#because the bar's fucking high for some reason and i've been struggling to keep up with it for years now

[interstellarvacuumcleaner]

The fact that burnout has no problem hitting your hobbies if you put a bit too much effort into them is. fucked up tbh. I'm supposed to love it, why am I crying.

[melis-writes]

Would you mind teaching me how to create gifs? ♥️ Like what program do you use, how to adjust their sharpness or things like that because your gifts are both beautiful and high-quality! I am still an amateur when it comes to editing. 😭

Hellloooo, sweet anon! Of course I can give a mini tutorial on that for you! :3 PHEW, honestly I haven't made GIFs in a fucking hot minute (since early May!). I put that on the back burner to focus on crunching away that writer's block. 🥲🙄 BUT... Making GIFs is like second nature to me because I've been at it for 2 years now, so allow me to tell you all I know! ❤️

I use Adobe Photoshop 2023! My GIFs are started, edited, cooked and finished all up in there. I know there's plenty of cheaper/free alternatives, but I've literally only ever used Photoshop so I have zero experience with those alternatives. 🥲

Remember, a huge part of how smooth and high quality your GIFs are gonna be is 95% where your GIF source is coming from. Stay away from 720p quality files! You want your GIF screencaps to be pulled from the most HD, crisp source material. At least 1080p unless you absolutely can't get your hands on anything else.

Once you pop open Photoshop, you want to follow...

Click "File"

Click "Scripts"

Click "Load files into stack..."

Now select all of your GIF screencaps. I would recommend a maximum of 85 screencaps otherwise your GIF will be longer/beefier and Tumblr for some reason hates GIFs over 10mb.

Wait for it to load! If your computer is older/slower, this might be a pain in the ass and will be 2x a pain in the ass if you have a high screencap amount.

CROPPING YOUR GIF: Select W x H x Resolution on the top bar.

It's honestly best to crop out as close to the edges as possible for the sharpest gifs. A general rule of thumb I like to follow for cropping/GIF sizing is:

One gif: 540 px x 400 px.

2 gifs side by side: 268 px each.

3 gifs side by side: 177 px, 178 px, 177 px.

Hit enter twice to crop!

Once your GIF screencaps are loaded in, click on "Create Video Timeline" on the "Timeline" option. If you can’t see the Timeline > Window > Timeline.

Click on the stack of 3 small lines on the far right of your Timeline and click "Convert to Video Timeline".

8. Click on those 3 lines again and click on "Make Frames From Layers".

9. Click on those 3 lines again and click "Select All Frames".

10. Click on the 3 lines again and click "Reverse Frames" otherwise your GIF will play backwards!!

11. Then you'll notice all your frames like this showing 0 seconds.

Now you get to decide how fast or slow you want your GIF to play, but we're not using whole numbers like 1 2 3 4. Those will make your GIFS incredibly choppy and slow. Instead, we use numbers like 0.01. I would recommend sticking to 0.05 or 0.06. The higher the number, the slower it is. 0.06 feels just right to me, but 0.05 is more like watching the clip live from the movie. I also use 0.07 and 0.08 when I try to GIF a screencap that's very short so unfortunately you have to slow it down otherwise your GIF zoom replays and if you're making a GIF set it'll look horrible next to the other ones going at normal speed LMAO. 0.08 is a good, sensual slow motion type of GIF. Definitely play around with the speeds until you feel comfortable with how your GIF plays out. Not all GIFs are made with equal speed!

For my example, I'm choosing 0.06.

12. Next, go to the far right where your screencaps are all layered and select every single one of them from top to bottom. Then, right click on any random layer until this menu pops up. Click "Convert to Smart Object".

13. On your Timeline, you'll get your smushed chunky little GIF looking like this.

Now with my extensive experience in navigating Tumblr's hellish rules for GIF size and keeping my GIFS clean, smooth and not too long or not too short, I can easily eyeball this every time but I can see why a beginner with Photoshop GIFs might struggle. You see how big that purple block, AKA your GIF, is? It basically needs to be half of that. The bigger that block, the longer/beefier the GIF.

Slowly drag your mouse over that purple block from start to finish to watch your GIF essentially manually play out in front of you. Then you can decide what parts to trim out using the scissors option.

You can then click anywhere on the Timeline to unselect those now 2 chunks of purple. Then you can select just the one piece you want to delete and either hit the backspace key on your keyboard (Like I do) or right click it and click delete.

14. Next, make sure you drag that little blue arrow thing that lets you comb through the GIF all the way back to the beginning. We're going to edit the actual GIF now and we want to edit the whole thing from start to finish, not have effects randomly playing right before the GIF ends or in the middle of it.

15. Time to sharpen up that GIF as the first part of our editing and make it pretty!!

Click on lower left convert button to Convert from Frame Animation to Video Timeline.

Select > All Layers.

CTRL + click on any Layer > Select Convert to Smart Object.

16. Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen.

A little menu will pop up and you can select/input these defaults I use for my crispy GIFs:

Preset: CUSTOM.

Amount: 500%.

Radius: 0.4 PX.

Remove: GAUSSIAN BLUR.

Once more...

Filter > Sharpen > Smart Sharpen again only this time for the second Smart Sharpening, make the attributes:

Amount: 10%.

Radius: 10 PX.

17. Colouring the GIFs!

If you don’t have Adjustments tab > Window > Adjustments.

Adjustments > Exposure.

Another little menu will pop up, and you can use my defaults:

Preset: CUSTOM.

Exposure: 0.99

Offset: 0.0000

Gamma Correction: 1.00

Adjustments > Brightness/Contrast.

Brightness: *anything you want* Drag your mouse around to play with how you want this to look, there are no set numbers however you might want to note down the amount of brightness you put or took away if you want all of your GIFs to match this one!

Contrast: *anything you want*

18. Colouring GIFs when skintones or scenes are too orange/red:

Adjustments > Selective Color.

Colors: REDS.

Cyan: +6.

Magenta, Yellow, Black: 0.

The reds result in the orange color to begin with, but remember each color has its own counterpart. To decrease red tones, increase the cyans!

Example: Making a blue dress more vibrantly blue à Adjustments > Selective Color.

19. Adding text.

Remember, text layers should be on top of the rest of your layers, even if you have several pieces of text on the GIF. It doesn't matter in which order you stack text layers on top, they just have to be up there.

Click Text Tool on the lefthand bar and then click wherever you want to add the text.

To change text settings on a panel > Window > Character.

18-20 pt font is suitable for 540 px gifs! It's to use Calibri font in italics for text talking or Myriad Pro. Those are GIF text classics.

Right click on Text Layer > Blending Options > Stroke > + Stroke.

Size: 1 px.

Position: OUTSIDE.

Blend Mode: NORMAL.

Then hit OK.

Right click on Text Layer > Blending Options > Drop Shadow > Drop Shadow +.

Once again, right click on Text Layer > Blending Options > Stroke > + Stroke.

Blend Mode: NORMAL.

Angle: 30 > Use Global Light.

Distance: 1 px.

Spread: 17%.

Size: 3 px.

Noise: 0.

Layer Knocks Out Drop Shadow > OK.

To center and move the text, just press Y on your keyboard to use the move tool.

20. Finishing up the GIF!

File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy). Check bottom left corner of save screen for GIF size.

Do not go over 10MB EXACTLY! Otherwise Tumblr won't let you post it. You'll have to go back and shorten your GIF as a result, even if that means just splitting the clip off at the very end or very beginning.

Happy GIF making!! :3 ❤️❤️❤️

[nirikeehan]

Fic writer asks! 🌈, 💝, 💌

Thank for the asks! They come from this list if you would like to send me some or play yourself.

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

Hmm, there are some that I feel like I have to work on harder than others for various reasons – especially the really plot-heavy ones like Through a Glass, Darkly.

Also, since I write so much based off writing prompts for DA Drunk Writing, sometimes there are scenes that get written really quickly in order to post for the Friday event, and then later I go back and change a lot before they get posted to AO3. An example I can think of is the scene between Thom Rainier and Sera in chapter 3 of Kingdom Come where Sera is warning Thom that letting Thalia back into his life is a bad idea. In the first draft, she went along with his bullshit way too easily. Upon a reread, I thought she was too smart for that and rewrote most of the scene so that she wasn't buying his nonsense at all, and I liked it much better. 🤣 That's the scene that's on AO3 now.

I have tried to use DADWC to become less precious about my rough drafts and acknowledging it's okay to let the world see things in their WIP states.

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

In terms of comments received, there is a scene in chapter 4 of Through a Glass, Darkly where Cullen and Thalia have sort of an argument about what to do next now that they've escaped imprisonment. Most comments I got firmly sided with Thalia. I always found that interesting because I deliberately tried not to make either of them seem obviously in the right (since my full legal name is Niri Moral Ambiguity Keehan 😅), but not many people wanted to cede poor Cullen any ground, for some reason.

As a pure numbers game, In Love and War racked up A LOT of views when it was just a two-shot mostly of heated conversations between Thalia and Samson, which sorta surprised me?? It outperformed my other short fics by a lot, until suddenly it was my 4th most popular fic, after two smutfics (the smut is always the most popular 🤷‍♀️) and Through a Glass, Darkly, which is my longest multi-chapter fic so far. That popularity was part of the reason I decided to switch it to a WIP and keep writing it... the other reason being I'll apparently take any excuse to pit Thalia, Cullen and Samson against each other in a variety of settings. 👀

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I've been in a bit of a dry spell, but I do have some of chapter 7 of Through a Glass, Darkly written. It's been a struggle since so much of that chapter is Thalia necessarily by herself, and I write way faster when there's multiple characters to bounce off each other. But here is Thalia trying to get back into the village Vivienne has taken over so she can get to the bottom of the weird stuff going on there.

Keeping to the underbrush, Thalia followed the line of the village walls. They had been poorly constructed, made not of sturdy masonry but lumber — hastily felled and erected by civilians, not craftsmen. They were high, at least, but she was hopeful she could find a weakness or gap to squeeze through. Or, barring that…

Thalia halted, eyeing the trunk of a large oak whose bare branches hung past the wall, looming over a thatched rooftop on the other side. “This could work,” she muttered. 

She had always loved climbing. As a little girl, all too often the groundskeepers had to extricate her from trees against her will, having climbed too high for anyone else to reach. She had considered this an advantage, to get away from her older siblings. At the Circle Tower in Ostwick, climbing grew more difficult, more dangerous. The Templars didn’t like mages being up too high, for various reasons. The memory of Samson’s stricken expression stuck with her, forming a sour taste in her mouth. She tried to shake it, eyeing the oak’s trunk for the best way to approach. No, the Templars didn’t like when the mages climbed too high, but she did it anyway — way up into the old bell tower with her friends, so that they could see out over the bay and into the misty forest. 

She sighed, approaching the trunk and grabbing a low-hanging branch. She tested a foothold on a protruding stump. All those friends from the Circle were long dead, she suspected. They’d left early in the war to join the rebel mages, and if the fighting hadn’t killed them, then surely Corypheus… 

No use thinking about that now. Thalia hoisted herself into the tree, taking it as slowly as she dared. She might be spotted either way, and would rather feel confident than risk falling. Her companions on various field missions for the Inquisition had always found this habit of hers unsettling. If there was a ruin tucked into a thicket, or thought she could access a mine she might be able to access at the top of a mesa, she’d wanted to try reaching it. Most worried for her safety, like Blackwall and Varric… 

Both dead too, probably. Only Dorian seemed to understand her delight and left her alone, though she rarely convinced him to follow her. I prefer the ground sturdy beneath my feet, thank you very much. 

Her heart ached. How she missed Dorian. She missed them all, truth be told, none more so than Cullen—

She had reached the outer branches of the tree, the ones she might be able to shimmy over. Clinging to the trunk, she peered in every direction. The fog clogged the forest, and she saw no sign of Florentine. Over the wall, the village seemed deserted, as usual. The ground was muddy, the streets eerily quiet. The roof she hoped to reach belonged to a house that appeared equally lifeless. The thatch pitched at a sharp angle, but Thalia was sure if she could keep her grip, she could use it to ease herself down into a small alley between buildings. 

She inched her way out on a branch, holding her breath the thinner it grew beneath her. Just as it began to bow beneath her weight, she leapt off from it. She used the spring to aid her trajectory, and landed on the side of the roof lightly. Her boots and hands scrambled for purchase, and due to the dampness, found none. Thalia stifled a cry as she slid toward the roof’s edge. 

