#ron x darlene

[basilone]

@shoshiwrites sent me a lovely prompt called "Night" for Ron & Darlene yesterday, thank you! 💚(There was another prompt for somethin' else in the same ask, so I'm holding on to that for a moment.) The minute I saw this one, I knew it was going to be soft and sweet. I can practically feel the butterflies in it! If you, too, want to send me a prompt so I can write you a little fic? Look no further than this post for details!

and these are real things

She sleeps with the light on these days.

Ron remembers a time when she didn’t. Recalls her leaning over him in the dim hours of the morning to switch the light on her bedside table off. He can still picture that room – her scent lingering in the bedlinen, her mints so close to the condoms that he’d misgrabbed at least once that night, her body pressed against his – as clearly now as he has been able to all throughout the war. Doesn’t know how often he woke in some cold foxhole with the memory of her warmth lingering in his body like the last vestiges of a dream.

And this is not a dream. This isn’t him waking from slumber to find himself alone. This is the dark kept at bay with the single light she’d asked him to leave on, casting his bedroom in soft yellow hues that turn orange at the edges of night. This is her, fiery curls fanned out over his pillow, body half-tangled in his sheets, mouth curved into a smile as if she fell asleep laughing. (She might have, because he remembers her smothering her loudest giggles before her breath had evened out.)

He has time for her now. Ron covets these hours with her in which sleep still eludes him, in which he does not need to be there for anyone other than her. He hasn’t been bone-tired since war’s end – not even she can exhaust him the way combat has – and he’ll be damned if he takes up a new hobby of ceiling-staring at this point in his life.

Darlene is a much better sight. He hasn’t even come close to memorizing all the little freckles that smatter her nose and the rest of her face. Thinks he’s mapped out the ones on her shoulder – has pressed his mouth to them enough times to be able to trace their pattern on her skin – and has now moved on to the stray freckles that dot her collarbone. It takes all the power he’s got to not tuck that stray curl behind her ear – she’d undoubtedly wake if he did, light sleeper that she is – and to simply contend himself with the parts of her he can see.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of watching her. Has lost track of the times he spent observing her over his drink back in Aldbourne’s pub, back when her laughter had carried across the room and she’d talked her friends up so loudly that even he had heard every word. Has forgotten how often his eyes strayed toward her in Normandy – too damn often, if the ill-concealed laughter of his sergeants was anything to go by – or how often he’s looked at her since she was injured and brought back to him. Darlene’s called him out on it a few times, sure enough, usually when he’s at her mercy and she thinks teasing him about it is going to unravel him. (It does, she knows this too, when her slightly ragged breath lands warm against his ear and she’s merciless about pushing him over that edge.)

Even now, resting on his side, Ron can’t help but follow the many lines of her body. The light casts her in a pale golden hue, illuminating her slender fingers and the sole birthmark on her right wrist. Beyond the slight stretch of her arms, partially obscured by the bedsheets, is the small curve of her breasts – she’d complained about them exactly once where he could hear, then never again as his hands and mouth had covered them in worship – and the steady rise and fall of her breath that slips the sheets lower as the night wears on. He smiles to himself as he commits the slight dip of her waist and the curve of her hip to memory, spying the hint of fiery red curls at the apex of her thighs while she shifts in slumber.

His mouth burns with the taste of her. He’d spent all of last evening kissing the inside of her thighs, only relenting when she’d commanded him to put his mouth to good use somewhere else or so help her. He can still lick her off his lips – her sweetness mingling with something heady – and he shifts closer to her without even meaning to. If he wanted to wake her, and he knows he could, he would press a hand to the small of her back and pull her close enough to feel her heartbeat against his chest. If he dared, and Ron often does, he would bury his face in her neck and wake her with murmurs of sweet nothings that he never tells her outside of the time they spend alone. He would press kisses to her skin until her hand landed in his hair, until her skin would look flushed even in this lamplight, until she would shake off the last of her daze and topple him onto his back with a laugh.

Ron knows good and well that he’s gone for her – he doesn’t need Easy’s sergeants to snigger about that behind his back to know he is, thank you very much – but he stops shy of telling her just how badly. It’s easier to try and impart it with his gaze, to brush affection against all the parts of her she doesn’t think are perfect enough to love, than it is to find the words that have ruined him for anyone other than her. He watches her until his eyes almost water, until her breath changes.

He’s not fast enough to look away.

“Starin’ at me again, mister?” Her smile is languid, her voice drowsy with sleep, and he can’t very well look away now that she stretches out and pushes the bedsheets down. “A girl would think you’re up to somethin’, way you’re carryin’ on…”

“Can’t sleep, that’s all,” he replies, knowing that she might recognize it for the lie it is.

“Mhmmm”– clearly she is well aware of what’s true –“is the sight of lil ol’ me keepin’ ya up at night, sir?”

“Darlene…”

“Ah know, ah know,” she chuckles, accent softening her words into something lyrical he could listen to all day, “no callin’ ya sir when ya get all maudlin like this.”

Ron huffs out a short, exasperated breath. “I’m not.”

“Uhhuh.” Only Darlene could manage to make that disagreement sound disapproving and giggly all at once. “Sure ya ain’t. Watchin’ me sleep with eyes as soft as that, your hand this close to my belly”– her fingers interlace with his as if she’s proving a point –“and you almost smilin’ at me like that? Yeah, Ron, a girl like me could think you’re gettin’ kinda maudlin about her.”

“Just enjoying the sight,” he tells her, squeezing her hand in a bid to pull her closer. “I like having you here.”

“Oh the things ah could say to that…” Darlene’s grin is the only warning he gets before her body presses against his wholly. He forgets all the counterarguments as soon as he thinks of them. Her voice lands warm and soft against his neck. “Think I’m gonna settle on telling you one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Love ya too,” she whispers, out into this night that’s not dark enough to obscure how luminous she is in his arms. “Really do.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head in response.

[babbushka]

Wreck The Malls: Flip Zimmerman and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Flip Zimmerman x Reader 

6.2k ; cw: mentions of gun violence, blood and injury ; NSFW (shower sex, injured sex, PIV, oral sex)

Available on AO3

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

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But it is also universally acknowledged, that a lucky man in possession of a good wife, should want to get her something special for the holidays.

This is the story of how one Detective Flip Zimmerman of the CSPD, goes on a journey through hell and back to obtain such a gift, and might just learn the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

Now, though this story takes place on Christmas Eve, it should be noted that our Mr. Zimmerman does not actually like Christmas. He doesn’t celebrate it, and he thinks the entire holiday is one big headache. Does it bother him that his own holidays always seem to be overlooked in favor for the goyishe celebrations of December? Yes – but that’s not the reason he dislikes it so much. If you were to ask him, he would say something akin to;

“I just don’t know why the fuck everyone makes such a big goddamn deal.” He huffs and puffs on his cigarette in the parking lot. Flip rolls his eyes, “All month long, stores have been playing this shit music since the day after Thanksgiving.”

Sitting in his car with Ron – the only one of his friends patient enough to listen to him complain for an hour straight – Flip turns the radio down just low enough for Jingle Bell Rock to sound. They’re outside the big mall, something shiny and brand new, just in the nick of time for the holidays. Ron shrugs, going over his last-minute shopping list.

“We can go home, no one will know.” Ron points out for what must seem like the eighteenth time.

Flip had asked Ron to accompany him both for emotional support, but also to get a second opinion on the gift he was picking up for you. Flip loves you more than anything else in the entire world – yes, even more than his buc-wheat cereal and Greek yogurt – and even though you had already exchanged presents during Hanukkah only a few days prior, that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Of course we can’t go home, I want to get her something nice.” He says as much, flicking the ash of his cigarette out of the car window, the oppressive commercialism of the mall looming ahead.

“(Y/N) doesn’t like Christmas either though.” Ever the practical voice of reason, Ron tries giving Flip one more out, one more chance to turn back now, “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know.”

“It’s not a Christmas present,” Flip shakes his head, finally turning the car engine off entirely, and silencing the radio once and for all. He steels himself, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror, “It’s a just-because present. I already have it all picked out and everything, I just need to go in and pay for it.”  

“You’ve got some real brains underneath those flowing locks of yours man.” Ron smiles, gets out of the car and stretches out his muscles for what he’s sure will be a ton of walking through angry mobs, “Minimizing the amount of time in there is probably for the best, considering.”

It’s the way that Flip hesitates that clues Ron in that maybe, Flip didn’t have as many brains as he had thought.

“Considering what?” Flip asks, the second clue.

“Flip, it’s Christmas Eve.” Ron spells it out plainly, and wishes he had a camera to capture the exact moment that the next thought enters Flip’s mind, and subsequently spills out of his mouth:

“…Oh fuck.”

Shaking his head fondly, Ron claps a hand on Flip’s shoulder as he rounds the front of the car, and the two of them brave the great unknown together.

 Flip was not nearly as familiar with the mall as he likes to think, but he knows where the jewelry store is, and really that’s all that matters.

They make their way down to that section of the enormous space, and it’s almost impossible to ignore the sheer abundance of Christmas Cheer that surrounds them. Nearly every store had something in its window display: lights, statues, mannequins modeling holiday attire, some even had moving animatronic animals that gave Flip the shivers. Every pole and railing and kiosk in the place was covered in garland and lights, and in the grand atrium, enormous ornaments were suspended from the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment and looking up at them, Flip wonders what the likelihood would be for them to all come crashing down.

He’s so caught up in fact, that he nearly misses Ron branching off in another direction.

“Hey wait, where are you going?” Flip jogs a couple paces to catch up, a frown already forming between his brows.

“I need to pick somethin’ up for Patrice.” Ron explains, holding up his little shopping list. Flip gives him a mildly panicked look, but Ron only reassures him with, “We’ll meet up at the food court?”

I can do this, Flip thinks to himself, it’s one store. How bad could one store be?

“Sure, don’t take too long.” Flip eventually agrees, swallowing down the feeling of impending doom – otherwise known as “acid reflux” according to you – and squaring his shoulders.

He didn’t need Ron, he was a grown man after all. He fought in Vietnam twice! Surely he could go to the jewelry store…right?

Making his way over to the escalator, Flip has his eye on the prize; Goldsmith’s Jewelry is just off to the left, he can see it coming. Playfully taking the five golden rings theme and running with it, large decorations spin gently in the window, glittering in the light. Flip’s relieved to see the place relatively empty.

Not completely dead, but definitely not a line out the door the way that the toy store had. As a matter of fact, when Flip walks through the glass doors, he’s greeted by less than ten people, including the owner himself, who lights up when he spots his friend.

