#but it's been eroding from him over the months

[rcmclachlan]

Reading the comments on this post and you know what? Tommy does have a podcast!

It's called Getting Rom-Commy with Tommy and he breaks down the history, plots, tropes, and cliches made famous by romantic comedies. He recorded the first episode—Tillie's Punctured Romance, the first feature film in the genre—in 2020 during the early days of the pandemic, and has since gained a small but loyal following who love his deep dives, quirky sense of humor, and the random breadcrumbs about his own life that he drops occasionally.

For three and a half years, he's posted an episode every other Thursday without fail, so it's the talk of r/romcommytommy when the promised episode about A New Leaf doesn't materialize. They worry about Tommy being sick or dead—or worse: growing bored with the subject matter—and flood his podcast inbox with well wishes and pleas to continue the series.

Finally, the episode goes up the following Thursday, and he prefaces it by apologizing for the delay. He had gotten tangled up in a work thing and had spent the previous week dealing with the fallout (i.e.: paperwork), but he's in high spirits because he isn't in federal prison and has reconnected with old friends. And made some new ones! Which has nothing to do with Walter Matthau's performance, which in Tommy's opinion is one of his best, and he jumps right into the movie and says no more about what kept him away.

After that, for months, the series takes on a different tone—more buoyant, almost bewilderingly cheerful—and it elevates what was already a great program to something that truly has a happy ending every time. More people start listening. The subreddit hits 10k members, and speculation about what's causing Tommy's audible joy runs rampant, with most agreeing it's because he has someone special in his life.

Then, the 103rd episode goes live. It's an unflinching look at the movie Blue Valentine, which is very much not a romantic comedy, and for the entire episode Tommy vacillates between sounding dead inside and on the verge of tears. "It's just another example of how even the most passionate relationship will erode over time," he murmurs. The episode ends without its usual jaunty outro.

It becomes clear over the next several weeks that something devastating has happened, because Tommy has ditched his beloved rom-coms for the most depressing movies ever made. The subject of the top trending post on the subreddit for a month is 'If I ever listen to the Closer episode again I will need the following: a gun.'

His listeners debate whether or not to jump ship, but the film analyses are still really good. Plus, it feels like abandoning a friend in their time of need.

I don't know if you will ever see this, Tommy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say: we love you, we're here for you, we're not going anywhere, but for the love of GOD please go to therapy, u/marshedmellowout comments on the post for the In The Mood For Love episode.

No one's quite sure if u/marshedmellowout got through to him, but it feels like a turning point when the subject of the next episode is Desert Hearts. Tommy spends almost half the episode runtime analyzing the film's hopeful ending, and even cracks a couple of jokes. While his voice doesn't have that incandescent happiness from before, it's much lighter.

The next few episodes continue that slow, upward trend, and the movies Tommy deconstructs go from having hopeful endings to happy ones. He's back to making terrible puns and laughing at his own jokes, and everyone on the subreddit breathes a collective sigh of relief. He's going to be okay.

None of his listeners are prepared for how he starts the 118th episode.

"You're all in for a treat today, because I'm joined by a very special guest. He's not a big fan of movies, usually, but he's got a mind made for analysis, so making him watch Groundhog Day was kind of a no-brainer. I've been dying to hear him pick this one apart. Evan, say hi."

The joy from all those months ago is clear and present in Tommy's voice, but it's tempered with something new: certainty.

"H-Hi, everyone," Evan says, bashful and a little giggly. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"You literally had a walk-on role in the country's most watched TV show. 22 million people tuned in that night, and that's not including the streaming numbers."

"That was different! I had one line. Plus, I didn't care about making Brad look dumb."

"Brad didn't need your help with that," Tommy says, audibly besotted. "Evan, you can't possibly make me look dumb. They can't see me."

Groaning through laughter, Evan gasps, "Oh my god, I said you get five stupid jokes and you just wasted one. Better make the next four count."

"I'll do my best," Tommy says. "So, overall, what did you think of the movie?"

It's the most listened to episode of the entire podcast, and u/cadburybunnyeggs's post 'Evan needs to be a permanent host and here's why' makes the front page of Reddit.

(A year later, the Four Weddings and a Funeral episode, which goes live two days before Tommy and Evan get married, is nominated for a Webby Award. What happens afterwards in the subreddit breaks containment and winds up in the New York Times.)

[celestialprincesse]

Simon coming home to sleepy partner💤☁️

nsfw below the cut 🪽 mdni 🤍

Simon, more often than not, comes home late after getting back from deployments. seeing as after landing on home soil, they still have to mission debrief, collect and pack up their belongings and say their goodbyes, Simon is itching to get back home - back to you.

When he does, and you're all curled up in your shared bed, head resting on his pillow, one of his shirts clutched tight to your chest, sound asleep in his sweater, which had ridden up the arch of your spine to reveal thin cotton panties that have him straining at his boxers. It's when your eyes open at the sound of him dumping his bags, half lidded and lazy until you register his presence and spring up in the bed, running to meet him with tears of relief already pooling on your lower lashes. By no means does Simon Riley consider himself a needy man - in fact, quite the opposite, he's practised restraint his entire life. That said, after months away with nothing but his hand and some very private polaroids to sort himself out, he's desperate, already pushing you back until the backs of your knees are hitting the bedframe, collapsing underneath him with the thick comforter giving a whooshing exhale of air under the sudden addition of your bodyweight.

The latest deployment had been especially tough, stationed in some shithole with no cell service or access to a secure line. Soap had been fine, copping off with local women when he grew bored of his hand, Gaz had Simon fully convinced that he had some kind of erectile dysfunction with how long he could go with no contact, whilst Price and Simon had to settle with a few grainy photos of their partners and the thought that they'd soon be home.

Now, when he noses at your neck and smells sweet perfume and your laundry detergent, it feels very much like a wet dream coming true. He doesn't even bother to fully take your panties off before he's thumbing at your clit through the flimsy material, stripping himself of his gear with one hand. He quickly grows frustrated with the way his dick is straining at the fly of his pants, grunting as he pulls his hand away to strip his clothes off, whilst you take the opportunity to lose your panties, throwing them vaguely in the direction of the hamper , parting your legs and bending them at the knee, waiting for him with your bottom lip chewed anxiously between your teeth. He doesn't even bother kicking his clothes away, kneeling on where they're piled up at the side of the bed as he grabs your hips with hands that have forgotten to be gentle after being rough for so long, pulls you to the edge of the bed, hooking his forearms under your thighs and splaying his hands over your stomach as he noses at your clit. There's a feral, barely concealed glint in his eye as he whispers kisses against your cunt, murmuring how bad he missed you, about how you look more beautiful than when he left. "Missed y' so fuckin' much baby. Missed your angel face." He growls into your skin, the tears mixing in your eyes split between need and pure relief.

He doesn't even bother with his fingers as he licks a hot stripe between your folds, your hips twitching under his hands as he savours you like a last meal. "Si.." You whine out sweetly, voice whiny and utterly pathetic. "Tha's right. Tha's it, gonna let me hear ya?" His Mancunian accent, eroded around the edges from years of travel, and the rumble of his voice have you on edge, hands gripping into the sheets as you let your eyes fall back into your head swimming with utter bliss. "Mmhm!"

Not even a minute later, Simon looks utterly perplexed as you try and shimmy yourself away from his tongue, despite the way your thighs are clamped like a vice around his ears. "Wha's wrong baby?" He growls, messy brows furrowed in concern as he looks up at you in the near darkness of your bedroom. "Jus' need you, Si." You whine, body short circuiting as you consciously attempt to free his face from between your legs whilst the animal side of your brain compels you to keep him there and continue the ecstasy his tongue spearing into you provides. Your needy words cause his expression to perk up as he gently guides your knees outwards so he can actually remove his face from where it's stuffed between your thighs and cunt.

From your position on the bed, and his kneeling beside it, you'd been unable to see the way his cock was already hard and leaking, bouncing against his stomach, but as he pushes you back to the centre of the mattress, you got a full view of his pretty dick as he lines the pearly tip against your entrance, smearing precum against it as though to make the stretch easier (which is a total placebo). His fingers loop through yours as he notches his tip inside, refusing to blink as you take him to the hilt with a quiet whine, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. "Fuck, 've missed seein' you take me so well." the sound of his grunts and the lewd squelch which accompanies his thrusts is the only thing besides your airy moans and his soft growls filling your blissful bedroom.

The sight of you alone has him almost embarrassingly close to finishing inside of you, but when your pussy flutters around him and you give a choked off keen before cumming around his cock, he gives up on any restraint, snapping his hips so that his tip hits your cervix, ropes of hot cum spilling into your tight heat as he lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, repeating how perfect you are, how much he loves you and missed you.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Meant for this to be some cutie, fluffy little brainrot not 1k of smut Sorry! (not sorry!😚) also this isn't edited because rereading my own writing makes me cringe so apologies 4 any mistakes 🩷

[johnbrand]

Opening the Door

“Wait bro, are you talking about my feet?”

Heat immediately invaded my cheeks as I went red. The words had slipped out of my mouth without even realizing it.

“I uh…what?” I chuckled nervously, trying to brush it off. “I didn’t say anything.”

My roommate Ben knew otherwise. “Yeah you did. You mumbled ‘He’s just one of those guys who’ll never realize how perfect his feet are’ while staring directly at this sole.”

