#wip: car show season

[faketrex]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you kindly for the recent share-some-words tags, @caterpills, @cha-melodius, @anincompletelist, @porcelainmortal, and @sparklepocalypse!

Here's a snippet from a summery story I'm working on... maybe you remember the cars from this post?

The later it gets in July, the hotter it gets, until the air above the asphalt ripples with heat lines like the desert in a Roadrunner cartoon. Hell, Alex grew up in Texas and even he feels more liquid than solid on days like today.

Across the aisle from Alex and one car to the left, Henry looks miserable. At least he's smart enough to wear loose clothing and light colors–white t-shirt, cuffed light-wash jeans–but as the day wears on, his face slowly turns pinker and pinker. Alex keeps an eye on him.

During the mid-afternoon lull, as Alex observes from behind his sunglasses, Henry holds a water bottle to his forehead, then the side of his neck, tilting his head and closing his eyes. It doesn't look refreshing, but Alex keeps watching, hypnotized–so really, he shouldn't be surprised when Henry opens his eyes again and catches him in the act.

I'm tagging everyone who tagged me, along with an open tag (please do tag me back!), plus @eusuntgratie, @stratocumulusperlucidus, @myheartalivewrites, and @writes-in-space.

[carolmunson]

is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

[allfortheslay25]

I’ve been avoiding tumblr so I can know absolutely nothing about the sunshine court (slightest details feel like spoilers to me) (I wanna go in completely blind)

Also, art block has been a real mean bitch. I can’t finish anything

I do feel like I’ve neglected y’all tho since I’ve been workin in my sketchbook and I don’t post those doodles here

So here’s some wips!

I recently watched Jennifer’s Body and my sister wanted me to draw Allison as Jennifer (Allison’s Body AU for the wip?👀)

I saw that ppl were making aftg ocs so I wanted to try sharing some of my own (y’all know I’m crazy about making ocs) I was gonna draw one or two from each of the teams (original teams and canon teams) but I only got so far

First guy is Achillesz, captain of the Fennecs (originally known as wild dogs) Eris, striker for the Ravens 2023 (I was thinking of changing her to goalie) and Marlynn, dealer for the Hyenas

I was also going to draw one of my Foxes but again, art block is killing me

Drawing Milo looking in the mirror vs when he’s older (older vers wasn’t saved cuz again, art block)

Hazbin designs for the Twinyards (not an AU!)

I did it for fun, not an AU yet. All I’ll share about it is that Andrew died in that car crash with Tilda and Aaron over dosed afterward

These are the only prototypes I actually saved. Final designs will definitely be different

Nicky sticker for the sticker sheet wip

My sister recently rewatched Bridgerton in preparation for the new season and she asked me to make an AU but with Milo and his future partner. She wants Milo to be Daphne so I was redrawing a scene (I can’t show the full redraw yet )

Here are some things my sister decided for the AU

- Milo is Neil’s son from a past relationship

- Neil and Andrew have multiple kids (but not as many as the Bridgertons actually do)

- Andrew died in an accident (no bee because I convinced her not to)

- Jean plays the role of Lady Danbury

- Kevin is Queen Charlotte lmao

- Milo is the diamond of the Exy season

[spicy-pears]

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓

warnings: forceful smut.breeding/impregnation.stalking.biting??(okay he may have tried to eat you). sexual vulgarity.over stimulation.branding.torture?

Pairing: Johnny slaughter x Female reader. [Sorry Leland lovers, maybe sometime this spooky season]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: 1-𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚. 2-𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 3-𝑬𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔.[WIP].4-𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 [WIP].

Word count: 3k

[Thanks for stopping by! This is my very first smut post. So all likes and critique are truly appreciated❣️]

𝙹𝙾𝙷𝙽𝙽𝚈'𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝚅

"Good night! Or should I say good morning, Austin Texas! It's officially 12:00 am. August 29. We got some good news for you guys tonight-" the radio turned off abruptly with the rough turn of the dial, causing it to harshly click. The car became eerily silent, And time began to stand still. Johnnys gloved hand tightly gripped his steering wheel. head held down deep in thought, while his jaw began to clench. His tense body showed a man deep in battle with himself. His sharp inhales and deep rumbling exhales, reminiscent of a hungry animal or beast. His mind slowly being engulfed with a fuzzy, static, ringing sound. A sound that drowned everything else out, a sound that let him know he needed to hunt.

