knowing the exact time to pull away and go back to stroking him agonisingly slowly. 

The noise he makes this time actually makes Joe burst into the room. 

“Boss! Oh… ah… sorry…” Joe blushes and then immediately disappears again. 

“Fuck’s sake!” Elvis shouts after him, then looks down at Gloria and can’t help laughing. 

She’s almost hysterical, her head against his thigh, laughing and laughing at Joe’s facial expressions. 

“Oh God he looked so worried!” She finally manages to get out. 

Elvis smirks. “He should. I’m gonna fucking kill him later.”

“I better not do that again. The police might break down the door this time,” she quips, and before Elvis has a chance to answer her mouth is all around him again. 

She takes him in as far as she can, then starts to bob her head up and down, his hand grabbing her hair again to help her. She squeezes his balls as she moves faster, and he rewards her with a loud satisfying groan. Starting to thrust into her mouth, his hips snap upwards, his hand holding her head still now so he can fuck her throat. He doesn’t last long like this, groaning again as he comes hard, his orgasm hitting him like a train and making him slightly dizzy. His hips jerk a couple more times and then he lets her head go, sighing as he flops against the sofa. She gets up and onto his lap, kissing him gently. 

Their foreheads pressed together, he hums with pleasure. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

They’re silent for a while, and then he opens his eyes again and sighs. 

“I have to go soon.” 

She nods silently. 

“You want your panties back?” 

That makes her giggle again. “You want to keep them?” She asks immediately. 

He somehow finds himself blushing again. He’d taken the other pair she’d left in the Clambake trailer home with him, and used them until they no longer smelled of her. He was a little embarrassed the first time he touched himself while breathing in her scent, but that soon wore off. And then so did the smell. He found himself disappointed that he hadn’t pocketed another pair when he’d seen her last. So… yes he really does want to keep them. But it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he should say, so he just continues to blush and avoid eye contact. 

“Oh, you do,” she teases. She has no idea how she’s going to get around going home without them on, but right now she doesn’t care. “You keep them then.”

He looks up at her, finally making eye contact again. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I miss the way you smell…” he whispers, almost giggling again in embarrassment but desperate to tell her somehow. 

She hums softly in reply, thinking that she misses the smell of him too. 

“I’ll have to see you again to let you have another pair…”

He pulls her against him tightly. “Please. Please don’t say this is the last time… fuck it. Come on tour with me. I’ll take you everywhere I go and your kids can come too… somehow…” he trails off, knowing what he’s asking makes no sense. 

“You know I can’t do that,” she tells him, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “But I promise this won’t be the last time.” She pauses for a second, and then decides to carry on. Saying it deliberately this time. “I… I still love you.” 

“I love you too, Glory,” he replies. 

***

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[more-sonorous]

tipsy cuddles (sun, moon, stars)— jatherid

this is just a little piece of some seriously extensive writing I’ve done for these three— I think I’ve probably written like 10k words for them that I’ve yet to share!

they are sort of tipsy in this scene, but all of these characters are 21+ (actually close to their thirties), so the alcohol consumption is totally legal.

the characters aren’t totally wasted and the alcohol is barely mentioned in this little section, but I figured I’d leave a warning!

anyways please enjoy these few words! I don’t have anything new to post today so I figured I’d share some writing I enjoyed doing.

(for context, davey did not confess feelings for them. he just ranted about how he’s attempted dating and it just hasn’t worked for him. the end of that rant is where the scenelet starts.)

…..

“It’s not that I don’t love people. I do. I know I do. Fuck, I’m almost positive that I’m bi. And I know I want— I want to be with people. I wanna date and all of that stuff, I really do. But I think something’s wrong with me. I’m too— I’m too weird, or something.”

By that point, Davey was gesticulating wildly as he spoke, face flushed and eyes bright with passion. He’d shifted positions in his chair and was leaning towards them, one leg tucked beneath himself and the other still tossed over the armrest. She’d seen him frustrated like this on multiple occasions, with tears shimmering in his expressive eyes and movements sharp and angry, but she’d never seen him vibrating with such a mix of shame and relief before. She wanted to hug him and hide him from the world forever. She wanted to tug her hands through his hair and call him hers and tell him he’d never have to worry about assholes who didn’t listen to him again. Because she’d listen. She knew she would.