He was right. I had been absorbed in his giant jock feet. I just could not help myself. Ever since I had moved in with Ben, I had been obsessed with him and his perfect body. He was a former college athlete from a small school, meaning he had the perfect body without the ego. But it was clear right away that Ben was straight, just the typical vanilla heterosexual. 

“Oh yeah…” I stammered. “Sorry, I had not meant to say that out loud.”

“Well is it true?” Ben asked to my surprise. “Are my feet really perfect?”

I hesitated once more, knowing this could be a breaking point in our friendship. But Ben had been completely fine when we had discussed my sexuality. In fact, Ben considered himself an ally–something that only made it more difficult for me not to be attracted to him.

After a deep breath, I admitted to my slip-up. “Yeah, they are. Wide, supple-looking yet I’d assume firm, and obviously huge. Those feet are any gay man’s dream.”

“What if they smell?” Ben questioned, my little chubby perking up. “Is that a problem?”

“No, in fact that typically makes them more desirable.”

Ben considered this for a moment. “When you said they are any gay man’s dream, does that include you.”

My face flushed an even brighter red, something I had not known was possible. Instead of responding this time, I simply remained quiet. Understanding the conversation had come to an end, Ben kindly resumed the replay of the game he was watching. I decided to sit with him a little longer, but eventually I gave into my instincts. I got up and found my way back to my room. Locking the door behind me, I quickly grabbed a pair of Ben’s sweaty athletic socks that I had stashed away, shoving them in my face as I fished out my hard dick.

After that discussion, the dynamics of our relationship began to shift. I did not notice it at first as Ben’s usual good-hearted nature disguised any sort of detour from the traditional friendship route. It started with asking a favor here and there; if I could pick up his turn on the dishwasher this week, or following a request to fetch him a snack with a cheesy “Pretty please?” I did not think anything of these menial tasks; Ben had been such a considerate roommate to me after all.

Eventually though, Ben began to test his dominance. There was a shift in the air when it first happened, catching me a little off guard. “Hey, can you take off my cleats?“ he innocently posed after coming home sweaty and tired from a soccer game with friends. “I'd do it myself but my back is sore.” Without thinking twice, I knelt down in front of Ben and removed each of the shoes, letting his big feet air out right into my face. It was a strange request, but Ben did not seem bothered by it at all. I made sure to appear calm and professional myself before excusing myself to stealthily wank one out.

From there, Ben tactics became more apparent and frequent. Once when we were on the couch together, he casually lifted a leg up and cut an ungodly fart in my direction without saying a word. I did not react vocally, but I delicately changed my position to get a whiff without being obvious. Another time, Ben plopped his giant feet right into my lap and stated “Massage them for me.” Although it had only been two words, my fingers had already acted before my brain could process their meaning.

By the time our lease was about to expire, Ben and I’s conversations had been reduced to mere commands. “Make dinner,” “Do my laundry,” “Cover my bill.” Over the months, our relationship had completely eroded. Not only had I been conditioned into my natural role, but I had opened the door for Ben to explore his. Before, Ben had been a considerate man who considered me as an equal, but now he understood the power his feet held, he held, and that power corrupted him. Ben had become controlling, demanding, and as of recently, abusive. When the lease renewal contract finally arrived, I promptly signed my name.

[bullet-prooflove]

Bad Boy: Chef Luca x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @djlnkaled @10ava01 @freckledhorse @wabi-sabi1090

Companion piece to:

Something Special - Luca knows you're something special from the very moment you meet.

Sfogliatella - Luca spends months perfecting your fav dessert leading to a surprise proposal.

Luca used to be a little wild, he tells you that when you’re sitting on the deck of the boat that he lives in, sharing an expensive bottle of wine. Your gaze is fixed on the lights from the city as they glitter across the canal as he hands you the glass before taking up residence alongside of you on the cushioned bench.

“Used to be?” You ask carefully. “Or still are?”

“Used to be.” He reassures you because he knows your history.

You’d had a thing for bad boys in your early twenties. You’d fallen in love with a man you were translating for, one who rode motorcycles and was possessive over his woman. He was fun, adventurous and secretive.

You can’t say when you started to lose the pieces of yourself, only that one day Armand didn’t like the way you dressed, he preferred you to wear darker scents instead of floral. A tracking app appeared on your phone so he could make sure you were ‘safe’. You wanted to leave but by that point yourself confidence had been eroded so much that you just couldn’t bring yourself to walk out the door so you stayed.

You’d stayed until you were woken up at three in the morning to the police bursting into his home and raiding the place for drugs. They had found nothing on the premises but you were both swept up for questioning. They’d detained you for five hours before they ascertained you had no knowledge of the operation. Armand had been charged and sentenced to twenty five years in prison for his role in cross state heroin operation.

It had taken such a long time to put yourself back together again after that, to reclaim who you were. You’d taken a job at the UN to get out of the city, bounced around a few countries before you found a home in Copenhagen.

It’s Luca’s words that bring you back to the present. He hasn’t told you how he ended up in Denmark, what led him to become a chef.

“My home life, it was messed up. Most of the time we were this close-” he says indicating a tiny gap with his fingers. “- from being taken into care. I was stealing all the time, trying to make ends meet, bunking off school, lashing out...”

Noone in Copenhagen knows this story, they just know him as the guy who used to with for David Fields. Someone dependable, someone capable, someone stable. They don’t know that there were nights he used his hide his sister in the closet and sing her to sleep because their mother was on another bender.

“Cheffing saved me from all of that, it gave me the structure I needed at the time, the discipline and the cash to provide for my family until my sister was old enough for university.”

“What happened to your parents?” You ask him and he gives you a sad smile.

“Dad was never really in the picture. The last time I saw him I think I was seven and he took me to an Arsenal game, after that radio silence.” He says shaking his head. “And mum… well the drugs took her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You tell him and he shrugs his shoulders.

“We expected it to happen a lot sooner if I’m honest.” He tells you. “I know it sounds cold but when you live like that…”

“I kinda get it.” You say softly. “When I was with my ex, he would have these moods…”

You trail off and he understands the subtext. He’s not the only one that’s seen violence, that’s managed to escape it and make something of himself. His fingers entwine with yours, a show of solidarity because if there’s anyone that understands what you endured, it’s Luca.

“I was relieved when the police arrested him, I didn’t have the strength to leave him before that but after…” Your eyes flicker up to meet his and truly they are the most beautiful shade he’s ever seen. “I got to be me again, the real me, not the one he’d tried to shape me into.”

“I’m glad that you escaped that life.” He says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair back behind your ear. “That we both managed to find our way to each other.”

You clasp his hand to your cheek, your lips brushing over his pulse point as you whisper.

“Yea. I am too.”

Love Luca? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[zablife]

Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches

Summary: Even though you've promised to marry him, you still feel as though you might not be what Elvis needs. An argument over dinner proves the perfect time for him to set you straight.

A/N: I've never written for Elvis before, but something came to me I couldn't resist!

"Get up 'ere and tell me whatsa matter with you!" Elvis demanded, obviously displeased by the way you'd stormed away to the kitchen.

You pursed your lips into a defiant pout, arms crossed over your chest as you heaved for breath. He'd knocked the wind out of you when he picked you up and slammed you down onto the counter. The gasp you'd stifled was proof of it.

"I don't got anything to say to you," you retorted, averting your gaze and staring down at his dark suede shoes.

He was a gentleman at heart, but his temper often got the best of him. You heard him huff, watching him stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from manhandling you further. It was clear he only wanted to know what was wrong and he paced silently as he waited for an answer.

You were stubborn too though and often tested his patience by being deliberately willful. If he didn't know what he'd done this time, you certainly weren't going to tell him. He could figure that out for himself, you thought as you let him stew.

A moment more of shoes squeaking against the linoleum and Elvis snapped. Charging back toward you, he captured your jaw in one enormous palm forcing your eyes to meet his penetrating stare.

"Said I was sorry, didn't I?" he demanded and you could only gulp in reply. He hadn't been kind about your efforts cooking dinner and the jokes he made to the mafia eroded what little confidence you had left.

Your lip quivered despite your best efforts and hot tears welled at your lash line. Of course he noticed the change in you instantly, reaching up to catch the first tear as it fell.

“Don’t do that darlin’,” he pleaded, voice dripping in honeyed concern.

You sniffed back emotion so as not to show weakness and he chuckled slightly. "Always a brave little soldier, ain't ya?" he teased.

"M not, tho," you admitted. "I don't think I can do this," you whispered, pitching forward to press your foreheads together. You breathed in his comforting scent, allowing the waves of calm to wash over you before you continued. "I'm sorry, but I can't be your wife," you confessed. You knew it to be true, unable to keep house or cook meals for him perfectly the way his mama did for him when she was alive. You didn't have the same experience and it was killing you to know how you were failing him.

Elvis breathed deeply as his large hand came to cradle the back of your head, making you feel safe and secure as only he knew how. You could feel him smirking against you and you held your breath waiting for whatever reply he'd give to dismiss your concerns.

However, he surprised you when his voice rumbled low and sincere from deep within his chest. "You're gonna make the most wonderful wife, sweetheart. I know it cause you're kind and gentle..." He paused to gather his thoughts, fingers twisting in your hair as he added softly, "but most of all cause you love me like I love you."