His dark eyes studied the blood-stained cloth, firmly held in his right hand. He tried his best to settle the unrest inside his mind and body. But finally gave into his loud flagrant desires. Bringing the cloth to his face, he took in the distinct scent of his new obsession. The hint of your natural sweetness, the lingering smell of your perfume, and the distinct copper signature of your blood. All of this together brought him into a high, causing his needy cock to harden and throb. his eyes grew endlessly dark with hunger. His breath now in the rhythm of a heated pant as he pulled away from the cloth.

After maria, he made sure to be careful. He didn't take you home right away, he wasn't going to lose another. He waited and played his cards right. By dating your hopeless friend, getting closer to you without notice. He managed to snag your beloved charm bracelet, a photo of your beautiful doe eyes and sweet smile, and now your blood. Unfortunately collecting and waiting was over. You were now in a perfect position for him. And he surely didn't give a damn about your loving fiancé. There you stood, in the dark. Your eyes dashing to see the source of each unexpected sound. While you held your bleeding hand waiting and waiting for your friends. They won't be back any time soon, he made sure of it.

AUGUST 29, 1988 TIME: 12:30 AM

The humid Texas air was slowly getting to you. You started to feel the time flying by. And with the passing moments, the texas night heat only grew stronger. Letting out an anxious huff, you battled with your better senses. You know you should sit still and wait for the girls to come back. But you felt uneasy, as the men coming into the bar had a open view of you. They gawked, whistled, and even took second and third glances while walking by. You began to feel like a rabbit in an open field. While Ignoring the male bar goers as best as you can. You noticed a figure standing 10 feet from you, gaining your full attention. It stood in the back alley of the bar, where the light didn't reach. You couldn't tell who it was or what they were doing, but after you stared for a little while longer. The figure titled its head mockingly. letting you know this wasn't delusion or Texas heat, this was reality.

You tried to swallow down the fear bubbling up, but your dry throat made it impossible. Your hand began to tremble lightly. You knew the hotel was a block and a half away,if you ran. You could try to page someone, but your pager was in friend's missing bag. As you quickly cycled through your mind, you felt hope wash over you. Your fiancé always gave you a switch blade for outings, which you thankfully kept this time. Frantically you began to search for it, feeling on its holster that wrapped around your thigh. Suddenly you heard it, "switch!", your knife being flicked open. Your eyes slowly looked up with dread,watching the figure waving at you with your knife in hand.

Then it all clicked, the only person close enough to take it, was johnny. Refusing to let him get you easy, you nodded at his shadowy figure. And without wasting a second you turned around and took off for the hotel. Last you saw of him; he took off stalking into the wooded area amongst the trees. While you decided to run down the clear sidewalk under the streetlights. You didn't scream, you didn't cry, you saved your energy for running. Your legs felt heavy, feet started to feel numb, and your chest ached from it pounding with each stride. You felt safe following the streetlights and sidewalk, until there were no more. Before you faced the wooded area of a park, an area with no trail, no railing, and no intention of life traversing. You knew by cutting through the park. The hotel would be closer for you to reach.

Hearing branches snap, dry leaves shuffle, and rustling bushes drawing near. you cared nothing for the concept of caution and ran into the wooded area.

If only you were more cautious.

Realizing pretty quickly the area you bravely ran into, turned into a downwards slope. You carefully tried slowly traversing down the slope sideways. Regardless of how careful you were, all footing was quickly lost. under the soft, muddy leaves, and dew-covered grass. With no control of your body, you began to slide down quickly into a full body tumble. Plunging down the slope, for what you felt was 8 feet from the ground. Your back finally collided hard with a tree at the bottom of the uneven slope. The forceful collision caused an audible coughing fit from the pain and exhaustion of your lungs.

