#the pride the mourning the love

[lesbanian]

I'll go a few months without listening to Mashrou Leila, and then for whatever reason I'll listen to one of their songs, and I'll just feel so many emotions all at once. I don't even know what is happening to my body right now.

[n0ahs-ark]

before and after reveal

glow up or glow down?

[thefatfemme]

Taash x Rook ♥️

[hermanunworthy]

never again?

[5starchili]

Happy Pride Month <3

An exchange between love birds, and a song that might go with it

[t00thpasteface]

by the way, i'm looking to see if i can't knock a few more books out of my to-read list before college starts back up in the fall. i want to read all the big-name classics (like catcher in the rye, the count of monte cristo, wuthering heights, FAMOUS titles like that), so does anyone have some good classic recommendations?

i've almost never hated an assigned reading even up through college, with vanishingly few exceptions, but i especially love short, messy, brutal tragedies. the true love dies at the end in all my fav books!! so let me know if you have any good ideas on what classics i need to tackle next ♪(´▽｀)

[fancifulflora]

in the mood for angst! how would the LIs in atoc react to the crown sacrificing themselves for them (during or after ur choice!) ty! group crying session after this lol

hehehe, I've been writing a lot of fluff lately and semi angst so now it's high time I destroy people a little on the inside

also since its a sunday and i have a lot of extra time to write I'm posting this as a nice bonus on top of the 1 daily post

Azad/Ashti

Perhaps they weren't too unlike their father after all.

Both lead their country to ruin, to chaos, in one way or another.

The only problem was that the Royal Protector didn't lose their mind. Their body wasn't frail. Paranoia had not taken them the way it did their parent.

They were healthy, as healthy as one could be. Still young, strong. Capable and with agency.

Yet they were still alive. A Royal Protector now without their Crown.

A failure.

It still was fresh in their mind, a sharp ache filling up their head whenever they let their mind drift to you. The guilt robbed their lungs of air.

They think of the trust you had given them, they trust the two of you shared.

You knew full well that this was their purpose- their duty to lay their life down for your safety.

So why did you do it? Why go so far for them?

It hurts to not be able to hold you in your final moments, to be able to ask- demand to know why you were so damn selfless. Why you cared for them so. Why your eyes looked so resigned, so at peace the moment you shoved your entire body against theirs- your eyes meeting for the last time.

Your head rolling across the stones ended all hope for answers.

Leaving behind a country in chaos, a failure in desperate need of answers they'll never get.

Dara/Delal

Somehow, despite all odds, despite everything they did in their power to get stronger, to grow- they did it again.

They've killed another Crown.

It had to be a cruel trick played on them by the very Spirits themselves. Had to be. There was no way that they were deserving of such sacrifice.

No way a single, insignificant soldier was worth not one, but two Crowns.

Void take them, there was no way their life could ever be worth yours alone.

Not when they knew you, knew your character, knew your potential.

The armor they wore that day still sits in their office, the golden scales stained with a crimson that they may never wash off.

Their own hands are still stained with blood every time they dare look down at them, stained with your blood- no matter how many times they try to wash it off. Try to put it in the back of their mind.

They can't even stop to think of the consequences this will have on their family, they can barely think as is.

The only thing they can do is harden themselves and let the earth itself swallow their misery, their heart.

And their chances of redemption along with it.

Rozerîn/Rêzan

Not a soul blamed them for the Crown's passing.

A part of the sorcerer wished they would.

It's only right that they do.

Though they knew the blame would come later, when the nights of mourning- crying, ended.

It would come when the sorcerer could eat and drink once more when they could get back to brushing their long hair- leaving the darkness of their chambers.

And for once, they'd welcome it.

They'd happily take the looks from the nobles, the snide- even accusatory comments.

It wasn't like they were incorrect in their sentiment. The sorcerer did turn out to be unfit for their position. Unworthy of the faith placed in them by those around the magus.

They'd deserve no less for failing their mentor, for failing their Crown.

For failing you.

Void take them, they'd deserve more criticism if anything.

All their insecurities were brought to life that day, the same day life left yours. They still remember it now, remember the tears in your eyes as you cupped the side of their face, your weak voice telling them that it wasn't their fault. The way you clutched at their silk dress, your blood pooling on the ground.

