#but everything else? somehow always finds a way to tick me off

[mythvoiced]

-. what if i just *makes stabbing gestures*

[writer-freak]

New years confession | Iso x Gn reader

Summary: You have a crush on the new agent Iso but just can't imagine him liking you back. You try your best to avoid him but during the New Year celebration at the headquarters, confessions are made.

Warnings: Gn reader, shy reader, confessions, maybe ooc Iso, english isn't my first language, otherwise fluff

Wordcount: 1.1 k

A/n: So I actually had something written for Christmas but it still isn't finished so take this in the meantime. It's my first time writing for Iso and I didn't know exactly how I wanted to write him so I just tried something out sorry if it is ooc. Finished that right now real quick so some things may not exactly make sense but I hope you guys still enjoy it.

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more

When Iso arrived you were unable to take your eyes off him, and the first time you talked your words got stuck in your throat. You were somehow able to play it off but Iso definitely noticed that he was the reason for your reaction.

You tried to avoid him as best as you could but somehow he would always find you. It almost felt like he was purposefully seeking you out, especially when the others commented that he seemed to not really talk to anyone else at the headquarters.

But you tried to push that fluttering feeling in the back of your head, you didn't want to read too much into the situation. You reasoned that maybe he is just not used to everyone else and finds you the most approachable. You convinced yourself that that was the reason and that if he just spent more time with the others everything would be fine.

When Jett and Neon asked you if you wanted to help with the party preparations you agreed right away. It was something that could give you an excuse not to talk with Iso while also keeping you busy.

Time flew by as you helped with the party preparations, making sure everything was perfect for the night's festivities. The thought of Iso's presence at the celebration lingered in the back of your mind, and the mere idea of spending the countdown with him in the room made your heart race.

The party was in full swing with everyone drinking, dancing, and conversing.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight you sought out a quiet corner, taking in everyone else from the sidelines. As you were lost in your thoughts someone appeared beside you, "Enjoying the party?" You could recognize Iso's smooth voice immediately, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You jumped slightly, caught off guard "O-Oh, yeah. It's great." you stammered feeling a familiar heat rising to your cheeks. As you looked up at him you took a moment to take in how the colorful lights were casting a beautiful glow across him. Before you could get too lost in your admiration he spoke up again "I'm glad." He said with a smile, for a moment it felt like the world around you disappeared, leaving only you two in this corner.

The new year now was almost around the corner and while you took a sip of your drink you could feel Iso's eyes constantly on you. Trying to break the silence you asked "Ready for the new year?" You looked into his eyes with a slight smile.

He let out a breath before a smile took over on his lips "Well, almost, there is actually one more thing that I really wanted to do this year," Iso admitted, his tone carrying a hint of anticipation. With curiosity in your eyes, you couldn't help but ask, "And what is it?"

Iso took your free hand into his, his eyes now locked onto yours. Iso's smile grew, and he took a moment before answering, "I wanted to be honest with you, to share something that's been on my mind." Your heart quickened the anticipation building. Iso's gaze remained unwavering as he continued "I've noticed the way you react when I'm around, the way your words get caught. It hasn't escaped my attention, and I can't ignore the fact that you've been trying to avoid me."

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how he would continue. Iso, however, tightened his grip on your hand reassuringly. "But tonight, I don't want to play it off or pretend. I want to be straightforward with you," he confessed, his voice carrying sincerity. "I've found myself drawn to you, and I can't ignore the connection that seems to spark between us. I'd like to spend more time with you, and get to know you even more."

As Iso spoke, the countdown to midnight echoed in the background, the excitement of the celebration reaching its peak. "So, what do you say?" he asked, his gaze holding a mixture of hope and vulnerability. "Would you be willing to spend the upcoming year with me, not just as a teammate but maybe as something more?" Iso's confession hung in the air, the weight of his words settling between you two. The anticipation in his eyes was palpable, and you felt a familiar tightness in your throat, much like the first time you spoke to him.

He had bared his feelings, leaving the decision in your hands. Iso's sincerity and vulnerability tugged at your heartstrings, and you took a moment, allowing the silence to linger.

A lump formed in your throat, and you found it difficult to meet Iso's gaze. The colorful lights of the New Year's Eve celebration seemed to blur, but you took a steadying breath. Iso's hand in yours provided a sense of comfort, grounding you in the moment.

"Iso," you finally spoke, your voice soft but resolute. "I… I've felt it too. The way you make my heart race and my words get stuck. I tried to avoid you because I just didn't know how to handle it."

You looked up, meeting his eyes with a shy smile. "But tonight, I don't want to play it off either. I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together, and I'd like to see where this could go. So, yes, Iso. I'd like to spend the upcoming year with you, not just as a teammate but as something more."

The countdown started, everybody loudly screaming around you but everything was drowned out when Iso took a step closer to you. He gently cupped your cheek and almost in a whisper asked "Can I kiss you?" You knew that your words completely escaped you at the moment so you just closed the gap between you two, putting your lips on his.

In the background, you could hear everyone cheering and screaming "Happy New Year!" Cheers and the sound of fireworks filled the air, but for you, time seemed to stand still leaving only the feeling of his lips upon yours.

As fireworks lit up the sky in an arrangement of beautiful colors you and Iso pulled away from each other, a shared smile on your lips. "Happy New Year" Iso whispered, his eyes holding a warmth that eased the nervousness within you.

"Happy New Year" you replied, a genuine happiness blossoming within as you realized that, perhaps, the new year held more surprises.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 9

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2367

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Dean being a sweetheart, Dealing with emotional stuff, Nightmare.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 9

“I need to call Jodi,” Dean said through a clenched jaw, pulling out his burner phone. “Jodi, he’s here.”

That was all Dean said before he hung up the phone, watching the monitors. All the two of you could do was pray that Jodi would make it there before they took off. You knew the drive was at least thirty minutes, fifteen speeding. Dean set a hand on your shoulder, attempting to comfort you. Instinctively, your hand went up to rest over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“They can’t get in here. You’re still safe,” he told you as calmly as he could manage.

Somehow, though, you could tell he was angry, that he wanted to go out there and beat those men into a bloody pulp or worse. “We’re safe,” you correctly him gently. 

The two of you stared at the monitors as the minutes ticked by. Soon, the outside ones flashed red borders, and the two of you saw the familiar lights of the police cars, all five of them. The three men in the house, who were all in different rooms, looked out the windows at the flashing lights.

They attempted to get to exits without being caught, but luck was not on their side tonight. You smiled, watching all three men being hauled off in handcuffs, praying they wouldn’t just get bail and attempt to find you again.

You quickly made copies of the recordings and emailed them to Jodi so she had them. You’d done it before with others. There was some risk involved, but she needed these to keep these men from getting out of jail and for later persecution. She could also get them to whoever else would need them. 

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to leave this place?” you asked quietly, leaning back in the chair.

“One day, yeah. Sammy’ll use this and push the courts,” Dean replied, then sighed.

“I can’t believe it’s already six,” you mumbled, glancing at the clock on the monitor.

“What do you say I make us something to eat? I know you skipped lunch,” he chuckled, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Sounds nice,” you replied, smiling up at him.

You watched him go, realizing that it didn’t feel awkward around him, even after earlier. With everything that had happened, you figured you’d feel emotional, in some form or another. But instead, you felt a sense of calm.

After glancing at the monitors again, you headed out to the kitchen, choosing to sit at the table and watch him cook. It had been a long and emotional day for you. All you wanted at the moment was to enjoy what felt like a peaceful moment with Dean. 

There was something about watching him cook that calmed you. You loved cooking, even baking, and watching him enjoy those things always made you smile. This, though, gave you a different feeling entirely. It wasn’t one of those schoolgirl giddy sort of feelings. Or that feeling of wanting him to do something for you.

No, this was different. He had a happiness to him when he was cooking, and you could not only feel it from him but see it in the way he moved. Something about seeing and feeling him happy comforted you, bringing you a calm you weren’t used to, deep down.

You typically got lost in watching him, never paying attention to the time or if he caught you. He’d usually just smirk playfully and go back to cooking, which made you smile. Tonight was no different. Your mark burned again, but it was easy to ignore with the sight before you.

He was busy making spaghetti with red sauce tonight, even though the sauce was canned. Dean loved the array of spices that had been stocked and used his favorites, depending on the dish he concocted. “Why do you like watching me cook?” he asked, his back to you as he sprinkled a little more of another seasoning into the sauce.

A light blush crept into your cheeks, “It’s calming,” you replied, smiling a little.

“I’m just cooking,” he chuckled, now mixing the sauce.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean turned to look at you briefly, over his shoulder, and you swore he was blushing, “No. I was just curious.”

You giggled when he returned his focus to dinner, “You’re adorable,” you told him, and you were a little surprised at how easy it was to tell him that. You also noticed that the tips of his ears and down part of his neck deepened in color. “Did I make you blush?” you asked, a little surprised.

“Nope,” he replied quickly, refusing to look at you.

He went back to cooking, and you went back to enjoying watching him, sighing contentedly. Your thoughts didn’t wander or turn into a full-blown storm in your head. It felt quiet in your mind and your soul. It had happened before, but something about tonight was different. Perhaps it had been how he was there for you, or was it the kiss, or were you just letting hope cloud your better judgment? You truly weren’t sure, but right now, you didn’t want to question it either.

Dinner, of course, was amazing. The man could have been a chef, at least in your eyes. Watching him blush when you complimented his talents made him blush again. You took care of the dishes and leftovers before settling on the couch to watch a movie with him. 

“What’d you pick?” you asked curiously, getting comfortable on the far side of the couch against the armrest.

He looked over at you from the TV as he slid the VHS into the player, “One you like,” he chuckled before sitting down in “his” spot. “What, no cuddles tonight?” he pouted, more playful than anything else.

Chuckling at his adorableness again, you moved over and nestled yourself against his side and chest as he wrapped his arm over and around your shoulder. You loved how he was firm and soft at the same time. The moment the music began playing through the TV, your entire face lit up like a happy child.

He had chosen one of your favorite movies, Disney’s Robin Hood. It was the little things he’d paid attention to that had captivated and surprised you, like this. 

“Thank you,” you told him softly, sighing contently.

If it was like this all the time, I could be happy never leaving this place.

Once the movie was over, you bid Dean good night like usual, giving him a nice hug, then headed to your room, leaving the door open. That was more so he could watch the cameras when he felt the need to. When you went to set your phone down on your nightstand, you noticed the date: your birthday was just under a month away.

The thought made you sigh as you clicked off your phone and crawled into bed. There wouldn’t be any celebration this year, not being stuck in this bunker. There’d be no drinks with family. Then there was the fact that you were supposed to marry some scumbag on your birthday. The thought sent a shiver down your spine before you clicked off the light.

You hadn’t heard from Sam, nor had you pushed Dean as to whether or not he had either. Sometimes, you wondered if you were too respectful when it came to that, the whole, not pushing something with someone. Or prying into what they talked about with other people, even if you might be part of the topic. 

The day felt almost surreal as you lay there on your side with your back toward the door. He has to be my soulmate. I’ve never felt like this around anyone and I know not all these emotions are mine. He said he knows I’m his soulmate. Is it okay to hope? Should I try not to think about it till my mark comes in the rest of the way?

There were still too many questions for you to put aside your doubts. Just because he had a name that was yours on his body, didn’t mean it was you. Then there had been the empath thing he talked about. Is being an empath genetic? I wonder if I could risk looking up more information on it. 

At least an hour passed as you thought about everything while also trying not to think about what might happen in less than a month. Slowly, your eyes began to close, and sleep found you soon after. Nightmares found you, too, though, in the deepness of sleep. 

They had found the bunker, broken in, and taken both you and Dean. You weren’t sure who it was or where you were being held, but it almost reminded you of a police interrogation room. A man came in that you didn’t recognize and set a thin folder on the table in front of you. You looked from the man to the folder, then opened it. It was legal paperwork, and you didn’t understand most of it. All you could really do was skim it until you found things you understood. There it was, the stupid part about having to marry that jerk of a man.  When you tried to speak to argue, it was like you couldn’t make words. You even checked your collarbone, but the mark still hadn’t come in, and it didn’t look like anything resembling a name yet. Frustrated, you closed the folder and crossed your arms, shaking your head, but all the mand did was smile. Then you were in a wedding dress in a different room. No one was there but you. Slowly, you walked over to the full-length mirror. Yeah, you looked beautiful, but it was something you’d never pick to wear. You always wanted a simple wedding, and this dress was utterly extravagant.  That same man opened the door to the room, came inside, and took your arm. You fought against him, attempting to get away, but to no avail. In the distance, you could hear music, wedding music, and you fought harder. The man jerked your arm harshly, making you keep up, and you winced at the bruise you knew would form. The cathedral was highly decorated. If this wasn’t a nightmare, you probably would have taken the time to enjoy its beauty, but when you saw Cole standing at the altar, you fought against the man holding onto your arm. You didn’t recognize anyone in the place. No one was there for you, but you almost knew that it had to be because none of your family would have been allowed there. Cole had an evil smirk on his face, and all you wanted to do was get away from him. The man who had your arm held you in place from behind once you were at the altar. That was when Cole leaned close and whispered in your ear. “Remember, say yes, or Dean dies.”

You woke up screaming as your heart pounded in your chest. Dean was in your doorway in seconds, but the nightmare was still fresh in your eyes. You barely noticed when he sat down next to you and pulled you close to him.

“It’s okay. It was just a nightmare, Sweetheart,” he told you softly, trying to calm you.

“We’re not safe,” you whispered as your body began to shake from the nightmare.

You didn’t see the anger flare in Dean’s eyes or the way his jaw clenched due to what you’d said. He ran his hand down your hair a few times, trying to reassure you that it was only a nightmare and you were safe. It was a feeling you couldn’t describe or know where it was coming from, but you no longer felt safe in the bunker. You also knew you couldn’t leave either. 

“Want some coffee?” Dean asked you after you had finally stopped shaking.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, not even sure what time it was.