“Philip! Good to see you son. Here for those earrings you were looking at?” Carl, a fabulously eccentric man with no less than fifteen pieces of jewelry on at any given time practically jingles when he comes around the counter to give Flip a hug.

“You bet Carl, how much am I layin’ out for you?” Flip has to bend himself nearly in half to reach the kind gentleman’s embrace, already reaching for his wallet.

Carl was one of those men who could reminisce and catch up for hours on end, and as much as Flip would love to listen to the story about how Carl lost his dentures in his shoe for the hundredth time, he would rather listen to you instead. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t seem too pressed about it, and he only beckons the detective over to the register counter.

“Tell you what, since you’re practically family and helped out Darlene with her car troubles, I’m taking half off.” Carl announces with a twinkle in his eye, making Flip feel a little guilty about wanting to scram as fast as possible.

“Oh you don’t have to go doing all that Carl really – ” Flip tries, but Carl is having none of it.

“I want to!” He smacks at Flip’s hands when he tries to offer him the full amount of cash, fully turning his back on Flip to go into the little employees only room. “You stay right here, I’ll just go into the back and get it wrapped up real nice for you.”

Left alone once again, Flip has no choice but to let his eye wander. The entire place was sensory overload, really, and Flip wishes he could have a fucking cigarette. Was the music at the mall always this loud and discordant? Chewing on his lip instead of the butt of a cigarette, Flip looks around the store.

He makes uncomfortable eye contact with a man who is clearly picking up something for the wife and something else for the girlfriend, and he looks away when he realizes. Training his eye on the great big mirror up on the wall instead, Flip frowns.

Is that…no, it couldn’t be.

Santa Claus wouldn’t be taking a break from the Workshop near the foodcourt to stop into a jewelry store, would he? Flip shakes his head, he’s probably just being paranoid. The guy is probably on break and looking for something for Mrs. Claus. Flip cracks himself up with that thought, and is about to turn around and joke with the guy about it – when he notices through the mirror that the Santa is ever so cautiously reaching around the counter, looking for the lock mechanism.

“Shit.” Flip licks across his teeth, when he manages it open and begins pulling out necklaces with seemingly no one noticing.

Carl still hasn’t come back, so Flip casually reaches for the phone on the counter near the register, dials the direct line number to his buddy back at the station.

“CSPD this is Jimmy – ”

“It’s me, I’m at the jewelry store on the second level of the mall downtown. I think there’s a robbery about to go down, I’m going to need backup.” Flip mutters as quietly as he can into the receiver, keeping and eye on the Santa.

Sure enough, he’s pulling out a sack, and it looks as if this guy has already hit up quite a few stores, if the brand new boxed electronics filling it are anything to go by.

“Is he armed?” Jimmy asks immediately, and Flip tries to get a good look.

“I can’t tell, he’s in a Santa suit.” He explains, and then scowls when the line goes silent for a moment.

“…Flip are you serious?” Jimmy tries to start some bullshit but Flip doesn’t have the time for this.

“Yes I’m fucking serious would you just tell Trapp I need backup? Ron is here somewhere but I don’t know where the fuck he went.” He hisses, teeth clenching tight enough that he can feel the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“Okay okay! I’m on it, keep him in your sight.” Jimmy replies, before hanging up.

Trying to steal a glance through the mirror again, Flip realizes he must have been a little too loud, because the Santa has bolted through the doors, sack filled with diamond and ruby and sapphires galore.

“Fuck.” Flip grunts to himself, before slamming down the phone near the register and rushing out of the store with a futile, “CSPD! Hands where I can see them!”

 This would be much easier, Flip reasons, if it weren’t Christmas fucking Eve. The mall is swamped with people, loud and slow like big dumb buffalo – no, he wouldn’t do buffalo the disservice of comparing them to these last minute mall shoppers who cannot decide if they want to walk on the left or the right side of the aisle. Santa, he needs Santa – but there are so many! Nearly a dozen guys in red coats and white beards ring bells or wave or laugh jolly hearty laughs, and Flip feels like he’s in hell.

No, he supposes, Hell must be the five-story Hibbard & Co., where he finally manages to catch sight of the Santa he’s after. Bolting across the large expanse of the mall and into the first level of the store, Flip trips and stumbles through displays of empty cardboard box presents and wooden nutcrackers, causing shouts and screams of distress to erupt around him from the patrons of the store.

The employees however, are entirely unphased, they continue to spritz the air with their perfume samples, directly into the face of Flip, who is scrambling and already breathing heavy as it is, his boots carrying him around the sharp corners of the mirrored kiosks in the perfume department.

“Oh – shit – fuck!” Flip’s blinded by the perfume, his eyes stinging. He’s choking on it, unable to breathe as rose water stings his vision. “I love my job, I love my wife, I love my job…”

He chants to himself as he blinks and coughs, to no avail; he’s so blinded that he crashes into a display of coats, which in a domino-like effect crash down all the other displays of winter clothing on their way down, but Flip can’t stick around to apologize, the Santa is getting away.

“Out of my way – Ron!” Flip shouts as he pushes and shoves himself through the large swathes of people, Christmas music blaring bright and cheerfully as he runs and runs and runs, shouting out, “Ron if you can hear me a little help would be appreciated!”

The Santa isn’t making this easy for him, Flip curses, as he runs down the up escalator.

Following suit, there’s real screams now when the Santa pulls out a gun and starts blindly shooting behind himself at Flip, making everyone on the escalator, and everyone in that area of the mall for that matter, scatter. If Flip thought the crowds were bad, a mob was even worse, and soon everyone is running in every which way direction, as this Santa gets off the escalator and sprints down towards the food court.

Flip wonders why the place isn’t on a lockdown yet, wonders what the hell is taking backup so long to get there already. Didn’t this place have cops? Weren’t the mall cops good for literally anything? What a waste of his time, Flip thinks, as he runs runs runs with his gun in his hands, trying to hold steady as he aims to shoot, the robber in his sight, he can see him, he can practically smell him --

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this – oh fuck me -- !” Flip collides hard with an unsuspecting dad who just happened to be grabbing lunch from the food court for his entire family.

“Watch where you’re fucking going pal!” The dad shouts.

All at once, a whole tray of pizza slices doused in red sauce and melted cheese, and four large cups of pepsi are flying through the air and landing all over Flip’s brand new shirt, the one that you had just given to him for Hanukkah. He wants to be livid, wants to choke this guy out but the robber is getting away, Flip’s losing visual on him, and after all the trouble, there’s no chance he’s letting him get away.

“You fucking watch it!” Flip scrambles up, which isn’t easy to do on freshly mopped linoleum floors covered in soda pop, his gun spiraling a couple feet in front of him that he lunges to pick up, muttering to himself, “Ruined my goddamn – ugh – fuck!”

He has to change, and he has to change quickly – scanning the nearest stores, the closest one in the mall that sells clothing. He runs over to it, already unbuttoning his ruined shirt, and grabs the first thing on the rack he sees, which happens to be the most hideous, tacky, terrible looking Christmas sweater.

Flip raises his eyes up to the ceiling, and can practically feel the universe laughing at him when he groans, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

There’s no time, he doesn’t have any other choice, so he yanks the ruined shirt over his head and throws the sweater on. It’s two sizes too small, and it’s itchy as all fucking hell, and of course, as if the situation couldn’t get any worse…the faux lights turn out to not be so faux after all, and they blink as he accidentally rips a tag off so not to trip any alarms.

Throwing money onto the counter as the employees stare at him like he’s a maniac and not just trying to do his fucking job, Flip’s chest heaves as he stands there, gun drawn, scanning the panicked swarms of people in front of him.

“Where did you go you motherfucker?” Flip growls, growing more and more pissed off by the minute.

A moment or two goes by, but then he spots him – the pet grooming salon.

Without any hesitation, Flip is chasing this man down with all his vigor, lungs pumping full of recycled mall air conditioning, blood pounding in his veins. The sooner he catches this guy and gets him cuffed, the sooner all this pandemonium will end.

“Hey!” He hears an authoritative shout from the other end of the mall, and lets out a sigh of relief.

The mall security has finally shown up, and he’s about ready to tell them that Santa is in the pet salon, when he notices they are not slowing down in their full force sprint towards him.

“Shit, shit shit shit,” Flip realizes they think he’s the maniac! “I’m a cop! It’s not me – I’m – oh for fuck’s sake.”

Flip realizes he doesn’t have the time to explain, so he does the exact opposite thing you’re supposed to do: run.

Into the pet salon Flip goes, hoping that if he can just grab the Santa it’ll all be explained, but there is no Santa to be found. Instead, Flip is met by a dozen dogs that have been let loose. Big dogs, like Dobermans and Rottweilers, and small dogs like Poodles and Pomeranians have all been released from their cages, and for whatever reason, are baring their teeth at him, and lunging after him as he runs the other way.

“Heel! Sit! Stay – ow!” Flip feels teeth sink into his ankles, and doesn’t bother looking back as he kicks away one of the smaller dogs in the pack that is chasing him.

He can see the Santa, and now, chased by dogs and mall cops, Flip chases him down for hopefully the last leg of this race. He can feel steam shooting out of his ears, he’s never going to leave home again he decides, never is going to step foot in this fucking mall again, as he’s chased.

 Meanwhile, blissfully unaware over in the lingerie department of Macy’s, Ron Stallworth’s greatest dilemma is trying to choose between the red velvet bra and panty set, or the navy satin set. He’s been staring at the two sets for quite some time now, and is conscious of the fact that Flip must be waiting for him, so he calls over one of the employees for her opinion.

He explains that it’s for his girlfriend, and while red and blue are both colors she likes, he isn’t sure which would get the most use – when he sees a Santa Claus stumbling and tripping over himself, shoving people out of his way as he runs past the great big glass windows.

“Huh.” Ron frowns, putting the sets down and moving over to the windows to get a better look.

Ron hears the commotion before he sees it, but when he does see it – ‘it’ being his best friend bleeding, in a blinking fuzzy Christmas sweater, gun brandished, chased by dogs and security who are blowing their whistles and brandishing guns of their own – he grabs all his shit and makes leave.

“If you ladies will please excuse me – ” Ron gives a parting excuse to the employees, who only frown at him as he runs and runs and runs to catch up to, “Flip! Flip what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s about goddamn time!” Flip shouts, nearly red in the face from exertion and sheer unbridled rage as he points with his gun to the man in red a few yards ahead, “That Santa! Is! A! Maniac! I don’t know how many stores he’s stolen from, but at least from the jewelry store and is shooting at people – watch out!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, half a dozen men throw large plastic ornaments the size of cars out onto the floor as a means to blockade the hall. They’re dressed in green, with red and white stockings and pointed hats that have jingle bells on the end, but these were no innocent visitors from the North Pole.