No amount of healing magic could have healed the deep stabs you had sustained.

Spirits, to think that in your final moments, you'd be thinking of them. It ate away at the sorcerer's heart.

To think that they'd have no choice but to move on from your death - their task now set to finding the next Crown once more. To see the hard work the two of you put into Arsur washed away by time itself.

It was a weight the sorcerer wasn't sure they were worthy of taking, a burden they doubted- no, knew, they could not carry.

Not after watching their very hope fade from your eyes.

Xelara/Xelef

They had their doubts about you when they first stumbled across the long-lost Crown of Arsur.

Their own past with Crowns was a bloody one- one that had them contemplating whether or not they'd even help you in the first place when they first got a glance at your golden eyes.

They still remember holding you in your final moments, seeing the beautiful shades of the sun fade away.

Taking you with them.

Early on, they'd wonder what they might do- should do, if you turned out like Crown Piruz, whether they'd regret not being the one to run a blade through you- kill you where you stood in that clearing.

They certainly never expected to ever actually do it.

Not like this anyway.

Granted, they didn't actually kill you with their own two hands. In fact, most of the songs and tales being spun around Arsur have been about the affection they held for you.

A love that brought about their end.

All because of an arrow you had stolen from them- taking it through the heart instead of the mercenary.

No. They couldn't lie to themselves, not this time.

They knew better. Anyone would sense would.

It wasn't the arrow that killed you.

It was them.

[herfavoritecolorisgreen]

You’re going to hurt me

It’s inevitable, you are going to hurt me

But I play the fool, deliberately and with intent

I do not hold it against you

Your love is not owed to me anyways

You never said forever or guaranteed your time

The only one to blame- is my foolish heart

But- nonetheless, it is yours forever

Or as long as you’ll hold it

[fairwinds-safetravels]

.

[devinwolfi]

watched a new show didn't i

[fragmentedblade]

Insane that Blade during Todd's quest did basically the same thing Dan Heng was doing during this last video

[dove-da-birb]

🌈

For the queer ask game ^^

🌈 - What's a Queer Identity, Experience or a piece of History you feel deserves more recognition?

All queer history doesn't get enough attention, so really, all of it

The bare minimum though is knowing about Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera (aka tired of white queer folk forgetting AND dismissing how important they are)

As for identity? Demi-gender, I never see any media covering them; demigirl, demiboy. But really, any gender falling outside of the binary. As for romantic and sexual attraction? Anything falling under the a-spec umbrella.

*aka I am tired of having to do a powerpoint when I come out to people

[lynxalon]

.

[thestarlightforge]

people might have been disabled their whole lives, and can't imagine a different life for them. and they shouldn't have to be sad for some other life they could have lived when they are alive right now.

This.

disabled people are allowed to like being disabled. prefer being disabled. while there's many reasons people mourn their hypothetical or past abled selves - for which there is no fault - there are as many reasons for people to have no problem with the fact that they are disabled. people are allowed to enjoy being disabled and various parts of their disability without being denied support, care, or accommodations. people might have been disabled their whole lives, and can't imagine a different life for them. and they shouldn't have to be sad for some other life they could have lived when they are alive right now. people might have a disability that is incurable, or has shaped their experiences to the point where they would be a very different person without it. a person which would not be themselves. people are allowed to hate parts of their disability but love other parts. there is no right or wrong way to feel about one's own disability. i have been angry and bitter and with grief at various times in my life because of my disabilities. but i think people who are enjoying their disabled lives do not need constant reminders of the negative aspects without asking, the same as people who are upset with their disabled lives do not need forced positivity. it's difficult to say that you like or accept or enjoy your disability and disabled life when the constant expectation, from ableds and from some other disabled people too, is to wish that you were not disabled at all. disabled people have and always will exist, and our lives and their varied experiences can be full of joy as well

[torpublishinggroup]

Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

The Water Outlaws by S. L. Huang

Mountain outlaws on the margins of society, the Bandits of Liangshan proclaim a belief in justice—for women, for the downtrodden, for progressive thinkers a corrupt Empire would imprison or destroy. They’re also murderers, thieves, smugglers, and cutthroats. Together, they could bring down an empire. 

Now available in paperback!