"Tsk, what a damn shame... here I thought you were a tough one. I must admit you put up a good effort. None of the other girls ran as fast nor far as you did. Oh! I assure you!" Johnny would crouch down next to his prey and chuckled at your pain. While you laid there pathetically, he took out his harvesting blade. And with a quick snap of his wrist your dress came clean off. Leaving you bare to him and the low rolling night breeze. "You know, I thought your fiancé would have been somewhat smart. Being a cop and all...obviously not a good one. I was on your trail, during every little moment of your trip." His taunts continued. Quickly and clumsily, you tried to collect your tattered dress. Your effort proved to be of little use, with the shredded mess. "Hell, I think I know more about you than he does. Born in New Orleans green eyes like your mother, but sure do have your fathers' spirit." He got up following close as you writhed in pain. Pathetically crawling away from him, attempting to hide your naked frame from his gaze. He observed how weak you became, relying on all of strength left in your fingertips and arms. Johnny cruelly pressed his foot against your injured and bruised back. Stopping all pathetic attempts then and there.

While you laid there it became painfully clear, that you were dealing with a psychopath. A handsome face, scars excused as the marks of a hard-working farm hand. Staring you excused as shyness, every red flag you foolishly excused for your friend's happiness. Realizing what he was, you devised your survival plan. They say killers hate rejection.so you'll accept every kiss,every touch, even fall in love if needed be; you were going to live.

He suddenly took his foot off your back, his footsteps growing faint, yet petrifingly close. Snatching this opportune time, you continued to crawl away. He watched you from afar, with a assumed expression. Spending your time crawling to nowhere, johnny patiently bided his time. For the warm orange flame flickering under his eyes, was just picking up. So caught up in your hopeful efforts, and devising your plan. you missed the lingering trail of smoke. You carelessly disregarded every firey sign of inpending torture, and you were going to pay for it dearly.

"oh no? leaving already?" johnny's tone was filled with mocking empathy. No matter how hard you tried, your effort didn't get you far. With a few steps, Johhny was above you again. Once again his smothering foot met your back. leaning down, he purposely put his weight onto your weak back. "Boy, aren't you a sweet sight? I'd hate for you to run off one day, but if you do. let's make sure a kind soul can bring you back home.". His words were purposely vague, he could feel the confusion swirling and sinking heavy in your stomach. In his hand held a brass "J" branding iron, that your poor eyes didnt notice.

A harsh stinging slap to your ass, caused your body to jolt forward under Johhny's boot. your teeth gritted in pain, as it eased into a stressed exhale. only a second of peace was given to you, before your eyes widen with hot tears. Burning heat plunged into the flesh of your hip, seeping down to the bone. As the sensation raised up to your chest, your mouth opened to let out a shrill agonizing scream. before it could ring through the night air, Johnny's hand met your mouth. Quickly choking out your heart-rendering cries. Over stimulated with pain, your body begged for rest. He smirked as your body fell limp, your chest softly heaving with shock.

What have you done to earn this nightmare? you were raised as a church girl. Maybe you partied a bit too hard to be considered devout. But you were still a virgin, attended every sunday service, and treated everyone with love. How were you now prey to the, "bad man" Infront of you?. In your fog, you yearned to look into the eyes of the man towering before you. The night sky and lazy clouds swallowed all light, not a single star nor the moon was shining for you. Deep down without making out his face, you just knew johnny was grinning with hunger. "Hey there! "He suddenly come face to face with you. His hands firmly grasping your wrists. You saw his face clear as day now. The sadistic yet playful smile on his face, coupled with the gentle caressing of your cheek. Brought to you a uneasy sense of comfort.

"Don't cry sweetheart, ill try to make this quick." He closely observed your eyes, for any signs of opposition. you never seen a man nor animal, With such endlessly devoid eyes in your life. Johnny chuckled at your mindless deer in head lights expression. He brought his thumb to you bottom lip, feeling the delicate plush of it. Soft grazes became harsh once he grasped your chin, yanking your head up to his attention. His thumb no longer gently tracing, it now pressed hard against your lip in a rough pinch. Suddenly your haze lifted, you began to realize your position. Your head moving around, taking in your helpless environment.

Your frantic display of fear brought out a deep groan of pleasure out of johnny. The groan trailed off into a deep sadistic chuckle. That almost drowned out the soft bell like sounds of his unbuckling belt. A growl rumbled deep from his chest down to your stomach. He perched himself on your mid-section to stop any attempt of escape, encasing your small frame between his knees. With each squirm you caused his body to rock and grind against you. lighting would strike you down, if you said you didn't like his hard length throbbing against your skin. "Look, look at me!" He snapped at you. Your frightened efforts to not look at him, Slowly wore down his patience. His right hand which held your wrists together. Forced them above your head, he hadn't yet forgotten your wounded hand.

