#in case they don’t get to see them through to a proper end

[captainclickycat]

I am hoping, in a vaguely optimistic sort of way, that at least networks might start thinking twice about axing or slashing the budget of shows without letting them pan out in a natural way if they’re facing a lot of backlash for it. Might be a bit of a rose-tinted stance but it would be nice to think that making a fuss could pave the way for future good shows to flourish, even if it doesn’t bring back this one.

I’m going to level with you all and take off my clown wig and nose for a minute. Are the chances slim? Yes. Is it so so easy to lose hope in these conditions? Yes. But if we have even a sliver of a chance I will not stop. This show gave me everything I ever needed. A place to laugh, a community, safety, love, tears, but most of all it gave me love for myself. To see myself on that screen in a romantic way? That changed everything for me. I am lovable, my love is beautiful, this show gave me that. And I will never EVER stop fighting for it to get the ending it deserves.

[vin-taege]

muse (m)

summary: Erik is having trouble sketching a design for a pin-up tattoo. No matter how many references he looked through, he just couldn't get the pose right. Luckily, his girlfriend is there to be his real-life model.

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: erik campbell x reader

CW: p in v, unprotected sex (stay safe irl!), spitting, choking, spanking, light degradation, light dumbification, pure filth, lowkey biting kink, erik is a bit of a sadist, aftercare!

words: ~4.4k

"I'm going to get carpal tunnel." Erik shook his wrist, the motion unable to contain the pain from his pinched veins. The house was empty, save for him and Bobby. The rest of the family went out for a grocery run, while the two of them were restricted either by college or by work.

"That's not good," Bobby grimaced, barely glancing up from his chemistry textbook. "You won't be able to jack off properly."

The blunt end of a rubber eraser hit the younger boy square in the head. Rubbing the sore spot, he shot a displeased look towards his 'attacker,' only to be met by a shit-eating grin. 

"Oops, it slipped."

Still feeling his brother's pointed glance, Erik let out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just stressed because Mark won't get off my ass for this project."

"Aren't you guys allowed to use reference sites?"

"Yeah, but I'd rather not slowly burn my eyes out of their sockets. Also, I think I’ve gone through every picture Pinterest has. The frat boy who wants this tattoo keeps asking for updates every thirty minutes and he’s busting my balls."

To say this specific tattoo design was kicking his ass was an understatement. Drawing was both the easiest and the hardest part. Erik was skilled enough to go from neo-traditional to realistic at the drop of a hat, but the amount of work it took—plus his shit working posture he swore he’d fix—was out to knock a few years off his life. The more he drew poses again and again, the sloppier they looked. He groaned in frustration, balling up another piece of paper.

"Why don't you ask ___ to model for you then?" Bobby picked up a highlighter, aggressively running it across what Erik estimated to be an entire paragraph. He almost didn't hear what Erik hastily mumbled under his breath. "What was that?"

"I don’t want her to feel conscious, okay?" Erik huffed. "Plus, I’d get a bit… distracted from drawing, and the whole point is to draw."

Bobby screwed his face in disgust. He shook the mental picture of whatever his brother and you do underneath bed covers and went back to focus on studying for his finals. What he didn’t know was that his off-handed suggestion truly stuck with Erik.

Erik tucked his pencil and graphite stick back into their case, carefully wrapping the latter in tissue to prevent it from making a mess. Even though he had an iPad, he still preferred to draw traditionally—one of his quirks you loved. He was so particular about small details like texture and shading control, loved the feel of wood rather than smooth metal.

He looked back at his phone, scrolling through his mess of a gallery. A mixture of personal pictures, pose references, playlist screenshots, and shitpost gathered under the “all photos” tab—not that he bothered to ever sort them into proper albums. He aimlessly scrolled, not exactly sure what he was looking for. Finally, he was hit with serendipity.

It was a picture from two weeks ago. He had been working late as the shop closer and texted you that he’d spend an extra hour over time. You had whined at him over a brief call, rightfully so, since he had planned for that night to be a movie night.

“Erik, I got all pretty just for you,” he could almost see your pout through the phone.

“You’re always pretty, baby.”

“That’s not my point!”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get there, okay?”

After a few more bouts of apologies and a reluctant “I love you,” that’s when he got the picture. You were kneeling in front of the mirror, your free arm planted on the ground. It pressed against your chest, making your cleavage more pronounced. In between your thighs, behind your hand, he could faintly see the shimmer of lace panties—the ones he picked out for you after you made him listen to the Brat album. The only thing covering you up was his favorite leather jacket, the thick fabric embracing your frame while still showing your silhouette.

And damn, all the memories of that night hit him once more. How he fucked you in his jacket, how breathy your voice got, pitching up when you were deep in subspace, how much you begged him to fill you up. He could feel his dick twitch in his pants.

“I need to go. You’d be fine here by yourself, right?” Erik hastily chucked his things in a ratty. leather satchel. You had gotten it for him three birthdays ago, and at this point, the leather’s got a bit of chafing, while the straps were filled with a row of button pins. Erik refused to use anything else to carry his things.

“Uh, where are you going? Mom and Dad are gonna come back soon for dinner. They texted, like, just ten minutes ago.” Bobby shifted from his position on the couch, moving to toss his textbook aside and catch up to Erik, but he had already gotten his boots on.

“I’m taking your advice.” Erik paused at the doorway, making eye contact with a confused Bobby. In a second, everything clicked for the younger sibling. He cringed, gritting his teeth together.

“Tell her I said hi, at least,” Bobby awkwardly waved at Erik, watching as he trudged off like a man on a mission.

────୨ৎ────

“Bobby says ‘hi,’” was the first thing Erik told you when you opened the door. You chuckled, both in confusion and surprise. Just this morning, Erik had texted you that he’d be preoccupied all day just trying to make a draft for that one client; some frat boy in an on-again-off-again relationship who wanted his girl as a pin-up on his thigh. Which is why you didn’t expect to see him at your door this evening.

He licked his lips at the sight of you. One of his old band tees hung around your frame, barely covering the top of your thighs. Black shorts peeked beneath the soft fabric. You moved to hug him, squeezing his body against yours.

“Kiki! I thought you forgot about me.”

You laughed as he rolled his eyes, the curve of a smile ghosting his lips. With one arm wrapped around you, he brought a hand to cup your face, leaning in to kiss you deeply. You could taste the faint menthol from the hard candies he substituted for cigarettes. He was trying to quit after promising you he’d take care of himself more.

He shifted to grip your jaw firmer, using your small gasp as an opportunity to slip his tongue in. You moaned quietly, feeling his jeans rub against your thighs. Just as you felt yourself getting wet, he pulled away, teasingly grinning at you.

“How could I ever forget my girl?”

Your cheeks heated up at the pet name. Shaking your head, you stepped aside to let him in and closed the front door.

Erik basically lived part-time at your apartment. He knew where you kept your cups and plates, memorized what brand of detergent you used, and knew just the right way to twist your shower knob so that the water was the perfect temperature. He plopped on his usual spot on your couch, with you following close by. He patted his lap, an invitation for you to take your favorite seat.

“How’s the pin-up job going?” you asked once you settled down. His hands automatically landed on your thighs. You took his satchel, digging around before you procured his sketchbook.

“It’s shit, babe. I’ve been getting artist’s block since that guy left the shop.” He watched quietly as your eyes scanned over his failed sketches. He never wanted to admit it, but a small part of him still felt nervous whenever you looked at his drawings. Subconsciously, his thumb traced small circles onto your skin. “I actually came here to ask you for help with something.”

“Mhmm?” you hummed, only half-listening to him. No matter how many times you viewed his sketchbook, you were always awe-struck. Erik’s shop was mainly known for piercings, but on the rare days he’s given a task of a tattoo job, he always kills it with his artistry. Strong shape language, vivid colors, fluid composition—he was such a ridiculously good artist.

“Baby?” Erik chuckled, bringing a hand up so he could swipe your lips with his thumb. You scrunched your face up in surprise, bringing your full attention back to him. “I said I wanted to ask if you could help me with this drawing.”

You smiled sheepishly. “And what exactly do you want me to do? Is this one of your brilliant plans?”

“It’s not a heist this time, I promise,” he snorted. He fell silent for a moment, an uncharacteristic beat of seriousness washing over him. He took a deep breath. “You can always say no to this, and I swear I wouldn’t mind. I just really need a burst of inspiration right now and I keep fucking up the poses. And then I figured… I have a smoking hot girlfriend…”

He trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You cocked your on brow, laughing in disbelief. “And what, you want to paint your ‘smoking hot girlfriend’ like a French girl?”

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, craning his neck to plant a soft kiss beneath your ear. “Only if she lets me.”

“Hmm…” you pretended to mull it over. “Only if you ask politely.”

“Please, will you, the queen of my heart, model for me?” He widened his eyes slightly, working his charm through his baby blues. You could feel his fingers brush higher on your thigh, his nails catching the hem of your shorts. 

“Fine, pretty boy.”

“That’s my fucking girl.” He bit your shoulder lightly, making you yelp in surprise. You twisted your torso, smacking him lightly on his chest as he laughed. You got off his lap, moving to the smaller plush chair next to the sofa.

“How do you want me?”

“I’d normally say hands and knees.” You shot him a glare, met only by an unabashed grin. “But right now, just sit pretty on the edge there. Bring one leg in front of the other and bend it like—yeah, that’s perfect. Now put your… right hand on the couch and extend it.”

You let him pose your arms, making small tweaks in your position. His touches were light, though lingering. Your skin burned each time the pads of his fingers came into contact with you. When he was satisfied, he took a few steps back, cocking his head a little to the side to take you in. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered under his breath.

You giggled, eyes darting to your oversized shirt, then back to him. “Do you want me to take this off?”

Without waiting for an answer, you peeled the fabric off smoothly before returning to your static position. You shivered a little as the cold air hit your bare breasts. Erik’s jaw hung open, his eyes darkening. He closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. Going back to his spot on the couch, he leaned back, opening his thighs wide. He set the sketchbook on top of the leg, planted on the couch.

“Don’t move, doll. Can you handle that for a few minutes?”

“What if I accidentally squirmed a little?” you batted your eyelashes innocently.

He snickered. “I’ll make sure you’ll regret it then. Wouldn’t want me to bend you over for a spanking now, do you?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line, clenching around nothing. Wetness stuck to the fabric of your panties. You wanted to rub your thighs, grind on the couch, but Erik’s watchful eyes froze you to the spot. His gaze would flicker between you and the paper, silence taking over the living room except for the music he’s set in the background. 

Just from the first song, you recognized the playlist: Erik’s Witching Hour. Also belovedly known as his sex playlist.

Humming to the tune, you tried to distract yourself. Erik’s gaze was heavy on you, piercing into your soul. It wasn’t self-consciousness per se—it was yearning. The room felt hot, despite your nipples hardening from the cool air. Your clit throbbed, demanding to be touched underneath your slick-ruined underwear. You could faintly hear Erik’s pencil scratch against the paper.

It was after whole minutes of silent concentration that you decided to play with him a little. Leaning your head backwards, you stared at the ceiling in faux boredom. “Wait so… you’re going to put a picture of me on another guy’s skin?”

“Bring your head back down, doll. And no, not exactly. I wouldn’t put you on that asshole. I just need a feel for the pose.”

You rolled your eyes, listening to his request. For now. For another moment, none of you spoke until you started swinging your legs back and forth. “Yeah… I was thinking of how this complete stranger was going to have my body on his for what—the rest of his life? Didn’t know you were into that.”

His expression hardened, jaw tensing. He called your name out quietly, an edge present in his voice. “Stop moving.”

You raked your gaze over him, stopping at the seam of his jeans. His sketchbook covered his crotch, but you could see his knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped it. You bit your lip, swaying lightly from side to side. “The idea of it is hot, no? Like, I’m branding someone almost.”

He said your name again, voice firmer this time. “I’m giving you three seconds to shut up, and if you don’t, I’m not going to be gentle with what I’m gonna do next.”

Your eyes lit up. You were really winding him up now. If there’s anything Erik loves, it's always a good chase. 

“One.”

You spread your legs slowly, angling your hips down to the chair.

“Two.”

Erik had already set his pencil on the table. He leaned forward, bringing both feet to the ground, eyes burning into yours. You could practically see the outline of his cock through his jeans now.

“Three?” you finished for him, rocking your hips slightly. Your thighs tensed as your clit finally met its sought-after friction. Without another word, Erik made his way to you with two big strides. You grinned at him as you felt a hand on your throat, fingers roughly pressing into the points of your jaw.

“Just can’t fucking help yourself, huh?” he whispered. He ran his thumb over your mouth, parting your lips. You suckled on his digit, twirling your tongue around him. He slipped his other hand underneath your shorts, tracing your slit through your panties. He groaned, feeling how soaked you were. “Have you been this wet since we started? Is that why you’re so fucking needy?”

You nodded, hips chasing after his touch when he brought his hand away. His thumb pressed down on your tongue, prying your jaw open. He leaned over, spitting into your mouth. He let your jaw go, watching with hunger as you immediately swallowed.

“I was just… curious about your work?” It came out more as a question. You bit your lip, trying to prevent the smile from spreading on your face. Erik narrowed his eyes at you.

Two firm hands gripped your waist, pulling you up and spinning you around. You felt pressure on the back of your knee, making it bend. Erik pressed a hand on your lower back, forcing an arch. You were kneeling on the sofa now, hands stabilizing yourself on the backrest. He grabbed the hem of your shorts, almost tearing the fabric as he yanked them down your thighs, alongside your panties. He took a moment to take in your wetness staining the black lace, before bringing his eyes to your dripping cunt.

“Are these the ones I got for you?” He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your fluids. He brought it to his lips, groaning deeply when he tasted you.