Your heart nearly skipped a beat as he spoke the words of affirmation you'd longed to hear so many months now living with him at Graceland. However, your old insecurities ate at you faster than he could banish them. Your head shook softly against his broad shoulder, tears dripping down his shirt front as you proclaimed, "Tonight you said I couldn't do nothin' right. Maybe it's true." Then you gave in to the melancholy, hiccuped sobs leaving your parted lips.

You felt his chest puff out against you, ready to deny the accusation before he thought better of it. He looked back toward the dining room where a dozen witnesses could easily corroborate his sharp criticism. With you tugging at his heart strings now, he realized his mistake.

"Look, baby, I don't care you can't cook," he swore to you. As you looked up into his sapphire eyes, you knew he was telling the truth. Searching your tear stained face for forgiveness he added, "I'll hire us a chef and you don't ever have to worry again, alright?"

"You won't think less of me?" you asked, wiping at your ruined mascara.

A wide grin spread over his face as he thought for a moment, the devilish glint returning to his eyes as he answered, "Not as long as you learn to make me a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I can't go on a two week honeymoon with no help and nobody to make it f'me," he chuckled.

You hit his chest playfully, a giggle escaping your lips. "And how am I gonna do that?" you teased back, biting your cheek in anticipation.

Elvis' broad hands came to rest at your waist, raising you from your perch with ease. With controlled precision he placed you onto the ground beside him, pulling you into his side. "What if I teach ya?" he asked in complete seriousness.

Hands resting against his firm chest, you looked up at him expectantly, wanting to please him more than anything in the world. "I reckon I could learn."

"Yeah?" he asked, lips twitching into a tentative smile at your willingness.

"Mm-hmm," you confirmed with a quick nod.

Elvis took you by the hand and drug you toward the pantry as you furrowed your brow in confusion. "R-right now?" you stuttered, unable to believe he'd forsake his guests waiting for a proper meal in the next room.

"Ain't no time like the present, sweetheart," he declared, shutting them all out to spend time with you.

[kravinoffswife]

Room 87 - J. Todd x fem!reader༊*·˚

Fandom: DC

Summary: [y/n] receives a message from Jason telling her to pay him a visit and she can't resist.

Content warnings: a bit angsty, suggestive, some touching, reader is AFAB

A/N: First time writing a oneshot, I hope it's not horrible.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Come over.

These two words stared at [y/n], the illumination from her phone screen blinding in the otherwise dark room. She squinted at the message as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning. He had to be drunk, Jason never contacted her sober, the inverse was also true. It had been a year and a half since they had broken it off. Since then, they had seen each other every other month. It was a cycle, really. She'd drown herself in cheap cocktails and the touches of strangers to try and distract herself from what she really wanted - the feeling of his lips on her neck, his cock in her cunt. It was rather counter-intuitive; her alcohol fueled benders always ended up with her splayed out in Jason's bed.

She groaned and looked at the message again, her mind rattling off reasons as to why she should ignore it. She continued to give the more logical side of her brain center-stage as hopped into the shower, shaved, massaged the scented body lotion that she knew drove Jason crazy into her skin, picked an utterly devious set of underwear, put on a contrastingly tame outfit, applied her favourite lip gloss and left the house.

Her journey to the address he had sent was trance-like. She saw each street-name, each dingy apartment block, stray animals and strange people that reminded [y/n] that Gotham had a bit of a crime problem, but nothing seemed to actually register until she got to her destination.

It was a motel that was somewhere between decent and semi-nice. For Jason, this was shelling out. He was a very practical man, not willing to splurge on luxuries. She entered through the slightly weathered front doors, the clean smell of citrus and patchouli hitting her as soon as she crossed the threshold. The woman at the desk surveyed her, hot-pink lips chewing fervently on a wad of gum.

"Evening, lovely." Her tone was friendly and inviting. "How can I help you?"

"I'm visiting someone in room 87."

The receptionist looked at her knowingly, her periwinkle eyes sparkling with mischeif.

"Third floor." She smirked. "Gum?" She held out a stick of spearmint gum and winked. [y/n] took a piece gratefully.

"Have fun!" ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The elevator dinged once she had reached the third floor. [y/n]'s knuckles had barely grazed the door when it swung open. Jason's large hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her inside. He kicked the door shut.

"Hey" He rasped.

"Hey" She said quietly into his chest.

"I missed you."

"Mhm" She inhaled his musky scent. "I'm guessing you haven't just missed my stellar conversation"

"No, not just that."

She played with the hem of his shirt. Jason was not as playful and tugged her shirt over her head in one swift movement. She squealed as her skin was greeted by the cold air. Jason had a tendency to have the AC turned up. She shivered a bit.

"Cold, baby?" She nodded. He chuckled and ran a finger along her collarbone. "I'll get you all warmed up in no time."

She moaned at what he was alluding to. Her fingers dropped from his shirt to his belt buckle. As she did so, his lips captured hers in a kiss. There was no romance, only pure desire. He pushed her up against the wall. His hands ran through her hair, turning it into a mess of curls, something that she would ultimately tell him off for doing later as she had gone to the salon that very morning. She moaned when she finally got his pants off. She cupped his length through his boxers; rock hard. This only seemed to get her wetter and erode her willpower further. She bit his bottom lip and sucked on it gently. Jason groaned. Such a pretty sound. She wanted to make him do it again.

He pulled away from her, breath slightly ragged from the intensity of their union.

"You're too dressed for this, baby." He spoke against her neck, peppering the perfumed skin with rough kisses.

"Could say the same about you."

"Why don't we fix that, huh?" He took off his fitted black tee, revealing his sculpted torso, strong chest and wide shoulders. Although, she had seen his body several times, [y/n] couldn't help but gasp. She ran her fingers along the dips of his abdomen before settling back on his chest, her thump swiping over the raised skin of one of his many scars. Jason unclipped her bra and helped her out of her pants. He eyed her hungrily and his hands moved lower.

"You're so perfect." He mused as he kneaded her ass. "I love you."

"Love you more." She responded without any hesitancy. It was going to be a long night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[daylite-writes]

Yandere Xiao Thoughts

cw: previous kidnapping, mild self harm, yandere, soft yandere, fairly mild.

Oh immortal yanderes. The ones that steal you away, the ones that don’t quite understand how humans work. The ones that didn’t do their research.

The ones in over their head.

Learning quickly how much humans need socialization, need stimulation, need sun and nature. Learning quickly how badly humans react to being deprived of it.

Xiao doesn’t know how to react once it starts getting to you. You’re breaking down more often, quicker anger, quicker to cry. Pacing the small area he’s forced you into. At first, he thought you were just going through a… rougher period of adjustment. Until your coping mechanisms become self destructive.

He doesn’t know what do when he comes back from patrolling Liyue to find the skin of your forearms red, covered in scratches from your own nails. He offers little except panted out comforts and promises of safety as he pins you down, trying to keep your hands off you, deathly afraid of you hurting yourself even more. This goes on for hours, until you eventually fall asleep, exhausted and worn out from the months.

After a short consolation with Zhongli, the reality that he’s been caring for you horribly becomes apparent. His previously iron will and rules eroding a bit as he tries to meet the less visible, psychological needs that a human requires.

But bending his own rules for you does not mean freedom.

You need sunlight? You’re in his lap for hours, his arms wrapped around you as you two sit in the sun atop a isolated mountain peak. It’s better than nothing, but he refuses to let go. This becomes routine.

You need mental stimulation? Entertainment and occupation? Zhongli suggests books, but Xiao decides on you singing and playing music. So he can hear it. You’ve never played, but when he presents you with several masterfully crafted instruments, you eventually have no choice but to take a violin bow into your hands and open the guide book he gave you. What else is there to do. He’s always lingering whenever you’re learning.

You’re touch starved? Now his hands won’t leave your skin. It’s not even lewd, more threatening as he rests his hand around the back of your neck, or forces you to hug him.

Previously, you felt like a little bird in a cage, never to fly, owned by a passive master. Now though, you’re role is that of an unwilling lap dog. Better, even if you yearn for something else.

[ladytauria]

things unspoken (now said)

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Teen Words: 19k Warnings: None

When Dick asks for help with a case, Jason and Tim find themselves undercover as a couple to lure a killer out of hiding.

This is fine. Except for one problem…

They broke up two months ago, after no one knew they were dating in the first place.

written for the red on red holidays event! this one’s been up for a couple of days but authors were just revealed today <3

>> AO3 <<

“I am so sorry.”

Jason’s hand is still clutching Tim’s, a little too tightly to be comfortable. Tim still doesn’t make any effort to pull away. He’s pathetic like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason says immediately. His other hand is braced around the elbow of the man who just crashed into him, keeping him from sprawling to the floor. The man’s coffee wasn’t so lucky. Most of it is splattered over the front of Jason’s sweater, though some also landed on the floor and the other man’s jacket. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, shaking his head and stepping away. It lets Tim get a better look at him. The man is taller than he is, though not as tall as Jason. His face is rather plain—the kind of face that Tim’s eyes could just skip right over, if not for the fact he’s spent the last several days studying it intently.

This is Alexander Miller, avid skier and one of two suspects in the case he’s currently working with Jason.

It says something about his life that this isn’t the first time he’s had to pretend to be happily in love with his ex. What, exactly, it says, he’s not sure—except maybe that he needs to stop giving in when Dick asks him for favors.