Maliciously his fingertips applied pressure on the fresh cut, the feeling made you swear his fingers were deep in your wound. which made your skin began to crawl with disgust. The Increasing pain caused you to cry out and arch back, in an attempt to get his weight off of you. He allowed you to arch your body, he reveled in how you moved for him. "Oh? Needy, aren't you? For a devout little church girl." He relished in teasing you, while his now bloodied fingertips traveled up your thigh. Finding purchase between your legs. Fingertips running up your thoroughly soaked panties, teasing your covered slit. Although his fingers were now coated in your sweet juice, He desired more from you. Suddenly, johnny's head become lost between your legs. He'd use is teeth to delicately pull your panties to the side, giving his fingertips free range to slowly push into your tight gummy entrance. He made sure to leave a intense fluttering sensation coursing up your spine. He leaned up to you, as you let out a soft moan. He parted his lips as yours did, letting out a pleased groan of his own. He took a moment to relish in your shameless state. Before grabbing the soaked lace mess and greedily ripping it off with little to no effort.

Your eyes widened as you tried to close your legs, hiding yourself as best as you could. "Oh sweetheart, don't tell me you don't want me to fuck you? With how wet you are?" His bare calloused hands gripped your thighs bruisingly tight, no longer caring what you do with your hands. Impatiently yanking your body down to meet his hips. His length throbbing against your pussy, as it radiated your heat covering his shaft with your slick. "I hate to tell you, but I have to fuck you now, since you begged and all" before you could even plea for him to stop or fight back. The air was taken out of your lungs, as you moaned out. Hot tears welled in your eyes. He pulled you down forcefully flush onto his cock, not caring you were unexperienced.

You watched his wild ravenous grin, as the strength of his hips made each thrust deeper and rougher than the last. He loved watching the tears roll from your eyes. Mesmerized by your moaning lips begging for his kiss. Johnny figured he'd give you this one kindness. Your soft moans would be choked out from you, as his large hand gripped your neck firmly. Bringing your needy lips to his, he gave you the passionate kiss you oh so desired. You found yourself running your fingers through his hair, which he hated. He began to smirk through the kiss and rewarded you with a keen vengeful bite to your bottom lip.

Your sweet blood, lingered on his tongue like liquor. Bringing him to a high, his thrusts grew needy and cruel. He lost himself, in the taste of you. Once he broke the kiss, you looked on at his shark like eyes in horror. Before you knew it, his hungry lips now wandered to your shoulder. A radiating source of your intoxicating perfume. Soft Fuzzy static began over take his mind, he knew what he wanted. And couldn't control his primal instincts. His body tensed, his muscles flexed and hardened, face buried deep into your neck hiding his internal struggle. He'd let out a animalistic grunt, a hopeless warning for you. A blood chilling scream rang from your weak throat. Johnny hungrily sunk teeth deep into your flesh. His mind now completely flooded with the roaring static. hearing your cries and french curses, faintly in the back of his mind.

"Fuuck!" johnny pulled himself out of his haze, his gaze darting to his left hand. Realizing he unknowingly took his knife out during the fog. Begrudgingly, he pushed his knife away from your body. Resisting the strong urge to kill you, atleast not yet. Instead he began to take in the sight of you. A broken mess, panting like a well fucked whore. He'd steady his position with his hand besides your head, now resting his weight on his arm. A frustrated whine echoed from your chest, demanding release. He felt your tight little pussy clench around him, your body ready to cum without his permission. His eyes glared deep into yours, his thrusts now mercilessly deep. greeting the very depths of you, abusing your cervix with his controlling strength. "You tight greedy whore-" He grunted, as you defiantly closed your thighs. Johnny smirked and decided not to go easy anymore. he pressed your thighs back against your chest. Thrusts bottoming out, as your core now ached against the girth of his length.

"J-...Johnny!" With the needy moan of his name. You finally broke, cumming on his thick punishing length. You began to tremble, as the wave rode through your body. You sweet inexperienced doll, you thought once you came it was over, not just yet. you began to stare down at the mess of your bodies, you watched as his cock stroked in and out of your gushing mess of a pussy. Mercilessly pumping out your cream, while your aching pussy wrapped around tight. carelessly you dared to drag your fingertips down his sweat covered torso, down to the base of his working cock. Luckily, he was too high off the feeling of his rushing edge, to punish your touch. His body pressed heavily on yours, he savored each sound your crying, messy body made. His body soon raised up again, his leaning head back getting a full view of you. Eyes sitting low, while his tounge wolfishly licked the dried blood off his smirking lips. You felt his fingertips digging deep into the plush of your ass. Which gave into his wake, bloody scratches and crescents from his nails adorning your ass.

