#kate fills prompts

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights prompt enemies to lovers/opposite sides of a conflict? Depending on how serious the conflict is, it can be fluffy or angsty :)

The lights flicker above his head. Danny swallows roughly, trying to quiet his breathing as much as possible. It would be so much easier if he could just stop breathing completely, to use his powers to disappear from sight, slip around the rest of them and take them all out. 

His palms are sweating. Taking another steadying breath, Danny tightens his grip on the gun, shifting just slightly where he’s crouched, hidden out of sight. 

He can’t hear anything beyond his own rapid heartbeat, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The Bats thrive in silence and darkness, and this messy warehouse with its stacked shelving units is full of places for them to hide, waiting for him to cross their sights. 

There’s no one left to help him.

Danny’s on his own. 

No powers, he tells himself firmly. He has to do this as a regular human. The Bats will know otherwise, and he can’t risk it. Just remember what Mom taught you.

The lights flicker again, then go out completely. 

Now! 

Danny springs away from his hiding spot, searching the darkness for any movement. The Bats like to go up high, so he follows suit, sticking close to a wall as he scales his way up a shelving unit. Every moment sounds so loud, like a clap of thunder in the dead of night, and the back of his neck prickles with the feeling of being watched. 

He was never going to out run them. He can’t hide from them. The least he can do is take out as many of them as he can before they shoot him down.

His only saving grace is that Black Bat isn’t here. Last he saw, she was heading down a different street, chasing someone else. As long as he makes his move before she returns, there’s still a chance he can get out of the warehouse and try to escape them again. 

The clouds above Gotham drift apart, allowing the pale moonlight to shine down on the city. Moonlight streams in through the large windows and Danny moves to stay in the shadows, as out of sight as he can manage. He keeps moving, refusing to stay still; if they want to get him, then he’s going to do all he can to make it as difficult as possible. 

The top of the shelving unit is steady. Danny keeps one hand out, close to the wall, as he creeps across it, looking out over the entire warehouse. 

He’s close to the entrance now. All he has to do is drop down and run, and then he’s back out in the streets, no longer trapped in an enclosed space with some Bats. 

Danny reaches the edge of the shelving unit and prepares to jump when he sees a movement in the corner of his eye. Reacting instinctively, he throws himself out into the air, twisting to aim his gun at the flash of purple tucked against the side of a shelf. 

He shoots, one shot after the other, until he lands on the ground in a messy roll. 

Spoiler curses as she ducks away, sending a few return shots of her own, but with her hiding behind the shelf, taking cover. “Just give up!” she shouts at him, “We’ll get you sooner or later!”

“You were supposed to be on my side!” he returns, firing another shot before turning on his heel to sprint away.

“Plans change! Now I have a reason to take you down.”

Which means Black Bat got a hold of Spoiler earlier and got her to change allegiances. It must have been right before he reached the warehouse, still believing Spoiler to be on his side and frantically having to dodge her attacks before they lost each other in the labyrinth of the warehouse. 

So, that’s another person after his head. 

The streets are quiet, a rare treat in Gotham. He’s the only one out, running through the streets like his life depends on it. No doubt Spoiler is right behind him, determined to take him down. He hasn’t seen any of the others for a while, but they have to be somewhere in the area. 

Danny ducks into an alley and scrambles up a fire escape. At least out in the open air, he can pass off a few impossible jumps as being really good at free running. 

He runs, crossing a few streets, and throws himself into a roll, hiding behind an AC unit when he hears more gunshots. 

From the cursing accompanying it, Red Hood must be near.

That’s good. That’s someone who is (presumably) still on his side. 

He follows the noise to the top of a bakery, where he catches a glimpse of a disgruntled looking woman scowling from the window. He offers her a sheepish grin as he climbs by the window, her startled jump turning into rolled eyes as she closes the blinds.  

He gets to the top of the bakery just in time to watch Red Hood pick up Robin and throw him at Nightwing, who drops his gun in order to catch the kid. Taking his chance, Danny crouches on the edge of the roof and aims.

Nightwing falls to the side to avoid it, but he doesn’t manage it in time. Robin takes the hit, still held by Nightwing and unintentionally used as a shield.

“Oops,” Nightwing says as Robin scowls and brings out a shuriken, trying to stab Nightwing in retaliation.

“Nice one, kid,” Red Hood says. He offers Danny a high five, which he happily returns.

The moment lasts for only a second before another shot rings out and Red Hood stumbles forward with a curse, a splatter of yellow paint on his back. 

The Signal swings by, scooping Danny up with an arm around his waist. Red Hood moves to follow, but Nightwing is on him again, their fight beginning again as Robin hops off the roof and disappears from sight.

“Let go!” Danny demands, trying to wiggle out of the Signal’s grip.

“No can do. I’m winning this. My share of Alfred’s cake depends on this.”

Unfortunately for the Signal, Danny’s share of Alfred’s cake also depends on his victory. He’s already got a few points by getting shots in on the other team, small splatters of white paint decorating their costumes, but not as much as the others. He’s also got paint all over him, mostly black and blue, but the game doesn’t end until the Point Person (Danny for his team, Damian for the other) is taken to the other team’s base.

Danny’s team set up their base on the thrift store at the end of their designated game area. He has no idea where Duke’s team has their base, and he doesn’t intend to find out any time soon.

“Sorry,” he says, then shoves a foot between Duke’s legs to slam his heel against a pressure point just below the knee. 

The Signal bites back a pained yell and hits the roof hard. They both go rolling across it, carried by the momentum of his swing. To add insult to injury, Danny gets back to his feet and shoots Duke point blank in the chest, then makes another run for it.

“No you don’t!” he hears Signal yell from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. 

Danny jumps, making it onto the next roof, adrenaline rushing through him. He tries to find a way back to his team’s base, but the Signal doesn’t let him past, trapping him in. They dodge paint bullets from each other, moving back and forth as if dancing.

And because Danny has abysmal luck, he trips over his own feet when the Signal lunges at him and he tries to spin away from him. 

“Woah!” 

The Signal drops his gun to catch Danny, pulling him close and steadying him. Danny clutches to the Signal’s arms, his own gun pointed off to the side awkwardly. They end up pressed together, barely any space between their faces. 

They’re frozen there for a moment, staring at each other. This close, Danny can see through the visor of the Signal’s helmet, and Duke’s eyes are just as wide as his. 

“Caught you,” Signal breathes, and Danny’s gaze drops down to his lips. 

He’s sure his own feelings are clear and on display in the moment, but he can’t help it. They may be on opposing teams, but a hero is a hero and being saved by the Signal never fails to make danny’s heart skip a beat. 

He really needs to get his head in the game. He needs to push the Signal away and try to get back to his own team. He needs to win so he can steal Duke’s share of Alfred’s cake. 

The Signal tightens his grip on Danny’s waist and leans in just a little, barely noticeable.

But Danny notices.

Fuck it, he thinks. 

Before he can overthink it, before his nerve get the better of him, before anyone swings by and interrupts, Danny closes the distance between them and kisses Duke. 

It’s just a soft, small peck. He pulls back almost immediately, cheeks flushed red, but doesn’t go far before Duke is kissing him again and again and again.

“Now is not the time, lover birds!” Spoiler shouts. They startle apart, giddy grin on their faces. Danny turns to see her land on the roof with her hands on her hips, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and knows that neither of them are going to live this down any time soon. Nightwing and Red Hood follow soon after, trying to tackle each other, and almost bowl over Spoiler as Red Robin takes the opportunity to pop up out of nowhere, Black Bat on his tail, to shoot at Spoiler.

With all of them distracted, Danny shares a smile with Duke then darts back in for another kiss. 

Then he pulls back, shoots Signal again, and takes off with a laugh.

The game’s not over yet, but that’s not going to stop him from feeling like a winner anyways.

He is going to get that cake, though. Losing is not an option with Alfred’s baking on the line. Crush or not, Duke is going down.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

1. Starry night

Castlemas '23 #5: Next Best Thing

Season Four

"You know what I miss at Christmas time," he hears Ryan say. "My Grandma's cookies. My sister tries to make them but they're not the same."

He smiles. Has heard tales of the Ryan family and can imagine them sitting around the table together.

"What about you Castle?" Ryan asks. "Surely you've got some wild tales?"

He smirks. Remembers the unorthodox Christmas celebrations that he'd had with Martha as a child and all the things he'd done with Alexis.

"Stargazing in the snow," he smiles at the memory. "One Christmas, I booked a cabin, Alexis was only little, but I bundled her up and we sat on a bench on the back porch and we looked at the stars and made up stories about them."

Kate smiles at him. She knows we've lost him for a moment, his mind of with his daughter of whatever small age she'd been at the time.

"Now she's grown up and too cool to curl up with her ol' Dad."

Kate chuckles. "It comes back around. Dad and I do that sometimes, when we're up at his cabin.

A phone rings and Ryan turns to answer it, ending the conversation and Castle returns his full attention to her.

"I miss it sometimes, too." She admits, quietly. "Being able to just do something like that with Dad."

He sees her swallow. Knows she just admitted something she usually keeps behind her shield, behind the wall.

"It's hard to do it in the city but sometimes Alexis and I go to the planetarium. It's not quite the same, but it's still nice."

Kate smiles at him. "That sounds nice."

Castle nods, letting the conversation drop when her phone rings and then they're in motion.

It isn't until a week later she opens a gift card from him and finds tickets for the planetarium. "Alexis and I are going. You and your Dad are welcome to tag along... or go whenever works for the two of you."

She doesn't know what to say. She knows what she wants to say, to do, but she's not ready. "Thanks Castle."

"Merry Christmas, Kate."

[this-sapphic-paradise]

To the anon who sent me this prompt:

I'm working on it. I'll probably post it on AO3 because it's getting long and I might need a second chapter to get to the handcuffs 😌

[rainboq]

88. “I’m better, now that you’re here.”, Chasemarsh

To call Victoria’s art her passion was, quite frankly, understating it. Not her photography, that was her profession, the path she’d been pushed onto by her controlling and overbearing parents. Not that she disliked being behind a camera, the routine of staging, lighting, posing, and finally taking the shot had become a form of therapy for her. Each shoot was a triumph against him, proving that she was free of his bullshit. But it was never what she yearned for in her heart.

No, that was her poetry. She lived and breathed for it, the urge to put stanzas to paper burned in her veins.

She’d started penning verse in middle school, words flowing from her pencils, pens, and keyboards like water through a stream. Her heart sang as the stanzas danced, thoughts and emotions spilling from her onto the page and making her feel whole. Then her parents had found out about it.

“Trite”, “clichéd”, and “overwrought” had been the words out of her parents lips, back in the days when she still saw them as people to aspire to and emulate. As they had crushed her spirits, she had crushed the poet in her, compacting that Victoria into a little box and shoving her down into the darkest recesses of her mind.

It had hurt, of course it had, killing the poet in her had been on the hardest things Victoria had done. As 13 rolled over into 14 she had lain crying on her bed, clutching her notebook to her chest as her parent’s derision echoed in her mind. ‘You’re not a kid anymore, quit being so childish’ they had demanded of her as her womanhood bloomed with all the subtle grace of a derailed freight train.

But try as she might, no matter how much she tried to bury that side of her, Victoria the poet never truly died. She came close, along with the rest of Victoria, but like her, she was stubbornly persistent.