Not that Dick knew what he was asking. He was under the impression, as was the rest of the world, that Tim and Jason had never been anything more than just friends.

“Your shirt—”

Jason glances down and grimaces. The coffee is already sinking into the fabric, turning what was a nice off-white into something more beige. Tim reluctantly disentangles his fingers from Jason to pat himself down for napkins.

Alexander beats him to it. He fishes a brown paper bag off of the floor and pulls a wad of napkins out, holding them out. “Here, maybe these will help.”

“Thanks,” Jason says, pulling his sweater taut to dab at the stain. “Sorry ‘bout your coffee.”

Tim kneels. He knows he packed some wipes in his carry on—and if he can’t find them, then he’s sure there will be some in Jason’s.

“No, don’t apologize,” Miller says as he kneels again. This time to retrieve his cup and throw it in the bag the napkins had come from. He uses the napkins that had been wrapped around it to mop up the spill as best he can—there aren’t enough to do the job properly, though, and streaks are left behind. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. I hope I didn’t ruin your sweater.”

A-ha! Tim finds the wipes where he’d stuffed them and zips his bag up again. He bats Jason’s hand away so he can scrub at the front of his shirt. As soon as he starts, a wave of regret hits him.

This is the closest he’s been to him in… nearly two months. The scent of coffee nearly overpowers that of Jason’s aftershave… but even that much of a whiff of it makes his throat feel tight, his eyes burning.

Not now, Drake. You have a job to do.

He doesn’t have much confidence in his ability to repress his feelings this time. Jason’s presence has a way of eroding all of his self-control.

“Nah, it’ll come out in the wash,” Jason says. “Little cold water and some spot treatment will take care of this no problem—right, baby?”

Tim glances up and finds Jason looking at him—the expression on his face is so soft it makes him ache. He makes himself smile back. He can tell Jason sees the tension in it because for just a moment, a muscle tics in his jaw before it relaxes again.

“Right,” he says.

Tim thinks he’s done as much as he can for the stain now—the fabric is damp with both coffee and the cleaning solution in the wipes. There will be no telling what the damage actually is until it’s had time to dry.

He glances up at Jason again, grimacing slightly. Sorry. Think that’s the best it’s going to get.

Jason’s shoulder twitches; a brief facsimile of a shrug. It is what it is. I’ll deal with it later.

Tim steps back. Alexander holds the paper bag out, allowing Tim and Jason to throw the used napkins and wipes away before he crumples the end.

“This place is busier than I expected,” Alexander says, scanning the area. They’re waiting for a tram to arrive to take them up to the ski lodge, which is about halfway up the mountain. “I thought for sure it would be quieter this year.”

“Oh?” Tim asks. Jason’s fingers tangle with his again. He steps closer to him, until their arms are brushing. It feels so natural it takes Tim a moment to remember why it shouldn’t be. Jason’s thumb strokes over his knuckles, and Tim aches.

It’s unfair. Something should have changed, after everything—but if anything it feels like it’s even easier now than it ever was before. Tim remembers sweaty palms and too-tight grips as they fumbled through the most innocent of romantic gestures.

He supposes, somewhere along the way, they must have finally gotten it right.

Alexander’s mouth tightens so briefly Tim almost misses it. “Ah—I don’t suppose either of you have looked into the local news then.” He laughs uncomfortably.

“No. Our flight just got in an hour or so ago,” Jason says. “Did something happen?”

This time, Alexander doesn’t bother suppressing his grimace. “Not recently.” He pushes his hand through his hair as he shifts uncomfortably. “Look—the last thing I want to do is put a damper on your holiday, but—well. I suppose you ought to know. A few months ago, they found a body in the forest around the lodge.”

Interesting.

Not the fact itself—that Tim knew. It’s the language he can’t help picking apart. ‘They found a body’ and not ‘someone was murdered.’ But even more importantly: Alexander only mentions one, and not that this is one in a series of four murders taking place over a period of about three years.

Of course, his cover doesn’t know that, so his eyes widen in artificial surprise. “That’s horrible. Was it an accident?”

Alexander shakes his head mutely.

“Did they catch the one who did it?” Jason asks, using his grip on Tim’s hand to draw him in closer.

Tim’s heartbeat quickens in his chest.

“No.” Alexander doesn’t elaborate further. Tim supposes he doesn’t blame him—he’s not sure he would want to confess to a pair of strangers that he was a suspect in a murder case either.

The ski lodge is far enough away from Gotham that normally, the murders wouldn’t have attracted their attention… if it weren’t for Dick. Or, rather, Richie Grayson. He came up with a group of civilian friends—or, well, ‘friends’—and learned of the murder through happenstance. Obviously, he couldn’t resist digging deeper.

He’d found that this murder was one of four, which have taken place over a period of about three years. All of the victims had been vacationing at the lodge before their bodies were found in the surrounding pines. Two of the victims had been men, the other two were women. They worked different jobs, lived in different places, and had little in common physically. However, all of them had been in relationships at the time of visiting the lodge, and all four couples had been seen spending time with Mikayla Vaughn, ski teacher, and Alexander Miller, hobbyist skier.

There had been another name, too—Jack Manning, a bartender at the Lodge. He had been investigated in connection to murder number three after he’d been seen arguing with the victim. However, while he was in custody, a few weeks before his trial date, the fourth murder had been committed.

It was more brutal than the previous three, and unlike the others, it had taken place during the off season.

The case against Jack had been dropped—for now—and he’d been released. He had not come back to work at the Lodge.

Given the sloppiness of the last kill, and the break in pattern, Dick believes that the killer is going to strike again soon. Being otherwise occupied, though, there’s not much he can do to investigate.

So… he’d called Tim and Jason in to help instead.

Alexander seems to shake himself. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” His face smooths into an apologetic smile. “Look, why don’t you let me make things up to you? I’m heading up to the lodge to grab drinks with a friend. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you joined us. Drinks will be on me.” He winks.

It’s almost charming.

Tim glances up at Jason. Jason’s head cocks in silent question. At Tim’s slight nod, they both turn back to Alex.

“We’d love to,” Jason says.

“Excellent.” Alexander holds his hand out. “The name’s Alex, by the way.”

Jason shakes it. “Jay. And this is my boyfriend, Tim.”

Tim shakes Alex’s hand next—the man has a good grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”

>> AO3 <<

[thefreakandthehair]

A Steddie fanfiction written for the @steddiebang with art by @sungods-healingg and @oriarts. 55k. Rated E.

Chapter One coming soon to ao3 on November 25, 2023! Sneak peek included below!

“Give it, hey! Give me the check,” Eddie argues, trying to pry it from Steve’s hands. “I’m not letting you pay, c’mon.” 

“I—” Steve starts grappling and tries to maintain some degree of subtly in the still bustling diner. “I’m paying, give it.” 

“Not a chance, I don’t want stories going around that I’m some kept boyfriend who uses Steve Harrington for his money.” Eddie’s lips purse and his eyes narrow. “Hand it over.”

With a final tug, Eddie celebrates internally as he yanks the envelope from Steve. He realizes belatedly that he only won that battle because Steve freezes. It takes a few seconds, maybe a moment as he slips his credit card into the little pocket and flags down their waitress again, to figure out why. 

Boyfriend. 

Presumptuous at best and enough to scare Steve off at worst. The silence is hard to read so Eddie simply hands over the check and stares with wide eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Or-- you know, just, someone who uses Steve Harrington for his money. Big baseball contract and all that?” He tries to brush it off and deflect with humor, something that usually works well enough but apparently, not on Steve. 

“You said boyfriend.” He says simply, ignoring Eddie’s attempts entirely. 

Suddenly, Eddie regrets that sweet dessert for dinner because his stomach is tumbling in a dangerous way. He rubs the back of his neck and pulls at a strand of loose hair.

“I uh, yeah, I guess I did. Do you… have thoughts? On that?” 

Steve blinks at him, three times in quick succession, before the right corner of his mouth quirks up. “I do, actually. But I think I’d rather show you and I’d probably lose that big baseball contract if I did that here.” 

“Oh?” Eddie teases, pausing to grab the check back from the waitress to sign and slide his credit card back into it wallet. When she’s far enough away that Eddie’s sure she won’t hear, he reminds Steve of their location. “My apartment’s just like, two blocks over. If uh, if you’d like to show me in a more private spot?” 

The first time Eddie massaged Steve, he felt called back to the dangerous adrenaline rushes of his youth, all impulsivity and carelessness, and he feels it again as he invites Steve back to his apartment. Or maybe, it never even left. Maybe it’s just been slowly eroding his resolve for the past two months.

Whatever the case, his body trembles when Steve says Yes. 

tagging people who've asked, expressed interest to me or in tags, etc. and some pals: @hbyrde36 @steddieasitgoes @sidekick-hero @dryptid @sharpbutsoft @cuoredimuschio @kkpwnall @starryeyedjanai @scarcrossdlvrs @marvel-ous-m @pearynice @judasofsuburbia @corrodedbisexual @shares-a-vest @hellion-child @pumpkinspicestevie @delta-piscium @perseus-notjackson @thisapplepielife @withacapitalp @nostalgicbones @hereforanepilogue @stevethehairington @nostalgicbones @t-boyeddie @theheadlessphilosopher @stobinesque @imfinereallyy @hexiewrites @maxineholtzmann @starrystevie @steddieas-shegoes @daysarestranger @goodolefashionedloverboi

[ddarker-dreams]

do you have any more yan golden girl thoughts you can share 🤲 i am devouring them every single time

ohhh boy ohhhhh man.... it really is something... here are some yan branch ideas (from their high school years).

