#x factor fic

[abundanceofsoph]

SkyFire 3: Chapter 17

The Judges House: August 2018

Word count: 2.2k

SkyFire 3 MASTERLIST

Before leaving London at the end of August, Aurora made an appointment with her obgyn and had a series of blood tests and ultrasounds completed to confirm whether or not she was pregnant after the first round of insemination.  Once she received the results, she and Harry flew to New York ahead of the contestants and crew so that they could spend a few days with Rori’s parents and the rest of the Avengers.

As always, Aurora was overjoyed to be home and the moment she stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse, she was swept up in a bone crushing hug by Steve, as had become their tradition. He barely set her back on her feet before Tony pulled her against him in a tight hug of his own.

“Careful, you two,” she warned. “There’s precious cargo on board.”

They both pulled back from the hug for a moment in confusion, staring at her for a moment  as they processed her words, and she was glad she’d thought to ask Harry to film this on his phone when she saw the way both Steve and Tony’s eyes welled with tears as her words sank in.

“Really?” Steve croaked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Really,” Aurora replied with a grin that had her cheeks aching. “I’m pregnant.”

They pulled her back towards them in a hug, although she noticed the way they squeezed her a little less this time.

“I don’t understand,” Steve mumbled in confusion, his brows pinched tightly together. “All of the specialists told us that this was going to take several rounds…”

“I guess they never took into account that super soldier serum of yours babe,” Tony replied as they all headed for the living room sofas.

“I just can’t believe it’s really happening,” Steve admitted. “We’re having a baby.”

The rest of the day was spent with neither Steve nor Tony more than a few meters from Rori at any moment, and neither of them could stop thanking her continuously as the day passed. Eventually the sun set and the rest of the Avengers started appearing in the Penthouse as dinner neared. Aurora had set herself up on a barstool at the breakfast bar so that Steve could prepare dinner without feeling too far from her.

xXx

Originally Tony had planned for he and Steve to vacation in Miami for the week while Rori would be filming in the Tower so that they would be out of the way, but with the news of the baby they decided to stay in NYC. They had accepted that with Aurora in London for the show, they would miss a great deal of the pregnancy so they were eager to make the most of her being home in New York briefly and were already planning their visits to London over the next few months. For her part, Rori took their smothering in stride as she knew that they were just excited.

They had almost a full day to dote on her after the announcement the previous evening before the film crew arrived and started setting up in the living room of the penthouse, ensuring that the wide expansive view of Central Park would be perfectly captured in the back of the shot. While all of this preparation was done, the contestants flew in from London and were sent off on a sightseeing tour of the city before they got to work early  the following day.

xXx

That next morning, the contestants were filmed walking through Central Park before they exited at the Maine Monument in the shadow of Avengers Tower. They all acted surprised when Aurora was standing on the street corner to greet them, rushing forward to hug their mentor.

“So what do you think of my city, Girls?” Rori asked. The answering squeals caused her to chuckle before gesturing for them to cross the road. “Come on, let’s go.”

There was no faking the shock and awe of the young girls as they entered the lobby of the tower and then took the private elevator up to the Penthouse floor. Rori remembered well her own feelings of awe when she stepped out of the lift and into the Penthouse for the first time. It had been before the remodel after the Battle of New York, but the impact was still much the same. The camera’s captured the excitement and awe on the contestants faces as they took in the opulent room and the glass wall which provided the sweeping view of Central Park laid out beneath them. Aurora took a moment to take in the familiar locations she could see bordering the park. The Aquavella gallery, her old high school LaGuardia High, the Belvedere Castle, and off in the distance she could just catch a glimpse of the Columbia campus.

“Welcome to Manhattan, Girls,” Aurora announced, “and welcome to Avengers Tower. So far in the competition it’s all been about being on stage and performing in front of big crowds, but today I want to strip all of that back and just really get a sense of who each of you are. What I’m looking for today is your passion, your range and your control. If you can deliver that, then I know you’ll be able to take on the live shows and take it all the way to the finals.”

The girls all looked amongst themselves anxiously before following Aurora over to the couches arranged for them in the living room. Rori didn’t join them on the couch, and instead walked over to where the chairs were set aside. “Of course, picking who will be joining me in the live shows is a really big decision and one I definitely can’t make alone, so I’ve got a special guest joining us to help me judge your performances today. He’s an award winning, multi-platinum selling artist, who has performed sold out shows on almost every continent, but most importantly of all he’s the opinion in trust more than my own, Girls please give a warm welcome to my husband, Harry Styles.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Harry said once the excited squeals had died down. “I’ve been exactly where you are now and I know how terrifying this moment is. Just remember that you made it this far because you have something special and that you’ve earned your place. Just sing from the heart and you’ll be ok.”

“Molly, I’d love for you to kick things off for us love,” Rori announced once she and Harry had taken their seats. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, and tell Harry a bit about yourself?”

As each girl took their turn in front of Aurora and Harry, she grew more and more uncertain about who she wanted to pick to continue in the competition. Each of the contestants had incredible voices and moving stories and Rori hated the idea of being the person to take their dream away from them. She was relieved when they finished filming the girls segments and they were ushered out of the Tower to have dinner on the upper east side.

“Harry, what am I going to do?” Rori asked once the elevator lifts slid closed. “How on earth am I going to pick who to send home?”

“I think you have to trust your gut love,” Harry replied, conscious of the camera’s still capturing every moment of their conversation. “They each have something special, but they also have a lot to learn. Which of them do you think you can teach?”

“I feel like Bella has something special about her,” Rori mused. “She’s got such an energy and I want to see where we can take that together.”

“One down, 3 to go,” Harry nodded. “Shan has an incredible voice and she’s clearly got a lot of guts to come here today and sing an original song in front of you.”

“And it was good,” Rori agreed. “So Bella and Shan are in, which only leaves 2 more spots.”

“Any ideas?”

“None,” Aurora admitted, “They are all fantastic. I have no idea what to do.”

“Why don’t we go join them for dinner and then you can sleep on it and maybe you’ll feel more sure of your choice in the morning.”

Aurora agreed with her husband's plan and they both left the tower with the camera crew in tow to join the 6 girls for dinner.

xXx

The following day Aurora walked a few blocks from the tower with one of the camera crew to accompany her as she headed off to meet with her contestants. It was a sunny day and she silently hoped that she looked as confident as she was pretending to be as she walked down 7th avenue. The 6 Girls were waiting for her on the side walk when she arrived and she happily accepted the group hug. “Ladies, welcome to one of my favourite places in New York, the famous Carnegie Hall. Let’s head inside.”

They were guided through the building and out onto the main stage, looking out over the empty rows of red velvet chairs. The contestants looked around in awe, and Aurora herself found it all a bit breathtaking. “Some of the greatest musicians in history have stood on this stage and commanded their audience. Each of you, for your own personal reasons, dreams of your moment, and while 4 of you will have the opportunity to continue on this journey with me, unfortunately 2 of you will not be joining us in the live shows.”

The 6 contestants instinctively reached for each other, all holding hands and their breath for what Aurora would say next.

“Harry and I deliberated this decision for a very long time last night and even this morning on the walk over here, I still wasn’t 100% certain I’ve made the right choice, but one thing we did decided on is that Harry’s least favourite part of being a contestant back in the day was waiting in another room as one by one each person got told their fate. So I won’t put you through all that and instead I’m just going to tell you all together. Bella and Shan… You will be joining me in the live shows.”

Bella launched herself into Shan’s arms, both girls gripping each other tightly as they celebrated.

“But of course that only leaves 2 more places on my team,” Rori pointed out as the tension continued to build. “Maria and Georgia… I’m sorry ladies, but this isn’t your year. Congratulations Scarlett and Molly.”

There were a lot of tears following her announcement and Rori was quickly pulled into hugs.

“I’m so sorry,” she told the illuminated contestants. “I’m so sorry, please don’t give up after this.”

xXx

Aurora and Harry remained in New York for a few more days and while they were still in town, the first Audition episodes began airing. Aurora was nervous for the audience response, given how a lot of people had been very vocal on Twitter when she was announced as a judge.

◊Ella: Here as always with the latest episode of ‘what you missed on twitter’

◊Aurora: God do I even want to know?