[tuliprry]

sparks - h.s.

summary: y/n meets harry, a much older man while she's on vacation in southern spain.. somehow 45 minutes are all it takes to fall in love

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), cursing, divorce, DRAMAAAAA, age gap, sort of a daddy kink?, lot's of fluff

clover's notes: for some reason tumblr changed my paragraph structure and the little symbols i had to differentiate the moments 🥲 i'll try and fix this

word count: 8.5k

y/n’s pov - august 1st

the sun shined through the hotel curtains and i groaned, i tapped my phone's screen and read 8:35am, it's so hot right now i can actually feel my brain frying, i turned on the air conditioner and closed my eyes. i have been in marbella for a day, i work at a hotel in london and in a hotel get together last month i won a week at the exact same hotel but in marbella. i could've invited a friend or even a cousin but truth be told i need this week away from everyone, my job, my family, school, seriously everyone and everything back in london. i groan once more, 8:39am, fuck this shit i'm getting up. i took a short cold shower in hopes the spanish weather would not eat me alive as soon as i stepped foot outside, i dressed a white dress with little white flowers and beige sandals with a semi decent heel,  i grabbed my  tote bag and threw in a book, my airpods, sunscreen and my wallet. I grabbed my sunglasses and my room card and was out my bedroom, to be honest i didn't want to go out of the hotel and visit, my entire body is honestly needing a piñacolada and a sweet calming time reading my book, which consists of beach reach by emily henry.

the pool area isn't too packed, likely because it's only 9am, i walk over to the bar area and i must've looked desperate ordering that piñacolada because the barman looked at me like i'm some sort of weirdo, maybe its the drinking alcohol at 9am on a tuesday but you see, being 23 and struggling with a master thesis, strangers and a job and your family trying to set you up with a guy you despise from your high school years you might end up just like me. as he prepared my drink i walked over to a sun lounger that hid completely in the shade and dropped my bag on top of it, only taking my wallet back to the bar, "the gentleman already paid for you", i read the name tag on the barman's t-shirt, miguel and almost repeated it out loud to ask him who the gentleman was but miguel was already talking to someone else. i look over the round counter of the bar and there's a very nicely put man with whiskey in a cup in front of him, yikes, must be having a harder week than me. "enjoy your drink" he spoke loudly enough for me to understand it, "thank you for paying for it", i reply taking a sip through the brown paper straw, "ah you're british?" he questions as he plays with his glass, "yeah, are you?" i ask, keeping an eye on my bag, "yeah i am, i come to málaga often so i've got a nice tan", he's sounds so smooth, his words aren't slurring after each other like i do, he speaks slowly but in a sexy way which gets me mentally slap myself. "if you don't mind, i left my bag over there and i have a romance waiting for me, thank you once again for the drink... that was very kind" i announced getting off the high stool and walking away before he could give me a response.

i felt weird the rest of the morning, i couldn't focus on my book nor listen to music, my brain remained stuck on the man from the bar, jesus, i came here to get away from trouble and i'm definitely just burying myself in a big one that happens to dress nicely, my eyes scanned the book one more time, oh this is ridiculous! i have read this sentence a thousand times today and i can’t seem to wrap my head around it. i looked over the book, just to take a peek at the man one more time but he wasn’t at the bar counter anymore, i pout and grab my phone, scrolling through instagram. 

"margarita?" a large shadow covers the little sunshine that was warming my body up, "huh? oh! hi mr british man", i smile to him and my stomach feels bottomless for a second, i sit on my sun lounger as i grab the glass, "so... will british man finally tell me his name?" i ask sipping on the margarita, he sits on the lounger next to mine as he sips on something that definitely isn't a margarita, "i'm harry, you?", "i'm y/n!" i sound way too excited but he smiles at me, "and what does beautiful y/n do in marbella all by herself?", his eyes look like they're undressing my soul, dead ass staring me, "well um, im a masters student and i'm under a lot of pressure so i won this free week at the hotel... and you?", i try to stare him the same way but i end up looking like what my dad calls, angry puppy, "i own a winery and a wine cellar and my wines are very well loved so they also offered me a week over here" he takes another sip of what i now assume it's wine disguised in a margarita glass, "oh! i wouldn't take you as a wine owner" i blurt out, "no?", "well you look like a young writer and you're here to get inspired! or maybe it's just the plot of the book i'm reading" i point at the book and play gently with the little paper umbrella on my glass, "i'm not a writer nor young but i'm glad i still look interesting" he seems genuinely content that i just thought he was just a little older than me, "before you ask.. i turn 39 in february", i almost immediately reply "god thats so hot" but i swallow my words, "i'm 23 and i'm far from being interesting harry, look at me im a 23 year old reading romances hiding from glorious spanish sun and im a masters student in theatre arts that is currently doing a thesis in contemporary musicals and performance.. god i need a sip" he's smiling at me, i don't know why because i feel like i just said the most boring phrase for regular people, "that is very interesting, y/n, at 23 i had no prospects for my future so... you're doing good", oh that was it, my stomach felt even more out of my body with that small praise, i feel my cheeks burn and i try to look away from harry, feeling like a shy child.

it's been 45 minutes and we're still talking, i can't help but stare at him more than i should, so much so i immediately said yes when he asked if we could have lunch together on his boat, didn't even have the decency to think for a minute before getting back to him, truth is sometimes my mind slips to my ex boyfriend, we broke up a month ago and when i opened instagram on the airport yesterday, there he was, spending money on a hotel with a beautiful girl and i had to hold my tears from crying on my first day of vacation and now here's this man.. man... a man! asking me to have lunch on his yacht and it gets my brain so intoxicated with dopamine making a little gentle smile pop up in my lips.

on a small boat, a spanish man took us to harry's yacht, that read "brisa parisina" (parisian breeze), i had never been this close to a yacht ever, my times at the sea were always a month in cornwall with my dad after him and my mum got divorced and we stayed back in london so my siblings and i wouldn't have to change schools, but i had never been so close to such a big boat, harry thanks the man and hands him a 50 euro bill and i gulp looking at the big tip for a 5 minute trip from the deck to harry's yacht, but it’s his money so i try to not show my shocked face as he steps out of the small boat to the ladder that leads to what i assume the deck of the yacht, he reaches his hand out for me and i say “muchas gracias” to the man and get on top of the boat with harry’s help. the immediate thing i see is the light brown flooring that has grey cushions on top on the right and left, leaving a small path towards the helm station that controls the boat that has sofa looking like cushions on both sides and a small table. harry keeps walking through that and gets down the most tight staircase i’ve ever seen and been on, there’s a table, a big tv, and more sofas and even art hanging in the walls, a kitchenette with lots of storage place, four oven tops, a microwave, a sink bigger than mine at home and a small fridge and freezer, my stomach starts to hurt, i had realise this man was rich.. but like not i have a huge yacht rich, right after the kitchen (that even has a small wine compartment and a huge cooking space that has me speechless), there’s another small door that leads to a suite, a huge bedroom that i would not say was behind the tiny door and a very decent sized bathroom. “you can leave your bag here” harry points at the bed and i nod, “there’s another two bedrooms and bathrooms on the other side of the yacht but they’re pretty much the same, just smaller”, not one but two bedrooms? i take my phone out of my bag and type in the brand of the boat on google, 1 million pounds, i almost let a scream out of my mouth as i read the price and then the costs of maintaining a boat like this and my asos dress suddenly feels like a potato bag. i can see harry from where i’m standing, he’s opening a bottle of red wine and i’m tempted to google the price of it too.. but i don’t, i locked my phone and threw it to the bed along with my stuff and walked back to him. 

“okay you have to try this wine, it’s a cabernet sauvignon from my winery in italy, it has a black cherry and black pepper flavour but i think you’ll enjoy it” he hands me a glass, “do you like mushroom paté? i have some we can snack on as i make lunch” i take a sip of the wine and god, i’ve never had red wine this good, in fact i think i’ve hated all the times i had red wine, “i’ve never had wine this good.. nor mushroom paté.. sorry” i can feel my cheeks flush and i look out the small window above the sink, staring at the blue ocean, harry gets closer to me and he looks way taller when he’s this close, “good thing there’s a first time for everything, right?” he whispers but almost melodically, “can i kiss you?” his tone remains the same, give me goosebumps that led to a broken “yes” and placing the wine glass on the kitchenette counter. his hands met my face, both his thumbs on my cheeks, he firstly gives me a peck and then proceeds to kiss me with more passion this time, his tongue in sync with mine, one his hands that was holding my face drops to my waist, pulling me closer to him, i can feel him smile in between the kiss and i open my eyes, “what’s so funny?” i ask trying to make an angry voice, “you taste good that’s all”, “oh yeah?”, “taste very good” he then kisses me again, this time shorter. “what do you want for lunch?” harry opens one of the cupboards over my head and takes a cream coloured saucepan with a brown wood handle out, “you invited me harry i don’t know”, “what about truffled macaroni with smoked haddock and then i let it bake for a bit?” i’m pretty sure i’ve never had haddock in the first place, “harry.. sorry to ask, what’s.. a haddock?”, i feel embarrassed, telling a 38 year old man i’ve never had.. whatever he mentioned, “oh! it’s a fish.. i can always make it vegetarian if you prefer?” i smile to him, “how did you know i want to be a vegetarian?” i furrowed my eyebrows, “i didn’t but i’m a flexitarian so i have tofu in here”, i’m starting to believe this man is too good to be true, “you know i have to follow the times and eating less meat and fish is a way to help the planet”, okay i need to get into his pants now this isn’t a joke, “wow”, “what?”, “nothing, i’m not used to hanging out with men that are educated on these things” i say honestly, he gives me a shy smile and points to the oven, “want to help me cook?”, “yeah of course”. 

after lunch that was paired with a white wine that i honestly couldn’t pronounce, harry sailed the boat to further from the dock, i wouldn’t say we were in the middle of nowhere but we weren’t exactly somewhere i could pin point, my phone even says my location is the mediterranean sea. i’m laying down on the deck sofa’s in the shade as harry is now coming back upstairs wearing only black and white swim shorts and flip flops, “why aren’t you catching some sun, y/n? it’s a great day” he sits next to me, grabbing my legs and putting them on his lap, “i’m terrified of getting a sunburn, i got one a few years ago in sandymouth and i couldn’t sleep for two weeks, i don’t need that again” i sighed closed the book i’m yet to read properly, “oh you’re from cornwall?” harry asks, “my dad lives in plymouth but i’m actually from london, i mean i was born in romford but yeah… you?”, “well i’m from a small town near manchester but i live in london for.. 20 years now”, 20 years… god he was 18 when he moved to london, i was 3 when he was 18 oh my god, “i’ve actually never been to manchester” i admit, i don’t know how is that any interesting but it’s the truth, “whenever you want to, i’m more than happy to show you around” he offers as he stars to rub my legs.. gently, i honestly feel like moaning and he’s not even doing anything too special, “do you mind if i work a little bit next to you?” he doesn’t stop the massage on my right leg, “shouldn’t this be your vacation, harry?”, “it should but-“, “no buts! let me get up lets find something to do” i say enthusiastically, i sit next to him and grab his hand, “do you have any games? we just ate so i don’t think swimming in the cold water is good for us”, “i think my goddaughter left a unicorn cards game when she was here with me” he affirms, “GREAT! let’s play”.

“unstable unicorns, build a unicorn army, betray your friends, unicorns are your friends now” harry reads off the box, to explain quickly, you start the game with one baby unicorn of your choice, and then the deck is shuffled and u get 5 cards, those can be basic unicorns, magic unicorns, magic cards, upgrades, downgrades or a neigh (that stops the other players play), i explain exactly the same to harry, i had played this game with my friends and harry didn’t fully remember how to play, “i pick this baby” i say grabbing a rainbow coloured baby unicorn card, harry picks a pink coloured baby unicorn and says, “this is my god daughters favourite baby”, i smile at the thought of harry with children, “how old is she?”, “she’s 8, we spent her 8th here actually” he observes as he shuffles the deck and places 5 cards in front of each of us, i grab my cards and i try to hide the little smirk on my face, “y/n start you’re the one wearing a colourful bikini” he looks over to me and i place a basic unicorn next to the baby unicorn, “look harry it’s you” i point at the unicorn with a beard, “oh are you calling me basic y/n?” he fakes an angry tone, “no! i’m just saying this very cute unicorn is you because of the beard!” i reply pretending to be offended he thought i was offending him, “don’t be upset, little girl, i was just messing with you” oh good grief i can feel my stomach doing flips, he plays a basic unicorn as well and the came continues, with actions and neighs and yelling at each other over downgrades that made me sacrifice one of my unicorns which led to me stealing harry’s baby unicorn, “HA!” i scream, “I GOT YOOOOOU” she giggles as she places the pink baby on her stable, “y/n! not the baby!” he pouts and stares at his game, i didn’t know he was a sore loser but he seriously looked very upset, i got up and stood next to him, “harry i didn’t mean to upset you it’s just a game, i’ll give you your unicorn back” i affirm, “harry c’mon” i squat so i can look at his face from under, “i’m sorry” i place my hand on his thigh and he looks to me, “don’t be” i don’t even have time to process his words because his lips crash in mine and when i realise we are kissing again, i get up and he follows me, going back to my lips immediately after, running his hands through my shoulders and then my arms. “you scared me” i say in between kisses, “sorry.. it was just sweet to see you that worried about me” he whispers against my mouth, “i didn’t mean to upset you, h”, “you didn’t”, he gives me a little peck, “want to finish the game, unicorn robber?”, “HEY! and yes”. 

i ended up winning the first game and harry the second so we were even but i couldn’t stop thinking about those kisses, i was putting the cards back in the box and harry was making us gin and tonic, “we could go for a swim don’t you think?” he suggests as he’s finishing the drinks, “i’m scared to swim without feeling the sand or ground harry, i’m not exactly tall like you” i admit, “don’t worry, i got you” he says as he places one of the cups in front of me, “i wouldn’t ask if i had intentions of not being there in case you need me, plus it’s 4pm the water must be so great now” he sits next to me and gives me a small forehead kiss before sipping on his gin, “sooooo”, “fine! but don’t let me go”, “i could never”. so we did end up swimming for a bit, mediterranean sea was warm and it felt good to swim with harry, i ended up sitting at the edge of the boat as he swam a little more, “you know you don’t look 38 right” i think the second glass of gin is making me too honest, “i don’t?”, “god no, you look max 28, i swear i was eye fucking you when i saw you sitting at the bar this morning”, “oh.. you were eye fucking me?” he furrowed his eyebrows as he swam back to me, sitting on the small space next to me, “tell me more” he emphasises on the more, “harry…”, i try not to sound worried, “yes?”, i get up and show him my hand so he can follow me, i sit on the sofa right next to the wheel, “i feel like i need to tell you this, i broke up with my boyfriend a month ago, he didn’t have time for me and he barely talked to me and it reached a point i was doing everything alone and i felt like i was the one fighting for my relationship and without me there would be nothing so i broke up with him” i vomit the words, “yesterday when i landed in malaga, he was posting stories on a hotel room with this girl i had seen comment his instagram posts and it really got to me.. and i don’t want to do anything without you knowing this” i breathe out and i feel relieved but worried about what harry could possibly say, “that fucking sucks y/n, i’m really sorry he did that to you, a real man would never do that” he cleans the tear off my cheek, “and i’m glad you told me, gives me more reasons to treat you like a lady deserves to be treated”, oh god here comes the butterflies again, “harry…can i kiss you again?” i ask and he nods, not waiting for me to make a move and kissing me again, salty from the sea and the small drips from our hairs falling onto our faces, “want to go downstairs?” he asks, “yes, please”. 