“Of fucking course he’s got elves.” Flip grunts as he tries to run around them, tries his best to avoid getting hit square in the chest with them as they bounce and create a rampaging path of destruction.

“I’ll handle the dogs and the elves, and the mall cops, you catch Santa.” Ron slows down enough, until he’s far enough away that Flip can’t hear him, his own feet still on auto-pilot as he hunts down the Santa.

And then – then!

As if by some miracle, the Santa trips, and he and his sack full of stolen goods all come crashing down to the linoleum floor. In slow motion, Flip jumps using all the strength he has left, hands extended to grab the Santa, and as he flies across the distance between their bodies, Flip swears he sees his life flash before his eyes.

Thudding to the floor, he manages to get the Santa in a chokehold, letting out a triumphant shout of victory.

“Got you!” He pins the man down, rolls him over onto his back so that he can pin his hands behind his back, Flip fishing for his handcuffs that he managed to keep in his back-pocket this whole time, “I got you you son of a bitch!”

 Off to the side, a group of small children watch a grown man leap and tackle Santa Claus to the ground.

Little Stacey gasps in shock and horror, before her older brother Jacob can quickly cover her eyes with his own mittened hand. They, along with their friends – an assortment of ten to twelve year olds left unsupervised on Christmas Eve while their parents and gaurdians get gifts for in-laws they don’t like – immediately turn to one another, while Santa’s body jerks and writhes underneath the heavy knee of some strange man.

“What should we do?” Nicolas asks the leader of their group.

“Well there’s really only one thing we can do.” Dewey says with all the determination of a man about to walk into battle. The children exchange glances with resolution and with all the authority that an eighth-grader can muster, Dewey regards his friends, “All in favor of rescuing Santa and saving Christmas, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye!”

It is this emboldened shout of unity that draws Flip’s attention – before he is promptly charged by six small children who proceed to punch, and bite, and smack at him.

In the chaos, Santa manages to slip out of Flip’s grasp. Thankfully he’s still handcuffed and he’s dropped his gun, but the children don’t notice that. No, they’re too busy beating the shit out of Flip, who can’t bring himself to fight back against the angry fists of fury that are descending onto him.

“Get off of me! Get – I am a police fucking officer get off -- !” Flip manages to shake them away, and they stare up at him with wide eyes when he wipes the blood away from his nose at being slammed to the ground.

“Don’t you assholes have parents – oh forget it.” Flip doesn’t bother, caring so little about anything anymore.

He’s is almost defeated, almost, but Santa is handcuffed and limping, he can’t get too much farther, he’s so close – he’s right there –

“Oh shit!” Flip jumps back, as suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron in one of the security mall-carts comes darting from around the corner and t-bones the Santa from the side.

Santa’s body slides across the floor, and seconds later, Bridges, Trapp, Jimmy, and a dozen or so other familiar faces flood the large floor, in their blues and with their walkie talkies loud.

“Flip!” Bridges darts over to where Flip has practically collapsed onto the floor.

He’s directly underneath those ornaments, and he practically wills one of them to unlatch from their suspension and crush him to death.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Bridges has the audacity to ask, looking Flip straight in the face.

His bleeding, swollen face.

There’s a moment or two where Flip can’t think of anything other than how badly he wants a fucking cigarette, but eventually he licks across his teeth, scratches the back of his neck.

“Honestly?” Flip muses, before replying in the most dry deadpan way he can muster, “I’ve never been better.”

Blood drips onto the blinking Christmas sweater, and with that, Bridges claps him on the back and nods.

“Go home. We’ll get your statement after the holiday weekend.” He says, and sweeter words have never been spoken. “Don’t worry about Ron, we’ll give him a lift home.”

 Flip’s snowy home in the mountains has never, ever looked more beautiful, Flip can’t help but think. It was quiet, so quiet up here. Snow dusted itself along the length of the front porch, draped the roof and surrounding trees in a blanket of crisp clean fresh white. No dirt, no blood, no sweat – just white. It was purifying, to say the least.

But not so purifying as the front door opening and your stunning face lighting up to see him.

That is, until you notice him limping, notice him covered in blood, notice his hair destroyed and his face bruised. Then your smile melts into something closer to shock and terror.

“Phil! What the fuck happened to you?” You rush to him, trudging through snow that’s up to your calves. You’re not wearing shoes, and Flip can’t bear the thought of you getting too cold, so he hoists you up and holds you against his side, walking you back to the house.

“I…really…don’t want to talk about it.” Flip sighs, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers with you and never emerge.

“Holy shit, are you bleeding?” You push your hand up to his face and feel at his tender nose, making him wince.

“That sounds about right.” He mutters, slamming the door behind him with his foot when he finally crosses the threshold into the foyer of the house.

Flip puts you down and immediately shoves his entire face into your neck, trying hard not to cry. What a fucking day it had been, he can’t help but think as he lets the stress and frustration finally mount behind his eyes. His face hurts, everything about him hurts, his legs are exhausted, his back is fucking killing him, and worse of all, his ego is beyond bruised.

“I hate Christmas.” Flip hiccups, knowing that he’s smearing blood against your pretty robe. Now that he’s got you in his arms, he doesn’t want you to go away, doesn’t want you more than a foot away from him.

“I know sweetheart, I know. Come on let’s go take a shower.” You card your fingers through his hair, and lead him up to the bathroom.

 In the light of the bathroom, you do your absolute damndest not to laugh. It’s not that you’re laughing at him, because you would never laugh at him of course, but you’ve never seen your husband look more angry in his entire life, and you’ve been there for a significant portion of it. You have a million questions that you know better than to bombard him with right now, knowing he’ll explain all in due time.

So instead, you peel away his layers until the both of you are naked. A Christmas sweater that blinks bright red and green is buried under blood-stained and ripped jeans, your robe, underwear and socks. Flip turns on the heat and waits for the water to not be so frigid, and in the meantime, you examine him.

“Were…did you get bit by a dog?” You frown as you see crescent bruises blooming underneath his skin. Thankfully, it looks like no actual puncture wounds – what a Christmas gift that would be, rabies.

“More like a pack.” Flip grumbles, making your eyebrows shoot up nearly to your hairline. You want to ask, but Flip dismisses it for now with a sigh and an, “It’s a long story.”

Finally the water seems to be good enough for him, and Flip leads you into the shower. At once, the water runs pink as it washes him clean of the day from hell. Your hands in his hair are heavenly, washing the muck and sweat and grime out of the locks, and Flip could practically cry.

“I know what you need.” You whisper, kissing at the side of his face that’s not tender.

Keeping heated eye contact, you slowly slowly slowly slink down to your knees. Water cascades down your shoulders as your hand reaches for Flip’s cock, as you pump it ever so carefully in even strokes until he’s fully hard.

Your tongue licks up a thick stripe of his shaft, and Flip has to lean fully against the wall so his legs don’t give out and he winds up in the ER with a concussion again. Your mouth swallows him down, feels the weight of his cock on your tongue, against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat.

“Bed, now.” Flip stops you before you can get any further, and you pull off with a smile, glad to see that though he’s in a bad mood, he’s willing to let you help him feel better.

Barely drying off with a towel, Flip kisses and kisses and kisses you as you both stumble to your bed, falling down on top of the covers. You’re giggling against his lips just because you love him so much, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s still in a proper pissed off mood, and you’re glad to let him do what he will with you.

Flip’s cock throbs as it slides in real easy into your cunt, the wet heat of your body welcoming him on the first thrust. Your eyes fall shut as your back arches off the mattress from the feeling of being so filled so fast, the breath punching out of your lungs.

“God you’re wet.” He has to groan, swipes a few fingers over your clit just to massage it and get your legs shaking, your shoulders squirming for him, “What – were you jerkin’ off missing me? Thinkin’ about me? I was thinkin’ about you.”

The thought makes him break out into a sweat as he starts to thrust, his limbs aching and sore from all the running and bodily contact, but too desperate for you to give a fuck.

“Yeah, yes Flip – I missed you, missed your cock.” You whine, giving him permission to, “Give it to me, take it all out on me honey.”

The flood gates open, and Flip’s ramming into you hard and fast. He’s bouncing the mattress, slamming the headboard from it, from the grip on your hips as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Spit strings down from his teeth as his jaw is clenched, savoring the feeling and chasing that feeling, of your beautiful body opening and squeezing around him.

“Fuck ketsl, fuck I – oh damn that feels good.” He grinds himself all the way up inside you, pushes you up the bed with the force of it. He grabs at your hair, yanks your head back so he can suck and kiss at your throat, can feel your fluttering pulse as you moan and sigh and gasp.

“Yeah? How good? Tell me.” Your hands don’t know where to go, you don’t want to accidentally touch a bruised spot, so instead they fist in the sheets as you push your hips up to let him rail into you from this new angle.

“I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, that’s how good it is, that’s how hard you make me ketsl, do that thing I like? You know the one.” Flip’s delirious, doesn’t know what he’s even saying, but you breathe out a harsh moan from the words, hands pushing your tits together.

“Like this?” Your voice wobbles from the fucking he gives you, breasts bouncing, nipples peeking through your spread fingers as you cup and hold them for him.

“Just like that – fuck, goddamn baby you’re so pretty, I could fuck this pussy all night long – ow!” Flip is about to lavish kisses onto your cleavage, when something twinges in his back, and his arms collapse underneath him and he falls square on top of your chest.

“Shit, Flip are you okay?” Your body tenses immediately, worried for him, the mood ruined.

“Yeah – yes, dammit,” Flip groans, never feeling more like an old middle aged man than he does right now.

“Okay maybe don’t fuck me all night long,” You chuckle, calming and soothing him with your hands in his hair, abandoning the hold on your breasts. Still, you’d hate for him to not even get to come after all of that, so you kiss the side of his tender nose and whisper, “Are you close?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m sorry – ” Flip rolls you onto your side, eases back into you that way, where he doesn’t have to hold himself up.

“Don’t apologize, just come in me honey, come in me.” You encourage, knowing that he’ll get a good few orgasms out of you once he’s feeling a little better.

Flip nods and kisses you, wet and hot and sloppy as he thrusts a few more times, your legs corralled over his, until he grunts out long and low, spills into your pussy.

He rides that high, rides the feeling of your sweet lips on his, until all he can do is groan from being sore.

“I think I need to see a doctor.” Flip grumbles, sounding so dejected.

“Yeah I think so too handsome.” You give him an apologetic smile on behalf of the universe, and he sighs.

