#I was supposed to only do this for an hour or 2

[smileybasics]

Defending @lil-liaa

I usually don’t post in this blog cause i have other ones but i don’t think this is being fair, me and Lia have been moots for a year and I have seen all her work over the years, I don't know a more creative person than her and I have been with her while she makes her moodboards by call and it is simply impressive the hours she invests in doing it, today I She wrote so devastated and we made a call talking, she has worked on this for so long, I remember how excited she was when she reached 1k, what I mean is that her community and her blog are very important to her, these people are accusing her because three Posts are similar to those of other blogs and that seems stupid to me since you have not even seen her other posts to know if she really makes an effort or not, Lia has made collages, dividers, banners, and a lot of other things, to she is really passionate about digital art and the only time she left her blog was because of the loss of a loved one and the truth is I don't care how many people are going to believe me after this post I just want them to leave her alone, here I am attaching some evidence...

This doesn’t even have so much in common just a three pics, in case you don’t know how moodboards are made, 2 or more colors are taken as a base and the images that best match the tones are searched on Pinterest, not only what she "copied" are just two photos but she also made a divider and a collage

Here’s just pinterest pics (proofs that are from pinterest in keep reading) and again i saw a lot of rude comments towards her that so unfair and hurt feelings cause considering how long Lia has been on her blog it's like invalidating all her hard work!!

In this post she even clarify that the divider isn’t made by her but the collage it is, also it’s just 2 pics that are similar!

This pictures are from pinterest, everyone can use it!

People bullying her

This doesn't just happen on the internet, but in real life, one of Lia's moots simply republished the post where they accused her of copying, she asked him/her why he/her did it so quickly, If they were supposed to be moots, if someone betrays you so quickly without questioning anything, they were never your friend and instead of responding privately she/him made a post just to make her/him moots laugh and the comments are gross, my god it's disgusting, this is directly bullying, if you are a thinking person and if you have ever had some kind of link you should try to talk something privately instead of calling the crazy girl and tagging all your moots so they can laugh, the worst thing is that you can tell that this girl only wants interaction because when she and Lia were chatting she threatened Lia with blocking her but then when Lia blocked her she made another post like "she blocked me" it's like, besides being a treacherous rat you can't have the decency to talk to her about it, Lia has been so nice to everyone but after all, this is where you can see who the ones who truly supported her are, and not the fake friends.

I'm not going to censor his/her username, he deserves it, tumblr is as much as real life, the importance of moots is like friends in real life, because if you want you can just harass someone and all your friends will laugh without question anything.

Also, Lia has a tutorial of a lot of things that she made! If she knows how to do it, why would she steal or copy from other blogs?

She has tutorials of gifs, texts, banners, etc, if she really stole and copy, why she knows how to do it by herself?, and if she knows how to do it by herself she doesn’t even need to stole!

LIKE SHE DIDN’T CARE?! Sorry but this is so wrong, i can tell that, SHE CARES, all these people who are making posts mocking her and calling her crazy because according to them she "copied" three measly posts, when if I were in her place and all my years of work were at stake I would also act like a crazy person because it's worth it, here it is demonstrated clearly her hypocrisy, if Lia wants to defend all her hard work or defend herself from bullying by blocking you she is crazy but if she makes a post explaining everything it seems like she doesn't care, this frustrates me so much

Here more evidence of Lia’s drafts

Just a few of her drafts

And last but not least I want to give credit to Lia's great work these years, so you can see that there is a true artist behind all this nonsense controversy, here are some of her moodboards, my personal favorites that I can't imagine how much time it would have taken

Extra: “Lia we know it’s you” Don’t acuse me of being Lia, i’m just a real friend

Evidence: Contact of Lia and me

Hi guys, it's come to my attention that someone in the moodboard community known as lil-liaa has been copying / taking heavy "inspo" from other creators like @y-unjins and @iluvrei view more for more info + evidence + my opinions on the whole situation

before i start, i'm not trying to run lil-liaa off the platform nor am i trying to stur up drama, this is just to bring light to the situation as not many people know and many people (including myself) defended her when this first happened, i also want liia to realize that what she's doing isn't right and that she shouldn't just brush off "accusations" like these when there is evidence.

proofs

you can see the similarities as lil-liaa used 3 of the exact same pics as iluvrei's including one edited by the original creator without adding credits to the post.

2nd

here you can instantly tell that the moodboard was copied (lil-liaas on the right being an exact replica of y-unjins), only changing 2 pics excluding the idol change and

3rd / last

lastly, you can see how one lia used the exact same divider (+ didnt give creds), two she uses the same images not only in the moodboard but also in her gif (same pics from y-unjins moodboard including the png)

now, lil-liaa was sent multiple anonymous ask from last year and one recently accusing her of stealing moodboards, although a lot of people defended her last year including me due to the ask having no sorts of proof of moodboards being stolen and no one else speaking on it but now the recent ask she has received included proof and her response to it was very (in my opinion) rude and just sounded like she didn't care.

in my opinion, i don't believe this was just a draft she had premade and i don't believe she somehow got the same exact photos from y-unjins moodboard recommended, i believe since this isnt the first accusation and now there's proof of this i believe she has been copying moodboards since last year when she was accused. i don't believe lil-liaa cares about this, the fact she's stealing from other creators and when she gets called out for it she pushes it off with the same excuses

tags

@miujo @rkkuri @lvioung @ciestial @aeraras @sugarish @gyareii @i-kyujin @daddldee @i-mmaculatus @haerinism @chaeryeos @bloomqi @h-yeoni @p-oisn @bitchey @yeritos @yonkiibums @y-vna @y-urios @fairytopea @shuaver @yeoniis

[snoopychris]

hardest part

warnings: angst but it’s not too bad. yet.

college admissions were so nerve wracking. it sucked. the waiting and the fear of not getting in consumed you. when you took the middle school field trip to New York, you and nick were hooked. in the 4 hour bus ride back to Boston, your entire life was planned out. high school then NYU with nick. you’d live in the dorms for a year, then when you were able you’d move into an apartment together until you both graduated. you’d fall in love, tell each other about dates, share everything possible. you’d do everything together.

today was just the first day of that

nicks room was always so much more quiet than the other rooms in the house. it was nice. comforting. familiar. that’s where you sat now. both you and nick were refreshing the NYU admissions like crazy. there was a mutual squeal when there was finally an update. as if it were new years, there was a countdown. 3…2…1…

two white screens with big purple letters. ACCEPTED. your two screams became one as you hugged each other and jumped up and down. it looked like two little kids celebrating for the first time ever.

crazy enough, you were the first to run downstairs. “MARYLOU MARYLOU!!! I GOT IN I GOT IN I GOT IN.” you cheered, tears forming in your eyes as your second mother pulled you in for a hug. you had grown closer with her as of late, but she had always supported everything you did. nick was next to celebrate with his mother, as you switched places to celebrate with jimmy.

“i always knew you’d do it.” jimmy whispers to you, hugging you tightly. you smile at the simple action, giggling at your achievements. matt was at work for another while so he wouldn’t be able to celebrate, at least not right away. chris, however, was home. he ran down the stairs after hearing all of the screaming going on. you locked eyes with him before nick did, and with that look all was well again.

he pulled you in for the tightest embrace you’ve ever experienced and just smiled. “‘m so damn proud of you, sweetie. i always knew y’could do it. you’re gonna do such big things.” chris whispers, moving away from you to pat his brother on the back. though chris would never admit it, tears formed in his eyes. “and you! you’re gonna be the best damn photographer this world has ever known.” you giggle at his words, pulling nick in for another hug.

“oh my god. sweetie we’re actually going to college together… and you know it’s perfect cause now the hard parts over. and you’re only what? 4 hours from boston? you’ll be able to come home to matt all the time! i mean it works out.” nick whispers, making you reconsider everything.

you hadn’t taken that into account. as much as you’d hate to admit it, you never even thought about matt when reading over the acceptance letter. “yeah… yeah we can… come back a few weekends a month! and… and i’ll take my car.” you whisper, hands settling on the counter. half of you is filled with excitement while the other hand is filled with regret. how were you meant to leave the boy you had been attached to the hip to for a month now? the late night conversations, the kisses, all of the plans, were they supposed to be thrown away?

the celebration died down decently fast. everything was calm. your previous spot in the kitchen was now on the couch. your feet were on chris’ lap the way everything used to be. at some point or another nate showed up. then sadie showed up. then claire showed up. it was all of your friends right there with you celebrating your accomplishments. a party had been planned for that saturday, the first party in two or so weeks. you were okay. like nick had said, the hardest part was over.

matt arrives about a half hour later. he still had his black GameStop polo on. if you could, you’d tackle him to the floor then and there. he just looked that good. his face turns white when he sees all the people there. even if he had a few more friends now, he was still the same socially awkward kid who ate lunch in the science room and had a pokémon backpack. he twiddles his thumbs before pointing towards sadie, claire, and even nate. “i need to three out. um… are mom and dad here?” he whispers, looking around as your friends leave the room.

chris pushes your feet off his lap and nods, calling out for his parents. he notices the way his brothers face is full of fear. the same way you do. part of you wants to stand up and hug him, just to ease the nerves, but you don’t think now’s the time. it’s not until marylou and jimmy are in the room that he finally speaks. his voice is shaky and he’s visibly nervous. “i um… i got a full ride to Stanford. and im…. i’m gonna take it. i’ve been saving money. i can buy a car there… im gonna be farther than expected i know but i just… really need this after harvard.”

oh. stanford. 3000 miles away from NYU. matt doesn’t seem to notice the way your face turns as white as his had, but nick and chris do. you push it all away and stand up, instantly taking your boyfriend into a tight hug. “i’m so proud of you.” is all that you can muster out. it’s genuine. it’s also so full of pain. something matt also doesn’t seem to recognize. you choke back tears as you kiss his cheek, turning to avoid his gaze. nick and chris catch it. chris wants to beat matt’s ass. nick wants to pull you into a hug. they both know they can’t. not right now. “i’m gonna… go to the bathroom.” you whisper, heading through the house to the bathroom.

nate, sadie, and claire are chatting it up in the kitchen, and not a single them misses the tears in the eyes. nate’s the only one to act on anything. he doesn’t ask any questions, he just knows that something’s not right. you’re not okay. without thinking, he pulls you into a hug similar to the one chris had pulled you into earlier.

at that moment everything snaps. the hardest part was not over.

a/n: you guys should’ve picked the p!links. kiss kiss! -gen.

tags: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @m4ttg1rl @princessesgarden @ikyoudreamofme @allylovescody @ayesha-eroticaa @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @user1smvtysturniolo @chrislova

[supernotnatural2005]

In the Eyes of a Hunter

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean finally had a few days spare from hunting with his dad to come see you at college. Though you weren’t exclusive, seeing you with another man opens up a can of feelings Dean had so desperately been trying to keep closed, and a confession that could change everything.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Angst, self doubt, Dean really needs to appreciate himself more 😩

AN: I know the gif is of Alec (Dark Angel) but, i couldn’t help but see a young Dean and this idea came to me 😅 It's a little more on the angsty side, but I promise the fluff is there. Also Happy New year! I know I've been away, not posting for a little while, but I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things. I hope you guys enjoy this one, let me know what you think?

Masterlist

2003

The crappy daytime shows weren’t cutting it, even in their static form from the ancient TV the motel provided. 

You were supposed to have been here two hours ago. That was the plan. Your class finished at 2, and then you were free for the day. Free to see him. 