"Take it! Take it!" His voice dripped with a carnal venom. His pace now sloppy against the twitch of his cock. Each twitch reminded him of how defiantly tight you were, not allowing him to stretch you even a centimeter more without a challenge. With a satisfied deep hiss, he claimed you. Filling your assaulted cunt with his hot thick seed. You panted with relief , Your body lightly trembled with each breath you took, until your nerves eased for him.

"Oh? sweet as a kitten now, aren't you?" he lazily pulled his satisfied cock out of you. He chuckled at your sweet face, before turning his attention to fixing himself up. Somewhere you found the strength to pull yourself up, weakly sitting on your tired knees. You began to admire the shape of his face, eyes tracing each scar, your chest fluttered at the mere presence of him. He didn't know what he was going to do with you, let alone a child. But that was the price to pay, he planned on selfishly keeping you as long as he could. His strong arms, carefully wrapped around your chest. Pulling you into his arms, practically cradling you like a feral kitten. "It's time to bring my prized catch home."

CHAPTER 1 END

Chapter 2 preview:

"Do you remember?"

Your eyes fluttered open, to the familiar melody. The upbeat romantic song that played during your wedding, bringing you a warm feeling of safety. The safety you cherished when you were finally found,finally free. But it was strange, your lazy eyes caught the time. 3:15 am, why would he play this so late?

"Do you remember how it all began?"

You remember your husband's disappointed confusion at his broken record player. Which now played eerily off key, deep and slow. Why would he play music on it now? Lazily your feet shuffled against the carpet. And unexpectedly met the soft rattle of your son's comfort blanket. Now Perplexed, you examined the small bat covered blanket. Abruptly, the flashing blue and white lights of your TV caught your full attention.

"I bet you remember, I bet you remember"

You felt the fear on your fingertips, as they glided against the wooden stair railing. Holding your breath, in a attempt to stop your heart from beating so violently. With each braved stair, your skin crawled with a stabbing chill that only increased. Untill you stopped half way, there he was. Your baby boy, being held by a shadowy stranger.

"Da-da!" The sweet babble from your baby boy, brought you so much dread. He could never piece his babbles into a clear "Pa-pa" or "Da-da", To your husband's dismay. But now sitting on the knee of a stranger, he joyfully rang out his new found word

The stranger leaned down, playfully shaking a teddy bear. While the baby sucked on his knuckles feeling truly entertained. Dark eyes slowly cut from him to you.

"Does mama remember me?" You knew that build, those eyes, and that damned intoxicating southern twang. With no more stairs to stall the inevitable, you now stood in Johnny's open veiw. You watched the corners of his mouth, curl into his signature devilish grin."Well, Hey there sweetheart!"

"Do you remember the time, when we first fell in love?"

[alphacentaurinebula]

Fanfic recs - AU edition!

In honour of You're the Bad Guys (E), my Cold War spies AU where Crowley is KGB and Aziraphale is MI6 and they're stationed in 1980s Berlin, I thought I would recommend a few of my favourite AUs.

Half Agony, Half Hope(E) by @gorgeousundertow - a regency romance AU with lots of the real life political unrest, class and privilege all providing a great replacement for the Heaven/Hell Celestial System. The regency period is often portrayed just balls and poshos in empire waistlines, but actually it was a hugely tumultuous period. The disenfranchised classes were demanding better pay, better conditions and the vote, whilst those in power feared any concession would reduce their own power and privilege. The result was some horrific state violence, and some of the most oppressive laws in British history (though there's a lot of competition there...!). It's always nice to see a historical AU that engages with the period so well, and uses it to make Crowley and Aziraphale's romance all the sweeter. One of the only fics I've ever read as a WIP (yes, I still want you to read my WIP, I am a complete hypocrite).