◊Ella: People think you’re funny and the directioners are loving seeing you and Lou together.

◊Aurora: What… no hate?

◊Ella: eh, there’s always gonna be some loud arseholes but they're in the minority

◊Aurora: What are they saying?

◊Ella: Nope. We’re focusing on the good comments and we’re ignoring the dickheads.

◊Aurora: That means it’s pretty bad…

◊Ella: You’re your own worst enemy. Let’s have coffee when you’re home on Thursday and I’ll give you the full run down in person yeah?

◊Aurora: Fine. I’ll settle for Thursday. Meet you at the stag at 4?

◊Ella: Make it 4:30 and I’ll see you there.

◊Aurora: Love you E.

◊Ella: Love you too, A.

xXx

After returning to London, the beginning of September was spent in vocal lessons with the contestants and continuing to film extra video packages for upcoming episodes. More of the audition episodes aired and the public started picking out favourites among the contestants. They also seemed to love the dynamic between Louis and Aurora.

The pair  were having lunch together one afternoon at the studios where the show was based when Simon approached them.

“Have either of you been on Twitter lately?” he asked after sitting down at their table.

“I left Twitter years ago,” Rori answered, sparing a quick glance at Louis while they both tried to figure out what Simon wanted. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing’s wrong,” Simon replied. “Quite the opposite actually. The audience is loving you two during the auditions. So I want you to lean into your friendship and really act it up when we start the live shows.”

“We’re not acting Simon,” Louis scoffed.

“If people liked the way we interact, shouldn't we just keep being ourselves?” Rori added.

“Of course,” he backtracked. “I’m not trying to say you should fake anything and obviously you're very close. I just want you to lean into that and really let those interactions shine when you’re on camera.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure thing mate, will do.”

“Excellent,” Simon nodded with a smug grin. “I knew I made a great decision getting both of you on to judge.”

“Uggh,” Aurora scoffed after watching Simon stand up and walk away. “God he’s gross.”

"What a dickhead," Louis agreed.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

#skyfire #skyfire fic #husband harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #dad!tony #domestic fluff #iron dad #step dad steve rogers #aurora stark #harry styles #tony stark #x factor fic

[sentient-stove]

“Wait, wait, wait, short baby Robin, back it up. You followed a radioactive green dog into the sewers? With no weapons?”

“Don’t be an idiot Grayson, I always have a weapon on me. It’d be counterproductive if I didn’t. Anyway- the dog disappeared and I was already down there so I followed the voices to this room—”

“You followed voices?!?”

“Do try to keep up.” Damian snipped. “Yes, and there was a room down there, like some sort of tomb and then I pulled this guy out of the coffin there.” And subsequently gave himself mild frostbite he was guessing by the way he still couldn’t feel his hands. Dick looked mid aneurysm at Damian’s minimal explanation but that had the benefit of him not asking anymore questions as he let them into the apartment, offering to take the teenager from Damian wordlessly.

“Did he tell you anything?” Dick pressed fingers to the teen’s wrist, brow furrowed. “Low pulse, okay. Okay. To the living room then. Was he awake when you got him out?”

“For a few moments.”

“And did you ask him for a name?”

“No.”

“Damian.”

“I was preoccupied with finding a living person in a glass coffin Grayson. He did say one thing though.” Besides thanking Damian but he was keeping that to himself for as long as he could.

“What was it?”

“The Packers suck.”

“Like the football team?” Dick questioned and Damian shrugged.

#dc x dp #damian wayne #dick grayson #danny fenton #danny phantom #dc comics #fanfic #wip hell #is it just me or would a Danny Phantom fic set in the 80s would slap #cause like satanic panic factoring into the ghost fear #but that’s not this wip lol #anyway I’m out #he’s! a! phantom! #glass casket au

[idyllcy]

portal

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: smut, nsfw themes

Summary: For eternity past and eternity beyond, Tim would stay in your arms, even if you no longer remember him, even if you no longer care — he would chase you.

Tim doesn't necessarily remember the first time he met you.

Perhaps it had been when he first joined the tower under Dick's help to see you peering from behind his brother, arms wrapped around his arm, Dick's hand on your waist — or maybe it was when he caught you making out with Jason in an alleyway after patrol had ended. Or even, it could have been that time you sat on his father's lap without thinking twice to take over whatever he had been doing on the computer. Tim knew you as bad news. That's all he needed to know about you. He didn't want anything to do with you.

But despite all of it, Tim does remember the first time he met you.

He met you long before he had ever been Red Robin, before he had even considered taking the title of Robin, long before he had discovered Robin had been Dick Grayson. He had met you in his parents' backyard on a playdate while your families discussed business. He had met you under the comfort of the spring breeze, the sun of a splendid day, the greenest grass between your fingers and the warmth of the earth. He had met you with round cheeks and short legs, the two of you making dirt soup in the comfort of his garden. The two of you refused to taste it and watched as the water continued to sink into the grass each time.

"d'ya think we're drowning the plants." You blink, remembering something from your teacher.

"No way." He grumbles. "Not enough water to drown them."

Timothy Jackson Drake met you when he was five years old in his family's backyard.

As much as he denied the fact, he would not have traded it for anything else in the world.

You had been close, he admits. Holding hands as he showed you around the garden the next time you came over, helping you climb up into his treehouse, scribbling on the walls of your initials and his with a heart surrounding the two, mumbling hushed secrets that only five-year-olds could tell, giggling and laughing at each other in the small wooden room. But you scribbled other things. You scribbled animals and shapes and colors and designs and the whole universe on the blank canvases of white paper he would give you. Characters named after him, after his friends, after the stars. Everything you drew held a certain life to it, and Tim had been in love with it as much as a five-year-old could.

The two of you shared the kitchen counter as you raced each other to complete your math homework, years ahead of your own age group, head spinning as Tim tried to teach you long division at five, his own head spinning when you showed him how to do algebra. It's how it had been for so long, the kitchen island being the two of you's safe space away from school and the other pressures of socializing. Tim didn't have to smile at lying adults when he had you in his house.

But your friendship didn't stop there.

Children in their mother's arms, holding hands as your two families posed for a photo with the Flying Graysons. You had told Tim shyly that you found Richard Grayson attractive, flushed cheeks, as any five-year-old girl would have said. It was under your breath once away from the family. He looked back at the acrobat and then at you, striking you with a "he's too old for you" causing you to drop your jaw and smack him. It would have been a fight had your mother not stepped in immediately and had you apologize for hitting him. You did it with a pout on your lip, and Tim had blown a raspberry at you. You probably would have given him a middle finger if you knew how to do one.

The same held when the two of you watched the rope snap and the two adults fall to their deaths.

You let out a scream, trying desperately to reach at the falling acrobats, your mother holding onto you for dear life, begging you to not, chanting it over and over again like a mantra, true fear in her eyes, not from the deaths, but out of fear that you would do something. Tim's heart broke, but he didn't fail to notice the way you yelled at your mother immediately after the two families separated, arguing that the deaths were unnecessary and there was no way they would have died had you stepped in. Your mother hushed you instead, telling you to keep your mouth shut in public, and Tim wondered if there was something different about you.

Not that he would ever get to see you again.

Your mother had dropped by one afternoon, without you, three weeks after the show, a box of her cookies with her and an apology on her lips, letting his own mother know that the two of you were moving. Tim had watched from the couch, the documentary running in the back long tuned out, his face frowning. You were nowhere in sight. He'd never get to see you again. You didn't even come see him as a goodbye. Maybe you were still in a bad mood from the death. Yet, as more and more excuses conjured in his brain for you, he wondered why. It still hurt. You were his only friend. The frown was present on his face even when he went to bed.

His mother, later on, told him (one night while he was half asleep) that the two of you were running away, not moving. That it was dangerous for a mother and daughter to live alone in Gotham without spectacular wealth like him. That there was never any family fortune to begin with and that your mother nearly lost the custody battle. You didn't see him not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to. She had pressed a kiss to his forehead, not before letting him know that he would start boarding school soon. (He didn't want to go)

Tim never got to ask why.

Instead, the next time the two of you meet, the two of you are fourteen, and Tim's grapple has just been cut by someone. He wonders how far Batman is, and he wonders if he could just reach onto the brick wall next to him. He can't. So, he presses the button on his suit, alerting Batman. Maybe he'd be able to get him before he'd break his spine or something. He prays his line is still active. Hopefully Oracle had some way of helping him. Maybe even Nightwing would be able to swing in.