“harry we’re wet you sure you want to do this now?” i ask mid kiss, “i need you so bad i don’t care”, his hands grab my face, “i just want to make you feel good, bunny”, harry purrs, i immediately press my thighs together to his words and especially the new nickname out of his mouth, “lay down for me, please” he murmured and i laid back as fast as i could, almost desperately harry’s hands meet then my pink high waist bikini bottoms, pulling them along my legs and throwing them to the ground, his hands separated my knees, giving him full view of my vagina, “fuck” he blurted, “can i taste you?”, my legs immediately feel like jell-o when he asks, “yes, yes please” i cried out. he licked his lips and proceeded to kiss my inner left thigh as his free hand massaged my right thigh tenderly, his index finger brushed against my slit, making me whimper to his touch, "god damn y/n" he breathed, "your pussy is so pretty, bunny, all wet... just for me", a couple of words and i was basically melting in front of this man, without warning his warm tongue flicks against my folds, i bucked my hips up and grabbed the sheets, holding onto them, my brain was fuzzy at this point, “harry… harry please” i cried out, i needed him so fucking bad, “hush bunny” i look down and his eyes are filled with lust as his lips part from my pussy, his middle finger slid right in, he eyes me and his mouth finds its way to my clit, gently nibbling on it as his finger thrust inside me, “harry..” i moan as my vision literally starts to go black, “cum for me, bunny” he grunts and i let go of the sheets at the same time i cum in harry’s finger. he removed his finger at the same time his free thumb keeps stimulating my clit, he sucks his finger and then looks at me with a grin on his face, “you taste so fucking good”,  but i don’t have time to reply, he’s cleaning the cum off my already so sensitive cunt.

he moves his body up to kiss me, there’s saliva running down his chin and falling onto my chest, “see how good you taste, y/n? fuck you’re driving me insane”, he untangles the straps of my bikini top, that ends up on the bedroom floor as well, “your tits are perfect”, he hungry says as he pinches my nipples, a hint of pain all over my body when he does that but it feels to good, his mouth is busy getting to know my other nipple, “i love that you taste like the sea” he admits. in a swift he takes his swimming trunks, his cock is pressed against my pussy and i’m so close to begging him to fuck me, hard. “harry.. i need you, please”, he kisses my lips one more time as his cock pushes in inside me, slowly, inch by inch, i was already so sensitive that whatever game this man was trying to play was making me dizzy, speechless. once he was all in, his thrusts became more rapid and in sync, hitting my g spot, his index finger was back on my clit rubbing it frantically, he kissed me and i could feel my heart racing and my pussy clenching around him, “harry, harry i’m gonna cum” my legs start shaking, “fuck fuck wait for me” he pleads and i hold onto his back, pressing my nails against it, my eyes roll back as he collapses inside me with one last thrust. shockwaves through my entire body feeling his warmth inside of me.

“has anyone ever told you..you give the best orgasms ever? fuck, you’re such a good girl” harry cooed, making my already flushed cheeks burn even more, “actually i.. i had never had an orgasm with anyone if not… myself”, harry looks at me dead serious as he carefully removes himself from inside me, “a day of firsts, huh, bunny?” he kisses me, “if you keep calling me bunny i fear i need you to fuck me again” i blur out, “oh yeah, bunny? how about we talk about it in the shower?”

by the time we were done in the shower it was too late to come back to the port deck so harry ended up giving me one of his t-shirts and briefs, “what do you want for dinner?”, he asks, grabbing the already opened bottle of red wine, “is it bad that.. i want to say you?”, “okay i know you said i don’t look old but twice in a day almost put me on cardiac arrest, little girl”, i giggle to his response and hug him from behind, “sorry! i think i’m intoxicated by you, i just need you so fucking bad”, he looks at me, pensive, “jesus christ, y/n…you’re a filthy slut aren’t you?” he turns around, looking me in the eyes, “you’re probably ruining my briefs just by thinking about me fucking you, am i right?”, i stand immobile, i can’t even find any words to describe how wet i am or how he’s completely right, “aw, did i make my princess speechless?”, he gets his face closer to mine, “if you behave like the good little girl i know you are..maybe just maybe, daddy will take care of you before bed” he turns around getting various vegetables out of the fridge, “care to help me, princess?”, i gulp and quickly reply, “yes of course”.

i woke up to harry’s typing on his laptop, i groaned as i stretched my arms and legs next to him, “harry… you told me you wouldn’t work c’mon” i sit and place my head on his shoulder, “sorry, my ex wife sent me an email saying she wants the yacht for the 21st of august and i was telling her no because i got the yacht on the divorce”, my smile fades and it’s like i’m close to throw up, ex.. ex wife.. he was married? oh. “oh.. your ex?.. wife?”, he closes his laptop and places his hand on my thigh, “yeah, we got divorced 5 years ago” he squeezes my thigh as he speaks, “you don’t need to worry y/n.. 24 hours with you made me feel more alive than 2 years with her”, he kisses my forehead and i smile to myself, god what is this man doing to me, i’m here jealous over an ex wife and happy i won something she’s not even in the race for, “harry” i say, “yeah?”, “can we go back to marbella? i really want my clothes” he laughs and nods in agreement. 

~

back at the hotel, harry is sitting at the edge of my bed, “harry i’m not sure i should join you to golf.. you’re golfing with santiago hernandez, my literal boss!”, “and have u ever met him?”, “no he has never been to the london hotel in the 2 years i’ve worked there but that doesn’t mean it’s not weird” i turn my back to him, “zip my dress up, please?” i ask, he zips the yellow sundress up carefully, “y/n just join me, princess, if he asks just say you work for me”, “yes, because i’m a great wine expert!” i mock him as i gesture my hands, indicating that harry is insane. “i can always say you’re my wife, my very sexy wife”, he pulls me closer and buries his face in my boobs, “i can even mark you up, so he knows you’re all mine” i feel my panties soaking already, “harry.. fine! but just because it’s a very good argument” i try to hide the smile on my face, “but care to explain how are we married without wedding rings?” i raise his chin up, “we can always buy them”, “harry i have £64 on my account, i can maximum buy a claire’s ring that will turn my finger green” i give him a gentle peck, “oh no no you’re MY wife, i’m buying you a wedding band… if he asks your engagement ring is getting cleaned”, “you really thought this through, huh?”, “when it comes to you, i don’t see money, princess, i’m spoiling you for as long as you want me to” he kisses my neck, “about those marks… can i please?” i let out an “mhm”, i loved how harry constantly asked me for consent but at the same time was assertive and a couple of words would literally make me ruin a pair of panties. 

i looked in the mirror before leaving, noticing the hickey on my left boob, i tried to brush off my thoughts but i just couldn’t. harry was matching me, yellow pants and green polo, looking way too good for my thoughts to go away, i can’t play golf, in fact i think i’ve only played mini golf my entire life, “sweetpea, do you prefer gold or silver?” harry asks, looking at a collection of wedding bands, “i personally like gold more” i say, looking at a pair of golden hoops with daisies dangling from it, “do you like them?” harry looks over my shoulder, “yeah they’re pretty…. don’t even think about it” i give him a “mean” look, “fine! just choose the band you like the most” he says pointing at the golden wedding bands, “that one is pretty and simple”, “then that one it is”. he’s purchasing the wedding bands and i stand next to him just staring, “it’ll be those daisy earrings too”, he points and i gasp, “harry no?”, “y/n yes.. it’s my money, just let me get them.” he hands in a black card to the salesperson and i hold his free hand, still a little upset. harry drives us to the los naranjos golf club, before we get out of the car, each of us puts the wedding band, i feel so weird at first, i’ve never been a good liar and this was a big fucking lie. at the reception harry shows his membership to the club and then points at me, “she’s my wife”, i press my lips together so i don’t say something i shouldn’t and i stand there eyeing the red haired woman, “oh we can put your wife down for a membership”, she points at a computer screen, “maybe later, would that be okay?” harry’s arm is wrapped around my waist, tightly. “yeah of course, mr. styles, here’s your wife’s pass for the day”, she hands me a laminated pass that proves i can he there for the day and we make our way in, harry gripping onto my waist still, “oh hello harry” a tall man with brown hair a beige hat speaks up as he walks in our direction, “santiago! hey man”, i gulp, to be totally honest i had never seen the man that pays my paycheck so i just hold harry as well, hoping he does all the talking, “you got remarried?” santiago asks laying his eyes on me, “yeah dude, it was a very spontaneous thing but i couldn’t wait any longer”, harry smiles at me, “this is y/n.. y/n this is santiago” he introduces us and i reach my hand but santiago comes in for a kiss on each cheek, “it’s how we do it in spain” he exclaims. “will y/n be playing with us?” before harry can reply i let out a laugh, “god no i’ve never payed golf”, “play with us sweetpea, i’ll teach you”. 

“i’ve only ever played mini golf with my nephews”

“you have nephews?”

“yes two and they always lose”

“it would be bad if you lost mini golf to children don’t you think y/n?”

“oh yeah? i bet u a thousand kisses that i win mini golf back in london”

“you’re on, princess”

it’s been an hour and a half, i’m sitting on the golf cart, drinking a mojito as i wait for my turn to play, a woman that i assume is santiago’s wife is also sitting here, she’s not playing though, she’s on the phone talking about pta meetings and dentist appointments, she sometimes glances at me and does a very disgusted face, “y/n! baby! it’s your turn” harry screams, i place the mojito on the cart and i run to him, “help me?” i kiss him and he places himself behind me, “i know exactly what you are doing y/n and it’s not funny” he whispers in my ear and puts my arms in the correct angle, “be a good little girl for me, yeah?” harry then kisses my cheek and moves my arms so the club hits the little white ball. “i think santiago’s wife hates me” i mention it to harry, grabbing his hand, “what? why? did she say anything to you?” his relaxed expression is now a worried one, tensing his eyebrows, “no.. she just looks at me weird” i sigh, “is she.. friends with your ex wife?” i regret the question the moment i ask it, “yeah.. she is, i’m so sorry y/n, i didn’t even think about it when i asked you, she usually doesn’t even come to our games.. i’m really sorry, princess” i frown as he explains, his lips kiss my forehead, “it’s okay” i lie, walking back to the cart, drinking the rest of my mojito. 

harry’s pov

after the game y/n ran to the bathroom, the mojito really took a toll on her bladder, so i’m outside with santiago and phillipa, i feel tense just thinking that phillipa could’ve possibly mentioned lauren to y/n or mentioned y/n to lauren, “so harry, santiago told me you got remarried… i asked lauren and she had no idea” phillipa says with a cynical tone, “that’s because lauren is my ex wife, she doesn’t need to know what i do with my life” i snark back, “and isn’t your new wife.. kinda young” phillipa strikes again, santiago touches her arm and i breathe in, “she looks like she’s still university… oh wait she is! isn’t that weird, harry? marrying a woman that is maximum 24?” her words ringing in my ears, “phillipa mi amor, don’t” santiago says sternly, “what? santiago she’s much younger than him, would u go for a younger woman?”, “he’s divorced he can do whatever he wants, pipa, c’mon!”.

and then i see her, with two ice cream cups on her hand, “they had the absolutely disgusting mint chip” y/n hands me the cup, “yuck” she exclaims, “oh.. sorry guys i didn’t know what flavours you liked”, i don’t know how this woman does it, has me grabbed by the throat, completely whipped when i’ve known her for a little over 24 hours. “oh that’s okay y/n” santiago says, “pipa and i were just leaving… i’m sorry harry” he says as he shakes my hand and leaves, semi yelling at phillipa. “what happened?” y/n asks, grabbing a scoop of her pistachio ice cream, “nothing, want to go back to the hotel?”.

the next 5 days fly by, y/n moved her stuff into my room and we have been doing everything together, so much so we have not taken the wedding bands off, y/n asked if we could keep wearing them and i couldn’t say no, i could never say no to her. so we are now at the málaga airport, y/n is going through a romance section of books in english and telling me how she has read at least 90% of the books in there, “harry my tummy hurts, do you have any paracetamol with u?” she asks and i get out of my daydreamy state of mind, “i think i do, what’s wrong?” i open my tote bag and hand the tablet to y/n, “my period must be starting soon”, “oh nooo my sweet princess, do you want a kiss?” i don’t wait for her reply and start kissing her face, “are you sure you want to.. continue this back in london?”, “what? y/n, i’m so sure of this.. of us.. i’m still wearing a fake wedding band for you..i’m 100% sure.”