After all, he had come all this way for you. What little time he could get away from hunting, he gave to you. He actively ignored the reason as to why he did, not wanting to admit the truth of it. Knowing it would cause more harm than it was worth. 

But as he sat here, aimlessly staring at the fuzzy figures on the screen, time slowly ticking away, his mind restless and full of scenarios that only seemed to bother him the more they spiralled, he realised maybe the harm had already been done. 

Deciding he’d waited long enough, he dropped the remote in his lap with a huff and took another look at the digital clock beside him. 

4:15 pm. 

He stood up from the bed and gathered his leather jacket and keys to the Impala his dad had officially given to him last month and headed out. Maybe you’d just gotten held up in class. He was no ‘Mr. College,’ but he understood there was a lot on your plate. At least from the last few times he’d come to see you. The stress had almost brought you to tears more than a few times, so he couldn’t understand Sammy’s desire to go. But hey ho, what did he know? He killed monsters for a living.

The rumble of the engine purred beneath him as he started the ignition. The sound echoed in the almost empty lot, bringing a proud smirk to his lips. He still couldn’t believe she was finally his. 

This car had been one of the only other constants in Dean’s life, getting them from A to B, sometimes even calling her home for the night. He knew as soon as his dad handed him the keys and handed him the responsibility of looking after her, he’d do everything in his power to do just that. 

As he drove toward your campus, the signs of autumn were heavily present with the flutters of orange and yellow leaves falling from the trees; his mind drifted to thoughts of you again. 

He had met you a year ago, having rolled through town to deal with a simple salt and burn case. He was riding solo, his dad dealing with more dire matters, like a fresh trail on Yellow Eyes. Sam had left a few months prior to go make it as a hotshot lawyer in California, leaving Dean alone in the aftermath. 

The fight between Sam and John had been ugly. Dean resorted to the middleman, as usual. He was proud of Sammy, more so that he was actually able to stand up to John, but he couldn’t help but feel the sting of abandonment. What did he have other than this job and his loyalty to finding the thing that took his mother?

After he wrapped up the case, he’d treated himself to a celebratory drink at one of the local bars, which happened to be a student hot spot, and that’s where he’d met you. 

He had noticed you almost immediately. You were breathtaking, and he’d found himself glancing in your direction more often than not, watching as you’d laughed and drank with your friends. You were so carefree, beautiful, and way out of his league for many reasons. Those reasons only multiplying once he’d gotten to know you, and they still rang true to this day.

You’d caught him staring; eventually, he’d seen your eyes flicker in his direction a few times. Despite his own self-deprecations, Dean knew he was good-looking, knew the effect he had on women, and he was surprisingly good at playing the confident ‘bad boy.’. 

He’d never really given much thought to anything other than a one-time thing. For one, it was easier that way. He never stayed in one place for longer than a couple of days, and secondly, his job wasn’t your normal 9 to 5, and having attachments was dangerous. 

However, as soon as you’d made your way over to him, after what had looked like some encouragement from your friends, and introduced yourself with that faux drunk confidence, he was hooked. 

At the time, you had just entered your senior year, and you had told him of your plans to take a gap year once you’d graduated. Like Dean, you felt a little lost in life, though for completely different reasons. Your major was something your father had insisted on, despite it not being what you had wanted to do. Apparently his plan was to have you work at his company, maybe even take over for him one day, but you hated all that corporate bullshit. 

So Dean already could relate. A demanding father whose opinion was the one and only. Maybe he did understand why Sam had left more than he originally thought. Like right now, he had this mission, his dad’s mission, yet once that was over, what next? Did he just continue what he was doing? Living off of stolen credit cards, diner food, and cheap motel rooms?

The more he got to know you, your desires and dreams to travel the world, live, and experience life, he found himself picturing that, wanting that too. You had a way of making everything seem brighter and more hopeful, making him feel like there was more to life than just a ‘job.’. 

He knows now why he kept coming back to you, why he still keeps coming back. Because for once in his life he felt seen, felt wanted, understood. And maybe it was time for him to tell you that. To tell you the truth. Consequences be damned. 

However, it was all wishful thinking, and Dean’s search for you was cut short when he spotted you walking out of the student library, your beautiful smile and sounds of laughter filtering through his open window, and beside you, another man. 

He felt his chest constrict, his stomach churn uncomfortably at the sight. His knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel tight. He rolled to a stop and watched as you continued to laugh at whatever this douchebag was saying to you. 

He knew he had no right to be jealous. You weren’t exclusive. He was the one who’d made that clear, and surprisingly you had been okay with it. You didn’t know what he really did for a living, just that he had to travel a lot for ‘the family business.’. 

Though, with his recent self-revelation that his feelings for you ran much deeper than something casual, this felt like a punch to the gut. Maybe this was a sign that this whole thing was a bad idea. Why getting close to someone was not on the cards for him. Of course you would’ve met someone else. How could you not? You were beautiful, smart, funny, and sweet. Why would you wait around for some drifter like him? 

With his insecurities rearing their ugly head, threatening to swallow him whole, he failed to notice the two pairs of eyes on him. It wasn’t until there was a light rap at the window that he snapped out of his thoughts. He jumped a little and looked to where you were leaning down beside the partially opened glass, your expression surprised, but you were smiling nonetheless. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Came your innocent question, but it just seemed to rub him the wrong way, that and he noticed that guy lingering a few feet behind you, looking around awkwardly. 

“It was getting late; I thought I’d come see if you were okay, but I can see you’re busy.” He spoke the last words with a little more venom as he nodded to the lingerer. And he hated the slight dip in your brow and the downturn of your lips. 

“I was actually on my way to see you now.” You began, your voice light but weary. “I’m sorry I got held up. Alex just needed some help, and time got away from me.” Your explanation did nothing to calm his nerves. In fact, it made him feel worse. Like he didn’t matter. Again he had no right, but he was already spiralling. 

“You know what? It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged you off. “I’m going to have to cut this trip short anyway. Dad called; gotta meet him a few states over.” The lie came easily, but the knife in his heart twisted with each word. You frowned at him, he saw it in his peripheral, but he refused to meet your eyes. He couldn’t. 

“Alex, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He heard you say before you walked around the car and abruptly slipped into the passenger side. 

“What are you doing?” His question came out more snappish than he intended. You folded your arms and sat back in your seat, looking much like a stubborn child.

“We’re going to talk.” You shrugged as if that were obvious. “We can either do that here or back at the motel; your choice.” You levelled him with an unwavering stare, one that crushed his resolve and had him grumpily starting the engine and driving back to the motel. 

You walked past Dean as he opened the door for you, your eyes widening a fraction at the state of the room. It had certainly seen better days; the wallpaper was faded and peeling from the walls, and the carpet had a questionable amount of stains on it. From what? You didn’t hope to find out. He usually stayed in much nicer rooms, but seeing as it was close to the holidays, this was probably all he was going to get. 

You plopped down on the squeaky mattress and looked at him. He was avoiding your eyes, shifting awkwardly in his spot. You’d never seen him this worked up. You liked to think you knew Dean rather well, at least him as a person. He still kept some things to himself, like the details of the job he did with his dad. Sometimes he came to you looking so haunted, but those times weren’t spent with much talking. 

You were beyond curious; Dean was a mystery you were still trying to unravel. However, you knew your standpoint: that you weren’t his girlfriend and never would be. He’d made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want to make a commitment, yet he kept coming back for you. You didn’t push him as to why he did, in fear he would stop altogether. 

If you were honest with yourself, you had fallen in love with him months ago. Yes, your situation was complicated, and he never stuck around longer than a couple of days. But Dean was special; he wasn’t like the guys you knew at college or in your life in general. He was wise beyond his years, thoughtful, funny, and smart, despite how much he called his younger brother the “brains of the family.” And he was also one of the most handsome men you’d ever laid eyes on. 

“What was that back there?” You decide to just rip the Band-Aid off. You had a pretty good idea, but you wanted to hear it from him. He finally looked to you then, his posture straightening, his arms folding across his chest as if in a defensive stance.

“I told you, I was just checking to see if you were okay.” He spoke as if he didn’t really care for the conversation, but his jaw was ticking, and his brow remained furrowed. “I have to leave, so can we make this quick?” 

It was your turn to frown then. Admittedly, his words stung; you hadn’t even had the chance to see him yet, and now he wanted to leave all of a sudden. 

“Is this because of Alex?” 

“What? No!” His response was quick and higher in pitch, and it only confirmed your assumptions. He was jealous. 

“You know he’s only a friend, right?” You offer, biting back your smile. 

“And? Why would I care who you’re friends with?” He grumbled and looked down at one of the stains on the carpet beneath his boot, fixating on it as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

“It just seems like you do it all.” You shrugged nonchalantly, though your voice tinged with something akin to a teasing tone. His eyes flickered back up to yours, darker than you were expecting. 

“You think I care who you hang around with? Who do you date? I don’t own you. If you want to meet guys and have boyfriends, then go ahead; I’m not stopping you.” His voice rose an octave with each word, his body trembling slightly as he unleashed kept feelings out into the open. 

“It’s not like everyone I’ve ever cared about or loved sticks around. I mean, why would they? I’m a freak, a loser.” He reveals, his eyes widening slightly at his unmeant confession. You sit in stunned silence, not expecting that outburst from him. 

“So if we’re done here, I have to leave.” He quickly adds, embarrassed and angry at himself for saying those things. Things he’d wanted to keep buried and never allow to see the light of day. He hastily begins collecting his things; there's not much, but there’s enough to give you time to snap out of your stupor. 

“Hey.” You grab onto his arm with enough force to stop him from picking up his duffle. He obliges you, but you know you have to select what you say next carefully; otherwise, you’re uncertain as to if you’d ever see him again.

“I don’t know where all that came from, but I don’t think you’re a freak or a loser.” You frown sympathetically at him. It hurt you to hear him speak so lowly of himself.

“Dean, I think the world of you.” You admit it, and his eyes flicker to yours, uncertainty shining in those pools of green. “I know our situation isn’t ideal or even normal, but in this last year of knowing you, I think you’re amazing.” 

“You do?” The question slips out involuntarily, but your responding smile is warm and calms his nerves a little. 

“Dean, you’re the best person I know, the only person I want to see. I haven’t said anything because I know you didn’t want a commitment, but dammit, I love you. I am in love with you.”

Your last word is cut off by the sudden press of his lips. Your surprise squeak quickly turns into a grateful sigh. And you wrap your arms around his shoulders and neck as he hugs you closer to him. 

He breaks away after a few minutes, your breaths mingling in the small gap between where his forehead rests against yours. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you allow him the time to speak. “I overreacted, and I had no right to.” 

You cup his smooth cheek, which he leans into, and offer him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.” You swipe a thumb across his cheekbone, and he takes comfort in your touch. 

“I just. I have something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept from you, been keeping from you.” He sighs, his face tormented and sad as he pulls away. It’s worrying you, but you try to internalise it for his sake. He takes your hand and guides you to the bed until you’re both sitting side by side. 

“Dean, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?” You tell him honestly. He seems to be battling in his own mind, his internal struggle present in his rigid form and fidgeting hands. 

He huffs out a humourless laugh and rubs a hand down his face before looking at you. Really looking, and you sit quietly, but strong, showing him you’re there and are willing to listen. 

“There’s a reason I never told you what I did for a living.” He begins. “For one thing, I didn’t even think we’d even get this far, and there was no point to put that on you.” He shakes his head, his heartbeat in his ears, his stomach in knots. 