And like the rest of her, Victoria the poet was concerned with one thing, and one thing only: the pursuit of excellence. She couldn’t just be okay, or good. No, she had to be the best. She had to pursue greatness with every fiber of her being. Poems were written and rewritten, edited and revised until they barely resembled the unguarded words that had tumbled out of Victoria’s mind.

Even now, more than a decade after their deaths, the barnacles of her parent’s voices clung to her mind, burring deep between the folds and savaging her neurons. Too emotional, too proziac, too plain.

Nothing was ever good enough.

It couldn’t be, it had to be perfect.

But it never was that either.

Her throat burned as she sat on the couch of their condo, tears rolling down her cheeks as her fingers rubbed through the thick, fluffy fur of their calico cat Charlotte-Marie. Normally the feline was enough to sooth her, but not after tonight.

It had taken years after everything that had unfolded for Victoria to dare let the poet in her peek her head out of hiding. And more gentle coaxing still to let herself put pen to page once more. She had finally let herself take the next step, and shared her verse publicly at a slam at a nearby cafe.

A cafe that she could never show her face at again. Not after that reception.

It was stupid, she knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Her heart burned, her chest was tight as if she were in vice, her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, tattered and torn like the rest of her.

She was worthless. An untalented hack fraud who couldn’t even hold a candle to local teenagers and students at a Thursday night poetry slam. Totally unworthy of anyone’s attention, never mind friendship, or the love of—

The door to the condo clicked open, snapping Victoria out of her thoughts. Charlotte-Marie sprang to her feet, stretching out luxuriously with a loud mrrp before scampering off to the door.

Victoria stayed put. She was a wreck, what a waste of time it had all been, and now she was going to waist even more of—

“Victoria?” Asked Kate, the voice of her wife high and concerned, “Is everything alright?”

It had once been embarrassing how easily Kate’s voice could put her at ease, after everything she had done, but now it was more than welcome. The pressure in her chest eased, the burning in her heart settling as she heard Kate’s stocking covered feet padding over the tile. Her voice came as somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “No.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Kate’s footfalls sped up as she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room with Victoria, “What happened?”

“It’s stupid,” Victoria shrugged as Kate’s arms reached over the sofa and and wrapped around her shoulders and chest, her soft lips finding Victoria’s neck, “Don’t worry about it.”

Kate’s neck and chest pressed into Victoria’s back, the pressure and the gentle vanilla of Kate’s body wash helping bring her back down to earth.“Well I’m already worrying, so you’ll just have to tell me.”

“I suck at poetry,” Victoria spat out, her body cringing, “Everyone had all these corrections and suggestions, but they were already things I’d changed or edited out. It made me feel so fucking stupid! I can’t even edit my poems properly for fuck’s sake.”

“Shhh,” Kate gently cooed in her ear, the warmth of her breath tickling over Victoria’s neck, “It’s okay, I’d probably feel the same way if someone suggested that about my drawings. It’s normal to feel that way when someone suggests you change something back. How are you feeling?”

Victoria shrugged, her hands moving up to rest on Kate’s arms, her thumbs rubbing over the soft skin of her forearms, “… Better, now that you’re here.”

“That so?” Kate giggled softly, her head moving forward.

Victoria’s head turned, her lips finding Kate’s for a brief, loving kiss. “Yeah.”

Kate returned her kiss with another of her own before releasing Victoria and walking around the couch to sit next to her. “So, was it all bad?”

“No,” Victoria was forced to confess as she raised her arm and allowed Kate to nestle into her side, “Max was there and she was really supportive, she told me she really liked the poem.”

“I had a feeling, she’s always so sweet,” Kate sighed as Victoria’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“And hey, at least I know that I’ll never be as bad a poet as Chloe.”

[sesamestreep]

Congratulations on the follower milestone!!!! 🎉🎉🎉

For a thematically appropriate prompt to kick things off: your pick of the Bake Off AU squad and the word "balloon"

thank you, friend!!!! 💫💫💫 and you know if you give me carte blanche like this, I’m going to choose the squad known as “all of them”…

“Helloooo,” Foggy says dramatically, after picking up his phone on the third ring. It had been set on the table, waiting for this moment, but he didn’t want to be too obvious about that when he picked up.

“Did you fill my entire apartment with balloons,” Kate’s tinny voice calls out from the speaker, “you maniac?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “You were with me all day! When would I have had the time to go to your apartment and fill it with balloons? I was too busy representing New York City’s downtrodden in court! That sort of task would require someone who has a much more flexible schedule, because their life’s work is goofy and downright pointless.”

“Oh my god, you got Peter to do it?” Kate exclaims.

“Hey!” Peter yells from across the table, while MJ hides her face in his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Kate says, again. “Am I on speaker phone?!”

“Listen, if I were you, I wouldn’t go into your apartment,” Foggy says, ignoring all of them. “Probably safer to wait for some of the balloons to deflate a little. You can come meet us, if you want.”

“Ugh, where are you?”

“We’re at McGee’s, right down the street.”

“You planned this,” Kate whines into the phone.

“What on earth gives you that impression?”

“Because you’re a block away from me, dipshit.”

“Huh, that is kind of incriminating, isn’t it?”

“And I’m standing in the hallway, still in my work clothes,” Kate continues to complain. “And I can’t change because of all the fucking balloons, Foggy.”

“You wore a HAIM t-shirt and jeans with a pair of docs to the office today, Kate,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

“My apartment is a Nena song because of you, old man!”

“Technically, it’s because of Peter. And Colleen.”

“Hi, Kate!” Colleen singsongs from Foggy’s side.

Kate groans. “I don’t want to go out tonight! I don’t even want to turn 26, okay? I’m officially in my late twenties now! Do I seem like the sort of person who can be in their late anythings? I’m basically a child! Child safety caps on medicine bottles still work on me, Foggy! I’m not equipped for adulthood!”

Foggy switches her off speaker and puts the phone to his ear instead. “You are not a child, despite the tantrum you’re clearly having, and the only thing you’re late for is your own birthday party,” he says, patiently. “So, get your ass down here. We have cake and everything!”

“Ugh, you made me a cake?”

“Ouch, don’t sound so excited,” Foggy replies. “But no, I asked your favorite baker on earth to make it instead.”

“Sam made me a cake?” Kate asks, sounding impressed. “And shipped it to you? That’s so nice.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, so who—?”

“He brought it with him in person.”

“Wait?! Sam is there?” Kate shrieks, and Foggy thinks he hears her drop her keys in her excitement. “Is Bucky there too?”

“No, Sam left him at home,” Foggy says, while making direct eye contact with him. Bucky’s brows knit together in confusion. “Between you and me, I think Sam’s still hoping to seduce me away from Matt.”

“Yeah, right,” Kate says, at the same time as Matt’s elbow digs into Foggy’s ribs from his other side. Across the table, Bucky’s expression turns into a scowl while Sam and Daisy try to muffle their laughter. “Fine, you convinced me. I’ll be there in five!”

“Oh, so your true friends, who haven’t left New York for greener pastures, can’t tempt you here, but your fake friends who moved away to Louisiana can. I see how it is.”

“You want me at the bar, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Besides, I know it was you that masterminded all of this anyway. So, really, it’s a compliment to you that the plan worked!”

“Wasn’t me, kiddo,” Foggy says, switching the phone to his other ear. “I just helped coordinate logistics.”

There’s a pause in which he hears Kate’s footsteps stop and then a grunt and an apology when she clearly gets bumped by someone after stopping dead in her tracks on the sidewalk. Foggy waits while she processes whatever’s going through her head.

“Tell Matt I love him,” she says, softly, after a moment.

“Tell him yourself when you get here,” Foggy replies, sparing a glance in Matt’s direction and clocking how pleased he looks with himself. “He’s buying first round anyway.”

“Ooh, you should have started with that,” Kate says, and now it sounds like she’s running.

[inkisadream]

Full Moon Scarecrow

I remember how the cornstalks felt in high summer, a summer of sticky sweet heat. My fingers peeled husks away when I put kernels in cast iron and watched the butter bubble in the oven. There is only my own hand to scoop out a helping. Heat rises and in the stalks the flies buzzing in high summer are a chorus. I walk under sunlight while the Moon lingers, a sentinel, water to soothe the burns of the day.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Good To See You

Season Four

The knock on the door startles her. She’s not expecting anyone and for a minute her mind goes to a dark place.

“Kate?” She hears through the door.

She settles, makes her way to the door and opens it.

"Hey Lanie," she utters.

"Hey? That's how you let me know you're back in town," Lanie shakes her head. "I bought dinner. I hoped maybe you were free."

"Lanie..."

"We don't have to talk about it," Lanie assures her. "But I know you won't have eaten and I picked up tacos from the place down the street with the good margaritas. I got us some of that nice Mexican soda though. Next time we'll do margaritas."

Kate smiled, gestured for Lanie to come in, followed her into the kitchen and watched her start to take out plates, glasses, pulling out soda cans and setting out food.

"I can take care of myself!" Kate teases.

"Oh, I've seen what that looks like," Lanie side eyes her. Takes in the pale skin, the frailty to her best friend. Has never seen her so unlike herself.

"Well, it's been a... been a lot," Kate volunteers.

"I... I get that you needed to deal with this, sweetie, I really do," Lanie turns to her. "And I'm not even mad about it. I just... It's just really good to see you."

Kate can't help it. She wraps Lanie in a hug, as tight as her body will let her and just for a second she lets it out before pulling back putting that lid on it again.

"Missed you too," Kate mutters.

Lanie gives her that look, the one Beckett kind of hates but also kind of loves. The one that says her friend understands her but won't push. They settle around her sofa, Lanie taking over control of the TV and finding a romantic comedy for them to watch and she just gets to spend an evening, an evening like so many they've spent before. Before bullets and conspiracies and declarations and pain and hiding.

"Lanie," Kate mutters. "Thanks."

Thanks for being here. Thanks for saving me. Thanks for caring.

Happy National Best Friends Day

Prompt #981

"I can take care of myself!"

"Oh I've seen what that looks like."

[favefandomimagines]

You’re on Your Own Kid (a.b)

Summary: all it takes is a bee sting for Anthony to finally tell you his true feelings

AN; inspired by the scene in season 2 when Kate gets stung by the bee

Also: the prompt is #11 on my prompt list! Requested by @shadowsoundeffects13

The warm summer breeze of the new social season swept across the Bridgerton estate, carrying the faint aroma of blooming wisteria. Y/N, an old family friend of the Bridgertons, had spent countless summers here, her laughter echoing through the halls alongside the Bridgerton children. However, this season felt different—more weighted, more final.

For two years, Y/N had been out in society, harboring a quiet hope that Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount and eldest of the Bridgerton siblings, might look past their friendship and see her as more. But Anthony, ever the dutiful head of the family, was determined to find a wife who could provide a future for his lineage, not complicate his already tumultuous emotions.

Determined to move on, Y/N resolved to find a husband this season. At Lady Danbury’s ball, she met Lord William Hartley, a handsome, charming man who seemed genuinely interested in her. He had called on her several times since, and though she couldn’t ignore the tug of her heart toward Anthony, Y/N knew she couldn’t wait for a love that might never come.