That had been the down side of being in the bunker, no sunlight coming through a window, so the days and nights merged most times. Dean kissed the top of your head before he headed into the kitchen. Cole’s words from your nightmare kept swirling in your head. The thought of Dean’s life in danger shook you deeply, and you dragged your feet getting out of bed. He was already in the living room and on the couch with two cups of coffee sitting on the coffee table. Dean held his arms open for you when you looked over at him, so you curled into his side as he again held you close.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked softly, gently rubbing your arm.

“Not really,” you mumbled, wishing you could just forget the dream altogether. 

“It might help,” he suggested gently, not wanting to push you too hard.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up and grabbed your coffee, sipping it while debating his request. You did finally give in and told him about your nightmare. He asked you to describe the man, and you watched his expression as you did so. Living with Dean for the time you had, you had picked up on little things he did. At the moment, he had that expression as if he almost recognized the man you had described.

“He’s a real person, isn’t he?” you asked quietly but curiously.

Dean sighed, wishing you weren’t so perceptive, “Yeah. His name is Alastair. He works for the Vaught family as the head of security.” That didn’t help you feel any better, knowing he was real. You set your cup down, feeling your hands shake a little. That unease began creeping through your body again, and Dean pulled you back against him.

“I’m not gonna let them take you. I promise,” he told you quietly.

“You might not have a choice. My birthday is only a few weeks away,” you replied, your voice a little shaky as Cole’s words rang in your ears. You knew you’d do anything to keep him safe, even marry a monster.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 10

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[shoyoist]

𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 : hinata shoyo.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. no matter where he goes, no matter who he's with — he always shines the brightest. he's so warm, so radiant — a star, a sun. pulling everyone around him into orbit. and you love it. adore it.

but it's also because he's so full of that fiery heat and light, that you sometimes find yourself doubting what you have with him. it's nothing he did — he's perfect, and always has been, to you — but rather, it was your own insecurities that formed out of realizing just how different you were from him.

he's outgoing no matter who he's talking to, easily blending in while still somehow standing out, and people love him — you know more than a few others that seem to adore him the same way you do.

and you, being someone of the peaceful, subdued twilight between day and night — have no idea how you ended up with someone like him.

and even more so, you have no idea how he fell for someone like you.

because he — he sparkled, and he shone, and he was everything anyone could ever want, he could have won the heart of anyone he ever wanted. he could simply ask for a heart and he’d have it handed to him on a silver platter.

and you? you don’t shine or glow. in fact, you’re a little dim, if we’re going to talk about metaphors of light. and despite how incredibly happy you are together, it sometimes gets to you.

"hey," shoyo calls you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

you look up at him, still surfacing from all your musings, tracing your gaze over his muscled form, his hair and eyes that stand out so bright, tangerine and honey against his sun-bronzed skin. he tugs at the hem of his plain white tee, patting the pockets of his navy shorts to check for his phone and wallet.

it's barely an hour since the sun rose, and you think hinata is so much brighter than the light coming through the doors and windows.

he's about to leave for another practise match, and you're seated in your shared living room, morning coffee unfinished on the table in front of you.

he’s beautiful, you think. bathed in the morning sun, there he stands at your front door. japan's pride and joy, ninja shoyo. him, falling in love with you?

he'd told you that his people back home had cried bitterly over their loss when he left, deciding to return to brazil and play for a brazillian team rather than stay with his people in japan.

he'd told you with a mischievious glint in his eyes and a rogueish smile spread across his face, and the slightest hint of a blush tinting his cheeks. "but hey, they’ll get over it! and … i came back partly so i can be with you, you know. together, like this."

and that had melted your heart. just those words had brought you home the stars and the entire sky — but you also sometimes wonder. if he stayed there, would he be happier? would he be happier if he had chosen those other things over you?

if he were with someone else?

after all, you weren't anyone special, and he wouldn't be getting anything particularly worthy from you — apart from all your love and adoration, but whether that was worthy or not wasn't for you to decide. was it?

"hey, hey?" shoyo repeats, and you blink, standing up. you walk over to him, plucking a strand of curly orange hair off his shoulder and patting the creases away from his chest. "sorry, i was just thinking."

"hm," he tilts his head to a side, picking up his sports bag and pulling it over his shoulder as he does. you know he's not convinced.

the clock ticks past 7:30 AM, and you're glad you don't have any places to be today. you're tired, and you wouldn't be able to see shoyo off like this if you were rushing around getting ready to go out.

shoyo watches you for a few seconds, brows furrowed together ever so slightly. "you okay, baby? looking a little tired. wanna come to the beach with me?"

you smile, noticing how his portuguese was still on the simpler side — and shrug your shoulders as an answer. "that'll just distract you." you tell him in japanese.

lies. nothing can distract shoyo when he's in a game.

all that'll happen is that you'll get to see him in action, eyes somehow glowing brighter than before, sun turning his skin rosy, hair getting peppered with sand as he flies up, kicking his legs back and slamming the ball across the net. an enthralling sight. and then—

"i'll give you a kiss for every point i score." he grins, taking your hand — and all of a sudden, everything you've just been thinking about stops making sense.

"mhm?" you nod, and he licks his lips, thinking. "a kiss for every point, and if my team wins — i'll take you out to eat something good. come, it'll be good for you."

"and if you lose?" you ask, and he only grins wider. "i won't. trust me."

trust you? with my life, shoyo. with my everything. the things you've been thinking about stops making sense — because hinata shoyo is dazzling. he shines bright, he's radiant and he's like the sun. and in that same sense, his passions and desires and his love — they shine, too. it's clear that he adores you as much as you adore him.

with that mutual adoration present and so tangible even to you, though you sometimes feel as if you don’t deserve it, what more was needed?

"shoyo," you still ask, because hearing it from him makes it all better. "you love me, right?"

he looks confused for a second. "yeah? i love you. i love you more than anything."

and again, he plucks out the jewels of the sky and hands them all down to you in one fell swoop, with his words that glimmer and drip with the radiant sincerity of his feelings. "huh, is this what you're thinking about? it's in your eyes, i can see it."

"what do you see?" you ask, but then you forget everything because he's gripping your hand tighter and pulling you closer, for a kiss.

"i love you, mkay? we're together. forever. you know i wanna be with you forever." he says it against your lips, and you almost taste the essence of his words. "i love you, and i'm glad to be with you."

you almost tear up, he's so sweet and so sincere, how could you ever doubt him? 

how he understands what you're thinking so easily, how he says exactly what you want to hear without trying, you don't know — but you appreciate it, and you offer him a smile in return to the way he makes you feel so good, so light, inside. "i love you, too. i love you with all my heart."

"then let's go?" he steps back a little to look at you, bright orange curls framing warm, puppy eyes as he gives you a pout. “please? i wan’ you to come today.” you glance out to the street waiting outside your shared house, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you nod. "give me a minute, i'll go change."

he gives you a grin that could harness all the power of the sun in it, letting go of you so you can go pull some better clothes on — and you catch his hand before it can fall to his side.

he turns back to you, inquiring, and you answer with a tug at his arm that lets him draw close enough for you to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "i really do love you."

and the blush that spreads across his face as you turn around and retreat to your room, is more proof that he loves you.

hinata shoyo is dazzling. he's the sun, he's the stars, he's the galaxy, and he's everything anyone could ever want. and he loves you.

loves you the way the sun carresses the moon, the way the rays of it kiss the shadows of the twilight at dawn and at dusk.

he's the pride and joy of japan, everyone loves him and he could have anything he had passion for, and anything he desired. and to him, that was to be a player of the sport that brewed and set alight his passions.

and to him, what he desired was you.

note: i was going to say it's crazy that i haven't posted much sfw shoyo content on here, but then i remembered that every time i write something like this about him it gets sooo personal 💔 this is a piece i wrote in 2021 but it comes out now because i say so ! thank you for reading !!

[theemporium]

Sirius x (preferably james's sister) reader with the song pretty face by Public? pretty please :)

love your writing btw <33

not quite sure what this is because i listened to the song and somehow this came from it🤠anyways thank you for requesting!!🖤

.

“You look beautiful.”

You whirled around, the fabric of your dress spinning with you as you turned to find your brother’s best friend standing in the doorway of the suite, dressed in a fitted suit like the other boys had been wearing earlier when you saw them outside the window. 

The clock on the wall had been haunting you all morning, the seconds ticking by and the black hands slowly moving around the face until they quickly approached the time that left a pit deep in your gut. The fabric of your dress was overwhelming, the corset was too tight and the veil on your head felt like the weight of the world. 

You were happy. 

You were supposed to be happy. 

Why didn’t you feel happy?

“Is it normal for a bride to cry on her wedding day?”

The question caught you off guard considering the plethora of other people who had seen you hadn’t even questioned the red rimmed eyes, but he did. He always noticed the small things about you.

“They are happy tears,” you told him with a strained smile on your lips, one that you knew he would look right through but you didn’t have the energy for anything else right now. You had the rest of the day to fake your emotions and smiles through, you could let your guard down a little right now. 

“Are they?” Sirius asked simply and the bluntness of the question was enough to crumble the wall a little more.

“I don’t have a choice, Sirius,” you whispered, scared if you said the words any louder then the rest of the emotions would come flooding out.

“Yes, you do,” he said in a strained voice as he quickly moved across the room, the door shut behind him as he walked towards you. His face softened a little at your expression and, before either of you could stop him, he raised his hands to wipe away your tears. “You don’t know him.”

“I know some things about him,” you supplied weakly.

“You don’t know him well,” Sirius said with a single shake of his head. “And he doesn’t know you the way I do.”

“Sirius—”

“You know I’m right, love,” he whispered, his eyes gleaming with hope as you sunk into his touch. You sought out his familiar touch, the same hands that helped you through so much growing up and here he was again. He was always there. 

“If my brother finds out—”

“I’ll deal with James,” Sirius assured you, taking a step closer as his hands cupped your face. “I’ll deal with them all. Just say the word and I can call this whole thing off.” 

“What about the guests?” you whispered, the guilt settling in your stomach but the relief outweighed it. “What about all the planning and—”

“I don’t care about anything but you,” Sirius told you plainly enough. “I’ll throw the flowers in a fucking fire myself if needs be.”

You cracked a smile.

“Say the word and I’ll cancel this nonsense.”

You let out a heavy breath.

“You should marry a man you love,” Sirius whispered to you. “Not a man you feel like you need to marry out of duty.”

“I don’t want to let them all down, Sirius,” you whispered back, your eyes welling up with tears just like they had been doing all morning.

“You could never let me down, baby, no matter what,” he told you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“I don’t wanna get married today.”

“Then you won’t.”

“I’m tired, Sirius.”

“Let’s get you out of that dress and into something more comfortable, yeah?” he murmured as his fingers already began making way of removing the veil pinned into your hair. “Then you can take a nap whilst I sort everything out.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

.

[forgottenfourr]

i saw you in a dream - university smau

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chapter twenty - ticking time bomb

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a/n: the next chapter is ALREADY OUT! i hope you enjoy the longer update :)

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yn's pov:

it's such a defeating feeling when you realize your friends are avoiding you. especially when you know just why they're avoiding you.

they think you're crazy.

ever since you told them about what was going on, the dreams, jeongin. it seems as if they've been blatantly avoiding being around you. even seungmin and beomgyu who you live with.

you don't blame them honestly. to them, it probably seems like you're a ticking time bomb about to go off at any moment without warning.

which in all honesty, you aren't sure if they're too far off about that conclusion.

if you weren't insane already, you are certainly driving yourself to it.

if you aren't stuck doing work for your classes or at work, you're spending your time trying to figure out what the fuck the dreams are. how they're possible.

at least once a day you find yourself online looking for answers anywhere you can. trying to find people who have had the same thing happen to them, or at least a similar enough experience to your own that you feel a slight bit better about yourself.

you've found little to nothing, as expected. mostly just studies here and there about lucid dreaming with the occasional person going on about soulmates.

soulmates, yeah? funny.

you often try to convince yourself that whatever had been happening was just some weird way of lucid dreaming. like you weren't aware you were lucid dreaming but somehow you actually were.

and that makes sense in a way. a very small and stupid way, but a way nonetheless.

but what still doesn't make sense is jeongin. why is he always there? and how is it even possible that you both coincidentally came up with the same guitar melody? and even if it was lucid dreaming, how did everything feel so unnaturally real?

that's what has got you so disoriented. there is no way these dreams took place in someone else's subconscious at the same time they took place in yours.

but even with all of the research you've done, you keep coming back to that impossible conclusion.

some helpless part of yourself wants to believe the soulmate claims. just so you can say that's what it is and move on.

but it's ridiculous to even entertain the thought. soulmates aren't real. that you knew for sure.

plus for all you know jeongin doesn't actually have these dreams as well and you could just be a random person who sent him cryptid texts that he is now slightly terrified of.

god, what were you thinking when you texted him. what did you expect? for him to reply like "oh my god yes the dreams. i have them too. also, i am madly in love with you."

comical really.

---------------

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xoxo, four <3

[destinygoldenstar]

I’ll probably post more about this in more detail, especially now that the reboot is pretty much done and dealt with. (There is no confirmed Season 3. Stop lying.)

So you know, most of what I have to say in this post is rambling and complaining, because I am ticked off. So if you like the ending of the season, good for you… this is the opposite opinion to that.

Spoilers for Season Two and it’s ending:

This season, for me, is definitely above All Stars and Paketiew. Definitely. I genuinely enjoyed the first two thirds of the season, and its slip ups weren’t too big of deal breakers for me on the season. (Except Millie. I will forever be salty about it and I can’t say I like her character anymore after what this season did with her)

The season was funny, it was engaging in a lot of plot lines, I thought the order was pretty clean, I’m enjoying it and really invested in how all of these plot lines conclude….

AAAAAAANNNND then Zee outs Caleb.

I break the season to three acts. Pre-Merge is the first act.

Episodes 6-8 is the second act.

And right when Zee outs Caleb, is where I’d say the Second Act ends, and the Third Act begins.

And the third act, in my humble opinion, is GOSH. AWFUL.

Like, OH MY GOSH, they screwed up EVERYTHING.

Except MK and Julia in Episode 9. That’s wholesome.