You’re an angel though, striking up a cigarette for him. Passing it to him, Flip pulls out of you with a wince and the two of you starfish out onto your backs, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom. You let him have a few minutes of silence, but eventually the curiosity kills you and you have to ask,

“Hey, how come you were even in the mall to begin with?” Peering up at him through your lashes, wondering what the hell he had even gotten himself into, “I thought you were just popping into work for something.”

At that moment, the cold dread of realization crashes through Flip, and despite his injuries and general exhaustion, sits straight up in bed and gasps out, “Oh fuck!! I’m sorry ketsl I was going to surprise you with – ”

Just then, the doorbell rings, and the both of you frown at one another.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come over, even though it was Christmas Eve, you didn’t have any plans to celebrate anyway other than with some Chinese food takeout and a good movie. Considering the state that Flip is in, you go to reach for your robe, but Flip shakes his head and grabs for his instead.

“No, let me. You’re not dressed.” Flip says.

You love him enough not to point out that he isn’t dressed either, but Flip deserves to do what he wants after the day he’s had, you think.

 Creeping down the stairs, Flip tries to look through the front window to see who it could be, but whether it’s the angle or something else, he can’t get a good visual. He pulls the robe sash tighter around his waist, looks through the peephole.

Strangely, there’s nothing there, no one to be seen. No car in his driveway, either.

How strange, Flip thinks, as he cracks the door open, wondering what the fuck else the day has in store for him.

Sitting right there on the front porch, is a small box. It’s wrapped in a golden ribbon, bearing the logo of Goldsmith’s Jewlery in a wax seal on the side. Frowning, Flip approaches it, picks it up. It feels like the right weight, but to be sure, he pulls open the ribbon and peeks inside.

Sure enough, resting atop the black velvet interior of the box are the diamond earrings that had started this whole mess.

Something about that, something about those earrings being there, makes Flip’s heart warm through. Even though it’s cold, he doesn’t feel the bite of the wind. All he can think about, is you, waiting for him upstairs in your bedroom. You, who care for him, who takes care of him, even on days when he doesn’t even want to take care of himself.

The earrings twinkle in the grey sunlight of the snowy day, and despite it all, Flip smiles to himself. What was another year of bullshit, really? He could go through anything, could do anything, as long as he had you by his side. Yes, Flip thinks, it’s all worth it, or at least it will be, when he sees your smile once again, when he gives you this little token of his appreciation, of his love.

And as he casts his gaze up to the sky, half expecting to see the real Santa Claus flying away in his sleigh, half expecting to see some friendly man smiling down at him behind a team of reindeer, Flip feels something that maybe…just maybe…might be akin to Christmas Spirit.

Until the moment passes, and he’s reminded of the day’s events by a twinge in his side from where he was donkey kicked by a twelve year old.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” Flip scoffs to himself after a shake of his head, locking the door behind him, “Ba fuckin’ humbug, and a merry new year.”

[wednesdaysxreaders]

about me

tags for reach

so i’ve been wanting to make one of these for years. and now here i am.

i take x reader requests, but my first couple of posts might be scenes from various fics of mine to gain awareness. i’d prefer to write for underrated characters but i’ll absolutely do more popular characters as well. i’ll take smut requests but i can’t guarantee they’ll be good and not awkward lol.

also please please please be specific when sending in requests 🖤

fandoms i’ll write for can be found under read more (plus characters i’m eager to write).

keep in mind i’ll write for other characters as well these are just personal favorites of mine

marvel (mcu/netflix/fox/sony/blade/etc)

  hank mccoy

  alex summers

  raven darkholme

  kraglin obfonteri

  frank castle

  joshua “scud” frohmeyer

  asm/ps4 peter parker

  asm/ps4/raimi harry osborn

dc (dceu/dcau/cw/older films like burtonschumacher batman/etc)

  wally west (arrowverse)

  rory regan (arrowverse)

  rene ramirez (arrowverse)

  thea queen

  roy harper

  jason todd

  helena bertinelli

  harley quinn

  diana prince

  cisco ramon

  conner kent

star trek (preferably aos)

  pavel chekov

  leonard mccoy

  nyota uhura

  spock

star wars (original/prequel/au sequel)

  luke skywalker

  anakin skywalker

  poe dameron

  rey skywalker

  finn

  din djarin

  ezra bridger

  kanan jarrus

teen wolf

  brett talbot

  liam dunbar

  scott mccall

  isaac lahey

  lydia martin

  allison argent

  derek hale

  malia hale

the vampire diaries

  jeremy gilbert

  stefan salvatore

  katherine pierce

  rebekah mikaelson

  tyler lockwood

  matt donovan

  bonnie bennett

  caroline forbes

supernatural

  jack kline

twilight

  seth clearwater

  leah clearwater

  bella swan

  emmett cullen

  jasper cullen

  jacob black

resident evil

  leon s kenney

  claire redfield

  ada wong

  jill valentine

  carlos oliveira

  piers nivans

  jake mueller

(fear) the walking dead

  carl grimes

  daryl dixon

  benjamin

  siddiq

  glenn rhee

  maggie rhee

  beth greene

  enid

  nick clark

  alicia clarke

z nation

  10k

  roberta warren

  addy carver

  cassandra

the 100

  jasper jordan

  john murphy

  raven reyes

teenage mutant ninja turtles (bayverse)

  raphael

  april o’neil

stranger things

  steve harrington

  jonathan byers

  robin buckley

death note

  mail jeevas/matt

  mihael keehl/mello

  nate river/near

  misa amane

  touta matsuda

  l lawliet/l

black butler

  soma asman kadar

  agni

  mey-rin

  finnian

  bardroy

  grell suttcliffe

my hero academia

touya todoroki

tomura shigaraki

jin bubaigawara

shota aizawa

keigo takami

shoto todoroki

demon slayer

kyojuro rengoku

tengen uzui

tomioka giyu

mitsuri kanroji

tokyo revengers

ken ryuguji

manjiro sano

keisuke baji

percy jackson

  percy jackson

  annabeth chase

friday the 13th

  tommy jarvis

until dawn

  josh washington

  sam giddings

  mike munroe

mr robot

  elliot alderson

  darlene alderson

buffy the vampire slayer

  william pratt/spike

  buffy summers

  willow rosenberg

  cordelia chase

  faith lehane

the outsiders

  ponyboy curtis

  darry curtis

  dallas winston

it (adult losers preferred)

  adult!stanley uris

the last of us

  ellie williams

  dina

terminator

  john connor

harry potter

  neville longbottom

  ron weasley

  fred weasley

  george weasley

  luna lovegood

  hermione granger

  draco malfoy

  ginny weasley

transformers (bayverse + prime)

  mikaela banes

  cade yeager

  jack darby

  charlie watson

shadowhunters

  jace herondale

  isabelle lightwood

  clary fray

pacific rim

  raleigh becket

  mako mori

  jake pentecost

  amara namani

misc

  tomb raider

  the magnificent seven

  game of thrones

  bones

  criminal minds

  kick-ass

  mtv scream

  the vampire chronicles

  now you see me

  the umbrella academy

  saw

  american horror story

there’s most definitely more but these are all i have documented somewhere. if you don’t see something here, don’t hesitate to ask!

now, onto characters i absolutely will not write for reasons i won’t specify (unless you really want to know, then i suppose you could ask).

  kylo ren

  armitage hux

  negan

  pennywise

  jason voorhees

  freddy krueger

  michael myers

  tate langdon

  marius de romanus

  thanos

  transformers x human (the concept makes me uncomfortable, but if you really want it, i might consider it)

  billy hargrove

  theo raeken

  peter hale

  the bowers gang

enji todoroki

also any requests for canonly gay characters will be written with the proper gender reader in mind

[foresthillsirisgardens-blog]

Iris Hybridizers B

The following is an alphabetical list of hybridizers: When fully developed it will contain links to pages that provide; a brief biography, lists of introductions, and awards.

 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 

Bobbink & Atkins

Bobick, Charles L.

Bodley, Edith

Boehl, Victor

Boehmer Co.

Boen, Donald

Boffo, Gertrude

Bohrer, Roy

Boissier, Edmond

Boivin, Stéphane

Bolacka, Nikola

Boland, Todd

Bolter, Emeline

Bommersbach, John

Bond, Sandra

Bondarenko, Leonid

Bonnell, Valeria

Bonnewitz, Leo

Boone, Violet

Boot, Stephanie

Bootes, Gordon

Booth, Ann

Booth, Stanley

Boothman, Stuart

Borbas. Vincent

Boreau, Alexandre

Borglum, Dana & Sylvia

Bornmueller, Joseph

Boro, Marilyn

Boshoff-Mostert, Frieda

Bostock, F.

Boswell, Carl & LaRue

Boswell, Patricia

Bouldin, Alice

Boulon, Jérôme

Bourque, Elaine

Bourdillon

Bourdin, Candace

Bouscant, Alexandre

Boushay, Jack & Lisa

Bovet, Bernard

Bowers, Glenn

Bowles, E. A.

Boylan, John

Boyles, Charles

Braddock, J.

Bradley, Elizabeth

Bradshaw, Hall

Brady, Dovie

Bralliar, Floyd

Branch, Dr. Charles

Branin, Mrs. Jemima

Brantley, Darlene'

Bratt, J. Howard

Brauchler, Christian

Braun Margaret

Braybrook, Eric & T. E.

Brees, Henry

Brehm, Anne-Ruth & Walter

Brehm, George

Brenan, Edward

Brenchley, W. A.

Brendel, Walter

Brenner, Francis

Brenner, Mrs. L. M.

Breth, Theodore

Brethorst, Wayne

Brethour, Dr. F. G.

Bretschneider, E. H.

Brett, Elizabeth

Bridgman, Leonard

Briggs, John

Brile, Flora

Brink, Paul

Brinker, William

Briody, Victor

Briscoe, W. & Harley

Brizendine, Roy & Mildred

Broadleigh Gardens

Broddy, Ruth

Bromley, Thomas

Brook, Richard

Brooks, L. E.

Brooks, Mrs. Mac

Broomfield, R. W.

Brosnahan. M. R.

Brotero, Felix

Brown,?

Brown, Alta

Brown, B. J.

Brown, Bob

Brown, Czarina

Brown, Ethel

Brown, F. C.

Brown, Frances

Brown, G. Percy

Brown, J. Nelson

Brown/Browne, Jim

Brown, Opal

Brown, R. C.

Brown, Rex

Brown, Tom

Brown, Vernon & Dana

Brown, W. F.