“My favorite,” you wiggled your ass. Immediately, you felt your left cheek sting, hearing the sharp smack first. Your mouth dropped in a silent moan—too shocked for any sound to come out.

“I’ll teach you a thing about branding,” Erik said, winding up his arm before bringing his palm down on your right ass. He watched the flesh jiggle, waiting for the redness to spread on your skin. He spanked you again, letting his fingers catch on your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, yelping in both pain and pleasure. “Since you seem to like it so much, I’ll make an example out of you.”

You bit your lip, too stubborn to let him hear you moan. Your nails dug into the couch as you took blow by blow. The skin was stinging, made worse when you felt the tip of Erik’s nail on the swell of your eyes. A whimper left your lips as he carved a crooked “E” on your flesh. The skin puffed slightly, making the letter even more visible. 

“You’re getting off this, you little freak,” he chuckled breathlessly. You panted, rocking back and forth as he wound circles around your clit. “You’re so fucking wet and I haven’t even gotten my cock out.”

“Fuck you,” you rasped out, trying to force more friction. His touch was light, teasing. You were about to turn your head back to spout more swears at him, when you felt a sharp smack against your cunt. You let out a strangled cry, bringing your thighs together.

“Oh, did that hurt? Poor baby,” he mocked you, forcing your thighs apart with his hands. Two fingers rubbed your slit up and down, barely dipping into you. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Erik.” His name came out as a breathy whine. “Stop teasing.”

“Only if you ask politely,” he mimicked your words from earlier.

You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration. “Erik, please just fucking put them in already! I need your fingers so bad, baby, please. Please—fuck!”

You inhaled sharply as Erik slipped his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt. He brought them back and forth, angling his hand until he hit the spot that made you see stars. Your breath stuttered, arms almost giving out. Erik snaked his other hand onto your neck, fingers pressing lightly against your throat. He guided you forward, letting the backrest hit your collarbones, your arms bent on top of it.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice mixed with the playlist and the squelching noises your cunt made. Each push of his fingers made you tense more, a coil winding up in your stomach. Your mind was clouded, taken over only by his scent, his touch, his voice. Your eyelids fluttered, sinful moans loudly leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna be a good doll and fucking follow orders this time.” He was bent over you, whispering harshly into your ear. He caught the bottom of your lobe, grinding it in between his teeth. Tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, a broken moan wretching its way out of your throat. “I know you’re getting close. You’re gonna make a mess all over my fingers, then you’re gonna kneel all pretty there and take it like a good girl when I fuck you, okay?”

You nodded your head, too lost in the pleasure to think properly. He let go of your throat, grabbing a fistful of your hair instead to yank your head back. “Can you talk to me, or are you too fucking dumb right now?”

“Erik, p-please. Yes, please fuck me, please let me cum, p-please,” you stuttered out, yelling as your orgasm hit you. You ground back into his palm, shaking as more slick gushed out of you. He continued to pump his fingers, slowing his pace as you rode out your high.

Taking big gulps of air, you placed your head on the chair’s backrest, thighs still trembling. You could faintly hear the clinking of his belt, followed by heavy fabric falling down. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt the cool tip of his prince albert poke slip in between your folds. “W-wait, Erik—”

“What’s your color, doll?” he murmured against your back, pressing soft kisses up your spine. He stopped the trail at your shoulder, biting and suckling on the skin until it bruised. You can’t imagine how much more marks your hips and ass had. He waited patiently for your answer, rubbing your waist soothingly.

You finally managed to catch your breath. “G-green.”

“That’s a good girl,” you could feel him smirk. He pressed a kiss on the crook of your neck, then entered you in one fluid motion. You let out a broken cry, feeling his piercing brush against your cervix. He stayed buried to the hilt, grinding his cock impossibly deeper into you.

“P-please,” you begged him. His hand found its way place back on your neck, fingers carefully placed so that he wouldn’t be pressing down on your windpipe. He gripped your hips firmly. Once he was satisfied with his position, he thursted into you. Slowly, cruelly.

He pulled out, leaving only the tip in, before pressing flush against your ass. You gasped each time, his cock expertly nailing your g-spot. Erik grunted, breathing heavily each time he thrust into you. Your cunt clenched tightly around him, greedily taking in his thick cock. No matter how many times you fucked, the delicious stretch always surprised you.

Erik could feel you getting close again. Your uneven breathing, how tight you had curled your toes, the steady stream of moans spilling from your lips—half of them profanities while the rest was his name. “Does my doll want to cum again?”

“M-mhhmm,” you gasped in between moans.

“Gotta do better than that, doll.” He applied light pressure to your throat, starting to quicken his pace. 

“C-cum! Erik, w-wanna cum, fu-fuck—please!” you mewled, barely hearing him give you permission. For a second, you blacked out, cunt spasming around his cock. Your mouth opened in a silent yell, moans caught in the throat he held. Your body went slack, drained by the powerful orgasm he forced out of you. The only things holding you up were his hands on your neck and hips. He used your body as leverage, pulling you into him as he snapped his hips.

Erik kept thrusting into you, following an animalistic rhythm. He plowed on, making the sofa creak, lightly bumping your cheek into the upholstery each time he bottomed out. You were barely coherent—the only thing you knew was that you felt so fucking good. Small ungh, ungh, ungh’s, was the only thing you were capable of saying. 

“Look at you. See, you could listen for once. Staying still like a pretty doll while I use you. You’re such a good girl. You’re gonna let me fill you up, won’t you, doll?” He moaned, voice breaking towards the end. His thrusts were getting sloppier, shallower. He was getting off on his words as much as you were. It always turned him on how fast he could reduce you to a mindless mess, cock-drunk, eyes glazed over.

“Y-yes, please,” you squeaked, voice already raw. He snickered lightly, moaning wantonly behind you, already starting to lose control.

“That’s my good girl. Good fucking slut,” he growled, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Hot spurts of cum painted your walls, Erik grinding slowly into you, coaxing more of his seed to spill out. You clamped down on him, cumming for the third time as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. After milking himself in your cunt, he stilled, draping his body over yours, pulling you close.

He hooked his chin over your shoulder, pressing soothing kisses on your cheek and neck. When your breathing went back to normal, he slowly pulled out. You sighed at the emptiness, clenching as his cum dripped out of your spent cunt. He stared for a moment, entranced by the mixture of fluids. His focused snapped back to you when you groaned, limbs already sore.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered. He took you into his arms, gently lying down on the larger couch with you on top of him. He ran his fingers through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. You hummed in contentment, feeling so so tired but also so full.

“You did so well for me. You’re always so good to me, baby.” His voice took a softer lilt, always the polar opposite after rough sessions. His touch felt warmer, lighter, more afraid to break you. “You can go to sleep if you want, okay? I’ll be here.”

With his reassurance, you let your eyes flutter shut. It didn’t take long for you to doze off, cheek pressed against his chest. He kept on playing with your hair and drumming his fingers against the base of your spine. He only stopped once he was sure you were deep into your slumber. 

────୨ৎ────

You woke up in your bed, way past dinner.

Bleary-eyed, the first thing you saw was Erik sitting by your desk, his back turned to you. You glanced down at yourself, discovering that you’ve been dressed in fresh clothes—one of your sleep tees and the boxers you stole from him. You stretched your limbs, wincing at the slight soreness in your lower half. Erik turned to you, hearing the rustling of your covers.

“Hey,” he smiled softly. You patted the empty space next to you, pouting at him. Your stomach grumbled, but you could hardly care. You just needed him close.

He climbed into bed, taking his place next to you under the covers. “You gonna stop being an asshole now?”

You snorted loudly, laughter like tinkling bells in his ears. He watched fondly as your eyes scrunched up. “Hello to you, too.”

“Sit up and drink some water, okay?” He took the glass placed on your nightstand, bringing it to your lips. You gladly accepted, the water quenching your parched throat. “I’ll order some takeout for a late, late dinner.”

“Did I get to help with the tattoo?” you murmured, still drowsy.

“I think I got it down, baby,” he smirked, pecking your lips. He wasn’t going to tell you that he never got a proper sketch because he kept staring at your tits. To his merit, he did try, but just got so distracted. It was going to be a problem for future Erik. Presently, Erik just wants to eat takeout and be with you. 

[prettydaisygirl]

Halloooo u saw ur requests were open and can u request a james potter x reader, where reader is sick (this is me rn) and james taking care of her, i've cried the oast hour cuz my head hurts so much, and my period just ended so i wanna be canuddled by a James Potter

Anyways, luv ur works, live life girl, i'm praying all the best for you‼️❤️

hi lovely!! Thank you so much for requesting. I already have a period comfort fic, so I made this one into a migraine fic, hope that's alright! Thank you for the kind words and for requesting <3

boyfriend!James Potter x fem!reader who has a migraine ✿ 739 words

cw: fem!reader, reader has a migraine, James is the sweetest i need him

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

The bedroom door creaks open in a way that makes your head throb. A small sound of frustration leaves James’ mouth as it does, and if you could open your eyes to look at him, you’d see the apologetic look on his face. He deliberately tiptoes in quietly, going out of his way to step softly.

“Hey, angel,” His greeting is whispered, his hand reaching out to brush some hair from your forehead. The sound you make is whined, but relieved. You must have been dozing, he can see your eyes flutter below their lids.

“Hi,” Your response is weak, shaky and whispered as quietly as his. You start to peel your lashes apart to look at him but he stops your movements with his own strangled protest.

“No, don’t open your eyes, love. I know that makes it worse.” His fingers trail across your temple and into your hair, the soft pads soothing the skin of your scalp. “Do you need anything? I can make you some tea, or some soup if you like?”

You hum, neither a yes or a no. James doesn’t mind if you answer or not. He takes a seat next to you on the bed, fingertips tracing gentle lines back and forth through your hair. You curl toward him, nose brushing against his thigh. James’ heart aches, he wishes he could take all of your pain and suffering away, but he can’t. What he can do is be here, with you, and give you what you need.

“Just… stay here.” You manage eventually, so soft he wouldn’t have heard it if there were any other noises in your bedroom. 

The words make him smile, though they shouldn’t. He presses his thumb into your temple, not painful, but firm enough for you to feel it. The moan you let out would normally make James hard instantly, but right now he just feels relief that you’re feeling better, that he’s helping you. You slowly raise a hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist to encourage him to push harder. He obliges, and this time your moan does make his stomach tighten. 

“That feel good?” His question is whispered, and you manage another proper answer, albeit strained.

“Yeah,” Your eyes squeeze shut tighter when he presses down again, the pressure from his fingers alleviating and distracting you from the pain of the migraine. He continues for a while, the soothing motion has his own eyes closing too. 

“Do you want some medicine?” He asks eventually, whisper cutting through the dark silence of the bedroom. 

“Yeah,” Your answer is whined and your fingers tighten around his wrist. “But I don’t want you to move.”

James smiles, though he feels slightly guilty for how giddy he is when he gets to take care of you like his. He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then one to your brow. You turn your head just enough for him to press a final, quick one to your lips even though lines in your forehead give away that it’s uncomfortable.

“How about this?” He says decidedly, “I’ll go get some medicine, some water, and a snack just in case you need them later, and then I’ll spend the rest of the night right here?”

You let out a heavy breath like you’re making a big decision, like the idea of him moving his thumb now even for a moment is too much for you. You turn back into the sheet and James knows you’re going to tell him to get medicine. He’s already moving as you ask for it.

He grabs everything he thinks you might want: painkillers, your favorite snack, some water, and an extra blanket. You’re sitting up when he returns, and he places everything down on the bedside table except the water and painkillers, which he gives to you. The moment you swallow the pills down, you open your arms for him. He climbs onto the bed again, scooping you against his chest. Your body sags into him, face buried in his neck. He reaches a hand around and finds that spot on your temple again, pressing down like he did before. He smiles when you let out another wonderful sound of relief. 

“I have you, baby,” His other hand finds your back, rubbing soothing circles there, “Anything you need, I have you.” 

And you know he means it. He would do anything for you, always. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[leth-writes]

Yandere platonic The Boys

Your background, in some ways, is similar to Homelander’s. You were kept captive most of your childhood, forced to practice your abilities constantly until you lost sight of what you even truly looked like

You spent so much time forced to be somebody else that you ended up losing your own identity.

Vought has created the perfect one-person PR campaign; you’re always there to promote or disgrace anyone they need you to. You’ve never even had the option to rebel.

Soon after Starlight is introduced into the Seven, you manage to get out, running barefoot through the front doors with a chain trailing behind you.

Homelander is put on the case, assigned to track down the little science experiment.

He has no qualms with it; if all that was done to him, why should you get to leave when he can’t?

That attitude lasts until he finally corners you in an alley.

All he can see is the bright whites of your panicked eyes; you’re crouched behind a trash can, eyes wild and anxious, hair ragged and skin marred with scratches and cuts. There’s just something… off about you. Like a person, just to the left.

Some deep, buried part of him just snaps, pushing itself to the surface and suddenly he’s 5 again, terrified and staring up at the cruel, blank faces of the doctors hurting him over and over.

He can’t let that happen, not to you. You just awaken that paternal instinct, somehow.

From that moment on, Vought can’t touch you. You’ve got your very own superhero, shielding you from those sterile labs and cold faces.

He takes you back to his apartment and dumps every blanket he can find on top of you, getting you nice and comfortable. Then, he flies back and kills the doctors responsible for your pain.

You’re shaking and shivering, confused and completely unaware of the world at large. You hadn’t ever been able to watch tv, or talk to anyone outside of Vought, so you don’t even know who he is. You aren’t scared of him, which is refreshing. For once, he has someone who doesn’t know anything about his reputation and is looking to him for protection not because he’s Homelander, but because of the real him.

You’re completely isolated.

