#and 2. screw everything else

[missbrunettebarbie]

When I read a YJ fic and I see show!Conner constantly be reffered as Kon by both the narrative and non-Clark people I need to take a deep breath and close the fic, cause clearly the author is not writing about cartoon!Conner.

[mordremrose]

I love making myself draw characters i havent 100% figured out from memory then again from reference its such a fun little challenge of like how well can i visualize them

Draikôs is easy mode bc he’s been ping-ponging around my head for years at this point but still

Bonus: the reference screenshot

[tame-a-messenger]

Omg I can’t believe I forgot to talk about the first episode of sword af?? It was so good! I’m still kinda mad that there’s no visuals because I miss seeing them interact but the characters and story are still incredible! Also that ending was insane!?! I hate how I’m attracted to that true neutral character (did they say his name? I don’t remember lol) like I hate him but something about the way Damien voiced him still got me giggling and kicking my feet lmao

I KNOW! I WAS ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT!!

I’m still really saddened that there aren’t any visuals (you can literally HEAR DAMIEN CALLING OUT DICE ROLLS BEFORE PEOPLE SAY WHAT THEY ROLLED)(it sounds like they recorded it at the usual table as well.. So they did it in person? this is going into my pile of WHY TF IS IT AUDIO ONLY WHEN THEY CLEARLY RECORDED IT ON SET?).

(SPOILER-ISH)

I KNOW BRO! I was SHOOK. Getting to know more Ferny lore? YES PLEASE.

Damien’s voices are always a joy to listen to, I love when he uses his deeper register! it’s so soothing 😊

HOLD ON A FUCKING MINUTE. 

I just went to see if they mentioned the guys name- and the length of the Podcast is 15 minutes shorter? I distinctly remember it being 1hr 13mins because I noticed it was the longest episode, AND NOW ITS 58:43???? and it cuts off really weirdly?? WTF? Can they gut my baby anymore?? 

[bookwyrminspiration]

happy 2nd birthday to my kotlc wings au, shattered upside down!!

2 years ago today I posted the first chapter of this infamously long fic, so I threw together a piece for fun in celebration--if you've read it, you may recognize a few things as well. you should read it. or talk to me about it. does anyone want to talk about the wings au •_•

closer shots and taglist below :)

KotLC Art Taglist: @bronte-deserves-better @imaramennoodle @thisbluewind @we-have-no-bananas-today @theofficialkai517 @ruewen-and-rising @keefeinnit @thesandsofdawn @crumpledwitchfeet @ascendant-queen @tribblemakingalicorn @axels-corner @loverofallthingssmart @silveny-dreams @girlofmanyfandoms @enbies-and-felonies @impostertamsong @sofia-not-sophie @alabestrine @keefes-hairgel @fanartofthelostcities @three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat @a-lonely-tatertot @ketterdamkid @cosmogyral-cleo @meg-doodles @dragonwinnie-kotlc @anaccidentwaitingtohappen @maglorslostsilmaril @even-if-in-another-time @crazedfangirl14 @callas-pancake-tree @katniss-elizabeth-chase @wolfstar-being-ridikkulus @thefoxysnake @florida-preposterously

(please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed. i may start a new taglist because this one is so old)

Shattered Upside Down Taglist: @cosmogyral-cleo @axels-corner @cadence-talle @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @milesspidermanmorales @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjenniie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @panic-at-the-multi-fandom-chaos @dragonwinnie-kotlc @solreefs @fintan-pyren @jazzanddaydreams @xanadaus @sa-divine

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I’ve been watching Titans. What have they done to my boy.

[zerolostwalks]

..

[colourofthekites]

I feel like I just signed my own dismissal

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than three drafts

Rebalanced my auto-battle cards, because it turns out my decks are way too weak to compete with them, and they don't really need to be strong anyway. Also made a MAJOR nerf to how lands work for the deck. Also reposting the other conspiracies (rules) because it's been a while and they're helpful as context

[what-bot]

These tags also pass peer review. Reminded of that time he was enthusiastically yeeting dudes to their deaths, including Kevin who narrowly hung on. He probably felt so bad about that

Tron: Uprising (S01E10) Scars Part 2                                    

[verystressedcollegestudent]

if there's one thing i hate more than slackers in group projects its goddamn hypocrites

[dogmaz]

Speaking of paintings the art process is murder hell

[dollracha]

𐙚 i want it ⋆  h.js  x fem! reader

part one ⋆ part two

pairing: han jisung x inexperienced virgin! reader genre: smut warnings: swearing ⋆ slight corruption kink ⋆ needy han ⋆ slight perv!han ⋆ sorta dubcon ⋆ reader is called “baby” (several times) & “my girl” (once) ⋆ spit kink ⋆ non penetrative sex ⋆ munch jisung ⋆ dialogue heavy wc: 707 synopsis: you both promised to take it slow, but jisung struggles to keep his word, and you certainly don't mind. author's note: been thinking about this for days this is so incredibly self indulgent its not funny. this is not beta read. this is barely proofread. i'm just a whore. the first 870 or so of yall saw a slightly different version than everyone else onward. i made some slight changes that needed to be reworked for clarity. and for those of you interested, part 2 is linked above!