But other than them, literally ALL the other plot lines in the season that I was invested in were completely botched in conclusion. And I can’t like these plot lines anymore.

How do you do that?! Like, WHAT happened here?!

This may seem incohesive, but I’m just that baffled.

I don’t even care about the elimination order right now. You CAN make whatever finalist you want work so long as the story suits it. So Im not gonna say “Oh Julia should’ve won” or something like that, as a complaint. That’s personal preference.

Remember the post I made complimenting Priya and Caleb’s relationship plotline?

That aged like milk. I don’t like them anymore. They were obnoxious as I’ll get out and I just wanted them booted ASAP.

I made a post about how I thought Priya would quit instead of being eliminated. I do think that would’ve been better than what we got because at least there Priya would be making a conscious decision that no one else can factor in. Instead she acts stupid for the sake of Julia and spends the rest of the season whining about Caleb instead of the what they’ve discussed and learned from each other before.

And Caleb being a finalist? After what he’d done I’m shocked he wasn’t booted in a heartbeat after that.

I don’t think they should’ve became a couple tbh. Apologize and make up, sure, but not get together in this whole mess. With how the story was going, it seemed they’d realize and recognize that. But no. It lead to nothing. Way to go.

Damien? I don’t care if you thought he should’ve won or not. That’s not the point. The writers didn’t want Damien to be a finalist. Fine. Okay. Just make an elimination that’s logical and wraps up his storyline-

NOPE. Julia stole the idol. Which I expected, but it’s something she somehow managed to do when paranoid Damien was always around it btw. She did this OFF SCREEN. So even the writers don’t want to come up how she managed to do that difficult task. YOU COULDNT AT LEAST SHOW US?!

Why would they even eliminate Damien? No one was even after him. It’s because they didn’t want to separate Priya and Caleb…

Stupid.

It really solidified to me that Damien had no relevance to this seasons story and could’ve been written out of the story. As tragic as that is to say. Like, make Priya or anyone on the Rats the one Millie pushes down the 4 Point Slide, make Priya find the idol and lose it at her elimination to Julia, and nothing changes.

What a waste of Damien’s character.

I love Julia in both seasons. So you know. I genuinely think she and Bowie have the best character arcs of the two seasons combined. I was actually kind of routing for her in the finale?? Ngl???? Like, I didn’t hate her, I found a nastier World Tour Heather, someone who WORKED for her goals. Good person? No. But an intriguing one to follow.

But this is the definition of plot armor. Multiple times they had to make the other characters act irrationally just so they don’t vote Julia’s ass off in a heartbeat. Which, if they were rational, would do cause everyone KNOWS that Julia is a bad person!

That’s why in the first season and the first half of this season, she had to make herself getting voted off NOT an option for the others. So she won challenges to get immunity. She allied herself with MK to get an extra vote. She got on Bowies worst side to make him want to work with her.

But in the second half it’s pure plot armor.

I thought Bowies elimination and how she managed to convince an entire team to go with it was stretching things. But I could push it aside cause it made sense for Bowie to leave in that episode.

It just got worse.

Once MK is gone, Julia has nobody on her side and no excuse. They should all vote her off in a heartbeat. But they don’t because they are stupid.

They somehow trust her?! With everything she says?!

Even the smartest characters like Priya trust her. She says she knows she’s being used, but decides to let it happen. That is very OOC for Priya. One of the most game-smart characters in the entire series!

Julia being a finalist is actually an idea I’m on board for on paper. But it was just illogical how she got there.

Also, they cut the villains hair off AGAIN.

TOTAL DRAMA, PLEASE STOP SHAVING CHARACTERS HEADS. IT WAS GOOD EITH HEATHER CAUSE IT MADE SENSE FOR HER CHARACTER AND THE STORY. AFTER THAT ITS ILLOGICAL AND CRUEL FOR NO REASON. THERE ARE OTHER WAYS FOR VILLAINS TO GET COMEUPPANCE BUT YOU KEEP USING THE SAME ONE EVEN WHEN IT MAKES NO SENSE. ITS NOT FULFILLING ANYMORE AND WERE ALL SICK AND SEEING IT. YOU DRAGGED THIS THROUGH THE MUD, KILLED IT, AND NOW REVIVED IT JUST TO SMACK IT WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER.

STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!!

*breathes*

At least Julia and MK were great. Mostly because they mostly weren’t in the third act together.

Oh yeah, and there’s also Wayne and Raj. I like them. They’re fun. I like their pre-merge story.

And then Wayne won??

Yeah, Wayne, you know, the comic relief character with no strategy in a very strategic-centric season. Winning.

I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a joke or not.

If it is, it’s funny like, the first time you see it.

If it’s not, and we’re supposed to take that seriously…

Ooh boy.

I see people compare this to Owen. I don’t think that’s fair given both seasons separate contexts, the characters screen time impact, and theming.

I personally compare this to Beth. Both are tied to someone very similar to them until the very end where their partner, who got more to do, gets eliminated, and then they proceed to fly under the radar because they’re the least nasty people left in a nasty cast remaining.

Now HOLD ON. I am NOT saying Wayne is on the same quality of a character as Beth. Far from it. Wayne will always be the better one of the two for me, because I actually enjoy him on screen, and most importantly, he wasn’t a hypocritical gross cheating creep.

Wayne winning a season CAN work on paper. I’m not opposed to it.

But this is not the way to do it.

This isn’t a guy who has won people’s hearts through being great towards them, he’s only interacted with Raj. This isn’t a guy who has quietly played his cards when necessary. This isnt a guy who has flown under the radar due to being the lesser evil. This isn’t a guy who has clear skills apparent to the viewer but not the characters.

He has done next to NOTHING all season.

I can defend Wayne having some variety of character in season 1, where he was sometimes capable of holding a leadership position, and willing to be patient and loyal, but NONE of these were portrayed in THIS season.

So pretty much, he has won by doing pretty much NOTHING.

At least Raj got a plotline that wasn’t being comic relief 24/7. And I’m not saying Raj should’ve won. Wayne can definitely be his own character, but Raj got eliminated in episode 11/13. Too little. Too late. Honestly, if you’re gonna have Wayne win, eliminate Raj earlier. Swap Raj and MK’s eliminations. At least then Julia making it far is justified cause in Episode 12 she has the idol.

I’m sorry if this is me rambling, but I was genuinely insulted and baffled by the ending of this season. This season started out really good, then declined in quality as it went on.

I definitely prefer the first season. While it’s not as funny as season two’s first two thirds, and has weaker challenges, it’s more cohesive and consistent in quality that reached logical conclusions for almost every character. Love or hate them.

This season, to me, is proof that you cannot botch endings to stories. You try something fancy and screw up, people are gonna remember the mess of an ending, and not the journey. I think that’s apparent with the reactions I’ve seen so far.

You can have a bad beginning. You can even have a bad middle. You can salvage those. But the ending is what you can’t afford to mess up because that’s what your audience will walk away from and remember.

When people look at this season, they’re gonna remember the badly handled ending rather than the good stuff in the first half.

That’s just sad, honestly.

[crystalxwitch]

4| Hike - W. Maximoff

Summary: A hike in the mountains turns out to be longer than expected.

series masterlist

"So, what brings you into the solitude of Norway? It's not a typical day-to-day vacation destination, to say the least."

You look up from your book, mustering the redhead. Wanda has her arms wrapped around her stomach, the hem of the sweater pulled over her hands. The way her fingers stick out of it is somehow adorable.

"I could ask you the same." You retort back. "I'm not the only one staying in a barn in the middle of nowhere."

"Yes, you could. But I asked you first, so you need to answer me." She grins, nodding to herself as if to agree with her own explanation.

Closing your book, you lean back against the armchair. "Oh, do I? I don't believe this is how it works, Wanda."

"Don't try to beat around the bush, we need to have some small talk sooner or later. Or do you just want to philosophize over the trees and food for the next few days?"

"I could do that, don't underestimate my love for food.. or trees." You add, hiding the smirk that plays around your lips. "I'll tell you everything if you go first. View it as a kind of payback for the pancakes that I made you this morning."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but agrees with the terms. You are surprised that Wanda doesn't argue any further. She is usually the first to pick a fight. Basically the embodiment of stubbornness.

"Well, I like the quietness. The nature. Norway has always been on my bucket list, and I just quit my job. That means no responsibilities and enough time to enjoy a vacation." Wanda explains. "And I wanted to be alone, away from all the people, but sadly that prayer wasn't answered."

"Maybe we both didn't pray hard enough."

"Maybe." She mumbles, eyeing you with attentive eyes. "What were you running from?"

"Life." You breathe out, leaning your head back. "My job, my responsibilities, everything became too much all of a sudden. So instead of falling into a depth of misery, I decided to take a break from all of it."

Wanda looks at you with understanding eyes, nodding at your words. "Our reasons are not so different after all. Reality sucks. I just want to stay here forever."

You tilt your head to the side. "Even with me by your side?"

Her eyes hold pure mischief in them as she mirrors your smile. "I guess it's the lesser evil. Speaking of evil. What are your plans for today?"

"I don't know yet." You shrug your shoulders. "Maybe I'll take a hike down the mountain and take some pictures. Someone seems interested in my day-to-day affairs?"

"No." Wanda replies bluntly. "I don't want to worry about which ditch you fell into again."

A smile appears on your face at that revelation. "I feel flattered."

"Please, don't." She quickly replies, averting her gaze towards the window. "I didn't mean it like that."

A few seconds tick by without saying another word. Wanda has her face turned away, probably thinking about another way to annoy you. Since the conversation is over once more, you stand up. Already at the door, her voice calls out to you.

"Can I come with you?"

What?

You turn around, the confusion clearly writing on your face. Wanda never seems to step outside the barn except the front porch or a few meters around the cabin. Her wish to accompany you catches you off guard.

"Into the woods?" You ask dumbfounded.

"No, into the desert." She responds sarcastically. "Of course, into the woods. What else is there other than endless miles of trees and wood?"

You part your lips, trying to find reasons that could make her change her mind. "You'll get your shoes dirty, you know that? And not to mention the wild animals. Bears. Wolves."

"I think I can handle myself. Besides, I didn't come here for a spa day." She cuts you off.

You raise your brows in disbelief. "You did not?"

The redhead narrows her eyes, not responding. Does she seriously want to accompany you? Wanda seems like the type of woman who squeals when she sees a spot of dirt on her precious clothes.

You sigh. "All right. Just don't get lost and fall into a ditch. I don't want to babysit you during my vacation."

"Don't worry, that part is meant for you."

You roll your eyes. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you walk into the hallway and get your jacket. Thankfully, the sky is clear of any clouds and no rain in sight. Wanda disappears upstairs, letting you wait impatiently in the hallway.

First, she wants to accompany you, and now she keeps you waiting. Unbelievable. Wanda couldn't make herself less popular. Your eyes nearly pop out as she returns, wearing a whole ass hiking equipment.

You muster her from head to toe. "We're going on a simple hike and not climbing Mount Everest."

The different layers of clothes makes her look like she's ready for hibernation. A heavy backpack is strapped around her shoulders. You on the other hand are only wearing a small backpack with all the needed items.

"Are you always this funny? If yes, I need some alcohol to survive it." Wanda groans, walking to the entrance and putting on her shoes. "I want to be prepared for anything, hence the outfit."

"Okay, Bigfoot. Just don't let the weight slow you down." You need to hold back the chuckle that wants to escape from your joke. "Are you ready?"

"Lead the way."

~

You wipe the perspiration from your brow, eying the path in front of you with exhausted eyes. The small hike turned into a much longer one because Wanda insisted on taking the right path instead of the left. That leads to you hiking upwards most of the time instead of taking the much easier hike down into the valley.

Wanda doesn't seem as exhausted as you are, continuing the climb without any complaints. Everything hurts. Your legs have long ago struck against the painful march. Closing your eyes for a second, you slow down your pace.

"What's wrong?" Wanda asks, coming to a stop beside you. "Is everything okay?"

"I need a small break." You admit, sitting down on a nearby rock. "This path is rockier than I previously thought."

Grabbing your water bottle out of the backpack, you drink half of it in one big gulp. Wanda chuckles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Not even one drop of sweat on her face. You eye her over the rim of the bottle, mustering her near perfectly composed face. How is she not out of breath?

Maybe she did take something beforehand. You would believe anything that could explain her current state.

"How much longer do you think it takes until we are back at the cabin?" She asks, placing her backpack on the ground. "Looking at you, I don't think you can't take much more."

"I feel fine." You grunt, clenching your jaw as she grins. "I'm not sure. Maybe another hour, give or take a few more minutes."

"If you think you can handle it, I don't need to worry. But I actually thought that you have a bit more stamina."

You give her a cold look. "I thought we decided on the fact that you don't have to worry about me?"

She slowly nods, withstanding your gaze. "Right."

Not in the mood to continue this conversation any longer, you put your bottle back into the backpack. You stand up with a sigh, trying to not show the pain on your face as a sting rushes through your thigh.

"Let's keep goin-"

"Quiet." Wanda shushes you.

"What?" You turn around to face her, putting your hands on your hips.

Anger rises within you. The nerve that she has to talk to you like that. You open your mouth, ready to put her in place, but her raised eyebrows silence you. Why is she staring at you like that?

"Don't move." She whispers, nearing herself to you. "Hold still."

No words leave your mouth as you quietly observe her. Wanda moves closer. Too close. You gulp, eyes frozen on her hand that reaches out for your face. Her fingertips come dangerously close to your temple. Panic bubbles inside your stomach.

Your cheeks grow warm, taking a step back on shaking knees. "What are you doing?"

"I said, don't move." Her fingers grab your shoulder, holding you back from back again. Your heart hammers twice as fast against your ribcage, bursting to get free. "There's something on your head."

"What?!" You let out a high-pitched scream, shaking your head wildly from side to side. "Get it off. Get it off me."

Now, as she said it, you do feel a slightly different pressure on your head. Every scenario flashes before your eyes, beginning with a harmless bird and ending with a hairy spider.