~

y/n’s pov 

life back in london has definitely been special, minus the fact that whenever i say i’m sleeping over at willow’s i actually mean i’m staying at harry’s and i use the name of his cat.. but other than that, things are good, harry presented me to some of his friends, goes to musicals with me, ended up meeting my younger sister milly, to drop off a christmas gift at my house, making my youngest sister jane force me to facetime harry on christmas day so she could meet him too, a very persuasive 15 year old.. and god the sex, i don’t think i’ve ever had this much fun in my life ever, this man just knows exactly how to treat me right, driving me completely insane at times.

6 months later 

today is harry’s birthday, i spent my morning in class and basically prayed the tube would be fast as fuck so i could be at harry’s house by lunch time, i got there around 2:13pm, starving, i opened harry’s apartment door and was greeted by willow, “oh hi my sweet girl” i say enthusiastically, “where’s your dad” i chase willow to the kitchen, harry is naked, only wearing an apron as he cooks what i bet it’s his tomato and beans pastry, “i don't know what looks better, my husband naked or your famous pastry” i giggle as i put my bags on the floor and run to kiss him, “happy birthday my love”, i kiss him again, “to your question, both are great things, second, thank you, princess” he kisses my forehead, “okay! i have your gifts, do you want to open them now?” i ask grabbing the bags i put on the floor, “three bags? y/n i told u to not spend money on me” his tone is demanding, almost mean, and i can’t help but love it, “oh one of these i have to put on and you take it off, ya know?” his eyes widened, “oh i do know” he smirks. harry’s gifts are an intimacy card deck for us to play on our stay in date nights, the lingerie set with hearts that he said and i’ll quote “would love to fuck you in this” so..i got it and an electric wine opener, personalised with his name, “fuck princess, you treat me so good” this kiss is more passionate than when i got home, “do you want me to put this on?” i question him, innocently, “yes fuck yeah baby please”.

sex with harry is always a religious experience, doesn’t matter if it’s morning, afternoon or night he always finds a way to exhaust the life out of me… in a very good way, harry is on his laptop looking for the same lingerie set, because even though i asked, he ripped the bra trying to get it off, my legs still feel wobbly, i check the time on my phone and it’s 5pm, our dinner reservation is only at 8pm so i have more than enough time to rest, i look at myself in the bathroom mirror, god i look like i’ve been through a tornado, i take my eyeliner (or the rest of it) off and brush my hair putting it on a ponytail, i pee and i go the bedroom to get a new pair of panties, “harry where’s my care bears robe?” i ask mid yawn, “behind the bathroom door, love” i nod and put the fake wedding band on my finger, i see harry smiling to himself, “oh shut up” i say walking into his bathroom again and putting on a dark pink robe with various care bears drawings that matched the care bears slippers, this was one of harry’s christmas gift to me, he said he had never met anyone that loved care bears as much as me, i smile at the memory. the doorbell rings and i get out of the bathroom, “get dressed harry it’s likely a friend of yours to wish you a happy birthday”, “oh when did you get so demanding”, “c’mooooon get dressed old man!”. 

i run downstairs and i open the door, “..you’re not harry” the woman grunts, “no….i’m his-“, “oh you’re the new wife.”, “um.. i’ll go get.. harry” i’m so confused by this woman i just rush upstairs again, “there’s a woman at the door” i sit in bed, petting willow, “a woman?”, “yeah.. mid 30s.. brunette.. brown eyes, gucci bag” i try and describe her, “oh” that’s all he says. “oh? why oh? who is that- oh” i put two and two together, i had always told harry i didn’t want to know who his ex wife was and that came right after me, “come with me, please, i don’t want to be with her alone” harry lets out a loud sigh, “of course harry” in reality i’m shitting myself. he goes ahead of me and she has made herself at home, sitting on the sofa, “what do you want, lauren?”, she gets up and goes to hug him but harry immediately stops her, “oh is that how you greet your ex-wife?.. didn’t take you for a rude person, harry. i guess your new wife has changed you” bitch, bitch, BITCH, is all i can think, my blood is boiling so hard, it feels illegal to be angry in care bear clothing. “you’re my ex wife for a reason, can you please tell me what the fuck do you want?” harry puts himself in front of me and i clench my fists out of anger, “came to wish you a happy birthday, baby”, “my god lady will you please get the fuck out” i yell, i don’t know where that came from but i feel angry and upset and close to beating her up if she doesn’t leave my home, i mean, harry’s home. “what? are you gonna let her speak to me like that?” she looks offended, good. “yes, get out of our home, now”… our home. our home.

harry and i don’t talk about what happened until we’re at the restaurant, he’s wearing a white shirt that isn’t buttoned all the way up, black pants with golden buttons and black loafers, he had a big heavy black coat on top that is now on the back of his chair, i’m wearing a ruffled light blue dress with spaghetti straps, the dress reaches my mid thigh and it’s freezing in february so i have tights on, my white doctor martens and a puffy jacket that is on my chair as well. he holds my hand on top of the table, “y/n.. i only love you, please know that.. well you and willow”, “i love you so much harry, i’m sorry this day isn’t your best birthday”, “don’t be silly, i spent 38 dreadful birthdays, i’m glad 39th is with the love of my life.” harry orders the wine for us, as usual, we both happen to go for pasta dishes… which let’s be honest is also the usual, “harry i’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay?” he nods as he’s munching on garlic bread. as i get out of the bathroom i see my older brother, angus,  standing in front of me, “angus??? what the fuck” i whisper-yell at him, “y/n? what are you doing here? did mum and dad invite u?” that question almost made me die in front of him, “mum and dad are here?? fuck no! angus, angus do not tell them i’m here please! i’ll babysit jacob and matthew anytime u ask me to, u don’t even have to pay me anything” i’m desperate at this point, “heeeeeeeeey okay that’s a very big promise y/n.. oh good lord are you here with that older guy? IS THAT A WEDDING BAND” he just yelled that to the entire restaurant, “angus shut up!” as i yell back to my brother. i see my dad staring at the both of us causing a scene in a restaurant, my dad just recently got remarried…to his husband… paul and things in the family haven’t been easy, especially between him and my mum, which led him to flee the table looking for my brother for some peace, “y/n cookie, what are you doing here?”, “dad i’m here with my boyfriend but can u please, please not tell mummy?” i hope he can sense the panic in my voice because i’m literally about to throw up. “okay cookie, breathe love” my dad side hugs me, brushing his fingers through my cheek, “angus and i won’t tell mummy okay? go enjoy your dinner, cookie” i breathe out the air i was holding in and go back to the table. “i was going to look for you, y/n, i was getting worried” harry sits back down, “why are you shaking, what’s wrong?”, “my brother, my dad, my nephews…and my mum are all here..we are so fucked harry, my brother saw the wedding band and i’m pretty sure my dad did too but he promised not to say anything to my mum………..that is walking in our direction right now” this is it. i’m fucked. i’m so fucked, i don’t even know why i’m fucked at almost 24 but i’m fucked because i hid my relationship with a man 16 years my senior from my entire family but my siblings and i’m fucked. “y/n y/s/n y/l/n why are your brother and your father trying to lie to me? who is this?” oh god, i only have time to hide my hand under the table and breathe in and out. “hi mummy… um i.. this is harry” i’m stuttering, “hello ms y/l/n” harry gets up and stares at her, not knowing exactly what to do, “and what are you to my daughter?”, “i’m.. her boyfriend”, “y/n what is this?” i try to speak but nothing comes out of my mouth, i had nothing planned, i was thinking of maybe introducing harry to my family on my birthday party so it would be easier, “um.. uh.. well.. you know.. he..” i take my hand from under the table and hide my face in both my hands. bad idea. “oh my god, you got married to this man? how old are you? 50?” she starts yelling and i feel small, if i didn’t have words before now i just don’t want to be here anymore, my brother is trying to calm her down, harry is explaining they’re promise rings and he’s 39 which in my mum’s head is now 50 and my dad is holding the twins by the hand.

what. a. fucking. birthday. 

i’m sitting on a bench, crying, harry is talking with my brother and my nephews and my parents are sat, one on each side, “amelia, let me do the talking, okay?” my dad snaps at my mum, “we just got expelled from a restaurant because of you, let ME do the talking” i had never seen my father this mad, “cookie, i understand your mum’s point by seeing you with a much older man, but i don’t understand why you didn’t come to us”, he’s now doing the cheek thing again, “because mum would make the exact same scene and harry would just see me as the stupid little girl that still needs her parents approval though she’s 23” i pout, i truly feel like a child with my reactions, “listen y/n.. i didn’t mean to cause a scene, bubs, i saw the rings and you know harry looks much older than you and i thought he was trying to hurt you” i swallow my tears, “how.. how long have you been dating this man”, “since august”, “AUGUST?”, “yes i’m so sorry”, i let my tears out again, “no, y/n don’t say sorry.. i feel so hurt with myself that you didn’t felt like it was safe to tell us for 6 months.. do milly and jane know?” when she mentions my younger sisters my expression changes from sad to guilty, “angus, milly and jane all knew… but only milly met harry”, “milly met harry?”, “yeah harry dropped off my christmas present at home and milly was the one that helped him…remember my friend willow.. the one i sleep over a lot and got me the care bears robe.. well willow is the name of harry’s cat” i just sat there in silence, i looked over at harry and the twins and i was no longer listening to my parents, “harry” i call out, “please come meet my mum and dad”. 

i get up and stand next to him, “mummy, dad, this is harry, my boyfriend” i hold his hand tightly, playing with his wedding band.. i frown my eyebrows, i had never realised, his band was engraved with our initials.

the end (or not)

taglist: @psicostyles@behindmygreyeyes@your-local-lesbian-on-lexapro@mvaldez7821@tiktokandtvismylife @silvermistwannabe @harrysgoldenhome @subbbyharry @buckybarnessimpp@gabshouse @sassqwn @thegirlnextdoorssister @theanxietyqueen17 @michellekstyles

[zmediaoutlet]

I've always felt very strongly that there is a serious lack of touch-starved Sam fic in this fandom.

(read on AO3)

For a hundred and fifty miles of midmorning blacktop outside of Kearney, Missouri, Dean won’t look at Sam. Sam figures he’s got a convenient excuse—traffic, threatening rain—but he doesn’t really need the excuse, does he. Everything they could say they’ve said and now Sam’s just got to sit here, his elbow on the door and his hand braced over his mouth so he won’t say more. Furious for a few miles and just—dragged-out empty, for a few miles after. It cycles. He wants coffee very badly but after the fight they had he doesn’t want to ask for a thing.

He sat there and let Garth wipe up his face. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t have done himself but he didn’t want to go into the bathroom, not with Dean trying to get the black ectoplasmic goo out of his ear, off his skin. Garth gave him a worried smile before he left with Dean and Sam didn’t return it, and Dean didn’t look at him before the motel room door closed, either. It was left to Sam to try to clean up the room. Not the first time. Glass shards swept up as best he could, broken furniture piled on top as a warning to the maid. Dean tips pretty well, whenever this happens, and so Sam tucked a fifty under an unbroken coffee mug and then sat there with his bags packed and his hands over the back of his neck and thinking, god, where did it go this wrong? Why did they let it?

The blinker tick is the only warning before Dean pulls off at an exit. Sam refocuses. Des Moines, coming up through the windshield, and here an exit with the usual suspects: gas, fast food, motel. He didn’t actually drive all that much, in the last year, and it’s a surprise still how often the car needs gas. Another itching burr, reminding him: the responsibilities he should’ve had. What he ignored, and what the costs of ignoring it were.

A Shell station. Sam opens his door first, before the car’s even in park. “How much on the pump?” he says, and Dean’s hand pauses on the gearshift but he actually answers.

“Fifty.” He half-reaches for the inside of his jacket. “You’ve got—?” he starts, and Sam interrupts and says, “I got it,” kind of sharp, and then wishes he hadn’t said it sharp. Last few miles he’s been more scraped-out than mad. Go figure.

Dean glances at him, at least. Still greyish outside, the clouds thicker the more they drive north, and his face looks white. “Get caffeine, too,” he says, and it’s not sharp. It’s not—anything.

Two coffees, granola bars. A Snickers, since Dean likes Snickers. Olive branch or bribe, Sam doesn’t know, and then for thinking it he rolls his eyes. He gets a Payday, instead, and waits for the old guy in front of him to cash out and then gets the fifty, on the pump, and then stands at the lone hightop by the window with old coffee rings and spilled Equal and watches while Dean crouches to get the gas in the car and then leans against the rear bumper, head sinking between his shoulders. Sam can’t tell from here if his eyes are open or closed. He looks tired. Sam sips his coffee, sugary with the fake hazelnut creamer. Well, they’re both tired.