"Oracle-" His voice breaks, wind in his mic. "Where's the Bat? My grapple got cut. Criminal heading southeast on—"

"I'm on it." Another voice cuts in on the line, and he pauses as he lands on the ground gently, looking around him. He hears the sound of moving behind him, but he isn't able to see anything from the darkness. They blended in better than the bat himself. He fell from the twentieth floor and landed as if he had jumped off the first floor of an elementary school playground. The sound disappears just as quickly as if had appeared.

"We have an emergency support?"

Batman nods at him. "Portal."

"Who's Portal?"

"Not sure myself." He hands Robin a new grapple, and he nods. "Do not do that again."

"Yes, B."

So, as Tim steps back into the Batcave for the night, he finds himself clicking on the mic again. "Oracle?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know who Portal is?"

The end of the line is silent.

"No. Sorry."

"How'd we meet them?"

"They appeared one day," Oracle hums. "Nightwing had slipped on his footing and appeared back on the roof immediately as he had opened his mouth. Then it happened once with B, then with me, and a handful of times with Jason."

Tim nods. "Can I dig into them?"

"Without their knowledge." Oracle laughs. "Though hard. They're on the line right now, right?"

A third voice joins. "Mhm."

"Are you alright with it?"

Their voice is distorted. A voice changer. "You won't find anything on me."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It can be."

"If you find anything about me, you show me your face." Tim grins.

"And if you fail within a week, you'll stop trying to figure out who I am."

"Deal."

Tim finds himself cooped up in his room for the rest of the week, searching through voice files, body cam footage, anything that might give him a lead on you. He finds nothing. Just your voice. So, he tries putting the distorted voice through a filter for your voice and matching it to someone in the files. No one. Not even in the FBI database. Tim finishes patrol a week later, sighing into the lines. He found nothing. You won.

"So? Did you find anything?"

"No."

"Oh. I was hoping you could help me figure it out." The voice on the line goes silent.

"Huh?"

You don't speak on line ever again after that.

Tim pauses when he recalls you called him by first name. Not Robin. But it's strange. Unless you were some genius, there was no way you would have been able to— ah. It seems he's forgotten something important to him. Yet the name sticks in the back of his mind, not daring to let it tumble from past his lips after so many damned years of being apart. It'll be something he holds in himself until you would appear one day. He doesn't know. Maybe he'll never see you physically again. He doesn't understand why the longing, but he supposes it's what he deserves.

So, the two of you meet at fourteen and that was it. Tim triple-checks his equipment before leaving, upgrades after upgrades being made. He fears there will never be a need to call you ever again.

Except that isn't the end.

The next time Tim sees you, he gets to see you. The two of you are eighteen, and Tim is finally getting to meet you, put a name to your face. Your hands are around Dick's arm, peering at him, mask on your face as Tim stares straight at you, eyes digging into you, neither of you breaking eye contact as Dick had just finished reintroducing Tim to the team. You blink at him slowly, lashes fluttering, and Tim curses the way his heart skips a beat as you do. Then, Dick moves on to introduce you. You still don't move. Neither of you do.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

Tim's heart crawls up his throat at the nickname tumble from his brother's lips.

"Have I met him before?" You blink at Dick, doe-eyed. Tim feels weird at the look.

"Not during the time that you've been with us." He hums, letting you step out. "This is Portal. Our emergency contact."

"Oh." Tim finally puts two and two together, body moving on its own, rushing over to clasp his hand on top of yours, words tumbling out before he can think. "We've met before. We grew up together."

"Oh." You blink at him owlishly, and Tim's breath catches in his throat all over again. "I... don't remember. Sorry."

"Portal was found half dead on the ground when she was nine." Dick hums. "Retrograde amnesia."

Tim lets go, staring as your eyes linger on your hand for a little longer.

"Pleased to meet you." You smile at him, lips pulled into a gentle smile. He can't see your eyes behind the mask, so how much more different you must look now is left to his imagination. Not to mention the way it was hard to register you in general. Huh. Speaking of which, he can't really see you. Strange.

"You can't see Portal without the new masks." Dick tosses him another domino mask, an exact replica of his current one, and he puts it on, your presence flashing away and then back as he does. He pauses at the sight of you. No — He can't. He doesn't deserve to.

He really wonders, for a moment, if it was even possible to rekindle the friendship you had with him so many years ago. Maybe you would have preferred to forget.

"Red Robin's in charge while I'm gone." Dick drops something in your hand, the object passing through your hand and disappearing before he presses his lips to the corner of yours. "If you need me, ask Portal."

Tim stares at you, blinking slowly.

"Slept with the whole team before, huh?"

You raise a brow at him, expression dropping. "Really?"

"Why else would my brother kiss you?"

"So that equates to the whole team? I thought you were the smart Robin." You sigh.

"Does he know you're such a bitch?"

"Gee, and I thought we were hitting it off well." You deadpan. "No. I'm sleeping with your brother."

"Did you really forget everything?" Tim takes a step toward you.

"Yes." You sigh. "It's been nine years. I gave up on remembering."

"Yeah?" another step.

"Mhm." You tilt your head to stare at him.

"Do you remember your mom?"

"Died in the mugging."

"And your dad?"

"Out of the picture."

"And me?"

You look at Tim through your lashes as he stares at you, forehead now on yours, eyes falling to your lips. God, he could kiss you right now. It wouldn't be fair to either of you. He doesn't even think his own emotions are anything far from obsession over an old friend, but he's sure you're not just a friend to him because the things he would do to you if you would just let him. He's nothing short of obsessed. Shit. He's not supposed to be like this. His lips brush yours as your breath hitches, his own mirroring you. He likes you more than he could admit.

"Robin, was it?"

"Tim, for you." and he presses his lips to yours.

Tim wonders if among the tangled sheets and fingers, you could remember him. It's selfish of him, nipping at your bottom lip and pressing his skin to yours, mumbling memories across your skin, eyes gentle and soft despite the lack of romance between the two of you. It could be one-sided. It could take forever, even if he were asked. He would have waited for that long. He would have waited however long it took. Even if it took an eternity. He would have spent said eternity in your arms, reminding you of every moment if that's what it took.

But Tim returns to Gotham in a short while after that, the taste of your lips lingering on his, staring out at the city on rare peaceful nights, fingers pressed to his lips, still remembering you. On certain nights he finds himself sitting on the roofs, wondering if he called you, maybe you would come. Just a gentle cry for help to Oracle, and then you'd appear. He'd pull you to his lap, pressing his lips to yours until you'd get for him to touch you in some way, and then he'd tease you, getting you drunk off the same feeling he had when you were around him. He'd have you beg for him the same way he begged for you.

He wonders if you feel the same as him.

The next time Tim gets to see you, you're in an alleyway, Red Hood's arms on you, mask abandoned somewhere on the ground, domino mask still on. Tim watches. He has no reason to interfere. Your fingers are tangled in Jason's hair, his own hands flush on your waist, both of your lines turned off, presumably. He can't hear the two of you make out, and he's sure that Babs and the others wouldn't want to either. Your eyes are half-lidded, mouths messy against each other, and Tim reaches up to his mask, requesting Oracle to send his voice to you two's line and stares down. He has no reason to interfere, but maybe he wanted you for himself.

"Red, isn't it a little improper to be making out with someone during patrol?" His lips curl into a smirk as he finishes.

He watches as Jason pulls away, scowling at the sound of Tim's voice, and he watches as your eyes meet his, mouth shiny with your messed up lip gloss and a broken strand of saliva fresh on your lips. You disappear as fast as you reappear, pulling Tim from the edge, pressing your lips to his, the taste of Jason's last cigarette still fresh in your mouth, catching Tim off guard as you nip at his bottom lip, tongue pressing into his mouth. Tim collects himself just as quickly, a hand finding itself on your face while the other rested on your waist, leading you to a wall.