Instead she settled with something simple: “Davey, that’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely not your fault. You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

“What if there isn’t a right person?” Then he frowned, and Kath felt her heart shatter in a million different ways.

“Oh, don’t say that. I know you’re gonna find someone.” She held a hand out and after a moment, he stretched his own arm across the gap to take it.

Kath tugged until he was stumbling to his feet, and from there, she pulled him down onto the couch where she and Jack were already curled together. He fell on top of her with a soft ‘oof’, which made all three of them laugh. Davey’s weight was a welcome blanket and she threw one arm around his waist, using the other to guide his face into the curve of Jack’s neck. Davey’s shoulder had landed just beneath her chin and she pressed her nose and lips against it, breathing in the smell of his laundry detergent and the unique notes of papery books and vanilla shampoo. How anyone could take someone like Davey for granted baffled Kath. He was a wonderful human.

She watched Jack’s hand find its way to Davey’s curls and the taller boy relaxed nearly immediately, feeling almost boneless against them. After about a moment in the embrace, Jack smiled slightly and tilted his head to press against Davey’s hair. “Can I take your glasses off, Dave?”

Davey gave a grunt of affirmation, so Jack carefully extracted the glasses from their tangle of limbs and carefully set them on the coffee table. Kath couldn’t hide her pleased smile. Somehow she’d landed two of the cuddliest men she knew as her boyfriend and best friend, and she absolutely wasn’t complaining.

“You smell good, Jack.” Davey’s voice vibrated his chest, words slightly slurred (he wouldn’t have said something so honest if he was sober). Kath watched as Jack smiled.

“Thanks, Davey. You too, man.”

Davey laughed a slightly drunken giggle and one of his hands slid down to Kath’s wrist, tangling with her fingers. She immediately took his hand in hers and closed her eyes, savoring the contact.

Soon Davey’s breaths began to even out and Kath and Jack followed suit, relaxing to the tune of the soft country music playing behind them. She was actually starting to enjoy the deep, crooning voices, but she’d never tell Jack that. She’d never hear the end of it and he’d be begging to blast his country favorites every day. Lowered inhibitions led her to gently nudge Jack. “Hey, Davey likes head scratches.”

“Kath, don’t—“ David whined, but his protest shut down the moment Jack’s fingertips disappeared into his hair and dragged carefully against his scalp. He made a very un-Davey-like noise and closed his eyes, which forced Katherine to suppress a giggle.

Jack laughed softly. “I think I found your factory reset, Davey.”

“Mmph, hush.” He muttered gruffly, and the other two shared a quiet laugh, because Jack was absolutely right. “You’re just weirdly good at this.”

Jack smiled slightly and wrapped his other arm securely around Kath’s waist, sandwiched between her body and the fabric of Davey’s t-shirt. “I’m a man of many talents. Now you just shut your eyes and nap, Dave. Stop thinkin’ so hard— I can hear your brain goin’ a mile a minute.”

“Yeah.” Kath gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks for being honest with us, by the way. About the dating stuff. I know that took a lot.”

“I… I guess I should’ve told you sooner.” He gave the smallest shrug, just barely shifting on top of her. Kath rubbed her thumb in a small circle against his palm.

“No, you were waiting until you were ready. I had no right to be offended. Let’s just— let’s just leave it be for now. I’m comfy.”

“Okay—“

He started pushing himself up out of their little pile and earned noises of protest from both Jack and Kath, who pulled him back down with whatever hold they had on him. David burst into drunken giggles, his chest shaking against Kath. She scoffed. “I said I was comfy!”

“But I’m crushing you!”

“I like being crushed. Now, shhh.”

Jack copied her shushing and once Davey’s fit of giggles died, Jack resumed his head scratches and Kath curled up between her boys, feeling more at home than she’d felt in a long time. Davey started drifting off, and he fell asleep long before Jack or Kath came close. The last movement she remembered was Jack sleepily reaching for their remote to turn off the music.