When he returns, he tells you you’re safe and that he’ll be your father. You’ll form a family together, a strong one, and you’ll never have to be alone again.

As a paternal figure, Homelander seeks to help you understand your true identity. Any pictures of who you once were are all long gone, but he’s going to help you forge a new identity, one he approves of, of course.

He lets you stay in his apartment watching movies and catching up on pop culture while he does his job, returning to get dinner from his cook to feed you. You aren’t allowed to talk to any of the various workers that maintain the apartment, but you’re so scared of them you don’t even notice. Homelander is essentially the only person who’s ever been nice to you, so you look to him for his opinion before you do anything

The control inflates Homelander’s ego even farther. While Ryan was able to be independent, especially because Homelander entered his life so late, he’s really able to shape you in a way he wouldn’t be able to do to anyone else

He tries to get you into his hobbies, talking for hours about American history and his career. He only talks about the positive moments, of course.

He also makes sure to show you all his movies, which you absolutely eat up. He definitely has to explain to you that no, this isn’t something that really happened, it’s just a story.

As the months pass, you get more and more comfortable and start longing to go outside. He reintroduces you to Vought, letting you meet the 7; after he spent an hour lecturing them on proper behavior first, of course.

He keeps you far away from the Deep and Translucent if they’re still present, and definitely tries to keep you away from Starlight; he doesn’t want you getting too close to such a rebellious spirit and being corrupted by her and her terrorist boyfriend, afterall. He trusts Maeve to look after you (at least in the earlier seasons) if he ever has to do something while you’re in the tower.

You, of course, gravitate right to Starlight. You love her ability, and immediately morph into her to show your excitement. You’ve started to view your powers as a positive, rather than fearing them for their connection to the doctors, and you often show your affection by transforming into your vision of the person you’re talking to. It’s how Homelander gauges your reactions to him; he can tell, based on how you transform, how you feel about him. You tend to exaggerate the kindness of his eyes and the curve of his mouth, and you always make him look so soft and gentle, it really helps with that anxiety, that fear of you leaving him and destroying your family

With Starlight, she finds it quite creepy at first, at least before she notices you’re exaggerating the features you believe really represent her. You’ve made her hair softer, framing her face perfectly, and made her look a lot happier; you see her as a soft, comforting figure, almost like an older sister.

Starlight can feel her heart melt when she talks to you. You’re so sweet and oblivious, completely unaware of the monster you’re living with, and her goal shifts to include keeping you safe.

Thus begins the back and forth between Homelander and Starlight.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Day 16 - Flashing

Pairing: 1972!Elvis x reader

Word count: 1.4K

TWs: Flashing (obv), piercings, dry humping.

Kinktober masterlist

Elvis looks out into the crowd and somewhere amongst the usual outstretched arms and screaming faces he sees you. He makes eye contact, and something about you makes him want to hold it a little longer than usual. And then all of a sudden you pull down your little strappy top, exposing your breasts. Luckily it’s during an instrumental, because he actually gasps. It’s not as if he’s never seen breasts before (he’s seen a lot of breasts) and it’s not as if he hasn’t been flashed before either. (In case you couldn’t work that out for yourself, he’s been flashed a lot of times too). It’s just, he swears your nipples are twinkling. Like they have something sparkly on them, or… in them? He’s just about managing to focus on them so he can work out exactly what’s happening when one of the security guards grabs hold of you and pulls you away. 

No. 

He strides over to Charlie. “Find me that woman,” he says, and then launches back into another verse. 

Poor Charlie spends a few stressful minutes finishing up the song before he can dive over to Jerry, who is standing at his usual place at the back of the stage, and ask him if he has any idea what on earth their boss is on about. Between Jerry and Joe, they figure out who you are and find you. Luckily you’d charmed the security guard into letting you stay in the venue, and although you’re surprised when Joe introduces you and explains what he wants, you don’t show it. After all, you’d flashed Elvis for a reason. 

***

Elvis is still in his sweaty jumpsuit when Joe produces you, like a rabbit from a hat. He huffs. He’d wanted to shower before he saw you, or at least he’d thought you’d just be brought into the car with him, or taken directly to the hotel. But Joe explains that for some complicated reason he’s not being driven straight away, like normal. Elvis doesn’t want all of these people in the room either. He usually likes a lot of company, but right now all he can think of is pulling that top down and having a proper look at what you’d flashed him earlier. He’s really been having some fun on this tour and he wants it to continue. 

“Hi there, honey,” he coos, dazzling you with eye contact. “Joe, get rid of everyone and close that door behind you.” 

Joe looks a little shocked but does as he’s told. The room is empty in two minutes flat, and Elvis turns to lock the door. 

“I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted us to have a little privacy.”

You think you should be afraid to be alone in a room with a man you’ve only just met, but something about him is instantly reassuring. And more than a little charming. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply, telling him your name when he asks.

You talk for a while. Even with the mood he’s in, Elvis finds it difficult to just ask you to pull your top down, but you notice him looking down every so often, eyes drawn to the way your nipples are showing through the fabric.

When he does it for about the fifth time in a row, you can’t help giggling. “You want another look?” 

“Uh.. what? I…uh…” he stumbles over his words, blushing in a way that you can’t help but find endearing. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Pulling your top up and over your head, you sit in front of him half-naked now. His eyes skate over your skin and settle on your nipples. They’re still sparkling. They’re pierced. You watch his eyes get wide as if he’s trying to comprehend something he’s never seen before. 

“You can touch if you want,” you tell him, gently. 

You’d never have believed Elvis Presley would be like this. He’s almost shy. His arm stretches out and his fingertips ghost over your nipple, cautiously but somehow sensually enough to make the hairs on your neck stand on end. 

“Is that okay?”

You nod, shuffling yourself a little closer to him on the sofa. “You can move them, you know. The piercings. It feels good.”

His expression changes from wary cautiousness to concentration as one hand cups your right breast and the other gently starts to twist the piercing in your left nipple. You let out a little sigh and he’s encouraged to carry on, manipulating one nipple with his fingers as he lets his tongue investigate the other. Whimpering, you dig your fingers into his sweaty hair, holding him in place. He’s good with his hands but his mouth is something else. You feel yourself instantly get wet thinking about what else he might be able to do with it. 

He pulls back and looks at you, your flushed face and nibbled on lower lip. He’s never seen pierced nipples before, and if someone had told him about them he’d probably have been freaked out. But he likes playing with them. And you seem to like him playing with them too. He lies you down on the sofa with him on top, kissing you thoroughly. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively and somehow you’re in the perfect position to feel his erection pressing against your clothed pussy. 

“Mmmm.”

He starts to roll his hips against you, feeling the delicious friction on his dick. He hasn’t done this in a long time. He’d usually go down on a girl these days, or maybe fuck if he was feeling particularly energetic. But rubbing himself on you feels so good, and it seems like you feel the same way, if your moans are anything to go by. 

“EP! EP!” 

Elvis groans at the shout from outside of the dressing room but doesn’t stop rutting his hips into you, even when he shouts back, “what?” 

“Two minutes! We’ve got to get in the car.”

He looks at you and rolls his eyes, making you giggle. He still doesn’t stop what he’s doing though, and you can feel your orgasm building. 

“Fine!”

His head dips down and he nibbles on your jaw. “You close, baby?”

You nod, frantically. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

You hang on around his neck as his movements get faster, eyes rolling back in your head at the sound of him grunting in your ear. 

“Fuck, baby.”

Somehow you both hit your highs at almost the same time, pleasure shooting through you as he feels warm wetness in his pants. He lies on top of you, panting a little and starting to feel a bit embarrassed about what he’s just done. You, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about it. Have you really just made him cum in his pants? In that gorgeous jumpsuit? 

“Did you cum?” You whisper.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck, face hot with embarrassment. Firstly, that a girl said the word ‘cum’, and secondly that yes, he had indeed shot his load right in his pants, like a horny 18 year old. 

“Hmmm.”

You bite your lip. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

He shifts to look into your eyes. “You need to stop all this cussing, little girl. Or I’ll have to wash your mouth out with soap.” 

He sounds deadly serious and you freeze for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing. You shove him in the chest as you laugh too. 

“You think it’s hot?” He asks, when he’s calmed down. 

You nod quickly. 

“EP!”

Elvis sighs loudly and sits up. “GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES!” He yells. 

The voice on the other side of the door apologises and its owner disappears. 

“Listen, honey. You wanna come back to the hotel with me tonight? And maybe on the rest of the tour?”

You sit up slowly, staring at him in shock. Truth be told, there’s not much keeping you here right now. You just can’t quite believe that he wants you to go on tour with him. 

“I’d love to.” 

He grins. He doesn’t want to let you go without ever seeing your pussy. Plus, you’re more than a little fun. 

“Just one condition,” you add.

“Hmmm?”

“You give me those pants you’re wearing.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978

[dukestags]

Hi, ok so I've been having this idea for so long and I think you might like to write it. It's a Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) x Male reader, where reader's a singer/popstar(? And one day, as a joke, he sends Bruce Wayne an invitation to participate in a videoclip, similar to "One of your girls" by Troye Sivan where he does a lap dance to Ross Lynch. Bruce accepts (bc why not) and well, in this case it's reader the one that ends up doing a lap dance to a shirtless Bruce Wayne in front of a camera. Needless to say, Bruce enjoys every second of it.

Surprisingly, they have a lot of chemistry, so they flirt, like, a lot. And maybe it all ends with a dinner and.... Other things ;)

Also, it's not necessary that reader is in drag like in the video I referenced if you don't like the idea.

Drunk text

Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) x Male reader

warnings: smut... drag idk... im getting a bit lazy..

summary: maybe a little joke wasn't so bad after all.

(I LOVE THE IDEA)

It was all a just a drunk joke. You drank with some friends after eight before the day of the shooting and you joked about having Bruce Wayne onset of the music video and being the guy you are… you drunk texted him with a god damn email..

‘Heyyyyyyy Mr. Wayne. I’m filming tomorrow and I need a guy for a scene for my music video for the lap dance scene. Wanna be the lucky guy? 😉’

You didn’t expect him to actually show up.. but he did. So you gave him an actual show. A proper dance.

The bass dropped—low, dirty, and pulsing like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

You strutted into the spotlight, heels clicking against the wood with every step. The bodysuit clung to you like a second skin, glittering under the dim red light. Your wig was styled to perfection, a dramatic black cascade that framed your smirking lips. A thin silver chain draped across your hips, drawing every eye exactly where you wanted them.

But your focus?

All on him.

Bruce Wayne. Shirtless. Spread casually in that vintage velvet chair, elbows on the armrests, ankles crossed, like this was just another boring gala. But you could see it—the flicker of tension in his jaw, the slight shift of his fingers against the upholstery. He was trying to play it cool.

He had no idea what he was in for.

You circled the chair like a lion, hips swaying, lips mouthing along with the track. Bruce’s eyes followed every movement, head tilted slightly as you stepped behind him, dragging your fingers slowly along his shoulders. You leaned in close—your lips just brushing the shell of his ear.

“Don’t blink,” you purred.

Then the real show started.

You swung around and straddled his lap in one smooth, practiced move. The music pounded through your body as you rolled your hips against his, moving with teasing precision. Your hands slid up his chest, nails grazing over his collarbones, down his stomach. Every part of you was in sync with the beat, with him.

Bruce’s hands gripped the chair tightly—but he didn’t touch you. Not yet.

Your thighs clenched around him, dragging your body up with a slow grind, only to drop back down again, flush against his lap. His breath hitched, barely audible—but you heard it. You smirked, locking eyes with him, your faces just inches apart.

He looked up at you like a man starved.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr. Wayne?” you asked, voice dripping with mock innocence.

He raised an eyebrow, voice gravelly. “You’re very… committed to the role.”

You leaned in, so close your noses brushed. “So are you.”

The track hit its climax—your body moving with wild, fluid energy now, head thrown back as you danced, lips parted, letting the music flow through you. Every twist, every grind, every movement of your hips against his was deliberate.

And Bruce?

He was rock still. A pillar of control beneath you. But you could see it—his flushed chest, the slight tension in his arms, the heat in his eyes. That thin veneer of Wayne control was cracking.

The final beat hit, and you dropped low—your chest pressed against his, one hand braced on his thigh, your mouth right next to his ear.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

But no one moved.

Your hand stayed on Bruce’s chest. His gaze pinned you in place.

And then—finally—his hand slid to your hip, thumb grazing bare skin beneath the fringe.

“Did I pass the audition?” he murmured.

You grinned, lips brushing his jaw. “Baby, you just bought yourself a starring role.”

…

The video shoot wrapped with applause and sweat, your lashes drooping slightly after hours of lights, music, and teasing Bruce Wayne on camera. Drag came off like armor — the lashes peeled away, heels kicked off, wig hung up. Still, you looked damn good even without it. You caught Bruce leaning in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched you remove the last of your costume.

“You clean up well,” he said, voice low but tinged with that unmistakable appreciation. You raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that after I danced on your lap in six-inch heels?”

A chuckle. “Let’s just say... I was impressed in every stage of the transformation.”

You turned, cocking your head. “You didn’t come here just to flirt, did you?”

“No,” Bruce said, stepping closer now, “I came to ask if you’d like to have dinner with me. Tonight.”

You blinked. “Wait—you’re asking me out? Like… a date-date?”

He smirked. “Unless you’d rather I ask again tomorrow, in a tux.”

Your laugh was breathless. “Okay, Bruce Wayne. You’ve got yourself a date.”

Classy, private, high above Gotham in a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the entire city. He’d reserved the whole place—because of course he did. Bruce surprised you again. He wasn’t brooding or stiff. He was sharp, warm in a guarded kind of way, and totally unbothered by your fame, your attitude, your habit of sipping wine a little too fast. When dessert came, his hand brushed yours across the table—brief, deliberate. You didn’t pull away. “I’m not usually this bold,” he said, voice roughened slightly by the hour.