Browne, Edward

Brownell, Mert

Brownsey, Don

Browse, Julian

Bruce, John

Brummitt, Jack

Brummitt, Leonard

Brummitt, Marjorie

Brun, André

Bruner, William

Buchanan, George

Buchanan, Ruby

Buchholz, Albert

Buchmann, George

Buckles, Eugene

Buckner, Margaret

Buechley, E. M.

Buia, Alexandra

Buie, Mrs. Gordon

Bullock, Albert

Buneaux, John

Bunge, Alexander

Bunnell, Chuck

Bunyard, George & Co.

Burbridge, Laura

Burch, J. E.

Burch, James G.

Burch, Thomas

Burchfield, Samuel

Burgard, Catherine

Burge, Lorene

Burge, Thomas

Burger, G. & Eugene

Burgoyne, Enid

Burkhardt. Klaus

Burman, Nicolaas Laurens

Burnett, Margaret

Burns, Edythe

Burns, Harvey

Burns, Lyn

Burns, Rose

Burns, Thomas

Burr, Fred

Burrell, Charles

Burseen, Tom

Burtner, R. H.

Burton, A. J.

Burton, Frank

Burton II, John

Burton, Lucy

Burton, Ora

Busch, Ron

Bush, Benjamin Franklin

Bush, Flossie

Bush, George

Bushey, Frank

Bushnell, Howard

Buss, Walter & Edith

Buster, W. L.

Butiukov, Sergey

Butler, Brett

Butler, Richard

Butler, Rita

Butler, Terence

Butterworth, Henry

Button, Walter & Joyce

Buttrick, Stedman

Byers, Monty

Byrum, Orris

http://wiki.irises.org/Main/Bio/InfoHybridizers

[tuseriesdetv]

Noticias de series de la semana: En marcha otro spin-off de 'Juego de Tronos'

No son cuatro spin-offs, sino cinco

George R.R. Martin ha confirmado en su blog que Bryan Cogman, guionista habitual de la serie original, está escribiendo un quinto spin-off de Game of Thrones. Cogman, que llegó en la primera temporada como ayudante de Weiss y Benioff, está al frente de episodios como 'The Laws of Gods and Men', 'Stormborn' y 'Kissed by Fire'. Recordemos que si alguno de los spin-offs recibiera encargo de serie, no comenzaría su producción hasta al menos un año después del final de Juego de Tronos. [Fuente]

Veep y Better Call Saul no llegan a los próximos Emmy

Parece ser que la séptima y última temporada de Veep y la cuarta de Better Call Saul no podrán participar en la próxima edición de los premios Emmy. Saul no pretende aparecer en nuestras pantallas hasta septiembre de 2018 y, aunque Julia Louis-Dreyfus vuelve al trabajo en octubre, no veremos a Selina Meyer asomarse a HBO a tiempo. Deberían estrenarse antes del 31 de mayo para ser consideradas. [Fuente]

Accidente tras grabar Riverdale

KJ Apa (Archie) ha tenido un accidente de coche después de trabajar más de catorce horas. Al parecer, se habría quedado dormido al volante en un viaje de cuarenta y cinco minutos hasta su casa pasada la medianoche. El hospital local al que fue llevado le dejó marchar, ya que no sufría heridas graves, pero el coche quedó inutilizable -y la parte del copiloto destrozada- tras chocar con un poste. Cole Sprouse (Jughead), que tenía intención de viajar en ese coche pero cambió de idea en el último momento, ha pedido a la producción un transporte para el equipo que trabaja hasta tarde. El estudio ha declarado en un comunicado que las jornadas de trabajo no son siempre iguales y que los actores tienen permitido pedir un taxi o pasar la noche en un hotel. De todas maneras, SAG-AFTRA, el sindicato de actores, analizará la seguridad del set de la serie. [Fuente]

Parón en For the People

Con dos episodios ya grabados, se ha decidido paralizar la producción de For the People para mejorar los guiones y adaptarse al nuevo ritmo derivado del cambio de actrices protagonistas. [Fuente]

Renovaciones de series

HBO ha renovado The Deuce por una segunda temporada

Netflix ha renovado BoJack Horseman por una quinta temporada

Global ha renovado Private Eyes por una tercera temporada

BBC One ha encargado la adaptación de 'Career of Evil', tercera novela sobre Cormoran Strike

Incorporaciones y fichajes de series

Sean Penn (Mystic River, Milk) protagonizará The First, escrita y producida por Beau Willimon (House of Cards), sobre la primera  misión humana a Marte. Se desconocen detalles de su personaje.

Mark Bonnar (Catastrophe, Shetland) será Neil Sommer, un científico que conecta personalmente con Laura (Katherine Parkinson), en la tercera temporada de Humans.

Russell Tovey (Quantico, Looking) será el superhéroe gay conocido como The Ray en el crossover de DC. Además, le pondrá voz en la serie animada Freedom Fighters: The Ray de CW Seed.

Emma Kenney (Shameless) se une como regular al revival de Roseanne. Será Harris, hija de Darlene (Sara Gilbert) y David (Johnny Galecki).

Rebecca Mader (Zelena) volverá durante varios episodios de la séptima temporada de Once Upon A Time.

Sam Waterston (The Newsroom, Grace and Frankie) volverá a ser Jack McCoy, papel de Law & Order, en la decimonovena temporada de Law & Order: SVU.

Karin Konoval (The Planet of the Apes) volverá a The X-Files en su undécima temporada interpretando un nuevo papel. Su Mrs. Peacock, del episodio titulado 'Home', es de sobra conocida por los fans.

Matthew Broderick (Ladyhawke, Inspector Gadget) será el narrador del especial A Christmas Story.

Indira Varma (Game of Thrones, Luther), David Gyasi (Man in an Orange Shirt, Cloud Atlas), Karla Crome (Misfits, Under the Dome) y Tamzin Merchant (Supergirl, Salem) se unen a Carnival Row. Serán la matriarca de la familia que dirige la ciudad, un adinerado fauno viviendo en un barrio de humanos, un hada que se ve obligada a prostituirse y una joven de familia aristocrática.

Hiroyuki Sanada (Helix, Extant) se une como recurrente a la segunda temporada de Westworld. Se desconocen detalles.

David Lim (Quantico), que entró como recurrente en SWAT, ha sido ascendido a regular antes del estreno. Interpreta a Victor Tan.

Tamlyn Tomita (Teen Wolf, Berlin Station) ha sido ascendida a regular antes del estreno de The Good Doctor. Interpreta a Allegra Aoki, presidenta de la fundación que controla al hospital St. Bonaventure.

Michael Maize (Mr. Robot, National Treasure: Book of Secrets) será recurrente en la cuarta temporada de Gotham como Grady, miembro de la banda de Merton (Michael Buscemi).

Michael Maize (Mr. Robot, National Treasure: Book of Secrets) y Debi Mazar (Younger, Entourage) serán recurrentes en Happy! como un traficante de armas y una madre vengativa y calculadora.

Larenz Tate (Tate) ha sido ascendido a regular de cara a la quinta temporada de Power.

Daniel Cosgrove (Billions, Days of Our Lives) será recurrente en You como Ron, agente de la condicional, vecino de Joe (Penn Badgley) y padrastro de Paco (Luca Padovan).

Troy Doherty y Leo Oliva se unen como recurrentes a la quinta temporada de The Last Ship. Serán Clayton Swain, cadete y protegido de Tom Chandler (Eric Dane), y Peña, miembro del equipo de Octavio.

Alex Meneses (Telenovela) será recurrente en la cuarta temporada de Jane the Virgin como Katherine, dueña de The Cortes Hotel Conglomerate y posible inversora del hotel de Rafael y Petra.

Erik Palladino (NCIS: LA, 666 Park Avenue) será recurrente en la segunda temporada de Six como el comandante Hughes.

Sam Taylor Buck, Daniel Mays (Line of Duty, Born to Kill), Sian Brooke (Sherlock, Doctor Foster), Amma Ris (Chewing Gum), Ilan Galkoff (Wizards vs. Aliens) y Alfie Taylor serán el Anticristo, sus padres y los amigos que le ayudan a reprimir sus impulsos en Good Omens.

Pósters de series

        Nuevas series

La primera serie original de HBO España será Patria, la adaptación de la novela de Fernando Aramburu (2016) sobre el conflicto vasco y sus consecuencias. Escrita y producida por Aitor Gabilondo (El príncipe, El comisario).

ITV encarga el drama familiar Butterfly, escrita por Tony Marchant (The Secret Agent, Public Enemies), sobre una niña de 11 años que nació en el cuerpo de un niño y toma la enorme decisión de mostrarse al mundo tal y como es no sólo dentro de casa. Anna Friel (Pushing Daisies, Marcella) interpretará a la madre de la niña.

Natasha Lyonne (Orange Is the New Black) escribirá y protagonizará una comedia aún sin título en Netflix. Creada por Lyonne, Amy Poehler y Leslye Headland, trata sobre una joven llamada Nadia en su viaje como invitada de honor en una fiesta aparentemente ineludible de la noche de Nueva York. Ocho episodios.

CBS ha dado luz verde directa a trece episodios de FBI, sobre el funcionamiento interno de su oficina de Nueva York, escrita por Craig Turk (The Good Wife, Private Practice) y producida por Dick Wolf (de las franquicias Law & Order y Chicago).

HBO Europa encarga su primera serie escandinava. Gosta (8 episodios), escrita y dirigida por el director sueco Lukas Moodysson, habla sobre un psicólogo infantil de 28 años que consigue trabajo en un pequeño pueblo y trata de aplicar sus teorías de amabilidad universal con resultados sorprendentes.

Showtime ha adquirido los derechos del thriller The President is Missing, novela escrita por el expresidente Bill Clinton y James Patterson que saldrá a la venta en junio de 2018.

Diane Kruger protagonizará y producirá una miniserie sobre Hedy Lamarr, actriz austriaca que inventó el espectro ensanchado (base de funcionamiento del Wi-Fi o el Bluetooth).

The CW desarrolla la adaptación de The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, companion series de Riverdale protagonizada por la bruja Sabrina Spellman con un tono oscuro al estilo The Exorcist o Rosemary's Baby. Dirige Lee Toland Krieger (Riverdale, The Age of Adaline) y escribe Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa (Riverdale, Glee, Big Love).

Fechas de series

The Last Post llega a BBC One el 1 de octubre

Porridge llega a BBC One el 6 de octubre

La segunda temporada de Zapped se estrena en Dave el 12 de octubre

The Punisher llega a Netflix el 13 de octubre

Syfy retrasa una semana, hasta el 6 de diciembre, el estreno de Happy!