"Don't scream, dumb head. You scare it with your loud voice." Wanda grabs your face between her palms, holding you still. "Calm down."

"What is it? No, don't tell me." You squeeze your eyes shut, holding in your breath. "Just please, get it off me."

"I'm working on it. Just be quiet." Her hand carefully picks up whatever animal off your hair. "See, it's harmless. What could a cute little fellow do to you giant."

Taking a peek out of the corner of your eye, you let out a sound of disgust. A small frog is sitting on her palm, staring at you with wide eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly. Trying to get your racing heart under control, you press your hand against your chest.

You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know? It could piss on me."

"Rightfully so if you scare it like that." Wanda gently pats the frog's head, her voice changing to that tone one uses to talk to animals. "Look at how innocent it looks. You nearly scared it to death."

With furrowed brows, you muster the absurd scene. Who would have thought that Wanda would be such an animal lover. Shuddering as you look at its moist skin, you need to suppress the urge to gag. She can't be serious.

"It's not even cute. It has no fur and it's slimy." You whine, pointing to the frog. "How can you let it rest on your hand? It's disgusting."

"It's prettier than you." She responds, lowering herself to the ground.

"That's a lie."

Wanda chuckles. "Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better."

Carefully, Wanda places her hand on the dirty ground. The frog immediately jumps away, disappearing into the grass. Standing up again, she shakes the dirt off her clothes.

"I guess you are the one who is afraid of animals. If you act like this because of a frog, I don't want to see you when you come face to face with a bear."

You avoid her eyes. Without even looking at her face, you sense the silly grin spreading over her mouth. Waving her off, you continue to walk up the narrow trail. Acting like that is one thing, but behaving like that in front of her worsens it.

"Let's keep moving, unless you want to return home in the middle of the night."

[g0d334t3r]

I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG THIS ESCAPE WILL LAST ✭ miguel o’hara minors do not interact (18+)

“YOU DON’T TRUST ME.”

the words were flat—a statement born out of misplaced anger and insecurity because, by all means, MIGUEL was right not to trust you. the identity you’ve built for yourself since your home universe collapsed—the lucrecia vaughn that miguel supposedly knew—was a lie, and yet, he has done everything and anything for you. and still—you couldn’t even begin to fathom not having his trust even when you knew you didn’t deserve it.

“lucrecia,” the man says patiently, his gaze a muted red.

his voice—low, thick, and gruff—is a web in and of itself, you realize with a startled look; there was nowhere else you’d prefer to be.

“that was not what i was trying to say.”

your jaw ticks. “then what were you trying to say?” your voice is mean, just as you’ve conditioned it to be in your girlhood—leaving no room for arguments, just as your mother taught you.

in truth, you’re hurting—but probably not as much as miguel would once he finds out how you’d gotten into the society in the first place—your heart bursting at the seams.

you rise to your full height, which you’ve long since known was incomparable to his, furrowing your brows and narrowing your eyes. the stamina he’d been helping you build up has paid off in that moment, keeping your breathing even and your chest calm even as it flickered to life in the wake of your anger.

“that i’m not good enough to carry out this case?” you continue through your teeth, your fists clenched at your sides. “that i’ve failed once and will only fail again?” your voice breaks off into a desperate snarl that rises in volume.

“just tell me, miguel, putangina lang—”

“lu.”

miguel had raised his hand in front of you placatingly like you were a feral animal to quell.

(the irony here did not escape your notice.)

“por favor,” he continues gently, carefully stepping towards you. “let me speak. let me help you understand.”

your chest heaved as you both stared wordlessly. up, down. up, down. inhale, exhale.

“tell me,” you repeated, finally faltering, surrendering—though a heat remained simmering below your skin.

and you and he don’t touch exactly, but the feeling was how you thought it would feel—if you and he stood so close you somehow ran out of air to breathe just like that—because miguel’s presence was big enough for the both of you.

he stands tall, if slouching a bit, looking every bit of the leader you hear he is. two whole heads taller than you, as you already knew. but it doesn’t make it any less of a marvel to witness it for yourself—to feel each breath of his life against your face when, for as long as you’ve had your powers, you’ve always been cause for someone’s last breath.

“your first run with the anomaly.”

you sucked your teeth at the grit in his voice. “what about it?”

he shot you a disapproving look. “it almost killed you—despite your preparedness.” he says immediately to the knit in your brows and the insecurity in your eyes, probably knowing that a self-deprecating spiel came next and more venomous words that could last the both of you another lifetime. “and that wasn’t your fault. you did everything right.”

“did i?” your jaw ticked again. “the anomaly escaped.”

“i don’t care.”

“yes, you do!”

his jaw sets this time as you let yours slacken to counter his words.

“capturing anomalies is your vice.” you hissed, glaring up at him, huffing into your shared air. “and i saw how you reacted when i made my report. i saw how you held yourself, the tightness in your eyes; you’ve always bred anger, miguel. did you know?”

“you’re not going after that anomaly.” his tone promised finality. “not with that mindset, not while distracted, not while i say so, lucrecia.”

“then help me!” you heaved. “help me be better or get out of my way.”

your nostrils flared as his hands shot up between the two of you to grip your wrists, and he leaned in, puffing out an angry breath against your neck.

“you,” he growls softly, walking them towards a wall, “are not going after that anomaly. ¿estoy entendido?”

you grunted as your back hit the metallic wall and then again at the resistance on your wrists.

“chica testaruda.” he breathed into your skin. stubborn girl, you knew his words translated, and it only infuriated you further—fanning the flames that had only smoldered in its supposed slumber.

remembering what he taught you during the early months of your arrival, you use the wall behind you as leverage to push—getting enough space to support your stance while miguel stumbles before dragging him down onto the floor and pinning him with your weight.

“you’ve always bred anger.” you murmured, digging your nails into his wrists as you held them down. “i know you hate me—”

“you know nothing, mija.” his chest rumbled, and his eyes glowed red. “i’m not benching you because i secretly think you’re incompetent, lucrecia.”

you sneered, mistakenly losing sight of his hands in your anger. “sinungaling.”

miguel flips the two of you over that next second, pinning you down more efficiently than you did him, laying his torso across your stomach and gathering your hands above your head.

“tell me i’m not the only one who noticed.” his chest rumbled again as he spoke, weaving the web you’d found herself in ever tighter. “tell me i’m not the only one who felt it.”

“felt what?” you huffed.

“don’t.” he takes one hand off your wrists to stroke your cheek, furrowing his brows in concentration as a knuckle grazes your skin. “don’t deflect, mija. don’t deny.”

“i don’t understand,” you stuttered out.

“but you do,” miguel murmurs, maneuvering your hands to either side of your head and pulling his weight away from your stomach, extracting a quiet gasp of relief from your lips. “i know you do, little psychologist. after all, you know how quick i am to anger. so you must know…”

“anyone can see how quick you are to anger,” you countered breathlessly.

“but you know my less obvious tells.” he shot you a look akin to fondness. “and i’m sure i can be as good a psychologist as you are, lucrecia. because i know what makes you tick and how you lie.”

your lips part.

miguel leans forward, easing his hold on your wrists, though not letting go just yet. “¿quieres que te bese, amor?”

“only if you’ll mean it.” you murmured over the rumbling of his chest. “and only then—dahil gusto kong maramdaman ang pagmamahal mo, at gusto kong maramdaman mo ang pagmamahal ko.”

his lips grazed your forehead first, tenderly kissing the knit between your brows until they’d relaxed. and when they have, when you craved more, miguel would chuckle lowly and draw away.

“you’re all i want, lucrecia.” his voice was thick, almost needy, when he spoke again, his mouth near your ear. “did you know? do you believe me?”

he dropped your hands and brought his ones around your waist, his thumb stroking the end of a scar that peeked out from the loose baby blue camisole.

“you know nothing,” miguel mumbled, though almost as if he was talking to himself.

“miguel.” you say, your cheeks set aflame. “please.”

his gaze flickered back to you. “tell me what you want, lu.”

“kiss me.”

and he does. he kisses like a man starved, groaning and hissing into your mouth as it parts for him, molding it into his image, the web that you have long since given yourself up to. and then he picks at your scar with his nail even as you writhe and hiss back, digging new groves in return to match yours.

you learn then—when his hand cups your mound, palming you through your worn grey sweats, his thumb circling your clothed clit in tight circles—another side of him that you’ve yet to notice through your sterile eyes: that miguel o’hara is a lover.

𓌳𓌳𓌳𓌳 translations:

putaninga lang - tagalog, an expression for anger.

¿estoy entendido? - spanish, “do you understand?”

sinungaling - tagalog, “liar.”

¿quieres que te bese, amor? - spanish, “do you want me to kiss you, love?”

dahil gusto kong maramdaman ang pagmamahal mo, at gusto kong maramdaman mo ang pagmamahal ko. - tagalog, “because i want to feel your love and for you to feel [mine].”

[rubberduckrobin]

Hey hope your having a great day!

I was wondering if I could request a story with Shane x Male reader? maybe just them slowly falling in love over time.

Thank You

-🐭

Hey, Anon!

Thank you so so much for the request, I enjoyed writing it a lot!

It turned out a bit long...so what I'm going to do is post it in 2 sections: parts 1, 2 & 3 and parts 4, 5 & 6. This is section 1. I'll link section 2 at the end :) [or you can just find it after this post].

Sorry for the complications! But I really hope you enjoy (and anyone else reading too!)

For my AO3 pals: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50214880

To fall for someone. - Shane x M! Reader

Summary: On a dreary repeated day, Shane finds something that can finally make him feel free; or rather, someone.

Note: R/N means Reader's Name.

TW: Deep topics & alcohol usage, mild profanity

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

Shane’s perspective throughout.

Part 1: A repetitive day meets a new end.

Stacking shelves at Joja Mart. As usual. 

Watching the clock over my shoulder, ticking for worthless time. As usual.

The sky through the back windows, gloomy and grey, as are my own dull eyes; I watch the clouds swirl, threatening thunder. 

I sigh. 

A walk home in the rain; a way to dampen the already shitty mood. 

One more minute until I finish my day - the day I have been living for an entire year. 

It’s always the same; the shelves, the clock, the darkness. Everythings the same, and nothing has changed…I can’t stand it. 

What’s the point?

The clock ticks 5:00 and I'm off. My bag, light due to being filled with nothing but empty beer cans, slumps over my shoulder as the automatic doors open reluctantly.

————————————————

Life is getting tedious. What’s the point? 

If I have to wake up everyday and do the exact same shitty thing, every. single. day. Then why am I even here? I’m not helping anyone and I’m just a burden. 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

I feel heavy. My bag is light but I feel heavy. Everything hurts. 

I stumbled out of the saloon at exactly 11:00 PM.

11:00PM.

The same as usual.

Everything hurts and is heavy. As usual. 

Looking up at the sky, I watch a solitary bird amongst the midnight black and I can’t help but wonder if that bird has a purpose too. 

I can’t help but wonder if anything has a purpose. 

And that’s when I see him. 

Watching the same bird. The same sky. But smiling. I’ve forgotten how to smile, how does it feel?

I’ve never seen this guy before. Somehow…it feels refreshingly new. 

Promising.

But why?

What’s the point?

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Part 2: Like a moth to a flame.

He sees me. And I feel warmth.

I don’t know how it's possible; I'm in my usual shabby, thin and lint ridden clothes, shivering, watching the sky, in cold, cold rain yet somehow…I feel warmth. 

I shouldn’t want to find out, there’s no point. But somehow, a part of me wants to know more about this stranger, and the fire they started in my heart, whatever my heart is for.

Whatever my heart is for, it longs for them and I can’t deny it. I’m alone in the rain with my consciousness, but then they are here, with me, and my emptiness, even my hidden sadness, and I can’t help feeling like I want to know more. To feel more. More warmth. 

“Ahem. You’ve been staring for quite a while.”

I ruin everything. Of course he’s going to run away and maybe it's for the best.

“At the sky, I mean. But, I guess you've been kinda spacey around my face region.”

This man. He laughs and a blazen passion is sought in my heart.

“Oh…uh…yeah.”

As my only comfort, I bring my hands to my pockets, hands quivering as frostbite makes its way up my fingertips to my palm.

“Nice weather we’re having.”

I can’t respond… It’s meant to be funny, and I'm meant to laugh, but I haven’t laughed in ages…whatever ‘ages’ is, anymore.

“Not into sarcastic jokes? Huh…kay’. Got it…how about…dad jokes? You seem like you like them.”

My only response is a grunt as I turn my back to him. 

He’s trying to cheer me up - he’s too sweet for me. Hurting someone sweet would only make things bitter and worse. For the both of us.

I distinguish the flame in my cradling mind and heart, and go home.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Part 3: Why does the sun come out every morning, and the moon to shine at night?

Waking up is difficult, but not impossible. I’ve done it for years. 

I need to work. It’s the only way I’m useful.

What’s the point?

I don’t know, but today is no different. I put on the same clothes and head to work.

Well, I tried. 

There he was. Outside the house, sleeping on the grass. 

“What on earth are you doing?”

I watch as he wakes violently, confused and drowsy. 

“Huh? Oh…huh?”

“…” It doesn’t matter what I say or do. However, somehow, I care for him alot more than I have ever done for someone, especially myself. “Were you drunk last night?”

“Probably. And you, Mr. Handsome Hangover?”

I don’t need to hear more. I shouldn't put more effort into my curious care. Plus, I'm going to be late.

I turn my back once again and walk down the path. I can’t allow myself to think such things.

To my half-annoyance, I hear the sound of footsteps.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To work. Now go away.”

“What if I said no?”

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 There he is. In front of all of the staff, including me of course, introducing himself.

Why.

“Hello! Nice to meet you, and pleasure to be working with you.”

The staff here aren’t the nicest of people so they disregard his warm welcome and immediately shuffle off to work. I don’t blame them. I know what its like working in a corporate shithole for years.

We’re here for work, not for pleasantries. 

I’m just about to join them, when he approaches me.

“Sup. That was a surprise, wasn't it!” he holds his hand out to shake, “well, as you know, I’m (R/N)”

“I don’t care, go away.”