You leaned in. “I think you like being watched.” He smirked. “Only by you.” His penthouse was all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows, soft jazz humming somewhere in the background.

He poured two fingers of whiskey, handed you one, and sat beside you on the long leather couch. Silence wrapped around you both for a moment — intimate, heavy with promise.

You set your glass down, heart thumping. “So… about earlier.” Bruce didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, slow and sure, and kissed you — firm, steady, confident. Like he’d wanted to since you first touched him on camera.

You melted into it, fingers tangling in his shirt, tugging him closer as the world narrowed to his mouth on yours, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you backward onto the couch. You gasped when his lips moved to your throat.

The first kiss was slow—surprisingly gentle for a man like Bruce Wayne. But there was power in it. Controlled strength. Like a predator testing the waters before the pounce.

You melted into it, letting your body answer for you. Your hands slid up his chest, finding bare skin beneath the crisp dress shirt he’d already begun to shrug off. His fingers worked with firm precision, undoing buttons and belt buckles with military smoothness. When your shirt came off, his eyes lingered—taking you in, not just with lust but with appreciation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed along your collarbone, one hand trailing down your side to your waistband. “You don’t even need the glam.”

You grinned breathlessly. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

“Shut up and let me have you.”

He hoisted you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, groaning as he carried you across the room with ease. Your back hit the mattress of his king-sized bed, cool sheets contrasting the warmth of your flushed skin. He hovered above you, shirtless and toned, the shadows catching every muscle like carved marble.

Then his lips were on yours again—deeper, hungrier.

His hands roamed your body, claiming every inch, fingers brushing over your thighs, hips, stomach. He kissed lower, licking a slow trail down your chest before gripping your hips and dragging you closer. When he finally stripped the last of your clothing off, his gaze lingered for a beat—dark, burning.

“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing a hand down your inner thigh. “Spread out for me already…”

You moaned as his fingers slipped between your legs, teasing you with slow, maddening pressure. He took his time—prepping you, coaxing every sound from your lips with deliberate control. You squirmed, desperate, but he just smirked.

“Patience,” he said, voice rough with restraint. “I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to feel every inch of me.”

When he finally pressed inside, you gasped—arching into him, the stretch intense, perfect. Bruce didn’t rush. He filled you slowly, inch by inch, letting you adjust as his mouth ghosted over your jaw.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you panted.

That was all he needed.

He began to move—long, deep thrusts that had you clawing at his back, moaning his name into the sheets. His pace was relentless but purposeful, every motion precise. One of his hands gripped your thigh, pinning it high against his side, while the other braced near your head, keeping you caged beneath him.

“You feel so good,” he growled, hips grinding into you. “So damn tight around me…”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss between gasps. “Harder, Bruce—fuck—don’t hold back.”

That flipped a switch.

He slammed into you harder, faster, lips bruising yours as his thrusts shook the bed. The sound of skin on skin echoed between moans and labored breaths. You were a mess beneath him—sweat-slicked, trembling, completely undone.

And he loved it.

“Look at you,” Bruce whispered as you whined under him, your body jerking with every thrust. “Taking it so well… taking me so well.”

His hand slipped between you to stroke you in rhythm, and it was over too quickly. Your back arched, a cry leaving your throat as pleasure ripped through you—white-hot and consuming. Bruce followed seconds later, buried deep inside you with a low, guttural groan.

He collapsed onto his forearms above you, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to yours.

“God…” you whispered, still trembling.

“I could watch you come apart like that every night,” he murmured.

You laughed, dazed. “That a promise, billionaire boy?”

His smirk returned. “Only if you keep wearing those heels next time’’

[claraswritings]

Part two of luca x Carmy!little sister idea: Carmy finally agrees to let Luca take the his little sister out on a date, but he gives him a stern warning. The reader would show Luca her apartment & some of her favorite places in the city like: this old dive bar/concert venue she used to work at/still does. She sells t shirts/merch for indie bands when they need her. They have indie concerts there and they would go to one. The staff has known her for years. She also takes him to the Green Mill. It’s an old jazz bar that Al Capone used to hang out in and it’s cash only. When they are at the bar this guy starts to hit on her and then Luca saves her? The next morning Luca drops her off at the Bear so she can host?

Of courseeee

Warnings: creepy guy at bar and although it’s mostly fluff and fun date stuff there is a smut scene with Luca towards the end 👀.

I have not spell checked yet but I will when I am more well rested 🥰 so if anyone sees a typo, no you didn’t 😅

“Carmy I promise I’m not going to mess her about, I like her.” You could hear Luca’s voice as you approached.

“Just don’t…Luca cause I swear man, if she gets her heart broken, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

Luca nodded and gave his friend a smile “You have my word Carm, I have no intention of breaking her heart.”

“Talking about me?” You asked eyebrow raised as you approached causing them both to turn.

“Hey! You ready?” Luca asked smiling at you brightly as Carmy gave you a nod and squeezed your shoulder

“If he’s a dick to you…”

“You’ll be the first to know” you rolled your eyes at your brothers over protective nature before turning back to Luca “I’m ready!”

****

He reached down and took your hand in his as you walked through the city.

“Did you see much of Chicago when you were at Ever?” You asked him.

Luca shook his head. “Unfortunately not, I was here six months and most of that was…shelling peas, sleeping, trying to impress Chef Terry, trying to keep up with your brother…” he laughed “I was tired like ninety percent of the time and the other ten percent I was asleep”

You smiled at him. “In which case, I’ll show you around…proper tour, nothing too obviously touristy!” You joked and he gave your hand a squeeze.

“I’d like that sweetheart.” Luca grinned “And if you’re ever in Copenhagen I’ll return the favour…”

As you walked around, you found yourself falling into such easy conversation with Luca.

It felt like you’d always known him, like he had just always been there as a part of your life. You discussed growing up with Carmy and how, yes he’d always been that single track minded, and Luca told you about how when he was 16, he and two friends went into a fancy Mayfair restaurant and he’d got caught trying to dip on a £300 bill which had resulted in him washing dishes and by extension getting interested in cooking.

He was interested in everything you spoke about and for once you felt genuinely listened to by a man. He was funny and kind and so easy to talk to.

As you approached one of your favourite local dive bars, the sound of live music drew your attention

“That’s Schubas, it’s one of my favourite bars…” you explained “The band that’s playing today are great, we could go in if you’re up for it,”

He nodded “course I am sweetheart, I want to know all your favourite places! I’ll let you lead”

As you headed in, he looked around taking in the decor as he took a seat at the bar and ordered you both a drink. “How did you find this place then?”

“I worked here…still do occasionally when they need me. Selling merch for the bands and stuff” You said as you joined him in collecting your drink.

The bartender recognised you, remembering you from all the times you’d worked there over the years and waved you and Luca through to where the band was beginning to play. Within a few songs, Luca was dancing with you, moving around the dance floor with the two of you giggling and leaning on each other.

After the band had wrapped up, you took his hand and lead him out into the evening, excited to show him more, still buzzing from the live music.

Luca was letting you lean on him, an arm wrapped around you as he enjoyed how giggly you were and he made a note to himself to take you to more gigs. Your enthusiasm was infectious.

“Come on, I have somewhere else to show you! You’ll love it, it’s so cool!”

****

You made your way to another one of your favourite venues, the Green Mill, the sound of jazz filled the air as you entered, the venue instantly atmospheric.

As you took a seat, you began telling Luca about the place, how it was one of Al Capone’s favourites and the history of the bar. He looked utterly fascinated listening to the stories you shared and went to order you both drinks.

“Cash only.”

The bar man said and Luca gave him an apologetic look. “I only have my card and phone, I’ll just run down to an ATM,”

“I can pay?” You offered and Luca instantly shook his head

“No darling. I’ll be right back. I think I saw one just back up the street…” he kissed your cheek and quickly left.

Luca had not been gone for more than a minute before a voice sounded from behind you

“Hey pretty lady…you come here often?”

The most unoriginal line in the book. Rolling your eyes, you turned to face the man. “Oh sometimes, I’m just here with my…date” you panicked not knowing how to refer to Luca.

“Did he leave you alone honey?” The man, who had put on way, way too much cologne touched your arm. “why not come sit with me?”

Shit. You prayed Luca would be back soon.

“Oh no thank you, he’s just gone to get cash out…”

The man leant in “come sit with me til he’s back then, baby girl…I’ll get your drinks…”

“I’m good thank you.” You forced a polite smile.

He frowned “Come on…I’m harmless, I don’t bite…unless you want me to.” The man winked and you had to stop yourself from cringing.

You opened your mouth for another refusal but before you could, you felt Luca beside you again.

“Hey, mate, she said no thank you.” Luca’s arm went around your waist and he gently moved you slightly behind him, then he very carefully put a hand on the guys shoulder and pushed him back a step. “She’s good for drinks. I have it covered.”

He passed the barman a note, not taking his eyes off the creep.

“Woah, chill man, I didn’t realise you’d called dibs.”

Luca scratched his jaw, not appreciating the weird way the man was referring to you. “Look…I’d suggest you leave…you tried, the lady said no, best you go…”

You could almost see the cogs whirring in the guys head before he scanned Luca and decided against pushing it.

“Whatever.” He shrugged and picked up his coat and headed out.

“Have a nice night.” Luca said bluntly in a way that clearly showed he couldn’t care less “You okay, sweetheart?” He said quietly “I’m sorry that arsehole tried to ruin your evening”

“It’s alright I’m just glad you were here.” You leant on him and he, without thinking, leant down and kissed the top of your head.

“Always here, love. Let’s go enjoy our drinks.”

****

After you’d had your drinks, you didn’t want the night to end, enjoying Luca’s company too much so you’d convinced Luca into going for a swim in the indoor pool in your apartment building.

“Come on it’ll be fun!” You smiled at him, not breaking eye contact as you stripped down and jumped in and began floating on your back, letting the dim ambient light illuminate you.

Luca laughed “We won’t get caught and thrown out?” He said cautiously leaning against one of the pillars of the arches but his fingers were already unbuttoning his shirt

“We’ll be fine…come in, the waters lovely…” you encouraged and that was all the persuasion it took before he stripped off and joined you.

He swam over to you and laughing at the difference in how the water came up to you and him, picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist causing you to squeal and splash him playfully.

Luca ducked back out of the splash and began kissing your neck, one arm holding you around him whilst the other carded through your hair. As he sucked on a sensitive spot on your neck, you were vaguely aware that it would almost definitely leave a mark and tangled your hands in his hair so you could left his mouth to yours.

He kissed you messily this time, open mouthed and desperate and far more aware you were alone than you had been last time you’d made out.

His tongue traced your lips before delving into your mouth, pressing against yours. You moaned and tightened your legs around him, grinding a little as you deepened the kiss, biting his lip, clearly as in need of him as he was of you.

“I need you baby…” he mumbled into your neck.

“I need you too, Luc…”You sighed at his warm breath on your neck and let out an exhale. “Come up to mine?”

****

“I don’t usually do this.” You said between kisses as he laid you down. You’d guided him through your apartment and he’d gently placed you on the bed, drawing the curtains and blinds opposite to give you more privacy. “I haven’t…not since my last boyfriend, god…years ago…”

Luca crawled back over you and hummed as he kissed your collarbone. “It’s okay baby, I don’t usually do this either.”

You didn’t know if that surprised you or not. He was gorgeous, body like it was carved from marble and he was sweet and funny. He could get any girl he liked…but in the same way, he didn’t strike you as the player type of guy.

“Hey…” he said brushing your hair back. “Where’s your head at?”

You smiled but before you could say anything else he gave you another tiny kiss like he’d already worked it out “I like you, you know…a lot, you don’t have to worry, I’m not that guy…”

Luca’s voice was so sincere and soft that you knew he was telling the truth.

“I like you too.” You smiled against his lips, pulling him into a deep kiss which turned into a slow make out session, him laying just over you, hands tracing your sides.

You were surprised just how gentle he was, he undressed you carefully until you were down to your underwear before throwing his own shirt off and helping you to unbuckle and inch down his jeans until they were also discarded.

Luca had even more tattoos, scattered over his chest and shoulders and a few on his legs. He was completely perfect and you could barely take your eyes off him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Luca muttered as he began kissing along your collarbone, his hands lifting you so he could slide off your bra. He kissed down between your breasts and you could feel the heat grow. “So beautiful, sweetheart.”

His hands glided over your body, slowly following his lips in tracing patterns over your stomach and then down to your thighs. He let out a breathy sigh as he reached your parted legs, his mouth painfully close to your clothed core.

“Luca…don’t tease…” you said and he smiled up at you and carefully pushed them to one side, with his fingers tracing the damp folds before pushing one in. The sensation caused you to roll your hips against his hand.

“I need you…” the words escaped your mouth in a sigh.

“Patience honey” he said and kissed your thigh as he kept moving his fingers in and out a, starting it slow and then building pace and adding another finger. His other hand moving up to rub your most sensitive spot. Luca couldn’t get enough of the sounds you were making, the moans going straight to his crotch and making him feel like he couldn’t hold it any longer. He gave a few more pumps with his fingers, letting you peak against his hand before he withdrew.

You were gasping, satisfied but craving him fully.

He rolled down his boxers, throwing them off in a corner of the room, before lining up with you, his sizeable length hard and pressing against your entrance.

“Ready baby?” He asked and as you gave a nod, he began pushing in, inch by inch, taking it slowly, with one hand on your hip and the other on your most sensitive spot.

Luca thought for the…god he’d lost count, time this evening that he loved the sounds he drew from you as he filled you, groaning himself when he bottomed out inside you.