Tráilers de series

The Last Man on Earth - Temporada 4

Jack Ryan

The Punisher

Ghost Wars

The Last Post

[basilone]

Ron and darling Darlene, and I'm going to give you the song 'You Shook Me All Night Long' by AC/DC 😏😘 Juno xx

@junojelli, friend, get the fuck back here, you know what you did. You knew what this prompt would do. I'm going to put this under a readmore just to be on the safe side. No real warnings apply here, though those of you who balk at the prospect of a rather submissive and tied-up Speirs might want to look the other way...

you shook me all night long

“You sure this ain’t,” she starts, carefully watching the tilt of his chin and the flicker of light in his eyes, “too tight for ya”– she can still work her little finger between the knot and his wrist, but it never hurts to check –“or too uncomfy, mister?”

“It’s fine”– he whispers, voice catching in his throat as she leans over him to check –“really, Dar,” he mouths against the dip of her collarbone, against the curve of her breast, “more than fucking fine, all right?”

Darlene finds she can’t really argue with that any when she withdraws simply to observe him, to see him tied to the headboard of the bed he commandeered for them, to get used to this somehow. And it’s easy to get used to Ron like this, she finds, when he’s almost whining at the loss of touch – something nearly keening, desperate in his breath – and already straining against his bonds, muscles pulling taut in his arms, stretching out on their sheets, naked and so clearly wanting her in a way that sends a thrill of delight down her spine.

“Now what to do with ya,” she still muses out loud, brushing a featherlight touch against his hip, “what to do about ya”– she laughs, delighted, when he breathes a fuck, Dar, please out into the morning air –“now that I’ve got ya lyin’ here the way you had me last night…?”

[basilone]

OOP GOT ANOTHER ONE !! Darlene & "Taste My Venom" for the fic game >:)))

I had to give this one a bit of a think, but I landed on something that I think works quite well? I initially leaned into taste my venom, but I mainly wrote this baby to the song Sit Stay Roll Over. Also, it's slightly over five sentences but who's counting? And if you catch MotA references in this, ahem.... I can't help that.

taste my venom

They’re of one mind sometimes, Lottie and her, all-too-proud smiles flashing at each other across the table, the quirk of a brow from one enough to spur the other into action, and that’s the way it’s been all these long years. Darlene recalls the humid Georgia nights – sparring like they’ve got something to prove, kissing like they’ve got time to break every rule – followed by England’s dreary ones – falling in and out of familiar and strange beds, the next fight always less than an hour away – as she currently stands in the middle of Normandy and tries to make sense of the world again.

“What’re ya asking me this for,” she hisses, shaking off the stinging sensation in her knuckles best she can, “ain’t tonight’s events reason plenty to just plain punch a Nazi, sir”– why on Earth is she stuck with Dog Company, why is she forced to work with him of all people –“and if ya consider it, on a grander scale of things, ain’t this whole war permission to punch ’em until it’s lights out?”

Up and at ’em, Mayfair, whispers Lottie’s voice in the back of her mind, laced through with such command that even Rosie’d stop short of arguing with that, and give them hell for breathing the same air as us – ain’t that what Lot always said, right before she said summat disturbing about death that had only Gale laughing out an “amen!” – until you can feel the win, taste the blood, grab your people and get the hell outta there.

“We’ve got a cover to maintain,” says Speirs – he’s Speirs here, all business that somehow never looks her straight in the eye – and he’s shifting from one foot to the other in a way that says he’d have it out with her if Dog wasn’t watching, “and you can’t go flying at someone like that, Mayfair” – because of course she’s Mayfair now, and she dimly wonders if he’d break and call her Darlene again if she hit him in the face now –“until I say you can, you hear me?”

“Yessir,” she salutes, someone else’s blood still dripping off her knuckles, trying in vain to not let a hint of mockery reach her voice, “whatever you say”– and it’s the same whatever that Lottie used to chuckle out when her mama started preachin’ about Darlene being a sin –“wherever the fuck you want me, sir,” says Darlene, letting its meaning stretch out beyond the bed she shared with this man prior to the drop into hell, “I’ll be a good little part of the pack, won’t I?”

Speirs’s face, shrouded by his helmet, remains impassive even when his exhale – too loud in this silence – is shaky, worn, and as done with her as she is with him.

[basilone]

for the imaginary fic meme, could i please request "somethin' stupid like 'i love you'" for your choice of oc/pairing? <3

Yes you can, and... oof, you might kill me for this one. Lottie/Darlene and Ron/Darlene feels in a single 5 sentence fic, it can apparently be done. I'm a lil teary-eyed in the best ways right now. 🥺

somethin' stupid like I love you

You’ll spoil it all, is what she’d thought once upon a time, watching Lottie’s tousled blonde hair come to rest against her thigh, by saying things like that, and she hadn’t dared run her mouth – not even when Lottie’s hand had held hers all throughout Sunday sermon and all she could think was I love you – because there are some things you can just tell.

Things like the quiet weeping in the bathroom in the dead of night, as if those walls didn’t talk with how thin they were, and things like that shirt Lottie wore down to the bone without washing it – a size or two too big on her, especially after Italy’s clusterfuck that damn near made her stop eating – and things like Lottie’s letters always leaving space where stories about Gale used to be, as though she could bring him back home through everything that wasn’t written.

You’ll spoil it all, Darlene thinks, leaning into Ron’s touch despite herself, by even thinking it this time, and it’s getting harder to stop thinking it when he invites her into every scrap of his life – even Sink’s morning briefings are things she sits through now, bleary-eyed and still wishing Bette was around to make sense of this instead of her – but there are some things she’s just gotta do.

Things like being gone from his bed first thing in the morning, though if she lingers and looks at his face – peaceful in sleep – she stays longer than she should, and things like writing to Lottie on Ron’s spare scraps of paper like she still means to keep her as a lifeline out of this, and things like spoiling for fights and quarrels until he snaps at her with a fire in his voice that sets her belly to trembling.

“I love you,” he says, after their shouting’s done and his head is on her lap, and Darlene almost says well what’d you go say somethin’ stupid like that for before she realizes nothing’s spoiled this time around at all.

[basilone]

🔥 + interrupted for Darlene 😏 xx Juno

This.. got away from me. Like, really got away. Took my keys and ran with it. Can't hate her for it. Can't hate Ron for interrupting, either. 😏 Big-time NSFW stuff under the cut, y'all have been warned!

A girl’s got needs. Darlene’s been confident of this her whole life and she’s not game to go about apologizing for it any. She’s never been the type to be quiet about it, either. Thinks she’s gotten to be immune for any kind of chastisement about it, too, because there’s only so much preaching a girl can take before turning a deaf ear.

The blush that has risen to her cheeks is not a shameful thing. She’s gasping aloud in her bedroom already, voice catching on a moan soon after, and her fingers pinch her nipples none too gently. She likes it like this, sometimes, with her biggest pillow wedged between her thighs, rocking back and forth until she’s all but grinding against the fabric, letting her thoughts run wild. Her clit rubs against the pillow now that she’s spread her folds just a little more, now that she’s got one hand on her bed and the other squeezing her ass just the way she likes, and she sighs happily when she hits the exact spot that make her toes curl.

She’s rocking against her pillow none too gently, picking up speed and letting out gasps of air that sound almost like a whimper, when the door opens.

Darlene lifts her head. “You’re.. ahh.. fuck” – she moans, unapologetic and certainly not stopping now that slow heat unfurls in her belly – “home e-early.”

“Mm.” Ron’s non-committal hum is a little infuriating, especially when he merely leans against the door and gives her a very slow once-over. “This what you do when I’m out all day?” he husks, eyes roving all over her body as he steps into their bedroom. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Girl’s got needs,” she gasps, grinning when he shuts the door. “You weren’t here, so…”

“So you took matters into your own hands,” he finishes, only throwing a glance her way now that he moves toward the chair near her vanity. “Or, well, took a pillow between your legs.” His mouth quirks up. “What’re you imagining, hm?”

“You know what,” she pouts, shifting her hips and spreading her legs just a little more. “All ah think about is you.”

He sets the chair down in front of her. This close, she can already spot the telltale bulge in his pants and hear the catch of his breath in his throat when he gives her a long and rather searching look. Her answering smile is slow, but she can’t stop the whimper of need that tumbles past her lips. His hand already unclasps his belt – she hears the familiar sound of metal and fabric, sure enough – but his other hand moves across her pillow assuredly.

“You gonna keep going?” he asks, low-voiced and hitting a teasing note that makes her nod instantly. Her eyes are on his loosened belt buckle, on his fingers that are moving to release him from his trousers, but she’s acutely aware of how close his fingertips are to her. “Look at you,” he hums, and she can’t suppress the noise that escapes her when he presses his fingers to her clit, “it’s really that bad already, huh?”

Darlene bites her lip as his fingers tease her mercilessly before two slip inside her. There’s no warning, but there hardly needs to be when she’s this wet and wanting. She pants as his fingers curl up inside her. Can’t help the delighted laugh that tumbles out of her when he manages to free his cock with one hand. She almost manages to move forward, intent on wrapping her mouth around him, but then his hand withdraws from her and she is left whining at the loss of contact instead.

“Not yet,” he laughs, undeterred by her groan, and seats himself in the chair in front of her. His fingers, slick with her juices, wrap around his cock. “Give me your hands, love.”

“Ron…”

“Come on,” he grunts, extending his free hand toward her. His eyes are amused, but dark. “You’re close enough already, I can tell.”

Darlene shifts in place on her pillow until she knows she’s right where she needs to be. Extends her hands toward him seconds later. Isn’t surprised when his free hand wraps so loosely around her hands that she could still break free. She resumes her motions, rocking back and forth atop her pillow, moving toward the high that’s already sending a tremor through her limbs now, though she doesn’t follow the lazy pace his hand sets for himself.

“There you go,” he hums when she gasps and her nails dig into his skin, fully approving of her chasing her pleasure in front of him this way, “that’s it. You gonna ride me like that, too? Hm?” He teases, stroking his shaft in such a way that her pussy almost throbs in response, leaning back in her chair so she can gaze at him openly. He smiles when she nods. “Want to see you come first…”

“Ron,” she whimpers as her hips begin to stutter, “Ron, please…” Wetness pools between her thighs until she’s certain she’s dripping all over her pillow, soaking it with her pleasure as new heat rushes through her, and she’s clinging to his hand like it’s the only thing holding her up when she starts to shake. “Oh, fuck, fuck..”

Her noises give way to nothing but unintelligible gasps and moans as her orgasm sweeps through her and sends her pitching forward with a cry. Her legs shake, relax, tense, shake and tremble with the waves that wash over her as she gasps for breath. She’s clinging to him now that he’s shifted closer, now that he’s murmuring soft encouragement in her ear, and when his hand squeezes her ass and pulls her toward him she thinks she’s done for.