Y/N was speaking with Daphne and Violet, the sun shining down on them, when Simon and Anthony joined them.

“And what might you ladies be discussing?” Simon asked, stopping next to Daphne. “We were just discussing Y/N’s courtship with Lord Hartley. He sent rather expensive flowers to both Y/N and Lady Y/L/N.” Daphne explained.

“Lord Hartley?” Anthony questioned. “He filled her entire dance card at Lady Rutledge’s ball on Friday. He is such a kind man. And Y/N is quite taken with him.” Daphne added. A blush rose on Y/N’s cheeks upon hearing Daphne recount her courtship with Lord Hartley.

“I think he could propose within the week.” Daphne added. “My lady’s maid may have mentioned that Lord Hartley spoke with my father in his study recently.” Y/N spoke.

Anthony’s jaw tensed at the woman’s words. He never thought he could lose Y/N to another man, he seems to have taken her presence and her friendship for granted until it was threatened to be taken away.

“Anthony, why don’t you promenade with Miss Y/L/N while we await Lord Hartley’s arrival. A few other suitors have been eyeing her since we’ve arrived.” Violet suggested.

“Of course, mother. Y/N?” Anthony replied. Anthony offered his arm, and Y/N hesitated for just a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His warmth was familiar, but it felt different now, almost as if the contact held a weight neither of them dared to name.

For the first few minutes, they walked in comfortable silence, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Birds chirped in the distance, their melodies the only sound other than the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. “Have you found any young ladies this season who you think might make a suitable wife?” Her tone was light, but there was a subtle undercurrent of tension.

Anthony glanced at her, his lips twitching upward in a wry smile. “If I did, I’d have to get past their vicious mamas first. That alone is a task I am not eager to repeat.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as musical as the wind chimes hanging in the nearby pergola. Yet her laughter didn’t reach her eyes, and Anthony noticed. He always noticed.

“Well,” she replied, looking ahead, “you’d better find a way. You’ve made it quite clear that duty demands it.”

He stiffened slightly at her words, but he said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them.

When they reached a fork in the path, he stopped and turned to her. “What about you? Lord Hartley seems... determined.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm. “He’s kind, and he has been calling on me regularly.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Do you like him?”

Y/N blinked at the question, caught off guard by its sharpness. “He’s charming and well-mannered. Why wouldn’t I?”

His gaze darkened, but his voice remained steady. “Don’t marry him.”

Her steps faltered, and she turned to face him fully. “What?”

“Don’t marry Hartley,” Anthony repeated, his tone more insistent.

Y/N frowned, confusion knitting her brows. “Why not? No one else is offering, Anthony. And I can hardly wait forever.”

He stepped closer, his presence commanding as always, but his expression was unreadable. “Because he’s not the husband you deserve.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “And who is the husband I deserve? Because I certainly do not see him anywhere.”

His silence was deafening.

Frustration bubbled up in her chest. “If not Lord Hartley, then who, Anthony? Who is this man that you believe is so perfect for me?”

Anthony’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You deserve someone who will see you for the incredible woman you are. Someone who will put your happiness above all else.”

Her voice rose slightly, her emotions spilling over. “And where is this paragon of virtue? Because unless he’s hiding in these gardens, I’ve no idea where to find him.”

Their heated exchange was interrupted when Y/N suddenly winced, her hand flying to the side of her neck.

Anthony’s demeanor shifted instantly, his expression morphing from frustration to pure concern. “What is it? What happened?”

“I think I’ve been stung by a bee,” she said, wincing again.

Anthony froze, his face paling as his breathing quickened. His eyes darted to her neck, then back to her face, panic overtaking him.

“You need a doctor,” he said, his voice trembling. “Are you feeling faint? Is it hard to breathe?” He questioned, his hand coming to where her’s was.

Y/N, startled by his reaction, took a step closer to him, her free hand coming to his wrist. “Anthony, it’s just a bee sting. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t seem to hear her. His breathing grew shallower, and he muttered under his breath, “It’s happening again. I can’t— I can’t lose her.”

Realizing what was happening, Y/N gently cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Anthony, stop. Look at me. I’m fine. Nothing bad is happening to me. I’m here, and I’m okay.”

His dark eyes searched hers, desperate for reassurance. Slowly, her steady gaze calmed him, and he exhaled shakily, his shoulders relaxing.

“I cannot lose you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Not you.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone. “You won’t lose me, Anthony. I promise.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch as if drawing strength from it. When he opened them again, there was a softness in his expression she had rarely seen.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said quietly. “Weak. Broken. But I guess that’s what I am now.”

Y/N shook her head, her thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. “You’re not broken, and you’re not weak. You’re afraid. And there’s nothing broken or weak about being afraid.”

He let out a bitter laugh, his voice barely above a whisper. “The reason I don’t want you to marry Hartley… is because I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since we were children. But the thought of leaving you behind one day, like my father left my mother, was too much to bear.”

Her breath caught, tears welling in her eyes as a soft smile spread across her lips. “Anthony…”

He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. “You deserve more than I can give you, but I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.”

Y/N’s smile grew, and she shook her head slightly. “Anthony, I’ve always loved you. But we cannot let fear stop us from living our lives. We deserve happiness, even if it comes with uncertainty.”

Anthony stared at her for a long moment before a tentative smile broke through his serious expression. “How did I ever deserve you?”

“You didn’t,” she teased gently, her eyes twinkling. “You’re just lucky I’ve always been a little foolish when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling her into an embrace, and for the first time in a long while, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.

||

The sun shone brightly over Aubrey Hall on the day of Y/N and Anthony’s wedding, its golden rays dancing through the lush greenery and blooming flowers. The estate, which had been their playground as children, was now the backdrop to the most important day of their lives. Guests in vibrant attire filled the gardens, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of joy.

Y/N stood in her bridal suite, her reflection staring back at her from the gilded mirror. Her gown was a masterpiece of ivory silk and lace, the intricate embroidery catching the light with every movement. Violet Bridgerton fussed with the veil, a motherly tenderness in her touch.

“You look radiant, my dear,” Violet said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Y/N smiled warmly, her nerves settling at the matriarch’s words. “Thank you, Violet. For everything.”

“Y/N, you have always been part of this family. And I am so proud of how far you’ve come.”

There was a knock at the door, and Daphne entered, her face alight with excitement. “It’s time,” she announced, her voice bubbling with energy.

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her bouquet of white roses and lavender. This was it—the moment she had dreamed of for so long.

Anthony stood at the altar, his heart racing as he awaited her arrival. He had always prided himself on his composure, but today, he felt like a young boy seeing his first sunrise—awed, humbled, and completely undone.

Benedict leaned in from his position beside him. “You look like you’re about to faint, brother. Don’t worry. If you topple over, I’ll catch you.”

Anthony shot him a half-hearted glare, but it melted away when the string quartet began to play. The guests turned in unison, their murmurs of appreciation a mere whisper compared to the pounding of Anthony’s heart.

And then, there she was.

Y/N appeared at the end of the aisle, her arm linked with her father’s. She was radiant, her smile bright enough to outshine the sun. Anthony’s breath caught as their eyes met, and in that moment, the world around them faded away. It was just her—his Y/N—and the overwhelming realization that she was about to be his wife.

Each step she took felt like an eternity and a blink, and when she finally reached him, Anthony extended his hand. Y/N placed hers in his, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“And you look like you’re about to faint,” she teased softly, her eyes sparkling.

Their laughter mingled as the officiant began the ceremony, weaving together words of love, commitment, and eternity. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Anthony wasted no time, pulling her into a kiss that was both tender and fervent. The guests erupted into cheers, the sound carrying over the gardens as they sealed their union.

That evening, under a canopy of stars, the newlyweds danced their first dance as husband and wife. The world around them faded once more, the music a distant hum as they moved together in perfect harmony.

“You’re my wife now,” Anthony murmured, his forehead resting against hers.

“And you’re my husband,” Y/N replied, her smile wide. “You’re stuck with me forever, Viscount Bridgerton.”

He laughed, his hands tightening around her waist. “Forever doesn’t seem long enough, Viscountess Bridgerton.”

As the night wore on, they stole moments of quiet amidst the revelry, their hearts full and their future bright.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

How could you love somebody like me?

Pairing: f!reader x Javier Peña Words count: 3032 Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you. Tags/warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, angst, Javi is still a DEA agent but it's a modern setting so the man has a smartphone. Reader is described having female genitalia and breasts, no other description of her is given, she doesn't blush and her hair is not described. Mention of alcohol, mention of cheating, Javi is a cheater, no happy ending, we will go through the man's phone (you're not supposed to do that but I never said my reader could do no wrong, right?), use of pet names (gatita which means kitten in Spanish, baby, darling), smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v (do better irl), cream pie, of course a little nipple play ‘cause it’s still my fic, toxic relationship, self doubt, mention of Steve, a huge pile of lies, Javi is bad at feelings, some reader’s thoughts marked in italics. I think it's all, let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @jolapeno 's "Dear-uary" challenge. This was my prompt, I struggled a little bit at first but I ended up having a blast writing this ❤︎ Heavily inspired by this song (from which the fic also takes its title), I heard it randomly on Spotify one day and I thought "wait, this is perfect for Javi!" and I ended up being obsessed with two more songs by the same artist. LOL Many thanks to: - @aurorawritestoescape , my beta, for her help and advice, she will probably dream of elephants because of me tonight hahaha Kate I own you a big one, thanks baby so much, I love you ❤️ - The person who basically pulled this out of my brain and supported me throughout the process, my precious, my peanut @joelmillerisapunk. 🥰 Love you so much it's ridiculous🥹 - @milla-frenchy for letting me blather about this thing some days ago. Love you, bb ❤︎ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any.

Edited - because I forgot to change the most important detail, of course. I’m not myself if I’m not doing a mess. Yay. It’s okay now.

“Why the hell am I here? Was I the only available hole this week?”

“No,” he whispers. 

“So what?” 

Javier came back and found you in the middle of the room.

You were brandishing his phone like a sword in the air, the banner of everything that was wrong.

His face went pale when he saw you like that. 

Eyes wide open. 

Mouth agape. 

He tried to say something but you immediately hit him with a vomit of words.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hiss under your breath, feeling your eyes sting.

Javier is a marble statue in front of you, his lips pressed together, his absent eyes not even looking at you, staring at a spot behind your shoulders, his arms abandoned along his sides. 

He seems anchored to the ground. 

His last words to you still burn on your skin like a fire you cannot extinguish.

A heavy silence between you fills the air of the room and makes it unbreathable. 

“Fuck, Javier, talk to me,” you whisper angrily.

You clutch his phone in your hands, so tightly that your knuckles are white from exertion, as if you were clinging to it to keep yourself from falling off a cliff. 

“You knew I was no good,” he says sternly.

You have been in this room for two days. 

Officially, Javier has to stay here because henchmen of one of the new drug lords in town are set on taking him out. 

Unofficially, he has you infiltrating the room. 

Typical Javier, spending his time under protection fucking someone. 

You foolishly almost believed it was romantic, until this morning. 

“So you’re trying to say that it’s my fault? Is that what you want to say? It’s my fault that as soon as I turn my back you go and stick your cock in someone else's pussy?” You don’t even have the strength to scream right now. Your voice comes out rancorous but low, hoarse, like a blown growl. 