I do care. I really do. I just can’t be bothered for a relationship of any sorts. Its enough having to maintain one with Jas and Marnie. I just…can’t. 

They are already concerned and I don’t want to be a burden to anyone else.

“Oh, yes you do! You stared at me for a good five minutes before you ran off.”

“Stop.”

I begin to distract myself with the shelves I am so familiar with. I can hear the silence and vacancy of this new…bothersome man. 

Looking over my shoulder, I notice he’s hard at work. Huh. Quite surprising. Not completely. People like him are very strong. Mentally, that is. They can put their mind to anything and get it done just fine. I guess one of the things he put his mind to was socialising with me, nobody. I wonder why. 

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“Huh? Oh, cause’ you seemed lonely.”

What’s a better place than the saloon to coincidentally meet someone you’ve been trying to avoid and ignore all day in order to save both of your sanities all at once. 

And an even better place to make a fool of yourself by asking why he approached you the other night, especially when a little tipsy.

Lonely? Do I really look lonely? I never knew it was that…obvious. 

“Oh.”

“And may I ask, why did you walk off that night?”

He says, leaning in, like the devil's temptation, a shot glass dangling seductivley at the tips of his fingers.

“Because.”

“Because?~”

“Because. Now let me be alone.”

“All right.”

Thank god.

“But just one thing.”

Ugh.

“What’s your name?”

I lost my nametag for work a while ago. 

“Shane.”

“Nice to meet you, Shane.”

Why must it be that the warmth seeks my lonely heart instead of those who deserve it?

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Another lonely night in my cold bed. I can hear the wind howl, smell my unwashed odoresome sheets, taste the pungent biting liquor from tonight’s round and see nothing but the moonlight filtering through my tattered blinds.

I can feel the tears on my cheeks but It doesn't feel like I'm crying.

I’ve forgotten what crying is, because I've done it so often. I’ve also forgotten the feeling of stopping. 

One of my only escapes is the drinks. 

I need another one, soon, before it becomes more than just a distraction.

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SECTION 2: PARTS 4, 5 & 6

[maskyartist]

Okay I’m making this it’s own post cause I’m fucking losing my mind, but mostly over one thing and that’s Roman Torchwick and how he’s characterized in this single moment

Now keep in mind I haven’t watched the full episode, nor have I gotten the chance to read Roman Holiday (a damn shame I know), but I don’t think I need to rn to ramble about this point cause it just hit me like a train.

CRWBY never forgot about Roman. They didn’t just kill him off and make Neo go solo.

They set this up from the start.

The fact that Neo is silent means we can never truly know what’s going on in her head. We don’t know her thoughts. We don’t know her feelings. All we knew was she was mad for Roman and went to get Cinder for it, then Ruby herself. But never the full extent of it all.

Neo’s muteness made US, the audience, almost forget about Roman to watch her perform as a side piece to a lot of the villains. Never truly forgetting, but assuming he wouldn’t be brought up again. The hat and scarf would be reminders but never would they actually mention Roman because they killed him off in such an unceremonious way.

So to actually see THIS

To see just how deep these two went, to get full in show confirmation that they were partners in every sense of the word (romantic or platonic take it how u will but I love some Gelato so this fed me well), only to have him SPEAK? It throws you off.

Not only is it confirmation that Roman was never forgotten, but it also proves one thing about Neo that I think is so important.

She had nothing beyond Roman. “One Thing” was right. She had Roman, and he was taken away from her. And for the rest of the series, through every adventure, every appearance, every moment she was and wasn’t on screen-

She was thinking of him. Remembering him. Keeping him in her thoughts.

I understand that Neo talking through Roman makes sense and that’s why he’s got the most speaking lines, but I do find it interesting that everyone else from the “dead people lineup” is so quiet. Such a caricature of themselves.

Neo never met them personally, she doesn’t even know Leo or Clover, and Penny, Pyrrha, Ironwood, and Ozpin are all based on Ruby’s own memories Wonderland is probably pulling from her. But even they’re barebones. The only ones who have speaking lines are Penny, Pyrrha, and Ozpin and they are extremely generic.

Meanwhile, Roman is fully fleshed out. A whole person. He has his attitude, his emotions, his reactions, Neo never forgot him. She never forgot his exact self.

She uses him as her mic because he was always her voice. He was the one who made things make sense.

The line “That’s what I offered her back on Remnant.” just proves how long Neo’s thought of him. Never forgetting their promises, never forgetting his words, never forgetting him.

How many nights did Neo stay up thinking of him? How many times did she create his illusion just to play pretend for a little longer?

Everyone forgot Roman. After his death, he practically never existed. Left everyone’s minds. He wasn’t important by that point because he wasn’t an immediate threat.

But Neo never forgot.

And somehow that’s more terrifying then I thought it would be… The idea of her constantly thinking about him, trying to keep him alive in her mind. It’s no longer just about Ruby killing Roman, it’s that she forgot. That’s what ticked Neo off even more, that Ruby didn’t even view what she did as important enough to remember.

“That’s what this is about?! You still blame me for What happened to Torchwick!”

As if to say “Really? That’s all this is? Just him?”

To her, it’s mockery. As if he wasn’t even worth her time when Roman meant everything to Neo. He was her whole world, judging by, once again-

“Always loved the idea of a place to run away from it all… Do whatever you want! I offered that to her back on Remnant.”

Roman took care of reality, while Neo was able to live in her fantasy world. He handled the world. She just had to live in it, perform for it, and enjoy whatever popped up next. He brought her the escape she’s always wanted. A world where no one could hurt her, no one could catch her… Just Roman and Neo. Partners in crime. In everything.

Roman was Neo’s whole world, her One Thing…and that was stolen from her.

She didn’t have the power to make that known before. But with Wonderland…she can do anything she wants.

[impala1967dwinchester]

Jensen Ackles- New Girl

Pairing: Jensen x Mrs.Ackles, Jensen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Home Wreaker, cheating, married and cheating, scandalous, almost getting caught, feelings, accidentally being a home wrecker, therapist, implied smut, roughness.

Summary: Being Jensen's secretary comes with a very odd relationship. One that Jensen seems perfectly fine with.

WC- 2.9k

A/n- @firefly-graphics for dividers

Main Master List // Jensen A. Master List

"I need you in my office in five," Jensen said to me over the speaker from the landline. Five minutes was a long enough time for him to change from being pissed off and ready to blow off steam on yelling at me. His words echoed in my mind.

I'd been working with Jensen for the past 6 months. Everything was cosher until the workload got harder, and the stress on Jensen got worse. When he had hired me, it was "Yes, sir", and "Yes, Mr. Ackles right away Mr. Ackles." But now it wasn't anything but a few words to me every day. The office was bleak and so was Mr. Ackles's attitude.

I hadn't the slightest clue as to what was truly ever going on with my boss. You'd think that I would, I'd hear gossip or find something out, but that was never the case. He was so damn secretive about nearly everything.

Five minutes never seemed so fast. I bumped my leg, my heel ever so slightly hitting the carpet floor. I kept my eyes on the right lower corner of my computer screen. Watching the clock tick by. You could say that this was a waste of time and you might be right. You could say that I could be working on something, but it would be worthless especially if I knew that was where this was going.

Mr. Ackles only ever called me into his office, when he was going to fuss and yell at me. He was a great employer when he was 'a nice' employer. There is always something about him coming back from lunch with his wife.

Something about his wife made him furious. No matter what he'd come in guns blazing and a few moments later he'd call me in. I realized at the start of my employment what it really meant when he called me into his office.

I was a paid therapist at those times. He vented to me about his wife, and how he wish 'I could somehow get out of this ridiculous relationship.' I slide the wheeled chair back, shaking the bravery onto my face as I went into the lion's dens. I let my heels glide me over to his door, knocking only once.

"Come in." It was quick and cold. Not loud and robust like I expected to come through the door. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Mr.Ackles had taken off his dress jacket it was laying around the edge of his chair, and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. A look that would nearly have me at my knees if he was anyone else.

He was my boss, and yes we had an odd relationship when it came to me coming into his office, but I couldn't and wouldn't think of my boss as a hot older gentleman. It would go against everything I believed in, and for starters, you can't be in love with your boss.

"Mr.Ackles," I said, from here I wasn't sure what was going to happen. I was never truly sure what sort of plans came into his head while he waited in his office for me.

Would today be another day of wasting hours of listening to him come to the same conclusion that he hated his wife? That he wished for something and someone different in his life. With Mr. Ackles being the head of his company, I think it was rather hard to deal with everything that came with running a business and treating your life like you were walking on eggshells.

I had only met his wife once. Slightly orange hair that was longer than mine, tall and demanding behavior as she walked into the halls. On the prowl for her husband, searching through rooms and halls. Until she came to my desk. Now, this was at the very being of my employment. She gave me a rather snotty look, before looking me up and down and scoffing. "Hello, may I help you?" I was still new to the job and new ways of being a secretary. With a roll of her eyes, and a hand placed on her hip. "I'm here for my husband. I'm Mrs. Ackles" She said.

I rang her husband and heard the saddest sigh ever over the phone. A sigh of disappointment, sadness. I'm not sure what was sad, the yelling made the conversation hard to listen to. She came out speed walking down the hallway. "You can fuckin' deal with him." and with that, she had never walked back into the office.

"Mr. Ackles. I can sit down if you need me to." I said softly. I never wanted to yell, for too many reasons but one of them. Was simply because I wasn't like his wife. He had yet to look up at me from his desk, his eyes cast down on the wood pattern. I took a moment and waited for some sort of something to come out of his mouth.

I moved further into his office. Closing the door behind me, and walking past the chair that was laid out for people. I stood next to the side of his desk, hopping up onto the desk. My legs were crossed and my skirt rose up on my thighs. My skin showing off, and not on purpose. "I'm here, whatever you need Mr. Ackles," I said softly again. You don't need to rush him.

"It's Jensen, Y/n." He said finally, but his gaze was looking down at his wooden desk. I reached out, "Okay, Jensen. Can we talk about what happened?" I said. My hand landed on his shoulder blade. I felt him shiver at the touch I swallowed thickly. Worried that maybe I had crossed a line, an invisible line. He moved under my touch my hand slipping from his shoulder blade and made into my own lap. Jensen was leaning into his big office chair, but it wasn't big enough.

I tried to come up with some words, but sometimes silence is better. "You know she's always so worried that I'm fucking you." Jensen said, my first inticst was to ask why, ask how she had come up with a conclusion like that. "I can't tell if she's saying I'm fucking you over, or she truly thinks that I'm fucking you." My hand came up to my hair fingers running thorugh it. Worry was written on my face. I could feel it, and I knew that Mr. Ackles could see it.

"Why would she think that, sir?" I asked. Jensen looked over me, and for the time I noticed something I had never seen before. Freckles, that were littering his cheeks, and nose. If I had the time I'd count and recount them every day. I shook my head trying desperately to get out of my own thoughts. "I'm not sure, maybe she is jealous of just how much time we spend together? Maybe she is jealous of how pretty you are?" Jensen said. My heart quickened in my chest I swear he could hear it.

"I'm not as beautiful as she is though. She shouldn't worry about me, I'm nothing in comparison to her." I said quickly, say only what is right to say, not what you feel in this type of satin. I didn't realize just how close I had gotten myself to Mr. Ackles. Not even more then a arms length away from each other.

God, I had never realized how good he smelt. His cologne was everywhere in this room, about him was like a drug. The closer Jensen and I got the more my heart raced in my chest. "Maybe I should just do what my wife is accusing me of doing. Maybe I should let myself take what I want after all these months." He said. It was loud and clear. "Maybe I should just drag you over my desk and fuck you raw, like my wife thinks." Jensen said. My mouth was left gapping open.

All sorts of thoughts ran throw my head before I felt the softest touch on my exposed skin. I looked down to see a giant hand nearly wrapping around my thigh. "I'm sure she... I'm sure she doesn't think you're doing anything like that with me, Mr. Ackles." I muttered. "Why because I'm your boss?" Mr. Ackles asked. I was chewing at my lip. Thinking about how to get out of this. Jensen seemed perfectly fine with having his hand wrapped around my thigh.

"Yes," I whispered as I continued to look down at his hand on my thigh. His fingers moved, squeezing at my flesh. if I was smarter, if I didn't want this I would have moved already, but at last, I'm still sitting here on his desk, with his fingers playing at my flesh.

"So, are you saying you wouldn't love me to fuck you with my fingers?" Jensen hinted. My words weren't working, and neither was my mouth as I tried and failed to come up with something to say to Mr. Ackles. There could be a thousand things that happen. We could get caught, he could fire me after everything because he realized that he fucked up, or he... we could continued whatever this new relationship is.

"How about you just relax and come here," Jensen said pointing towards the center of the desk. He pushed a few things out of the way and made room for me. I didn't move at first too scared that if I did, everything that had been said in the small space would prove untrue. He waited until he grew impatient. "Come now, I promise you," Jensen said softly, reaching out his hand so I could take it. I hopped down from the desk with his help before moving in front of him. Jensen moved back in the office chair, the wheels helping move him back to give me room to hop onto the desk once again.

Once again I was sitting at his desk. I tried to cross my legs, but Jensen stopped that. Pinning them instead next to each of his thighs. My heels dug into the office chair as I realized how exposed I was to him. "Look at you, doing so good for me." Jensen praised me, his words felt like smooth honey rolling down my back. Making me relax more into his touch.

"I noticed that you shut the door behind you when you came in," Jensen commented, I turned to look at the door. I bit my lips before turning back around and looking down at him. "Did you do that on purpose? Did you think that something was going to happen?" Jensen questioned me. I shook my head, not trusting how my words might come out.

"You'll have to answer me sooner or later, don't go forgetting you work me now Y/n." Jensen said, as he brought his hands further up my legs. Caging me in with his body, as I caged him in with my legs. "You know I should have seen it beforehand." He continued. "You're always so sweet to me, letting me ramble on about how shitty of a relationship I have with my wife. I bet you wanted to take advantage of that. Did you want to take advantage of your boss huh?" Jensen questioned me. I shook my head. "Oh you poor sweet thing." Jensen teased. I swallowed hard, as I wondered how faar he would elt this go.