“And secondly, it’s dangerous. My job is dangerous, and I’d never want anything to happen to you.” He looks at you pleadingly, and you nod, despite the swarm of questions flooding your mind. 

Meanwhile, Dean blows out a nervous breath; he can’t believe he’s going to tell you the truth. Something he’d been the most adamant about not doing. Though he is in too deep, he knows that now, and you had a right to know, a right to run for the hills about what he was going to confess. He’d even agree with you when you called him crazy and walk out that door and never bother you again if that’s what you wanted. Selfishly, he hopes that isn’t the case, but you had a right to choose. 

“I’m a hunter.” He begins, and it hangs heavy in the air for two different reasons. For you, you’re a little confused, not understanding the dire build-up and Dean because he was unveiling his and his family’s biggest kept secret. 

“To clarify, I don’t hunt deer, elk, or critters in the woods.” He explains, but the alarming look on your face at the only other possibility to you has him panicking. “Not humans either.” He adds with a nervous chuckle, and you visibly relax. 

“I hunt monsters.” He reveals, and you stare at him dumbly for a moment. 

“Monsters?” You repeat, and Dean nods in confirmation. “As in the bogeyman?” 

“Sometimes, yeah.” Dean shrugs as if that was a casual thing to admit. You blink at him, as if you’re trying to process his words, but they don’t quite fit together in your mind. Monsters?

Your heart is pounding now, your mind racing, but all that comes out of your mouth is a shaky laugh, laced with disbelief. “Monsters?” You repeat, your voice thin and tight, like you’re testing the word on your tongue to see if it makes sense.

Dean’s face falls, and for the first time you see him as vulnerable as he’s ever been. There’s something desperate in his eyes, a plea for understanding that only seems to make the pit in your stomach widen.

“Yeah,” he says softly, nodding, but his voice cracks with the weight of the truth he’s just unleashed. “I hunt things that go bump in the night. Demons, ghosts, things like that. Creatures that don’t belong in this world.”

The room feels suddenly smaller. The air thicker. You look at him, your head spinning, and you can feel your pulse quicken as panic starts to creep in. A part of you wants to laugh it off, because this is crazy. There’s no way this could be true, right? Dean isn’t telling you the truth. It has to be some messed-up way for him to push you away.

A cold, sinking feeling settles deep in your chest. “Are you... are you serious?” Your voice comes out shaky, a whisper of disbelief hanging in the air. “Is this some kind of joke? You’re telling me... You hunt monsters?”

His expression tightens, lips pressed into a thin line, as if your question just added a fresh layer of weight to what he’s already carrying. “I’m not joking. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. Since one of those bastards took my  mom." The room grows silent, both of you respectively reeling from his admission. 

You had always figured Dean’s mom wasn’t in the picture for the pure fact he’d only ever spoken of his dad or younger brother. For what reason you never knew; however, the truth of it was more devastating than you could comprehend. 

When he looks at you again, there’s a pain in his expression that you don’t think you’ve ever seen before, and it’s then you decide this isn’t some elaborate story to make a break-up easier on him or to spook you just for the fun of it. This was very real, and this man had been living it. 

“This life… it’s dangerous. The people I meet, the things I fight, they’ll come after anyone I care about. I never wanted to put you in that position.” Dean says, his voice breaking. “I wanted to keep you safe; you deserve so much more than this, than me. You deserve the truth.”

You stand there, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of the words he’s spoken, but it’s like your entire world has been turned upside down. Dean is telling you about this huge part of his life that he’d kept from you, and you can’t tell if you should be running for the door or if you should stay and try to understand him, to understand this.

“But why? Why did you even let me in?” You ask, your voice catching on the last word. The question haunts you, and you need to understand the answer, even though a part of you is scared of hearing it.

Dean’s eyes soften, and for a moment, you see the man behind the mask, the man who is so full of fear, so full of love, and so completely torn apart. “Because I love you,” he says simply, his voice soft but resolute. “I love you, and I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t know how to make you understand what I do. How dangerous it is. How it’s too late for me to just stop, even if I wanted to. It’s all I’ve known.”

You’re frozen in place, the weight of his words hitting you harder than anything else. He loves you. It’s the last thing you expected to hear, the last thing you thought you’d ever get from Dean, especially now. But somehow, despite the chaos of it all, you feel your heart calm, just a little. Because the truth is, you really do love him. Despite everything.

You close your eyes for a moment, your mind racing with the enormity of what he’s just confessed. You want to scream, you want to run away and pretend none of this ever happened, but you can’t. You’re not that person. You can’t walk away from him, not now, not after everything you’ve felt for him.

You take a deep breath, forcing the words out, even as they feel foreign and strange in your mouth. “I... I don’t understand this. I don’t get it. But I do get you, Dean. I know who you are, even if I don’t know everything about your life.” You pause, letting the silence hang between you, both of you drowning in the weight of the moment.

And then, almost in defiance of the terror bubbling up inside you, you take a step forward. “I’m scared, Dean. I don’t know what this means for us. But I don’t want to lose you.”

Dean’s eyes flicker, relief and gratitude flooding his face. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and takes your hand in his. “You won’t lose me,” he promises, his voice barely above a whisper, but the conviction in it is enough to make your heart steady, even if just for a second.

You reach up and press your lips to his, the simple action bringing you the sense of comfort and relief you both needed after such a heavy moment. Dean responds in kind, his hands firm and strong as he holds you close, his kiss soft yet purposeful, charged with an unspoken understanding of what kind of life you were agreeing to embark on. 

There’s so much left unsaid, so much you’re both struggling to understand. But for now, in this small, broken room filled with the weight of the truth, you both know one thing: neither of you is ready to let go just yet.

As you both part, Dean exhales a long, tired breath. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, and in that simple gesture, you can feel the conflict in him, the rawness of everything he's kept buried for so long. And yet, as much as he's terrified of the future, of what this could mean for both of you, there's something almost peaceful in his presence now, as if admitting the truth has, for just a moment, allowed him to let go of the weight he’s been carrying.

“I don’t want to drag you into my mess,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I want you to know, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever it costs.”

You look at him, really look at him, seeing all the layers that lie underneath the bravado, the smirks, and the jokes. The broken man who’s been carrying this burden alone for too long. Your heart aches for him, for everything he's had to endure. And as much as the idea of what he does terrifies you, as much as the danger and uncertainty swirl around the edges of your thoughts, there’s still a part of you that feels steady.

You take a deep breath, your thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand. “I’m scared too, Dean. But I won’t walk away from you. Not because of this. But you’re right, we need to figure out what this means. All of it.”

His gaze softens, the hardness in his face fading just a little. “You don’t have to be a part of this. You don’t have to be involved.”

You shake your head, smiling gently. “I don’t know what the future holds, Dean. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that I don’t want to face it without you. Not if you’ll let me.”

The silence stretches between you, but it’s not suffocating anymore. It’s not filled with uncertainty or confusion. It’s a quiet understanding, the kind you only get after sharing something raw and unfiltered. He studies you for a long time, his expression softening, before he finally nods. There’s something fragile in that nod, something unspoken that passes between you.

“I didn’t think you’d say that,” he admits, his voice almost a whisper, like he’s afraid saying it out loud might shatter something delicate. “But I’m glad you did.”

You cup his face softly in both of your hands, a simple gesture that means everything right now. “We’ll figure it out,” you say softly. “Together.”

Dean lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it for a lifetime, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders loosens. The truth may have ripped through the air, but it’s not the end. It’s only the beginning.

AN: Hi all, I'm baaaack lol. This purely came out of the gif above and took on a mind of it's own 😅 what originally started as a jealousy fic turned into a; show some young Dean love fic 😂 I guess this can be perceived as a more positive outcome of him confessing his true life to someone he loves. I hope you guys enjoy ☺️

[hueningstar]

Beneath the Thorny Vines

Summary : You and Yeonjun go from bickering rivals to sharing charged, intimate moments during a late-night study session, where unspoken tension turns into undeniable attraction.

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A/N : Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions. Your support means the world ! <3 Alsoo,requests are open🙃 And about my 2 reqs that I got..school is starting and I really need to do my hw and study but I promise that in a few days you WILL get them☺️

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Pairing : Yeonjun × reader

Genre : Enemies-to-Lovers, Slow Burn, College AU

Warnings : nipple play, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it)

MDNI

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The first time you met Choi Yeonjun, he was leaning casually against the doorframe of your lecture hall, a smug smirk plastered on his face like he owned the place. And maybe he did, judging by the way everyone’s eyes flitted to him as though he were a magnet pulling their attention.

You hated him instantly.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice dripping with confidence. “Looks like you’re in my spot.”

Your brows furrowed as you looked up from your notebook. The lecture hall wasn’t even half full, yet he had the audacity to claim ownership of the seat you’d chosen near the window.

“I don’t see your name on it.” you shot back, folding your arms.

Instead of being deterred, he chuckled—a sound that irritated you more than it should have. “Well, I usually sit here. But if you want to fight about it, we can flip a coin.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your things and moved a few seats down, muttering under your breath about entitlement. You thought that would be the end of it, just another annoying encounter in a sea of college chaos.

You were wrong.

From that day forward, Yeonjun seemed to make it his mission to get under your skin. Whether it was cutting you off in class discussions, conveniently signing up for the same group projects, or flashing that infuriating grin every time he passed you in the halls, he was always there.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” you snapped one afternoon after he’d turned in another half-hearted attempt at a group project. You’d spent hours perfecting your section, only for him to barely skim the surface of his.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Relax, it’s not like it’s the final grade. Besides, I figured you’d overachieve enough for the both of us.”

Your jaw clenched. “Unbelievable.”

“You say that a lot,” he teased, his voice light. “I’m starting to think you actually enjoy arguing with me.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

As the semester dragged on, your interactions with Yeonjun became a strange routine. He’d rile you up, you’d bite back, and somewhere in between the tension, there were moments where his charm almost—almost—made you forget how infuriating he was.

Like the time he caught you struggling to carry a stack of library books and, without a word, took half of them from your arms.

“Don’t get used to this,” he said, smirking as he walked beside you.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you replied, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

Or the time he stayed behind after class to help you clean up spilled coffee, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a paper towel. For a split second, you saw something softer in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The turning point came during a campus fundraiser. You’d been assigned to work the same booth as Yeonjun—selling homemade baked goods to raise money for the art department.

“Try not to scare off the customers.” you said, eyeing him as he lounged lazily behind the table.

“And miss out on the chance to charm everyone who walks by?” He grinned, picking up a cookie and taking a bite.

“You’re supposed to sell those, not eat them.” you scolded, swatting at his hand.

“What, you think people won’t buy them if one’s missing? Watch and learn.”

To your surprise (and mild annoyance), Yeonjun’s charm worked wonders. Within an hour, he’d managed to sell more cookies than you thought possible, effortlessly chatting up every passerby.

“See? I’m not completely useless,” he said, leaning closer with a playful glint in his eyes.

You hated the way your heart skipped a beat.

As the weeks turned into months, the sharp edges of your rivalry began to blur. You still bickered—some things never changed—but there was a new undercurrent to your interactions, a warmth that neither of you acknowledged but both felt.

One evening, as you sat alone, frantically typing away at an essay due the next day, Yeonjun appeared out of nowhere and slid into the seat across from you.

“Need help?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically genuine.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you offer to help me?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Maybe I don’t hate you as much as you think.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to smile back.