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

“fuck, ‘m sorry, baby.” jisung whines into your neck as he ruts his cock against your wet panties. he’s got one hand wrapped tightly around his cock, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. you’ve both soaked your panties, his precum and the wetness from your pussy make it almost uncomfortably sticky.

“god, ‘m so fuckin’... gross.” he rambles, pulling himself up to spit on his cock. he watches it slide off the side of his tip and down your ass. “making a mess of your poor pussy just to get myself off.”

“hannie…” your moan has him rolling his eyes back. you can’t remember how you ended up beneath him, just that you didn’t want it to stop yet. It wasn’t enough. and yet you were trying to find it in you to tell him to slow down, it’s what you wanted after all. to take it slow, wait until ‘the right time’ for your first time with jisung. that went out the window the moment he started feeling you up today.

“i know… said i'd keep my pretty girl all pure for a little longer.”

but jisung’s cock throbs at the sight of you all defiled. your hair is a mess from when he shoved you down on the bed and had his hands all up in it when he kissed you earlier. your makeup is smudged, mascara messy from the way tears well up in your eyes and spill when his cockhead rubs against your clit just right. your lipstick blurs around your lips from the sloppy kisses you shared. he begged you not to wear a bra this morning when you got dressed, it made your tits even easier for him to access. all he had to do was pull down your little tank top and they were all his. your skirt is pushed up, soft tummy peeking out. and your pussy, so wet for him already and he’s still one layer away. 

“look at you… so nasty f’me.”

“can i take off your panties? please, baby?” jisung stops rutting against your clothed pussy and gives a couple hard taps against your clit. “know it’s dirty, baby. but it’ll feel good, okay?”

all you want at this point is to feel good–screw everything else–so you nod and lift your hips so he can slide your panties off your legs.

You try to shut your legs but jisung is quicker. both of his hands keep your thighs open. “let me see that pretty pussy, don’t hide it from me.” he’s quick to spit on it again, and this time you can’t help the high pitched moan that escapes your lips. 

“did your exes ever spit on it, baby?”

you shake your head, hands coming to cover your flushed face. nobody’s ever touched you like jisung has. you've kissed your exes, dry humped, even came from it too. but jisung's the only one who's touched you so intimately, and a part of him hopes it stays that way.

“like it?” he asks and you don’t respond. is it wrong to say you liked it? it’s gross, you think. it’s so so gross… but is it wrong?

warm saliva hits your pussy again, this time you can feel jisung’s breath on you. 

“do you like it when i spit on your pussy, baby?”

“... yes…” you respond, and finally pry your arms away from your face. jisung’s laying down on the bed, hands pressed against your thighs to keep them open. he can’t decide what's a sweeter sight, your glistening pussy or your wide eyes. for now, his eyes lock with yours.

“fuck…” jisung whispers. his eyes fall back to your pussy with a smile. he licks his lips and lets his head fall against the blankets.

“ji?” you reach for his hand, and as soon as he feels your hand on his he’s grasping it, and raising his head up to kiss your knuckles. 

“i know you wanna take it slow… but please, please can i eat you out, baby? ‘s all i want.”

jisung agreed to take it slow, but he's got you half dressed and soaking your bed. maybe you should be mad, but god, the pleasure jisung was giving you was addicting. you weren’t afraid to give yourself away to him at this point.

“i want it.” you nod, and jisung kisses your hand again.

“gotta give my girl what she wants then, yeah?”

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

[physalian]

3 More Character Types the World Needs More Of

Or at least, I do.

1. The denied redeemed villain

I need this. So badly right now. So, so, so many “redemption arcs” are half-assed and carry undertones of guilt by the heroes, gaslighting them into thinking the villain “wasn’t all that bad” right before they make some big heroic sacrifice, as if that’s ever enough to make up for the damage that was done.

But you know what I never see? A villain who’s done some awful shit, wakes up to reality, tries to apologize and… is denied. No, it’s not enough to be sorry. No, you’re not absolved of your crimes just because you cry really hard on your knees. Yes, you have to work for it. Yes, even if you work for it for the rest of your whole life, those you hurt are not obligated to forgive you.