"Are you worried we might get caught?" He asked. For the first time, my words came tumbling out of my mouth with no regard for how small or timid they might sound. "Yes, I'm afraid we might get caught," I whispered. "Oh no sweetheart. We won't get caught because you're going to be real quiet." He said encouruaging me to agree with him. "wuiet?" I asked. "Yeah, quiet. So I can fuck you." Jensen said.

His fingers twitching as they got closer and closer to my waist. "Mr. Ackles, don't you think this has gone to far. I wouldn't wanna upset.." i was shushed by Jensen. One finger coming up to brush up agasint my lips. My attention had drawn out and began to focus on his long pointer finger. I felt my eyes cross as I looked down the bridge of my nose.

"Like I said Y/n, it's Jensen. Frankly, I don't give a shit what Mrs. Ackles thinks. Unless you care about whatever boy toy you've got waiting for you at home? If you have any boy toy waiting for you at all." Jensen said. "No I don't have anyone waiting for me at home," I said quietly. Thinking and reminding myself just lonely I indeed was. this job was everything that I had. It was the most interaction I had with anyone in a while now. I didn't have a shit ton of girlfriends, so there wasn't much of leaving the house and getting shit-faced drunk before rushing back home for work on Monday morning. I didn't have a boyfriend that was excepting me back home after my work day ended. I didn't even have an animal that I took care of.

Mr. Ackles was my life in an odd and obsessive way.

"Y/n come back to my baby. I know you must feel lonely, and I can fix that for you." He said, his hand turning and cupping my cheek. "But you've got to keep it our little secret." He said eyes big, not willing to open up to anyone or anything. This was the closest we had to trusting each other.

"Okay," I said. It was simple. Saying it was simple, but what happening was far from simple. It was what you read in fantasy novels or romance novels. "Good," he said before he was leaning in,. I melted as he got closer to my touch. Excitement was running through my bones, and I breathed in one last time before his lips were on mine.

I had expected something different. With Jensen's rough exterior, I was expecting the same as how he would kiss or touch me. Everything led to something new that I was discovering. His lips were plump and soft when they came in contact with mine. He was cradling my cheek, there wasn't an ounce of pressure behind any movement he made.

There was no tongue that came busting into my mouth. Nothing forced, as Jensen's lips came lifting off my mine. "Now, that wasn't too bad was it?" he asked me. There was a twinge in his eyes, something had shifted in him as he kissed me. I could feel just how hot my face was. Just how much the blush had covered over my face.

"Aren't you just a cutie?" Jensen teased as he left my immediate space. I shook my head, "Mr. Ackles..." I tried to say but was stopped by a strong arched brown looking back at me. "It's Jensen dearie." He said but urged me to continue. "Jensen are you gonna touch me soon?" I asked, my words of course are timid, but enough to make him laugh.

A heavy, deep laugh from the bottom of his stomach. "Are you getting a little frustrated with how sweet I'm being with you?" He questioned me. "Hmm" Humming, I took a deep breath, and leaned into him. Kissing him deeply, all while I let my finger roam around him.

Undoing the buttons of his collared shirt, my hands glided over the white tank top covering his warm skin. "Can you take this off?" I asked innocently. "Of course anything for you." He said leaning back and stripping from the collared shirt and the tank top. Warm-toned skin came into view. Abs that weren't super toned were definitely there to be seen. I let my hands do whatever they wanted to do. Grazing over his skin down to meet the ridge of his dress slacks. Playing ever so slightly with the belt that held them nicely on his hips.

"No, not yet dearie." He said swatting my hands away from his belt. "You already got something, now why don't we make it fair and you lose some more clothing." He commented. I bit my lip and blinked a few times before reaching for my blouse. "Do you want the pleasure?" I asked him dragging the motion out. He didn't think too hard and for too long. His fingers took over control of my blouse. Undoing all of the buttons until the only thing that was left was my bralette. A dark purple that hung nicely to my skin tone.

"Purple? A very naughty color for you to be wearing to work don't you think?" Jensen said as he cupped my breasts in his hands. "I would have never thought about this when I hired you." I shivered at the thought as he continued to play with my breasts through the thin purple lace. "Whatever you say, Jensen." I huffed out. The teasing of his fingers and hands. Warm flesh against warm flesh was wonderful.

"I have all sorts of things planned for your sweet thing," Jensen said before letting his face fall into the valley of my breasts. His lips and mouth teased, licking, and sucking at my skin. My hand came into his hair, a slight pull and tug here and there as I couldn't help but moan at each of his teasing licks.

"What am I going to do with you, Mr. Ackles?" I said through moans of pure enjoyment. Jensen lifted his head, looking up at me through thick lashes. "You aren't sure what you're going to do with me, but I know what I'm going to do with you," Ackles said. Leaning up to kiss me softly.

Completed on: 01/25/2023

Posted on: 01/26/2023

Radio Girls Tag List: @kazsrm67 @mrspeacem1nusone @dilfloverr @deandreamernp @mrsstevenbuchananstark @Onethirstyunicorn @silverose365

[letsgoplayhighfive]

Supernova - A Gandrew One-Shot

Garrett loves his new apartment for a multitude of reasons.

Most of those reasons, he knows, naturally come down to Andrew. As most things do.

(A silly little Gandrew story, written in three long, late sessions. Cross-posted on Ao3, which you can find here. A huge thank you to @lmnsdtexe, who inspired, proof-read, edited, and kept me on track to actually finish this fic. I genuinely couldn't have done it without them.)

Garrett loves his new apartment for a multitude of reasons.

Really, he does- the comments he’d off-handedly thrown towards the camera about it being a mistake or a bad idea were just bluffs to get a few laughs. In reality, he thinks taking the place for his own was probably the best thing he’d managed to do in years. No joke.

It’s old, the floors creak, the doors are thin and the walls even thinner, and of course it’s also extravagantly haunted, but all of those things just add the exact kind of character Garrett loves. He can’t imagine himself anywhere else in Spokane anymore. His uncle's house is a great place to crash- don’t get him wrong -but the feeling in this charming little building is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, and likely something he won’t be able to recreate anywhere else.

He’s also grateful to have the memories there, as few of them as there are, so cross-linked with Andrew. He doubts he’ll ever forget that road trip, all 20 hours of it, and while they’d both ended up delirious and exhausted deep in their bones, he looks back on it with a soft and warm fondness that is reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. He elevates anything that Garrett is doing, even if it’s something as mundane as getting Starbucks, and everything always feels brighter when the two of them are together. So, naturally, he brings Andrew along to most places, and Andrew never seems to mind. Even if it is his terminally haunted home. Even if that home does scare the shit out of both of them on a regular basis. Things never feel quite as scary when Andrew is there, anyway, and Garrett only hopes he feels the same way about him. 

Garrett is there to visit his niece for her birthday, still in awe at how fast time is passing and how old everyone is getting. Of course he’d sprung an invite on Andrew at the last minute and of course Andrew had also agreed at the last minute, so now they’re in his new living room, trying to ignore the strange little creaks and ticks coming from different angles around them.

The place has started to fill in with various Garrett-isms. The Xena poster from his 90’s room is up by the front door, a sword is mounted behind the TV, and Peter B. Parker has somehow found his way from Garrett’s truck up to the apartment windowsill. There’s a new spice rack in the kitchen, and he's picked out a set of vintage-looking barstools with Andrew from Wayfair that sit pulled up to the ledge separating the rooms. It’s slowly becoming a home around him, his home, and when Garrett thinks back to the first time they’d stepped inside together he can almost feel emotion tightening up his chest and clogging his throat. 

Because yes, the place is his- It’s his name on the paperwork, now, after all -but it’s also so very much Andrew’s, too. Enough so that it holds the same (if not more) associative intensity as the Beehive. They’ve picked out almost every piece of furniture in it together, and Andrew is still regularly sending Garrett links to various pieces he thinks will be a good match. It’s domestic. It’s perfect. Garrett savours every second of it.

There’s a bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of him- which is less of a table and more of an antique-looking chest he’d thrifted and lugged in the back of his pickup from L.A. -and while it’s just a cheap-shit Merlot it’s still their favourite and they buy three bottles at a time to keep the stash going. Two pizza boxes rest on the floor by their feet, picked apart and empty, only still there because neither are bothered enough to actually throw them away tonight. Some things just wait until morning, and pizza boxes are usually one of those things. 

They’d spent a good hour clicking through Netflix, then Prime, then Paramount, then HBO, and when they still hadn’t found something they felt like watching, Garrett had gotten up from the loveseat and found his speaker and suggested just putting some music on and going from there. Andrew had agreed, of course- and now he’s staring at his Spotify, scrolling through their playlist (collaborative, because they send each other so much music it starts to get confusing) with his brow furrowed just slightly and his free hand balancing the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. There’s a fireplace ambiance video on the TV, and the red-orange-yellow colours only serve to make Andrew look even better, adding more warmth to his skin and his hair and the flash of his smile.

Garrett takes a slow sip from his own glass, silently observing, face quirked up into a grin (and when is it not, when Andrew is concerned?). The ghosts and ghouls are mostly forgotten between them, especially with the bottle of wine half-drained, and a lot of it is just played off as the sounds the place just makes - as if it’s normal and expected and fine. And hey, he hasn’t been stabbed or shoved or possessed yet, so he figures it’s not too far from the truth. Whatever is in here, at least upstairs, seems like it doesn’t really mind either of them. It makes Garrett happier about the apartment, honestly, because there's a chance that ghosts get lonely and maybe them being there is helpful, not harmful, like he’d been scared it would be.

Andrew hums a little sound of confirmation, finally selecting a track, and the sounds of a Drake song start slowly rising from the portable speaker between them. They don’t have it too loud, at least trying to be respectful at the hour of 3:00 AM and not disturb the actual living and working people that call this place home, too. 

“ This is what I’m talking about, baby, yeah!” Andrew says, half-sarcastically, as the bass to ‘Fire and Desire’ comes in, thrumming low atop the chest-table. He discards his phone on the little stretch of cushion between them, letting it slip carelessly from his fingers. His head bobs slightly to the beat as he takes his own sip of wine, almost drained. 

Garrett watches the show from the other end of the loveseat, propping his tired and swimming head up with one hand, elbow pressed into the backrest, creasing into brown leather. He laughs, a little deliriously, more of a high-giggle than anything else. Andrew had just finished playfully shading him for the Mariah Carrey he played previously- though they’d still listened to the whole thing, and teasing aside, Garrett still doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed, like so many others have made him feel before. With Andrew it’s always just good and not much else.

Garrett tips his head back a little, looking at the speckled and slightly yellowed ceiling above them, wetting his mouth with the last sip of wine in his glass. He feels almost overwhelmed in this moment, in this slow and perfect little accumulation of good decisions, inside this unpoppable bubble with Andrew that they’ve built for themselves, one brick and stone and weird little stuffed animal at a time. The gratefulness presses against his chest, behind his ribs, and it feels ready to burst out of him. Garrett has a personal rule that he takes quite seriously- that if he has something nice to say it’s always better to say it than to refrain, so he does.

“Andrew, man- This is so cool. Sorry, like, the hardest and sappiest sidebar ever, but,” Garrett looks back down, reaching to set his empty glass aside with a gentle little clink, scanning his eyes around his living room that really feels more like their living room. “C’mon, this is just, y’know, only the most perfect thing ever.”

Andrew nods, tipping back the rest of his own drink, too, reaching across for the bottle to top them both up. Garrett watches as he takes extra care to make them both filled to the exact same line. 

“I mean, besides the horrifying basement ghost, yeah- no, this place is really coming together, when are we starting our, uh… decorating business? Interior design, or whatever.” He says with a waggle of the fingers on his free hand, leaning back into the loveseat, still bobbing subtly to the beat.

Garrett waves his own hand dismissively, shaking his head. “Not just the stuff, Andrew, though thank you because I think you told me about, like, at least half of the things in here. You would definitely run the business, obviously- but I’m the boy with the truck so don’t think you can just buy me out! The Camry can’t hold furniture, you need me!” 

Andrew laughs gently, and it’s as bright and bubbly and intoxicating as ever. Garrett joins him, even though he can feel his heart beat a bit harder in his chest, and he has to swallow the familiar ache in his throat. It’s nothing new to him, and he prides himself at how good he’s gotten at skimming over it and enjoying what he does have, rather than what he never will.

“No, I mean everything. This place is sick, yeah, straight fire even-” Garrett starts, a chuckle in his voice, and Andrew interrupts him with a single lifted finger.

“Lit, you could say.” Is all he adds, struggling to keep a straight face.

“ Lit, yeah, exactly bro,” Garrett responds, slipping easily into his straight-boy character, but only briefly- he really does intend on saying what he means, here, typical derailment be damned. “But also, y’know, look at us! We’ve done so much cool stuff together, and I’m just so damn grateful, man. Thank you, Andrew, for being here, even though most of the time it is absolute insanity.” 

When he settles his eyes on Andrew, he’s looking back at him, now, too. His eyes are crinkled into a smile, and even though they’re red and tired, there’s so much warmth in them that Garrett almost feels taken aback by it. Sometimes he wonders how he even has enough space in his chest for how much he adores Andrew. The thought stings like lemon in a papercut, but he shakes it off.

Andrew shrugs a shoulder, always playing it casual. He huffs a little through his nose, his smile ticking upwards another notch, like he's just thought of something funny that for once Garrett isn’t in on.

“I mean, yeah, it’s been insane, but- but good insane, like- I don’t know, dude, without any of this,” He responds, gesturing to the room around them, finishing by shaking his hand at Garrett, right at him. “I think I’d be insane by now. Bad insane.”

Garrett hums in agreement, nods, tries not to look into things too deeply. 

“Quarantine.” Garrett says simply, raising his eyebrows.

“ Quarantine, exactly, what would we have done? ” Andrew says back, and he’s laughing again, and Garrett wants to, too, but he can’t quite manage more than a little chuckle to cover up his silence. He wonders if Andrew will ever know what those months together really mean to him, and his brow furrows just a touch, inhibitions washy from the alcohol. 