He took a moment looking down at where you joined and giving you a look to make sure you were still comfortable before he began moving his hips, slowly, almost torturously so at first before he set a steady pace.

Luca moved one hand up from your hip to massaging your breasts as he did, rolling a nipple between his fingers with a pressure that was just right adding to the pressure building.

His slow thrusts hit deep inside you. The perfect mix of gentle and passionate as he and lifted your hips carefully to deepen the angle.

“I’m close baby.” You moaned.

“Me too sweetheart” Luca sighed, moving his hand back to your hip to pull himself in and out of you “just another minute baby, can you hold on for me?”

You nodded, splayed out on the bed as Luca rolled his hips into you, the new angle meaning his gentle thrusts hit new spots inside of you and you tightened around his cock automatically, causing him to let out such a filthy moan it had you arching off the bed and grinding into his thrusts.

“God baby, I’m going…” Luca trailed off

“Fuck Lu…” you muttered “Please…” you moaned and he leant forward capturing your lips with a passionate and loving kiss and pulling in for one final thrust so you could finish together.

Afterwards, he took care of you, getting a warm cloth and holding you in his arms, kissing your hair and refusing to untangle himself from you, not that you’d ever ask him to.

“You’re amazing sweetheart” he said into your neck. “So amazing…my sweetheart”

“Stay?” You said quietly and you felt him laugh lightly

“Like I could ever leave…” he said with a smile.

****

The sound of beeping somewhere in the distance drew you from your sleep and you cursed that your phone was probably in your jean pocket on the floor.

The worst. You’d have to get up to silence it.

“Babe I think that’s your alarm,” Luca kissed your hair.

You smiled remembering your night and cuddled more into his chest “I don’t want to.” You whined which made Luca laugh.

“I know baby but if you don’t go in…Carmy will come here and I don’t think you’ll want him walking in on this”

“You can take him.” You joked and Luca snorted looking at your discarded clothes on the floor.

“I don’t think me and your brother having a fight would help anything…how about I walk you to work and I’ll go get some bits and cook you dinner?”

You sighed “Fineeee. I’ll go get dressed but this better be the best dinner ever. Remember my brother is a chef too so I have high expectations.”

Luca laughed off your teasing “I wouldn’t dream of letting you down, come on, get dressed and I’ll walk you in…”

****

Making good on his word, Luca walked you to the Bear and gave you a kiss, waiting for you to head inside before he turned off to go get food.

“What was that!” Nat who had been trying to not make it obvious she’d been looking said “Did you…” a smile was creeping over her face.

“What?” Carmy came out from the kitchen “Where you with him? All night?”

“You want me to answer that?” You looked at your brother and sister with an eyebrow raised.

You watched as Carmy and Nat exchanged looks

“You know what?” Carmy folded his arms “I have enough going on, I’d rather not know…just…go set up for service okay”

“Okay. Consider it done” you smiled to yourself and knew you wouldn’t stop smiling for a while.

[garciaasfluffypen]

things are changing (and only for the better)

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.8k warnings: dialouge heavy, alcohol use, discussions of ethical non-monagamy/polyamory a/n: please please PLEASE tell me if i get anything about polyamory wrong in this series. i myself am not polyamorous, and i want to do this justice. if i'm doing anything wrong or harmful in my writing please let me know.

it had been weeks since you had a girls night with emily and jj, and you were thanking all the gods out there that you finally got to have one. 

the team had been whisked off on three back to back cases, leaving everyone begging for the weekend off. once it was granted, the first text you got before you even left the office was a message from jj stating “our house, wine, 30 minutes?” with an outstanding “YES PLEASE!!” being sent back within seconds of receiving the text from your favorite blonde. emily and jj had been amazing to you since figuring out about your adhd diagnosis, and knew how deliberating it could be if you weren’t on your medication. the inattentiveness had been your downfall multiple times, but your team knew how to accommodate you and make sure all of your needs were met to ensure you could work at your full capacity. specifically jj and emily. 

being on the medication around the team was very important to you. it was something you had been weary of, keeping them from seeing your adhd funks. it still was something you didn’t want to subject them too just yet. despite being on the team for a few years and being friends with them for longer, you had done a good job at keeping the full nature of your funks away from the team and frankly… you wanted to keep it that way. the only person who had seen you in your funk so far was hotch, but that was because you had fallen asleep at the office on a thursday night and didn’t get the chance to pick up your meds on the way home from work. and besides, you didn’t want to hear it from them, about how stupid you were for not taking your medication when you relied on it to keep your brain from shutting down. it had happened before, you forgot your meds at your apartment and had a date that ultimately ended up in you staying at your exes place. when you woke up the next morning and realized, they were upset when they realized you would be in one of your funks and practically shoved you out the door. 

you’d hate yourself if you lost emily and jj like that. 

you shook yourself out of your thoughts and grabbed the fruit platter you had picked up from sam’s club on the way to the house, heading over to the side door that you knew led straight to the kitchen. emily and jj were quietly talking to themselves by the counter, sending a wave of worry through you. they couldn’t be talking about you, right? they invited you over, they wanted you here, they--

“y/n!” jj’s eyes lit up as she saw you, coming over and pulling you in for a hug. “i was starting to think you didn’t want to come.”

“i wanted to get the fruit platter you guys like.” you sheepishly replied, a red hue covering your cheeks. “i felt bad coming empty handed.” 

“you know you don’t have to bring us anything, lovey.” 

your heart jolted as emily called you lovey, the nickname naturally falling out of her lips. lovey… you liked that.  

“i know, but i wanted to.” you shrugged. “it's the least i can do for all you’ve done with me the past couple weeks.” 

“you having proper accommodations is important, y/n. we want you to be comfortable.” 

you smiled at the brunette. “it means a lot to me, really, and i never really properly thanked you for being so attentive to everything.” 

jj came to squeeze your hand. “you don’t need to thank us. just being here is more than enough.” 

the blush found it's way back to your cheeks as you looked down, barely registering the look emily and jj shared before you felt a finger under your chin, lifting it to make you look into emily’s eyes. that was something new, something she had never done with you before. 

and you… liked it? 

“what were you feeling for dinner?”

“i’m not super picky,” you paused. “on nights like these i typically do something easy like mac and cheese or ramen or something but we don’t have to do that if you guys want something else.” 

emily chuckled, a loving glint in her eye. “if you want mac and cheese, we can get mac and cheese.” 

“i don’t want to make you guys special order me mac and cheese, you really don’t--”

“y/n.” jj locked eyes with you. “it’s on us tonight, promise. go put on your cozy clothes and get comfortable, yeah? we’ll get dinner set.” 

“i don’t want to be a bother…” 

“you’re never a bother, not to us.” jj paused. “is your rejection dysphoria acting up again?” 

“a little bit.” 

“do you want to talk about it?”

“can i get a glass of wine in my system before we talk about it?”

“of course. now go get cozy, i’m ready to curl up on the couch and shit talk all the stupid people we’ve run into over the past few weeks.” 

jj watched you as you chuckled and sauntered off to the main room before quickly turning around and running to grab your go bag before heading back in. emily came up and wrapped her arms around jj from behind, placing her head on the blonde’s shoulder. 

“y’know, this could be the last moments of us without y/n in our lives.”

“emily!” jj swatted at her arm. “don’t you dare say that.” 

“i’m just saying!” emily shot jj a joking look. “considering how they reacted to the finger under the chin, i doubt that will be an issue we’ll need to worry about, though.” 

“i hope so.” jj turned so she was facing emily. “i really like them, i like them a lot. and i want them to know that i can love both of you equally.” 

“and we’ll explain it to them if they decide they want to be our girlfriend, yeah?” emily squeezed jj’s hands. “we’ll take it one step at a time.” 

“do you think they like us?” 

“i would sure hope so, or else they wouldn’t be here.” emily looked to jj. “do you think they don’t like us?”

“it’s hard to tell with them, i’ll be honest. i’m just nervous they’re going to say no and everything is going to be messed up. i don’t even know if we fully explained the polyamory thing to them.” 

“i don’t think we did either, now that i’m thinking about it.” emily bit her lip. “okay so we start with that then.” 

“we start with that.”

emily and jj found a restaurant with something all three of you would want before ordering, making sure it would be there in a timely manner before heading out into the living room. emily went to change into her comfy clothes first, leaving her in a pair of yale sweatpants and an old shirt of jj’s that neither of them knew the origins of. returning with the wine she had been itching to pull out all week, emily plopped herself down on the couch and handed you a glass, smiling at you fondly as you took it while you bounced a mile a minute, talking about something you had seen on tik tok on the jet earlier. jj changed into the flannel pants she had stolen from emily eons ago, a pale blue oversized t shirt sitting on her small frame. jj came and sat on the other side of you, the way the three of you typically sat during girls nights, both women giving you all the attention you could desire while on one of your tangents. 

something was off, though. you could feel the vibe shift about an hour and a half into the night, your meals all discarded on the coffee table while you and emily nursed another glass of wine. jj had opted for her favorite beer at that point, the bottle opener sitting next to an empty styrofoam container with the discards of jj’s meal. your energy slowly faded as the dread started to set in, the rejection sensitive dysphoria feelings coming in full swing. you felt yourself start to get into a daze, fingers playing with the hem of your tee as you stared off into space. it took emily a minute to realize what was happening before she placed a supportive arm around you and pulled you close, placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“what’s up, y/n?”

“the vibe is off.” you said, quieter than you had been the rest of the night. “something’s wrong.” 

“well, we did want to tell you something.” jj started. “it’s not bad. nothing bad is happening right now, but we were holding off on telling you in case you didn’t…” she paused. “how do i say this without sounding like an asshole?”

“we’re scared that you’ll see us differently after we tell you what we want to talk to you about.” 

“okay…” you looked between them, noticing genuine concern. “i’m gonna need more wine, aren’t i?” 

emily chuckled, the smile you know and love crossing her features. “well, that depends on how you take what we’re about to tell you.”

“i don’t need to be scared, right?” 

“not at all.” jj squeezed your hand, coming closer to you on the couch and leaning into your other side. “unless you see like a ghost or something. then you can be scared.” 

you chuckled. “i doubt there’s going to be a ghost in your house, jayje.” 

“you never know!” jj smiled slightly, glad that you weren’t too deep into the feeling of despair and could joke with her. “all kidding aside, are you in a mental state to have this conversation or do you want to sober up a little bit?” 

“no no, i’m okay.” you nodded. “as long as i don’t stand up. that’s when it’s all going to go to my head.” 

“understandable.” emily rested her cheek against the top of your head. “remember how you saw me talking to tara about that girl i saw who i wanted to get to know?”

“um.. i think so. the one from the coffee shop?”

“exactly.” emily paused. “it didn’t work out, unfortunately, but that was partially because we hadn’t even began talking about this.” 

“so, as you know, we've been exploring the idea of… seeing other people.”  jj piped in, pausing to pick her next words carefully. “but we never fully explained to you what we meant by that.”

“we’ve been exploring polyamory.” it was emily’s turn to pause, gauging your reaction. “the two of us, sharing another partner.”

“cool.” you smiled, relieved it wasn’t something horrible. ”have you found anyone yet?” 

you could have sworn you saw both emily and jj visibly relax. 

“well, thats the thing. we’re not sure if they realized they were being flirted with… or that we’re interested in them that way.” 

you popped a grape in your mouth. “tell me everything, how does this work? wait! tell me about them!” 

emily smiled. “well, they’re easily one of our favorite people ever.” 

“have you known them long?” 

“about five years, give or take. em, when did we meet them?” 

“god, what was it… christmas of twenty nineteen, right?” 

interesting. you met the team in twenty nineteen after penelope dragged you to a girls night just after thanksgiving. what a coincidence. 

“they’ve been friends with us for a while. we’ve only recently started flirting with them about six months ago.” 

jj smiled fondly. “although like em said, we can’t tell if they’ve realized we’re flirting with them yet.”

“so they’re a bit aloof. that’s charming.” you smiled at them. “i’m so glad you guys found someone, i fully thought you guys were flirting with me these past few months.” 

there was an awkward pause. 

“wait… why are you… am i the someone?” 

emily cleared her throat, grabbing for her glass of wine. oh. 

oh.

“i am the someone.” 

“we like you, y/n.” jj grabbed your hand. “more than a friend. and i know that sounds weird, and you can say no- we’re not pressuring you to do anything or make any decisions tonight.” 

“i…” you paused. “how did you… are you guys okay? like, relationship wise?”

“we’re more than okay, i promise.” emily squeezed your other hand. 

“we’ve been talking about it, just the two of us, for a few months.” jj licked her lips. “the only other person who knows is tara, she’s gotten us in touch with a great support group that has everything we need to know about getting started.” 

“both of us realized we wanted something more, but didn’t want to end things at all.” emily explained. “we figured out that both of us had too much love to share with just one person, we wanted to share it with someone else.” 

“so… wait, can i ask questions?” 

“of course, babe.” 

“how would this work? the three of us?” you paused. “you’re… married.” 

“we know it won’t be easy, since you’ll never be able to officially legally be with both of us unless some magical law goes into effect that changes the world's view on polyamory. but, it would be like any normal relationship, but you would get both myself and jj. there would be boundaries and rules, and we would talk about those only if you want to give us a shot.” 

“we would want you to be as happy and relaxed and comfortable as you can be. everything is open to be talked about, especially when it comes to your comfort levels. and like we said, you can tell us to shut up whenever you want and we would.”

“and if i were to ask to kiss emily?” 

“then i would say yes, do it.”

“and the same goes for jj?”

“i would want you to do what makes you the happiest.” jj kicked emily’s shin. “i mean, i’d say yes.” 