Example that sadly did not happen in canon: Enji Todoroki

2. The liar revealed who loses

This fucker lies and cheats his way into his lover’s arms (and liars revealed are always men, because their love interests are always women put in the place of “but he tried really hard and you need to forgive him uwu” unless it’s gay). Similar to above, no, you do not get rewarded just for feeling sorry.

This character builds an entire relationship (and it’s specifically romance that I take such an issue with) on a lie. They are not who they say they are, specifically, they lie about their identity because they know their lover would not let this happen if they knew the truth.

It’s one thing to lie about something inconsequential, or to lie about something unrelated, but to lie deliberately to present yourself as the perfect suitor—and these are never little white lies, these are usually entirely false identities, or secrets so damning that risking the truth could mean arrest or even death—just. Why?

Yeah, okay, you never thought you’d get this far. Cool. You don’t have to tell her the truth, but you have to leave before you trick her into sleeping with you.

It’s just. So squicky. And the lesson always is that he deserves love, that he makes up for it with everything else, that he’s just got a winning personality. She always forgives him, even if they fight about it, it’s so, so predictable.

Examples that did not lose: Aladdin, Evan Hansen

3. The paragon who loses faith

I don’t know that we need a whole bunch of these characters, but so many paragons are painted as heroes with unshakable loyalty to their causes and I’d love to see a devolution of character where they just can’t keep smiling and pretending it’s alright. That there is a limit to how much shit they can take.

They don’t have to go full villain, but maybe they just stop caring, maybe they get cynical, maybe they just don’t show up for work the next day, maybe they’re not there when they’re needed the most.

There’s a few stories I can think of where the masses realize they’ve screwed up and show the hero that their faith has been rewarded (Nolan Bats being one of them) but I mean really a hero who just cannot take it anymore, throws in the towel, and walks away knowing it’s the hardest thing they’ve ever had to do.

Example: (kind of) Captain America

—

Sorry this list is kind of a bummer. It’s a bummer kind of week.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Coffee Crossfire: Part 2

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You own a cafe in Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes’ territory. You occasionally let him hold meetings in the cafe after hours and things usually go well….but not this time.

Part 1

Your anger and frustration towards Bucky fizzled out after two days. You knew that it really wasn't his fault the cafe got shot up. He told you firsthand when you bought the property of the risks of having a business in his territory. But he always reassured you that whatever damage happens, he'd take care of it.

Like a true mob boss, he kept his word.

Even with his busy schedule, he came in every day to help oversee the work that was being done. He wasn't much help though. You'd tell his men what to do, what goes where, how things should look, etc. He just pays for everything.

However, when some of the new tables and chairs came in, you put Bucky to work.

While everyone was working in the front, you and Bucky assembled the furniture towards the back of the cafe. Bucky looked at the instructions and let out a breath of relief, "Thank god these have written out instructions. Not like other instructions where it's all pictures. Shit gets confusing."

You snicker as you lay out the pieces by their labelled sticker, "Honestly, these shouldn't be too hard to do. They're similar to the ones I had before."

"Ready when you are, boss," Bucky says with a smile.

You snort, "Never thought I'd hear you call anyone else 'boss'."

He shrugs, "You're the only one I'll listen to, sugar," he gives you a wink and you look away as your cheeks start to heat up.

You can't deny that Bucky is attractive, funny, and charming. He's also sweet and intimidating, but also caring. Sure what he does isn't lawful in any means, however, he cares for everyone in his family's territory. He knows everyone by name, helps them when they ask, and make sure everyone's protected and safe.

You told yourself when you first met him not get close to him, but years later, you know you're more than close to Bucky. You two are attached to the hip. At first, you considered him as a friend, but in the most recent years, you've started to see him as more. That scares you a little.

You moved to Brooklyn to get away from those feelings and here you are, right back to where you were. All because of Bucky Barnes.

You love him. You know you truly do, you're just not sure if he feels the same. Sure he flirts with you, but he doesn't mean it. You've seen him flirt with a bunch of other people too, so it definitely doesn't mean anything when he flirts with you.

"Sugar, gimme a hand?" he breaks you from your thoughts.

"Sure," you move closer to him, "What do you need?"

"Just hold these two pieces together while I screw this in."

"M'kay," you hold to pieces of a chair together, and Bucky twists the screwdriver to secure them in place. Your face is close to his, you smell the coffee on his breath and his expensive cologne. You see the bags under his eyes and it makes you frown.

"There. Than-what's with the frown?"

"You haven't been sleeping well," when he looks at you confused, you point to his face, "the bags under your eyes. Bucky, you should be at home resting, not spending early mornings with me here."

"It's fine, sugar."

"No, it's not. You should be well rested because you have a lot of work to do-"

"And they're getting done, just not all by me. Things are getting handled, Y/N, don't worry. I wanna be here."