And maybe—just maybe—you didn’t hate him as much as you thought, either.

Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with that ever-present smirk. For once, though, it didn’t feel condescending—it felt… softer.

“Fine,” you relented with a sigh, sliding your laptop toward him. “But if you mess this up, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Deal.” He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing forearms that were unfairly distracting. Settling in, he scanned the notes on your screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You tried to focus on anything but him: the sound of the clock ticking, the faint hum of the air conditioner, the scratch of your pen on paper. But your eyes kept drifting back to Yeonjun, to the way his lips pressed together as he read, to the faint strand of hair falling into his face.

“Your formatting’s all wrong,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

He grinned, tapping at your keyboard. “Relax, I fixed it. See?”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you followed his gesture. He smelled faintly of something clean and woodsy, and you were suddenly hyperaware of how close the two of you were.

“Uh, thanks.” you mumbled, your voice quieter than intended.

“Don’t mention it.” he replied, but his tone had shifted, too. When you glanced up, you found him looking at you—really looking.

The smirk was gone, replaced by something deeper, something that made the air between you feel heavier.

“Why do you do that?” you asked softly, your heart pounding.

“Do what?” His voice was just as quiet, his gaze locked on yours.

“Act like you don’t care about anything.”

He tilted his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him. “And why do you act like you care about everything?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But before you could think of something, Yeonjun leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Maybe we’re not so different, after all.”

The tension crackled like static electricity. Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed yours, lingering for a moment too long. His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, as if he were testing the waters.

“Yeonjun…” you started, your voice wavering.

“Shh,” he murmured, a teasing edge returning to his tone. “I’m just helping you with your essay, remember?”

But the way his hand lingered on yours said otherwise.

As Yeonjun's fingers intertwined with yours, he slowly pulled you closer. His other hand reached up to cup your face gently, tilting it up to meet his gaze. He looked at your lips, then back into your eyes, asking a silent question.

His thumb caressed your bottom lip, sending shivers down your spine. "You're so..." he murmured, seemingly at a loss for words. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of confusion, desire, and something deeper. "...annoying. And frustrating. And..."

He paused, his forehead resting against yours now. "And so infuriatingly kissable." he finally whispered, his warm breath fanning across your face. His hand on your face tightened, pulling you into a gentle, tentative kiss. His lips were soft, questioning, almost unsure.

His kiss was gentle but demanding, contradictory in the best way. One hand remained on your face while the other moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, you couldn't help but melt against him. "Mmm..."

A soft groan rumbled in his chest as you parted your lips, inviting him in. His kiss turned more urgent, more passionate. He explored your mouth like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. His hand on your back slid down to grip your hip, pressing you flush against him.

The kiss went on for what felt like an eternity, stealing your breath and your thoughts. When Yeonjun finally broke the kiss, you were both left panting, your hearts racing in sync. He rested his forehead against yours once more, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment.

His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes dark with desire. A slow, almost lazy smirk spread across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.

Without warning, he lifted you up and placed you on the desk, pushing the books and papers to the side with a careless swipe of his arm. He stepped between your legs, forcing them apart to make room for him.

He leaned in to claim your lips again, more forceful this time. One hand slid up your thigh while the other tangled in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. You could feel his growing hardness pressing against your center as he moved closer.

His fingers deftly unbuttoned your shirt, exposing your lacy bra underneath. He paused, admiring the view, before hooking a finger under the strap and pulling it down, baring more skin.

"Fucking hell." he breathed against your neck, his lips and teeth tracing a path down to your collarbone. His hand snaked around to unhook your bra, freeing your breasts.

He took a moment to appreciate the sight before lowering his head, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting a gasp from you. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

His mouth moved back to yours in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as his hands made quick work of your pants and underwear, pushing them down your legs. He stepped back just enough to remove his own shirt, revealing his toned chest.

He reached for his belt, unbuckling it and lowering his zipper. You watched, mesmerized, as he pulled out his hard, throbbing cock. He stroked it a few times, spreading pre-cum along the length before reaching for your legs and spreading them wider.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he growled, positioning himself at your entrance. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and affection. "And I'm not going to be gentle."

He thrust into you suddenly, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, feeling like you might be split in two as he buried himself inside you. He wrapped your legs around his waist, angling you for even deeper penetration. "You're so tight."

He hissed through gritted teeth, his arms trembling as he held you up. He pounded into you, over and over, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. You were screaming, but he muffled the sound with his mouth, kissing you brutally as he took you.

Just when you thought he couldn't get any harder or faster, he reached between your bodies and rubbed at your clit, sending sparks flying through your entire being. You came with a scream, your inner walls clamping down on his cock as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

He followed soon after, pulsing deep inside you with a fierce 'fuck' against your neck. His entire body shook as he emptied himself, then suddenly pulled out, spinning you around and bending you over the desk. His hand came down hard on your ass, making you jump.

He didn't give you a moment to catch your breath before slamming back into you, his hips cracking against your cheeks with each brutal thrust. You were crying now, your face buried in the papers on the desk as he used you like a fucking animal. His balls slapped against your thighs with each stroke.

He snatched a handful of your hair, yanking your head back as he hissed in your ear, "This is what you needed, wasn't it?" His other hand found your clit again, pinching and rubbing mercilessly as he continued his relentless assault on your ass.

A shudder ran through your body as his dirty talk mixed with the brutal stimulation, pushing you swiftly towards another orgasm. Your fingers clenched the edges of the desk, knuckles white from gripping so tightly. "Yes!" you cried out, your voice raw and desperate, "Fuck me harder!"

He snarled in response, his hips moving like a piston as he fucked you with all his might. The desk creaked and shook beneath you, papers flying everywhere. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling so hard it stung, but only adding to the intense pleasure coursing through you.

Just as your orgasm hit, he released your hair, instead wrapping his arm around your waist to lift and turn you to face him. Kneeling, his mouth found yours in a fierce, dominating kiss. His tongue claimed your mouth as thoroughly as his cock had claimed your pussy.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you flush against his chest as he thrust up into you with increasing urgency. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal rhythm that drove him closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum in you."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you and held you in place as his cock pulsed and spasmed, filling your pussy with his hot, thick cum. You could feel it overflowing, coating your inner thighs as he emptied himself completely inside you.

He nuzzled into your neck, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Damn, you always make me forget everything else," he murmured contentedly. His hands roamed over your sides possessively. "I need to get back to work, though. Can you..."

He gently shifted you off him, watching as cum dripped from your still-sensitive pussy. "Dirty girl," he whispered appreciatively, pulling his tie to clean you up slightly. "Be a good girl and clean my desk while I'm gone. And maybe then I'll consider bending you over it again later."

You nodded obediently, still trembling from the intensity of your climax. He winked at you before striding out, leaving you sprawled naked on the couch, his cum leaking from you and a trail of papers scattered across the hardwood. Slowly, you pushed yourself up, glancing at the messy desk.

You spent the next hour meticulously cleaning his desk, organizing the scattered papers and dusting the surface. As you worked, you couldn't help but replay the intense encounter in your head, your body still tingling from his touch. Just as you finished, you heard the door open behind you.

He stepped back into the room, his eyes scanning the neatly organized desk. He looked at you, standing there naked and covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the cleaning, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "Good girl." he murmured, locking the door behind him.

Moving swiftly towards you, he pinned you against the freshly cleaned desk, his strong hands gripping your hips. "I suppose only one thing is left to do now," he growled playfully, his eyes gleaming with mischief and lust.

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[usafphantom2]

#TomcatTail

#TomcatTuesday

That Time at Top Gun I Got Jumped by an F-5

Disclaimer: This #TomcatTail occurred almost 30 years ago and while I’ve got the lion’s share of the details correct, there may be a few errors but not in anything substantive to the story. Sorry, I’m old.

Getting selected to attend Top Gun in March of 1995 was pretty cool. Back in those days, TG was still at NAS Miramar so a good bit of training occurred in the Top Gun hangar and out over the water off San Diego. Other elements of training involved training ranges near El Centro/Yuma, Fallon, Nevada and China Lake, CA (emitter hop). All in all it was a great experience but it did have a couple “others”.

First, both the selected pilot and RIO are supposed to be cruise qualified, having done a deployment as they would likely become Pilot and RIO training officers after they graduated. Unfortunately, the luck of the draw had it that a non-cruise-experienced RIO got the nod to attend with me which made it just a bit more challenging. No dig on my RIO, it’s a really hard thing for anyone to do, but it made for some extra work on me in a learning environment.

The second “other” – and I know you aviators out there will be shaking your head in recognition – was that when I went through there was a HUGE budget problem in the flying hour program: not enough money for gas (when is there, right??). My CO’s solution was to only partially fill all the jets for each flight (internal fuel only) and NOT fill the drop tanks. Your normal fuel load of 20,000 pounds was reduced to 16,000 pounds (yes, 20% reduction). Not my favorite CO, BTW. I asked “can I at least take the drop tanks off so I don’t have the drag penalty?”, his answer was, in a word, “no.” D*ck. Any other classmates have this problem? Nope. Double D*ck.

That was my challenge all the way through Top Gun; an inexperienced RIO (still love him like a brother) and a 20% fuel penalty for every flight. My RIO got better pretty quickly and generally rose to the occasion, and for my part (having always been a Friend of Maintenance or FOM) I managed to often times sweet talk the Sailors fueling the jet to “accidentally” fill up the drops. I always had a great relationship with Sailors (my Dad was Enlisted before he became a Naval Aviator), so it wasn’t that hard to get ‘em to help me out on occasion.

It was a pretty lengthy syllabus (I counted 28 hops in my logbook just now) with your standard “small to big” training focus. 1v1s, 2v2s, 4v4s, the infamous “Flanker Hop” against high alt/high speed Vipers, threat emitters at China Lake, and Strike missions around Fallon, Nevada. The instructors were absolutely top notch and literally everything you did (from brief, to flight, to fight, to debrief) was critiqued. It’s like applying Blue Angel precision to the fighter environment.

With that, we come to the story of getting jumped by an F-5. As I recall, the hop was a four plane Self Escort Strike (Fighter/Bomber configuration) at the training range around Fallon, Nevada carrying two each inert Mk 82s (cement 500lb bombs). We’d fight our way in from the east on the north side of the range, hang a left at the right time to attack the Bravo 19 target complex to the south, and egress/hook out to the west after that (picture counter-clockwise flow). We were in a four plane and the section of F-14Bs were in the lead, and I was Dash-2 in the section of F-14As.

Side note – one crew per squadron was selected per class so they generally ran 2 sections of Tomcats and two sections of Hornets (maybe a few more). At the time, I was in VF-24 in the F-14A so I got crewed up with another Pilot/RIO [admission – for the LIFE of me I can’t remember their squadron……VF-213?.....31?... ...dunno….it was 1995 and they were flying A’s out of Miramar] and we’d swap leads every other mission/syllabus hop. Today “Stinky” was in the lead (not his real callsign).

We started the run from the east headed west along the northern boundary of the working area. We were one mile combat spread (each jet 1 mile apart) in a line abreast and I was on the far right (northernmost fighter); lead fighter in the B was on the far left and Stinky was 1 mile to my left. Break those hands out again if it helps. Looks about like this:

◄ - Dash 4 (me)

◄ - Dash 3 (Stinky)

◄ - Dash 2 (F-14B)

◄ - Dash 1 (Lead F-14B)

The expectation is that we’d see some long-range contacts (we did) and fire some BVR weapons (we did) and then make our way to the target area and get jumped either in the middle during our turn south (we did) or immediately off the target after we released (we did).