“sorry i’m… i’m trying to wrap my brain around this. it’s being slow. you guys like me?” 

emily chuckled. “yes, lovey. a lot.” 

“more than you know.” jj nudged your shoulder lightly. “is that okay? that we both like you?”

“you know i’m queer, of course it's okay.” 

“but are you okay with that?” 

“why wouldn’t i be?” you looked between emily and jj. “have you gotten turned down before?”

“not in this aspect, no.” emily answered. “but yes, i have been turned down plenty of times.” 

“and i dated men in my past.” jj chuckled. “do with that information what you will.”

“yeah… men are stupid.” you chuckled. “okay so, hold on. i’d be dating both of you then?” 

“only if you want to.” 

“we’re not pressuring you at all. you can take some time to think about it-”

“- no no, it sounds really nice. dating both of you.” you smiled. “i just never thought…” 

“y/n, no matter what you think, you are loveable.” jj turned your face to look you in the eye. “you are loveable and you deserve the world.” 

“and we want to give you the world.” 

“we’d give you the universe, if we could.” 

“so what do you need from me?”

“your word.”

jj looked at you, a stern look overtaking her features. gods, did the room just get warmer?

“you tell us yes or no, and we go from there. we don’t want you to-”

“the answer is yes.” you stumbled over your words, jj’s look affecting you more than you thought. “i’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

both emily and jj let out a sigh of relief, bringing you in for a hug. it was real, it was happening. they didn’t read the situation wrong and you liked them back. you liked them back, and you said yes. 

“in that case, as our girlfriend, what do you want to do?” 

“can i kiss you?”

“of course you can.” 

you turned to jj. “and then can i kiss you?”

“please.” 

“then it's settled. i give you some smoochies, we binge ice cream and watch silly reality tv.” you smiled, nodding once. “the perfect night in.” 

emily and jj chuckled at your happiness, bringing you in as close as they could muster. you turned to emily first, placing a small peck on her lips to test the water before cupping her cheek, smiling into the kiss. you then turned to jj, who simply smiled widely at you before meeting you in the middle for the kiss. while it was an interesting scenario, you found yourself feeling comfortable. you were in the arms of two of the most important people in your life, and things were going to change. 

but they were changing for the better.

[carigm]

The “Teaser”, mlvn rooftop convo, and Lord of the Rings parallel…

This is gonna be a long post, so grab some snacks y’all.

First of all, the teaser the Duffers shared at this Netflix shareholders event was basically all BTS stuff, and according to someone that was there, we have mostly seen all of it. The actual clips from the show they showed were so short that most people missed it. However, over those short clips it seems they played a voiceover of part of the mlvn rooftop convo. Notice how the Suffer Sisters are literally incapable of sharing anything new, and the only audio they disclosed is from the ONE scene that’s been leaked to death, and even transcribed multiple times with the help of AI. In any case, Netflix did not share this teaser with the masses, and it’s unlikely they ever will. Stranger Things is not going to the Super Bowl this year (yes you heard that right) and the Tudum Event isn’t until May. Our only hope before that would be them releasing something on Will’s birthday, but whether in March or May, I believe we’ll be getting a proper teaser by then.

People that attended the event reported that El has a voiceover line where she goes “they don’t get to write the ending, we do” and apparently a voiceover Mike line where he goes “we’ll finish this together” (I’m not sure if this was paraphrased or not). Immediately, we all realized that these lines sound pretty close to what Mike is allegedly saying to her during the rooftop scene. Many people in the fandom have taken the time to transcribe that scene, some with AI and some without, and although some things could be wrong here and there, the general idea of it seems pretty clear. I’m attaching an AI reading of the scene here, so I can point out where I think his dialogue might be from…

Around the 1.43 mark, the AI picked up “enjoying it, together”, however I think this is where the “we’ll finish it, together” line comes into play. If anything, this shows AI isn’t 100% accurate, and it does call into question some of these previous lines 😂…I think it’s possible that after this speech from Mike about stories, fantasy endings and heroes, El tries to follow his advice and be positive, and maybe she delivers the “they don’t get to write our ending, we do” line back to him. It’s unfortunate because obviously we can’t see her face in the video, but I think it makes sense she would reply with that because right after it seems like he says “of, course…” and then proceeds to seemingly add that the Party can have a happy ending, without all the fantasy elements he mentioned before.

I find it very interesting that he’s choosing to speak to her with this storytelling analogy, which at first I believed to be a D&D analogy, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like he’s talking about an actual story. And then the lord of the rings parallel hit me, specifically with this scene. If you’re not aware, Finn Wolfhard has mentioned lotr twice now when talking about season 5, and I personally think it’s possible that Mike is using lord of the rings here as a reference to describe the hero’s journey and relate it to what the party has been through. Think about it, he’s trying to cheer El up, who has been stuck in that fuckass radio station for a year, who’s probably extremely tired of everything she has been dealing with for years, and he just wants to offer her some consolation so she can keep going and fighting. Does that sound familiar?

Well my friends, if it does, that’s because it is a direct parallel to Frodo and Sam from Lord of the Rings. I’ve always thought Byler were insanely samfrodo coded (funny enough the last S4 Byler scene is almost identical to this scene too), but it seems the Duffers are paralleling mlvn to them here. In lotr, Frodo bears the biggest burden of the story, as he follows his hero’s journey to Mordor to defeat evil. Along the way, ofc, he becomes increasingly weary and hopeless, and it is up to Sam (his best friend) to cheer him up and provide him with strength to keep him going. How does Sam do this? Interestingly enough, he encourages Frodo by describing all the beautiful things that will come AFTER they have won, what they and their friends will be able to enjoy when they get back home. Basically everything Mike appears to be saying to El in this scene, fantasizing about the end of the battle. To make the parallels even crazier, while on his hero’s journey, Frodo has to remain in hiding because there are multiple forces looking for him, and we know that El is basically hiding away from the government.

Another thing I want to point out is that in lotr (spoilers I guess 😭) good does win in the end, and the main characters get to return back home. However, Frodo is so changed by the journey and all the things he encountered that he simply cannot stay with his friends. Instead, he leaves and goes to the Undying Lands, where he finds peace. He doesn’t die, but he also cannot stay in Middle Earth. Him and Sam have a beautiful goodbye scene and then Sam is left with the literal book of stories Frodo started, and is told by Frodo to “finish it”.

Make of that what you will…

[hocuspocusbabyy]

Mary Jane - Calex

‘What if Alex and Casey were neighbours in a small town’

I feel like the Alex Cabot girlies need some more trope shit. So here I am, instead of writing my long fics. Again.

Alex working as a state social worker in Texas > Casey is bail bondsperson.

They both live in a trailer park, Alex has wind-chimes and assorted pots outside > Casey likes to put her cigarettes in them to ‘compost’.

Alex finds Casey rude, she’s always throwing parties, cook outs. Her family aren’t exactly the sort Alex was used to.

Alex watches Casey hit baseballs for her dog each night.

Casey watching Alex leave for work in her form fitting suits and Atleast three tote bags every morning > drinking her morning coffee, yet still manages to throw in a wolf whistle. Which Alex hates to admit she loves, sticking her middle fingers up.

Casey’s dog unfortunately loves Alex and will often be found sleeping on the rug when she leave her trailer door open in the sun.

Alex buys him, his own bowl for when he visits.

Casey has two single mismatched deck chairs outside her trailer, one that just so happens to make it onto Alex’s porch steps. Alex likes to work on case files in the open air.

Casey will often come trudging up the gravel from her bike with a fat lip or blackened eye. Alex working to the sound of crickets and a flash light catches Casey’s attention.

Alex offers to clean Casey up one night > she’s noticed Casey doesn’t look after herself much. Always wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes but never hiding the marks that littered her arms as she slouched around in marked vests and wangler jeans. Bruises visible despite her many tattoos.

They each have no decency > Alex will sunbathe on the porch and Casey will walk around shirtless.

Casey takes to calling Alex her ‘firefly.’

Casey starts sitting out at night with Alex, when she’s not away working. She notices one night that Alex has a tramp stamp > it’s a Korean decal from Alex’s summers with a working father.

Alex later teaches Casey how to drink soju < Casey teaches Alex how to open a bottle with her teeth.

Casey starts helping Alex with her case work, offering her insight into the youth as it’s where she’d grown up - unlike Alex who only moved her to prove a point to her dad.

Casey wears chunky silver rings. Alex likes to steal them and see the size difference.

Alex loves watching people from in the community come to Casey for help > putting up guttering, fixing a kids bikes. Alex even ends up helping make costumes for the local school that Casey coaches at.

They’re in love.

Alex eventually convincing Casey to resit her highschool diploma > Casey likes to wear Alex’s glasses when they are ‘studying’. < She refuses to get her own.

Casey gets Alex high for the first time since she was a teenager.

Casey drives Alex everyday so she can avoid the bus. Alex has her own helmet they found in a local charity shop.

Casey finding out Alex is actually rich and being wildly confused > their first proper fight is when Alex’s grandmother sends for her to attend a boat party.

Casey grumbling because Alex had ‘lied to her’.

Some disgruntled parents from one of Alex’s caseloads show up and put the windows through on her trailer.

Casey scares them off and cleans up > that’s how Alex finds her, hunched over sweeping up glass. The blonde with her heels in her hand as the redhead yells at her to mind her feet.

Casey making Alex take a shower, get out of her silk gown whilst she delt with the police > she has friends on the force, they’ll be round tomorrow.

Casey comforting Alex as she spirals. Tired of fighting for people who don’t respect her or their children. Alex asks to stay in Casey’s trailer that night.

Alex finally kissing Casey at her trailer door > Casey had walked her the four steps between their homes.

The night is dry and they can hear foxes and wildlife around them. Alex used to hate how quiet it was when she moved > she now has four dead bolts on her door she doesn’t use… not since Casey started looking out for her.

Alex slowly crawling into Casey’s bed, pleasantly surprised by the light bed sheets. Casey owns a lot of things… there’s post cards and photos on every surface.

Casey slipping in beside her, large arms circling Alex’s neck > Alex who simply burrows into the hold happily kissing the other woman’s arms, tracing her tattoo as they fight sleep.

Casey has a blue ‘A’ sewn into the inside of her leather jacket > Alex put it there, whilst ‘mending’ her jeans.

Alex starts coming to Casey’s cook outs > she is not allowed near the kitchen.

Casey’s family love Alex > she is now seen round town talking to massive bikers constantly.

They are a regulars at the local diner > Often walking there in the mornings. Casey picks up the bike whilst Alex finishes the paper.

They are happy.

Alex learns to roll for Casey.

Alex settles as a private advocate for people who need legal aid outside of the system. Casey surprised her with a tiny upper level office in town for their anniversary.

They combine trailers > really why get rid of the space?

Alex cuts Casey’s hair on the decking outside the trailer.

Alex surprises Casey by getting her name tattooed > it’s behind her ear.

Alex wears Casey’s jacket more than Casey and Casey wears Alex’s glasses when reading in bed every night. The dog sleeps at the bottom at Alex’s insistsnce.

Casey wakes up most mornings to Alex snuggled away with the dog.

Casey asks Alex to marry her after they attend an event in town. They’re walking down by the docks.

Alex wears her ring as a necklace so she can still garden > Casey has started digging her flower beds. < or she would have lost it by now.

Casey leaves Alex sticky notes whenever she’s called away for work. She calls every time she sees a phone booth.

Alex still cleans up Casey’s cuts > Casey still cat calls her each morning.

Casey quit smoking but Alex will still sneak a joint with her now and then.

Casey always has a hand on Alex. On her thigh, wrapped round her waist as they have a weekly cards night with friends.

Alex happily marks Casey for all to see > she’s seen how people look at her at the local bar.

They’re happy and in love.

[old-lemon-tree]

Sex headcanons for the guys? Dutch, Micah, others.. I would be interested to hear your takes :) just asking generally.

OH! This is a broad one sjdfhjskdfh

I have so many opinions about so many characters. I’m gonna focus on the two you mentioned because otherwise this post is gonna get soooo long lmao. Thank you for asking <3

Still, if anyone’s interested in knowing something more in depth, I’m always up to discuss!

As always, these are only my personal views, don’t take them too much at heart. Ship what you want, read what you want, write what you want. There isn’t a right or wrong way for it.

NSWF under the cut

Dutch

Vers (top-bottom) and Switch (dom-sub). Naturally, he's surrendering control only to indulge his partner—pure magnanimity on his part. (Sure, Dutch.)

He has wildly different approaches to sleeping with men and women, mostly rooted in his romanticized perception of femininity as divine. (This deserves a proper analysis, honestly.)

He’s a yapper with women. Won’t shut up—praises, teases, the cheesiest compliment ever heard to man. Did he read it in a book? Did he come up with that on his own? Who knows, he’s not gonna admit to either.

Flattery? For men? He doesn’t see the point. Unless, of course, he is on the receiving end. In which case, it’s completely normal, proper, and frankly, should happen more often.

If he’s doing something right, better tell him. Otherwise, he’ll ask. Incessantly. Not because he doubts himself—he just likes to hear it, moreso when he's subbing.

When he doms, it's intense. He promises to tease and make it last forever, but he gets overeager fast. He gets off on control in normal situations, just imagine what that does to him in bed.

Pillow Princess when he bottoms. To the point he needs to be physically moved because he won’t on his own.

You’d assume he has an oral fixation for how much he opens his big mouth, and yes. Yes, he has. On that note, he also likes mirrors.

He will be open to try things because he thinks there’s nothing he can’t do. He will promptly escalate them to a dangerous degree because he doesn’t know his own limit. Regardless if he is or isn’t into it, if challenged, he’ll do it again.

He will leave something behind. Maybe it’s an innocently forgotten belonging he'll have to retrive. Maybe it’s the not-so-innocent mark of his teeth. He needs to leave a reminder he was there.