(reader here is described as fem, satoru and suguru are gaslit gatekeep girlboss-ing their way into making you their girlfriend)

for starters, satoru and suguru handle the kaizu incident much worse. what little tact they have in the main storyline is gone lol. this has short-term success and long-term consequences. rather than giving you the time to recover and reflect, suguru sneakily introduces guilt. he stresses that you should've told them that you can't perform cursed technique: null without hurting yourself in the process. had they known, they would've found another way.

then there's satoru. he just starts coming along on your assignments. if you get annoyed and tell him to quit following you, he seemingly concedes. that is, until every time you arrive at your assignment's destination, you find him lounging around, having already exorcised the curse. while you're recovering from his audacity, he's making dinner plans, brochure in hand. he's pointing at a famous local restaurant instead of acknowledging your frustration.

"you took forever to get here," he'll lament with a yawn. "i was so bored. ready to ditch this place?"

they safeguard you from any danger at the cost of eroding your relationship.

you came here to learn, to grow in strength and potential. how can you do that under these circumstances? suguru interferes behind the scene so you’re given less assignments, satoru tags along uninvited for the few you manage to land. it’s frustrating and demotivating. trying to get them to see reason is akin to arguing with a brick will. satoru waves off your frustrations whereas suguru listens. in a way, this is almost worse. suguru gives the false impression that you might be changing his mind. he’ll nod along as you vent, his countenance solemn and his voice soft. he’ll validate your smaller plights while twisting your perspective on the most pressing issues. you come away from the interactions unsure of what to feel.

are you making a big deal of things? is satoru just expressing concern in his weird why? maybe they could be handling it better, but it isn’t like their intentions are malicious, you did almost die in front of them… etc etc. the seeds of self-doubt blossom until they’ve made your mind a garden.

then there’s the whole ‘you're our girlfriend now’ bit that deserves mention. satoru kicked it off and suguru went with it. you didn’t think much of it at first, especially since they both conveniently forgot to fill you in on this major development. after showering, you’ll leave the restroom to find satoru sitting on your bed in his slacks, acting like it’s the most normal thing. they stand on either side of you when you’re traveling by train. suguru’s hand finds yours when navigating busy crowds, his grip gentle while also communicating he won’t let you slip away.

you only find out that you've apparently been their girlfriend for months when satoru complains about the lack of a first kiss. when you understandably express your confusion, he coos over how you're 'acting shy.' suguru isn't much help. he opts for the gaslight route.

"you forgot the evening where we...?" he'll begin, visibly crestfallen. "but i thought... ah, never mind... no, it's nothing, really..."

(the 'evening' in question does not exist, he's trying to confuse you so you're more willing to accept this bombshell).

[orangeinecstasy]

cherry cola, pt. one ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟcalum hood

paring: calum hood x clifford sister reader (fem implication)

summary: it's once again time for the yearly clifford beach house stay, but things are different. working on their new album the rest of the guys join, hoping the change in scenery will spark some inspiration. will the work get done? or will a forbidden romance blossom?

an: hey everyone! i wanted to try and do a series so here's the first part of seven. i'm up for taking requests for things you guys would want to see in it. lmk your thoughts! much love

cw: smoking, drinking, cursing, age gap, smut

wc: 750

Monday

The sun pours down on your skin as you pluck the cherry, garnishing your soda. Separating the firm sweet fruit from the stem. Biting into its flesh as you work the pit from its center. You always loved summer days like this. Lounging in a beach chair as freshly mixed cherry cola clouded your mind. Your summer bliss was quickly interrupted by your mother calling out your name. Dissipating your sickly sweet fog as you took your earbuds out. “What?” 

“Your brother and his friends are here,” she repeated, irritation lacing her voice. 

You bit back a smirk as you gathered your things, slipped on the t-shirt you used as a coverup, and making your way back to the house.

Every summer, your mom dragged you and your brother, Micheal, to the family beach house. Even when he had gone off to be in a band, she would always remind him to try and come back for our yearly trip. She wanted you to give you the chance to having a bonding experience despite him being eight years your senior.

Now you were nineteen, and the tradition continued. But, this time, it was different. His bandmates decided to tag along on the trip, saying that maybe the change of scenery would help them write the album they’d been working on for the past couple of months. Your mother easily folded into the idea. “Anything to help my boys!” as she would always say. 

When your mom told you the situation, you couldn’t help but smile, biting your cheek, trying to hide your reaction as your stomach twisted in on itself. That means you got to see him. Calum.

You’d known him your whole life, so many memories littered with him. When he would come over, strumming a guitar and mumbling lyrics to himself. Late nights spent talking when he would come home from tour, legs grazing each other innocently. Each time, causing a spark to shoot up your body and your cheeks to flush. As you’d gotten older, your attraction to him had only grown stronger. But you never pushed. You were young and in college, an average nobody. And well, he wasn’t. 

The bright pastel purple color that was so vibrant in your young memory was now faded, standing, and storms slowly eroding it from the wood. You mourned the color sightly as you made your way up the steps. Sliding the glass door open, you’re met with cool air and laughter as you enter the house. “Look who decided to join us,” your mom says, causing embarrassment to waft over you as everyone turns to look at you. 

Your eyes lock with his. His skin was tanner then you remember, eyes crinkling as he smiled. His buzzcut has grown out messily, but it’s cute, childlike almost. “Hey,” you wave shyly as if you haven’t known these people your whole life. 

“S’up, kiddo,” Micheal asks, ruffling your hair. You quickly smooth it back down, letting out a small groan of annoyance. “Nothing,” you mumble half-heartedly. You quickly greet the others with a soft hello and a smile before rutting through the fridge and finding another cherry coke. 

Everyone slowly departs from the kitchen, scattering to various concerns of the house. All but Calum. He lingers, hip leaning against the counter as his eyes rake up your legs, the shirt you were wearing barely covering anything. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like it. 

His tongue darted between his lips before he spoke. “So this is the famous beach house I always heard about,” his arms are crossed over his chest, t-shirt straining against his chest and biceps. “Mhm, that it is.” You nod, opening your soda with a crack as you hop onto the counter. Cold granite sends a shiver up your spine. 

“You, uh,” you can hear the gears in his head turning as he selects the appropriate word. “You look good,” words are silky, but his body is so ridge, so scared to give in. His Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, regretting his words as soon as he said them.

You bite your cheek to hide your smile, a metallic taste melting onto your tastebuds as you bite down harder. “Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself,” he chuckles, relaxing at your words.

There he is— peeling away his skin and bones and opening the deepest part of himself to dip back into the sticky sweetness he missed so desperately.

[sketches4mysw33theart]

No Such Thing As Ghosts

Pairing: Henry Winter (The Secret History)

Summary: A secret meeting with Henry Winter in a graveyard at twilight. What can go wrong?

Warnings: None

Also would like to add - I know ventriloquism is spelt wrong in here. It's on purpose!

Other Henry Winter pieces: To Indeed Be A God, Omnia Redit Ad Pulverem

“Henry?” I whispered tentatively into the quiet, purple darkness. “Are you there?” 

I always felt the need to whisper when we met on nights like that. To this day, I don’t know why. The only people I could wake there were the dead.  

As I stepped through the foreboding arch, rising up like a gargoyle through the twilight, and into the graveyard, I heard the clicking of a light, the clapping of a book shutting, the rustle of a thick coat, the snapping of twigs. 

“I’m here,” he said, from the right. I turned to the sound of his voice in time to see him, dot of a lantern in hand, emerging from behind a grave sculpture he was rather fond of, a weathered marble depiction of a cherub whose nose had long since eroded. When we were last there, that same cherub had been on its side in the dirt. Despite his admiration for it, Henry had refused to put it back in its place.    

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. It’s supposed to snow tonight.” He looked tired, particularly in that incandescent light. This, however, was nothing new.  

“I know. We’ve managed snow before.” 

Henry and I had been secretly meeting for months, almost a year. Our clandestine trysts were well considered, in far-flung places that no one, not even Bunny Corcoran, would consider searching. Henry feared the scrutiny he and I would receive. I, after all, was majoring in medicine. It felt like a treachery to our separate kingdoms, I in medicine, he in Classics, that we were in love. A war on time. Romeo and Juliet, kept apart by the fog of the mountains and the turrets of Hampden College. But never by the snow, it seemed. 

It was a funny night, illuminated by a bright moon but encroached with shadows, the threat of the oncoming storm. Still, it was just light enough to see the outlines of the graves around us, the one mausoleum of the tiny town, the eerie statues looming before us, faces turned piously in every direction as though we had recruited them as lookouts. 

“Someone’s been here since August,” Henry said, coming to me finally and rubbing his gloved hands up my arms. I didn’t realise I'd crossed them over my chest. “The cherub’s back in place. You’re cold. Perhaps we should go to my car?”  

He must have felt my quivering bones, even beneath the thickest coat I owned. I shook my head. Despite it all, I liked meeting at the graveyard. It was quiet, far away from the familiar, and, in a terrifying way, beautiful. Almost all old things were beautiful to me then. Henry taught me that, through the strange photographs in his books and his detailed monologues. He had a gift of bringing history to life. 