"Why? Nothing much for you to do here. Your guys have it covered."

He shrugs, "Just in case you need me or," he gestures to the furniture pieces, "need someone to help you build furniture." He smiles when you giggle. His heart flutters, "I'll be here every day until you tell me to fuck off."

"But why?" you genuinely ask him in curiosity.

He looks away from you and at the half-assembled chair in front of him, "Because I do what I can for the people I love." He then clears his throat and goes back to assembling the chair.

You stare at him in disbelief. He loves you. Bucky Barnes just said he loves you. He-

Bucky's phone starts ringing and he answers it. He hugs it between his ear and his shoulder as he screws in another piece of the chair, "Yeah?" He listens to the caller and lets out a long sigh, "Alright. I'll be over in a bit. Keep 'em awake. Bye."

You look at him with concern, "Everything okay?"

"Got more info on the guys who shot us up. Need to meet with Romanoff." Bucky grunts as he stands, pocketing his phone. His runs a hand through his brunette locks, "If you're still here when I'm done, I'll come back. Maybe I can get you some food since I know you don't eat when you get too busy."

You stand, meeting his gaze, a soft smile on your lips. Bucky knows you so well and you can't believe its taken you this long to see how he truly feels.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. He's frozen in place and by the time he registers what's happening, you pull away, "I love you. Thank you for always taking care of me and being there for me."

"I, uh-" his face starts turning pink, "Ye-Yeah. Of course, sugar. I-shit." He hides his face in his hands and you can't help but laugh. You've turned The White Wolf of Brooklyn into blubbering, blushing mess.

He drops his hands from his face and he's smiling wide, "You love me? Really?"

"I do. I've loved you for a long time. I-I always hoped you felt the same. I thought you did with the flirting and how you were always there for me. But I'd see you do the same with others so I figured-"

He shakes his head, "No, sugar. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so confusing. I-shit, Y/N, everything I do and say is because I love you. I love you so fucking much. I'd burn the world for you," he steps closer, placing his hands on your hips, nose grazing yours.

"For a big scary mobster, you're quite the softie, aren't you?"

"Don't let the guys know. It'd ruin my reputation," he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss.

"It's fine. We already know," Steve says as he stands there with his arms across his chest and a smirk on his face.

Bucky frowns, "Way to ruin the mood, Rogers."

Steve shrugs, "Sorry, but we have some important stuff to attend to."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bucky steps away with a pout, "Sugar-"

You pull him back in for a kiss and he's quick to kiss you back this time. You then break the kiss with a grin, "Go take care of business, boss."

Bucky is a little dizzy and has a goofy grin on his face, "You got it, boss." He pecks your lips one last time and then steps away, "Got another reason to call you sugar now."

"Yeah?"

He nods, "'Cause your lips taste so sweet," he says with a wink and follows Steve out of the cafe.

You're not sure how you can get back to work after that kiss and confession. But you'll have to do your best!

[nerdy-novelist017]

The Ride (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 2)

Wow, I truly didn't expect all the love for the last post! Thank you so so much! Here's a part two baked fresh just for you lovelies! ;)

( Also! I'm going to work on putting together a masterlist for my fics for him since I have so many ideas)

Ps. please send me requests for this man i'm going feral over here from all the possibilities

Part 1 here

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 1.9k

-Minor NSFW Content-

Summary- You thought getting on the bike would be the hardest part. Having to unwrap your legs from his waist and get off at the end of the night was significantly more difficult.

*******

Despite the fact that you knew there were multiple people surrounding you, all cheering, your eyes were glued to Benny’s form as he swung a leg over top of his bike. He kickstarted the motorcycle, the muscles in his thigh flexing through the faded pair of jeans he wore. The engine roared to life and it took everything in you not to jump back. Benny glanced over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes all but dared you to run away, to take it back and return to the safety of the car. 

But some underlying competitive streak in you flared and you clenched your fists tightly. You approached his bike and he took your purse and Tupperware bowl, tucking them away in his back compartment. He leaned forward and awkwardly swung a leg over his bike, attempting to repeat his action as you mounted, but the movement caused your dress to slide up to reveal a generous view of your upper thigh. Blushing, you glanced at the onlookers who cheered and whistled at the sight, but Benny seemed to ignore them. Without looking, he reached back, his hand enveloping your thigh, sliding it higher so that your foot found the footrest. Heat instantly blossomed from the contact and you physically resisted clenching your knees tighter around him. 

“Hang on tight, Little Bunny,” he murmured as he moved his hand to grab your arm, gently guiding it forward to wrap around his waist.  He revved the engine and you tighten your grasp over his waist, eyes closed as the bike began to slowly roll forward over the grassy field. The cheers subsided into the wind that tugged gently at your hair. You’re going on an adventure, it seemed to say, but you refused to open your eyes.