After that it was just warmth and sleep, and waking up sweaty and tangled and content in the morning with a hangover to boot.

[otterly-darling]

Countdown

5! – 4! – 3! – 2! – 1! Happy New Year!

A cheer rang out around the room, filling the small space with a cacophony of noise. All around him people were hugging, kissing, dancing about.

Remus looked at him, he looked back, eyes flickering down to Remus’ lips just once. A long time coming, Remus thought as he took a step closer. Over ten years of dancing around one another; clandestine coffee dates, pints of warm beer in dark corners of grotty London pubs, lingering glances, touches too overt to be platonic. It was time.

‘Happy New Year,’ Remus said, stepping closer still. Their noses were almost touching, fingers brushing down by their sides.

‘Happy New Year,’ he closed the gap, Remus closed his eyes and then… nothing. Remus opened his eyes.

‘Ha! Joke!’ he yelled with glee as he pushed at Remus’ shoulder. ‘I can’t believe you thought I was going to kiss you!’

Remus looked around the room, people were starring. Pete looked sympathetic, Lily looked confused, James – well – James looked a bit cross actually. And Remus, well Remus did the only thing he could think to do, he burst into tears and stormed off towards the kitchen.

-----

‘Dude!’ James threw his hands up, ‘What the fuck?!’

‘I don’t know!’ he looked aghast at the kitchen door, bottom lip wobbling. ‘I- I thought it would be funny,’ he whispered.

James looked severely unimpressed. ‘How? How was that funny? And also why?’

He tugged at jumper, pulling the sleeves down over his hands. ‘Because of Boxing Day. I told Fabian, he thought it would be funny.’

‘You have got to be joking!’

‘He-‘

‘Stop. We’ve been through this. It was decided that it was allowed.’

‘But the rule book says-‘

‘We ignored the rule book! We’d been playing for bloody hours. You weren’t even going to win anyway!’

He did not look appeased. ‘You’re not supposed to have plurals in scrabble. Everyone knows that,’ he muttered with a pout.

‘Go. And. Apologise.’ James shoved him a few times, inching him towards the closed door. ‘Kiss and make up. We’re all sick of this. You want to kiss him, he wants to kiss you. Get. It. Done.’

-----

He heard the door creaking behind him and then the soft click of its close. He already knows how he’s is standing; shoulders slightly hunched, hands covered by his jumper, right foot in front of the left. James’ll be with him.

Remus sighed without turning to face him. ‘I don’t want to talk to you Regulus. I’m drunk and I misread the situation. It was a stupid thing to do and-‘

‘Regulus?!’

Remus turned. ‘Oh. Hi Sirius. Sorry, I thought you were your brother.’

‘My brother?!’ Sirius cheeks were pink and it was spreading.

‘Yeh. I just did something really stupid out there and I’d really prefer to be alone right now-‘

‘You thought you were kissing my brother?!’

‘I thought was going to kiss your brother.’ Remus amended.

‘I know we look alike, Rem, but how drunk are you- wait.’ The pink drained from Sirius’ face, ‘You wanted to kiss my brother?’ he asked, voice trembling.

Remus looked at him. It looked very much like Sirius was about to cry. ‘I- I thought you knew,’ he started, ‘I’m sorry, Sirius but-‘

‘Oh enough! Both of you!’ James actually stamped his foot, the vein in his temple throbbing. ‘Remus! You’ve made him cry!’

‘He made me cry-‘

‘No he didn’t!’

Remus grinned. ‘Ok. No he didn’t.’

‘I didn’t?’ Sirius looked up, wiping furiously at his eyes with his cuffs.

‘I heard you talking to Fabian about it,’ Remus looked a bit sheepish. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist. I didn’t think you were Regulus.’

‘Ahem!’ They both looked at James. ‘You are both dicks,’ but he smiled begrudgingly. ‘But clearly made for each other. I’ll see myself out.’