That argument. He barely slept, last night, and when he did he had a dream of the day Dean came back. Different to how it really happened. In the dream he was the one waiting, in the cabin with the light coming through the dirty windows, and he was so happy, heart-sore, his pulse thudding thick in his throat—and that’s true, at least, that’s how it was when he was coming through the door on that day, thinking it couldn’t possibly be true—but in the dream, when Dean came through the door, he came with black streaming from his ears and nose and the corners of his mouth and instead of eyes he had dark holes and he knocked Sam down to the ground and got his hands around Sam’s throat and he leaned down and said—well, when Sam woke up with his heart thudding sick in his mouth, he couldn’t remember what the Dean in the dream had said. He woke up because the bathroom door had closed and there was a light seeping through the cracks but he couldn’t hear what Dean was doing in there. It wasn’t a subtle dream. He lay there awake, nauseated and sorry, because he was too exhausted to be angry, and he doesn’t remember when he fell asleep again but the next thing it was morning, and the alarm on his phone was sounding, and Dean was sitting up on the far side of his bed with his shoulders hunched up high and his back all tension, and he’d said shut it off, jesus, his voice so raw it sounded like he’d been yelling all night. Sam shut it off and went and took a shower, and that was it, pretty much. That was what they had had to say to each other, today.

Dean accepts the coffee with a nod, and the Payday with a strange twitch of his eyebrows. Sam eats a granola bar in a few efficient bites, tosses the wrapper before they leave, and sips slow at the rest of his own coffee as they drive out of the gas station and back up onto the highway and on through Iowa, wondering if Dean thought he’d actually forgotten or if Dean thought it was carelessness or if Dean—

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be wondering. He should be angry, and he is angry. His hands curl in cringing reflex whenever he remembers shaking Benny’s lukewarm monstrous hand and seeing the slight smugness of his look and seeing Dean’s expression, just behind, warning, saying no. Saying that Sam didn’t get a say, here. Like after all these weeks of lying, of turning away from any real conversation Sam tried to have, of him being jagged-sharp and furious and—and not-Sam’s—this was just another something Sam wasn’t allowed to touch.

There’s a lot of Iowa and a lot of quiet. They stop again for a piss and burgers and Dean says, “Get mine with extra cheese,” and Sam, jesus. Sam does. Extra cheese and onions, too, and they eat at the bar with college football on the television and Sam watches Stanford absolutely cream Arizona and he expects Dean to say something cutting, something snide, but he doesn’t get that, either. Dean just shakes his head as the reporter runs up to Arizona’s quarterback who can’t be more than twenty years old and asks breathlessly what they did wrong, and Dean says, “Should be a law against that,” and signals the bartender for the check, and Sam watches the poor kid struggle to maintain his composure for the cameras and thinks, yeah. Yeah, there oughta be a law.

Dean doesn’t turn west for Sioux Falls like Sam expects. Instead there’s more road and more north and more clouded sky, and more quiet, and it’s a dimming twilight when they pull into St. Cloud, Minnesota, after a full day of nothing, and Dean says, finally, “Think it’s gonna rain,” and roughly one minute later it is. A steady sifting-down kind of rain, the kind that’ll keep going for a week if it goes for an hour.

A motel. Dean goes in to get the room. End of the low building and actual real keys and two queens, like it’s been since Dean got back. Sam drops his bag on his bed and folds the key into his hand until it hurts. “I’m not hungry, you?” Dean says, and rolls on without actually waiting for Sam to say anything. “Figure we can look around for a job here in the morning. Still waiting for word on whatever else.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking at the bedspread. Mottled green-and-pink, ugly. Whatever else, said all neutral. Like there’s not a river of blame running through it. “Yeah,” he says, again, and then looks up and says, “Give me the keys.”

Dean’s got his gun in his hand, his bag unzipped and his shit already spilling out across the other bed. Dirty shirts, a tie. What he wore yesterday when he tried to kill Sam. He frowns. “What?”

Sam ignores the gun. “I want dinner,” he says. “Give me the keys.”

A tightness around Dean’s eyes but what is he going to say? No? Sam wants to dare him to. Dean looks down at his bag and then digs in his pocket. It's a clean underhand arc, meant to be easy for Sam to catch, and Sam turns and goes without another word, and when he's behind the wheel he looks at the muted pinkish light of the window coming from behind the thick curtains and he—closes his eyes, and turns on the car, and finds a bar.

It wasn't two beds. Not at first. Not that very, very first day, in the cabin, with the light coming in and Dean strangely tan, all blinding grin and quick manic movement and his hands strong—gripping Sam's shoulders, sliding up under his shirt, bright and hot and dizzying. He'd tackled Sam to the floorboards and cut him and splashed Borax over his skin and then when Sam was still gasping and unprepared he leaned down, right down, and gripped into Sam's hair and said breathless fuck, I missed you so much, and kissed Sam bruising, and Sam could hardly keep up. They barely made it to the bunk in the corner, the one that creaked so bad under their weight Sam thought it would collapse, but it held together somehow. It was so fast it sits in Sam's memory in strange little snatches—Dean's lips smearing across his throat, and the way his head hit the wall and Dean laughed delighted and rolled over on top, and for some reason the very moment of sliding his hand down into Dean's barely-opened jeans and feeling the crisp roughness of his pubes before anything else. That particular feeling.

It was only afterwards that it fell apart. Sam should've lied. He's thought about it a lot, these past weeks. Months. Or maybe he should've told Dean everything: every single second of panic, terror, misery. Every failed summoning and every fruitless hour of research in Bobby's remaining books. Every moment where he thought if he's dead, then I—how every second of living felt like failure, like betrayal, how no matter he what he did he was letting his brother down, so what was the point of counting it—but they didn't lay that on each other. They knew what those days felt like. At least he thought they both did. Maybe it was different, for Dean. Sam wouldn't have thought so, but. Maybe it was.

The bar's mid-sized, kind of friendly feeling. A girl in her twenties pulling beer who's mastered the line between welcoming and actually-flirtatious, and Sam's set up with a beer at the far end by the bathrooms in record time, and he looks into it and thinks, fuck, why not, and drains it fast, and says, "Another, thanks," and the girl's very shaped eyebrows knot a little but she sets him up, so. Big tip for her, later. She smiles, eyes dipping to his chest, and there's a little sway as she walks back down to the couple at the other end. Maybe over the line to flirtatious, then.

A girl. Sam looks down at his beer. He's not sure he ever heard Dean's voice with that much venom in it. Not even—back then, with Ruby. Like this was a worse betrayal than that. He chews the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, tries to focus on—hockey, on the television, but Sam doesn't know anything about hockey, and he can't get it out of his head.

A girl. Like that was the worst part. Like Sam's year of emptiness could be summed up with the fact that he fucked someone else, for a little while. Even if it didn't work out. Even if they ended up more as friends, at either end of a falling-down motel with a shared visitation for a dog, and Sam spent most nights in bed alone watching the blue-and-red neon sign blink through the blinds, and he couldn't— No. And where did Dean get off, anyway? Being that furious, that betrayed, when he was the one who—with Benny— He finishes that beer and orders a bourbon, instead, and settles in. Fuck it. He's watching hockey.

The bartender cuts him off, at some point, but she's very nice about it. Sam knows he's too big to threaten and he tries to be nice back but he's not sure it's working, from her face. "Why don't you drink some water," she says, sweet but with her eyebrows high, and he takes the glass in both hands just to make her feel better. "Can I call you a cab?"

"Can't leave the car," he says and it comes out—oh. So. It's been a few hours and he… that burger was a while ago, wasn't it. Still, this part is important. He has to make sure she gets it. "I can't. Car's special."

"Okay," she says, drawing it out. The hockey's over and there's a too-colorful gameshow on the television. Sam puts his head down on the bar, which is better. Old-people music playing on the sound system. Sam grinds his forehead back and forth on the wet wood. Old-people music is what Amelia called it. Sam just thought it was what his life sounded like. "Okay," she says again, muffled, "I'm just gonna—" and then the glass gets removed from his hand, and she says, "All right, you can't sleep here, we close in thirty. Who should I call?"

Good question. Sam folds his hands over the back of his neck and tries to think of a good answer. Some time passes while he tries to figure it out.

He hasn't been drunk in—he doesn't know. A year. When Dean was gone and Sam didn't save him. Now Dean's here and Sam wants to be anywhere else because Dean doesn't—Dean won't—

"All right," he hears again, but it's a different voice this time. Hard hand on his arm, tugging, and he sighs against the bartop and says Dean, or thinks he does. He lets himself be pulled upright but doesn't open his eyes—that's gonna be bad, he knows that for sure—and so he lets his weight sway, sink, and the hands are still hard but they're holding him up, so that's something, anyway. His head drops back—hard bone, muffle of leather—Dean. "Jesus," he hears, in some tone he can't interpret, and he turns his head in and there's a scrape of stubble against his nose, and he sighs and feels boneless, for once, his body just melted away where it won't cause any more trouble.

"Dean," he says, definitely out loud because Dean says, "Yeah, that's me," kind of annoyed but quiet, and then louder, "Is he cashed out?"

Some answer. Sam's drunker than he thought. He can't remember if he tipped well, hopes he did. His head doesn't hurt yet, like his face doesn't hurt even though Dean was trying to kill him, yesterday, and that's funny kinda, that there aren't repercussions, for anything. Here they are no matter what. He smiles and says Dean's name again and gets steadied, pushed upright a little more. He grasps for Dean's jacket so he can't get away and says, "I love this song," because he knows it at least and likes it fine, and because when Dean talks about music he's happy. Sam wants him happy.

"Yeah, Sam, everyone likes Sinatra," Dean says, and Sam finally opens his eyes to find himself swiveled around on the barstool and Dean in front of him, with unhappy tired lines at his eyes and mouth and looking just—Sam reaches for his face and Dean kind of jerks, like he didn't expect it, but grasps Sam's hand and pulls, says, "C'mon, Jolly Green," not annoyed anymore. Sam slides off to stand with his weight half in his boots and half steadied against Dean's shoulder, and Dean's arm goes around his back and this, this is the most Dean's touched him, since that day, that last day.

Difficult walk in the spattering rain. Propped against the car, and Dean going through his pockets, warm familiar touches. The passenger seat, poured in, and he slumps into the corner between the door and the seat-back and Dean's mouth is in the amber light from the parking lot lights, scattered and blurry from the water, and Sam licks his mouth clean of that same water and wants. He isn't allowed to ask. Driving, then, the car's rumble and sway, and Sam spends the whole drive watching strange flashes of Dean's face appear in turning headlights and fluorescent storefronts and gleaming wet red in brakes and thinking that he dreamed this, more or less this, so many nights, that year in Texas. Dean's cheekbones and lips and freckles and ears and the bump where his nose got broken, way back when they were teenagers, here in the car, where Sam could almost touch him. He wishes he could touch him.

He jerks when they get to wherever they're going. "Last stop, everyone off," Dean mutters. His door opens and shuts while Sam's still blinking, his mouth dry. The rain's still falling and Sam listens to it drumming the roof, the glass. Imagines laying out in it. Feeling it on his skin.

He almost falls when his door opens. "Christ, how drunk are you?" His shoulders were caught but they're out in the rain—cold, on his face, and he closes his eyes and tips and feels it. "Sam. C'mon. Sammy, you're too big, I ain't carrying you. You gotta get your feet under you, man." But there's no good reason for that, Sam thinks. He's just going to fall, and then Dean'll see that he can't do even that, and then what's to stop Dean from just leaving him here? A squeeze at his shoulder and Dean's voice is softer. "Jeez, you're getting soaked. C'mere." His hair's pushed back from his forehead. He reaches for Dean's hand but misses, and his wrist gets caught, and he's pulled back—Dean's body, warm behind his—and his weight tips so far that he has to scramble, lurching, and Dean says: "Hey, there he is. Okay, Gumby, now we gotta do one foot in front of the other—" and hey, it turns out that Sam didn't fall down, and he sways swimming and heavy-skulled from the rain to the chilly concrete walkway to the cool slick polyester comforter, under his back, the room warm and that same pinkish light seeping in behind his eyelids, his wrist still caught in Dean's grip, his jacket heavy-wet and water trickling into his ear. He tips his head, trying to get the rain out.

"You're a mess," Dean says. He lets go and Sam's hand drops to the bed, heavy too. "What were you thinking?" Oh, you know, Sam thinks, but doesn't say. He stretches his legs out, his bootheels dragging on the carpet, and there's a sigh, and then Dean's warmth up against his knee, his voice quiet. "Yeah, I know. Just can't do anything right, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and slits his eyes open. Wet, eyelashes and mouth and his hair soaking the blanket. Dean's splintery up above him, confusing, and Sam turns his head toward the window, the heavy pink curtains blocking out the night. Raining harder. "Yeah," Sam says, again, to someone, his voice sore.

A touch to his jaw, soft. He hasn't shaved for a few days. Dean's fingers drag along the bone, prickling through the stubble, and he scrunches his eyes closed, feeling it. A touch on his chin, on the dip under his mouth. Pausing there, warm. Sam's lips part and Dean's finger brushes the bottom one and Sam drags in air. It feels—he can't quantify it. The touch dips down to his neck, to his collar, where his damp shirt's clinging, to press against the bone there in a way that almost hurts but it feels so good, too, that Sam doesn't want it ever to stop.

"Sammy, I'm—" Dean says, or starts to say, because Sam says louder: "You never touch me."

He reaches up and manages to get Dean's hand. He presses it down, harder. The feel of him, a little damp but the heat of his skin, and the closeness. Sam turns his head and looks up through the shattered light, blinking, trying to get Dean's face. "Right? It's been—no one ever does."

Dean's frowning, when Sam can focus. "Hey, we both got hugs from Garth," he says. Sort of light. "Can't believe you're forgetting that. I still gotta shower off the patchouli."