Heart drumming in your chest, you hoped to spend the entire ride with your eyes screwed shut, pretending to be anywhere else, anywhere safer. But then the bumpy and uneven field soon turned to smooth blacktop as he maneuvered the two of you onto the backroad. You felt the bike increase in speed slightly and you dared to peek an eye open. Corn fields blurred as you sped by, the setting sun seeming to light the horizon with a brilliant show of deep oranges and purples. A gasp escaped your lips and you pressed yourself closer to him in a desperate measure to not fall off, hands flush against the curve of his abdomen.  

He rode with one hand, you realized, and it painted a picture of a cowboy in your mind. Had this been the 1860s, Benny would have ridden his horse like this, a model of a true outlaw with his dangerous persona and ruggedly handsome appearance.

The world sped by, or rather you sped by the world as Benny drove down the center of the yellow lines. You couldn’t stop the squeal that escaped you as he leaned the bike to go around a turn. He took you down roads you’ve never been before, pointed out interesting things and places you’ve never seen. True to his word, he didn’t go very fast, never faster than the speed limit at least. But regardless, it was an adventure – both frightening and fun and your heart never seemed to return to its slower rhythm. Despite the fact that you've never ridden on a motorcycle before and the uncertainty of your next destination, there was strange sense of safety that invoked you as you breathed in Benny's scent, hands clasped tightly to him. As the sun completely dipped below the horizon and the temperature dropped, he finally asked you where you lived. 

When he did eventually pull up to your house (hours later), the rumble of the motorcycle seemed to echo off the houses, disturbing the peaceful silence of your quiet neighborhood. He cut the engine and the toe of his boot kicked out the kickstand, shifting your combined weights to the side slightly and the air was once again filled with silence. The muscles in his back flexed as he leaned back ever so slightly, his head turning to glance back at you over his shoulder.

He held an arm out for you as you awkwardly dismounted, heart pounding again. A strange sense of disappointment panged in your gut as the bottom of your heels made contact with the blacktop. You stood there before him, eyes now level with his as he remained seated casually on his bike. Keep driving, you wanted to tell him. Keep driving and let's find our way to the end of the world together. You wanted to hop back on the back and wrap your arms around his waist. You wanted to ride with him till the sun came up over the horizon, just this once, just because you’ve never stayed out till the sun came up. Your family would worry, your father would be pacing up and down the hallway just inside, but something in you longed to throw caution to the wind, to do something naughty. 

You bit your lip as you broke eye contact with him and looked down to your feet. What were you thinking? You played life by the rules. You were a good girl, that’s what your parents called you. That’s what your teachers called you. That’s what you were raised to be. That’s all you knew how to be, what you were comfortable with. Benny . . . he made you uncomfortable. He filled your belly with butterflies, made your heart pump harder than normal, made the spot between your legs tingle. All things that dangerously threatened to upend the perfectly planned life you had. Trouble, plain and simple.

You got what you wanted – a ride home and a bit of excitement. You got close enough to the fire without getting burned, got to play a risky game for the evening. Now it was time for you to go back to your routine life. That perfectly . . . boring life. 

“Thank you . . . for the ride,” you said softly, the adrenaline of the adventure smothering into ashes. 

He nodded and you watched as his cyan gaze moved from you to your house behind you. “You still live with your family?”

“Yeah,” you replied, heat touching your face. “Why?”

He looked back at you. “Just gotta know what kind of house you want after we’re married.”

“What?” you balked at him, stomach dropping like you just took a plunge off a bridge.

He smiled and leaned an arm forward, resting casually on his bike as if he didn’t just say something shockingly direct. He offered no help, just watched as you attempted to sputter a response.

“M–married? We . . . I don’t . . . even know you.” You breathed out a nervous laugh. You went for one ride with him! You had only had a handful of sentences exchanged between you, the majority of those spoken with a crowd cheering around you. Who did this guy think he was? 

He shrugged as he slid his hands into the front pocket of his jacket and retrieved his pack of cigarettes. “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity. “I’m not marrying you!”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” He looked amused as he flipped open his lighter, the flame casting his face in an orange glow as he lit one of his cigarettes. Your protests wavered slightly as you watched his hands cup around the flame in an effort to protect from the wind and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the cigarette tucked between his lips. A phantasm of his hands cupping your breasts, his tall frame hovering above you, lips pressing softly against your collarbone tainted your mind and you took a step back to put physical distance between you and this man. 

Swallowing thickly, you continued, “Well, I don’t even know your last name–”

“Cross.”