“Come here, love.” He coaxes her off the bed. Accommodates the tremor that still runs through her limbs with a steadying arm around her hips. “Come on, here you go,” he husks, now that her arms wrap around his neck, “that’s it, good girl,” comes the praise, now that she straddles him, now that he guides her onto his cock like that, “is that better?”

“You’re always better than that damn pillow, mister,” she laughs once she catches her breath, “and ya know it, too.”

The challenge he murmurs in her ear is one she’s got every intent of meeting. “Why don’t you prove it?”

[basilone]

🔥 and HIS PARENTS HOUSE for Ron & Darlene 😏 Juno xx

Juno, omg, that's just mean as heck for these two. 😂 But, hey, we can make it sing below the cut..

Darlene eventually meets Ron's family. He's gone through the ordeal of meeting hers, after all, even when her ma took one look and said "he's too good for ya, ain't he" and her little siblings seemed to take his calm as a challenge to disturb. And she's nervous this time in a way that's got her twisting her hands in her lap throughout dinner, got her biting her tongue until her accent turns a bit more modulated, and got her offering to help out in the kitchen with all the aplomb of a girl who's suddenly remembered her manners.

"They like you just fine," hums Ron late that evening, long after his parents have retired for bed. His arms bracket her body as she leans against the kitchen sink. "I haven't seen you wound this tight since you introduced me to Lottie. And that went fine, didn't it?"

Fine sends a blush to her cheeks as she recalls that meeting, Ron and Lottie staring at each other and coming to a wordless agreement about sharing just this once, and fine seems inappropriate for how badly she needs his family to like her. She tries to say as much, there in the dark of his parents's kitchen, trembling hands locked around the nicest shirt he owns, but then his fingertips skim past the bottom of her skirt and she stutters out a not here instead.

"Yes, here," he tells her decisively, hands on her thighs and body pressed against her own, "until you unwind, love." And, damn him, his smile turns wicked in a flash as his gaze travels further down. "Going to need you to be quiet, though. Can you do that?"

Darlene exhales a breath she thinks she's been holding all the way through dinner with his family. Smiles back in challenge. "One way to find out, huh?"

[basilone]

spark the embers | part 3

He pulls her out of a fight, but she’s still spoiling for something that will keep her hands busy. Luckily, Ron Speirs has never been one to back down from a challenge.

This took me a little longer than I thought it would, but here we are.. with a very smutty part three to this fic! Ron and Darlene both snuck up on me with a lot of feelings here again, though, so there’s a real dash of romance here that they’re both a bit scared of. 💕 

[read on ao3!]

[basilone]

Happy birthday, lovely @junojelli! 💕 I hope the new year of your life will be fantabulous in all the best ways! As a celebratory treat, I.. well.. I wrote a little fix-it. Because I couldn’t leave these two like that.

Counts as a follow-up to spark the embers and some grand ol’ cosmic mess.

to rise like empires, alight

Out here, the lines get clearer.

Winters and Nixon chalk it up to the idea that the war will be over soon. He’s heard them say as much, though he has yet to see it noted in any of the reports he stares at until his eyes go dry. Easy Company gains ground with every passing day and the enemy’s retreat turns into its defeat more often than not these days. It’s the ideal situation, or so he’s told even when he remarks upon the too young and too old faces of enemy combatants that greet him while he accepts terms of surrender he would rather ignore.

Was Rome like this, eventually, when all was done and everything turned to ruin? Defended by the elderly, who’d seen too many battles and found them settled like winter frost in their bones? Defended by the young, who’d last played at war with sticks and stones before they were thrown to the ravenous lions?

Ron Speirs shakes his head. He’s never seen a living empire in his time. He doesn’t know how they end. Only knows how they fail, which is not the same.

If anyone asked, he would say the lines get clearer because the enemy does. Out here, deep in the heart of what remains of Hitler’s failed empire, he thinks he learns new ways to be right and old ways to be wrong. He signs papers that accept the raised arms and yielding voices of men he would otherwise have killed. The lack of risk floods his limbs with a phantom ache that longs to twist the knife deep in the enemy’s gut one more time.

He’s always going to look for one more time.

And maybe she was right, then, when she said he’d join her beneath the ground after the war is well and truly done. He can already feel the dust settle in his lungs, next to the smoke of countless cigarettes he’s inhaled, and dirt cakes his hands until even the streaks of red beneath his fingernails turn murky and dark. Perhaps the earth is already closing around him.

Maybe that’s why he feels like he can’t breathe, now.

He shudders through a shaky exhale. Clenches his fists a little tighter when his inhale turns sharp, searing, and spikes his lungs. Leans against the dresser and shuts his eyes.

I am in Germany, he recites to himself, breath gasping free of him once more, so close to the mountains that they already rise up beside me as I walk. He shudders again. I am the captain of a battered war unit. He gulps the air as others would a drink of water. If I look back, I will lose.

“Hey.”

He’s already lost.

“Hey,” he rasps out in response. His breath steadies. His hands relax until the only sign of tension is in the half-moon circles he’s dug into his palm until they almost broke flesh. “You’re up, huh?”

To her credit, her voice only vaguely sounds like she just rolled her eyes in clear exasperation. “Yeah.”

“Doc clear you?”

“No, I got outta bed all by my lonesome today and when I wasn’t pissin’ blood anymore ah thought ah was just right as rain again. Wasn’t wobblin’ around like some baby deer, either, though the stairs are a special sorta nightmare ah coulda done without. Ya know how it is.”

Ron opens his eyes. Groans when he meets hers through the mirror above the dresser already, long before he’s got any chance to steel himself against the merry dance of light in them. The hallway’s light illuminates her. Drafts a halo around her cloud of red hair with artistic impunity, uncaring and unfeeling toward the fluttering swoop in his belly, and paints her frail-limbed beauty in familiar strokes.

She’s looked like that once before.

She’s looked like this in his memories ever since.

“Darlene,” he says, then, and he’s proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t tremble on the syllables of her name the way it had when Nixon’d told him they’d found her. “If Doc didn’t clear you, you’re going back to bed. Stairs or no.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“I mean it,” he snaps out. She sounds too flippant. Too unconcerned. Too unaware of just how close.. He shakes his head. “I still outrank you. Don’t make me order it.”

“I don’t know, captain,” she shrugs, voice lilting into a teasing sound he knows all too well, “ya never took up issue with bossing me around before.”

The flash of her grin flares heat to life inside him before he can look away. He huffs out a breath. Turns to face her. Leans against the dresser as he takes stock of the way she still favors her side, the faded bruises on her arms and throat that shift yellow and green in this light, and the way her eyes flit around the room before she sets foot inside it.

When she shuts the door behind her with a decisive click, meeting her eyes becomes almost impossible.

“Darlene,” he says again, though he cannot tell whether he means it to be warning or desire, “I mean it.”

“Yeah, ah know. Not your fault a girl like me don’t listen easy, huh.”

“You can’t just..” He takes a deep breath. Exhales noisily. Gestures at her tentative, wobbling gait now that she seems determined to step closer to him. “You’re not well yet. The only reason you got through transport okay was the morphine Doc got you. They almost pulled you off the line.”

“Ah know. Only reason why they keep me here is because they think me useful for once. Fancy that. End of war and they finally found a use for me that don’t involve burnin’ bridges or bombin’ some place the likes of me never good and well heard of.”

“You’ve always had more use than that,” he snaps.

“Yeah? They sure have a funny way of recognizin’ that, don’t they? But now that I got stories to share, and names to give, everybody wants somethin’.” She pauses. Her eyes are a steel trap he never wants to escape from. “Everybody except you.”

Only she could make that sound accusatory. Only she would dare. He almost flashes her a grin. Can’t help the fact that his lips quirk upward in response to her glare. The truth is something he doesn’t think he needs to say. She knows as well as he does that he’s not interested in names unless the stories that surround them contain a killing directive. And she knows – she must know – that whatever interest he has in her presence merely has to do with her.

His voice remains carefully even. “I thought you didn’t like me wanting anything from you.”

She’s all arched brow. “And that stops you from wanting it?” Her bite sounds like a rebuke. A chastisement of how much he desires, still. “Don’t play dumb with me. It don’t suit you. You apologized one time. Lottie said I’ve been too harsh on ya. Didn’t bother givin’ ya any space to explain, after all.” Her shrug’s a little softer than the sting of hurt that shines through her eyes. Her accent warbles softly through the notes of her admission. “She said if ah came across ya again, and you was still livin’.. I needed to hear ya. So.” Her inhale is audible. Her exhale a shudder. “Here’s me. Listenin’.”

He sucks in a breath. Considers that this is the clearing of the line that exists between them. Weighs his chances of crossing it, even when he already knows he will. Risk floods his limbs. Suffuses his voice. Gives him air.

“She was my lapse of judgment. Just a little while, before I even laid eyes on you. I didn’t think much of it. There was so much going on – how could she fit in that?” He shakes his head. “She didn’t have the stomach for any of it. But there she was, on the doorstep of where I was billeted one day, telling me she was going to have a baby. My baby. That we needed to marry, as was proper. And I just..” He shrugs. Remembers how his throat had closed up then, how the world had seemed just a little smaller, how the war had shifted from great concern to barely a worry in the blink of an eye. “I panicked, I guess. As near to fear as I’ve ever been. Could see the walls closing in on me. Got out just to get drunk.”

Darlene doesn’t question. Merely states the obvious, such as it is. “And then there was me.”

“Yeah. I’d seen you before, between the time I was with her and that night I actually spoke to you.” He almost fidgets in place. She’d been radiant then, laughing and talking and getting into all sorts of mix-ups, and he knows she carries it inside her still. “I wanted you. Coveted you.” He chokes the word out. Is only mildly surprised she doesn’t laugh. “You were.. are.. I’ve never wanted like that. Never wanted like that since.”

“And you thought.. what?” Her brow furrows. Her eyes flash. “You thought that you could just.. forget you had a baby on the way? That you were set to marry someone else? Getting involved with me on that level, telling me all those things, letting me open up and think..” She sucks in a breath. Chews her lip before she raises her eyes skyward. “Letting me think you liked me. That you felt like that about me.” Her voice is hoarse. Soft on admission. “The way ah felt for you.”

His stomach contracts at the pain in her tone. “I did like you. I still do. I like you more than I ever liked her. Think she figured that out, too, because she didn’t fight the divorce at all when I asked.” He hunches in on himself, then. Fights the urge to bolt from this conversation, from this space between them that crackles electric, from the look in her eyes that turns to disbelief so easily. He owes it to her to stay. To try. “I didn’t know how much I liked you before I went home with you. I thought if it was just one night, one time with you, I could.. I could forget you. That somehow I could make my peace with the way I felt about you.”