Oh, you’re not going to accept being lectured by him, fuck no.

“No, I’m just saying -” he tries to explain and you glare at him, making the words die in his mouth.  

"What?" 

“Fuck, I'll never change,” he shrugs as if it were a truism that only you can't grasp.

His eyes shift to the ground, dull and absent.

“You don't change because you are convinced that you can't,” you admonish him, feeling anger rising from your chest. 

"That's not true," he murmurs, keeping his gaze on the crimson and gold carpet that lies at your feet.

“Yes, it is,” you insist, ”and you seem to like to think of yourself as an incurable asshole.”

He still fails to see the real problem, the elephant in the room that lives and thrives among you. 

"Then you tell me, if you think you know me so well,” he asks with defiance. 

“You bet I fucking know you,” you lash out. “You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well,  news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationships.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me,” he hisses, finally setting his eyes back on you. 

Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground.

You bitterly laugh, “Truth hurts, huh? I know something about it”. 

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, his nostrils flare, and his mouth tightens into a line so thin you think he’s about to burst. He stays quiet instead, eyes back on the damask carpet decoration. 

_____________

“Yes, Steve, I'm fine. That jerk won't find me here, and anyway it's full of police outside the door.” 

A pause and a sigh. 

”No, no one followed her, they don't know who she is.”

You stood behind the half-closed bathroom door listening. 

You smiled. 

His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling. 

Until you heard something else. 

A booming laugh. 

Water ran in the shower, tiny droplets coated the wall as the mirror fogged up.

“Whatever. Of course I'm still screwing around. At least, I was doing it before that asshole started chasing me,” his voice suddenly lowered so you took a chance and opened the door a little more. You wanted to make sure you heard right. 

Your hand trembled against the doorknob, you grabbed your wrist to hold it steady. 

“You idiot,” he scoffed. “Yeah, we'll be in touch.”

Suspicion. The black wing of a crow that had been wrapped around your heart for a long time.

But then why did it hurt so much? 

You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

He always places the phone with its screen down when you go out to dinner, softly smiling at it when he checks it after a few vibrations, telling you “it’s Steve” when you ask. 

But you know that crooked smile. 

He dodges when you ask him about his day "oh work, you know, just work." 

He tells you he is with Steve but you hear female voices in the background. 

Every time you try to confront him it always ends the same way, him telling you, “you’re paranoid, there’s no one else, just you, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

And then he fucks your doubts into oblivion.

You heard the thud of the phone on the blankets. And then Javier calling you. 

You swallowed the gall rising from the walls of your stomach and just smiled when he joined you in the bathroom and suggested that you shower together.

You wanted some proof before you charged him. 

If there was anything you had learned from being with him, it was that hard evidence was the key. So you played cool. 

He fucked you against the shower wall and you moaned into his neck. 

He licked your pussy like a man starved and you just bit your lips until you felt iron on your tongue.

He kissed you with that liar's mouth, and you let him.

And you fell asleep beside him, on the unmade bed of your uncertainties. 

This morning someone from outside called him into the hallway to report the latest movements of the guy who was looking for him. 

His phone was on the bedside table.

It was like a magnet, pulling your hand to it.

You were almost sure you knew his unlock code ‘cause you had watched the movements of his finger many times. 

You tried twice without success. 

The third time you let out a long sigh, visualized in your mind the movement one more time and unlocked it. 

You were in. 

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your fingers swiped and clicked on the screen. 

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of messages and pics exchanged with 4 different women.

You scrolled through one of the chats with a certain Maria, who regularly sent him pictures of her tits and her legs spread wide, her pussy in the shot.

There was sexting, arranged dates, same promises he gave to you, things you never asked for but he kept repeating like a broken record. Even the same pet name. Gatita. 

Blood simmered in your veins, a jolt in your heart, throat dry. 

Your finger furiously scrolled through the chat, finding tons of messages he had sent her while he was with you.

You switched to another one and you found pretty much the same. And yet another, message after message containing flirting and explicit sex.  

“Oh Javi, you keep getting better and better with that cock of yours”

“My pussy needs you, darling, can you come over?”

“I can’t stop thinking about your huge cock dripping on me”

And the more you scrolled, the more a question formed in your brain, rumbling through your temples like a deafening drum. 

Was he ever sincere with you?

________

When he looks up at you again, you see it. A veil of fragility in the dense blackness of his gaze.

He looks almost helpless. “I know you tried,” he admits, ”You tried harder than anyone else.”

“Apparently it was no use,” you chastise him.

He doesn’t reply. 

Instead he comes closer and closer. 

You pull back, responding to his every step forward with a backward one. 

“Please,” he whispers. 

“No.” 

“Don't do that.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” you bark.

”I know...” 

“Fuck off, Javier, leave me alone.”

You pull back until you hit the wall behind you. 

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore. 

When your lips collide you let it happen. 

It’s like when you drink too much Tequila. 

It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable.

You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same. 

He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?” 

He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

He is a time bomb that explodes in your heart every time he touches you. So you keep doing it.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Yeah…I know. I’m not worthy.”

And yet, you’re still here.

You let him peel off your every layer of clothing, to leave you naked and vulnerable in front of him. 

You do nothing when he undresses too. Hastily taking off his shirt, fumbling with the button of his jeans, nervous hands and short breaths.

It is like some mind fuck game, intoxicating, dangerous, capable of leaving permanent marks.

He lowers his jeans just enough to free his cock, no boxers. Always ready.

His hands run over your hips and you groan. 

His tongue slides over your neck, his eyes closed, his breath heavy and warm on your skin. 

He makes you cry, but you don't say no.

His lips latch onto your nipple and adrenaline rushes through your veins up into your head, hitting hard like a jackhammer.

You don’t pull back anymore, you push your tit into his mouth so eagerly you feel his teeth closing on your bud and you whine in pleasure. 

His growing erection leaks against your center. You are trapped. Not so much because you are between him and the wall but because you no longer know how to get him out of your head. 

Right now it doesn't matter how much it hurts. 

He slides his hands down your thighs and you know what he wants, without needing to speak. You wrap your legs around his waist. He kneels on the bed with you still clinging to him, you lie back on the soft blankets that smell of you both, arch your back and press against his cock. You folds splayed and dripping for him.

His fingers go up your rib cage, stop under your breasts and grasp there, he draws you back to him and your mouths collide again.

You let his tongue enter. You let the fleeting pleasure of this instant take over all the no's you know you have to say.

There’s no right kind of love here, this room is drowned in angry sex.

Angry at how you can never say no to him, angry at how he makes you feel, angry because you know that no one has ever fucked you the way he did, invading your body with a pleasure so addictive that it makes you sick. Angry because maybe he's right, he can't change. 

You break the kiss and bite on his shoulder, a small act of revenge that really does no harm compared to your bleeding heart. 

Your hands grasp on the golden skin of his back, leaving marks with your nails digging into it, your miserable attempt to leave marks on him in return.

You moan convulsively under his touch, your mouth wide open against his, your tongue desperately seeking him out. 

His hands tighten on your ass, lifting you slightly, his cock slides over your wet opening, a guttural sound comes out of the back of your throat without you being able to hold it back. 

You want him inside you. 

You need him inside you.

And it’s wrong, and desperate. It’s masochistic.

You don’t even care for his jeans’s zip scraping your skin.

The thin line between pain and pleasure is so blurred now.

It’s a pathetic shit show of need and urgency. 

You’d walk away from any other guy but Javier is the person you can never have just for yourself and at the same time he is the only one you want. 

He is the knife and the wound at the same time.  

When he asks “Whose pussy is this?” in his deep groaning voice that fucks directly with your brain, you can only reply “yours.”

Digging your nails deeper, biting more, wailing louder but just pleading with him.

You take his shaft in your hand and rub it against you in blind desperation, wetting it with your juices. 

He groans into your ears while his hand reaches for your nipple and his big strong arm holds you close.

You are sitting on his thighs, your legs crossed behind his back.

His fingers pinch your nipple as you don't stop stroking his big throbbing cock.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now. 

Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart. 

“Fuck me,” you groan. 

He pushes against your core, entering you with one deep thrust.

Your pussy is weeping so much it doesn’t even hurt.

You clench on him with all the strength you have, chocking his cock with your walls.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re gripping me so hard, baby. There’s nothing you want more than this, huh? Me fucking you raw?” 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He starts moving, pumping into you as his hand reaches for your clit, brushing it in circles.

You whine, clinging onto his back, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You can’t look him in the eye, you can’t face your own shameful reflection in his pupils, you can’t think of anything else than this pleasure firing your body, your limbs, your mind.

Your pussy never gets the memo when it comes to him. She just clenches, and cries and asks for more.

At the verge of your brink, when you’re so utterly overwhelmed you could swear, you’re about to jump out of your skin, you hear it.

It’s the softest whisper on your skin, so low you barely catch the words, “I love you” 

You cry a single tear that slides down the column of his neck, it could be mistaken for a bead of sweat so easily and Javier doesn’t notice it. But it’s there. You’re crying again.

You come, weeping.

Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.

But there’s no hope anymore.

You know you can’t go on like that.

You cried before. You argued before. It’s all useless.

A devastating orgasm shoots through you, leaving you without defense.

It’s the last thing you want but you need to get it over with. 

You lie on the bed, feeling his last twitches inside you, his cum dripping onto your walls, his cock pressing against that spot that belongs only to him.

He lies down on you, gently crushing you with his weight, his sweaty skin against yours, the smell of your orgasm filling your nostrils.

You’re hopeless and breathless. 

He's still inside you, like he doesn't want to leave. 

You know you have to. 

Eventually he shifts, lying on the other side of the bed muttering, “god, you really are something else.” He takes the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one, taking a long drag.

“I'm not enough,” you want to scream looking at him through the cloud of smoke enveloping him. “Or maybe you're not, for me.”

When he is about to fall asleep, you get up. You pick up your clothes off the floor and put them on silently.

“Where are you going, gatita?” he grunts. 

Does he think he has solved it? Does he think you will forgive him as you did the other times? 

You don’t reply.

"You only ever tell me the truth when you think I won't hear it,” you type on your phone and send it to him, before coming out of the door without turning your back.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel.

There will be two broken hearts. 

You know he loves you and you love him.

He is convinced that he doesn’t deserve you and pushes you away every time you get close to his soul. 

He knows that you see him clearly; that scares him.

You are tired of fighting for the both of you.

You push the elevator button under the gaze of an unsuspecting policeman who urges, “Where are you going, miss?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Do you need someone to accompany you?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Someone could follow you,” he counters.

“No one knows me, you don't have to worry.”

You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist. 

None of this happens.

The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

Tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @almostempty , @probablyreadinsmut , @thundermartini , @gothcsz , @cas-readsandwrites , @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! Thank you very much for reading❤︎

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Castlemas '23 #12: Overboard Season Seven

It had been a long day, a cold journey home and she longed for a soak in hot water, candlelight and a nice glass of wine with her husband.

She's slides her key into the lock, already feeling relief at the feeling of just opening the door to her home, to her family, to escape from the outside world.

She comes to a stop when she enters and finds her husband surrounded by Amazon packages, a look of mild panic on his face when he sees she's home.

He looks around at his crime scene before turning to her.