Like Garth counts. Sam grips Dean's wrist and reaches for his jacket, pulls, and Dean resists for a second but then sits by Sam's hip and even that, the warmth there, that feels good. Right. Sam sighs. "There," he says. Dean's thumb drags along his collarbone. "Missed this part."

Dean's face is so pretty in this kind of light. This golden motel light, with the yellow bulbs that aren't environmentally friendly but are cheap, with the night seeping in behind him so he stands out against the dark. His freckles showing and parts of him shadowed. "What part?" Dean says, after a second. Sam almost forgot what he said and blinks, feels heavy. "Sam?"

"Oh," Sam says, and tries to remember. He smiles at Dean, shrugging against the bed. "Just—when you used to—last time I slept beside someone was… I don't even know. A long time. It was so good when you came back. Forgot how good it was."

It is. Dean's frowning at him but he's still just the best thing Sam's ever seen. Dean's hand slides up his throat, fits his jaw. Slides up, cupping his cheek, and Sam tips into it, all the air going out of him. "Jesus, Sam," Dean says, quiet.

Dean doesn't want this, Sam knows. Not since that very first day. Dean had someone else, has someone else, someone better, someone who doesn't fuck up, and Sam—god, he fucked up. So bad. He's selfish, though, he thinks—he gets to be selfish, today at least if on no other day, because Dean tried to kill him and even if Sam maybe deserved it or something like it then surely at least today Sam gets one thing he wants, and Sam says, blurry, "Could you just sleep here, just so I can—so you'll be here, and I'll know," and Dean says miserable-sounding, "Come on, Sasquatch," and leans down, and his lips land soft on Sam's cheek and then Dean turns his head and his lips find Sam's and Sam breathes through it, not sure, letting Dean kiss him, trying to remember what Dean kissing him could mean.

"Sam," Dean murmurs, and Sam grips his shoulders and lifts into it, spinning. Hand on his jaw, another slipping to his waist, digging in at his side. Dean kisses him and Sam's jaw drops and Dean licks inside and Sam thinks, yes—Sam thinks, finally—aching—and Dean shifts, leaning over, his thigh alongside Sam's thigh and his other leg spilling over Sam's lap and Sam touches him, doesn't dare let go.

God, he's drunk. He's dizzy, laying here on the bed with his eyes closed, Dean's weight over his chest. "What are you doing?" he manages, when Dean pulls back from his mouth, and Dean huffs hot against his chin and says, "Shit if I know—you want me to stop?" and Sam says no and grips his jaw and pulls him back in, not doing much to help but open, grasping, wanting anything Dean'll give, anything he has. The world's spinning lazily with its axis right in Sam's hindbrain, it feels like, but Dean's hand is skimming up his stomach under his t-shirt and Sam's fine if the planet just tumbles away, a skipped marble flashing out of sight.

The touch of Dean's skin is—Sam's been high, Sam's been cracked-open. This feels more than that did. Dean pulls at him, urging, and Sam moves on the bed somehow but the wheeling world's centered right on where Dean's hand is braced there, on his ribs just below one pec, and Sam grips his shirt, pulls him down, keeps him. Fingers at his belt, in his jeans, slipping against his skin, soft and the nails dragging and the shocking warmth of them—"Hey," Dean says, picking his head up, "are you not—" and Sam shakes his head, says, "Don't worry, I—I just want—"—and lifts and gets Dean's uncertain mouth against his jaw, gets his hand around where Dean's thick, filling up his palm, heat and pressure through the denim. "Shit," Dean says, lifting up a little, but Sam won't let him, desperate for the feel of him, the weight. The knowing that he's here. The salt-taste of his throat, and the smell here under his ear where he hasn't showered all day and he smells like—the car, the guns. Beer. Sam's whole life, right here.

Dean has to help, with the belt, the zip. He sighs against Sam's hair when he's free and Sam touches—there, crisp-dry hair and the stiff resistance at the root and the smooth thick pole of it, curving up sweet, enough to get his hand around, familiar in every way. Dean's thigh between his legs, his breath in Sam's ear. "Not fair," Dean says, strain in it. Sam licks his lips, squeezes, and Dean huffs. "I'm getting all the fun, here."

"No, you're not," Sam says, and pulls, and Dean surges against his hand, hot. God, he's hot. Sam couldn't ever match it against anyone else. He's uncoordinated but he wants it, he wants to feel it—"Help," he says, selfish, and Dean half-laughs but there's a rearrangement—Dean half-tipped to one side, his fingers brushing Sam's, knocking them out of the way a little, taking over. Sam touches his nuts instead, careful because he remembers, clearly, some other drunk laughing day when he sucked Dean's dick and then sucked in his balls and Dean yelped, shook, too sensitive—and he doesn't think that's changed but Dean just groans for it, now, and Sam tips into him and mouths at Dean's throat, at the peek of shoulder where his t-shirt's pulled away, feels the smooth jerking pump of his arm, trapped between them. The strong present meat of him, the hardness of his bones. Sam bites and Dean jerks under him, says fuck, says louder, "Sammy, for god's sake," and Sam says back, "Let me feel it," because that's what he wants, that's all he wants. He wants Dean pulsing-present, loud, furious, jealous, hurting—as long as he's here—and Dean says low, "That's it, huh? You want to feel it?" and Sam nods and grips at Dean's t-shirt and pulls him in, and Dean's dick presses up firm against Sam's stomach and Dean pulls Sam's shirt up out of the way and grinds in close and—ah, ah, there. That thick twitch, the heat. Sam turns his face and Dean's there, breathing hard, and Sam kisses him and it takes a second but Dean kisses back, softer. His teeth drag against Sam's lip. Sam drags his cheek along Dean's cheek and can't let go. He's not going to let go.

"I've got to," Dean says, at some other point. Sam blinks, muzzy. Dean's pulling and Sam grabs at his hip, keeping him. "Dude. Enough with the octopus routine."

Quiet. Sam tucks his head down and Dean smells like sweat, now, and there's the smell of come. He drags at the edge of his shirt and his stomach's a mess, and Dean sighs. Touches there, too, and Sam squints down into the shadows between them, and Dean's hand looks somehow like a stranger's but he's careful, dabbing at Sam's skin. His dick's tucked away and Sam misses it. Wishes he weren't so drunk that sucking it was a viable option. Wishes he were less drunk, generally, and that's, he thinks, a sign that he's sobering up. Too soon.

"Sure I can't get you off?" Dean says, after a few seconds. Almost polite. Sam closes his eyes, tips away. "Feels kinda messed up."

"It is pretty messed up, Dean," Sam says, tired now, and Dean sits up—away from him—and Sam thinks, well, that's it.

Dean doesn't disappear. There's a space—the rain louder outside, audible now that Sam's not focused on every breath from his brother—the damp mugginess of his wet jacket, and the way his stomach's starting to complain—and then Dean's fingers, at the waist of Sam's jeans, tracing along the low bared part of his belly, soft. Sam drags in air, feels his stomach suck in, and Dean pauses, but then there's his thumb, pushing against the trail of hair, careful.

"You're gonna be so pissed," Dean says, quiet. "In the morning. Shit, in like, three hours."

Sam tips his head. The clock says two. "I'm pissed now," he says, and it's so not true that he doesn't know why Dean doesn't just laugh at him, call him a liar, say, oh sure, princess.

There's a faint shadow of Dean on the far wall, from the lamp by the door. A big blown-up silhouette over the other bed, his head bent and his details impossible to see. Sam wants another drink and won't have one. Probably not for a little while. Unfair, for both of them, when it doesn't fix anything.

"It wasn't supposed to be this screwed up," Dean says. His fingers drag across to Sam's hip and then away. Sam misses them instantly. "I don't know. It just went wrong somehow."

"Yeah, somehow," Sam says. Dean sighs, and then the bed shifts, and before Sam knows it Dean's standing up, turning away, and Sam lifts on one elbow and says, "Wait."

"Gotta clean up," Dean says. He waited, though, is waiting, standing by the bed with his belt still undone and his ears pink and his eyes hard to read.

Sam's head swims, still a little too drunk for this. "It doesn't fix anything," Sam says, trying to follow the thread. Dean's eyes tighten. "Stay."

"Getting real mixed signals here, Sammy," Dean says, but he steps closer, and Sam reaches out and gets Dean's belt-loop and pulls, and Dean looks down, frowning. His mouth's a low curve. "Darlin', you've got to let me know."

A song? Sam shakes his head. He pulls, and Dean sits, by Sam's hip again, and Sam slides his hand up from the belt to Dean's side, to his back. His skin, warm.

Dean touches the hollow of his throat, soft. Thrilling. "What are you doing?" he says. Almost sorry.

"I don't know," Sam says, clinging to the last bit of whiskey, "but let me."

It's still dark, a quiet carved out bit of black rainy morning. There's tomorrow to remember to be mad. Dean lets him.

[my-brothers-corrupted]

ooh, scene requests! can we see some of red and dapper before they were fully corrupted? i've always been interested in that

Note: Jameson has the flu in this, but because he has a fever and a cough I will trigger tag it corona virus. He does not actually have corona, just a bad case of the flu. I just know it’s a time of high anxiety right now so best to keep it tagged :) He is quite ill in the first part of this so be careful.

He won’t let go of him and he can’t let go of him and he’s never letting go of him again.

“I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.”

Raised red cuts are mountains beneath Jackie’s fingers. He pushes his hands through Jameson’s limp brown curls and presses him tighter to his chest, rocking them both back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. It’s okay, Jamie, it’s me, it’s me.”

Fuck, but he’s hot to the touch. His whole face glows with fever and he won’t even open his eyes to look at him. Just lets himself be held.

“Anti?” he tries to clarify frailly, his hands releasing Jackie’s sweatshirt for just a second.

“No, no, no,” promises Jackie, gripping at his spine and running his cool fingers across the tight fabric of the torn, starchy dress shirt he wears. “It’s me, it’s me. It’s Jackie, bud, I’m right here.”

Jameson’s eyes squeeze tighter shut, his mouth grimacing. He shakes his head.

“Dream?” he suggests. “Hallucination? Anti?”

Jackie’s eyes lose water and he chokes on a sob, gripping at the back of Jameson’s head. “No. No, Jameson, it’s Jackie. I’m here, really.”

“Not Jameson anymore.”

“Not Jameson?”

“Hot,” he complains, cracking open one sleep-crusted eye, his mouth hanging dully open. “Hot, Anti.”

“Jamie, it’s Jackie. It’s Jackie. You’ve got a fever.”

“It’s not Jackie… it’s not… dream…”

Jameson shivers, burrowing suddenly against Jackie’s body, hiding his face in his stomach, making himself smaller. Jackie puts his head down over Jameson’s and lets the crying shake his whole body, rubbing his back, gentle, gentle.

“Isn’t he docile these days?”

“Shut the fuck up,” hisses Jackie, baring his teeth over his brother’s body and swiping tears from his face. “Stay the hell away from us. How dare you treat him like this? He’s never done anything to you in his whole damn life.”

“He’s mine,” snaps Anti. “He belongs to me.”

“Why? Huh? Why take Jamie? Why do you think he belongs to you? Just because you had him in that fucking box?”

“Oh, Jackie, darling, it could have been any one of you. Things have changed since then… my powers have changed. You all belong to me, you see. And soon? You’ll know that.”

“Fucking creep!” screams Jackie. “Stay away from us! Marvin will come and get us and then you’ll be fucking sorry.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Anti’s eyes flutter longingly, his hands clasped over his heart, and Jackie knows he’s being mocked. “Your dear Marvin! Surely he’ll be strong enough to destroy me!”

“He will. Marvin will.”

“Even your little time traveler couldn’t stop me before I had him drugged and tied down, Jackie. And now he’s well on his way to broken in. Better yet…”

Anti leans forward, his eyes glittering.

“I’m going to have you to help me by the time Marvin comes for me. No, no, the magician can do nothing now, he belongs to me already. Here - supplies for the sick little brat. It’s your job to look after him. If you escape and run away, I will leave Dapper to die. Am I understood?”

Jackie glowers. The floor lights up and he has one second to frown before electricity comes coursing up through his body and he finds himself jerking back and forth on the ground, vomit rising in his throat with small, desperate gasps, unable to scream. Curled against him, Jameson shakes and jerks against his chest, too tired to whistle or cry.

The shock cuts off again.

“No, no, no!” screams Jackie, riding through the last of the hellfire blaze burn, his foot kicking at the floor, Jameson trembling around his waist. “Fuck, oh, oh…”

“Am I understood?” repeats Anti flatly.

Jackie has already taken days of torture.

Anti told him Jameson was dead. He had good reason to believe him.

But here he is.

Jameson trembles and jerks and wheezes in his arms, worn to the bone. Jackie tightens his body around him. He won’t watch him take another shock.

“Yes,” he croaks. “I understand.”

Anti slides something through the bars of their door - a bottle of night-time flu medicine and a tiny prescription bottle labeled “Haldol.”

“Stay here and keep him healthy,” says Anti. “If you’re good, I’ll keep giving him his medicine and anything else he needs. If you’re bad… if you run…”

Anti shrugs, staring down at the shaking bodies wrapped together in the darkness of their little cell.

“Dapper dies as well as Jameson.”

He won’t let him go and he can’t let him go and he’s never letting go of him again.