A Love Story with Detective Interruptions (T) by @fremulon - a 1930s AU series (2 works), where Aziraphale is an amateur sleuth in the vein of Miss Marple, exonerating the wrongfully accused (ie, Crowley), and solving house party murders willy nilly. The plots are based on Golden Age of Detective Fiction books (Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Chistie, specifically) and are delightful. The romance is definitely slow burn, but absolutely lovely.

South Downs (E) by @summerofspock - Crowley and Aziraphale star in a historical Bridgerton-esque miniseries, except it's gay. (I would watch the fuck out of that, just saying). Sometimes art mirrors life - sometimes life mirrors art! I love this one and I would legitimately like to watch the TV show they're supposed to be in.

Sit Tight, Take Hold (E) by @nieded - OK this one is not even remotely historical and, like, I hate cars and formula one holds zero interest to me...and yet I INHALED this formula one AU with Crowley and Aziraphale as drivers on opposing teams. Like...I really cared who won...a car race???? Features Gabriel and Sandalphone being true twats, which I must admit I enjoy.

Slow Show (E) by @mia-ugly - And finally, of course, Slow Show. Sure this one is not exactly an undiscovered gem but I still love it and if, in some wild, unreasonable twist of fate you haven't read it, you definitely should!

...plus one last rec - The Leap, by - @friendofcarlottathis is a Destiel fic, not Good Omens. But it is a historical romance AU about Cold War Berlin (in the 1960s, rather than 1980s, and there are no spies, but it is SO excellent for historical detail, especially life in East Germany). And in my opinion you only need to watch a few Castiel and Dean clips on youtube and you're ready to read Destiel AUs. I have only watched a season or so of Supernatural myself 🤷‍♀️

What do you think, have you read any of these? Any favourites? If anyone has other AU's to recommend, especially historical ones, please do!

[shares-a-vest]

🪱 🧠 Wiggly Wed-ursday 🧠 🪱

Let's just pretend timezones aren't real for a second and that it's still Wednesday for me. @kikidoesfanfic tagged me in this wonderful tag game weeks ago and I only remember when I see everyone else's on a Thursday my time. Also thank you to @penny00dreadful for the tag today which made me decide to finally do it!

I spend a stupid amount of time thinking about Steve's parents. So much so, that I have a fic in the pipeline that is from Steve's Mom's POV and lmao, my brain already wants to write a semi-sequel/companion piece (I swear to fucking christ I am determined to publish this fic this weekend – I am so sorry to all the people I have basically strung along with this long-gestating wip). We get like four sentences about Steve's parents the entire show ("she's super well-respected", "my dad's an asshole"). And while I guess you could argue that Steve's background isn't all that crucial in the show, he still grew into this fan-favourite character that ended up gaining more screen time than initially planned but... We still get nothing??? Steve's parents not getting a mention in extended material bugs me too (whyyy aren't they in that play!!!). Anyway, enough screaming and onto some brainworms. I am plagued by thoughts of Steve's Dad's POV – Somewhere between an outsider's POV and a character study. Does he notice when his son disappears for days at a time? Right on Spring Break when this young girl has been 'murdered'? Is he like the Wheeler's, watching the local news? Do he and Steve's Mom go to the town meeting? Maybe they sit at the back. Do they know who Claudia is? Maybe she awkwardly greets them, only to be left cold. She thinks they should be as concerned as she and Karen are. If their kids are involved in all of this somehow, Steve would be with them too. How about when the town splits in two? Steve's car must be gone from the house too, right? (Honestly, I lost track of everyone's vehicles in s4. steve changes into The Yellow Sweater, so he must have gone home). Do his parents know the Buckley's number? Surely they know of Robin. Do they go looking for him? What happens when they find him and his friends? Do they ask what the hell happened? What does he tell them?

Some general/possible fic ideas I have with all of this worminess:

Steve's POV, His Mom's POV, His Dad's POV all in the one event. Maybe it's Christmas or just some fancy party they are having. Maybe even the aftermath of some event/family drama.

Mr Harrington's POV of Season 4.

Steve's Parents meeting Robin for the first time. Somewhere between seasons 3 and 4. Robin's POV of this too.

Claudia's POV of Steve's parents.

I think I'll leave it there. Consider the end of this post me walking off into the sunset for the day, ramble-asking endless questions about Steve's parents.