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

"You went overboard on Christmas, didn't you?"

He nods.

"I'm going to have a bath," she tells him, shutting the door. "I saw nothing."

He grins, rushes to give her a kiss and continues looking for places to stash his purchases. She shakes her head in amusement.

Prompt #113

“I’ll explain but you can’t yell at me okay?”

[ceilidho]

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 1.

-

“—are priced wrong. You need to fix that.”

“Hmm? Sorry?” you ask, mind snapping out of whatever fog it’d descended into upon seeing John Price’s truck pull up out front of the grocer. You blink a couple times before focusing on the older lady lined up at your till, her face pinched with displeasure. It deepens when she realizes that you haven’t been paying a lick of attention to whatever she’d just spent the better half of a minute complaining about. 

“The beefsteak tomatoes are priced wrong. They’re supposed to be two dollars a pound—it’s in the catalogue.”

Before you can so much assure her that you’ll certainly honour the advertised price and save yourself the headache, she’s already opening up her purse to pull out the crinkled grocery catalogue, unfolding it across your conveyor belt; it goes out in the local paper once a week with all the sales and rippable coupons, and this isn’t the first time you’ve had someone try to lecture you about discrepant prices (Kate, your manager, is a sweet, gungho lady, that often sends off discount confirmations to the editorial staff of the local paper without informing anyone that actually works in the shop day-to-day). 

From the corner of your eye, you see John slam the door shut on his truck and make his way towards the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. Even from a ways away, the sight of him makes your cheeks redden; his beard’s gotten fuller in the week since you last saw him, clad in even more layers of flannel and tweed now with the fast approach of winter. He looks properly ready for the winter months, with just an air of heaviness present in the lines on his forehead and the tilt of his head. 

You feel your lips slip down into a frown. Helpless, you can only watch in defeat as John lumbers into the grocery store, brushing his hand over his hat to shake off the snowflakes onto the mat by the automatic doors. He picks up one of the baskets by the front door before heading down one of the aisles. His eyes don’t flicker to meet yours so much as once. 

Your shoulders slump when he ducks out of sight before you focus your attention back on the woman in front of you. She’s pointing out the tomato print with the little two dollar sign in the advertisement with a stiff finger, eyebrow cocked like she’s pulled one over on you. You really can’t imagine there being anything less important to you than the price of beefsteak tomatoes, never mind having to refund someone a whole dollar because you inadvertently overcharged them and you happened to get stuck with the one customer that would spend a full thirty seconds reviewing their bill before leaving the shop. 

“See?” she says, the word coming out sibilant and stressed. You blink.

Turning back to the till, you click a couple buttons before the register pops back out again and you pluck up a dollar to hand back to your customer. On the receipt that’s printed out, you hastily scrawl the reason for the refund and shove the seller's copy back into the till. The woman stares at the dollar now sitting on the belt in front of her.

“Of course, ma’am,” you say, a robotic smile stretching across your face. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll get someone to reprice the tomatoes so this doesn’t happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything when she snatches up the dollar along with her groceries and hobbles out the front door, the automatic doors swooshing behind her. With her finally gone, you close your eyes for a second, a private moment just to yourself.

Someone clears their throat from just off to the side. Your heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter when you open your eyes to find John waiting patiently at the end of your till, his basket filled up with bottles of mustard, gherkins, and other preserves. 

“A paper bag, please,” he says in a gruff voice, like he tousled with sleep just a few minutes ago. It makes your head spin. 

You nod, hardly able to even respond.

Up close, he smells like firewood and smoke, the ever-present cigar usually hanging off his lip nowhere to be seen but still clinging to his jacket and flannel beneath it. The mutton chops of his beard have grown out more than the rest, but his jaw is covered in a layer of fur in comparison to the week previous. John doesn’t really make eye contact as you scan his groceries, almost too tired to raise them from the conveyor belt. Not for lack of respect—it comes off as pure exhaustion. 

You know John as the gruff, taciturn park ranger that comes in once a week to load up on steaks, cold cuts and fresh produce, but in the months you’ve lived in this town, he’s always fresh off work, a little rough around the edges and not quite fit for human interaction just yet. He just grunts and nods when you tell him his total, towers over you and never really makes much eye contact. 

It’s always non-perishables with him these days. At least for the past several weeks, as far as you know. Cans and jars and freezer-ready meals. He doesn’t strike you as much of a prepper, but his order speaks for itself. It’s one of the things you like most about your job—getting to peek into the small crack of life laid bare before you. 

“Getting ready for the winter?” you ask. 

John grunts, eyes meeting yours just briefly before dropping down again. Dark brown. Sometimes you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of gold in them, like a honey glaze, but it’s likely just a trick of the lights. 

“Gonna be a rough one.” 

You try not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s not often that you get to hear it; even though you moved into the house next to his almost six months ago, he spends most of his days in the mountains, working up there as a ranger. He comes home after dark nearly every day—not so hard now that the sun sets early on in the day, but even back in the summer you’d spy him coming back from his shift well after dark. 

He’s gotten more heavyset in the last couple of weeks, a comfortable weight to his midsection and arms. Beefier, more solid. When John is in front of you, it’s like no one else in the world exists at that moment; he removes them all from sight and mind. It soothes some of the worry that his constant late coming has stirred up in you, knowing that he’s fed. Not all of it though.

“You know the, uh—” you start, clearing your throat midway through, almost losing your nerve under his sudden attention at the sound of your voice, “—the butter’s twenty percent off this week. I, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.” You catch his little frown and clarify. “You usually get butter.”

“Thank you, but not this time,” he says gruffly. “Got enough of it in the freezer.”

“Oh…well…” you trail off like you’re going to say something else but you let the conversation fall flat instead. 

He’s quiet the rest of the time as you bag his groceries. John always is. There’s a hurt side of you, silently begging for more, but you’ve watched him enough around town to know that this is just what he’s like. Gruff with the other rangers on the mountain, taciturn after a long day’s work, and sweet as apple pie with the older townsfolk. You’ve seen him help people at crosswalks and more than once he’s footed someone’s grocery bill when they’ve come short. 

Maybe you’re not interesting enough to merit conversation or that same goodwill he extends to others. Not that John has ever been anything less than polite with you, but—your thoughts scatter like birds when you recite his total without thinking and watch him wordlessly as he pays. 

“Thanks, honey,” John says, eyes meeting yours again. “See you next week.” He finally manages a smile, his eyes crinkling under the weight of it. 

You could get lost in his smile if you let yourself. It comes freely but seldomly these days, kept at bay by rough days out in the woods helping lost hikers, ticketing hunters for going over their allotment, and managing the wildlife. But when he smiles, you feel the blood go hot under your cheeks and fight every vision you have of him suddenly leaning across the counter and tipping your chin up for a kiss.

Tongue-tied, you nod. You can’t even force a smile on your face, wide eyes still set on him in wonderment. He doesn’t wait around for you to find your words.

But—you think again wistfully as he turns to leave—it might be nice once in a while. For him to look at you like you’re more than a stranger. 

You mourn your chance to talk to him once he’s out the door, wishing you could call him back. It’s not his fault that just the mere sight of him leaves you tongue-tied. It folds up like a cherry stem in your mouth when he speaks to you and you haven’t yet managed to untangle it in his presence. Maybe someday. 

That’s just life though. 

He’s always made you feel nervous, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it’s a safe kind of crush. The kind that feels fun to indulge in because there’s no possibility of reciprocation, like you can just ogle him and pine over him without having to worry about what you’d do if he felt the same way. You mourn the loss of him when he leaves, but like a tender bruise on your knee that you sometimes press just to shy away from. 

The rest of your shift pales in comparison to the eight minutes spent in his presence. Rinse and repeat. Someone else complains about the tomatoes and you write a note for your manager to read the next day. It’ll be her fault if someone finally emails in to complain or takes it to the news; there’s always an op-ed in the papers that’s little more than a thinly veiled bad Yelp review. 

John’s car is outside his house when you make it home at the end of the day, the lights still on inside. You sit in your car and stare at the light hidden behind the curtains. 

It would be nice, you think, resting your head back against the seat, to go up and knock at his door. If only you were braver. You’d march right up, knock on his door, and offer him something to eat. You could do it too. In the six months you’ve lived here, it’s not as though you’ve ever treated him particularly neighbourly. 

You squeak when you see John pull the curtain back and peer out the window, sliding down in the front seat so he doesn’t notice you there.

Maybe some other day then.

[thefifthsister-notactive]

Can you do #30 on the prompts list? Thank you so much for your stories!

CHB'23 #18: No Competition Post 2x06 Vampire Weekend

The party is dying down but he's enjoying himself with his friends, sitting with a few beers and trading stories.

"No, you had to be there," Ryan's giggling. "I'm chasing the head one way, Espo has the ass going the opposite way down the street."

"Except neither can see where they are running," Espo continues the story. "Fool misses the fire hydrant right in front of him. Goes down. Hard."

Castle is laughing, hearing the teams tales of woe of arrests of Halloween past, doesn't envy Lanie the task of determining fake or real blood.

"How about you, Castle?" Lanie says. "You must have had some wild Halloween parties."

Castle agrees. "None that I will mention with mother present," he teases the medical examiner.

"You haven't done Halloween until you've done Halloween with your theatre troupe," Martha insists. "Now, there is some commitment to the bit."

Castle groans but he watches his new friends, his partner turn rapt attention to the actress, knowing from experience that none of them had ever experienced anything the way Martha Rodger does.

"Go on then, Mrs R," Ryan encourages. "What's the weirdest Halloween experience you've had?"

"I was once doing a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, you know, the Shakespeare play?" She checks everyone nods before she continues. "It was dreadful but we couldn't make the director see that his modern tweaks to the story just weren't working. Harriet, one of the actors, she insisted on trying to perform a séance and contact Shakespeare to rectify the situation and..."

She waited, watched them all get drawn in.

"Bam!" She clapped her hands, watched them jump. "Stage light blew out above us, Harriet was dreadfully frightened she'd summoned something that she quit the next day and we went back to the original."

Castle sat back, laughing at the looks on his friends faces. Martha Rodgers was definitely no competition when it came to tall tales.

Prompt: séance

[cowboybeepboop]

i’ve never made a request/idea before so i thought i’d try !!

i keep thinking about the reader being there the day the tornado took up kate’s friends !! like the reader walking home from work because her car stopped working, not knowing what to do when the tornado comes, so kate and her friends help her go to the underpass. with her, javi, and kate being the only survivors.

and because of this, kate ask the reader to come with her to help javi because the reader is the only one who can understand how kate feels. maybe the reader is from a small town in texas, and she stands out with storm parr in her cute little jean shorts and cowboy boots that spike tyler’s attention 😏

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem! Reader

Genre: Smut, angsty and romantic 

Word count: 5.6k 

Warnings: [TW: deep scarring, talking about the scar, etc.] unprotected sex, p in v, handjob, soft Tyler, kind of angsty.

a/n: I kinda wanted there to be angst in this so I tried to incorporate it, I really don’t know atp 😣 I also did not proofread this one so 😭 ALSO I JUST SAW THE TEXAS PART MY BAD

The winds picked up, sending debris spiraling through the air like a malevolent kaleidoscope, as the ominous rumble grew louder. Your heart raced as you sprinted down the desolate street, each step echoing the chaos that was fast approaching. The sky darkened to a shade of green you had only seen in your worst nightmares, the clouds swirling into a frenetic maelstrom that stretched from horizon to horizon. In the midst of this cataclysmic dance, you caught sight of a vehicle swerving off the road.