“No, I’m fine. Have you seen anyone around?” 

He scoffed. “Of course not.” 

This was the main reason we met there so often. Who on Earth would hike through the woods at twilight to laugh among the tombstones? Well, we knew the answer to that. There had been the time we held a picnic in the height of summer, when fireflies had flew through from the nearby river and Henry had managed to catch one in his bare hand, the night we spent in the mausoleum to satisfy some maudlin craving of Henry’s, the evening we’d played hide and seek (somewhat begrudgingly, on one of our parts) among the gravestones. That had been the first time we'd claimed the graveyard as our own, mere days after Charles and Camilla had shown Henry through the place after hearing them speak about it.   

The graveyard had belonged to a town, struck by disaster and long since deserted. Besides a looming church pyre and a few piles of rubble, it was the only indication that a town had once stood there at all.  

“Here, sit down.” Of course, Henry had come prepared. Behind his grave of choice was spread out a meticulous picnic blanket, the host of his book, another thick blanket and matches and kerosene for the lamp. Gingerly, I arranged myself on the it, leaning partly on the gravestone for support. Once I was settled, Henry stretched out beside me, arm pressed against mine, hand resting on my leg.  

“I missed you,” I mumbled, reaching over to take that same hand. He settled his thick fingers between mine and afforded me a small smile, nosing softly at my cheek. “How’s the new boy?” 

Henry sighed, a warm exhalation that spread across my face. “Strange. I can’t read him very well. But he seems the silent type, so I don’t see why he won’t get along just fine. Charles and Camilla are particularly fond of him.” 

“You’re not?” 

“No. He's so... quiet, closed off. He walks around like a ghost.” 

I didn’t say anything. I’d seen Richard, the new addition to the Greek class, fairly often around campus, floating to his classes and slipping into the rowdy parties. Ghost was certainly the best way to describe him. But I’d never said two words to him, so who was I to judge? 

With that conversation abruptly dried up, I glanced around the cemetery that protected us from our lives, looking for snow. There was none yet, of course. Just gravestones, cool and still. 

“Do you think this place is haunted?” I asked, ghosts on my mind now. Henry laughed scornfully. 

“Of course not. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” 

“How do you know?” I asked accusingly, with a teasing smile. Henry rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Because how could there be? There’s no conclusive evidence of a life after death, and there is certainly no conclusive evidence of spirits.” 

“Didn’t the Ancient Greeks have a God of ghosts?” 

“Oh yes, Melinoe. Also, the God of nightmares. Far too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?” 

 I stared at him, and he raised his eyebrows. “Come on, you don’t believe anything happens after death?” 

He was silent for a moment, considering my question. “I believe... that our souls linger. Not on Earth, that’s far too ridiculous. But... somewhere. Julian once said...” 

Before he could continue speaking, there was a creak out in the woods, echoing through the silence. Startled, we both whipped up to face the direction. A hunter stalking down its dinner? A bird flying past a bare tree? Or... 

“Did you hear that?” I said, springing to my feet, holding back a laugh. “That sounds like a ghost to me.” 

“Oh, for...” Henry’s head fell to his tented hand, but I could see the curve of his lips.  

“No, no, listen, Henry.” I was smiling as I held my hand to my ear and nudged his leg with my toe. There was another noise. A rustle in the forest. Closer.  

I looked down to him. “We’re not alone here.” 

Henry chuckled. “There is no such thing as ghosts!” 

“I don’t know, I think we could be about to capture your conclusive evidence.” 

Another noise. Even closer. Twigs snapping, leaves rustling, insects buzzing, wind blowing. 

“Really,” Henry huffed, shaking his head as he pushed himself to his feet. “How many times? There’s no such thing as...” 

Suddenly, another noise, a crash, like an elephant marching through the forest edge, and Henry fell silent, peering beyond the gravestone. “See?” I said, gleefully. “No such thing as ghosts, indeed.” 

Henry shushed me forcefully. “No, there is not.” Then, footsteps, not loud, necessarily, but obvious in the quiet that echoed between the gravestones. Very clearly human. It was only when I heard it getting closer that I realised my spectre, corporal or otherwise, could present a serious danger to us. Two college kids, out in a graveyard, in the dark. Good Lord.  

“So, who the hell is that?” Henry finished, darting eyes staring uselessly into the darkness. His gaze flew to the lantern, still lit on the blanket. 

But, before he could stoop to pick it up, there were more footsteps, the eerie sound of a mumbling voice getting closer, like a radio being turned up. Henry’s spine was stiff, assuring the stretch of his shoulders and each inch of his height was obvious. Then, a shout, “Is anyone there?” 

I knew that voice. It was familiar, terribly so, but I couldn’t place it. A glance at Henry told me he knew it too, but seemingly better than me. 

“Oh God.” He had gone white, all the colour sapped from his cheeks in the flutter of my eyelashes. Instantly, I was on edge. 

“What?” I whispered. “What is it?” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed listlessly as he swallowed. “It’s Bunny.” 

Oh God. I knew Bunny, alright. There weren’t many on campus who didn’t. Loud, ferreting, damn near insufferable Bunny, whose obnoxious voice seemed to reach as far as Fairfax and twisted mind ensured acquaintances either adored him or loathed him. From what I had experienced and seen, and the stories Henry had hesitantly told me, I fell into the latter.  

“Bunny?” I repeated incredulously. “What the hell is he doing here?” 

Henry shushed me forcefully. “Get down,” he whispered, “on the blanket, behind the cherub. Stay down, don’t move.” 

I followed his commands without delay, happy to be told what to do in the face of this unforeseen upheaval. My mind was frantic. Of all the people who had to happen upon us, it had to be him. Now curled up on the blanket, cradling my knees like a child, I looked up to Henry, his strong jaw set, calm hands cleaning his glasses on the tail-end of his shirt. As the footsteps came closer, through the archway, and the mumbling voice bounced off the gravestones in awe, he was tucking his ruffled shirt back neatly into his waistband.  

And then... 

“Henry,” Bunny honked, his voice carrying so harshly it made me wince. “Am I glad to see you, old boy, I just got so lost on one of my little walks. These damn Vermont nights, hm? Creepin’ up on me. What on Earth are you doing out here at this time of day? It’s supposed to snow tonight, you know.” 

“Yes, I heard, Bun. I was –“ 

“You wouldn’t be hiding someone back there, would ya?” He knew. I could tell, just from his voice. “’Cause, y’know, I couldda sworn I heard ya talkin’ to someone.” 

“No, not at all. I –“ 

Again, Bunny cut him off. “Naw, I know I heard you talking to someone. What you doin’, taking up ventriloqulism, or somethin’?” He laughed, the squawking of a flock of seagulls. “What you got behind there, hm? Is that where you’re hiding her?” 

Henry protested uselessly, trying to mollify Bunny before he could get too close. I watched him step forward, presumably to meet his friend before he could get to me, then saw the red of Bunny’s hair and the glint of his glasses as he tried to see beyond Henry’s broad frame.  

“You brought blankets, I see. And a lantern. And-“ I saw no point in avoiding it. Bunny was leaning so far around the grave, trying to poke his head around Henry’s large frame despite the latter’s protests and fidgeting, that he would see me one way or another. May as well save everyone’s blushes. 

This time, it was Bunny that got cut off, by my face, no doubt paled and terrified-looking, rising up over the other side of the grave. “Hi, Bunny,” I said meekly. 

“Well,” Bunny said, stopped in his tracks. I could see the surprise glinting behind his glasses, the few cogs turning slowly in his futile brain. Henry, his shoulders still braced but looking somewhat relieved, took the hand I reached out to him under the cover of the grave. “Well, well, well. I’ll be damned. Henry and his little doctor, is it? I must say, Henry, I never thought you’d get down with a pill pusher. Actually, now that I say it, it makes perfect sense.” He laughed again, but I looked at Henry without even a smile on my face. I saw, with little surprise, that Henry wasn’t sharing in our unexpected guest’s joy either. In fact, he looked angry. Startlingly so. 

“Go on then. Doctor, doctor, give me the news. What’s the story between you two?  Y’know, my father always says doctor’s are charlatans, a load of crooks.” 

“Actually, Bun, I don’t want to be a doctor.” Henry squeezed my hand tight as I finished this sentence.  A warning, I realised after, when it was too late. “I want to be a psychiatrist.” 

“Oh, a shrink, hm?” Bunny’s eyes glinted maliciously, illuminating like hell fire in the cast of Henry’s lantern. He gestured to Henry. “He your first patient? There’s rules and regulations, y’know, codes of conduct. No mouth to mouth at those appointments.” He laughed again.  

“Yes, very droll, Bunny,” Henry said disdainfully. “Do you need us to walk you back to Hampden?” His hint wasn’t even subtle, voice dripping with annoyance, but Bunny did not, or refused to, pick up on it. 

“Me? Oh, no, I’m fine, I know the way. But I want to hear about you two. Has he tried to-?” 

“Actually, Bun,” I jumped in, trying to think on my feet under his scrupulous gaze. “I don’t know if you’ll have time. I heard Marion was looking for you earlier. Something to do with Cloke Rayburn, and a tinfoil package?” 

Bunny’s face, which had twisted into an aloof, non-caring expression at the mention of his girlfriend, fell instantly as I finished speaking.  