“–And I don’t even know if I like you!”

“I think you like me,” he said confidently and you snapped your jaw shut at the accusation. “Why else would you let me drive you home?”

“W–what if I just used you to get me home?” you countered quickly. 

“Did you use me, Bunny?” he drew out the sentence with an almost painfully seductive smile. You furrowed your brow, irritation flooding your veins. He was quick, you’d give him that.

Benny studied the way your lips pursed and he wondered if that was something you did while you were angry or if it was your way of finding another excuse. He wanted to spend the rest of his life finding the answers to your facial expressions, the meaning behind your almost undetectable quirks he was discovering with each minute spent in your company. And my god, those those lips . . . his eyes fell down to those soft lips of yours, fascinated by how he wanted to feel them wrapped around his—

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Cross,” your voice brought him back to reality as you reached forward and grabbed your purse and empty Tupperware bowl from his bike. “But I–I have no intentions on marrying you. In fact, I doubt I’ll ever see you again.”

“Hmm, okay,” he feigned being hurt by your words. “Whatever you say, kid.” 

You shot him a frustrated look. “What’s with all the nicknames?”

He held up his arms in mock surrender. “You don’t like ‘em?”

"I don't think they're very accurate."

He raised his brows at you, unconvinced.

“Yeah? Well, I got a nickname for you.” you retorted. 

“And what’s that?” He played along to your game. 

“Trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Mh-hm.” You nodded and lifted your free hand to brush the wind-whipped hair from your eyes.

He shrugged and spoke around the cigarette in his mouth. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called that. You think I’m trouble, Bunny?”

An exasperated sigh left your lips and Benny felt a swell of pride at the reaction. This was fun, teasing you like this. The blush tainting your face, a clear sign of your flustered reaction, made his heartbeat quicken. 

“Goodnight, Benny,” you said a little firmer as you turned and walked up the sidewalk to your house. 

“Goodnight, Bunny,” Benny called out as he watched the sway of your hips as you climbed the front steps. You shot him one last look over the curve of your shoulder before you opened the front door and slipped inside. Benny sat on his bike outside your house, his mind reeling as he finished his cigarette. He hadn’t felt this excited in a long time and hadn't felt this kind of adrenaline since his first ride. This was a new kind of ride, Benny realized. Something exhilarating and arousing gripped his heart when he looked at you in your pretty little dress with your innocently wide eyes and pouty lip. The primal instinct of taking you in his arms and laying you down onto your shared bed, his body shielding you from the rest of the world played in his mind the movie. He wanted to grab your hand and show you just how exciting life could be with him. Not to change you, he’d make sure your integrity was protected, but to broaden your horizon.

And maybe it made him selfish, but Benny's never had anything as good as you in his life and because of that, he wanted to be your guide throughout every adventure going forward.

[orangeblossomsintheair]

RULE #2 | CS55

summary : "You promised," he choked out. "You promised you wouldn’t break rule two."

warning/s : sickness, vomiting, hurt/no comfort, death

an : yall have been begging for angst so 🤷🏽 here’s pt 1 of my dead wives series

Carlos Sainz loves you. It is inevitable. It is woven into the fabric of who he is. Just as the earth revolves around the sun, just as a fire burns.

Some things in this world are simply destined to be, and his love for you is one of them.

He remembers the first time he saw you like it happened yesterday.

College had been a blur of stress and sleepless nights for him, drowning in a relentless tide of engineering coursework, circuits, and mechanics that left no room for anything else.

Then you walked into his life, unannounced, unassuming, and shattered the monotony with a force he couldn’t comprehend.

You had been a medical student, your schedule just as demanding, yet you carried yourself with a lightness that seemed impossible.

He remembers watching you in the library, bent over your notes, your lips moving slightly as you memorized terms he couldn’t begin to pronounce.

He hadn’t meant to stare. But then you’d looked up, catching his eye, and smiled. It was the kind of smile that stuck with him, that sank its claws into his mind and refused to let go.

The first time you laughed at one of his jokes, something about thermodynamics, of all things, he had stared at you, stunned, like the world had stopped spinning for just a moment.

And when you’d matched his nerdy humor with a quip of your own, so quick and sharp that he was left speechless, he had known.

That night, he went home and called his sister, still dazed, still unable to believe what had happened.

"I've met the love of my life," he’d told her, voice shaking with an excitement that bubbled over uncontrollably.

"You’re being ridiculous," she’d replied, unimpressed, as always. "You don’t even know her."

But he had known.

—

It had started as a joke.

One of those silly, late-night conversations in the library, where exhaustion made everything funnier than it really was.

The campus was dead silent that night, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of pages being turned. It was nearly 2 a.m., the kind of hour where the world felt unreal, where time stretched and blurred, where reality felt softer at the edges.