Without a moment's hesitation, you dashed towards the car as it skidded to a halt, the doors flying open. Kate and her friends, their eyes wide with terror, clambered out. "Over here!" she shouted, pointing at the sturdy overpass looming ahead. You didn't need further prompting. The group sprinted through the storm, the deafening roar of the tornado now a constant, terrifying soundtrack to your desperate flight. As you reached the concrete shelter, the fury of the winds grew more intense, snatching at your clothes and hair. 

Kate's grip on your hand tightened as she let out a blood-curdling scream, her eyes searching the swirling chaos for any sign of her boyfriend. A heartbeat later, you saw him, a mere silhouette in the howling wind, being mercilessly dragged away by the tornado's inescapable pull. The world around you seemed to slow as you watched him disappear into the gaping maw of the storm. You both screamed in unison, raw and visceral, as fear and grief clutched at your chests. Yet amidst the horror, you felt her hand tremble, and instinctively, you squeezed back, grounding her to the present. 

As the tornado's fury began to wane, its retreating roar sounded like a mournful cry echoing through the ravaged landscape. The air grew eerily still, yet the chaos around you seemed to pulse with a life of its own. You felt a sudden jolt, a violent tug at your body, and for a terrifying moment, you were almost ripped away from Kate's grasp. 

Your arm burned with pain, and you realized it was sliced open, blood seeping through your trembling fingers. Despite the horror, Kate's grip remained firm, her eyes locked on yours, filled with a fierce determination that mirrored the dwindling storm's intensity. She screamed, her voice piercing the calm, as the world around you swirled with debris. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end, and held onto her hand with every ounce of strength you had left. Together, you waited for the tempest to pass, hearts racing in rhythm with the fading thunder.

You shake the memories as you glance in the front seat at your two best friends the storm brought to you. You were the only person Kate kept contact with, you both moved out to New York, sharing an apartment. So when Javi reached out to Kate she agreed to join the team as long as you came with. 

Shaking off the chilling recollections of that fateful day, you cast a sideways glance at Kate and Javi, who are now your inseparable companions, riding shotgun in the car. The tornado had been a terrifying twist of fate that bound you together, but it was the friendship that grew from the aftermath that truly defined your lives. 

Kate, ever the pragmatic one, had insisted on staying in touch after the ordeal, and when she made the life-altering decision to move to New York, you were the first person she called. The Big Apple's allure had always sparkled in your eyes, and with Kate's offer to share an apartment, it was an opportunity you couldn't refuse. 

When Javi reached out to Kate to ask her to join his team, she had one condition: you had to come with. You agreed without hesitation. The storm had brought you to them, but it was the shared experiences, the laughter, and the unspoken understanding that turned acquaintances into family.

Javi pulls into a rest stop where the rest of the storm par team was waiting for your arrival, you hop out of the truck stretching your arms while following behind Javi. Kate steps out of the car with you, her mind racing back to the events that had started this journey of yours. Her eyes drift over to you, her gaze holding a mix of gratitude and melancholy. Despite the years passed, she can't help but feel a slight pang as she thinks about what cost this new life came with.

She tries to shake off the thought as she looks around, her eyes settling on the rest of the team standing nearby. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before nodding in greeting.

You cross your arms over your waist, not really paying attention as Javi introduces the team. You wander off to the side, eyes trained on the sky as you take in a deep breath. 

Javi glances over to you as you make your way to the side, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he continues introducing the team to Kate. 

Once he's done, he walks over to where you're standing, his hands shoved in his pockets. He stands beside you, silent for a moment before he speaks. "You alright?"

“It’s just a little odd,” you glance over to him. “Being back.” He gives you a soft nod. The loud noise of music fills your ears as a red truck comes pulling into the lot, catching your eye. 

Javi's demeanor changes the moment he sees Tyler's truck pull into the lot. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He scowls, his eyes darkening as the truck parks. 

He crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Tyler get out of his truck. “Who’s that?” You nod in Tyler’s direction as he greets his fans, noticing the way Javi reacts to him. 

Javi's eyes narrow, a slight sneer appearing on his face. 

"That's Tyler Owens," he mutters, his voice laced with disdain. "He's a big shot storm chaser, thinks he's the king of chasing storms." 

You nod as he speaks, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you should get back to Kate. Better find out if she’s found your storm.” He gives you a small smile as you continue to watch the sky. 

Tyler's eyes linger on yours as you keep your face up to the sky. He smirks, making his way over to you. 

"Now that's a good view." He crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. Glancing over your shoulder you notice his grin. 

“And what do you mean by that?” You raise an eyebrow at his comment, arms crossed under your chest. 

Tyler's smirk only widens as he takes a step closer to you. “I think you know exactly what I mean, sugar.” His piercing blue eyes rake over you, taking in your jean shorts and green long sleeve shirt.

You turn to face him, running a hand through your hair. Your lips press into a firm line as you take in his appearance.

Tyler stands inches away from you, towering over you. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting your gaze. 

“You're not from around here, are you?” He asks, his deep southern accent rolling like the thunder outside.

“What makes you think that?” You give him a soft smile. 

Tyler's eyes rake over you again, his gaze lingering on your long sleeves in the heat of the day. "Most of the locals know better than to wear long sleeves in this weather," he points out, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

You stiffen as he mentions the long sleeves, he unknowingly hit a soft spot since you always keep your arms covered due to the dark scar that covers your left arm.

You subconsciously grip the arm, “Yeah, guess that gives me away huh?” Tyler's observant eyes catch the subtle shift in your body language. He notices the way you subconsciously grip your arm when he comments on your sleeves. He tilts his head, his gaze fixed on your arm.

"Yeah, it kinda does," he replies, his tone softer now. There's a slight pang of curiosity in his eyes as he glances down at your arm. You give him a soft smile as you walk past, heading back to the storm par team. 

________

Over the past few weeks, Tyler had been relentless with his flirting, always seeking an opportunity to be near you. Despite your secretiveness, he had become completely infatuated with you, drawn in by your enigmatic nature. Even with  your best efforts to keep him at a distance, he can't help but be drawn to you. He can't explain why, but he's determined to get closer to you.

Tyler, the renowned “Tornado Wrangler,” seems to captivate you with his carefree attitude towards chasing storms that bring destruction. There's a morbid fascination in the way he seeks thrills amidst chaos. He leaves you questioning his intentions, torn between curiosity and concern. What drives him to pursue these dangerous pursuits? Is it merely for the adrenaline rush, or does he have a deeper purpose? You can't help but feel a mix of intrigue and confusion as your thoughts dance in the whirlwind he seems to have conjured.

As Javi pulls into the motel parking lot you notice the familiar red truck, parked with Tyler in the bed, fixing something that broke during the earlier chase. 

You exit the vehicle, arms wrapping around Kate’s shoulders as you lean into her body. She laughs softly at your familiar clinginess, listening to you whine about how hot you are. Something about the heat of today has left you fully exhausted, you're sweaty and unbelievably hot. 

Tyler can't help but let his eyes wander down to your bare legs, revealing quite the view, given your shorts were already rather short. 

He watches with a smirk as Javi teases you, offering to carry you. Tyler crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms straining against the fabric.

“Hey city girl.” Tyler’s voice rings out, capturing your attention instantly. You give him a dazed smile, the intense heat leaving you drained and dizzy. 

“Hey Cowboy.” Tyler couldn’t help but smile at your dazed expression, the heat clearly taking a toll on you. 

“Looks like the heat’s got you all dizzy,” he chuckles, leaning against his truck. “You doing alright?” The concerned look in his eyes betrays his usual cocky demeanor.

“Mhm,” you murmur, “doing just fine.” Kate keeps walking, bringing your tired form with her toward the stairs. He can see how tired you are, the heat clearly taking its toll on your body. 

He pushes off from his truck, following after you and Kate. "You sure about that, sugar? You look ready to fall over."

You let go of Kate, holding the railing as you try to pull yourself together with a few steadying breaths. You’re exhausted from being outside in the heat all day as you usually spend your days inside at a desk. 

Tyler's eyes are fixed on you, watching as you struggle to pull yourself together. He steps closer to you, reaching out a hand to steady you. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Let me carry you up to your room.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it..” you sigh, straightening up as you regain your composure. “Just not used to this,” your voice is a soft murmur as you give him a reassuring grin. 

He crosses his arms, his muscles straining against the fabric again. He shakes his head at your stubbornness. "You're not used to the heat, but you're a storm chaser?” he teases, his southern accent rolling like thunder.

“Mm, not much of a chaser.” You respond, taking a few steps up the stairs. 

Tyler's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he follows you up the stairs. "What do you mean? You're not much of a chaser?" 

His gaze is fixed on your legs as you take each step, your legs looking damn gorgeous in those short shorts.

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s a long story,” his hand moves to your lower back as he comes up behind you. 

Tyler's hand on your lower back sends a subtle shiver down your spine. He can feel the tension in your body and the exhaustion that's weighing on you.

"Long story, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping to a softer tone. "I've got time." He guides you up the stairs to your room, Kate giving you a suggestive smile as she says goodnight.

“I’m not much of a talker, cowboy.” You open your door, stepping inside the cool room. You let out a soft moan at the change of temperature, thankful to finally be in cold air. 

Tyler follows you into your room, his gaze following your every movement. He takes in the moan that escapes your lips as the cool air hits your skin.

A soft smirk appears on his face at the sound, his eyes rake over your body as you revel in the coolness of the room. 

"Maybe I can change that, sugar," he teases, leaning against the doorframe.

“Is that so?” You plop down on your bed, slipping out of your shoes. “And how do you think you’ll accomplish that?” 

Tyler's smirk deepens as he watches you kick off your shoes and flop onto the bed. His eyes roam over your body, lingering on your legs before meeting your gaze. 

He pushes off from the doorframe, strolling over to the bed and sitting down beside you, his body radiating heat from being outside in the hot sun all day. 

"Oh, I have my ways," he responds, his voice dripping with an underlying hint of desire. 

“Yeah?” You glance over at him, laying on your side, eyes tracing his body. Tyler's smirk never falters as your gaze scans over his body. He can see the desire in your eyes, and it only fuels his own. 

He leans back on his hands, his torso flexing slightly as he does. He turns his head to meet your gaze, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of cockiness and desire. 

"That's right, sugar," he murmurs. "I know how to make you talk." You reach out, fingertips brushing over his ribs softly. 

“I have a feeling you’re wanting something more than just a talk..” you reply, eyes tracing his face. 

As your fingertips graze his ribs, Tyler can feel a shiver run through his body. He watches you intently, the feeling of your touch fueling the desire in his eyes. 

He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You're a perceptive one, aren't you, sugar?" His muscles ripple under your touch, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You could say that.” You move to straddle his hips, hands pressed against his chest as you gaze down at him. 

Tyler's eyes widen for a moment as you move to straddle his hips, his hands instinctively reaching out to grip your thighs. 

He looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and desire, his breath hitching at the feel of your body on top of his. He grips your thighs, his hands moving up just slightly to rest on your hips as he pulls you closer to him. 