So we’re “haulin’ the chili” as we used to say, ingressing at 480kts and nearing the swing south. Parenthetically, we liked to travel at speeds in multiples of 60 because that made the time/distance calculation easier…..480kts = 8 miles a minute means 16 miles away = 2 minutes. We hit the turn point and start this sweeping gentle “wheel” to the left and steady up on a southerly heading as I get back in position having been on the outside of the turn. Right when we settle back in and we’re all 1-mile line abreast, my RIO shouts out on the tactical frequency “BOGEY RIGHT THREE O’CLOCK ONE MILE!!!” I look over and sure enough there’s an F-5 at one mile away on my altitude pointing right at me. Dang it.

Here’s where it gets funny. Stinky calls out on the radio “We’re clear!”, meaning he thinks we don’t need to engage and can blow through. Well yes, Stinky, YOU are clear because the F-5 is TWO miles from YOU and has no chance of catching YOU, but I’VE got him in my knickers and I HAVE to honor his presence and engage. So I do.

INTERMISSION – I will say that Stinky was a resoundingly gifted Tomcat pilot and was as good at ACM as anyone, but this was NOT the first time he’d left me to engage as he blew through. It happened on a previous 2 plane ingress; I got jumped and he kept going. Not the coolest move, naturally, and the Instructors were savage in their critique but honestly I didn’t have to worry about it after Top Gun because he wasn’t in my squadron. We now return you to your previously schedule dogfight.

So bam, max performance turn to the right to take the F-5 down my right side close aboard to try and neutralize the threat and then figure out what’s next. I figure that if I want to have a snowballs chance in hell to get back to my division, I had to steer the fight properly. So he goes down my right side and I take the fight two circle (continue the right turn, but mostly in the vertical), come out of blower to get the speed down and turn rate to increase quickly and pull hard to get nose on. It works pretty well because the F-5 turns about like a Phantom (meaning: it doesn’t). I get the nose to rate around quickly and pull down to get nose on the F-5 and call a quick “Fox 2” on him. Fortunately for me, we’re kind of pointing the way we were going originally, so it’s blowers to Zone 5 and try and find our buddies. Honestly, I think that was a gift from the Instructor to configure it so I’d bag him and be able to continue. They were always good like that.

My RIO finds them on the pulse scope pretty quickly; they’re a number of miles ahead but we’re heading down hill toward them in full grunt, haulin’ and extra helping of chili. I get a visual and aim for the Dash-4 position to the right of Stinky where I was previously. By this time we’re getting close to the roll in point on the Bravo 19 target. The plan is to do a “John Wayne Left”, where – just like in the movies – we all roll in on the target leftward, one after another. We’ll likely even mentally make that noise from those movies…..”Brrrrr…..Brrrrrr…..Brrrrrr”. The timing works out absolutely perfectly (rather be lucky than good). I’m sliding up into position when Dash 1 rolls left….Dash 2 goes……my RIO gets Air-to-Ground read into the system, good symbology…..Stinky goes….then I go.

Master Arm on, roll left, pull nose to the target, 45° dive set, symbology tracking (a vertical line through the target with a que marker marching down to a release marker), que marker hits release marker, press the bomb button (“pickle”), thump-thump, and we’re off target. I pull out hard, roll wings left to look back briefly at the target (a hit, or at least close enough) and find and join on Stinky in spread again.

The B guys get jumped from the north now and me and Stinky have a couple bogies on our nose to the west. We’ve split into roughly separate sections so now it’s time to fight our way out. Fortunately for us, the bogies are right on our nose, so discretion being the better part of valor we blow through as we accelerate through the number at about 5,000 feet off the deck. Not a good idea to hang out over simulated bad guy country after you just bombed the shit out of ‘em. “Evaluate the bug” says Stinky…..”good bug” says the Instructor. Success.

We come back for the debrief and it goes fairly well. For those that haven’t been through, “fairly well” means you get talked to about each and every point of the flight for about 3 hours. Stinky got savaged for not honoring the threat to his wingman but again, no big deal to me. And then we go to the tapes to evaluate our strike run. It comes to my turn and we roll tape. The vertical line (Bomb Fall Line, I think) tracks over the target, que hits, bombs come off, and the instructor hits pause.

“So how fast were you going at release?” Uh oh. I had no idea. So you know, there are actually limits to how fast you can drop ordnance based on how much testing had been done on the airframe. At that point the Tomcat wasn’t cleared for supersonic release. Conjecture was that depending on speed and airflow that a released bomb may get “stuck” in the air around the jet and clatter around in the tunnel between the engines. On the “good/bad scale”, that’s clearly on “bad.”

“I’m not sure, Sir. I was trying to get into position on time to roll in with the division and I didn’t check.”

“Well, based on what we could see on radar, you joined your division nearly supersonic, right around 600 knots. Then you rolled in, so I figure you may have dropped past the number. Congratulations, you’re a test pilot.”

Oops. “Uhhh…..thank you Sir.” What a time to be alive!

@RSE_vb via X

[macgyvermedical]

Preview of an idea I had. Might continue it, might not. It’s a story about a nurse living through a Second American Civil War around the year 2032. I want it to be episodic, told through nurse’s notes and the character’s private journal:

They killed Bradey on a rainy Wednesday in February.

That’s it. That’s how I’m starting this. It was raining and they shot him. Or. Well. It was drizzling. Not the point. The street was wet, and he was wearing a red cross made of duct tape on the back of his shirt. He’s fucking dead.

So I guess now that that happened. I guess. Um. I wanted to record some things. Just in case the same happens to me. Which it will- might. I don’t know yet.

The date is February 12, 2032. The Second American Civil War has been going on for 714 days. Officially. We all know it started before that. But like, if someone’s trying to line things up with a history book.

That’s where we’re at.

Most of the greater Seattle area gets electricity about 4 hours a day. Fuel ration is 2 gallons a week. The food situation is… well, I’ve lost 35 pounds. Which technically I had it to lose, but still fucking sucks when you’re not trying. Meds are a constant issue. So are sterile things. But at least with things that are supposed to be sterile you can make them clean enough if you have the things themselves. Meds… you either have or you don’t. There’s not a lot of them you can make yourself.

I wish I could tell you more about Bradey. Maybe I will someday. But to get things started he was a doctor. I ran his standalone urgent care out of the second floor of the Denny building for the last 5 years. Fee for service only. Sliding scale. Bradey hated insurance companies. And…. modernity in general. If he could have ridden a horse in the city and accepted chickens as payment he would have. Most people don’t have chickens here, though. Which, if I’m being honest, has turned out to be a real fucking shame.

I don’t have any of Bradey’s personal writings. Or, well, I do, technically. But they’re locked in his desk. Even if I could get them out I don’t read his cursive well enough to decipher them. Jackass. I’d be willing to trade a good few weeks’ fuel ration to an octogenarian locksmith with at least one good eye.

My handwriting’s not the best, but I realize all of my own notes are in a crappy old office laptop with like a quarter of a working battery. If the electricity situation gets any worse I want… Well, I want whoever wants it to have this. I don’t know. Maybe no one will. From now on everything goes on paper.

—-------------J. Shaw, RN—----------------------

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

You’re Tough, But I’ll Bite Anyway

Another installment of the vampire!reader x Jason series. Part 1 is here, Part 2 is here.

Angst in this one; hurt/comfort, Jason gets hurt and reader doesn’t handle it well. Reader is a potty-mouth and swears up down and sideways. Suggestive content because reader always wants the d. Mentions of violence. No use of y/n

I don’t know how long this is

—————

Bzzt—

Your phone vibrates against your comforter and you lunge for it, pouncing on it from the other side of the bed. You grin as Jason’s name flashes on the screen. Finally, finally. You were about to give up on him and reach for your vibrator. Stark naked, you’re waiting for him to come over. Staring at the ceiling. Counting specks of dust floating in the lamplight. Bored out of your fucking mind.

You grab the phone and hold it to your face. “Where the fuck are you?” you ask accusatorially. “You were supposed to be here hours ago, and I want dick!”

A cough comes through the phone. “Uhh—”

“You promised you’d fuck me if I sent you that pic,” you remind him. “Now come over here and dick me do—”

“This isn’t Red Hood.”

You sit up in your bed. The voice doesn’t sound like Jason. “Who the fuck is Red Hood?” you snarl down the line. “Who the fuck are you?”

“This is Nightwing,” the voice says cautiously. “I—”

This isn’t right. Where is Jason? “I don’t know who you are or what that means,” you say threateningly. “All I know is that you’re holding Jason’s phone, and he’s not on the other end of it, so if you don’t put him on soon, I’m going to find you and fuck you up.” You will, if this asshole fucking touched him. “I’ll rip out your throat.”

“Alright, calm down,” the voice says soothingly. It only makes you angrier.

“Where’s Jason?”

“He—he got hurt. I work with Red Hood, Jason.” He lets his voice drop down to a whisper. Right, Red Hood is Jason’s vigilante passion project. “We’ve actually met before, I wear blue finger stripes.”

“I don’t care what you wear. What happened to Jason, what do you mean he got hurt?” you demand.

“He took a hit to the head,” the voice says carefully. “He’s unconscious.”

Your stomach pitches. “Doesn’t he wear that stupid helmet?”

“Through the helmet,” the voice explains gently. “It splintered. It’s—it’s pretty bad.”

Holy shit. “Is he going to die?” They do that, right? When humans get hit in the head? They fucking die on you?

“No, no. He’s not going to die,” the voice says soothingly.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me,” you challenge, panic rising. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, I promise. He’s not going to die. He’s on his way to the Batcave now, he might already be there.”

“What the fuck is the Batcave?” You don’t remember Jason mentioning it.

“It’s our base. We’ll take care of him there.”

You need to be wherever the hell that is, if Jason’s there. “How can I get there?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Fine.” You disconnect the call, get dressed with your eyes narrowed. You don’t take a single breath until you’re out on the sidewalk, until a sleek black car pulls up.

The passenger window rolls down. “I’m Dick,” the driver introduces himself. “Come on in.”

You grunt at him, slipping into the car. You don’t bother to put on your seatbelt, and after a moment Dick shrugs and puts the car in gear.

He needs to tell you what the fuck is going on. You stare at him expectantly. Dick takes the hint.

He sighs, then launches into it. You listen wordlessly. They took Jason to the hospital. Skull fractured. They did a scan. Brain swelling, but not too much. You didn’t even know brains could swell.

“He’s unconscious, but stable,” Dick clarifies. “He got lucky, his helmet took most of the damage,” he offers.

Lucky lucky lucky. You hope Dick crashes the car.

“How soon can we get there?” It’s the first thing you’ve said to him in person.

Dick glances at the map displayed on a screen. “Twenty minutes.”

Not fast enough. You eye the speedometer. “Can you go any faster?”

Dick speeds up obligingly. You stare out the window, trying your hardest not to think.

Eventually, the car enters a tunnel you couldn’t discern from the thick of the forest on either side. Dick navigates around a series of turns, and soon enough you’re in a well-lit, underground garage. He quickly parks and leads you through a door, into a wide, open cave. You follow him up a short flight of stairs, onto a platform, through a door and there’s Jason. Lying in a hospital bed, head bandaged, eyes closed, and looking very, very small.