No-pressure tags: @momotonescreaming @puppy-steve @sidekickjoey @tangerinesteve

@hellion-child @devondespresso

[drivestraight]

maxcar!

from here

i think i've basically posted this entire wip in fragments over the past, like, 8 months, with the amount i talk about it but don't write it so. i'll just post a massive part of it:

In Silverstone, Lando crosses the finish line first, takes the fastest lap, and extends his championship lead to a whopping thirty-eight points.

Oscar watches from the Red Bull pitwall, picks at his fingernails, chews the dead skin off his lips. That could’ve been him, if Lando hadn’t shunted him at Copse and sent him flying into the barriers. He didn't trigger the G-force sensors, but he had to get cleared by medical anyway. He feels fine. Physically, that is.

GP puts a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You’ll get him next week. We’re just happy you’re alright.”

Liam ends up getting a podium. Third place. Every point counts. It’s reason enough that Oscar rallies, finding it in himself to show face at the afterparty, if only for half an hour. He congratulates Liam, and Charles who managed to fight from tenth to second place. He sees Lando, too, but he takes that as a signal he’s been there too long. If they made contact, Lando would probably want to fucking, like, apologize. Which Oscar would be open to, but—it’s not necessary. It’s not something he needs to hear. You’re sorry that you won the race. You’re sorry that you nearly killed me, and you won the race anyway.

Oscar heads to his car, a 2028 Ford GT, gifted by Red Bull. It’s nice, but he still misses his McLaren, sometimes.

The lights are still on when he enters his flat. It’s also midnight. He grabs the leftover pasta he’d made on Thursday, spoons a small portion into a clean bowl from the dishwasher, and heats it up in the microwave. He brings himself, a fork, and his heated food into the sitting room.

“Tough race,” Max says.

He has his blue light glasses on, eyes fixed on the screen, his XBox controller in hand. He’s playing FIFA, of course.

Oscar sighs. “Wasn’t much of a race for me, mate,” he says, because there isn’t much more to say.

Max pauses the match, then glances at Oscar. “Want a drink?”

Oscar makes a humiliating noise: somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “Yes please.”

/

It’s kind of hard, explaining his living situation to other people. On principle, he doesn’t, but one time, when they were visiting the factory, his mum and dad decided to surprise him at his flat, only to walk in on Max nearly burning down the kitchen trying to cook himself eggs. Oscar was blissfully napping on the couch as smoke bloomed through the flat.

The short answer is: they’re roommates. Kind of. During the season, Oscar is really only in the UK when he needs to be, once or twice a week for the most part. He spends the rest of his free time in Monaco.

Max, on the other hand, has been living here—proper living here—since December.

The first day Oscar moved in, Oscar was crouched on the floor, unpacking some of his boxes in his bedroom. He had a short meeting with the team in the morning, and he still had a few hours until his afternoon flight to France, so he decided he might as well set up the place in the meantime.

Then, Oscar heard a key being fitted into the lock, and the door swinging open. Startled, he ran to the front door, and saw Max. In a suit. His shirt was wrinkled and his tie was undone and slung over his nape. He had a single suitcase by his side, his knuckles white around the handle. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked at Oscar, bit down hard on his bottom lip, and neither of them said anything for a long while.

Oscar had questions. Many of them, but the most important of which was: Aren’t you getting married tomorrow?

Before he got over the shock of seeing Max, before he could even place the words on his tongue, Max blurted, “So. About the flat.”

Well, Oscar thought. No need to fly to France anymore.

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Thursday

The smut is still ever present. And has leaked into many a fic. The word leak may have been used in some of them, or not. Nerdie is unsure and quite unwell. Like I’m physically fine but you, the mind is swirling.

Anyway… 👀 The docket for this week: One Tim, One Marcus, Two Dieters and a trickle of Din.

I was tagged by @syd-djarin 😎 Thanks for the reminder and all your fics look awesome! 😘

First up, Tim (he’s got plot to get through thank you!):

Doc and Rockford are seated outside of the diner. The cool air feels excellent on her skin. She feels like she’s burning up. Tim likely understood what his brother meant by her satisfaction or lack thereof and that’s before even mentioning him putting your lab coat on her, complimenting her or touching her stomach. Doc still has to process that. So much has happened. “You wanna talk about why you were out with my brother, the outfit, or me getting you in the car Esme? Which elephant do you want to tackle first?” Rockford would have phrased it differently, but he’s tired from the late night paperwork, being worried about her and now trying to think about how he’s going to react to whatever she has to say. 