"You're full of surprises, city girl," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with lust.

“Enough talking.” You mutter, pressing your lips to his is a gentle kiss. Tyler responds to your kiss instantly, his lips moving against yours with hunger. He lets out a low moan, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he pulls you down against him. 

He breaks from the kiss, his eyes locking with yours as he breathes out in a soft tone, "Yes, ma'am." He captures your lips in another forceful kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, desperate to taste more of you.

With surprising gentleness, Tyler flips you both over so that you're lying on your back, the mattress cool and welcoming against your overheated skin. His kisses become more urgent as his hands deftly unbutton your shorts, sliding them down your legs and revealing the lacy underwear beneath. 

The fabric whispers against your skin as he peels away your bottoms, exposing your nakedness to the air-conditioned room. His eyes are filled with a raw hunger that mirrors the previous storm, sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. 

His hands trace the lines of your curves, memorizing every inch of your body as if it's the first time he's ever seen a woman, and his touch sets your skin alight with passion.

As Tyler kisses your neck, his calloused fingers gently tug at the hem of your shirt, raising it inch by inch. You gasp at the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

His hands skim over your stomach, pausing briefly at your navel before continuing their ascent, revealing the lacy bra that matches your discarded underwear.

“N-no..” you push his hands away, desperate to keep your shirt on. As you pushed his hands away, a confused look washed over his face. 

"No?" he questions, his voice laced with a mix of surprise and confusion. 

He props himself up on his forearms, hovering over you as he looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He glances down at your hands, which are gripped tightly to your shirt.

“Leave the shirt,” you murmur, hands going to his belt. Tyler's eyes darkened with desire at the sound of your voice, his body thrumming with anticipation as you go for his belt. 

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks in a gravelly tone. "As you wish, ma'am." He lets you remove his belt, his gaze fixated on your face, trying to discern the reason behind your request. You pull his jeans away, legs wrapping around his waist pulling him close. 

Tyler lets his jeans fall to the floor, his attention now solely on you. He groans as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. The feel of your body against his ignites a fire within him. 

He plants his hands on either side of your head, his body hovering over yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes darkened with a mix of desire and curiosity.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you breathe out, cupping his face, pulling his lips to meet yours. Tyler responds to the kiss immediately, his lips moving against yours with a fierce hunger. He lets out a low moan, the sound rumbling in his chest. 

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. He lets out a soft chuckle, “Can’t help it, sugar, you look like a damn dream under me like this.” 

His hands slide under your shirt, roaming over your covered breasts. His hips rock into yours with a steady pace, soft moans escaping your lips as his clothed erection pushes into you. 

You pull Tyler's boxers down, revealing his rigid length. His hands glide under your shirt, finally feeling the softness of your skin, as his lips trace a path down your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. 

He groans against your skin as you guide him to the edge of your wetness, the anticipation making him ache with need. With a gentle push, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer, and with one swift movement, he sinks into you, filling you completely. 

His eyes fly open as he watches your face contort with pleasure, your grip on his shoulders tightening as he starts to move inside you with a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. 

His name is a whispered chant on your lips as you rock against him, the coolness of the room forgotten in the heat of the moment. Each thrust and moan is a silent declaration of desire that neither of you can resist.

As Tyler's mouth finds your breast, kissing and teasing the sensitive skin, his hand cups the other, his thumb brushing over the nipple beneath the fabric. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your toes curl and your back arch. 

You gasp into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as he continues to explore your body with a hunger that's only grown more intense since you first met. 

His hips move in a steady rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that has you moaning and writhing beneath him. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. 

With a need to feel him completely, you tug at Tyler's shirt, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over his head. His muscular chest is now bare, the heat from his body only adding to the blaze between your legs. 

As his bare skin meets yours, you can't help but let out a soft whimper, the contact sending a fresh wave of desire through you. His eyes darken further as he watches you, his breaths coming in ragged pants as he continues to rock into you. 

The friction is delicious, his hardness sliding against your slickness with every movement, and you can feel yourself inching closer to the edge of something incredible. Your nails dig into his back as you urge him deeper, the world outside forgotten as the only storm that matters is the one raging in this room.

The climax crashes through you like a wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Tyler's pace falters as he follows you over the edge, his body tense and shuddering with his own release. 

He collapses against you, his weight a comforting warmth as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone. 

Your heartbeats synchronize, the rapid beating slowly returning to a steady rhythm as you both revel in the aftermath of your shared passion. The room is filled with the sweet scent of sweat and desire, the air thick with the electricity that still crackles between you.

“Let me see you,” he whispers, hands sliding up your shirt. “All of you..” you gasp softly at his movements. 

Tyler's body is a mixture of fire and sweat, his eyes filled with a soft, almost pleading look. His breaths come in ragged pants, but his voice is steady and firm. 

"Please," he murmurs, his hands gently pushing your shirt up to reveal your bare chest. A soft gasp escapes his lips at the sight of you, and he lets his eyes roam over your body for a long moment. 

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he takes in the sight of you above him. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined.."

You pull your shirt the rest of the way off, exposing the thick scar embedded in your arm. 

Tyler's gaze falls to the scar on your arm, his eyes widening slightly. He reaches one of his hands out, gently tracing the outline of the scarred tissue. 

He looks back at you, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. "What happened?" he asks softly, his touch on your scar still as light as a feather.

“It’s a long story..” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw.

Tyler lets out a soft sigh as you press a kiss to his jaw. His grip on your hip tightens slightly, as if he's anchoring himself to you. 

He can sense the hesitation in your voice, the hint of something unsaid. But he doesn't press, not wanting to ruin the moment between you. 

"I'm a patient man, sugar," he murmurs, his voice deep and rough. You slide off of his body, snuggling into his side as you press your cheek to his chest. 

As you settle into his side, Tyler drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his body. He takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of you snuggled against him, relishing the intimate moment.

He can feel the warmth of your cheek against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. Tyler gently rubs his thumb back and forth along the soft skin of your shoulder, a comforting motion that speaks volumes without words.

His comforting movements give you all the reassurance you need, “It happened when I was visiting Oklahoma last..” your voice is soft as you begin to explain the scar. Tyler's rhythmic rubbing pauses for a moment at your words, but he quickly resumes his soothing motions, encouraging you to continue with a soft hum.

His blue eyes, filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern, remain fixed on you, silently urging you to share more of your story.

“There was this huge tornado, I normally wouldn't have been anywhere near it. But I went out on a run and I got lost.” you sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as the memories flood back over you.

“It’s how I met Kate, she saved me. We hid under an overpass and I almost got ripped away.” your voice breaks, heart rate picking up. Tyler's hand stills on your shoulder once again as he listens intently to your words. His free hand slips into yours, his strong grip holding yours tenderly, giving you a silent, supportive squeeze. 

His expression turns somber as he senses your shift in mood, concern deepening in his gaze. His gruff voice is soft as he murmurs, "Take your time, sugar."

“A huge piece of metal came out of nowhere and it ripped through my arm. The pain. It was so bad, I thought I was dying.” your nose brushes against his skin as you press your face closer into him. 

Tyler's arm around your shoulders tightens, pulling you even closer to his chest. He holds you firmly yet gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your hand, the one he's holding. His heartbeat thumps steadily under your ear as he listens to your story.

His voice is low and steady as he murmurs, "But you survived. You're here now." you nod, eyes finally raising to meet his gaze. 

When you finally raise your eyes to meet his gaze, Tyler's expression is a mixture of worry and admiration. He can see the pain and fear you experienced in your eyes, but there's also a hint of strength and resilience. He holds your gaze for a few moments, the silence between you filled only with the steady beating of his heart beneath your ear.

He breaks the silence with a soft question, his thumb still tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand, "Does it hurt?"

“Not so much anymore,” you shake your head, Tyler's strong hands guide you back onto him, positioning you so that you're straddling his hips once again. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes raking over your body with a mixture of desire and concern. He keeps his hold on your hips, his fingers gently digging into your soft flesh.

His rough, calloused thumbs brush over the scar on your arm, his touch tender yet firm. "Can I ask you somethin' else?"

“Mhm, ask away.” your hands brush over the contours of his abs, relishing in the feeling of his muscles under your fingers. 

Tyler can't help but shiver slightly under your touch, his muscles flexing reflexively at the feel of your fingers tracing over them. His eyes darken with want, watching intently as you explore his body, but he stays firm, his expression serious.

His thumbs continue to rub gently over the scar on your arm as he asks his question, his deep, gravelly voice almost a rumble, "How come you always wear long sleeves?"

You take a second to think of the right wording, “I just..” you look down at his expression. “I don’t like how people stare, like the scar is all I am. I hate seeing the pity in their eyes..” 

Tyler listens intently to your words, his expression turning thoughtful as he takes in your explanation. His eyes soften as he witnesses the vulnerability in your gaze, and his grip on your hips loosens slightly.

He gives your hip a gentle squeeze as he responds, "Trust me, sugar, that's not all you are. You're beautiful, strong, and I can tell you're a pain in the ass." He chuckles softly before continuing, his tone serious once more, "I ain't lookin' at you with pity."

You grin at him, “No, you’re not.” you press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Looks more like lust,” you whisper into his ear, lips moving against his jaw. 

Tyler lets out a low growl at your words, the gravelly sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers flex on your hips, gripping you tighter as he leans into your kiss.

He turns his head to murmur in your ear, his voice a rough whisper, "You're damn right, sugar. I can't keep my eyes off you." He presses another kiss to your jawline, then pulls away enough to look into your eyes, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "And trust me, it ain't just lust."

“Yeah?” you cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “What else is it then?” 

Tyler’s expression softens as you cup his face in your hands, your touch bringing a sense of calm and tenderness to his usually rough exterior. He lifts his hand to cover one of yours, holding it against his face.

He lets out a soft exhale, his warm breath brushing over your skin. “It’s more than that, sugar.” he mutters, his eyes searching yours. “It’s this intense, pull toward you that I can’t explain. You’ve got me tangled up somethin’ fierce.” 

You kiss his lips hungrily, enjoying his softness and honesty, something about this feels like a stronger connection than just lust and you both know it. Tyler groans against your lips, responding to your hungry kiss with equal intensity. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest, craving the feeling of your body against his. 

The heat and passion between you is tangible, but there's a depth to it that goes beyond lust. As your lips meet again and again, you both feel the pull, the connection growing with each shared touch. He lets out a guttural groan, his hands sliding up your back to fist in your hair.

“Ty..” you sigh out his name, body shuddering at his touch. Tyler shivers as you whisper his name, the sound of it on your lips sending a jolt through his entire body. He breaks the kiss for a second to look at you, his eyes darker now, filled with lust and desire.

He gently tugs at your hair, pulling your head back to give him access to your neck. Tyler's lips find your pulse point, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His voice is barely more than a growl as he murmurs against your skin, "I like the way you're sayin' my name, sugar."

You gasp at his lips on your skin, eyes closing as you reach back, hand grasping his erection. Tyler groans loudly at your touch, his hands clenching involuntarily around your hips. He moans, his head falling back against the pillow.

His breathing is ragged and uneven as he gasps out your name, "Mmmf- fuck." His hand that's not on your hip grips the bedsheet, the fabric crumpling under his strong grip, "Jesus, sugar..  that's not fair." he mutters, his voice strained.