Immediately, it’s too much. You clamp your eyes shut, and when that’s not enough, you do an about face, stepping into a nearby corner to shield yourself. Fear clutches at your mind, and you press your hands against the wall. You haven’t been this scared in years, it feels like water is clogging your lungs.

You wish you could leave. Instead, you swallow thickly. You can do this. You can be brave. You can turn around.

You pivot, opening your eyes. The scene hasn’t changed, but you force yourself to look. Jason’s head, lying propped on a pillow, is wrapped in what looks like several layers of bandages. Dried blood crusts their edges, stains his ear and the left side of his face. His mouth and nose are covered by what looks like a clear mask. They’ve put him in some kind of hospital gown, and he’s hooked up to some machines spitting out data you can’t read.

His head droops slightly to the left. It doesn’t look natural. Jason shouldn’t look like this.

You want to rip a tooth out of your mouth. Glancing around the room, you see Dick, plus another man sitting a table with what looks like files spread in front of him. Across the table, a child sits in front of a laptop. All three are watching you carefully.

“Okay,” you say evenly. “Explain what all of this is.”

The man at the table raises his hand. “That machine,” he points to a monitor, “is to track his vitals and inter cranial pressure. Those,” he gestures to the plastic bags on a hanger, “are the drugs we’re giving him.”

You trace the line from the bag to the inside of Jason’s wrist. “What drugs?”

“Propophol, morphine,” the man rattles off. When you continue to stare at him, he adds: “sedatives and pain relief.”

Sedatives. “The kind you wake up from?”

The child scoffs, and you whip your head towards him, opening your mouth in a snarl. “Easy,” Dick says from his position by the door. “Yes, the kind you wake up from.”

You turn back to Jason. “What’s going to happen next?”

The man at the table exchanges a look with Dick. “We’ll keep him under for three days to give his brain time to heal, and then we’ll turn off the drugs and see how he does.”

Your brain picks that up and runs with it. See how he does. You’re pretty sure you know what that means; wait for him to wake up. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

The man shakes his head. “No, nothing.”

You fold your arms over your chest, staring at Jason. Nothing left to do but wait. Fear crashes over you again, you feel from your fingernails all the way through the soles of your feet. You can’t lose Jason. You can’t. You haven’t thought about it before, not really, but faced with the possibility your feelings sharpen. You don’t know what you’d do without him. He has to wake up. He has to.

Sucking on your teeth, you step towards the bed. Jason looks even worse up closer, bruises starting to form under his eyes and across his cheek. Some of the blood lines his jaw, and you stick a finger in your mouth to gently wash it from his face. Clean, you put your index finger back on your tongue, licking the blood from it. It tastes the same as Jason’s always does, warm and familiar. Calmer now, you kneel down into a squat next to the bed, finger still in your mouth, resting your chin in your palm.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, crouched by Jason’s bedside. Long enough that the man goes back to his files and the kid to his computer. Dick pulls out his phone, but keeps an eye on you. You can feel it as you try to make sense of the thoughts swirling in your head.

Nothing to do but wait, huh? Being hemmed in irritates you. The last thing you were powerless against was the vampire that got you, and you’ve been basically invincible ever since. You’re strong enough to get what you want, by hook or by crook. But this is different. Can’t do anything but sit on your ass and wait for Jason’s stupid brain to clock back in.

Your fault for getting involved with a human, you think to yourself, almost without heat. But the seed of doubt niggles at you. Jason’s going to run out of time eventually. It might not be this time, but his work is more dangerous than you realized. He could get shot, or stabbed, or any of the other life-ending things. Or he could get unlucky and step in front of a drunk driver. Or he could get all the way to ninety before crapping out on you anyway, leaving you right where you are now.

You bite down on your fingernail. You can’t process this now. It’s too much. You search for something to distract yourself, but you’re locked in for three days of misery until there’s even a chance Jason opens his eyes.

Frustrated, you rap your knuckles against the tile floor. There’s really nothing you can do. You’re no help here, you haven’t a clue what’s going on in Jason’s skull. They seem to have it covered, anyway.

Fuck. This sucks. You rock back onto your heels, trying to settle in for the long haul.

Nothing to do but wait. Except—

You rise to your feet, tsking to get the men’s attention. “Who’s going to give me a name?”

Dick and the other man give you confused looks, but the child looks at you with glimmering interest.

“You said Jason took a hit. Someone gave it to him.” You take a step toward the table. “You’re going to tell me who it is.”

Dick’s gaze is guarded. “Why do you want to know?”

The child scoffs again. He seems to be speaking your language.

“Damian…” Dick sighs, shaking his head. “We don’t know who hit him,” he says to you.

“Yes, you do.” You’ve got nothing to lose by insisting. “Tell me.”

“We get hit all the time,” the other man offers trying to placate you. “You can’t just go after everyone who lays a hand on Jason.”

Your hackles rise. “Listen, boy,” you spit at him in disgust, “I’ve got nothing but time.”

The man opens his mouth, affronted, but Dick intervenes. “Tim, leave it,” he says gently. “I’m sorry,” and he looks at you with what seems like genuine regret, “but we can’t help you.”

Your gaze remains level. “I will find them. One way or another. You’re not protecting them, your extending their lives by days, at most.”

This is something of a bluff. It would be difficult for you to locate the people who hurt Jason with no leads, but not impossible. You’ll come for them eventually.

“I retrieved their driver’s licenses,” the kid pipes up suddenly. “There were two assailants.” He pulls out a plastic bag, sets it on the table, and glares at Dick, daring him to say anything. Dick closes his eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, picking up the bag.

“How are you going to get back to Gotham?” Dick asks, resigned. You look at him silently. “Can you drive?”

“Yes.”

“Take my car.” He tosses you the keys.

You nod. You won’t thank them again. “See you in three days.”

———

It takes a couple tries before Jason fully wakes up. He’s in and out for a bit, there are a few times where he recognizes that he’s conscious, that he’s lying down, that there are people around him. He tries to call to them but he sinks back under before he can get the words out. It’s frustrating, bobbing in along the surface.

Finally, the room stays in focus for more than a few seconds. He blinks, and his vision sharpens; he’s in one of the medical rooms on the cave’s second floor. His head fucking hurts.

Dick sits in a chair next to the bed, feet propped up on the footboard. Jason grunts, and Dick looks up. “Morning, li’l wing.”

Jason pulls a face and coughs into the ventilator. “We’ll get that thing off you soon,” Dick says reassuringly. Jason raises an eyebrow, and Dick takes the hint. “Hit to the head knocked you out. Minor swelling, potentially no lasting damage. We’ll check in a moment.”

Jason nods. He remembers the fight, some assholes with reinforced batons getting in a lucky shot. He takes stock of the rest of his body; there are minimal aches and pains below his neck.

After a few moments, Dick sighs. “Alright, let’s see it. Move those limbs for me, please.”

Jason holds his breath. One by one, he lifts and wiggles his hands and feet, wriggling his toes and twitching his fingers.

“Excellent.” Dick breaks into a smile. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

Within a few hours, they’ve taken him off the ventilator and given him some ice chips to suck on. He asks after you, and Dick tells him that they let you know what happened, that you came to visit a few days ago, when they first brought him in. He wants to call you, but they won’t let him get at his phone, he shouldn’t be exposing his eyes to bright lights.

“Here, I’ve got her number, I’ll let her know you’re awake.” Dick holds Jason’s eyes for a moment too long before looking down to his phone and tapping out a message.

Jason narrows his eyes and inclines his head at Dick. There’s something Goldie’s not sharing with him. Dick plays dumb, opening his shoulders, and Jason rolls his eyes, nodding at Dick’s phone.

“You’ve nabbed yourself a loyal one there, Jay,” he says with a sigh. “She went out to do some dirty work.” He gives a small smile. “Damian ratted out the thugs who knocked you around.”

Jason closes his eyes, lets that wash over him. You’d told him outright that you’d kill for him, that you’d hunt down anyone who touched him, but knowing you went out and did it is another matter. It’s more than anyone has ever done for him, not even—not even Bruce. Jason has taken hits his entire life, and he’s learn to hit back. But no one has ever hit back for him, hard enough that someone won’t hurt him ever again.

He can’t help it, he starts to cry, holding himself still and silent as tears make their way down his cheeks. Dick considers for a moment, then walks over and puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Jason tenses but lets the hand stay where it is.

After a couple of minutes, Dick’s phone goes off. He glances at it, then accepts the call. “Hello? Yeah, he’s awake. Hold on.” He puts the phone on speaker, holding it to Jason’s mouth.

“Jason, say something,” you command across the line.

“Hey, baby.” His voice is weak and watery.

You’re silent for a moment. “You idiot,” you mutter finally. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t trip and break your face before I get in.”

“Can do.” He hears you hang up.

Dick shoves his phone in his pocket. “I’m happy for you,” he offers. “She seems…well, she clearly cares about you.” He considers this for a moment. “Actions speak louder than words, anyway.”

Jason agrees, except he can read your words and see the affection where Dick can’t. Soon enough, there comes the slow rumble of a car pulling in, the sound of footsteps coming up the metal stairs. Jason holds his breath, and then your face is peaking into the room, cold and slightly uncertain. Eagerly, Jason waves you inside.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Dick makes his exit, closing the door behind him.

You step to the foot of the bed, clearly uncomfortable, observing him from a distance. “Got hit so hard I turned ugly, huh? Don’t even want to get close to me?” Jason tries to joke, but his voice is cracked and it doesn’t land. You don’t acknowledge him, staring at the bandages on his head. He falls silent, lets you take your time. He’ll wait for you forever.

Eventually, you put your hands on your hips. “I didn’t like that at all,” you announce in a clear, uncharacteristically soft voice. “You can’t do that again.”

Jason laughs quietly. “Can’t promise that, sweetheart, you know that.”

You purse your lips. “I’ll lock you away, then. Keep you tied up so you can’t get out and do anything stupid.”

He looks at you steadily until your gaze drops to the floor. “I was really scared. I don’t want you to die,” you confess in a whisper.

Jason feels his heart go soft, even softer than it already was. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Not sorry enough that you won’t do it again, though.” Your back straightens. “You don’t have to worry about those guys, by the way. I took care of them.” A look of fierce anger crosses your face. “It wasn’t slow. I made them pay.”

The tears break through again. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You stare at him, and he grows uncomfortable showing so much emotion in front of you. But then you reach out and pinch his toe under the blanket, so sharply he yelps. “Ouch, what the fuck?”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you talk over him loudly. “I’m going to do it again.” Walking closer, you rest a finger against the pulse point on his neck. He’s forced to look up at you, almost wide-eyed before your clear menace. “Anyone who hurts you.”

He nods, tears still slipping down his cheeks. You look uncertain again, but then you reach out and wipe them from his cheeks. He rests his cheek against your palm for a moment, but you pull away, looking curiously at your fingers before sticking them in your mouth. He laughs as you howl in disgust, ripping your hand from your mouth and wiping it on his hospital gown.

“Shit, that’s fucking gross. You got some nasty-ass shit dripping from your eyes, you know that?”

“Built for blood, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he teases, then gulps as your eyes darken.

“And one more thing your body can offer,” you waggle your eyebrows and Jason chokes.

“Not—not here,” he hisses as your face lights up. “No, babe, no!” he begs as your fingers ghost over his crotch. “My fucking Dad is here, you need to cut it out!”

“Hm,” you tap his leg thoughtfully. “How long are you here? Another week, at least?” He nods tremulously. “You know that won’t cut it. We’re going to have to see what we can get away with.” You flick dangerously at his chest until you find his nipple.