Carlos had been sitting across from you, his laptop open to a problem set he wasn’t even pretending to understand anymore.

His fingers drummed against the table as he watched you work, hunched over your thick textbook, scribbling furiously.

You looked up, catching his stare. “What?”

Carlos smirked. “Nothing. Just thinking how much easier my life would be if I had your brain.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “And I was just thinking how much better mine would be if I had your charm. You could probably flirt your way into a free degree.”

“Or at least free snacks from the vending machine,” he added, grinning.

You laughed, the sound soft but rich, the kind that still echoed in his mind years later.

Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. Something thoughtful creeping into his gaze. “We should make a pact.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A pact?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward. “Rules for life. So we don’t screw things up.”

Intrigued, you set your pen down. “Okay. Rule number one?”

“No betraying each other.”

You smiled, nodding. “Agreed. No betrayal.” You tapped a finger against your chin. “What’s rule number two?”

Carlos hesitated, then, with mock seriousness, leaned in like he was about to tell you the secret to the universe. “No one dies.”

You barked out a laugh, the librarian across the room shooting you a glare. “That’s your rule?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “It’s non-negotiable.”

Shaking your head, you held out your hand. “Fine. No betraying each other. No one dies. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, gripping your hand firmly.

At the time, it had been a joke. Just another of a thousand little moments between the two of you.

Carlos had no idea then how much those words would mean to him.

—

The first time you got sick, really sick, Carlos didn’t take it seriously.

It was a cough at first. A rough, hacking thing that made you wince but still had you waving him off with a half-smile.

"Relax, cariño," you’d said, voice scratchy but amused. "It’s just a cold."

Carlos narrowed his eyes at you, unconvinced. “You have a fever.”

"It’s a dramatic fever," you shot back, tugging the blanket up over your shoulders. "I’m merely suffering for the aesthetic."

He snorted, shaking his head. “Dramatic is right.”

He had kissed your forehead that night, tucking you into his side, his lips warm against your too-hot skin. And you had sighed, sinking into him like you always did, like you belonged there.

It had been easy then.

A flu, he’d told himself. Something temporary.

Nothing permanent. Nothing real.

—

But the cough never really went away.

Neither did the fevers, or the way your limbs felt heavier with each passing day.

You stopped stealing fries off his plate. Stopped nudging him awake in the mornings, rolling your eyes at how deeply he slept. Stopped teasing him about the way he could fall asleep anywhere.

On a plane, in a car, once even in the middle of a club when the music was loud enough to shake the walls.

One afternoon, when you had been too tired to get out of bed, he had finally said it out loud.

"Maybe we should see a doctor."

You had smiled at him, but it was too soft, too thin. "It’s nothing, Carlos. I just need rest."

He had believed you.

God help him, he had wanted to believe you.

—

The hospital came later.

By then, it wasn’t something you could wave away with a joke, wasn’t something you could cover up with sheer willpower.

By then, you were struggling to catch your breath after walking across the room.

By then, Carlos had started waking up in the middle of the night to find you curled in on yourself, your whole body trembling, your hands clenched into fists beneath the sheets.

By then, even you had stopped pretending.

"Okay," you had whispered, one night, your fingers gripping his. "Maybe it’s not just a cold."

Carlos had swallowed hard, his throat tight. But he had smiled anyway, because that was what he did. He stayed steady, he stayed strong, even when the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.

"No pasa nada," he had murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We’ll figure it out."

And for a while, just a little while, you both still believed that was true.

—

The early hospital visits weren’t so bad.

You made them an adventure, the way you did with everything.

"We should start a ranking system," you had said one day, swinging your legs over the side of the exam table. Best hospital coffee. Best waiting room magazines. Best nurses who let me steal extra blankets."

Carlos grinned, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "That depends. Is this going to be a five-star system, or are we working on a ten-point scale?"

"Oh, five stars, obviously," you said, deadly serious. “We have to account for dramatic flair.”

"And yet you still insist you’re not dramatic."

"I contain multitudes, Carlos."

And God, you were still you then.

A little tired, a little pale, but still full of light. Still brimming with something sharp and teasing and warm.

Carlos had let himself believe it would last.

That the doctors would find the problem and fix it. That this was a detour, not a dead end.

That you were too strong for this.

That he would not have to watch you disappear, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the girl who had once laughed in the middle of a silent library, who had once stood beside him and made a promise that neither of you ever really thought would matter.

—

Some nights were better than others.

There were nights when you were yourself again. When you teased him about the dark circles beneath his eyes, your voice carrying that familiar warmth, something alive and teasing and so you that he could almost convince himself this was temporary.