Your back presses against the brick as Tim's hand moves to your face, tilting your head to give himself more access to your mouth, eyes half-lidded as he stares at your closed eyes and pretty lashes. He brushes over your cheek gently, again and again until you lean further into him, chest pressed to his impossibly closer, moaning quietly as he moves a hand back to your hair, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling on the strands, still tilting your head so he could completely devour you. He grasps onto you harder, lips on yours, brain spinning with lust, drunk off of your lips, desperate to savor every last piece of you, desperate to smother you until you could remember who he was to you. To kiss you until the only thing you could think of in your day-to-day life was how good his lips felt against your own.

You pull away first, lack of air getting to you, Tim chasing your lips as you hold him at an arm's length away, head hung as you try to catch your breath, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the mess of your chapstick even more evident. Tim glances down to see what he can of you, licking his lips to try and see if your lip gloss was flavored. cherry. He'd make a mess of you each time if it meant you would look so blissed out just from making out with him. Maybe you'd look even better from below, his head between your thighs, just like—

"Red Robin, where are you?"

"I'm with Portal." He answers as you finally straighten, collecting the mess of spit and lipgloss around your mouth, staring him dead in the eye as you lick it off your fingers, giving him a show.

"I bet you were making out with her, huh?" Jason's voice rings on the line, and Tim opens his mouth for a retort as you press your palm to his lips, leaning into where his mic was, smirk on your lips.

"And if he was?" Tim notices that your mic has been turned off, and he jumps in his skin as Dick's voice registers in his ear.

It's a shriek.

The sound adjusts itself in his ear so that it doesn't blow his eardrums, and he pauses, staring at the way you stared at him at the witches' hour, lips pulled into a gentle smile, the stars in your eyes, rendering Tim breathless. He steps back at you, hand brushing your hair out of your eyes, staring down at you, breath caught in his own throat. Oh, if only he could have you the way he wanted to. The way he wanted to wake up and press his face into your bare skin under the rays of the sun — the way where he would clutch you close under the kisses of the moon after patrol, his arms wrapped around you to thank you for the morning.

But he can't have you that way. Not yet.

You tilt your head at him as he exhales, pressing his forehead to yours again, resting his eyes for a moment.

"I can take you home." You blink at him.

"Please, Portal." Your name sounds like a prayer tumbling from his lips, one begging to have all of you. His hands don't move from your face.

You open a portal underneath his feet, sending the two of you to the Batcave, and you shake yourself free from his grasp, once again disappearing from his vision. He sighs, turning on his heel, getting ready to head upstairs.

"So, Portal?" He pauses in his stripping to stare at Dick. "No judgement, of course."

"What judgement is there? You've hooked up with her before."

"Once."

"She said you were hooking up."

"Oh, no. She was far too invested in something she lost for us to actually be something under a relationship." Dick throws Tim a towel.

"And Jason?"

"She was testing something." Jason grins, emerging from the showers. "She was right. Where's my phone?"

Dick tosses it to him.

"Owe her twenty."

"What was she betting on?"

The two share a glance and then stare at Tim.

"Do you know why you couldn't find anything on her when you tried so many years ago?"

"What does this-"

It clicks all of a sudden.

The next time Tim sees you, you hop onto Batman's lap like it's nothing, taking over the computer without asking him to move. He watches as your fingers fly over the keyboard and search bar, finding the files that Batman had thought he had trashed. You had a way for everything, even if it was no longer on the computer. He could do that, but watching you do it was so much more attractive. Especially when you were bent over the desk like that, ass in the air. He glances at his dad and the fact that he looks unbothered, still staring up at the big computer as you continue to type in lines of code to try and break through the lock.

"Who does this belong to again?"

"Red needs it for Penguin."

"Double R or Red?"

"Red."

"Ah!" You grin as the password is cracked, and you lick your lips as you step off of Batman, the man ruffling your hair as he clicks into the files to find the one Jason needed. Tim frowns. It's dad. It's a sign of fatherly affection. His own father isn't into you, yet he finds himself taking deep breaths to calm himself anyway, fingers reaching for yours, pressing them to his lips. He finds himself doing things he wouldn't for anyone else for you. Only for you. For the little girl who sat in a treehouse and drew characters out of cartoons — for the young woman in his arms in the tower, lips pressed to his in the dead of the night, body between his hands like a midnight's memory, one that would be gone with the wind.

You blink at him as you always have, owlishly, doe-eyed, questioning his intent with that faux innocence you showed the vast majority of the world. He lowers it, running his thumb over the back of your hand in circles, a thoughtless smile on his lips, fingers brushing over your ring finger unconsciously. If anyone notices, they don't mention anything, letting him bask in the moment of domesticity, even if it were fake and something out of a movie that the two of you did not live in. Even if the two of you did ever get to experience a moment like that, it would be far into the future, the day Gotham would be safer.

If that day ever did come.

"What would you do if the moon collapses on us all one day?"

You stare at him.

Tim opens his mouth to explain the question, only for you to cut him off.

"I would put Gotham on the runway."

Tim meets you again many years later. He receives a letter from you detailing Paris Fashion Week, inviting "Mr. Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne", which you added in invisible ink afterward, sounded like too much of a mouthful. Tim had always known to check your letters for it, so he wasn't surprised. He tells his assistant to email you a confirmation, that yes he would join you for the event. He stares at the spot reserved for him, pulling up the official list and checking whether or not he would be sitting next to you.

He's excited.

Not that he's never seen you draw or sketch since the treehouse, but he's excited to see what kind of fashion you're bringing to this world. On the plane, he's suddenly five again, scribbling images from his memories, the characters you had named after him, the characters you had named after your friends, every single critter, shapes still familiar on his fingers and the ballpoint pen he had thoroughly spent by the end of the flight. He realizes he forgot to sleep on the plane.

As if you had known, Tim is provided with a pillow and blanket on the car ride to your studio, just a little over an hour outside of Paris, giving him plenty of time to sleep in. He wakes up as the car stops, thanking the driver in French, though unfamiliar on his tongue. He wonders if you speak fluently. He assumes you must, given how you had told him you'd cover the languages he didn't.

The first thing he hears from your mouth is Chinese, voice still the same soothing honey he's grown to know, and you're talking to one of your assistants while telling another one in French to bring something. The only way he can tell is because you point at the closet and then at him. You finish with the first one, giving the French one a thumbs up when she brings out a suit as you reach for Tim's face, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw as you touch him.

"Hey." You smile.

"I'm here for my fitting."

"Mhm."

Tim finds that you look gorgeous no matter what you're doing. You help him into the outfit, the measurements both from his aide and from previously when you had taken his measurements before, and you exhale in relief as he fits. You click your tongue as an assistant hands you a paintbrush, and Tim's eyes widen in fear as you reach to start painting over his suit.

Your name feels foreign on his lips.

"Yeah?" You blink up at him. He's so much taller than you now that he's on the pedestal.

"Are you going to paint over the fabric?"

"That's the point, Tim," You part your lips. "Do you just want to wear white?"

"No, um."

"Do you have an idea on what you want?"

"Kind of?"

You let his aide hand you the sketches he had made on the plane, and you grin.

"Do you mind matching with me if you want these?"

"Oh, lovely." He swallows as he scans your face for a reaction. "You don't need to ask. It's always a yes."

"I'm glad you're not as bulky as Jason or Bruce." You hum, starting at his collar, the characters tumbling out of your hand like molten gold, as if you had been Rumplestiltskin, spinning straw into gold. But you wouldn't have been him, you would have been his fairy godmother, magic tumbling from your wand, granting all of his wishes without asking anything of him. He follows your face as you draw little characters all over his clothes, the little characters scattered throughout. You pull the pen off of him with a click, stepping back to look at the design. He wonders if you'll notice how he's more chiseled now, just for you.

"Have you been bodybuilding?"

"More exercise than before, yeah." He smiles at you.

You grin, lowering your voice. "You wanted me to notice. Just for me?"

"Just for you."

You blink at him in surprise. You weren't expecting him to actually affirm you. "Alright. We'll keep your suit overnight and in two days time, Christine," you motion at another aide, "will be helping you get ready with the makeup team."

"And you?" Taking your hand, he steps down from the pedestal.

"We will leave together." You press a kiss to his other jaw this time. "Hm?"

Tim lowers his voice, pulling you close to hold his lips to your ear. "and after?"

"If you're on your best behavior," You press a hand to his chest, pushing yourself back gently. "maybe I'll give you a treat."