“Stop, stop!” he pleads, and you laugh, flitting your fingers in a way that makes his face go hot. He panics when he hears Dick and Tim chatting as they walk up the stairs. Mercifully, you take your hands off him and step back.

“I’ll come back to you later,” you promise with a predatory grin. Jason blushes and squirms but smiles at you anyway. He can’t help but look forward to it.

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 2

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: Falling asleep in a luxurious castle was supposed to be easy, yet you couldn’t. At least until ran into Phosphorus in the kitchen - or rather until he fell through the ceiling. Of all the ways you considered to tire yourself out, he was certainly not one of them, yet it turned out to be the best way.

Notes: Sorry this is so long, I tried to keep it short but obviously failed! If you didn’t read Ch. 1, it’s not needed for Ch.2, it just provides extra backstory. As a heads up, this chapter takes a very different turn from Ch.1. This chapter is mostly smut

CW: Burning/ Burning kink, ass slapping, dom!Phosphorus (kinda)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having spent so many years sleeping on a hard ass prison bed, you thought sleeping in the luxurious castle beds would be easy. Yet, no matter how many times you repositioned yourself, you couldn’t get comfortable. It was far too quiet; you had become accustomed to the constant clanging and shouting of prison. The mattress and pillows were too soft, something you never thought would be a problem. After hours of laying there, trying desperately to sleep, your stomach growled. With a groan, you got up, hoping maybe some food would put you to sleep.

It took some wandering to find the kitchen, but eventually you did. The servants in there froze as they saw you enter. Who they were making tea for at one in the morning, you had no clue.

“Uh, hi, sorry, I just wanted some food?”

One of them slowly moved over the the pantry, revealing a smorgasbord of snacks.

“Wow… thank you.”

He simply nodded and returned to preparing the tea and biscuits. You picked up some kind of snack bar. It was labeled in Polkostani so you weren’t really sure what it was, but it looked good. Just as you were almost finished with it, the ceiling above the kitchen island collapsed. The servants ran away while you watched as Flag and Dr. Phosphorus fell through, landing on the kitchen table. When Phosphorus sat up, he cracked his neck into place, and you couldn’t deny how unbelievablly hot it was.

A moment later, Flag hit him with a frying pan, Phosphorous blasted him, and the next thing you knew some device was sitting at your feet. It displayed images of you and your fellow monsters, and you quickly realized what it is.

The two men stared at you, frozen, waiting to see what you would do. You bent down to pick it up, thinking about how much trouble you could potentially be in if you smashed it right now.

“Don’t be an idiot… hand it over,” Flag warned, taking a step towards you.

“Yeah, don’t be an idiot,” Phosphorus echoed, reaching his hand out.

If you smashed it, there was a chance you could go free. But there was a greater chance Waller had some kind of main control board back at Belle Reve, and you’d end up back in isolation before you could even escape the castle. Reluctantly, you handed the device over to Flag.

“Richard?” the princess appeared in the doorway, a concerned look on her face. Flag turned to look at her before scolding Phosphorus.

“Phosphorus, you idiot! You think Waller would give me the only remote? You’d be hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean for days if you escaped, or if I told her about this. I’m not here to torture you. We’re supposed to me on the same damn team,” he sighed, shaking his head, “Just get back to bed, the both of you.”

It was a bit hard to take him seriously when he had no pants and an oven mitt on, but you obediently trudged up the stairs, with Phosphorus coming up behind you. As you walked, you started to notice your ass feel a bit extra warm.

“For fuck’s sake, stop staring at my ass Phosphorous.”

“Kinda hard when it’s right in my face,” he laughed, “You may have just betrayed me, but you still have a great-“

Reaching the top of the stairs, you spun around, grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him close.

“I did not betray you. I don’t owe you jack shit. And if anything, I just saved your ass from being tortured by Waller. Not to mention, you nearly ruined my-“

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs stopped you mid sentence.

“Come on,” you whispered, dragging him to the hallway the bedrooms were in, since that’s where you were supposed to be. Still holding the collar of his hoodie, you pulled him in closer so he could clearly hear your whispered voice.

“If you try something like that again, I will fucking kill you. We need to earn Flag’s trust to escape, and I can’t have you fucking up my plans. We earn their trust, watch and wait, and eventually they’ll slip up. Destroying one control device won’t do shit, the chips have to be deactivated. So if you ever try to pull a stunt like that again, I’ll throw you under the bus and make sure the whole team turns on you. Got it?”

You held him there, watching as your words sunk in. His smile seemed to widen, and he looked you up and down, cocking his head to the side.

“Wow. Smart and hot. I like it.”

You instinctively took a step back, but still held his hoodie. Your cheeks warmed up, and this time you knew it wasn’t because of his heat.

“F-fuck you,” you stammered, trying to hid the butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“Oh, come on, there’s no way you decided to walk around in this,” he stepped closer, pinching your satin nightgown on either side of your waist, “and didn’t realize how fucking hot you look in it.”

Suddenly, you realized just how close the two of you were. His face was barely an inch away from yours, and the heat radiating off him did nothing to cool you down. His fingers on your waist electrified you in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. A moment passed, the tension between the two of you rising as he waited for your response. Just as you almost snapped out of it, as you were about to let go, he leaned in, pushing you back against your door with his lips. You thought kissing him would be hard, yet his lips were soft, even with how passionately he was kissing you. A soft moan escaped you as you let go, wrapping your arms around his neck. The feeling of his whole body against you electrified you, making your body yearn for him. He reached behind you, opening the door into your bedroom and pushing the two of you inside.

As you stumbled back into the room, he locked the door behind you two before pulling you to the bed, his lips never leaving your mouth. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. Just feeling his hard pelvis against your own made you even needier. You moaned into his mouth, rocking and grinding against him, desperate for more friction. His hands explored your body over your nightgown, which only made you want more.

“Phosphorus, please,” you begged in between kisses, “touch me.”

He pulled back slightly, creating an almost unbearable space between the two of you.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” his voice was soft and earnest, in a way you’d never heard him speak before.

You smiled softly. “My home planet has a sun 10x bigger and closer than Earth’s. I’m always freezing, and my skin is impenetrable. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” you leaned back in, hoping he took your challenge.

His grin grew wider, and the flame atop his head seemed to grow. He leaned in again, kissing you even more passionately, fast and hard. His hands slid down your bare thighs before sliding back up to grab your ass under your dress. He squeezed each cheek, hard, eliciting moans from both of you. The feeling of your skin burning only excited you more. You wrapped your legs around him, grinding faster, trying desperately to get the release you so wanted. Between your legs, you felt a body part you weren’t even sure he had grow and harden. He groaned into your mouth as you readjusted to rock against his cock, positioning yourself so his tip rubbed against your most sensitive spot. His lips traveled down your neck, the softness of his kisses balancing out the slight burns he left. One of his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you in closer so your chest was flush against his. When he reached the base of your neck, he lightly bit down, sucking at your skin.

“Oh, Phosphorus,” you moaned, reveling in the multitude of sensations spreading across your body.

Suddenly, he flipped you, laying you on your back and positioning himself between you legs.

“Alex,” he said, leaning down towards you, “I want to hear you moan my real name.” As he finished his sentence, he slid his hand down your body, landing where you most desperately wanted him to touch you. Still cautious, he rubbed you over your underwear, rubbing quick circles on your clit. Involuntarily, you obliged his request, the sound of you moaning his name filling the room. You gripped his hoodie like your life depended on it as he leaned back down to trail kisses down your neck and chest. He reached his free hand up to pull down your gown and reveal your tits to him. His tongue flicked your nipple before sucking on it, and you bucked your hips up towards him. It all felt so good, but you wanted more.

Taking the hint, he slid his fingers into your underwear before pressing them into your entrance. They were hot, and you never knew that could feel so good.

“Fuck, yes Alex, please,” you begged, trying to move your hips so his fingers would go in deeper. He let out a low chuckle, amused by your neediness.

“Your wish is my command,” he replied before plunging his fingers deep into you. He lifted his head from your chest to watch as you cried out his name over and over again with each thrust of his fingers. His fingers were long and hard, and the warmth of them gave you indescribable pleasure as he fingerfucked you. The way he pounded into you was almost too much to take, and soon you succumbed to the feeling. You tightened around him, crying out and grabbing him tighter as you came. He chuckled, slowing down but not stopping.

“You’re so pretty when you come for me.”

You gasped for breath, yet still ached for more. “Alex… Alex, please, I want- oh-“ Before you could finish your plea, he began bending his fingers quickly inside you, hitting your pleasure point.

“What was that?” He teased, clearly enjoying seeing you unravel beneath you.

“I want… I want you,” you managed to get out through gasps and moans. His smile widened a bit, and he picked up his pace.

“Come for me.” He demanded, holding your chin in his other hand.

His pace was brutally fast, and it was easy to oblige as an intense feeling of pleasure overcame you. You tightened around him again, liquid spilling out of you as you climaxed. Without letting you catch your breath, he flipped you over onto your knees. positioning himself behind you. His hands lifted from you for a second to drop his pants, making you realize just how good his hands felt. You ached in his absence, and moaned when placed them on your hips again. He slid his cock between your legs, letting you feel how long he was and sending shivers up your spine before he pushed inside you.

“Oh, fuuuckk,” he groaned, “you feel so fucking good.” He thrusted his whole length into you, slow, enjoying how your wet pussy felt around his cock.

“Ohhh Alex!,” you practically screamed as he filled you up. He groaned in return, gripping your hips even harder. It burned slightly, but the heat felt good as he fucked you. He pounded into you with a force that would probably break any human, your body shaking forward with each thrust. His pace picked up, thrusting into you fast and hard. You buried your head in a pillow, trying to muffle your screams so as not to alert the others. He grabbed your hair, pulling your head up, and slapped your ass hard with his other hand.

“I want to hear every noise you make. I want to hear you scream my name while I fuck your brains out,” he growled in your ear, slapping your ass again for good measure.

Just that was enough to send you over the edge. You gripped the sheets, knuckles turning white as you came on his cock.

“Fuck, it feels so fucking good when you come on me baby” He let out a deep moan, releasing your head to hold your hips so that he could fuck your even harder.

Cries of both of your names filled the room as he reached his own climax. He thrusted into you hard, causing you to immediately cum again as you felt him spill into you. When he finally pulled out, you collapsed, breathless. He laid down next to you, also trying to catch his breath.

“Wow. That was…”

“Amazing,” you sighed contently, rolling over to lay on your back. He shifted closer to you, innocuously wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You were too blissed out in the moment to remember why you hated him, and curled up closer to feel warm. He fidgeted with the strap of your nightgown for a moment before deciding to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm… well, you did make me cum four times, so I guess you get to ask a question.”

“Does that mean I can ask four questions?”

You looked up at him. “I usually kill men after sex, so don’t push your luck.” It wasn’t really a hard and fast rule, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Well, that’s grim…” he paused, a little taken aback, but impressed by your ruthlessness, “I was wondering… why did you come to Earth?” His voice was soft, like he was worried the question might incite you to kill him.

You sighed. Of course he had to ask your least favorite question. Usually you made something up, some witty remark about your home planet not having enough banks to rob. But for some reason, you felt like opening up for once.

“I didn’t leave my home planet. I didn’t choose Earth,” You fidgeted with the strings on his hoodie, unable to look at him, “I was exiled.” He stayed silent, waiting to see if you were going to tell him the rest.