Jackie pours flu medicine and massages anti-psychotics down his little brother’s throat, pulling a sleepy, disoriented JJ into his arms and lying them both down on the small cotton mattress in the corner of the room, so he can sleep without letting go of him, without ever letting go of him, without ever leaving him or losing him again. He doesn’t know what Anti’s done to him - he doesn’t know what Anti plans to do to either of them - but it no longer matters; it is dust in the rearview. He will keep Jameson safe no matter what he has to do. He tries to start making an escape plan, but he’s exhausted and in pain, and a part of him is just hoping Marvin will come and help them before he even has to risk Anti killing them.

Fuck, he was so stupid. He would have been clever if it had worked. He’s spent his whole life trying to do what he did just days ago: find Anti. Track Anti. Hunt Anti. No matter what he tries. Unscramble his disguised coding, tear apart the false signals, find the heart and hunt it down. Protect Jack, find his brothers. He was a genius, a hero; he knew where Jameson was and he was going to get him back. Years of neurotic tracking and experimental coding finally coalesced into a computer program more clever than a monster made up of them, or at least novel enough to slip past him once. He hadn’t paused. As soon as it was done, he had done it, he had saved them, none of them would ever hurt again. He could find Anti.

He was so stupid.

Dreams of Marvin telling him so. Henrik bandaging him up and scolding him, Chase kissing him and Jameson. You were so stupid, they’ll tell him. But you did it and you saved us and he’s gone and it’s over.

He wets his hoodie sleeve in their drinking water and brings it up to cool Jameson’s forehead, stroking it down his flushed, burning face.

“Can you wake up for me?” he murmurs, rubbing across his stiff, unkempt beard. “I need to get a look at you. You gotta tell me where he hurt you.”

Jameson’s face twists. A breath shudders from his mouth as he turns his head in Jackie’s lap, coughing.

His eyes are hollow with hunger and a great dark bruise swells across his jaw. Blood staining his clothes tells Jackie there’s more in hiding, too. He soothes water across Jameson’s closed eyes and long lashes and then reaches down to unpluck the buttons of his stiff, stained white dress shirt. Jackie doesn’t think he would have packed this when he went up to see the Kamenyes, would he? He’s careful with his nice clothes, sometimes too distressed by the image of the puppet kid he sees in the mirror to wear them. Jackie’s sat with him through enough panic attacks to know that. Did Anti get this for him? He pulls the shirt from his shoulders.

Jameson’s hands come scrambling at his own as he wakes abruptly, scratching at Jackie’s fingers and struggling to pull the shirt back over his thin undershirt, panicked breaths bursting from his mouth. “Wait, wait, wait,” he cries between grappling. “No touch, no touch, no touch!”

“Okay, okay!” Jackie sets him carefully down on the pillows and leaps off the bed, holding his hands out and backing away. “Okay, James, no sweat, no worries.”

Jameson stares at him, eyes wide. “No touch?” he repeats uncertainly, sweat dripping into the water on his face.

“Let’s just calm down a minute, yeah? Don’t have to check right now if we don’t need to.”

Jameson breathes in and out and shakes his head and blinks, once, twice, at the face before him.

“It is you,” he signs finally. “It is J-happy.”

Joy makes Jackie’s face hot and energy races through his hands. He wants to throw himself forward and hug him, but he won’t if he’s not -

Jameson is leaping from the bed and throwing himself into Jackie’s arms.

Jackie whoops and laughs aloud as he feels Jameson pull him into a hug so hard he lifts him up off the ground, the toes of his shoes scraping across the cold metal floor.

“There’s my little brother!” hollers Jackie, laughing and pulling fondly at his hair, pressed to Jameson’s chest. “There’s my - oh, Jaimer… don’t cry, it’s okay.”

Jameson sets him back down, flushed from the brief exercise and the heat of his fever, and staggers into Jackie’s chest, burying his face against his sweatshirt and clinging to it with his hands. Soft, hiccuping breaths dissolve against his chest as it grows wet with salt.

Jackie’s eyes burn. His feet steady now, he wraps his arms around his brother’s trembling body and squeezes him tight, pressing his head on top of Jameson’s.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promises, laughing a little from the awkwardness of it, from the grief, from the fear of what he might say. “Was it - was it so scary here alone? I know it must have been…”

“I don’t want you to be here,” sobs Jameson, his hands striking, flying, flashing, barely drawing away to let him see. “I don’t want you to be here, I want you to be safe at home, Jackie, J-joy, please not this.”

Jackie repositions his hands on his waist and tries to get him to look at him, but Jameson is crying too hard to open his eyes. “Jamie, Jamie! Hell, James, don’t be scared, don’t be scared. I know you’ve been sick, I know he’s hurt you, but I am going to look after you. Okay? And I’m going to find us a way to get home, I swear. I’ll get you out of here, I’m not going to let him keep you again. He said if we cooperate - ”

“I want you to go without me! You can still get out if you don’t have a sick brother weighing you down!”

“What? No way! Jameson, don’t even say that. I have to make sure you get your medicine, cause clearly Anti isn’t going to keep you alive.”

“No, no, not worth it, go, go, don’t want to see you changed, don’t want him to have you too, need to go home to the others!”

“Jameson.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “Jameson, I’m not leaving you behind.”

“No, no,” scream Jameson’s hands, and then he strikes his chest, once, twice, his eyes red and ferocious and terrified. “No, Jackie, you don’t understand!”

“I’m glad I’m here, James, cause at least you don’t have to go through this alone, at least you don’t - ”

“I know what it’s like to be Anti’s! You don’t!”

Jameson staggers away from him, hyperventilating, and Jackie reaches out, helpless.

“Bud, just… just calm down, just…”

“No, you’re the one who’s wrong this time. You don’t understand. Listen to me.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“Anti will change who you are.”

“I’m not going to let that - ”

“You’re not listening to me!”

Jameson whirls on him, and this, apparently, is the last straw on his camel’s back, because his face drains of all color, and his eyes drift deliriously, and then he tumbles -

Jackie catches him and folds to the ground with his head in his lap.

They lie breathing together.

They lie breathing together.

“Just calm. Just calm. It’s okay.”

They lie breathing.

“It really is you,” whisper Jamie’s hands.

Tears trace down his cheeks.

And then a manic, wild giggle blooms up out of his throat and goes echoing through the air around him, Jamie’s body shaking with despair in his arms, and Jackie fights the urge to draw away from him as the frantic movement of his chest sends blood welling up against the little white dress shirt.

“But it won’t be for long,” Jameson weeps, and only then will he let Jackie soothe him back down to sleep, exhaustion and the burning, disorienting, terrifying height of his fever sending him back into dark dreams.

“Anti’s really got you spooked,” murmurs Jackie, rubbing his shoulder. He becomes aware of a faint, flickering smile near the cell door, a soft laugh, wilder still than Jameson’s, shaking soft through the air around him, and he closes his eyes, bent over JJ’s body, determined to block Anti out. Jameson is all that matters. “You’re right, he’s made you a puppet before, and I know that must scare you. And do you remember the night you told me that you needed me, because no matter what happened to you, I was unchanging? And you knew I would protect you as well as I could and you felt safe with me?”

The pride of it, even now, brings a burn to his throat; he throws his head and lifts it up again, cradling Jameson against him, listening to his soft, congested snuffling as he breathes thin and steady.

“It must be scary to think that Anti could change the both of us. Make us people we don’t recognize. But I’m not going to let that happen. You were all alone the first time he got you. Not anymore. I’m going to look after you. I’m going to keep you safe, Jameson. I promise. I’m not letting you go.”

“Sometimes,” says Dapper two months later. “He kills you when you disobey, to make sure I rewind.”

He doesn’t have time for master’s pet’s babbling. He wasn’t good yesterday. He wasn’t very good at all. He needs to make up for it or else, or else, or else. A cold jump of imagined electricity bumps through him and he hisses through his teeth, turning his head to make sure the little one is not crying with the electricity. Can’t watch him get shocked again can’t can’t can’t.

“Tell me where your shirt is,” he demands, grabbing the back of his collar and hauling him off Anti’s bed. “Now now now. Get you ready so you can have your medicine. I gotta make sure you get your medicine. Yeah? Keep you all healthy and clean, huh, pup?”

A frantic edge makes his voice shake and he grabs Dapper’s hair for a second, not sure why, the way he’s seen Anti do it, Anti knows what to do, Anti brushes his hair sometimes and he lets him.

“He stabs you through the skull,” says Dapper distantly. “Or the heart. Or your tummy. And you wail and die and I sit on the bed and stare at you until I can rewind.”

“Gotta be somewhere around here,” moans Red, tearing through the room. They’ve just moved and everything’s in chaos. Did they just move? He can’t remember why. He thinks Anti told him and he thinks that he protested - we can’t move, I have to get home to… I have to get home to…. I have to get home to…

“You have to stay with me,” Anti had answered, wide-eyed and sweet, always so sweet, nice lovely Anti with his swirling you’re-a-mouse-I’m-a-snake eyes. “Or who will give Dapper his medicine and buy him his food and things?”

Oh, of course, of course. Dapper was the only person he needed to get home to. He needed to get him his medicine. He needs to get him his dress shirt.

“Oh, thank God, thank God!” he cries, finding it at the bottom of the hamper. He had missed it the first time because it was so soaked in blood he didn’t recognize it. Whose blood was it? Red’s? Maybe. Or one of the girls he killed last night cause Anti said, don’t you want something to eat? And Red said, I do, I need something for Dapper to eat. And Anti said, well, here, I need you to do this and why don’t you look here, look at me, look into my eyes too, cause I’ll make it easier, and it did and it did and it -

“I used to cry about it,” says Dapper, sitting cross-legged on the floor like Red taught him to do to keep master happy, cross-legged like a pre-schooler, cross-legged like a good boy. “It was the most horrible thing. But, now, Red, you know, sometimes I think you would be happier if I just let you be the dead, gaping, murdered thing lying on my floor.”

“Okay, sweetie, that sounds nice. Come on, get up for big brother, let’s get your shirt on.”

“Blood,” complains Dapper, recoiling from him with a sudden shiver.

Oh, oh. He’s afraid. Red, you’re not supposed to let him be afraid. Everything softens and everything cools. Red realizes he’s shaking and laughs at himself, trying to calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of. As long as he gets Dapper his medicine. As long as he looks after Anti’s puppet like he was told to do. That’s his job. That’s him. Protect him protect him protect him.

He sits down beside Dapper, their backs falling against the hard wood of the bed board. He tilts his head down and meets Dapper’s eyes.

“I know it’s kind of gross. But you know what happens if you don’t have it on. I’ll buy you a new one next week, what do you say? I can save up, we have enough peanut butter and some canned stuff left. I’ll have enough.”

Dapper pauses. “Canned fruit with the cherries?”

“No,” Red admits. A worm of guilt - fuck, make it a dragon - crawls along the inside of his belly, leaving him ashamed. He can’t even feed him right. “Um, canned red beans.”

Dapper nods slowly, blinking. At least he’s stopped rambling. Is that a psychotic symptom? Red should have maybe listened to what he was saying. Does he need better medicine? He bets Anti will get it for him if he asked. Anti will get it. Anti will get it. Anti gets Dapper his medicine. Anti gets Dapper his medicine. Anti makes the shocks stop and the knife stop and the fire stop and the screaming of the people underneath Red’s hands stop. Anti, Anti, Anti. Protect your little brother. You can’t go, who will look after Dapper? He has a fever. No, he doesn’t, he’s cool against Red’s shoulder. Wait, why does he need to look after Dapper? Was it Dapper he was meant to look after? Anti? No, no… no, it wasn’t Anti, Anti was - why did he come with Anti, Anti hurts him, he’s afraid of Anti, that’s the monster, that’s the monster! What is he - why - Who will look after - didn’t he have other people to look after? Didn’t he have other people to look after, once, a long time ago? A long time ago? Is there a such thing as a long time ago? He can’t remember. He can’t remember. He can’t remember.

He doesn’t know when he started crying or why. He’s laughing too. Or he thinks it’s him. His mouth tastes like burnt promises. At some point he has dropped the dress shirt. The blood is soaking into his skin.

Soft hands clutch at his shoulders. Sobbing, hysterical, Red lets his twin pull him into a hug, and cries until he is breathless, breathless, breathless, on Dapper’s chest.

“But then again,” signs Dapper to himself, feeling his mind drift away again, grounded only by the warm body laid against him and the tug of a rope around his throat which Red tied to keep him from running, so Anti would not be angry, so everything would be okay. Red will not let him go, and Red cannot let him go, and Anti is never letting go of them again. “Maybe you already are a dead thing lying on my floor.”