Aftercare is a problem because he gets post-coital hyperactivity. He’ll pace, ramble, plan. Swears his best ideas come with a clear head. Peppy as hell, less controlled, arrogance through the roof. His sarcasm cuts a little too deep. Will get mean if pushed.

Micah

A life spent among outlaws (primarily men) meant female company was scarce and nights were long, boring and lonely. Plenty of opportunities to experiment, plenty of excuses to make.

Sleeping with women is recreational. Sleeping with men is transactional. He needs to gain something out of it, or at least have the impression he is gaining some kind of advantage/upper hand. He’s a master at justifying it.

If he bottoms he’ll fight like hell to pretend he’s simply allowing it. If he sees an opening for topping, he’ll take it. And when he does, it’s dangerous—because he gets nasty about it. Not that it ever feels as good as when he’s on his back—woah, who said that?!

He’s a terrible submissive. Too restless, too grabby, snaps back instead of following orders. Does he want to be put in his place? I mean…

He hates anything that looks too much like intimacy. Touching hands, looking in the eyes (unless there's some power-play involved). He avoids kissing like the plague. Don't try him, he bites.

If he senses vulnerability, he’ll be twice as vicious. If he’s the one unraveling, he’ll only take mockery as a response. Meanness is comfortable—it’s the language he speaks best, the one he understands the most.

He craves praise, but will never ask for it. He’ll try to subtly lure it out, twisting any backhanded comment if he needs to. If he gets nothing, he doesn’t care. He never cared. Really!!!

Vocal. Won’t stop talking and making noises. His dirty talk is abysmal and his attempts at being flirty are on par with the rest of his humor. Crass, cringy and ill-timed.

Runs out of stamina embarrassingly fast. Partly because he forgets to breathe. Partly because he just doesn’t breathe well, period. Anything that obstructs his mouth leaves him gasping—not that he minds.

Amusingly sensitive neck. The softer the touch the most restless he grows. But if someone actually wraps their hand around it or bites him? Hope nobody was expecting this to last much longer.

Has the attention span of a goldfish. Pleasure is nice, but bores him easily. If he’s not being challenged, pushed, or hurt, he zones out.

No afterglow. The moment the high fades, he turns into an irritable wretch.

[short-honey-badger]

An Outlaw, a Sheriff, and a Deputy walk into a bar... 10

Part 1

Beau gets you to Valentine quickly, and you don’t waste any time before you begin to pack your essentials. You loved this place, even with the god-awful humidity and the funky smell of sheep just down the road from you, but you couldn’t be here anymore, not when you knew that the twins would find you here. It hurt to have to leave, to escape without a word to the two men who had been a constant in your life for so long, but you needed to get away. You needed to start your own life. A life that didn’t have two redheads hanging over your head.

Your fellow deputies were obviously upset, mostly because they knew that they would be getting some kind of backlash from Shamrock when he found out you were gone, but they were still kind enough to help you load the heavier items into a wagon when you explained your wish to leave. Amos Levi at the Ferrier was sad to see you go and gave you the wagon and a strong Shire to help Beau pull the wagon. You would probably miss him the most and everything that he had taught you about the beasts he worked with.

You decided to name the Shire Freeman, a fitting name considering you were freeing yourself from your old life.

You, Beau, and Freeman were gone by the end of the next day, traveling down the main road that would take you through Strawberry and then into West Elizabeth. You were carefully traveling through the thick forests, weary of the wild men that roamed the hills. The last thing you wanted was someone jumping you. Thankfully, you made it through without too much trouble and into Blackwater, where a certain grey-haired old man waited for you at the beginning of town.

Garling watched you approach with a surprisingly heavy heart. He had hoped that his good son would have spoken to you about the union, but it seemed as though it hadn’t gone very well. He reaches for the reins of the massive, grey Shire when you slow to a stop, head cocking as he takes you in. You look good, all things considered, but he can see the pain that lingers in your eyes.

“Stable your beasts, girl, and I’ll buy you dinner. It looks like you could use it,” Garling says, and you can’t help the weary smile that turns your lips. Garling has always been a hard ass, but he’d always had a bit of a soft spot for you.

The two of you end up in his study, you eating a hearty meal of roast carrots and pronghorn. You hadn’t realized how hungry you’d been until now, not with how quickly you’d been trying to put some distance between you and the twins. Garling sits across from you, patiently waiting for you to finish before he speaks up.

“I knew about Shamrock wanting to marry you.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and sit back in your chair, setting the cleared plate on the side table. “Did you know that he wanted to cart me off to Saint-Denis so that I could be a 'proper lady'?

Garling scoffs, and you watch him dig in his desk and pull out a cigar case. He cuts the tip and puffs it to life, “Of course I did, girl. And no, I didn’t try and dissuade him, if you must know. You and I both know how stubborn Shamrock is when he gets an idea in his head.”

You snort softly and then take a sip of water to wet your mouth, “I love them, but they are both idiots. Shanks couldn’t even talk to me about it. Thought that knocking me out cold and kidnapping me was the way to go.”

Garling shakes his head, eyes rolling to the ceiling, “Of course he did.”

He leans forward, then nods to the wagon parked outside his office, “Tell me, dear, what are you planning?”

You sigh heavily, “Go out west, try and start up a ranch of my own. I’d like to work with horses. It ain’t much of a plan, but it’s something.”

Garling considers you for a while. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders, stubborn and free-willed. It reminded him heavily of his late wife. Decision made, Garling stands and begins to dig through a filing cabinet to the left. Once he finds what he needs, he slaps the folder on his desk and nods down at it.

“I own a ranch out in New Austin, near Tumbleweed. It’s close to the Mexican border. Good soil for crops and enough land to give you what you need,” He begins, and you reach forward, opening the folder to flip through the documents until you land on the pictures there.

It’s a quaint cottage, with a large barn that’s already been fenced in, and in your eyes, it looks perfect. You close the folder and look at Garling, eyes narrowed.

“And what do you want in return?”

The old man huffs and puffs on his cigar, smirking around it as he settles back in his chair, “I’ll give you a couple of months to settle in, get comfortable. Then I’m sending my sons your way, and you are going to give them a chance.”

You stare at Garling in disbelief, before you burst out laughing, so hard and loud that your belly begins to cramp up. Of course, he would try something like this, but you aren’t mad about it. Garling is giving you everything that his sons hadn’t, and that was time. You wipe your face and stand, placing the folder back on the desk before you round in and dip down to toss your arms around the old man’s shoulders in a hug. You snicker when you hear Garling give a long sigh before he wraps a single arm around you to hug you back.

You pull away when he drops his arm, smiling down at him, “Thank you, pops. For this, and not letting me just give up and run away. I’m sure I’d miss them eventually, anyway.”

Garling waves you away and takes up a pen, “Don’t thank me yet, girl. They’ll be your problem instead of mine, and that is punishment enough, I think.”

You snicker and nod in agreement. You feel better now, knowing that life will work itself out in the coming months.

You leave Blackwater with the deed of the ranch signed over to you and with a smile on your face. The journey to Tumbleweed would be a long one, but you couldn’t help but feel excited over it. Especially when you meet a new friend about halfway into the trip.

It’d been raining for two days when the sound of terrified meows caught your attention. You’d jumped from the wagon and found a skinny tuxedo kitten hidden between some rocks. It was a feisty thing, but once you warmed him up and gave him some milk, he calmed right down and curled into your side, hidden under your coat.

You decided to name him Alastor, and he quickly became your constant companion. A week and a half of travel later, the four of you enter Tumbleweed, stopping just long enough to resupply before moving on. The ranch was further south of the town, close to the border, just like Garling had told you.

It was overgrown with weeds and would definitely need some love and attention, but this place was yours. Your new home, ready and waiting for you to set up shop.

Several days later, as you sat on the front porch nursing a cup of coffee with Al on your lap, you couldn’t help but look back east. Shanks and Shamrock would be here in a few months, but you had time now, time to adjust to the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could love them like they loved you.

@mit-suri @forever-a-night-owl @nocturnalrorobin @sanjisleggy @sordidmusings @shanks-is-a-daddy @mfreedomstuff

[ineffable-suffering]

Aziraphale, I love you. But you lied. And here's why.

Okay. I’m not gonna beat around the bush for too long. It’s time now for me to also throw my try at a personal Good Omens Season 2 Magnum Opus into the mix of already existing magnum op..i? Opusses? (Smited? Smote?)

If I’m honest, it isn’t fully my own magnum opus, as I read this meta not too long ago that made me go: „Oh! My God! That’s it!“ And I’m pretty sure a lot of other people have clocked this too by now. Of course I’m not saying it’s the objective truth but after having mulled it over for many endless nights and days, wading through the onslaught of coffee theories, body swap theories, The Metatron re-writing the Book of Life theories and many, many more, this is the one I think is most plausible and, if you look closely, most obvious.

And it goes as such: Aziraphale lied.

To all of us. All of them. And most of all, to Crowley. He lied to him. Well, he sort of did and also sort of didn’t. He certainly didn’t tell the truth. At least not all of it. I hear you ask: “OP, what the fuck are you talking about”. I answer you: Let’s start from the top and under the cut.

(Small note: this meta ended up being way too large for Tumblr, which is why I will redirect you to an external doc at the end of the post, where I have written it all down nicely and accurately. It's about 35 digital A4-pages long, just in case you want to save it for later.)

(Word count: 12.831 | Approximate reading time: 50 minutes)

Let’s start with a short recap of what happens before the Metatron crashes the bookshop party and everything goes to shit. The proper visuals for this are in my Tumblr post but I am absolutely convinced that right up until when the Metatron comes to take Aziraphale away and talk to him, the angel is fully ready to get into Crowley’s Bentley-chariot and finally ride off into the sunset (or Alpha Centauri-set or whatever). You can see it in his face and body language. You can see when the penny drops for him that a) Crowley loves him b) he loves Crowley and c) they can finally start their happily ever after. Aziraphale realizes this all throughout said Brielzebub reveal in the bookshop. And he’s such a lost cause once he does. 

I mean, look at that. Look at it. This (very shitty recording, sorry, I'm not tech-savvy enough to avoid the Amazon Prime screen recording blocker) is the very second Aziraphale realizes hat Crowley loves him. When he hears him suggest Alpha bloody Centauri as a getaway for Gabriel and Beelzebub, as Crowley has done to Aziraphale for so, so many times now. He finally understands what Crowley was trying to tell him with that all those times.

Aziraphale realizes this all throughout the Brielzebub reveal in the bookshop. And he’s such a lost cause once he does.

Right when Crowley suggest Alpha Centauri as a nice getaway spot to the two, Aziraphale looks at him and he gets it. That Crowley has loved him, has been loving him for millennia. Truthfully, they've both known that for a long while now. But there's a difference between knowing, wanting, craving and actually being able to finally have something. And that's exactly what we see on Aziraphale's face here. This is it. This is where it all starts working out for Crowley and him. This is were they can start their eternity together.

So from that second on, Aziraphale only has eyes for Crowley. He keeps physically pawing at Crowley with complete heart eyes, as if to say „Look, look, that’s gonna be us too! Finally!" He’s actually so smitten that he doesn’t even hear what Crowley is saying when he asks Shax if he can have back his apartment now because he’s sick of living in his car. (Also, what way to drop that bomb right in this moment Crowley, lmao). 

Once the Metatron comes in, the first thing Aziraphale says is that they don’t need to talk because „he’s made his position quite clear“. He doesn’t even want to talk to the Metatron, because in his mind, he’s already made the choice. Actually, he made the choice way before the bookshop showdown. For starters, I’m convinced that the Jane Austen Ball actually never was for Maggie and Nina but for Crowley and him (you can read more about that here). And apart from that, for this whole season we have seen Aziraphale trying to advance his relationship with Crowley romantically and domestically and move them to the literal next base (our car!). And after everything he just witnessed with Brielzebub, the final nail in the coffin of ethereal-infernal romance being possible, his choice is absolutely crystal clear: It’s Crowley. It’s always been Crowley and it always will be Crowley. And now it can be Crowley. They can be an us.

The whole of Season 2 is such a massive learning curve for Aziraphale’s character, with him remembering all those important pivotal points of his past,  and this very moment is the peak, with him not only understanding that Crowley loves him (because he certainly knew for quite some centuries now) but accepting that love, letting himself have that love, being allowed to want that love and taking that love and starting their new and final chapter with it. Nevertheless, the plot clock ticks for them. The Metatron saunters into the bookshop, evil and stinky as Metatrons do, and urges Aziraphale to come with him with his whole Take The Coffee schtick, which I will get into later. And Aziraphale, immediately sensing there’s Something Up, does. Can’t really turn down someone as high-ranking as the the voice of God, after all. Even if you were currently already planning how you were going to elope with a certain red-haired serpent of Eden. 

he next time we see Aziraphale on screen, it’s so painfully evident on his face that he is neither happy nor excited. Not even the slightest bit. We’d know if he was, thanks to Mr. Michael master-of-microexpressions Sheen. None of the usual “Aziraphale is happy”-signs are there. No blinding eye-smile, no giddy wriggling, not giggles and gasps. No, when the Metatron tells Aziraphale to „go tell your friend the good news“, his expression looks like this:

I’m gonna go out on an entire limb here and say: That does not look like someone who’s absolutely tickety-boo hyped to tell his demon soulmate that he just got the juiciest promotion and that they can both be angels and live happily ever after in ethereal eternity now.