He dithered for a moment, fisting the edge of his thick coat with one hand and scratching at his head with the other, mumbling vocal disfluencies, half-baked excuses and nonsensical reasons why he should or shouldn’t go. These fell out of his mouth in a torrent, almost unintelligible. I glanced at Henry, but he was only staring stonily at our unwanted visitor. 

“Perhaps you’d better go find out what she wants?” I pushed as gently and indifferently as I could. 

Bunny threw his hands up, a surrender to a decision finally made. “Doctor’s orders.” He laughed raucously, so shrilly it set me on edge. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your little love nest. I look forward to hearing all about this later, Henry.” It felt like a threat. From the look on Henry’s face, he took it like one. 

“See you folks later.” And with a wave of his hand and a blur of sandy hair, Bunny was gone like the apparition I’d initially thought he was. Immediately, Henry sighed out a long, deep breath. Relief. 

“Good God, I’m never going to hear the end of this now,” he said as he slid down the gravestone to rest on the blanket. “Of all the people who could’ve found us, it had to be him, didn’t it? Not Charles, not Francis, not even one of your friends... Bunny.”  

“C’mon, he’s your friend, Henry, he would-” Henry shot me a glare, quickly broken by a smile as I stopped talking. 

“Oh, he would do that to me. To us.” he said, sighing as he took my hand and coaxed me down beside him. “Well, I’d been meaning to introduce you to everyone, anyway. Camilla will adore you, I think.”  

A spark of anxiety flared at the bottom of my stomach, but I refused to let this show in front of Henry. The Greek class always walked through the college grounds like royalty, simultaneously above and below everyone around them, who were awestruck by their ethereal presence or disdainful of the timeless coldness of their manner.  

Still, I’d had the same misleading thoughts about Henry until I met him, when he spoke to me with an open air I had originally thought was beneath him. I knew meeting his classmates would have had to happen some day.  

“Look,” Henry said, startling me out of my worry. I glanced at him, still, stoic, carved like a great Greek statue, staring up into the dark shadows of the trees swaying in the breeze. “It’s snowing.” 

It was. Finally. Flakes as small and thin as dust were beginning to fall, catching in the sparse leaves and landing quietly on the headstones around us. The graveyard and the forest were completely silent once more, slowly sprinkling with snow.  

“Come on,” Henry said. “Stay with me tonight.” 

[lsunstreakerl]

Sunny, I am shocked

These few snippets, dead, gone, buried, trying to resurrect myself so I can read the next. I almost missed the post kidnapping one due to thinking it was the kidnapping ficlet at a glance.

My last ask, questioned how Daniel and Carlos deal with RedBull vs Max and you answered it in a way I would've never expected but I love how Max has no embarrassment over everyone at Red Bull knowing he's about to get laid (they can watch if they really want to) and calming their minds on if Red Bull will care about marks (imo, they don't like that Daniel and Carlos do mark him up but understand that Max needs it and are willing to turn a blind eye, this time).

The want from Max to get a Red Bull tattoo made no sense until your most recent ficlet and the need for Charles to have nothing that Red Bull also doesn't have is insane of him. I want to ask what the tattoo is but there is no way you are telling us in an ask

Max wanting the tracker but doesn't know about the other 2! Why does it take a month for RedBull to get Max if there those 2 are there? I think Charles' comments on RedBull being negligent is ironic but it is what it is.

Can we get an Oscar POV? or another Christian POV?

Thanks for more darkbull content, I feel fed (for now).

I did worry for a moment posting those two back to back that one might get skimmed by accident tbh.

max doesn't have any boundaries with redbull- they've been totally eroded, so yeah he doesn't care. he knows they know he's off to go get laid, no need for being subtle.

they're not thrilled about the marks, but they understand it. the goal is to settle max back down, phase it out over time.

also.... if you check the comments on that ficlet, you'll find I actually did answer it! charles tattooed the taurus constellation onto him (for the inchident).

charles deliberately dehumanizing max... that's his new house cat, don't mind the scratches, he's declawing him. pretending to hold a conversation when max can't speak, and then using the limited response max can give to put words in his mouth.

it takes redbull a month to get max because they have to plan. charles has taken max back to monaco, which is very clearly ferrari territory- rb can't just go in guns blazing. they've got to plan it out, and that kind of thing takes time.

yes!

[bullet-prooflove]

Mess: Mikey Berzatto x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cleacc @cutebookdragon1 @bungurus @nogoodbee

Prequel to:

The Diagnosis

Mikey’s a mess.

It’s the reason he moves back in with his mom, the reason The Beef is failing, the reason he’s over 300k in the hole to Jimmy.

He tells you this when he runs into you at a bar three months after your break up because he wants you to know that he made the right decision by leaving you. He wants to convince himself too because lately he misses you like hell and it take everything in him not to pick up the phone and reach out.

He’s gotten worse since moving home, more erratic, more emotional. His drinking is out of control and he’s getting high every day because it’s the only way to cope with his reality, the only way to stop himself going crazy despite the fact he’s half way there already.

“You see, I did the right thing.” He tells you as he sits in a booth across from you, his hand clasping yours.  “I saved you from all this fucking drama because I’m nuts babe, I’m fucking losing it.”

It kills you to see him like this, so heightened, so agitated. You know it’s because of that house, because of his mother slowly twisting the knife each and every single day. It’s why you take him back to your place that night, to give him a break from it all.

He starts off on the couch but ends up in your bed, his arms wrapped around you, your back pressed against his chest, his face buried in your hair.

“I miss you so fucking much baby.” He whispers into your ear when he thinks your asleep. “It feels like someone’s cleaved my heart right out of my chest and left me bleeding out on the street.”

He’s gone the next day when you wake up. No note, no text just his absence lingering in cold morning glow. Your hand smooths across the vacant sheets and you remember the man he used to be, the one who spent his nights loving you, his mornings in the shower singing songs from the 80s as he got ready for work.

Mikey’s always been a big personality but it’s in the past couple of years that the world has started to wear him down, erode him. His life has always been a struggle, right from the moment he was born because his mother never knew how to parent and his father was a ghost. He’d practically raised Sugar and Carmy, making sure they got to school on time, that they were fed, that their mom didn’t burn the house down when she fell asleep with a smoke in her hand.

“I didn’t stand a chance.” He had told you last night wiping the tears from his eyes. “I was born to be a fuck up. I’ll always be a fuck up.”

When you turn up at The Beef later that day to check in, Richie just shakes his head.

“He’s not here.” He tells you remorsefully and you both know that’s a lie because Mikey’s truck’s in the parking lot. He just doesn’t want to see you because it’s eight in the morning and already he’s blitzed on whatever shit Nico has sold him.

“Tell him…” You trail off trying to find the words but nothing seems to fit the way you want it to. “Tell him I’m here alright? Day or night, if he needs someone I’m there.”

Richie’s lips purse together grimly before he nods his head.

“Thank you.” He says softly. “For taking him in last night, I heard he was a bit of a mess. Living back home… it’s not doing him any favours”

“Yea I know.” You say quietly before tapping the counter lightly with your hand. “You’ve got my number right? If anything happens.”

At this point it feels like an inevitability, you’re just waiting for the fall and so is Richie, you can see it in his eyes.

“Yea.” He says sadly. “Yea I do.”

Love Mikey? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[cherryschapters]

Excerpt from Chapter 8 of Until the End of Forever, posting soon:

“You smell,” Sirius announced. 

“Yep. Thanks.”

“I do too.”

“I noticed that also,” Remus said offhandedly. 

“There’s a river coming up - map says the highway will pass right over it. I say we stop and clean up.”

Remus looked at him. The sun turned his eyes into honey. “Do you now?”

“Yes. We’re both filthy and the sun’s out, we’ll dry in no time. Stop the truck so we can clean ourselves up.”

“You know, I'm not very good at taking instructions..”

“I swear to Godric. Pull over.”

Remus huffed but relented. “You’ll have to direct me, soldier.”

So Sirius did and they pulled off the road and down a dirt path. It lead to a small grass area on the edge of the river hidden by trees, next to which they parked. The grass sloped down and the slight bend in the river looked like the water had eroded away the edges over the years, leaving behind a shallow bank they could walk in without going too deep into the water or its current.

Sirius would be staying right where his feet touched the ground, thank you very much.

Regulus was always scared of the water growing up and his parents had once tried to force him to go to swimming lessons. Sirius knew how traumatising it was for him so he’d pretended he was scared of the water and kicked up such a spectacular fuss, throwing tantrums of epic proportions about going that his parents eventually relented and didn’t take either of them. If Reggie didn’t want to go, neither did he. 

The place Sirius had found for them had rocks to sit on and places to put their clothes to dry in the sun. It was perfect. That just left the awkward moment of realisation that they were going to have to undress. But fuck it - Sirius Black was nothing if not proud.

Leaving everything in the truck except for a pistol and a bar of soap he’d taken from the house, he marched confidently to the edge of the water, kicked off his boots and then followed with the rest of his clothes, leaving him in his underwear.

The water was warm on the surface, but the deeper he went - only ever up to his knees - the colder it got. He was reminded instantly of all the reasons he and Reggie had stayed away.

Remus, however, had no such qualms, though Sirius supposed that was to be expected. He’d crossed the line from courage into recklessness so it made sense for him to go storming straight into the water, well beyond where Sirius had deemed safe, to dive straight into the deepest part of the river where the current was flowing.