[punkscowardschampions]

Jimmy & Janis

Planning a romantic weekend away

Jimmy: Gracie came at me earlier. There was mistletoe up and I near fully hit the floor 😎 Jimmy: Hold fire though. She only wanted to tell me to convince you of summat. Pretty sure you already know what it is Janis: Erm...Father Christmas is really real? That her weave isn't from dead Brazilian hookers? Janis: Enlighten me or I'll tell her she's got a holiday free pass on you 😈 Jimmy: Double date. Need I say more 😡 Janis: FUCK. I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY HAPPEN. Janis: How far does she expect the season of goodwill to extend, like? Already got some poor cunt being a charitable home for her arse so she don't freeze Janis: Single tear. Janis: Question is, can we make it worth it enough for us to endure that shite? Hmm Jimmy: I almost got my arse to church so it wouldn't. Shoulda sucked off that priest when he asked. Too late? Jimmy: You better get me a top notch pressie, baby 😏 Janis: You know you ain't on the nice list 😉 Janis: So, Santa might be dissing but you'll be getting something extra special from me Janis: As for God, and his holly jolly perverted following, I reckon we're both shit out of 🍀 there, no matter how good our head game is, such is life Janis: Grah, I hear she does shoutouts now...want that 'influencer' clout, baby? Not double entendre my end but might be for GracieGuru 🙊😂 Jimmy: what the fuck we going to do then? No way I'm hanging with her and her latest 'boo boy' Jimmy: Even if I was getting paid, which is likely since she just loves common grounds Janis: Preaching to the choir, dickhead, ain't my idea of a good time either, or hers let's be fucking real. She just wants to dry-hump a slab of boy in front of you on the off chance that really gets you going for her Janis: You wouldn't call her brainy, bless Janis: Idk, don't worry about it, Jim. Just avoid her/the flat whites like the plague and I'll have to literally run away like I'm an angsty 12 year old so we can't be located, even with friend finder or whatever they stalk each other with Janis: Oooh! Just call me brains, we should pretend to have a romantic weekend away planned, that'll send her over the edge, that is her everything goals Janis: Like I said, I can hide from a hoe Jimmy: I knew there was a reason I kept you about Jimmy: Let's do it though. Easier to take than fake the 'gram Jimmy: Any ideas? 🤔 Jimmy: Most of my boltholes are far from yours and not very enviable for that crowd #it'sgrimupnorth Janis: Yeah, why do you tbh? Janis: Now its clear my sister has got no respect for anyone on her hunt for dick/self-esteem Janis: She's hoping its a twofer like Janis: I don't know if I can stand you for that long, darling Janis: But I SUPPOSE your the lesser of two evils here 😉 Jimmy: It's love 💕 Jimmy: Come on, it'll be a laff. I'll get the beers in Jimmy: You can try harder to beat me at darts and pool Janis: As far as the adoring fans/salty haterz are concerned Janis: and that's all that matters Janis: bitch i don't have to try! 😤 you put me off last time with ur mooning 😍 Janis: we don't need to convince the old fellas in the boozer Jimmy: Fuck off I was getting practice in! Jimmy: If you're ready to fake a break up say the word but until then, it takes a lot of work to give you the puppy dog eyes. I'm not Twix Janis: Sure you was 😂 Janis: N'awwh but you do it so well! Janis: Audition for the School play whilst ur at it, soft lad Jimmy: I do enough fake snogging without signing myself up for that bollocks Jimmy: You coming away with me then or not? Jimmy: You know your sister'll be in again nagging before shift's end Janis: Well, when you put it like that Janis: 😒 Janis: I ain't got nothing better to do, and I certainly ain't third wheeling her fake date Janis: My grandparents got a place down skerries Janis: we can crash there Jimmy: How many rooms they got? My dad's working so I'll have to bring the ramble with Jimmy: #goals I know Janis: Fucking hell, my pissing sister! She owes you more than she's spending on coffee for the hassle she's causing Janis: If you really can't, don't worry, I'll sort her. She'll be unbearable when she finds out it was all for a laugh but it was at her expense so how much of a mug can she actually make me feel? 😑 Janis: That said, there's 3 rooms, its only a caravan don't get excited but the kids would probably be buzzin', it is pretty nice down there Janis: I'll even let you have the double bed to yourself Janis: ol Janis: l Jimmy: It'll stop them nagging me about going somewhere other than the park that'll do me Jimmy: Cass talks big but she isn't even really so doable Jimmy: Don't be getting any ideas though 😍😉 my brother hasn't slept well since we moved. I'll be sharing that double like it or not Jimmy: What a way to spend my first proper time off since I started #blessed Janis: Yeah, fish and chips on the beach even tho its fucking baltic, chasing Twix will keep 'em warm, you'll earn major big brother points as well as bae ones Janis: What a mighty fine man Janis: Same here, Cass. Shh about it though Janis: Like you said, it'll be a laugh, we can make it one Janis: You'd really rather be making pinkity drinkidies or whatever the fuck they are? Jimmy: Nope. But your 1st romantic break usually is. Any talent there is in all grans playing bingo? Jimmy: Be nice to get something off the 'gram 💋 Janis: I ain't been since I was about 9 Janis: I wasn't after bitches then and I ain't now Janis: I wish you luck, 2 kids hanging on your arm and a woman back home, like Janis: Does it for some. Jimmy: I'd do some talking first to get things clear I'm not tall Tammy 😂 Jimmy: Bet you were a right cute kid, weren't you? Aww Janis: Again, have fun explaining that one, mate. I'd struggle with the concept and I'm in on it. Janis: Adorable. What happened? Jimmy: Shut up you know what you look like, mate Janis: A butch lezza? Janis: So I've been told 👍 Jimmy: That's not what they are saying anymore. Check my comments sometime. The lads are gagging for you now Janis: Goody gumdrops. Janis: I'll leave my knickers at the door, like Jimmy: You could like. I've been waiting for you to drop me as your fake bf since this whole thing started Janis: I'm not interested in any of them. Janis: Would your world be set alight by Aaron O'Reilly from form? Janis: If you wanna cop off with some of your fans don't let me stop you Jimmy: You aren't. They're not my type anymore than Aaron's yours. I'm just saying you take a crackin pic and I should know since I'm the one takin 'em. So you don't need to spout that crap. They're just jealous of how much of a butch lezza you aren't Janis: Alright. Well, you're not half bad at taking snaps, and not in the bullshit way every hoe thinks they know their angles and magic lighting these days, you're actually decent. Janis: It don't feel like crap when Janis: blah, meant to delete that, ignore it Jimmy: 🤐 Jimmy: Wanna help me with my art project while we're away then? Kill all the birds (hopefully not with my flash) Jimmy: I'll owe you again Janis: I won't even joke on you for being a swot 🤓🤞 Janis: What've you got planned? Jimmy: I haven't had any time to think yet beyond film being the medium but Jimmy: #workinprogress Jimmy: with a muse like you m'dear how could I go wrong 💕 Janis: 😜 Janis: just so you know, i ain't bringing any homework but put my name or yours, yeah? 😘 not even in art but might count for something Janis: clue me in tho, brainiac, what do the kiddos like? i'll get 'em something Jimmy: Rookie mistake mate, art's an easy A Jimmy: They'll take anything covered in sugar. Can't say I'll love you for it when they crash mid journey though Janis: Only 'cos you're good at it. With my genes I should be but I can barely draw a stickman. Janis: I'll stick with double sports, sports science and science 👌 Janis: I'll keep sweets in stock for bribery, goes without sayin'! Different pocket to Twix' fish treats, though Janis: I'll have a look down town Jimmy: 😂 did you see that article doin the rounds about the mum who bought her kid a cat's advent calendar Janis: 😂 Yes! Shame catnip don't work like on us like it does cats, that kid would be pingin' Janis: Might get meself some, like Jimmy: What gets dogs off their heads? I'll keep Twix well clear Jimmy: She's high enough on your 😍 Janis: I don't know, actually...telling them they're good bois? Janis: Works for you boo 😘 Jimmy: I prefer being called a very bad boy 😎 Janis: You clown 😂 Janis: Good to know, suppose. Dirty weekend away though it ain't Jimmy: what our fans don't know won't break their jealous hearts Jimmy: you coming in for your freebies today or shall I do a delivery your way once Grace is home? 😉 Janis: Kick it really cliche and be my sexy delivery boy Janis: Try and bring something with sausage in so I can come at you with the quality porn writing Jimmy: Live your fantasies as well as your sister's if you want, my name tag says Jonathon today Janis: Ooh, spicing it up with some roleplay like we're middle-aged okay Janis: How boring are you that you've picked a name so similar to your own...this is why we've hit a dry patch, Jimothy! Jimmy: What would you seriously pick? Janis: For you? Janis: Who's a fittie... Janis: Anthony Joshua could get it Janis: You don't want to be in the play but reckon you can stretch to that? Jimmy: Next time I lose my name tag I'll insist on that. For the bae 💕 Jimmy: About as close as I'll get I think Janis: Who do you want? Janis: I wanna know your type Janis: Bar Tall Tammy Jimmy: Your sister obviously Janis: Fuck off, not even funny Janis: If that were true, you know where she lives bitch, I ain't stopping ya, she's practically shoe-horning you in 🤢 Jimmy: I meant the fit older one 😉 Janis: Ohhh Janis: Still, do one 🖕 I'm not pretending to be my sister you freak Jimmy: That's one pretense too far. Got it 😂 Janis: Yeah, in this hypothetical you've really shit the bed, pal. Jimmy: I only half read that because #customers and thought you called me shit in bed mate Janis: well... 😏 Jimmy: I fake rocked your world Janis Cavante! 😂 Janis: you know we faked it so i didn't have to fake it 💅 Jimmy: Aaron O'Reilly's walking through the door want me to slip him your number and end this? 😝 Janis: I will murder you. Janis: also he might think your trying to set up a threeway for YOUR benefit, so if you wanna take over the gay rumours that bad, go for it 💋🍆 Jimmy: I've seen you with a pool cue I think I'm safe Jimmy: Give a shit. At least I actually am butch Janis: Psh, you're all show no grow Janis: We're arm wrestling, then you'll see Jimmy: 💪 I'll beat you at that too then, shall I? 🏆 Janis: Bring it on. I won't make you cry too hard, save face in front of the kiddos. Janis: 'Let' them kick your arse too 😜 Jimmy: Try it, baby girl 😝 Jimmy: Cass probs could no lie. Scrappy af that one Janis: Good girl 👍 Janis: Gotta keep you in check Jimmy: Doubt you'll be calling her that when she's shadowed you all weekend Jimmy: She loves you. Who knows why? Janis: I keep telling you I'm a delight Janis: Has this...how long has it been? Month, 2? Of SHEER BLISS taught you nothing Janis: Ruuuuude. Jimmy: Nope. I'm with Team Bobby. You're a gross meanie Jimmy: As all girls are 😂 Janis: Well I'm winning Bobby 'round this weekend by hook or by crook Janis: then you can please yourself, billy no mates Janis: Team Janis 💪 Jimmy: Every bro knows you can't be friends with your girl Jimmy: DUH Janis: Oh yeah, all straight couples HATE each other and that's #goals Janis: If I can't be chatting shit on you, how will I get to talk about you constantly to my gals? Janis: Singing your praises? I THINK NOT Jimmy: Speaking of, Gracie and co are back on the premise that Tall Tammy left her....something. I wasn't listening. Should I break the news we won't be here for date night or do you want to do the honors Janis: Dignity? That's long gone, honey. Janis: Ooh, lemme do it, you're coming round with the sausage anyway Janis: We can do it together baby Jimmy: awhhh Jimmy: I've hidden the mistletoe but she can see the top of the highest counters!! I'm on borrowed time what do I do? Janis: Headbutt her in the teeth Janis: 'Accidentally' Janis: Can't help being a normal-sized human Jimmy: #customerservice Jimmy: then recommend her our chewy cookies 😂 Janis: You can see why I'm not trying to be your work wifey too, yeah? 😂 Janis: If you can convince any of those girls to break their diet, I'll be impressed Janis: Don't count if they go vom in the bogs after tho Jimmy: Gracie might be on her way already. One of her posse asked what you were getting me for Christmas and I didn't hold back Janis: Oh no, am I about to get slut-shamed? 😲 Janis: Or, heaven forfend, tips Janis: I will die Jimmy: Damn I didn't think of that. Sorry Janis: Its cool Janis: She's all mouth anyway, not in a beneficial to the cause way Janis: Be interesting hearing what she thinks you want, keep ya posted lol Jimmy: 🙌 Can't wait Janis: that's what you're meant to say about my present! Jimmy: I did, swear 🤞 Janis: what do you actually want Jimmy: Don't worry about it Janis: Oh, is it? If I'm not fucking your brains out you're not interested Janis: Fine then, save my reddies. 👍 Jimmy: That's what I was thinking. Stage a break up before 🎄 for max drama and min spends Janis: Cool. If you wanna. Janis: Just don't tell everyone you chucked me 'cos I wouldn't give it up. Already a frigit. Janis: What's the story then? Jimmy: Obviously not. We've been hooking up for ages got to keep it #goals Jimmy: I don't know haven't thought that far ahead it just makes sense to get out before gifting Janis: Yeah. Fair. Janis: Think on and let me know Jimmy: You too. We can brainstorm at the weekend. Nothing but time then Jimmy: Can't break up right after the break though Janis: Would look sus, yeah. Janis: Maybe I'll whup you one too many times, your fragile male ego can't hack it, eh? Jimmy: Grace'd be smug 😩 Jimmy: Can't even fake that, babe Jimmy: Nobody'd believe the story Janis: She's gonna be regardless Janis: I got the shitty end of the stick here like but ain't nowt we can do about it now Janis: 🙄 Jimmy: No we're goals we just burned too bright that's all 😂 Jimmy: You've got way more time served with me than she does any of her boos she doesn't win Janis: Mhmm. Calm down, Icarus. Sure you'll be comparing some other bint on a balcony to the sun in no time. 😘 Janis: Suppose so. Least hers are real, if not short-lived, and, well, shit. Janis: She won't know the difference anyway Jimmy: There's nobody like you 💕 Jimmy: Exactly I'm not going to tell her we weren't real Janis: Bullshit 💕 Janis: True enough, I'll take it. Jimmy: Shit gotta go the boss is back Jimmy: Love you 💕 Janis: Love you too, Jonathon 💕