Garrett copes by lifting his wine again, taking a deep swallow, trying to spread out the warmth behind his eyes. 

Andrew considers his own glass for a moment, swirling it gently, ever-careful not to spill a drop over the side onto Garrett’s (their) new furniture. He blinks down at it, and his smile slips, just a touch, matching Garrett’s own. 

There’s something different in the air now, all of a sudden. Garrett isn’t quite sure what to make of it, of the expression on Andrew’s face, the way the silence is dragging on between them in such a strange, alien way, interrupted only by the sound of another Drake song rolling over on the speaker. 

“You ever-” Andrew starts, and pauses. It’s jarring, really, and Garrett almost jumps at the sound of his voice. His smile is gone, now, and he’s second-guessing himself, Garrett knows. He can know a lot just by looking at him, usually, though there’s a sense of unease unfolding here that apparently he can’t quite pinpoint. “Do you ever have any regrets?”

Garrett tilts his head to the side, just slightly, a perfect picture of confusion, pausing with his wine raised halfway to his lips. He thought that he’d derailed the conversation earlier, but this is entering a territory he hadn’t expected. At all. 

“I mean- yeah, regrets, who doesn’t?” He responds, watching as Andrew continues to avoid his eyes, feeling his stomach twist and turn and his heart kick like a drum. “Not about this, though, if that’s what you mean. Like, at all. ”

He adds the last part in a rush, more than anything not wanting Andrew to think he regrets a single facet of their friendship or this little apartment of his (theirs) and the world they’ve built, all the while trying to quell the sinking feeling in his soul when he realises maybe that's what Andrew means.

“Yeah, no- no, me neither, not like that.” Andrew quickly scrambles the words out, and it does help, just a little. It’s genuine, Garrett can feel that much. “Not like that but, there’s… It’s…”

Andrew huffs, frustrated, like he’s angry at himself for his inability to find the right words. Garrett doesn’t really know where this is going, as terrifying as it is, and it’s giving him whiplash from the 180 turn they’ve taken from their happy, private little moment on the couch. His hand feels cold and clammy on his glass and he puts it down lest he drop Merlot all over the carpet. 

Garrett doesn’t understand the way Andrew is looking at him, doesn’t understand why it’s gotten so quiet, suddenly, and so suffocating in the silence, too, despite the music playing between them. He wants to say something, break the sudden unusual tenseness that’s entered the room, but it feels like the spit has dried up in his mouth and his tongue has turned to stone. The alcohol isn’t helping anymore- if anything, it’s made all of this feel even weirder, spacier, and all the more unreal. 

“You good, Andrew?” He says, finally, finding what's left of his voice amid his scrambled thoughts, unable to stand the burning behind Andrew’s eyes anymore. It’s making him want to get up and run and never move from this spot again, all at once, and he’s never been so lost with Andrew before. It’s terrifying, carnally.

Andrew thinks, furrows his brow, scans across Garrett’s face like he’s trying to commit it to memory or find something there that Garrett himself doesn’t know about. Or doesn’t want him to see. Or doesn’t feel like Andrew wants to see. 

Garrett watches as he averts his eyes again, almost relieved. Andrew tips back his drink, taking it all at once, grimacing because chugging wine is a vile, vile thing, and places the empty glass next to Garrett’s. He takes a moment, focused on the table, the little tarnished steel buckles and leather bands of the old chest, and Garrett can almost hear the gears turning in his head and see smoke coming from his ears.

Then, his eyes, again, on Garrett’s own- It could probably kill him, that look, if it hadn’t already. Maybe this is a dream, or an afterlife he isn’t aware he’s in, or some kind of personalised hell curated just for him. 

“Yeah,” Andrew responds, nodding slowly, never breaking gaze. There’s something new to him now that wasn’t there before, some kind of resolve that Garret doesn’t recognize. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Andrew shuffles, a little, on the couch, turning more-so to face Garrett straight on. The cushions are relatively small, close together, making the most of the little space there is to go around. 

“Garrett, I-,” Andrew pauses, looking to the side, and Garrett can see him biting the inside of his cheek. A nervous habit he's noticed a million times over. This is the point, usually, when Garrett would suggest they leave whatever stupid party or store they’re at, or ask what’s getting to him, or otherwise do anything in his power to make things just a little bit easier for Andrew. This time, though, it doesn’t feel like there's anything in the universe that can help. “I’m hoping this isn’t, like, completely out of pocket, here. But if it is just- it’s fine, totally, but just tell me, okay?” 

Garrett blinks over at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face and, for once, failing. But whatever is happening here right now, well- it feels important. Almost as much so as it is scary. It goes without saying that Garrett trusts him, and that isn’t going to change now. Or ever.

“Yeah, no- dude, of course. I got you, Andrew. What’s up?” He asks, and it's like swallowing sand trying to keep his voice steady and not let his apprehension creep onto his face. 

Andrew stares down at the space between them. Back to Garrett. Over at the fireplace on the TV, then Garrett again. His jaw is clenched, shoulders raised, and Garrett watches as he takes a deep, slow breath in and out through his nose. He forces the tension out of himself with it, expunging the anxiety from his body- some of it, anyway. Enough of it to ground himself, at the very least, something from therapy he’d told Garrett about some night long ago.

“You sure?” Is all Andrew says back. He’s looking at Garrett, but not in the eyes. His gaze is lower. Garrett can feel his hands start to shake. 

He nods- it’s all Garrett can manage, right now, with Andrew looking across the small space at him like that. On their couch, in their little spooky apartment, with their music playing softly in the silence. It feels cataclysmic. It feels like maybe they’ve been working towards this night for a long time; an accumulation of every video they’ve filmed, every drink they’ve shared, every valentines day spent at each other's houses and every time they’ve stayed up far, far past midnight only for the sake of being in each others presence- only to do it all over again the next day, and the next, and the one after that. 

Andrew nods, too- slightly, hardly noticeable. It’s almost as if he’s reassuring himself, trying to keep up with the confidence he’s trying to manifest that always seems to be one step ahead of them both. Garrett could try to do the same, but right now it's as if his world is imploding in on itself like an ancient star- an open, gaping black hole threatening to show its face, pull him inside and everything else along with him. He feels as though if he breathes it will be enough to set it off, atoms and particles colliding and accelerating around him, and there won’t be any chance to go back. For better or for worse.

When Andrew does pull forward, one hand moving to the tight little space of cushion between Garretts leg and the plush backrest to steady himself, Garrett almost leans away in response- even if it is the last thing he wants to do. He has an idea, now, about what’s going on here, but it’s happening so fast and so unexpectedly and it still seems like something he shouldn’t want, something that he intrinsically just cannot have and cannot begin to hope to have. He’s spent so long talking to himself in his head about how unfair it would be to Andrew, how it was okay to just have him as a friend, how worth it all of the pining and pain and sadness was if it meant Andrew still got to shine some golden light into the darkest, dustiest corners of his life. Now they’re here, and Andrew is closer than he’s ever been, and he’s only getting closer.

Garrett can see everything, now. He’s looked at him closely in the past, sure, but it had felt weird and creepy because it had been while Andrew was asleep, still and quiet and peaceful and perfect as ever. His lips parted just slightly when he wasn’t awake, curled under Garrett’s spare sheets or curtains or comforter, and Garrett would watch sometimes, fueling dreams of waking up together that he’d try to scrub off of himself in the shower the next morning. They stuck around in his head, no matter how much he wished he could forget them, no matter how much they burned deep in his chest. It still hadn’t stopped him, though. He doubts that anything ever could’ve.

This time, though, Andrew is awake and alive and breathing right in front of him, close enough he can smell the wine on his lips, can see the deep, twisting colours of his iris’, the delicate, light line of eyelashes surrounding them. It gives him a feeling of unreality, a sense of familiarity from the deepest, most burried of his dreams, and it’s somehow so much like them and so, so different at the same time. 

There’s a moment, a beat that passes between them, and it doesn’t quite feel like hesitation- more like Andrew is taking it in, feeling it out, pausing to exist in this proximity to Garrett that’s so unexplored but also just as natural as any other part of them together. 

And then he tips forward, and there’s a hand tangled blindly into the folds of Garrett's shirt, catching on a button, and lips pressed so, so delicately against his own. 

Garrett’s breath hitches in his chest, his ribs tight and hot and constrictive, and it feels like the apartment is spinning around him behind his eyes that have closed on their own volition. He’s never really allowed himself to think of how this would feel. Not sober, anyway -because he’d promised himself a long time ago not to get caught up in things so far removed from his reality -but now he feels a bit stupid. This, right now, is reality, a reality he’d missed before, allowed to pass by him like a bullet train, blinking every time it came around the tracks. 

He makes some little, pathetic sound in his throat, far from purposeful, and Andrew only presses in closer. Neither pull back- instead, Andrew brings Garrett forward by his shirt, and Garrett lets himself be led, and if his mind hadn’t just gone into another stratosphere he might stop to pinch himself now. 

It is everything . It’s tender, it’s soft, it’s caring and kind and slow and a perfect culmination of what Garrett has always loved about Andrew, everything he loves about him now. It feels like their history, their friendship, all of their time spent with no one else on their minds all put together in a moment just for them, and Garrett doesn’t pay mind to the little pin-pricks of moisture at the corners of his eyes. 

Andrew parts, slowly, hand still tangled up in Garrett’s flannel, eyes blinking open as Garrett does the same. 

There’s a moment, then, where Garrett feels scared all over again. His confidence has always been lacking and the sticky, evil part of his brain that insists on self-sabotage pipes up to tell him that this might not be a beginning but an end; Andrew might regret this, might hate it, might just be using Garrett as a little experiment that’s failing right in front of his eyes. Garrett knows better, knows Andrew wouldn’t do that to him in a million years, knows the love between them is genuine even if it is just friendship, but that beat of fear floods across him anyway, a tsunami just as overwhelming as the earthquake-kiss that has caused it to roll out of the ocean in Garrett’s heart. 

But then Andrew is smiling. Smiling and laughing, quiet and breathy, a few steps softer than his usual manic giggle that Garrett has always been so good at drawing out of him. And it’s perfect. It’s right. It feels exactly how it’s supposed to, how it was always supposed to be, like they’ve just found the last puzzle piece under the carpet after weeks of searching high and low. The satisfaction of a complete and beautiful picture in front of them, ready to be framed and hung and put on display for anyone who cared to see. 

“Woah.” Andrew says, simply, between little bouts of laughter that soothe the quakes in Garrett’s soul.  

Garrett nods, and he can feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards, too, and hopes the shakes in his chest are him laughing back. 

“Woah.” He confirms, trying to ignore the bead that does escape and tumble from his eye, running down his cheek.

Andrew doesn’t- he reaches up, swipes it away with his thumb, soft and uncalloused and so much unlike Garrett’s own. He doesn’t mention it, not out loud- he doesn’t need to. He knows why it’s there, knows it’s not a bad thing, knows it’s for him but from a place of happiness, of relief, of the dissipation of something that has been building inside for far, far too long. Andrew does know him better than he knows himself, after all.

Garrett thinks maybe he was right earlier in saying that his world was imploding and collapsing in like a dying star, irreversibly changing the fabric of his universe, their universe- and as terrifying as it had felt, now they’re past it; now it’s a supernova, expanding outwards, white-hot and exciting and fast and full of energy, of atoms, of incredible power and potential that has been there all along, waiting patiently, slowly reacting and changing until the moment of release. Crossing thresholds and boundaries in a slew of colours and light, rippling through them, through this beautiful little home, the Beehive, Garrett’s backyard in L.A., the tiny house, the trails in Spokane and the endless stretches of highway between it all. 

Garrett reaches forward, his hand shaking from how much feeling is breaking through the cracks now, how much want and time and pain and suppression that has been building up inside him for so long. Now finally free, wordlessly gathering and spilling out between them, making sense in the way they just simply and intrinsically do. Garrett doesn’t have words- and he guesses from Andrew’s response, the lopsided grin on his face, that he doesn’t have them either -but when have they ever needed words before? 

He places his hand, gently, on the side of Andrew’s face, mirroring the one on his own, and he can feel everything- every little hair, the tiny imperfections, the softness Andrew exudes. It’s everything he’s never allowed himself to want with any real intention. Still, he’s glad he didn’t. He’s glad he has been patient, has waited for Andrew, has held out for this perfect payoff. Something about it feels right, and he can’t possibly think of any time with Andrew as being wasted, no matter the nature of their relationship.

This is exactly where they’re supposed to be. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but it doesn’t make him any less sure of its truth.

It’s Garrett’s turn now to be swept up in it, to pull forwards into Andrew and everything he’s ever loved with such intensity before, to seal the deal, to feel his world shake again at the touch of their lips-

And then the bedroom door, down the hall, swings open. The creak is loud and jarring and they both jump halfway out of their skin, having let their guard down and forgetting about the incredibly active and horrifying ghost business they’re kissing in the middle of.

They both look over, frozen, gaping at the dark, open chasm of the doorway. Garrett expects himself to be scared, but he isn’t- just as he knows deep within himself how right this is, he knows this isn’t happening with any malice towards them. It feels more like a push in the right direction. Maybe it has been the whole time, and he simply hasn’t been allowing himself to see it.

Gently, as he always is when it comes to Andrew, Garrett guides his head back to face him, back to reality. Garrett is smiling, as open and wide and inviting as he possibly can be, and he can see the fear bleed away from Andrew's face, the way the softness returns to his eyes. He will never, ever take that for granted.

Garrett can’t help it- he starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, building in his chest and boiling over in a tirade, and of course it gets Andrew going, too. They’re used to getting lost in their feedback-loop of giggles, high and intoxicating and overwhelming, the end not yet in sight. With any hope, it never will be. Garrett tips his head back, lost in it, reveling in the sound of the both of them mixing in his ears. 

Andrew only laughs harder, his grasp once again finding it's way to Garrett’s shirt, one that's exchanged hands so many times before they can't remember who bought it in the first place (and really, that only begs the question of why it's taken them so long to get here, doesn’t it?). He tugs him forward, and Garrett crashes into him- he’s never one to back down from a challenge, even the ones he makes up for himself.