That this, this hospital bed, these wires, these endless nights of waiting, was just a phase, something the two of you would look back on one day and laugh about.

"You look like hell," you’d whisper, your voice hoarse but still edged with amusement.

Carlos would scoff, pressing a damp cloth to your forehead. "And you look stunning, obviously."

You'd grin, even as exhaustion weighed down your eyelids. "I try."

Nights like those, he let himself believe.

But then there were nights like this.

Nights when you couldn't stop shaking from the pain, your body curling in on itself as he held you, whispering reassurances you were too far gone to hear. Nights when you sobbed into his chest, when your breath came in ragged, broken gasps, when you whispered, "I can't do this anymore, Carlos. I can't."

And Carlos, who had spent his entire life fixing things, who had built his world on the certainty that every problem had a solution, could do nothing.

So he held you. Ran his fingers through your hair. Pressed desperate kisses to your temple.

And when sleep finally dragged you under, he would slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before collapsing to the floor.

He would grip the sink so hard his fingers went numb, bow his head until his forehead pressed against the cold tile.

His body would shake with the weight of it, with the sheer unfairness of it all, with the grief that felt too large to be contained within his chest.

Carlos Sainz was not a religious man.

But on nights like these, he prayed.

Begged.

For a miracle. For a cure. For just a little more time.

—

One night, when your breathing was too shallow, too slow, something in him snapped.

The moment he noticed it, the unnatural stillness, the faintest hitch in the beeping of the monitors, he was out of his chair, panic sharp and immediate in his chest.

His hands trembled as he pressed the call button.

"Nurse," he barked, his voice hoarse. "Something's wrong."

The nurses rushed in, their voices a blur, their hands moving quickly as they adjusted your oxygen, checked your vitals. Carlos stood frozen, helpless, as they worked.

And then, as quickly as the panic had come, the moment passed. Your breathing steadied. The machines quieted.

And Carlos, who had spent the last several minutes standing motionless, fists clenched, lungs burning, finally let himself collapse into the chair beside your bed.

His elbows rested on his knees, his head dropping into his hands. He tried to steady his own breathing, tried to remind himself that you were still here.

You were still here

You were still here.

A moment later, he felt the faintest touch on his arm.

Carlos lifted his head so fast it made him dizzy.

Your fingers barely managed to curl around his wrist, your touch so weak he could barely feel it. But your eyes were open, heavy-lidded and exhausted, searching for him.

"Hey," he whispered. His voice felt raw, scraped down to nothing.

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Carlos exhaled shakily, reaching out to press a hand against your cheek. Your skin was too warm, feverish, but you leaned into his touch anyway.

"You scared me," he admitted, his voice thick.

You tried to smile. It didn't reach your eyes.

Carlos swallowed, his throat burning. He forced himself to hold your gaze, even as the words clawed their way out of his chest, raw and desperate and entirely true.

"You promised," he choked out. "You promised you wouldn’t break rule number two."

A flicker of something passed through your expression. Regret, sadness, something heavier than the both of you combined.

"Carlos," you whispered.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. You don’t get to break this one. You don’t."

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He could see it, the truth you were too kind to say out loud. The truth he refused to accept.

Carlos bent down, pressing his forehead to your knuckles. His grip on your hand was too tight, but he couldn't make himself let go.

"Please," he whispered. "Please don’t leave me."

You didn’t answer.

And somehow, that silence was worse than anything else.

—

Days passed. Then weeks.

Carlos barely left your side. He learned the names of every nurse on the floor. Memorized the dosages of your medications. Knew the precise moment when your painkillers would wear off, when you'd need him to press the call button before you were in too much agony to speak.

And still, he held on.

Because Carlos Sainz loves you.

It is inevitable. It is constant. It is everything.

And even as your breaths grew shallower, even as your hands trembled when you reached for him, even as the hope he had clung to for so long withered beneath the weight of reality-

He stayed.

—

One night, when exhaustion was too heavy for you to fight, you whispered, “You should go home, Carlos. You need rest.”

Carlos exhaled sharply. Shook his head. "I am home."

You tried to argue, but he silenced you with a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. He could feel your pulse beneath his lips, slow and unsteady.

"I’m not going anywhere."

You sighed, a soft exhale against his shoulder, and for a moment, for a moment, he let himself pretend everything was okay.

—

He lost count of the days.

There was no clear marker for when hope turned into grief. No defining moment where he realized you weren’t going to make it.

It just happened.

Like a tide pulling out to sea.

Like the quiet between heartbeats.

A promise broken, too softly to hear.

And when you were finally gone, when the world felt too quiet, too empty, too wrong, Carlos sat in the chair beside your bed, your hand still in his.

And he whispered, “You broke the rules.”

---

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