Somewhere Beyond the Sea by TJ Klune

The long-awaited sequel to The House in the Cerulean Sea is a story of resistance, lovingly told, about the daunting experience of fighting for the life you want to live and doing the work to keep it. Welcome back to Marsyas Island—home to six magical and purportedly dangerous children. This is Arthur’s story.

The West Passage by @jpechacek

When the Guardian of the West Passage dies in her bed, the women of Grey Tower feed her to the crows and go back to their chores. No successor is named, and no hand takes up the fallen blade, so the West Passage—the ancient byways of the beast—goes unguarded. This is a weird and delightful journey across a deliriously medieval landscape where decay thrives in abundance and giant Ladies rule a palace the size of a city. 

Blood Debts by Terry J. Benton-Walker

On the thirtieth anniversary of the largest magical massacre in New Orleans history, Clement and Cristina Trudeau mourn their father and care for their sick mother. But their mother isn’t sick, they learn: She’s cursed. Cursed by a member of the same magic council over which she used to preside. Cursed by someone who will come for Clement and Cristina next. 

Now available in paperback!

Bury Your Gays by @drchucktingle

After so many years, Misha’s big Oscar moment is here. All he has to do? Kill off the gay characters in his long-running streaming series, “for the algorithm.” Misha refuses, but that’s hardly the end, because monsters from his old horror movie days have begun to step out from the silver screen and stalk him. 

The Brides of High Hill by Nghi Vo

The Cleric Chih accompanies a young bride to her wedding to Lord Guo, the aging ruler of a crumbling estate, but amid the elaborate courtesies and extravagant banquets, they realize something haunts the shadowed halls. As the big night nears close, Chih will learn that not all monsters dwell in shadows; some hide in plain sight. 

Remedial Magic by Melissa Marr

1) An unassuming librarian falls in love with a powerful witch. 

2) Previous librarian discovers she too is a witch…

3) …and that she must attend magical community college to learn how to save her new world from annihilation. 

Swordcrossed by @fahye

Part-time con artist / full-time charming menace Luca Piere didn’t expect to get blackmailed into teaching a chronically responsible merchant Matti how to wield a sword. He also didn’t expect to find his charge so inconveniently handsome, or to get so entangled in his tale of intrigue, sabotage, and matrimony. 

It’s important to read Swordcrossed because while you’re reading gay fiction, you can also study the blade.

Celebrate Pride with more titles from Tor Publishing Group here!

[gloomwitchwrites]

What if prompt for the 141: In the Rain

"It's pouring rain, why are you here?" Or something to this nature. I love a confession in the rain, stuck in the rain, kissing in the rain, all of it! Lol

I too love a good confession in the rain. That final scene in Pride & Prejudice is still peak confession in the rain trope for me. I think about it all the time. I think about it on repeat. I want it tattooed on my eyelids. When I think "in the rain," I think of that scene.

So, these aren't smutty by any means but one (maybe two) have some spice to them. They are full of love and longing. There are emotions, angst, and lots of kissing. It's our soaked to the bone 141 boys confessing their hearts in the pouring rain.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief mention of alcohol, suggestive themes, grief/mourning, love confessions, kissing, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings, intimacy, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

There are few things that John Price indulges in.

Cigars. Whiskey. The thought of you as his woman.

That last one plagues him. It burrows in. Makes a home every night to flood his dreams with images of you. John awakens each morning with you on his mind—and then you linger the rest of the day, crawling forward to say hello when he least expects it.

John sits on a barstool in a dive bar, contemplating life in the bottom of his whiskey glass. It’s the middle of fucking nowhere, but that’s the point. This isn’t a celebration or a job well done. This is a “thank fuck it’s over” drink.

The dive bar is dark and smoky. A jukebox in the corner endlessly rotates between eighties rock and country music. Next to the jukebox is a pool table where a group of three play. Otherwise, the place is entirely empty.

John knocks back the rest of his whiskey, signaling the bartender for a refill. He’s only half-listening to the conversations around him.

Laswell, MacTavish, Garrick, and Riley are all here. Simon is silent, staring off into space as the other three have an animated conversation. You’re here too, sandwiched between MacTavish and Riley. You’re not speaking, but you are listening, nodding your head at all the right moments.