But Sirius had frozen - doing a double take the second he saw Remus strolling into the water, clad in nothing but his underwear.

He was hot.

Objectively.

As in, Sirius could appreciate that he was good-looking. He’d known it since the first time he saw it - Gideon knew it instantly. Credit where credit is due and all that. But it was completely objective.

He was thin - like he had spent months not eating nearly enough - which only managed to make the muscles under his skin all the more pronounced. Sirius had seen his strength in action - those muscles on his forearms - but his toned chest was something else entirely.

He was littered with scars too. This wasn’t shocking, given that Sirius was so used to seeing the one across his face by now that he barely registered it. But it turned out there were few places left untouched by scar tissue. They all glistened in the sunlight, some flat and silvery, others raised and pink, concave and colourless. There were more bullet holes than Sirius had ever seen on a person.

The top of a particularly gnarly scar which had to have been made by a wound that was tremendously deep and viscous, all colours from pinks and to deep purples, poked out of the waistband of his boxers by his right hip.

His scars were stories and he had a thousand novels painted on his skin. And Sirius knew he wasn’t going to read him a single page.

He was irritating. Infuriating. And of course, he just had to be hot while doing it.

Sirius sat on a rock with his calves submerged and cleaned himself up, willing the heat away from his cheeks. It felt amazing to wash his hair. He did his clothes too, scrubbing them as clean as he could get them with the decade old soap. Bubbles floated in the water around him.

And all the while, Sirius shot icy glances and glare after glare at the man who spent his time swimming back and forth in front of him, diving under where Sirius couldn’t see him and then resurfacing in a completely different place.

Sirius was mesmerised watching him, hating every second he couldn’t see him and hating himself even more for being unable to look away.

Remus emerged and threw his head back, running his hands back through his hair to get it off his face, stretched and Sirius got a good look at his taught stomach. He glowered, a twitch in his eye. Remus met his gaze, rolled his eyes and turned away.

Sirius couldn’t take it anymore. He launched the bar of soap at him, watching as it smacked into the back of his head. “We’re supposed to be cleaning ourselves up, not splashing around like children.”

Remus grabbed the soap. “Water’s lovely, Black. You should come in, loosen up a bit. It’d do you some good.”

So of course, he huffed and grabbed his clothes from the rock he’d placed them on to dry and stormed off back to land just to prove a point. He redressed, simmering with anger so much so that he barely noticed the coolness from his still damp clothes.

And Remus had hardly even looked at him. Him. As in Sirius Black. He was as unbothered as ever, even at the sight of Sirius in his underwear. Gideon Prewett would have fainted. Was Sirius losing his touch? A few days in the wild had turned him so rugged that he was no longer attractive?

Or maybe Remus wasn’t attracted to guys.

Yes, that had to be it. Not that it mattered, of course, not to Sirius. He was only curious.

He refused to look at Remus again and instead basked in the sun, lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the clouds while his thumb dragged back and forth over the cool metal of his pistol.

For a long while, all he could hear was the water rushing down the river, the wind, Remus milling around and a few odd chirps from in the trees. That was until the footsteps.

To be continued...

[impala-dreamer]

Tell me about... Dean trying to help mend your broken heart.

Staring At The Sun

Dean x Reader

Little Angsty/Little Fluffy. Allusions to abusive past relationship. Awkward Dean.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

There was no peace; no space between the lines that made any sense. There was just pain that rippled in your chest like some violent wave that knocked against the shores of your heart, forever eroding the muscle until it was impossible to move, to breathe, to do anything but remember her face. 

The lines on the map gave her something to look at more substantial than the particles of dust floating through the air, and Y/N lay her hand on the Pacific, wishing the table would come to life and drown her in the deep ocean. 

Dean sat across the table, a beer in hand, his boot heels covering northern Europe. He narrowed his gaze on Y/N and took a drink. She was moping again and it was driving him mad. 

“Hey.” 

She didn’t hear him, so stuck in the cycle of misery that nothing much could break through. 

He tried again, this time rapping his knuckles on the glowing table. “Hey! Ground Control to Major Tom!”

Y/N startled and a sharp inhale brought her back. “Sorry. What were you saying?” 

Dean rolled his eyes slightly. “I wasn’t saying anything.” 

“Then why are you yelling at me?” Y/N slumped back in her chair, leaving the vast ocean and her dreams of oblivion behind. 

“First off- I wasn’t yelling at you, I was getting your attention.” He kicked his feet down and sat the right way, turning to face her directly. 

“OK. Why?” 

“Because I’m-” He wanted to say worried but he couldn’t make his mouth move that way. He cleared his throat. “Well, you’re-” Breaking my heart since he broke yours. “You’re bumming me out.”

She cocked a brow and glared. “Excuse me?” 

“You’ve done nothing but sulk around this place for months now and it’s kinda driving me crazy.”

A tight little ball formed in her chest. “Screw you.” 

Dean pursed his lips. Unimpressed dimples popped above his lip. “Excuse me?”

“Number one- it hasn’t been months. It’s been three weeks and five days-”

“Almost a month…”

“And fuck you very much for making me feel even worse about it.” Her voice crackled around the words and the end faded into a struggling inhale. Wetness rimmed her eyes and Dean kicked himself. 

“No. Hey, I wasn’t-” Shit. “I didn’t mean-”

“No, of course you didn’t!” Y/N clenched her teeth and shook her head at him, at her ex, at the world. “No one ever means to, do they? You don’t mean to yell at me, He didn’t mean to hurt me; Sam doesn’t mean to leave his fucking socks everywhere! No one ever means anything!” In a huff, she stood up and kicked her chair back. The wheels rolled all the way to the top of the little staircase and the Library readied for its landing. “Everyone can just run around being inconsiderate and nasty to me and- fucking-  breaking my fucking heart over and over and- No one ever means to! Why doesn’t anyone ever own up to their shit anymore!”

Fuck. No… Dean set his beer down over Belgium and pushed his seat back. “Y/N/N-”

She turned away from him, arm waving him away. “Ya know, maybe it’s my fault. I’m too damned unlovable. Too fat and ugly. Too lazy. Too… too fucking- too! Just too! No one gives a shit how they make me feel! They just go on breaking me to pieces and walking away like it doesn’t fucking matter. Like- like I don’t matter. I don’t matter. I don’t fucking matter. So he broke my heart- who fucking cares? So I’m fucking broken and dying here and- who cares? No one. And no one should!” 

Stop it. Stop it. “Stop it!” 

When Y/N turned back, jolted by his yell, Dean was there, no more than a foot away. His green eyes were filled with as much pain as she felt but she couldn’t understand why. She looked up at him, confused.

“None of that is true,” he said softly. “You’re not fat and ugly, Y/N. You’re not… unlovable. You’re…” Beautiful. Amazing. Everything I fucking need in my life. “You’re incredible.” 

She laughed in his face. Tears flowing freely, she laughed. “You’re a real asshole, Dean. That’s not funny. At all.” 

Son-of-a-bitch. 

“I’m not- I’m not trying to be funny, OK? I’m trying to be serious here.” 

His shoulders dropped; his charm and defenses fell with it. He looked away, trying to keep his cheeks dry, and licked his lips. 

Y/N watched him, slowly calming down, releasing the tight ball in her chest. “Dean-”

“It’s been killing me, Y/N/N. Watching him fuck with you the way he did… That… abusive fuck. I mean, the things he said to you, the way he treated you- it was all…”

Her tears doubled at the memory. “I know. I was an idiot.” 

Dean sucked in a quick breath and found her gaze. “No. Not an idiot. Never.” 

“I could have left long before he did.” She laughed softly, bitterly. 

“It’s not all on you.” He stepped closer. Just an inch, just enough to make her breath hitch. “I could have said something. I should have said something.” 

Her pulse quickened. She’d never seen that look in his eyes before. She’d seen pain, trauma, humor, friendship, but this was something different. Something darker, deeper. 

“What would you have said?” she asked, refusing to blink another tear free. 

Dean sank his front teeth into his bottom lip and shook his head. Say it. Just say it, you asshole. 

Y/N reached for his hand and he turned his palm up, sliding it against hers. “Dean…”

Just. Say. It. 

“You said no one cares,” he whispered, closing his fingers tight around her hand. “I do. I uh-” Come on, dammit. “I care about you. A lot. More than a lot. I uh-” Don’t make me say it, please. “Well, the thing is… I just feel like…” I’m staring at the sun when I look at you and I can’t think of anything I want more. Seeing you so broken these last few weeks has nearly killed me and I just want to be the one thing that makes you smile. “I mean, we’ve gotten close and-”

Y/N smiled. Awkward was too perfect on him. Somewhere beneath the miles of blood and murder was a core of pure innocence. She laughed. 

“Don’t- don’t laugh at me, I’m trying to say something!” 

She squeezed his hand and brought it to her lips. She let him off the hook, kissing his knuckles and looking up into his nervous green eyes. 

“Me too, Dean.” 

Thank-fucking-god. 

His cheeks burned. “Yeah?” 

She nodded. “Yeah. Obviously.” 

Don’t kiss her. Not yet. Too soon. 

“Fuck that guy, OK?” He cringed. “I mean, don’t fuck that guy. Ever again. Fuck-”

“You?” 

She grinned and his heart leapt. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, reciprocating her kiss, “I’m ready.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70  

@lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05