This, folks, looks like someone who knows exactly that the news he has to break right now, are going to be tickety-shit awful and very upsetting to said demon soulmate. And already, from that very short snippet of conversation, we can tell that Aziraphale isn’t really given a choice by the Metatron. Because while the Metatron does tell him that he doesn’t have to „answer right away“, he immediately follows it up by: „Go ahead and tell your friend the good news!“ Very distinct and definitive choice of words here. It’s “good news” because it’s already been decided. Because it’s already a done deal. There is no “yes, no, maybe”. This is the only choice he’s giving to Aziraphale. Because it’s ‘Coffee or death’. 

And he already gave him the coffee. 

***

Tumblr won't let me continue this over a certain character limit and I am not even remotely done yet – so, I feel like this is a good moment to redirect you to the continuation of this insane meta before we're in too deep. You can do so right here!

I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions about this once you've fought your way through it. Hope you have a good time with it!

[charliemwrites]

Three to Flee

Commission from the very sweet @ignoreprotocol

Someone leaves the door open and the pets get out.

Content Warning: Established kidnapping situation, unhealthy relationships, collaring

Author's Note: This does not mean Keeper/Kept is back. As far as I'm concerned, that story is finished, but this was a special case.

Shockingly, it’s not Feral that brings it up first.

The girls are having a little picnic at the edge of Johnny and Shy Thing’s yard, shaded by the tall trees. The men are chatting on the porch, sharing cigars and whiskey, far from earshot. Good behavior has earned them this bit of privacy, and so far, they’ve just used it to exchange keeper notes and offer bedroom advice.

“I can’t believe you don’t even have a fence,” Good Girl muses, glancing at the forest beyond. Her own yard is well fortified. It’s not just the sturdy, unclimbable fence, but also the monitors and floodlights connected to it.

Shy Thing sheepishly mentions a failed escape attempt several months earlier, a mad dash through the woods that ended with her dirty and disciplined. That prompts Good Girl to confess her own ill-fated getaway, a midnight attempt at sneaking out that resulted in a bruised ass.

Feral listens with her head cocked, nibbling at her apple slices. When their eyes turn to her, she shrugs.

“I haven’t tried to leave in a while,” she admits, “but I don’t think it would go well.”

Good Girl frowns. “How do you know if you haven’t tried?”

Feral snorts. “You’ve met Simon, haven’t you?”

All eyes turn to the boys on the porch. And there’s Simon, watching. Feral makes a rude gesture his way and they can see his shoulders shaking with a chuckle.

“Besides… it’s not so bad,” she muses. “Most of the time.”

Good Girl sits back, expression twisting. “I don’t want it to be ‘not so bad,’ I want it to be good. And I want it that way all the time.”

Shy Thing shifts. “What’s so wrong with John…?”

Good Girl huffs and begins picking at threads in the blanket. “He’s… fine. I mean, he would be if I could just leave. Don’t you miss being free?”

Feral hums.

“I… I miss going to the store when I wanted… or just… walking around town,” Shy Thing admits slowly. “I miss coffee shops and parks.”

Good Girl groans in agreement. “I miss the internet. It’s like being a fucking teenager again, having all my activity monitored.”

With a little more momentum now, Shy Things continues, “I haven’t been alone in months. Just… by myself. Doing whatever I want.”

“And not having rules,” Good Girl adds, sipping at the mojito John put in a little travel cup for her. “Fucking… sick of having a bedtime and chores and a fucking collar. Aren’t you sick of it?”

It’s directed at both of them, but Shy Thing nods, hands fidgeting.

“It gets to be a lot sometimes,” she mumbles, “I think I warmed up to Johnny out of pure exhaustion.”

Good Girl huffs again, worked into a proper fuss now. “And they’re so smug about it. Like we’re just these good, trained pets.”

Feral pipes up, “We could leave together.”

Both girls swivel to her with varying degrees of shock, hope, and disbelief.

“You said you didn’t think you could get past Simon,” Good Girl says.

Feral snorts and stretches out on her stomach in a mottled patch of sunlight creeping through the leaves.

“Yeah, I couldn’t on my own,” she explains, “but between the three of us…”

It’s uncomfortably simple when it happens. They just need to wait until the next big mission.

All three of them beg (or in Feral’s case, demand) to spend that time together while the keepers are away. It’s not unusual for the creatures to meet up when one or more of the men are gone. With all three off on a mission this time, they sniffle about being lonely and wanting company. That their houses feel too big and empty, that cooking for one is depressing.

Johnny caves instantly; John agrees on the stipulation that Good Girl is on her best behavior before he leaves. Simon, of course, is a foregone conclusion.

They go to Simon’s house. It’s the safest of the three homes and has the most space. Not to mention the girls will have some sort of access to the outside with the enclosed sunporch.

On the day of the mission, Good Girl and Shy Thing show up with fully packed bags, ready for their extended “sleepover” with Feral. The pets see their boys off, behave as normal for the cameras until Shy Thing gets the “heading out” message from Johnny. That’s the greenlight.

Feral has her own bag of things that she packs quickly and expertly. They fill a fourth bag with nonperishable provisions, just in case. Each of them has cash that they filched last minute from their keepers’ wallets – knowing they wouldn’t check them just before a classified mission.

The girls know it’ll be a day or two before anyone checks on them. Even Kyle is away with the team this time.

And then it all comes down to walking out the door.

The front door is, of course, locked. All the windows have alarms on them, and so does the garage door. But the sunporch…

“He didn’t lock the door,” Feral realizes as it swings open. And the alarm only engages when it’s locked.

All three of them take a single step out into the open air. And stop. Stare at each other a little moon-eyed.

They just left.

They stride at a quick clip around the side of the house and down the road. It’ll be an hour-long walk into town, but they have thick coats and each other for company. They chatter as they follow the pavement, just within the tree line out of caution. Pretend its giddy celebration at their escape and not a distraction from the creeping mix of dread and uncertainty beginning to simmer within each of them.

When they reach town, they blend into the crowds, weaving through the streets until they find a low-end hotel. It won’t be anything fancy, but at least it seems clean enough. Good Girl does all the talking with the receptionist (also a lady, thank god) since Feral and Shy Thing are jittery from so many people. They get a one-bed room with easy access to the fire exit.

 It’s only after they’re inside that reality sinks its claws in.

They’re free. For the first time in months, they’re outside with no one standing behind their shoulders or holding their arms. No one to appease, nothing to behave for.

And Shy Thing throws up in the toilet.

“This is scary,” she wheezes, eyes watering. “I’m scared. I want—”

Though she stops, the other two know what the end of that sentence was. Good Girl rubs her back.

“Don’t worry, they’re not going to find us,” she soothes like she doesn’t know why Shy Thing is really scared.

Neither Shy Thing nor Feral reply. The answer hangs in the air, unspoken. We want them to.

Feral, feeling restless, goes back into the main room and begins rummaging through her bag.

“What are you doing?” Good Girl asks, giving Shy Thing privacy to clean up.

“Looking for something to cut that off with.” Feral nods to Good Girl’s collar. “It’s probably chipped or something. We should have taken it off at home.”

She stops as the blood drains from her fellow creature’s face. They stare at each other across the tiny motel room, the weight of their successful plan pressing heavier and heavier with each passing second.

“I…” Good Girl rasps, “I…”

“You don’t want to.”

Her eyes well with tears. “No.”

Feral drops her bag and crumples to the ground, tugging her knees up to her chest.

“Why don’t I want to?” Good Girl whispers, curling her arms around herself. “This… this was my idea. I complain all the time. Why do I miss him already?”

Shy Thing appears in the doorway, sniffling. “I-I don’t know if I can do this. I can’t imagine life without Johnny. I… I don’t know if I want to have a life without Johnny.”

And Feral, still on the floor and trembling all over, just looks at them with huge tears running down her face.

Needless to say, when three rather miffed keepers in full combat gear throw the door open at 3am, they are not expecting armfuls of distraught creatures sobbing into their chests.

[youcouldmakealife]

2024 Writing Wrap

Well, my goal for 2024 was 225,000 words, and I did exceed that, so I believe that is what we call a success. Never mind that my ~secret goal was 250k and that the 225k goal was just in case anything came up. And it did. So that is technically still a success! So I’m trying not to be grumbly about it.

What I’m not grumbly about at all is how, exactly, that final word count broke down by project (actual numbers below).

I don’t think the COTT and SAIT word counts could be closer than if I’d been intentionally trying to balance them. Which, I cannot stress enough, I was not. I was actually expecting a 2:1 COTT v SAIT ratio, mostly because, well, SAIT hasn’t been easy to write at times, and I was fully prepared for that to continue. But then something happened. I won’t investigate it too closely — gift horses, etc — but the floodgates finally broke, and a character that was so reluctant to speak honestly about himself and his life that it left him (and me) mute was suddenly willing to talk.

(We all know what happened. Robbie Lombardi happened.)

So, coming into this year I set myself a 13 part (approx 27.5k) goal for SAIT, and a 60k goal for COTT. They both ended up around 75k. Add in the SOTWs&Ms, which ended up around 65k combined (goal was 60k), and on all counts, I beat my individual project goals, and absolutely smashed the one for SAIT.

Considering this year I also got the TOTI paperback done and published the final installment of Between the Teeth, I think it was a pretty productive year, particularly considering I was finally diagnosed with Audhd in January, and have spent a lot of time and energy processing that, reframing a lot of things, and adjusting my work style to better accommodate my neurotype.

It's all been a big learning process, though one slightly derailed by the arrival of COVID and the…refusal to leave of COVID…and a fraught one at times, but it’s really been a relief to look at things like ‘this doesn’t work for me because my brain isn’t wired that way’ versus ‘this doesn’t work for me because I’m lazy/not trying hard enough/not living up to my ‘potential’, ad nauseum. It’s been…good. Tough, and emotional, and sometimes exhausting, but good. And I think that might be the other reason that Georgie started to speak again: how the fuck was I supposed to write him starting to move forward when I was still masking? How could I?

Meanwhile my other project was literally ‘okay, what if I worked through some of this by making my ADHD and my autism kiss? What if I did that?’ And COTT has been an absolute delight for me as a somewhat chaotic way for me to examine how these totally different beings co-exist. Throw in me shoving a ton of common romance tropes, gleefully undermining them (sometimes even intentionally! Though COTT can indeed be marked down as yet another failure in my quest to write some proper hate sex), a whole lot of ‘look, he actually gets me’ that is probably a liiiittle too close to home (and, I think, the home of most ND people), and everybody Doing Their Best (even when it fails, even when it doesn’t look like it, even when they aren’t rewarded for that), it is probably the closest thing I’ve ever written to pure Id fic, and I’m including the fucking Scouts here.

So thank you for all being very patient with me working through my ~stuff via narrative, and I’m really glad some of you (Audhd, autistic, ADHD, and otherwise) see yourselves reflected in Holden and/or James as well. Every single thing that annoys about them is probably something I do. (Uh. Off the ice. I don’t throw dirty hits. And I sadly don’t have a hockey room either.) I love them both a lot and I genuinely think my loving them, with all their faults (that are often my faults), has made my relationship with myself better, because I too am Always Doing My Best, even when it doesn’t look like it. And sometimes I forget that.

Okay, enough of the navel gazing, time for numbers!

These may seem slightly different than the word counts on, say, AO3, but at the end of each writing day I log my process. It’s always a little inflated -- some of it ends up on the cutting room floor, some of it applies to works currently still in progress, etc.

But, end of the year, here’s the breakdown*:

*rounded up/down to the nearest thousand, but that was the extent of the rounding, they're just naturally handsome numbers

Cards on the Table: 75k

Still Always in Tandem: 75k

SOTW/Ms and Extras: 82k

(Comprised of: SOTWs: 34k, SOTMs: 33k, Extras 15k)

For a combined total of 232k, squeaking in a mere 7k above my 225k goal.

But wait! There’s the misc (includes some Gritty work, last minute BTT additions, the bracket challenge, and other things that don’t fit the categories above), which adds an additional 13k.

So, in fact, it all adds up to 245k. Which is pretty damn close to 250k in my humble opinion, especially considering I spent a full quarter of 2024 sick. So I think we can call this year a success, at least on the writing front.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Chest

@rosekillermicrofic May 13, word count 351

Previous part First part Wolfstar series part 1

“He can make it,” Evan answered for Barty when Barty didn’t. “I’ll pick him up and get him there.” He quickly wrote a text and sent it to Sirius. He was sure that Sirius would notice that Barty was frozen in place, but just in case. He got a message back with a picture of Barty sitting in the armchair, phone to his ear and mouth hanging open. 

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Pandora told them and hung up. She was never one for proper goodbyes. 

“Barty?” he said into his phone, quietly. 

“Evan,” Barty said, his voice cracking. “Evan, what, what’s, Evan,” he whined. 

“Shhh, leave it to Pandora, she’ll have everything sorted by the time we get over there,” he tried to reassure him. 

“Evan,” Barty said again. “Evan, I-I-I, how did she know?” He asked, his voice so quiet it was a miracle Evan could hear him. 

“I asked her to look into it. It’s what she does, and she’s bloody good at it.”

“I’ll say,” Barty replied, a bit more life in his voice again. “Evan, I don’t know how to,”

“Don’t worry about it, Barty. It’s your money, you should have it,” Evan could hear Barty snuffling on the other end of the line. His phone buzzed, and he quickly checked the message that had come through. 

It was another picture of Barty, this time with tears dripping down his face. ‘What did you do?’ Sirius asked. ‘Something good, promise.’ He sent back. “Barty?” His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Barty to respond. 

“Yeah?” he finally said. 

“You can treat me to éclairs now.” Barty burst into wet-sounding laughter. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t have any money yet, besides, surely I should be treating Pandora and not you,”

“Who do you think asked her to look into your accounts?” Evan replied haughtily. That man was an absolute outrage. 

“I know, thank you, Evan. See you in a few hours?”

“See you in a few hours,” he hung up and finished up the work he’d been doing before heading off to his next client. 

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