“I’m not like other Siclons. Even on my home planet…I’m a monster. I shouldn’t look so human. I shouldn’t be able to turn my skin to steel. I shouldn’t…,” you voice broke as you spoke, but you were determined not to cry in front of him, “They offered me surgery to “fix” me. But I didn’t want to be fixed. So, they sent me away. Found a planet where I could blend in. Dropped me off in a Gotham alley and left.”

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto his hoodie. “I was only fifteen Earth years old.”

He was quiet for a moment, gently squeezing your shoulder to comfort you.

“So… that’s why you turned to a life of crime?”

That snapped you out of it. You flipped over, facing away from him. “You got one question. That was it.”

“Hmm,” he repositioned himself to spoon you, wrapping his arm around your waist, “So if I make you cum four more times, then you’ll tell me?” His voice was teasing, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You loosened up, letting yourself being held by him. With his warm body wrapped around you, finally you could sleep.

[myrenaissancee]

Monday 6th January

Breakfast: 0

Lunch: A Sandwich & a cereal bar

Snack: 1 Small Croissant & 1 pack of Crips

Lunch: Small bowl of rice and bell peppers

Workout: 1 hour walk

Personal:

Today I kept it very simple and easy, I didn’t really do too much. I felt a bit sick since I’m still on my period but that’s it really. I’m just trying my best to focus on myself and remember to take it one day at a time and not obsessed too much about the future and focus on now. Also you guys weren’t joking it’s extremely hard to stop weighing yourself every 2 seconds. I’m only going to be doing it every Monday morning.

⚜️I think I will fast tomorrow just because I ate a bit too much today. It was suppose to be a 1 meal, one snack day.

[artstennisracket]

I need need need housewife!Art post-US open since he’s retired and now he can take care of Patrick domestically

Inspo: Cater 2 U by Destiny’s Child

wow wow wow I loveeeeee this song, and I think you hit the nail on the head because Art would definitely do this. i did take some liberties and only focused on the cooking part but hope you like it! (also this is ridiculously long my apologies)

cw: nsfw (18+), light feminization, pregnancy/breeding kink? (idek man), gender roles

After winning his last shot at the U.S. Open, Art felt like he could finally breathe. He could wake up when he wanted, eat what he wanted, do what he wanted, do who he wanted.

It didn’t take long for Art to rekindle with Patrick after the challenger. It was actually Tashi’s idea. She thought it could be beneficial for their relationship to introduce Patrick into whatever they had going on. At first, Art didn’t know what to think or how to feel but once Tashi reassured him that she felt it was best and they would figure out what to tell Lily when the time came, Art agreed.

And she was so right. Having Patrick around wasnt only helpful but it just felt right. Slowly but surely Art had opened up to the idea of Patrick being their boyfriend. Not to mention Patrick was actually amazing with Lily, who knew he’d be so great with kids?

Now that Art was retired, he spent most of his days at home. He still went to the gym most days to maintain his physique but his workouts were less intense. He no longer woke up at 4:30 am but got to sleep in until 8 am. This way he could get in a good workout before Lily woke up around 9:30 am. Now that Art was usually home, they cut their nanny’s hours to only when needed, like if they went out for date night. They also cut their private chef’s hours. Art would usually make breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner for everyone if he felt up to it. Except Patrick, their private chef and nutritionist would work together to formulate Patrick’s meal plan since he was still training.

Art loved spending more time with Lily. He felt like he was actually getting the chance to be a dad first as opposed to being a tennis player first.

Tashi was going away for a week to attend paris fashion week so it would just be Art and Lily home most of the time (like usual) since Patrick was still on his training schedule.

For this week Art really wanted to take the time to take care of Patrick since Patrick’s been working so hard prepping for the US Open, so he had dropped Lily off at his mom’s house for the week.

That morning when Patrick had woken up at 5:00 am to get ready for the day, their bed was empty, where’s Art? It didn’t take long for Patrick to get dressed and head downstairs. He walks into the kitchen to find Art pouring a smoothie into a glass.

“good morning,” Art smiles, he doesn’t bother getting a straw because he already knows Patrick is going to gulp this down in two minutes.

“and to what do I owe this pleasure? you usually sleep in.” Patrick asks walking around the kitchen island and taking a sip of his smoothie.

Art shrugs, “i gave the private chef the week off so I’m gonna do all ur meal prep this week.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows, smirking, “oh really? you cooking for me? i might have to get on one knee and propose to you right now.”

Art scoffs laughing, “yeah yeah yeah, you better hurry up because you were supposed to be at training,” Art checks his phone for the time, “two minutes ago.”

Patrick gulps down the rest of his smoothie and gives Art a peck in the cheek saying, “thank you babe,” as he jogs outside towards their home tennis court.

…

Around lunch time, Art had just finishing plating both his and Patrick’s food when Patrick walks in from outside.

“so what’s for lunch?” Patrick asks taking a seat on one of the barstools next to the kitchen island. He is very sweaty, so he uses his towel to dry off his face.

“same as always, chicken, rice, vegetables.” Art responds placing Patrick’s plate in front of him. Art places his own plate next to Patrick’s and takes a seat.

“you know you making me food actually really turns me on.” Patrick says, muffled since he’s already started stuffing his mouth with food.

Art laughs, taking a bite of his food. “uh huh, i feel like everything makes you horny.”

“no im serious, it just feels so domestic, like your my wife.” Patrick smirks, finishing up the last of his food.

“ha ha, very funny. did you every stop to think that maybe i just— like taking care of you. your working really hard with all your training for the open and i’m just really proud of you” Art says still looking down at his plate.

“that is really fucking sweet, fuck sweetheart. can I make a request for dinner?” Patrick says leaning towards Art and invading his personal space.

“Patrick you know I have to stick to the meal plan, Tashi would actually kill me.” Art retorts, turning to face Patrick.

He whispers in Art’s ear, “when you make dinner I want you to only be wearing an apron.”

Art starts blushing almost immediately and nods softly showing he understands.

“good,” Patrick smirks, “now I have to practice with that image in my head, it’s gonna be hard to focus.”

…

When Patrick finished training he went straight upstairs to shower and change into something more comfy while Art worked on dinner.

By the time he came back downstairs he saw Art. In the kitchen. Only wearing an apron. Fuck. Since the back of the apron is open, Art’s back and ass is exposed.

“i know i asked for this but goddamn your ass looks fucking amazing.” Patrick groans walking over to stand behind Art. He kneads and gropes, squeezing the meat of Art’s ass.

“Patrick,” Art squeals in surprise, he’s still facing the stove occasionally stirring the broccoli he’s sautéing.

Patrick doesn’t skip a beat as he starts kissing the side of Art’s neck. “i think i’m gonna need to have dessert before dinner.”

“but Patrick i need to finish—” Art gets cut off when a moan escapes his own lips. Patrick had started sucking a hickey onto his neck.

“it can wait, fuck I need you.” Patrick gets down on his knees, spreading Art’s cheeks apart before he starts licking into Art’s hole.

Art drops his spoon on the floor in surprise. He grips the edge of the countertop, “oh fuck patrick fuck that feel so good.”

Patrick pulls back for just a second, inserting one finger into Art. “yeah, you like that?”

Art starts fucking himself back on Patrick’s fingering, nodding. Patrick add another finger until he works up to three fingers.

“who knew my wife was such a fucking slut? fucking yourself back on my fingers. havent even fucked you properly yet.”

Art starts whining, “please fuck me, fuck, i need it, i need you, i need— ah, fuck.” Patrick had pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock in one swift motion. He grabs Art’s hips and starts fucking into him rapidly.

“fuck you’re so fucking tight.” Patrick moans

“yes fuck keep fucking my hole please, faster please.” Art whines trying to keep himself upright.

“awe my wife really is a greedy fucking cockslut hm.” Patrick grunts out. “touch yourself.”

Art moves his hand under the front of his apron and starts jerking off. He’s already close.

Patrick leans “do you want me to cum inside you? get you fucking pregnant? since you wanna be a housewife?”

And that went straight to Art’s dick. “fuck yes please please please cum inside me, i want you to get me pregnant.”

Patrick smirks, he wasn’t sure how Art was going to respond to what he said but he was pleasantly surprised, “are you gonna cum for me? make a mess on your apron?”

Art nods moaning, “yes fuck, i’m gonna cu— ah fuck.” Art spills all on the inside of his apron, some of it even getting on his chest and tummy.

Patrick isn’t too far behind and he spills deep inside Art. He does his last couple thrusts making sure to bury his cum deep inside of Art, like he wanted to get him pregnant.

And Art had burned everything he made for dinner but Patrick helped him remake everything.

When Tashi comes back a week later and sees the burnt staining on a few of the pots and pans she questions their private chef about it but he has no idea where they came from.

[0ann3]

I'm dead, I saw the cards right before I sleep and my brain just went "I wanna doodle 'em" KSDJHSKDJHAKLSJHA

[brainrotcharacters]

The one where Wade and Logan remind me of Achilles and Patroclus

Because what the fuck do you mean "Do I know you, bub?" Bitch I'm going to spay you

You would recognize him by touch alone. By smell.

You would know him blind by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth.

You would know him in death at the end of the world.

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[themyscirah]

Complaining abt Suicide Squad yet again but the fact that they have Waller exposing the alien community to space racist attacks and talking abt how she got to her position through deceit and being a terrible person and stuff is just. Ahsfiwueh JUST SAY YOU DONT KNOW WALLER.

Anyways literally the 3rd mission of the Squad ever (and the first framed as smth Waller picked and not orders from above) was the Squad discrediting and stopping a rogue vigilante who was only arresting POC and funneling white people into white supremacy groups (of which he was the most prominent member) in SUICIDE SQUAD #4. and it's explicitly framed as this mission being personal for Waller that she's hiding from the government bc its illegal like. Guys. Please why are we having her incite (space bc comics) racist attacks now

Also the whole "Amanda got her position through deceit and being a terrible person" NO. she KEPT her position through being shitty and playing complicated political games!!! She wasn't always that way like there is a difference and it is IMPORTANT ppl PLEASEEEE. In Secret Origins #14 we learn Amanda's backstory and she used to be a normal, caring person! Like even after she entered into working in government and politics she wasn't automatically morally bankrupt like please people. She was originally given control of the Squad by Reagan (*sigh* 80s comics...) to distract and get rid of her because she was so successful at pushing progressive social policy in Congress. Acting like she's this static pillar of evil is such a waste of her character and so fucking uninteresting and disrespectful to her arc it drives me MAD.

Like I am NOT saying Waller is all sunshine and rainbows, she fucking SUCKS (said w love <3) but like there's a human being there. It's a progression, she has a character arc like please, DC, please!!! They've fucked up Waller so bad and made her so opaque and uninteresting she can't even be the protagonist of her own story for fucks sake!

Like I don't know how many times I have to scream it until DC hears me or remembers but WALLER IS THE MAIN CHARACTER OF SUICIDE SQUAD. ITS HER BOOK. yet right now she's a cutout to be used as the villain wherever the writers please. Even in her book we get none of her perspective really displayed, no exploration of her thoughts with any kind of understanding of the role she traditionally has played and was made to play in the story.

[iambecomeafangirl]

The first half of "The Great Impersonator" was like a start of a breakdown, crying and gasping for air; the second part - it's the numbness that comes after hours of crying.

[tears-of-boredom]

ok so...I wouldnt call myself necessarily "artistically talented", and I famously am very bad at perspectives.. but i drew a thing for @bearotonin-international