Once James had removed himself from the kitchen Sirius cocked his head to the side, eyes still on Remus. ‘Sorry?’ he said, trying to make his eyes as wide as possible. ‘Although my brother, Moony? Gross.’

‘I thought he’d annoy you the most,’ Remus said, skirting round the kitchen island. He took a step closer still. Their noses almost touching, fingers brushing down by their sides. This time is was Remus who leant in to whisper in Sirius’ ear.

‘You really need to get over that scrabble game.’

Sirius kissed him.

@wolfstarmicrofic

[fool3]

So after almost TWO FUCKING YEARS OF READING THIS SHIT, I am finally done with the Silmarillion. I am a very slow reader and the Silmarillion is such a stupidly long book with itty bitty font, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve learned that I read as if I’m saying the words in my head like I’m narrating it, so it takes a while. Also I’m not technically done I still have the third age left but that’s only twenty pages and just a recap of The Lord of the Rings. Anyway I absolutely love this book, it’s really like an insanely long poem sometimes with how Tolkien writes this because it can be so beautiful at times. It can be a slog though, there are so many places and character names to remember that if it didn’t have an index in the back (and mine came with a physical map which is awesome) I don’t know how anyone could read this.

But really this book is tragic, there is so much corruption by power and wealth that ultimately destroys all the alliances between elves and men, and the Dunedain succumbing to their fear of death and want for immortality at the hands of Sauron, ultimately leading to the destruction of their land is very sad. The individual stories as well almost always end in death, and there are very few happy endings. But I did love reading it, and I think that’s because I’m such a big fan of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. If you aren’t a huge fan of them, and aren’t willing to put in a lot of time into reading and understanding the history of this world then I wouldn’t recommend it really.

What stood out to me after finishing it is the philosophical side of it, and how greed can so easily darken the minds of humanity and even beings greater than us, such as elves. In the end it really is about power, faith, courage, and goodness over evil. I think that’s why it’s so beautiful, because it’s so inspiring in every way to just be brave and fight for what is right, even if the odds seem impossible.

Now I can FINALLY read some other stories that I’ve been dying to, Dune mostly. That’s all thank you

[kingofthewilderwest]

Um.

Ah.

Yeah.

So.

About that.

You got the "terrible" right but ah OKAY SO in a certain segment of Classical Music YouTube fandom lore, Bach [oh no I am already crumpling and laugh-cringing as I type this and I only said "Bach"] got like. He time traveled to the present but got abducted by scientists that experimented on him and [oh my gosh I am almost lying onto my computer, stop me from wilting, God grant me the power to finish this answer] they wanted him and other genius classical composers to form a modern-day pop boyband and [you have no idea how much physical strength I am having to use. you have no idea this is more exercise than my 50 min gym workouts at lunch] it would be so fun to write this adventure about the composers on the run against the Evil Modern Music Powers That Be with some Sci-Fi Stuff and trying to get back to their timelines but do they WANT to go back to their timelines because their lives sucked there too but in the process of the adventure they grow and bo--mygoshIcannotanswerwhenIhavetosummarizeitoutlikethisinthewild [all words collapse and cease to exist] I sold this idea all to a friend earlier with gusto and I've written legit ideas up in a Doc but this is so hard to say on main in front of PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT IN THIS FUCKING FANDOM AHHHHGNGHFNGNfhgn okay so like this is NORMAL LORE for this fandom We Haven't Even Gotten To The Weird Shit Yet BUT GAH AUGHGnghnghNHHH see there was a REASON I was going to post this fic if I did it UNDER A DIFFERENT NAME THAN I USUALLY DO FOR FICS AND NOW I JUST FUCKING OUTED MYSELF I AM GOING HOME I AM GOING TO SCREAM IN THE NEAREST BUCKET I AM GOING TO EAT MY PILLOWCASE WHY AM I HERE WHY DID I JUST ANSWER YOU FUCK YOU AHNGHFNGHGHGN why am I FRIENDS WitTH YoU ANNHGNFHGnfhghHHHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway. That's the idea. Sort of. If you can read that. *fingers crossed that you can't*

Oh no.

Save me.

I have a fic idea I really wanna do.