But you look tired. Like you’re about ready to pack it up and call it a night. It’s deserved. This mission sucked. It was brutal. Tough. A complete shit-eating stink of a job. You aren’t part of the team. Not really. Laswell dragged you in last second, and John is happy that she did. Otherwise, he’d never have met you.

And that would be a tragedy.

John only has eyes for you. It is a sweet tooth that cannot be satiated. He’s been a bit reserved in how he’s approached you, but you always have a soft smile for him or a cheeky remark. It’s devolved into flirting at times, and at points so blatant that everyone else chimes in.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” you yawn, pushing your empty glass to the edge of the bar. The bartender walks by and snags it, whisking it away to be deposited into the sink.

This is it. You’re about to walk away. John will likely never see you again unless Laswell decides to call on you. This might very well be his only chance.

You slip off your barstool, and John abruptly stands, his leg smacking into Laswell’s stool. Everyone—including Simon—turns in John’s direction.

He coughs. Clears his throat. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he says quickly.

MacTavish smirks and elbows Gas in the arm. The two men exchange a knowing glance before they both raise their eyebrows at John. MacTavish even shakes his shoulders a bit. John shoots them a cold look over your shoulder. They stifle their laughter behind their glasses.

You don’t notice at all. Your focus is on John, and that’s exactly how he wants it.

The entrance of the dive consists of one interior door, a small entryway, and an exterior door. As the two of you enter the small entryway, a crack of thunder erupts overhead. You pause, staring out the small window on the exterior door. It’s not pouring, but the rain is steady. Getting caught it in for any period of time will likely result in soaked clothes.

You turn slightly in his direction, and John is suddenly aware of how cramped the space is.

“You don’t need to walk me to my car,” you say softly, gesturing toward the downpour. “Not with the rain.”

John shrugs. “I want to.”

It’s true. He does. But there is an ulterior motive here. This is his one chance to have a final goodbye or a new start.

You smile softly, gaze flicking down to the floor before returning to his face. John’s cheeks heat—and it’s ridiculous. He’s a grown fucking man. He doesn’t get flustered. But this space is small. It is far too cramped. John is nearly on top of you.

Beneath those long eyelashes are your gentle eyes. It’s a look you only give him. Your lips part slightly. They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. He wants nothing more than to lean down and close the distance.

“Okay,” you reply with a teasing laugh, opening the door.

The earthy scent of rain hits him first and then the pattering of the falling rain comes next. You slip out the door and stand close to the building under the small awning, attempting to stay out of the rain. John follows behind, coming up next to you.

Your smile is sweet as you gaze up into the dark sky. But then you turn to him, and that smile morphs into something devious.

“Should we race to the car?” you ask, as if conspiring.

John grins. “Think you can beat me?”

You laugh. “An old man like you? Absolutely.”

John can’t help but smile back, nudging you with his elbow. “Not that old.”

“What do I get if I win?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“A kiss,” says John automatically. It rolls right off his tongue. There is no way for him to take it back. And he doesn’t want to. “What do I get if I win?”

You wait a beat. And then answer.

“A kiss,” you reply slowly.

A kiss.

John blinks, his mind momentarily stuttering out. Your grin widens, and then you’re off, sprinting into the rain and to the car.

John nearly trips as he jogs after you. The gravel is slick and the rain splatters against his jacket. He isn’t all that interested in racing. John is only watching you, and the way your ass bounces as you make for the car. Your curves are lovely. He imagines opening the rear door and pushing you into the back seat, only to drag you into his lap to take whatever he wants.

You make it before he does, but John is right behind, nearly sliding to a stop in the wet gravel. You turn toward him, grinning. Pieces of hair stick to the sides of your face. John cannot help himself. He grabs the back of your neck and draws you in.

You don’t resist. You surrender.

John’s mouth crashes against yours and you open beautifully for him. There is no one kiss. There are many. Multitudes. It is endless. It is rain-laced. Whiskey-drenched. John might have the buzz of alcohol in his veins but you are quickly replacing it.

Your lips part and John slides his tongue inside. Your hands grab at him, fingers digging in. The two of you are pressed together, rain falling to drench clothing and skin.