Tim smiles. "Sounds good to me."

You wave bye at him as he returns to his hotel room, heart racing in his chest, the feeling of your hands still lingering on his face. And he was hopeless, as he always had been in the face of you. Only you could bring him to his knees to this degree, heart racing in his chest with an aching for you, desperate to have you. Any way. Have you in his arms, hands, lips on yours, skin pressed to yours — anything as long as it's you. anything. Anything as long as his fingers are entwined with yours and his skin is with you.

Two days pass in a blur, Tim lifting his face slightly as the makeup artist pats the foundation on his face, his eyes meeting your aide's as she explains (in perfect English) why he was wearing what he was, and how your designs were all channeling the true spirit of Gotham, from the deaths to the life to the children shielded constantly from nightmares that rested in their hands, including the ones left on the street to rot as a result of the corrupted justice system. There was everything in between there. Tim glances at some of the designs that you were showcasing, ready to watch the show.

He closes his eyes as the makeup artist starts drawing on his skin, the ceiling light reflecting off of his skin, the sound of your laughter as a child ringing in his ears as he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks clean and shaven, skin taken care of perfectly, almost as though he had never once scratched or hurt himself. The lack of scars on his hands and any part of skin showing was only further proof of it. Ah. So you were showing off your set, even until the end of time.

"You are the children of the elite."

He understands immediately.

That meant something else for you.

You meet him in the car, sitting on the inside, turning to glance at him. Your outfit is surprisingly clean for the children of the streets.

"We're quite the different tale, hm?" He smiles.

"You ever walked a runway?" You raise a brow at him.

"Once. I was very young back then."

"Great." You smile. "You'll be walking."

"Without a rehersal?"

"There will be a sized down one backstage as the other ones walk." You click on your tablet, showing him the formation, pressing a hand to his thigh as you lean over. "The two of us will be weaving through all the models. They all stop at a certain position."

"So it's like an art gallery."

"Almost. We're the last two to walk." You bat your lashes at him.

"Is that why you told me depending on my behavior?"

"You better break a sweat faking this, or else don't even think about getting a kiss later." You smile sweetly as the car stops. Tim steps out first, holding his hand out for you, and you follow him as the two of you walk down the carpet, waving at a couple of paparazzi, hand fit snugly on his forearm. Tim is sure to nod at the paparazzi as he passes, ignoring all of their questions. You stop him when the two of you need to take a photo, the same paparazzi smile he's seen you flash so many times as Portal on your face, and he flashes one of his own, practiced for the cameras, just like his father. He wonders if you invited anyone else.

The two of you head backstage as you change out of the outfit into another one, stepping outside to greet everyone with a bow, a word of thanks, and then tucking yourself back into the walls as the models start walking. You change back into the outfit you wore previously, three makeup artists decorating your face. Doodles straight out of the white paper left in his abandoned treehouse. Characters out of the ballpoint pen he wasted on the plane. He looks like the exact personification of the children of Gotham. Something innocent yet sinister about your entire outfit. You were the children on the street, stealing, grabbing, robbing, doing anything if it meant you could survive another day in the harsh winter and dried summers. It meant doing errands for mobsters that would lead to gold or death.

He finds it strange that you still look so pretty even with the graffiti of Gotham on your face.

He pauses at the pen in everyone's hands.

"Sharpie?"

"Eyeliner." You glance at the models as they walk out one by one, pulling your tablet out again, showing Tim how to weave through the models, pointing at the cameras as well, showing him the formation. "We meet at the end."

It's well thought out on your end. It may seem childish, but the route that boys and girls in Gotham took was still tragically different in all the worst ways, and you were desperate to show that. It was a fashion show in an art gallery, so you were going to make it an art show. Tim and you stand on both sides, hands pushing both of you out at the same time as the two of you weave through the models, and your pacing gets significantly fast, more frantic, brows furrowed, tugging at the jacket, desperate to cover more, heels clicking on the floor that you step on, eventually breaking into a full run as if something were chasing you. Tim walks, speeding up significantly less than you, gripping the knife in his hand, and the two of you eventually meet in the middle, you crashing into his chest as the two of you hold weapons to each other. You had picked up a gun along the way and he still had the knife in his hand.

The two of you stay still, pointing the weapons at each other — the crowd pausing.

You fire the gun at him.

The baggy clothes on the models all drop, revealing the rambunctious outfits only fit for nightlife for the Gotham elite, the splendid galas and parties at manors, the models all starting their walk again, Tim leading the men, you leading the women. You press your hand to his shoulder sweetly as you pass him, that smile on your face again. The show goes on, the actual outfits now on display instead of the streets of Gotham. No one bothers picking up the discarded clothes. The streets were dirty, and that would never change. You step behind the drapes as they move to wipe the makeup from you, changing you into your final outfit to step onto the stage once the models were all gone. You sit in place, Tim standing to the side, watching as the eyeliner is removed.You can feel his eyes trailed on your skin. You wonder what he's thinking.

You step up as all the models return, the show wrapping up as you show yourself at the end again, thanking everyone for joining you. Tim finds the smile on your face to be still fake, nothing like the one he's grown used to, yet he finds some sort of honesty behind it. You look dazzling under the lights. The city of Gotham is apparent all over you and the models you had hired, all of them out of the city itself. Even as none of the trashed clothes are taken care of on the runway until everyone leaves. He wonders if Bruce would have liked this show, had he been invited. He's sure you extended an invite to him. Yet it doesn't matter. Tim had been the one to be with you.

"Is there an afterparty?" He presses his hand to your lower back, backstage, getting ready to leave. The lights have dimmed by now.

"Yeah." You yawn, blinking slowly. "I'm not going."

"Really?" He tilts his head at you.

You press a kiss to his nose, hand tracing his jaw. "I said I'd reward you if you were good."

"Was I?"

"The best." You smile at him saccharinely and Tim wants nothing but to have you.

Tim finds that you haven't changed much since the last time he had his hands on you.

Your skin is still soft in his hand, the plush of your thigh familiar as he kisses you feverishly, tongue shoved so far down your throat he's sure he'd go straight to hell just for the kiss. He finds himself tugging at the zipper of your dress, hands sliding it down your waist as you whimper at the cold without the fabric, the silk pooling at your feet. He leads you out of the dress, lifting your thigh to help you out, mumbling for you to jump against your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist as he continued at your lips, sex pressing in the air.

"Pretty, pretty girl," He groans as you loosen the tie around his neck, pulling it over his head as you slide the buttons out quickly, pressing your lips to his neck and biting. Tim relaxes in your touch, letting your fingers roam his skin as you peel the dress shirt off of him, lips red on his skin, sucking and biting at it, Tim moaning as you do. He glances at the way your teeth dig into his pecs, marks visible as you pull away, glancing at your artwork on his skin.

"My turn," He mumbles against your skin, holding your head gently tilting it to get access to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, lips wrapping around it, sucking hickeys over your neck and collar, the red bound to turn purple sometime overnight, the thought sending blood straight to Tim's head, his lashes fluttering against your skin. You bite back your moans as Tim continues his ministrations, head spinning with all the things he could do to you at the moment. He's waited so long to have you again.

Instead, he finds himself on his knees for you, lips pressed to your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he eats you out, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh, drinking in every sound that slipped past your lips as his fingers curled into you the way he knew you liked it, your body reacting the same as so many years ago. Your fingers tug at his hair, the gel long washed off in the shower, his makeup removed as soon as the two of you had arrived back at the hotel. His name spills out of your lips like a mantra, begging him to let you cum, legs shaking with you pressed against the wall. He will admit. He might've gotten a little impatient.

"Tim, Tim," You whimper. "'m close."

He hums, tongue in your pussy, the vibrations drumming against your clit, and he moves another hand to circle at your clit, fingers and tongue speeding up, making you cum with a broken cry and tightening of your fingers in his hair, his tongue never stopping lapping at your cum, hands moving back to hold your legs apart for him to finish with you, only leaving position once he was sure there was none left, your slick messy on his nose and chin as he used his fingers to wipe it off, staring you in the eye as he licked it off of his hand.