As you grip Tyler's erection firmly, you feel his desperation pulsing beneath your hand. His hips buck into your touch, seeking more friction, more movement. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he tries to hold back the groan that builds in his throat. 

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck as your hand works him in a slow, torturous rhythm that's driving him wild. His breathing hitches, his body tensing as you whisper his name, your voice a sweet torment that sends shivers down his spine. Tyler's fingers dig into the mattress, his body arching off the bed as you continue to pleasure him with a masterful touch that seems to know exactly what he craves. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable, his muscles tightening and releasing in a silent dance of passion. "Tease," Tyler groaned, his eyes snapping open to lock onto yours, filled with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He could feel the tension coiling in his core, begging for release, but you seemed to have other plans. 

Your hand remained a steady pressure, moving in a deliberate, agonizingly slow motion along his length, making him rock his hips up to meet your touch. "Fuck, sugar," he ground out, his voice thick with desire, "You're killin' me." 

You knew you had him wrapped around your finger, and the power was intoxicating. But the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing within the confines of this room, the thunder of his voice matching the rumble of his need. With a quick flick of your wrist, you increased the tempo of your strokes, his hips rising to meet you, seeking more. 

The friction grew, the pressure building, and with each stroke, you could feel him getting closer to the edge. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. His hands found their way to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples. 

The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure through you, making your grip on him tighten. Tyler's groan grew louder, his body tensing as he approached climax. With one final, firm stroke, Tyler's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a loud moan, his grip on the sheets turned to a clutch at your hips. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Prompt: The Last Lines

Choose one of the last lines of these literary works, and either create a new story/poem or continue writing the story...

“He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.” —Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818)

“After all, tomorrow is another day.” —Margaret Mitchell, Gone With the Wind (1936)

“She looked up and across the barn, and her lips came together and smiled mysteriously.” —John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (1925)

“Are there any questions?” —Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (1985)

“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” —Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises (1926)

“She called in her soul to come and see.” —Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

“There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” —Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899)

“It’s funny. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” —J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (1951)

“The eyes and faces all turned themselves towards me, and guiding myself by them, as by a magical thread, I stepped into the room.” —Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (1963)

If this writing prompt inspires you in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

more last lines ⚜ the first lines More: Writing Prompts ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sylveon-and-velveon]

Playing "4 Big Guys" around the slashers

Shitpost idea has been made, so here XD

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

Given the music is VERY adult related, this is 18+ ONLY

OG Michael Myers

Ain't gonna lie, the second you play that song he's probably staring at you instantly. Anger? Disappointment? Cursing your entire family and possible future children? Who knows! It's Michael-Fucking-Myers baby!!!

He's not used to anything sexual overall so hearing a song openly sing about gay sex, and in such a detailed way, would worry him. Not for the singer, no- more on your taste in music.

And don't even get me started on when he hears about shit being involved. The second he hears that being mentioned he's turning off the music entirely, patting your head, and dragging you away so you'll listen to something he likes instead to cleanse that weird mind of yours. Like... Kate Bush or something.

He'd like Kate Bush right? He looks like a Kate Bush enjoyer.

RZ Michael Myers

Judging you, hard. Though he ain't saying it. His aura is practically smellable he's judging you so hard.

Does he like it? No. It's loud, obnoxious, and profound filled. Ignoring the obvious "gay sex and other weirdness" part, the volume of the music reminds him of his childhood.

He's smashing the device the music is coming from. He doesn't care if it's your MP3 all the way to a damn TV or Alexa, he's smashing that shit to pieces if it means he doesn't need to hear it anymore.

What would he put on instead? Calming ambient noises that play for hours on end on YouTube. It's the exact opposite of whatever hellscape you just played. It's better.

Brahms Heelshire

Well first of all it ain't classical, so that's a point on the "I Hate This" list.

Second it's not a piano.

Third it's literally "4 Big Guys"-

Not only is this poor man confused about everything the singer is saying, I highly doubt his parents explained LGBTQ+ to him, he's also hating how loud it is.

"Who puts things up their ass?" - Brahms Heelshire 2024

You turn off the music yourself when he practically begs you to.

You're probably tryna hold in your laughter while he's sitting on the floor trying to figure out what the fuck he just heard.

Jason Voorhees

Is there a bigger word for "traumatized"? Because that man earns it.

You're lucky af, if his mom was live she'd hit you with a crowbar so fast- Not kill you tho, she wouldn't dare hurt her boy.

But yeah, he's not saying anything, nor moving. Bro's too traumatized. LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE-

You better give him his teddy he fucking deserves it TmT

Laughing his ass off until the shit is mentioned, even this horny gremlin has his limits.

Can you tell I hate shit kinks? XD

He'd want an apology for you blasting that song so far to that section. But no music! He hates Christmas songs, they're so repetitive and they all sound the same anyway.

Bake him a cake, the more unique the better. His favourite so far is red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Then when he's finished eating you're getting railed by him not longer after, man's not changed. Not now, not ever.

Freddy Krueger

You can play this entire song with this man on REPEAT and he'd be fine with it.

I'd be surprised if he didn't given his track record and.... slicing open his skin to reveal green "blood" and maggots crawling out.

Would he laugh the first time? ABSOLUTELY!

Would he jokingly sing along, probably.

But he would TOTALLY play this song when going after his victims sometimes. Imagine dying and the last thing you hear is:

"4 BIG GUYS AND THEY GRAB ON MY THIGHS-"

Stu Macher & Billy Loomis

Billy is concerned for your wellbeing. Especially when you start singing it at full force with Stu joining in not long after.

Yeah Stu is enjoying this to the max!

Finds it hilarious, who the fuck wouldn't when you've got humour more broken than Brahms' doll-

But seeing you enjoying yourself to this.... absurdity, at least makes Billy calm down from worry. Now he's just concerned your taste in music may infiltrate your taste in movies.

I doubt the man's used to hearing music.... imagine this being his first time hearing it-

OMG he'd probably think this is normal for music.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? XD

If it's not his first time hearing music though? No concern, laughter, nothing. He's neutral, given that this is something that makes you a little chaotic gremlin.

He's happy seeing you comfortable enough around to be a "gremlin" as you call it.

Bubba Sawyer

Don't traumatize him more than he's been already!!

Sure he doesn't realise it, or the fact he's used to it, but the poor guy's already traumatized-

Though he's probably more confused in the whole scheme of things. I mean, he knows what sex is. But just the surface of it.

So he's probably just learnt way too much in such a short period of time.

Oh lord what have you done-

Harry Warden

Okay first of all, why is there no GIF of this man? WTF????

Second; man's from the mines, man's old fashioned, you've probably just thrown way too much modern shit in his face way too quickly that he's just staring at you, the music video, and then the floor.

Poor miner is so confused, especially when the "cum starts spraying".

Oh god he'll probably think it's like dust from the mines spraying everywhere.

Fucking hell that's a vision-

Tiffany Valentine

Finds it amusing? Yes.

Judging? Not as much as you'd expect.

Girl's been through a wild ride, hearing you blast out "4 Big Guys" from your phone wouldn't be the most shocking thing in the world.

Hell. she'd probably encourage you to start singing along to it XD

Oh she's gonna use that song to torture someone with it. She doesn't know how yet, but she's got the idea in her head now

[thevoidstaredback]

Phase Two of the plan was set to take place during the next Wayne Gala. Meaning they had exactly four weeks to plan out every meticulous detail. It was going to be great.

Week One

Planning for a gala is never easy. Planning for a Wayne Gala is even harder. Invitations, as per social standard, must go out at least four weeks prior to the event, so the guest list was first priority. Tim was put in charge of this. He elected the help of Luke Fox.

"Dude, you are never going to believe what Bruce did."

Luke sighed. "I leave for one month- What'd B do?"

Tim grinned up at him. "We're pranking the Justice League."

A beat. "What?"

"We're pranking the Justice League."

"Okay... Why?" He asked. "Better question: How? Don't they already know who you all are?"

Tim shook his head, pulling up the security feed from Phase One to send to his pseudo uncle. "They have no idea who we are behind our masks. Better yet, they have no idea how many of us actually operate within the city."

"There's no way."

"Right? I was so sure that they'd know by now, y'know? Because Superman has memorized our heartbeats, and we've met him both in and out of costume; Wonder Woman's Wonder Woman, and she has the Lasso of Truth- though, I'm pretty sure there's a way around that if she ever did try and get our names that way."

"And you called me here because..?" Luke prompted.

"Right!" Tim opened a different tab on his tablet. "I need you to help me make a guest list for the next Wayne Gala."

"Isn't that like, months out?"

"Not anymore! We're throwing on in exactly four weeks, so this guest list needs to be made now so that invitations can go out yesterday."

Luke raised an eyebrow.

Tim met his gaze. "I said what I said. Will you help me or not?"

With another sigh, Luke relented. "Alright. You can fill me in on everything later- And I do mean everything. I want every detail. Also, why didn't you pull me into this before?"

"We weren't sure if you'd be in town for this, and you were gone during Phase One. Also, we didn't actually intend on Selina and Kate being in on this, either. Well, maybe Kate."

"You got Selina and Kate in on this before me?" He looked absolutely heartbroken. "Wow. I thought I was your favorite."

Tim shook his head. "I'm pulling you in now, aren't I? Now, c'mon, we've got work to do.

The hardest part about setting up a Guest List is knowing the relationships between everyone. Everyone will be amicable with each other no matter who was invited, especially at an event hosted by the Wayne Family, but distaste for present company will be made known.

For this particular gala, there will be a mix of upper and middle class attendees to cover the odd additions that are the members of the Justice League.

"What's our priority, Tim?"

"Guest list, seating arrangements, and interference."

"'Interference'?"

"Who's going to stand between people if families of hostile relations run into each other."

Luke shook his head. "Rich people."

"Luke," Tim said, "I hate to break it to you, but you're 'rich people'."

A gasp. "I am? Tim! How could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry, man," he shook his head sadly, laying his hand gently on Luke's arm, "But it's not my fault. It was your parents."

"My parents?"

"A betrayal of the worst kind."

"How could they!" he sobbed.

Tim rubbed his back, "I know. There, there."

"Tim? Luke?" Kate asked, walking into the office Tim had commandeered. "What they hell are you two doing in here?"

The two look up, sharing a laugh. "Nothing, Kate."

She raised here eyebrow skeptically, "Uh-huh, sure. Do you have a guest list set yet? We need to get invites made up and sent out."

"Almost," Tim answered.

Luke shrugged. "I still don't understand why we can't just host an open event. It'll make it so much easier."

"And risk our identities being released to the public?" Kate said, "Not to mention the amount of rouges that'll get in."

"They'll try to get in anyway."

"Extra security," Tim mumbled, switching to the document that was shared between the family for planning, "Got it."

"No-" Luke turned back to him, "That is not what I said."

Kate laughed. "Get back to work, you two. I'll be back in a bit to print off the invitations."

"We can get away with sending the invited late because we're The Waynes," Tim muttered to himself, "but any later than a day and we're on cracked ice."

"Isn't the saying 'thin ice'?"

"Only if you don't wear a mask o cowl to fight crime at night."

"Touché."

Part 8 Part 10