They fall, Andrew backwards on the couch, making some loud, very Andrew-esque exclamation between breathless fits. Garrett comes down on top of him, wrapping his arms around Andrew, pulling himself close, taking everything in in a blur of noise and colours and emotions.

“Garrett- NO!” Andrew shouts in surprise, still smiling and laughing and unabashedly happy. It’s far too loud for this time of night, breaking their personal promise to not be everyone's least favourite neighbours. 

“Oh, Andrew! Carry me away, like Richard Gere!” He says, high and sing-songy and as naturally Garrett as ever, if not more. He plants little pecs across his cheek, into his hair, wherever he can reach as Andrew tries to playfully bat him away, to somehow escape Garrett’s impressively tight grasp on him, and they both know he won’t succeed. It’s also understood that he doesn’t want to, not really.

He could stay like this forever, caught in the tide of Andrew, riding this wave as it crashes towards the shore, only to be pulled back out to sea again, endlessly looping and endlessly happy and fulfilled and beautiful. 

And, he thinks, he will- they both will. Their supernova, their space in the universe, their perfect explosion. It’s only just beginning now, after all this time, and the future is so, so bright and shining that Garrett wouldn’t change a thing. 

Not for all of the stars in the sky. Garrett already has his, after all. He always has, and he always will.

[sharpteethreviews]

"A Rival Most Vial" by R.K. Ashwick

🌕🌕🌕🌗🌑 (3.5/5) (🌶️ Spice level: 0)

“Two potion shops, one heated rivalry…until hate bubbles over into something else.

Any adventurer worth their sword knows about Ambrose Beake. The proud, quiet half-elf sells the best, and only, potions in the city—until a handsome new shopkeeper named Eli opens another potion shop across the street, throwing Ambrose’s peace and ledgers far off balance.

Within weeks, they’re locked in a war of price tags and products—Ambrose’s expertise against Eli’s effortless charm. Toil leads to trouble, the safety gloves come off, and right as their rivalry reaches a boiling point…

The mayor commissions them to brew a potion together.

The task is as complex as it is lucrative, pushing both men to the limits of their abilities and patience. Yet as the fires burn and cauldrons bubble…they find a different sort of chemistry brewing.”

When you grow up with your only real chance for any sort of lgbt representation being fanfiction, you develop a fondness for its tropes and cliches. And “A Rival Most Vial” is like a full length novel of that nostalgia. I don’t know very much about R.K. Ashwick, but I don’t think it would surprise me too much if the trenches of fanfiction.net or AO3 were where she made her writing debut. The book is a love letter to everything safe and familiar, and even beloved about fanfiction. It’s a cute and very simple romantic fantasy read, and the world Ashwick sets it in feels very reminiscent of DND adventures- while I was reading it I actually couldn’t help but mentally compare the characters and world to “The Adventure Zone” (a dnd podcast hosted by the McElroy brothers). It’s cozy, the characters are easy to follow and the world is teeming with all sorts of people and creatures.

 I would honestly recommend it as a young adult or even teen fiction read. There’s things that adults can enjoy within the story, but overall it feels like a book meant to be enjoyed by younger audiences.

The biggest criticism I actually have for the book relates back to the comparison to fanfiction. Fanfiction is often shorter, a few thousand words with pre-established characters and often a simple plot or premise. “A Rival Most Vial” is about 340 pages depending on how/where you read it, but if you cleaned it up it could likely be about 200 pages of things that actually contribute something to the plot/characters, if not less. The writing feels unpolished and the plot feels jumbled and scattered, which short prose fiction often disguises better. When expanded into long form writing, those weaknesses are exposed

The book itself is rife with minor conflicts, snippets, and interactions that take up a lot of space, but add nothing to the plot. Actually, they tend to distract from it pretty heavily, constantly pulling attention from the problem at hand to explore a different conflict, usually between Ambrose, one of the co-protagonists, and one of the supporting cast. Unfortunately, few of these ‘side quests’ are actually finished in a satisfying way- most feel like empty filler that exist just to tick a trope off the list. At best, they feel confusing and distracting, and at worst they are actively disappointing side plots. Most could be completely erased and absolutely nothing about the story would change- and if 5/10/20 pages at a time can be deleted from your book with no consequence, then they either need to be rewritten or scrapped. It feels cluttered- and the primary plot is supposed to be a time sensitive quest that the characters are supposed to be anxious and flustered about, but somehow there’s always time for brunch. It diminishes any sense of urgency the reader is supposed to feel when even the characters feel distracted. In the end, it makes half the story forgettable.

The story also had a weird lack of focus on its own primary plot point, not just in how many sidequests happened, but in that very little of the actual problem was explained or solved. It felt a little like an afterthought, like they realized last minute that that was supposed to be the actual plot and they’d need to finish that to finish out the book. And even then, it was finished with something like, a quarter of the book to go.

The lack of polish extends beyond an inconsistent plot line, the character interactions are actually the weakest point of this book despite the vast potential it gives itself. Interactions between the characters tend to read as overly scripted- it’s as if they’re reciting something instead of talking, which leads to conversations feeling stilted. This is especially difficult during emotionally charged conversations, of which there are supposed to be dozens, being flat and ineffective. You don’t get any true sensation for how the characters feel about each other, and any idea of their relationship is told instead of shown… and even that isn’t spelled out until the end of the book. It’s supposed to be a world shattering realization at the end, but instead it’s just… words on a page. Which is a shame, the relationships that Ashwick was trying to write had amazing potential for an heart-wrenching story about found family and love, but it only reached about half of that potential.

Conflicts in this story were also very weak because of both the inconsistent plot and stilted character interactions. Nothing felt like it had high stakes as everything was solved by brushing it off and moving on.

A minor spoiler warning

The best example of this actually the most memorable moment from the book. The conflict arises with two characters getting into a heated argument, that winds up with one quite literally abandoning the other (who has a major fear of abandonment) in a particularly deadly situation- and the situation is solved with the abandoned character seeking forgiveness (for some reason), giving the abandoner a gift, and then they hug. 

The conflict had so much potential for character exploration and growth, for some truly gritty writing and a redemption arc. But in the end it’s brushed off like it was nothing, and neither character grew or actually learned anything. They just… go back to being friends.

Even the enemies to lovers aspect is handled like this. They simply hate each other until they don’t, and then despite a literal fist-fight they are in a codependent relationship with no build up. There’s not really any reason they should like each other. 

But, with all that said, the story was an enjoyable read and very cute! Ambrose and Eli have very sweet interactions with each other once they set their differences aside. Seeing Ambrose open up is rewarding, especially when the story is addressing its underlying message of found family. The older side characters were actually some of my favourites, as they try to help two young idiots figure out their shenanigans. I wanted to learn more about the characters as I read- because where Ashwick fell short in writing their interactions, she did an amazing job at writing the characters themselves. 

A particular favourite for me was Eli, who put into words that looming feeling of existential dread that comes with aging into an adult and realizing that you have to pick something to do for the rest of your life. He reads very ADHD-coded to Ambrose’s autism-coded. He’s tried half a dozen ventures and been moderately successful at all of them, but it’s his restlessness that ends up spoiling it for him and he has to move on. That’s a very recognizable feeling, I’ve left jobs because while I started off enjoying the novelty, the moment the newness wore off it became a chore that I’d be dragging myself through. To see Eli facing down that conflict, I think would make a lot of people feel seen. Especially since it isn’t given in a negative light, it isn’t his laziness or lack of motivation- it’s just how he is. A lovely contrast to Ambrose, who is content in his routine and has a deep distaste for change.

So, overall this book was still good! I did really enjoy reading it in all its cheesy glory. I definitely think it has a place with younger audiences, especially with its bounty of representation that many teens lack in their own stories. I’m excited to see more come out of Sidequest Row, and I hope to see the writing improve in subsequent books!

Cheers, friends!

[rachelsfav-queer]

Hiiii!! This feels so odd but I just need someone’s advice on a lil thingy😙

So, me and this girl are kind of a “thing”, but she’s got no idea about my regression and I can’t for the life of me figure out how to tell her about it. But our relationship is becoming more and more serious, and she’d find out eventually. I’ve tried to tell her multiple times, but I have this fear kind of? Anyways, I have this fear that she won’t understand and just leave me right away👀🤭

I just need some advice on how to muster up the courage to tell her or maybe just drop some hints...I dunno🤷‍♀️

(I’m so sorry if this ask makes you uncomfy or if it’s triggering in any way, you don’t have to answer I just needed to get it off my chest..btw, love your blog-it’s literally my Roman Empire atm❤️🥰)

Well, first. I’m honored that you enjoy my blog and everything I post here so much! And that you came to me for advice. I’ll be honest, I’m not the best person to come to for this kinda stuff, I don’t have the best experience when it comes to relationships. I’ve only been in one and it was extremely toxic.

But, I’d happy to offer some advice that I’ve heard from others.

So, if you’re really worried that she won’t understand and that she’ll leave, then I’d say try testing the waters a bit. Maybe bring up age regression somehow, unrelated to you. See what her reaction to it is and how she feels about it.

If she reacts positively, or even seems to be interested in it, then you have the green light! Now, that doesn’t mean just dive in right away of course. Go slow, communicate and make sure you’re both on the same page with everything. Always remember, every relationship requires healthy and open communication in order to work. If you aren’t able to communicate with your partner then your relationship is bound to fall apart.

Now, if she reacts indifferently or even negatively, then again, communicate. It could be a misunderstanding or there might be something else.

And of course, I have to bring this up even though I really hope it doesn’t happen. If she reacts hostilely, then you should really consider other options. Cause that is a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode. Always remember that your safety matters.

I’m sorry if this is all vague, again I don’t have a lot of good experience with all this. I hope everything goes well and even if it doesn’t, we’re here for you!

But really, if she truly cares about you, then she’ll be willing to hear you out and understand. Just give her a chance, okay?

Much love, Rachel ❤️

[twinkuraba]

Sucks I lost my motivation before I could finish even the first prompt for the 2022 EriShiki week and now it haunts my documents like a rad ghost that I wish I could fuckin finish writing but my writing motivation has yet to return for longer than a tumblr ramble so I’m shit outta luck.

So I’m posting the bits I did finish under a read more.

A notice they’re NSFW and feature trans Shiki.

Red. Good for drama, contrast and sensuality.

A colour Shiki incorporated into her outfits sparingly, leaving it to trims or inner facings to give the outfit a flash of the allure; vibrant, come-hither rose hidden under demure pearl white, or the professionalism of coal black.

Red. A colour for drawing the eye to the lips. Their shape, their bows and arches. Depending on application, tends to emit either an air of mature seduction, or gaudy tramp.

Right now though, red is the colour of the streaks left behind on Shiki’s cock as Eri deliberately drags her lips along the skin, having left her lips wet and unsealed specifically for this reason; leaving marks on Shiki always left her stomach tingling and her body warm in the best of ways.

Staking her claim on the amazing woman in front of her.

Her girlfriend’s voice is wonderful as she pulls on Eri’s hair, soft cries parting her lips, hands tangling and desperate, face a light dusting of exerted pink as she rocked into Eri’s mouth. She’s been working terribly hard recently, penting herself up in exchange for getting this latest prototype done, cast-off scraps of red fabric creasing under Shiki’s fingers as Eri bobbed.

(She knew better than to try for a quick fuck at Shiki’s actual desk, this one reserved for scraps too big to throw away, potentially useful for something else later, and much less painful to lose to any astray ‘fluids’ than a working prototype.)

As Shiki’s back arches, hands suddenly gripping Eri’s hair tight and voice calling like a song, Eri can’t help but admire how lovely red looks against her skin.

-

Orange isn’t a colour many can pull off. Too bright and it looked cheap and blinding. Too dull and it turned an unappealing brown, something left too long to rot.

Shiki’s friend Neku somehow manages to make bright orange look muddy and dark through the force of his personality alone, and she’d be impressed if he wasn’t so utterly helpless (or deliberately obtuse? She could never tell with him) about his fashion sense, Shiki being the only thing that made him look half-way presentable even if he wore the clothes she offered in ridiculous ways.

(A whole coat and he uses one button to keep it closed?? The man is a menace to good taste everywhere.)

It’s his fault she’s wearing this garish shade of neon orange on her lips; having gotten him earlier with nails painted the most sickly looking, clashing green-yellow she could find that even he, to his fashion-blind tastes, could tell looked terrible with his… everything.

Out of affection, of course.

They’d parted ways after that, Eri returning to a Shiki that took one look at the shade on her lips and quirking a small grin at the one word (name, really) she’d uttered in way of explanation.

“Come here, let me help.” she says with a barely restrained laugh at the colour, hand already reaching for one of the many bottles of make-up removers that lie around the house. It’s too light for her skin and Eri knows it, and knowing that makes the need to get it off itch under her skin so she hurries over to Shiki’s arms and the waiting relief.

Shiki’s fingers are gentle as they dab the oil across her bottom lip, before passing back over to blend it in, the motions against her skin ticking and making Eri grin.

This close, she can see the softness of Shiki’s lashes from behind her glasses as they flutter with her blinking, bright brown eyes focused on Eri’s lips with a focus usually reserved for her projects. 

She’s so beautiful.

Eri parts her lips as Shiki’s finger is rubbing the oil into her top lip, gently closing her mouth around it, tracing around the pad of her finger with the tip of her tongue, the oil making it easy to slide the finger back and forth, and Eri finds her eyes flicking to Shiki’s own as she releases the finger, now smeared with orange, to trail kisses along the inside of Shiki’s fingers, to the part between them, sucking on the small web.

Such beautiful, talented hands.

It’s an easy path to travel from Shiki’s hands down her arm to her neck, hands busy burying themselves under her shirt to feel the soft skin hidden underneath. Shiki uses her own hands to pull Eri up, to deliver a hot kiss to Eri’s lips, the two of them shuffling in the direction of their bedroom together.

She supposes she can give Neku and his garish orange a grudging thanks for this one.