With a low groan, John pushes you up against the car, intensifying his kisses. You eagerly greet him, accepting them all, returning them in equal measure. You are just as desperate. Just as hungry. Time is an illusion—and it isn’t until you shiver beneath him that John pulls away, aware that the two of you are now soaked through.

“Why are you still here?” you ask.

“You don’t know?” he replies, his hand cupping your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“It’s pouring, John.”

“I know.” You smile, and John goes in for one more kiss. “Do you not feel this? Am I the only one?”

You shake your head. “I feel it. Everywhere, John. I feel you everywhere.”

“Let’s go. Get out of here.”

“Right now?”

John’s grip tightens and you gasp, hips pressing against his.

“Right now.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The rain is light but steady. It falls from the cloudy sky to patter against your umbrella.

The graveyard is empty, and yet you knew Simon would be here. He always is on the anniversary of Johnny’s death. Like clockwork. It’s routine for him. A ritual.

Simon’s back is to you, his head bent as he stands in front of Johnny’s grave. There is no body there. It’s ornamental. Something for family and friends. There are fresh flowers next to the headstone.

You have no idea how long Simon has been out here. Simon has no umbrella with him, and the hood of his jacket is off. He’ll catch a chill like this, which is why you came. Seeing him like this is always difficult, and since Johnny’s passing, Simon has grown more attached.

He is always checking in on you—always near. You’d call it protectiveness but it feels more like obligation. A duty. Most days, Simon appears to be on the cusp of telling you something, revealing a secret that he’s itching to confess. You don’t know what it might be. Couldn’t take a guess. But you have thought about it. You have imagined all sorts of possibilities.

The two of you are always finding the other. Always reconnecting. Always reaching out. If it’s not him, it’s you. Perhaps it’s Johnny’s death that has brought this on. Whatever it might be, Simon is closer to you than he’s ever been, and sometimes it frightens you.

It feels like more.

“I brought you an umbrella,” you say to Simon’s back.

He turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Simon’s gaze sweeps from the ground and then lands on you. His hair is wet and droplets of water speckle his face like freckles.

Simon fully turns toward you.

The rain picks up a bit, soaking Simon further. You rush to him, holding your umbrella over his head, cutting off the rain. The two of you stand under it in silence, simply staring at each other. Time stretches, and then Simon’s hand rises, wrapping around your own where you hold to the handle.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

You swallow, and gather your courage. “You shouldn’t grieve alone.”

Simon’s brow softens. “I’m supposed to be the one looking after you.”

“I never asked you to,” you reply.

“But Johnny did.”

You start, eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean?”

Simon licks his lips. A droplet of water drips from the tip of his nose. “I made a promise. To Johnny. I made a promise to him.”

“What promise?” you whisper as the rain picks up more. The rain strikes the top of the umbrella in loud patters that nearly drown out your voice.

Another droplet falls from Simon’s nose. He leans in slightly, and the movement is confusing. It’s too intimate, like he wants to close the distance.

“I promised that I would—” he abruptly cuts off, swallowing. Simon’s gaze darts from your eyes to your lips and then back again.

“What is it, Simon?”

He sighs. “Fuck it,” he growls, shredding any distance there might have been between your bodies.

Simon claims your lips, kissing you so completely that you’re momentarily stunned. You taste the rain. Mint. A slight hint of smoke. You return the kiss, not pushing him away or pulling back. You open for him, accepting it all, and Simon continues to take, his free arm wrapping around your waist to draw you closer.

Even though he’s drenched, Simon is incredibly warm. It’s unfair how he can be an inferno in this downpour.

The graveyard is forgotten. The rain is a distant. There is only Simon’s lips, and the groan he makes when you return each kiss in equal enthusiasm.

Simon goes in for a quick nip before drawing away. It leaves you breathless and wanton.

“Was that part of the promise?” you ask, only half-joking.

Simon shrugs. “In a way.” You arch an eyebrow and Simon smiles softly. “I told Johnny I’d make a move. And now I have.”

“Yes,” you agree, heat blooming in your cheeks and your core. “You have.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

There is no turning back.

You made a choice. Kyle made a choice.

This is how it is.

You don’t want to be at the airport. You don’t want to leave. This entire situation is shit. But Kyle seemed willing to let you go. He’s not here. He didn’t beg you to stay. He didn’t try to convince you that all he wants in life is you.