"God," You mumble, pressing him onto the bed, pulling his belt off in a swift motion with his pants, hands reaching for the rest of your cum on his face and spitting into it, using it as lube, running your hand up and down Tim's length, eyes glued to it as you press down the slit to collect his precum, the erection angry with red, making you swallow. You lift yourself gently, bottoming him out in one swift motion, a moan and a choke breaking out past your lips as you do, digging your chin into Tim's shoulder. His hands trace gentle circles on your waist, lifting you with ease to put you underneath him, lacing his fingers with yours, thrusting slowly.

"Fuck me like you mean it, Drake." You hiss at him. He didn't have any intent to speed up.

The use of his last name as Tim irritated, hips snapping into yours, instantly much more talkative than before. "Drake? Really? After all of this time," His grip on your hand tightens, lowering his lips to your ear, his breaths against your ear, "I shouldn't be Drake to you. It's Tim," He snaps his hips again, causing you to curl forward, "and I'll make sure you know that's what you should be screaming." He leans back up, hand pressed next to you, plowing into you, mess of slick, sweat and cum staining silk sheets, your other hand gripping said sheets to the point of your knuckles turning white, toes curling. "Now scream my name, pretty girl."

You hadn't known he was capable of this, but you follow his orders, his name breaking past your lips with each thrust, mindless blabbering slipping down your tongue onto his, even when he swoops down to kiss you, tongue in your mouth, giving you a taste of what was left of yourself on his tongue. The sex in the air hangs hard as Tim continues drilling into you, both hands moved to your hips this time, helping himself control the rhythm better, eyes zeroed in on your face as your eyes threaten to flutter shut from him, eyes rolled to the back as he moves a hand down.

"'m close- 'm close!" You cry.

"Yeah? Come on, pretty girl." His thumb finds itself on your clit again, smirking at the way you clench around him. "Cum for me. Tell everyone who's making you feel so good."

You cry his name as you arch your back, tears staining your cheeks and lips bruised from the kissing, spit visible on the corner of your lips, begging for him to slow down as he chases his own orgasm, Tim zoning you out, thumb still on your clit, desperate for his own release. You claw at his hand as you feel another orgasm threatening to break past, Tim holding both hands down with the other as he feels your walls flutter around him again, squeezing him as you cum again, messier this time, squirting all over his hips as he feels his own orgasm coming. He opts to pull out, only for you to wrap your arms around his neck, begging for him to fill you. "'m yours, please, Tim." You moan into his ear.

Tim spills into you with a stutter of his hips, biting on your shoulder as he does, warmth flooding your cunt as you exhale in bliss. The sheets are ruined and you're sure the hotel is going to fine you, but it isn't an issue. Not if the workers don't rat on you. You let go of Tim as he pulls out of you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin, eyes tired.

"Not enough sleep?"

"Surprised I fucked you without accidentally passing out." He smiles against your skin.

"We need to shower again." You grimace. "We're going to be all disgusting in the morning."

Tim rests his head on your chest, eyes closing. "Love?"

"Yeah?"

"Go out with me?"

"About time."

"Yeah?"

"Of course," You press a kiss to his hair. "For you? Always."

And as the moon and stars whisper to each other of the two of you, limbs tangled together, kisses from the moonlight fresh on both of you's skins as you sit in the bathtub together, helping each other wash off, thoughtless giggles on both of your minds and mindless kisses pressed on each other's skin as you rinse each other off, you both find something back in your life you both missed. The warmth of each other's skin and arms wrapped around each other, just as you had done as kids, you do now, a reminder of the love you've both shared. Tim finds that you don't need to remember him. You just needed to love him.

And love him you do.

#red robin x reader #dc x reader #tim drake x reader #literally how do you tag for dc like deadass rn tim and drake r not like nagito n komaeda he has no discerning factors hello #timothy drake x reader #guys I hate this why is joining a new fandom n writing for it so scary #☾.nsfw #☾.fics

[izzyspussy]

RJK 1 or JK 8?

"I want to hear you beg."

Jamie and Roy sit on either side of Keeley's dining table, as before. Roy's arms are folded tight over his chest defensively. Keeley's are folded angrily. Jamie is ragdoll relaxed. A year ago that would have driven Roy fucking mental, but now he knows it's just a put on attitude. Chances aren't bad with him that belligerently limp he could be even more nervous than Roy is. They've been sitting here in tense silence for- fuck even knows. Roy and Jamie have apologized, they've handed over their small gifts of attrition, and now Keeley is letting them stew. As is her right, after what they pulled last week. Finally she speaks. "I want to hear you beg." Roy doesn't... really know how to do that - isn't really sure if he wants to learn either, come to it - but Jamie leaps right in. His fake nonchalant air evaporates off him in an instant and he leans forward over the table with hands clasped. "Please, Keeley," he whines softly. "Please, we're so sorry, we'll do anything." Roy has a moment of surprise that Jamie has taken it upon himself to beg for both of them, but that too fades off in a blink. Jamie goes on and on, and the longer he goes the stranger the tone of his voice turns. He sounds like- Well, he sure doesn't sound like no one's touching him. Unsubtly, Roy looks under the table to check if Keeley has her foot pressed into Jamie's lap. She doesn't. When Roy sits back straight, Jamie has fallen mostly quiet again behind a bitten lip, and Keeley is looking with cool expectation at Roy. He shifts in his seat - uncomfortable in more than one way. "Please," he rasps, and his voice too comes out like the situation is different. Or maybe just... a little further along. Jamie makes a small, cut-off noise in the back of his throat, then lets his head drop down between his still outstretched arms. "Anything?" Keeley prompts pointedly. "Anything," Roy agrees. She smirks and gets up. "Well," she says leadingly. "Let's see what I can come up with."

Smut Dialogue Prompts

#jack chats #jamie has x factor and the x is being easy as hell #jack facts #ted lasso #roykeeleyjamie #rkj #roy kent #jamie tartt #keeley jones #otplus #my fic #hc #lime

[gargoyleandgremlinpress]

My second and third casebound attempts! I decided to start binding with some of the older fanfic I’d saved over the years. The Northwest Passage series by torch was one of THE big Mulder/Krycek fic back in the day. It’s a canon divergent slash (m/m) casefic and romance, and spawned an entire fanworks zine project.

This was my first try at printing covers on bookcloth. My bookcloth is all DIY, and for this one, I took a piece of a 100% cotton bedsheet, ironed it onto some freezer paper, ran it through a laser printer, and then peeled off the freezer paper and backed it with iron-on fusibile interfacing and scrape paper before making the case.

The spine is acrylic paint applied over a Cricut-cut vinyl stencil, and I was extremely annoyed with myself when I smeared a bit of white on the cover of Ghosts in the last few seconds of paint application. Whatever! I’m still really happy with how it turned out. 

Some interior shots...

And for the nostalgia value, here’s my original “bound” version, formatted to cram as much text per page as possible, and printed and coil-bound at the campus copy shop circa 2001.

#fan binding #fic binding #x-files #torch #mulder/kreycek #gargoyle & gremlin press #ye old slash fic #fox mulder #alex kreycek #nostalgia factor

[cc-horan28]

Be My Valentine - 3

It Was Always You

(G) 700 words

Louis Tomlinson x Harry Styles

But standing here, in the urinals, of all places, Louis would have put his hand on a DVD of Grease and sworn to it. 

He was in love.

OR

Louis falls in love at first sight

No Warnings!

A/N: This one’s just a silly little ficlet. Based of course on the Oops, Hi! Headcannon. As always, thank you to Akeyla for this fest and prompts!

Title from Louis’ ‘Always You’

Louis had known he would make it. It wasn’t anything specific that made him think that. Hell, he hadn’t even seen the boy’s face properly. But there was something about the curly mop of hair, the way he held himself at a slight angle, the voice floating across the crowd as he talked to one of the producers that made Louis feel sure of it.

He hadn’t been able to look at him for long, all the people he had come with quickly surrounded him, and besides, he had to warm up for his own audition. But had anyone asked him, he would have denied it. He would have blatantly denied having spent the whole day with his eyes trained on the waves of people passing through the door, hoping for a glimpse of the brown haired boy, whom he’d started referring to as ‘Curly’ in his head already.

And again, if he had spent any amount of time in fantasies revolving around how Curly would react if he called him that, about what he would look like… in some other scenarios, he had the full right to refuse and keep it to himself.