“And then I was everywhere in your war, so there was never any peace,” she murmurs.

“Darlene,” he says, then, because it’s never been about the war between them, because it’s just always been about her, “I couldn’t forget about you if I tried. You’re.. You’re it.” This time, his eyes fix on the ceiling. This time, he can’t bear to see her face. To face the potential that she might hurt him, just as he hurt her all those months ago. “I thought about you all the while. Thought it was all right if you hated me, because I didn’t think I could stand being loved by you.”

“I did hate you, for a while. Didn’t think ah could stand to love you, then.”

“I know. I deserved that. Made it easier, in the war. I didn’t want to have a reason to live.”

Her next words are scarcely more than a whisper. “Because then you’d be scared of dying. The way ah was, when they caught me. Thought ah wasn’t gonna stand here and hear you say all this.” Her face contorts into a scrunched-up version of a smile, marred by the pain of almost losing her life. “Thought ah wasn’t gonna get to say ah don’t hate ya now.”

“Well,” he breathes, and looks down at her in the hopes she can hear all the words he doesn’t say, “war’s almost done. Or so they tell me.”

Darlene rolls her eyes. “They’re talking about goin’ home,” she says, accusation stinging her voice and lending it an edge. “Don’t even know what that good and well looks like anymore. Don’t think you do, either.” She meets his gaze. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been afraid of anything. “Ah think ah could stand it now, ya know.”

“Stand what?”

“Lovin’ you. Really think ah could. And ah feel just about real stupid for sayin’ th–”

He doesn’t let her finish. Her words come to a stuttering halt against his lips as he oversteps the line she drew between them half a war ago. He almost expects her to push him away, but then she presses back. And while he keeps his touch as light as a feather, while he merely brushes affection against her lips and her cheeks with mouth and hands, she crashes against him in a heartbeat. Her hands are on his uniform, in his hair, at the nape of his neck. Her lips meet his, then tear away to graze his bare skin over and over again.

“I’d let you,” he says, then, low in her ear as her arms wind around him. “Darlene.” He knows it sounds like prayer. Like the one word that could topple an empire, uttered amid the ruin of everything monstrous he has needed to be, finally spoken as the end to a very long night. “Darlene. I..”

“Yeah. Won’t believe that until later,” she hums. Her head comes to rest against his heart. “Just know it’s there. Think that’s enough, huh?”

“Sure.” He hides a smile in her hair. “You’ll know it’s true. Once you heal up.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Back to bed with you, love.”

“Ron..”

“Hm?”

“Ah can still take it back, you know.”

He can’t help it. Out here, with all the lines in love and war redrawn, he breaks down and laughs.

[basilone]

🔥 and 'on leave' for Darlene and Ron 😍 xx Juno

We're really out here crafting delicious things for them, aren't we? I love that these are mostly theirs. 💕 All goodies below the cut once more..

She goes home before he does, in the end. Darlene thinks it's always gonna be like that, now that they've talked about him staying in the army as if there was ever any doubt that he would, now that he's writing her letters and she's writing back like she hasn't gone through this whole war herself, and she tries to make her peace with that even when Georgia's somehow turned seven degrees of hostile in her absence.

His letters stop. She hasn't heard from Ron in about a month's time. The knot in her belly doesn't loosen, though she tries to keep busy, and she writes letters she knows full well she's never going to send off. If he wants that radio silence, who is she to disagree? If he wants to leave her stranded out in Georgia with no prospects and no plans after all, then she's gonna set her mind to making the most of a really bad deal.

The knock on the door one night is a surprise. She debates letting it go, now that she's lounging around in her bathtub, now that she's finally unwinding after a long day, but then there's more knocking and the unmistakable sound of someone trying to get the best of her lock. She's out of the tub in a flash, grabbing the pocket knife Ron got her the next moment, and she barely even bothers to slip her bathrobe on when she sneaks to the door.

The knife tumbles to the floor. She fiddles with the key, curses how it keeps jamming in the lock, then wrenches the door open to find him. Ron, on her porch, looking rather sheepish, overnight bag at his feet, mumbling something about how he didn't have a moment to write and he went on leave to visit his family and their recent newborn addition of a niece and then he thought he could make it in time to head down to Georgia to see...

Darlene forgets the only thing keeping her bathrobe shut is her hand, because reaching out to him is more important than propriety, because she needs to touch him to ascertain he's really just right there. And she's cussing him out all right because how dare he just not write and look at the state of her and has he no shame turning up on her porch at night while she's tryin' to have a bath?

"Oh, I'm looking," he says, eyes dark as his gaze travels down, "shamelessly so." An amused smirk plays around his lips as she huffs and steps back to allow him inside the house. "You'd best wait with the rest of that bath, Dar."

"Why would ah need ta.."

He steps inside, kicks the knife down the hall, backs her up against the wall, and lifts her up until she straddles his waist. His hands tug her bathrobe off, his mouth is everywhere, and she gives up the fight her hands are waging on his uniform when his hips rock against her and she forgets just what missing him felt like.

[basilone]

heya! how about Ron and Darlene + silhouette or shadow for the 🔥🔥 ask?

Hellooo! 😊 Ohhh, I love this one. Love itttt. NSFW reason as to why below the cut!

Ron and Darlene like to have sex with the light on. They like to watch each other, especially when one of them is spiraling into pleasure. More importantly, during some of their interactions, the ability to see one another's responses turns into a way to gauge how far they can go with one another: the trust they have built up between them over time allows them to be able to read each other's responses and read them well.

Darlene laughs, one early morning in Georgia, that she can see their shadows moving on their bedroom wall. Naturally, as with the mirror they jostled around the room for well over a week before finding the exact spot for it they both enjoy, this calls for experiments. Ron enjoys the moment he glances at the wall to find the bounce of her breasts and tilt of her hips illuminated. Darlene, however, maintains the best silhouette is the one she sees when she's seconds away from muffling her scream in her pillow as he slowly thrusts into her from behind.

"We're both right," she smirks over dinner one night. "Too bad we can't get a photo of that."

Do they spend their time figuring out how to go about that, too? Yeeeeah.

[basilone]

🔥 + fireplace with Ron and Darlene?

Oooohh. This is a goodie, merci. 💕 NSFW headcanon below the cut!

Darlene isn't used to cold winters. She's not that fond of snow, either, and loves to complain about the wind's chill that makes her feel as though she's never going to be warm again. Put it bluntly: Darlene is suffering when she follows Ron up to Boston one winter to pack the remainder of his stuff.

Ron, on his part, doesn't quite bring himself to care about the weather most of the time. It's only when Darlene, teeth chattering and complaining about her frozen nose, tucks herself beneath his arm and refuses to release him that he begins to consider the merits of his not-often-used fireplace.

That night, huddled together beside the fire amid all the blankets they managed to locate, there's nothing frenzied about their union. Ron lies back to watch her strip out of her clothes slowly the warmer she gets, all the while enjoying how the fire's glow illuminates her fiery hair, and Darlene basks in the twin heat of the fire and his gaze on her. For her, it's the first time she thinks she might be as beautiful as Ron always tells her she is.

[basilone]

72. Mischief Managed for Ron and Darlene

*insert evil laugh here*

You had to do it, huh. You just took one look at all my complaints about Darlene and said “you know what, let’s give Eva a good time and have her write this girl who just won’t shut up”.. 😂 I can’t even be mad about this because I do love her despite my grumblings, and because this dynamic is just one hell of a *chef’s kiss* to me. 

If anybody later claims that she was spoiling for this fight to happen, angling for this girl to cross the line mid-argument just enough so she could land the first punch, prodding and poking at the embers of some fire burning bright in her belly all the while, she’s going to laugh it off and snarl that the other one started it – started it with those damn comments about Lottie, who ain’t here to defend herself, and about Darlene herself, never one for propriety and somehow offending some kind of delicate sensibility merely through existing in this space – and that girl fucking good and well deserved to get her ass beat.

She’s laughing up a riot mid-fight, pausing just long enough to knock back another drink, signalling “come at me” with every cocky jut of her hips and her come-hither gestures kept at the same level like that because all battles are based in the gut, sweeping her hair back and grinning like the damn fool her mama always told her she is, and she’s about to clean house now that even the RAF fellas have stepped back and everybody knows it too because there come the first complaints – “really, Darlene, she’s had enough” and “Darlene, give it a rest” chief among ’em – and her booming laugh exalts in this space until it turns just a little hoarse, just a little throaty, just a little too provocative and she almost catches a glass to the face for her troubles.

She’s snarling, then, and about to leap atop the offending party and give ’em what for, but then there is one strong arm at her waist that lifts her clear off the floor like she weighs absolutely nothing at all, like she ain’t steady on her feet whatsoever, and she’s struggling in the tight grip and scrambling to get a hold of whoever’s dragging her out off the floor and into the cold night air and making her kick up some kind of almighty fuss of “lemme go ah ain’t done lemme get at her ah gotta ah have ta –” and then there’s a voice at her ear, low and insistent, laced through with command that makes her shiver and sets her bones a-quakin’ with the tone he takes with her like she ain’t earned any points in his book yet.

And he’s the kinda man to keep a book like that, ain’t he, because he’s all glowering down at her when she finally gets a good look at him and he don’t smile easy at all, she can tell that much about him when he sets her down on her feet outside, but there’s some flicker of amusement when she bites a “fuck you too, sir” at him before she can good and well stop her mouth from betraying her disrespect, something of interest in the way he ducks his head and lights a cigarette that she wants to pilfer off him as soon as the smoke curls into her nostrils, and something of a fight brewing in the quirk of his mouth and the later upward tilt of his head as he eyes her and asks her if she’s done causing mischief now like he’s the demanding type used to gettin’ his way with everything.

She laughs anew, fire burning hot in her veins, flames licking her insides until they fan out and leave her trembling with something of longing, and she knows her eyes spark some sort of challenge because he steps almost toe to toe with her at its appearance and then it’s only a real short distance between her mouth and his ear when she murmurs a “wanna manage this mischief, sir, until ah’m done causin’ it?” in that space between them like she knows full well what she’s doing – and doesn’t she just, when his eyes darken and she knows she’s got him and he’s better than any goddamn pub brawl when he crowds her up against the wall and he weaves strands of her hair between his fingers until he can tug her head back – and then it’s only a shorter distance between their lips that he crosses just as she snarls out “or ain’t ya got the guts” and well fuck he might just be the only fella on any side of the Atlantic that can make her eat her words just like that..