That’s all you need. To be wanted. To be loved.

After all of this—after everything, and Kyle isn’t here.

You’re not mad. Not really. You are both adults. You both have made a choice. Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you don’t understand. Because at the end of the day, you do. Truly.

Sighing, you haul your suitcase over the curb and on the sidewalk. The Uber that brought you here is already pulling away to go pick up someone else. The airport is packed on the inside, and the rain that falls from the sky in sheets. You have a coat, and the hood is up, but what you really need is an umbrella.

Already, you feel the water seeping into the unprotected places. Rain does that sometimes. Trickles in where it isn’t wanted.

You start to pull your suitcase behind you. A wheel catches in a small crack, and it nearly takes you down with it. Stumbling forward, you put a hand out to catch your fall. You expect your bare palm to land on concrete. To burn with pain.

But you don’t make it to the ground. You don’t touch it at all.

There are arms around you. They are strong. And somehow so damn familiar it’s frightening.

Then, you’re being lifted, guided back to your feet. Those strong arms ease you onto solid ground, and then you’re turning to thank the stranger that’s saved you from falling face first into the concrete.

But it is no stranger.

“Kyle,” you breathe, staring into the face of the man you’ve loved for years now.

Something breaks. Shatters.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Kyle hasn’t let you go. His arms are still around you. Your hands grasp his biceps, and his jacket is slick with rain. His hood is not up. And yours has fallen at some point. Already, the rain is soaking your hair. Strands of it stick to your face.

“Coming to right a wrong,” he says. Your lips part but Kyle shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t fight hard enough. I let you slip through the cracks.”

Kyle draws you in a bit closer. The people passing by and the cars are distant.

“I should have told you ‘I love you’ every day. I should have been present.”

“Kyle—”

Your next words are stolen. Kyle closes the distance, and then you’re wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, sinking into the kiss.

You can’t leave now.

You can’t.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The rain falls gently from the sky.

Johnny grins, staring up into it, opening his mouth. His tongue is out to capture the droplets. You laugh, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, going in for a quick kiss on his cheek.

As you draw back, one of Johnny’s hands shoots out, snagging your arm. You playfully yelp, and swat at him, thinking that Johnny will let you go. He’s flirty, and sweet, but there is nothing more to it.

At least, you didn’t think so.

But Johnny’s gaze is heated, and the way he holds you against him is far too intimate to be anything other than what it is.

“Johnny,” you laugh, trying to play it off, but he remains firm.

His smile faulters slightly but it’s not a frown. It’s a heated stare. His gaze is on your lips, and you can see the desire there. What would happen if you went for it? If you kissed him?

“What are we doing?” he asks. “Can’t I have you?”

Startled, everything leaves your head. “What?”

Johnny’s gaze flicks up, and those gorgeous eyes drown you—submerging you in his depths. “Why are we stepping around this? We want each other.”

You do want him, but you thought it was mostly one-sided.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, softly.

Johnny smirks, and then he’s lifting you up into the air, placing you on top of the low stone wall. “Should I use my words?” he asks, fingers sliding underneath your rain-drenched shirt. He is warm, and his touch heats your skin. “Or should I show you with my body?”

Johnny nips at your bottom lip as his hands ascend. One slides between your breasts just as his lips meet yours. Your core clenches, and then you’re grabbing for him, touching him as much as he’s touching you.

The two of you are in the Scottish countryside. There are no people around. Just the two of you, and rolling green hills.

Johnny slots himself between your legs, and you reach beneath his kilt, finding him hard and wanting. He hisses, and then groans when you stroke him.

Everything is warm. Everything is rough.

It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, or that it’s a bit cold. You allow Johnny to shove articles of clothing aside, to find the places where you’re needing him to be. His touch is a brand, and you love how it feels, pulsing through your loins like an overheated engine.

“Johnny,” you gasp into the rain, fingers threading through his hair as he goes to his knees to taste between your thighs.

There is only heavy breath. A twisting of pleasure.

When he finally brings your bodies together, there is nothing but him. Nothing but you. Just two people finding each other.

The rain is nothing.

It isn’t even cold anymore.

Johnny is all heat. And you are burning for him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

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@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im