But standing here, in the urinals, of all places, Louis would have put his hand on a DVD of Grease and sworn to it. 

He was in love.

Yes, he was aware they hadn’t yet shared a single word, except for the awkward encounter in said urinals he didn’t want to elaborate on, but his mind was made up anyways.

“Hi,” he whispered as he stepped towards the row of sinks, voice wavering a little nervously as he turned the tap on, catching the boy’s eye in the mirror. “I’m Louis,” he smiled, trying not to stare when he saw how green the boy’s eyes were, “Tomlinson,” he added quickly.

“Harry Styles,” the boy smiled back, and Louis had the insane feeling that this was the only name he’d ever want to say for the rest of his life. It was always going to be him. He shook the thought away quickly, hoping Harry didn’t notice the colour creeping up his cheeks. 

They’d struck up an easy conversation, talking about what song they’d picked and how their auditions had gone. They had both gotten through to the bootcamp, and Harry was currently on a roll, drawling on about how he would miss a week of school for it. Louis wasn’t quite sure what the point of it all was, but he was perfectly content. He would gladly have stood there for hours, just listening to his slow, rambling voice. 

They’d stood facing each other a bit awkwardly at the end of the day, families waiting for them outside. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I was you,” Louis blurted out, “I mean, if anyone’s going to make it, it’s going to be you,” Sure, they were supposed to be competing with each other, but the funny thing was, he meant it. There could be no other name better suited to being in front of the masses, could there?

Louis found himself staring at his dimples, having physically stopped himself from gasping when Harry’s face split into a wide grin. Harry mumbled something back, flushing to the tip of his ears. He gave him an awkward little wave as he walked backward, the promise of seeing him the next day all that registered with Louis’ muddled brain.

He smiled to himself, unable to wait for tomorrow to come as he strode towards his family. He was truly, madly, deeply in love.

A/N: Reblogs are always appreciated 💕

#bemyvalentine2024 #bemyvalentineno3 #love at first sight #larry stylinson #fetus larry #x factor larry #fluff #pure fluff #Harry Styles #Louis Tomlinson #hlcreators #hltracks #hlficlibrary #trackinghome #larry fics #larry fanfiction #larry fluff #one direction

[sweet-rabbit]

made it on time for 3x4 2024, yaaaay at the expense of my trowa series meh (also made this seem like mpreg, didn't i... i'm cool with that)

#gundam wing #trowa x quatre #quatre raberba winner #trowa barton #heero yuy #duo maxwell #chang wufei #relena peacecraft #the fic ideas were fun to imagine #and also think who would like what genre #admittedly wufei's is not fic genre but like actual genre #and while it's also chinese i legit think he'd be SUPER into it #we shall also support heero and his coffee shop au #... which out of all of their fics ends up being the most popular by a landslide #duo's is inspired by ffnet early 2000s fic/baby's first fanfiction #while relena's is polital intrigue with that underlying romance factor #also trowa is a furry

[figureofdismay]

not to hot take after pulling a sickie all-nighter again but i do think Doctor/Donna would be a more popular pairing if CTate was and had been a thin 20 to 30 year old. like, i feel like there's some unconscious dismissals happening thanks to her not fitting an expect 'type'

yeah yea 'best mates' and 'siblings energy' are valid reasons not to ship it, but like.... I shipped rose/nine like crazy, the chemistry was so good, but I then felt like ten/rose had 'best mates' and 'siblings' energy, yet the default reading of ten/rose is romantic while the default reading of Donna (and Martha lbr) got set to 'that's his FRIEND, it's never romantic' with a lot more people just. never bothering to look at it from another angle or try to see how anyone could want to see them together.

#doctor x donna #idk it's just that i've always shipped it the most of any of Ten's pairings and i've seen it icked or laughed off since 2008 #and definitely has less fic than a lot of the nuwhu pairings #though what there is is *wonderful* imo #just. i do think it plays a factor in people not even getting curious #i'll entertain most doctor ships enough to read a few fics but i don't think that's broadly the case anymore #i suppose partly because the fandom is soooo much bigger than 2005 to 2009 lj comms era #you simply couldn't afford to be picky if you wanted a decent amount to read lol

[piepiepiemag]

hehehhehe hehehehhehe wip for the montague fic i’m writing (and by wip i do mean this is the only part i have written lol)

inspired by the fact that no matter where i entered grand glaciers from he would always spawn kill me!!! ass!!

you’re a silly spy on an silly mission, getting caught by some silly french dude

MDNFNNFJFNN THE MONTY FIC!!!!

“Give your boss a call for me, will you?” - His voice sounded threatening, obviously not willing to take no for an answer. You didn’t even want to try. With your earpiece having been disassembled and laid out on his desk he had no choice but to grab your phone from the nearby table.

He leisurely walked up to it then brought it to where you were sitting. He reached behind you in an attempt to activate the fingerprint lock but you stopped him.

“Won’t work. My fingers are fried” - you sighed upon recalling the pain of having your fingerprints permanently removed. The scars were ugly too but it is what it is. You were a spy after all. Things like that were necessary. Just a part of the job.

He thought about it only for a second before holding the phone in front of your face, activating the face id system. It unlocked without a hitch and he started scrolling through the contacts.

“Under M. He’s the only one.” - you said as he followed your instructions. He swiped his finger on the screen a few times before finally settling on the one he needed.

“Midass?” - He raised an eyebrow and you would have laughed if it wasn’t for your current predicament. You just nodded.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Agent?” - on the fourth beep he finally picked up, his voice echoing through the room.

“Midas-” - you gasped out instinctively, almost falling over as you struggled to get closer to the phone, like reaching it would have saved you. You never thought you would be so happy just to hear his voice. You quickly stopped in your tracks as you felt the cold barrel of his gun press against the back of your head, as if to signal “stay in your lane”.

“I have something dear to you. If you want it back, i’d suggest getting it yourself. Come alone and unarmed.” - and with these simple instructions he hung up.

Shit. You should have know Montague didn’t want a ransom or anything superficial like that. Not only did you cause trouble for yourself but the agency and your boss too. You could only imagine the talk he would give you afterwards. Of course, you would have to return alive for that. And the chances of that were dropping lower and lower by the minute.

Would he even risk it to come and get you? Right now, you were as good as dead.

#i really went from ‘wow. he’s hot’ to ‘nvm i don’t care’ to ‘WOW!!!! HES HOT!!!’ in a month #character development #no one read this i suck at writing #fortnite #fortnite fanfiction #montague #fortnite montague #montague x reader #*drops dead dies* #posting this because i’m never finishing it lol #midas will take this sweet time and monty will warm up to you and hand feed you macarons or something if i do finish this lol #but my brain is sludge rn #obv not proofread i have no friends for that #i’m allergic to using characters names in my fics btw. only when necessary idk why. probably makes the cringe factor smaller

[supermightyglue]

just . just envision the jackass girl privilege . the perks . getting to steal their shirts nd hoodies . the teasing & banter , both flirtatious and otherwise . being very very protected at parties/bars .. and in general . she is doted on yet also their worst nightmare . has the Power . gets to pull the girl card when she doesnt wanna do something . never gets pissed on . doesnt pay for shit . gets to see everyones soft side .. and also them being hot . gets the hugs . the attention . and you know damn well she eats it up .

#see .. this is very much .. idk how to describe it #its not in a pick me way #this isnt even based around a certain personality in mind for Her #this is just .. like i said the PERKS #i am not one for wanting to be treated like a girl by boys #……..however #i mean she dont HAVE to use it #i endorse picking and choosing when to use the girl card #it is a womans right #u could also factor in the ……. other benefits but that is not for me to discuss #shit i write #headcanons #jackass #jackass girl #jackass headcanons #jackass fics #jackass fic #jackass x reader

[kermit-coded]

sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine. (3359 words) by kermit_coded Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Julio Richter/Shatterstar Characters: Julio Richter, Shatterstar (Marvel), Julio Richter's Stepmother Additional Tags: POV Julio Richter, Comic: X-Force Vol. 1 (1991), Mexico, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Gay and Mutant in the 1990s, Internalized Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon Queer Character of Color, First Time, Getting Together, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Meeting the Parents, Blood and Injury, Explicit Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Hair Braiding, ric is a little obsessed with star's hair, Nonbinary Shatterstar (Marvel), Its implied, Blood and Gore, Head Injury, showering together, Autistic Shatterstar (Marvel), guess who's projecting their religious trauma again!!, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Underage Drinking Summary: "I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time." . . . . Or, Mexico and everything that happens there.

#mexico road trip fic!! #my writing tag #rictor #julio richter #x factor #shatterstar #x force #ricstar #x men #marvel #x men fanfic #marvel fanfic #excelsiorfics

[writing-good-vibes]

someone stop me before i write a missing scene from the corey and roger dirty weekend fic where they go to the hotel pool and corey has to admit he doesn't know how to swim 😳

#corey cunningham x roger allen #cunningallen #we were talking about it a while ago and i started thinking again and im not actually convinced corey knows how to swim #''you cant swim you cant dance and you dont know karate'' #i'll be real with you all i did not consider that factor when i wrote that into the fic #but im the captain and im adding this as cunningallen lore

[tulipic]

tarot for my distant love (teruhashi kokomi x fem. reader)

(unrequited angst for the sad sapphic nation )

"Um, excuse me, but does this say maiming?"

Teruhashi squints. "And miscellaneous torture acts? And seafood allergies?" The fortuneteller grins in delight and gestures to the rest of the contract Teruhashi's holding.

"It sure does, young lady, though I've had to cut back a little due to... legal technicalities because of," the fortuneteller pauses and shakes her head. "But, I believe you're seeking a love-related prediction." Teruhashi blushes a little at the emphasis of "love".

"Yes, ma'am," Teruhashi says, brushing her sweaty palms off on her skirt. When she saw the mysterious, deep blue tent from the road, the heart-shaped sign caught her attention. It gave her margin of hope that her angelic-like luck was telling her something. But now...

She's considering asking for a refund. "Place your palm on the card that appeal to you the most." Teruhashi looks down at the two cards placed in front of her.

Each embellished with shiny foil and translucent paper, one card is purple and the other is pink. She hovers an uneasy hand between both. The fortuneteller taps her nails against the wooden surface of her desk. Tap! Teruhashi shuts her eyes tight. Tap! She lands her palm firmly down a card. Tap!

She chooses the purple one.

Somewhere, far away, a girl heavily sighs and lays her tired head to rest on a pillow.

You rummage through your cluttered wardrobe. The one event you managed to care about and you're going to be late. But, if you've successfully spent enough time in the closet, you should be well-dressed. That counts for something, right?

A light pink cardigan catches your eye. You feel the thick, cotton fabric between your fingers. Memories of carnival music and the sweet smell of funnel cakes pass through your head. She got this for you. When you ate too much cotton candy and sat in the corner of the mirror house crying, she draped it over your shoulders and said:

"I know it's the color of what got you sick, but it's a pretty color," She showed off that angelic smile. "Kinda like you!" Woah.

What really got you? What pulled you in and killed your pathetic crying ass? When her angelic, little smile melted into a humorous, big grin; you couldn't help but stop crying. She was trying way too hard to be the nice girl. It was all saccharine and overplayed.

Then, why did you look up at her face and let your heart grow a little fonder?

You grumble and pull the cardigan off the hanger. You button it up while gathering your things. A small giftbox, wrapped in ribbon stares at you from the kitchen island. "It's just a thank-you gift," you rationalize, picking it up.

"That's all." You feel yourself become less affirmed, but you walk out the door anyway.

Aiura meets you by the ice cream cart. She holding wrapped popsicles and tosses one at you. "How's the love business treating you?"

You unwrap your ice cream. "Read my mind." You're about to walk off, but she holds your arm.

She grins at you, unfazed. "Come on, let me show you something." You're dragged across the pavement against your will. Eh, you've been in worse.

Loud brass instruments from the marching band drown out any thoughts you could manage. Like: where is she taking me? Will I get to finish my ice cream? How- Wait is that her?

You pull away from Aiura and stand in place, feeling a sudden chill. Suddenly, the sleeves of your jacket feel uncomfortable; the coziness of the soft threads withers away. You cast your eyes to the ground, feeling small.

Teruhashi softly laughs while squeezing Saiki's arm. Her eyes reflect... pure infatuation, wonder, and even desperation. Because while she's so enamoured with him: he's looking the opposite way. She's relentless, though, asking him questions and looking up at him with those shining eyes. It's easy to tell she got all dressed up for him, careful attention put towards her hair and makeup.

You turn around, take a deep breath, and go off to find Aiura.

"I didn't encounter anything like you said, no 'charm of purple', no 'great sadness', just nothing..."

"Perhaps you should be more patient. Especially since I don't do reimbursement." Teruhashi held her head in her hands, elbows propped up on the desk. She'd spent all of this week's allowance on this place. Were she and Saiki really so Yin and Yang?

So different that their opposites couldn't attract?

"What if I bought the boy I like a purple shirt? Could that work?" Teruhashi mused, smiling sadly at the table. The fortune teller clicked her tongue. She reshuffled her cards and laid them out again.

She lightly touched Teruhashi's hand. "That's not how divination comes about, you know. It's all about fate and auras," the fortuneteller says, trying to be comforting.

Teruhashi sinks further into her chair. Maybe tonight she'd be able to dream her troubles away, get lost in a world of whimsical romantic fantasy. One where she'd never get it wrong. She'd have someone realer than fanboys and more tangible than Saiki to hold.

The only question was: Who?

Somewhere, far away, a girl wipes her eyes and slowly unwraps a giftbox. Inside, there's a little flower keychain. A cute, albeit plain, purple flower. She opens her desk drawer and lays the item there, spending a moment to stare at it. She heavily sighs and lays her tired head to rest on a pillow.

It seems it's for the best.

#kokomi teruhashi #fem reader #kokomi teruhashi x reader #angst #x reader #anime oneshot #saiki k fanfiction #saiki k x reader #my loveletter to sad heartbreaking fics <33333 #unrequited feelings are the only angst factor here #i'm a little sissy #is pretty girl x her sad simp a trope?

[mintedwitcher]

So, the second TenSimm fic I wrote the other day has Consumed by brain (very inconvenient really, I have other projects to finish but this is taking all of my attention) and now I have almost two more chapters of what was supposed to be a smutty one-shot.

Oops?

#tensimm #doctor x master #dw #doctor who #ao3 #my fics #i swear it wasnt intentional #but there was so much potential for the Angst factor that i just... kept writing

[bottomhaztoplou]

baby, you are the love of my life (5.5k) by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry // bottomhaztoplou | @paranormalbabydoll

Written for @canonfest!!

Five times Harry gets really wet and embarrassed + one time he actually does something about it.

Read it here on AO3!

(Collage Info: Collage was made by me on Canva using pictures obtained from Google, Unsplash and Pexels)

#my writing #my fic #larry stylinson #hltracks #hlsource #hljournal #hlcreators #thelarriefics #trackinghappily #tracksintheam #trackinghome #larry fluff #larry smut #bhutopia #fetus harry #fetus louis #fetus larry #x factor #canon compliant

[thequiver]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Factor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Theresa Cassidy/Lorna Dane Characters: Lorna Dane, Theresa Cassidy Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Reference Suicide Attempts, This is based heavily on the events of X-Factor (2020), except unlike Leah Williams I actually read X-Factor (1986), And unlike Leah Williams I actually know things about the Morrigan, Post Shatterstar killing Morrigan, HAROLD THEY’RE LESBIANS, well Lorna’s and lesbian and Terry’s bi but semantics, Porn With Plot, this is not...the most Alex Summers friendly fic, I do love Alex but...he deserves this, Angst Summary:

"You have me floatin' like a feather on the sea/ While you're as heavy as the world/ That you hold your hands beneath/ Once I wondered what was holdin' up the ground/ But I can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down." - I, Carrion (Icarian) by Hozier ------------------------- Lorna seeks out Terry after Shatterstar has freed her from the Morrigan’s influence. They do a little more than talk.

#lorna dane #polaris #theresa cassidy #terry cassidy #banshee #siryn #terrylorna #lornaterry #x-men #x men #xmen #x-men fanfiction #x men fanfiction #xmen fanfiction #x-factor #wlw fic #fanfiction #my fic #my fics