Second, Marcus Pike (because he's adorable):

“Hey beautiful! You ready for to go? I’m just going to put away some files and we’ll be ready to go.” Marcus doesn’t miss a beat in giving a swift kiss to Imani’s forehead then heading over to his desk and fiddling with drawers. He’s shuffling papers while stealing glances at the woman seated in his office. “Between the shade of orange, your smiling face and those luscious legs tempting me from across the room, we might be late for our reservation.” The good agent Pike wiggled his eyebrows which had his lady friend holding her stomach in laughter.

Lastly, I wrote some Din (because we don't appreciate Din's early armor enough):

Still holding the knife, she lowered it and nodded, “Yes thanks to you. May I know your name to thank you? I can’t see you very well there, could you step forward?” Taking two steps toward him, she stopped three feet before the shadows from the building obscured him. Heavy boots and what sounded to be metal clinked with his steps. His armor was the answer, he wouldn’t need to really tell her. Silver that reflected the moonlight with a t-visor helmet and a modulated voice. None of his skin was exposed, covered in a mix of brown metal and durable cloth and a black cape at his back. Hints of silver dotted his armor from different pieces and from his weapons. Those are a major tenant of their culture - their beliefs.

The graphic above is for the pending Din fic. 😀

And I have one for a pending Dieter fic ( @angelofsmalldeath-codeine this is 30% your fault - thank you. 😊)

Technically, she’d met one of her best friends at a table read for ‘Graceland’ but it didn’t register who he was until there was an entire season making him more central to the plot on the second show. Aisha appreciated that he was serious about getting the character right, adding in changes to better express what the writer’s room was trying to convey. He didn’t do it so much for the slick escapist show on the USA show but she really saw him shine on the screen as Agent Marcus Pike in ‘The Mentalist.’ One thing that the writer’s room voted to write out for his character was all the eating. “No agent is gonna be eating like that,” they always said. Once Dieter Bravo ate the takeout in the scene while dolling out his lines, the director loved it so they quickly pivoted on that creative choice.

And I can’t leave Dieter and Maya out you know! I haven’t been chipping away at them slowly, there’s a lot to figure out. I’m don’t have much on them unfortunately. 😭

No pressure tags: @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @connectioneverywhere @boliv-jenta @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@pedroshotwifey @perotovar @julesonrecord @chaithetics @avastrasposts

@slippinninque @rosecentaur1916 @westside-rot @inept-the-magnificent @tinytinymenace

@jessthebaker @sin-djarin @morallyinept @604to647 @djarins-cyare

@djarinmuse @pedroshotwifey

[thefixations-ofmine]

Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

🕸 AO3 Series link 🕸

A/N: I decided not to participate in someone's challenge so that I can make it a lot more reasonable on myself. I did go through past challenges to get an idea, and that's how I came up with a sort of weekly theme with subgenres. They can be posted at random, according to my inspiration. Hopefully I can get a good amount done, and even if I have different ships, the new 911 season might bring some inspiration! I do not currently have an active tag list, let me know if you want to be tagged in my work (please specify which pairing(s)/shows you are interested in). Disclaimer: this is a kink challenge, therefore every link below the line has 18+ fiction varying on intensity. Additional kinks to the prompt will be tagged in each fic. You are responsible for the media you consume. * Other than completed work or wip, pairings are subject to changing along the way.

Acts 🎃

Dry humping - Preserum Stucky

Cock warming - BuckTommy

Choking & Marking combined - BuckTommy

Watersports - Eddie Munson (ST) solo

Objects 🎃

Camera (wip) - BuckTommy

Ropes (wip) - Eddie Diaz x incognito

Lingerie (part 1 of makeup)(wip) - BuckTommy

Makeup (part 2 of lingerie)(wip) - BuckTommy

Food - Jim Hopper x f!reader

Knife - Javier Peña x f!reader

Mask - Lucifer (TV) x f!reader

Locations 🎃

Alleyway - SalTommy

Workplace - BobbyBuck

Gloryhole (complete) - Tommy Kinard x incognito

Hotel (wip) - SalTommy

Car/Plane - FirstPrince

Strip club - BuckTommy

Non-bed surface (wip) - EddieJosh

Feelings 🎃

Praise kink - BuckTommy

Touch-starved - BuddieTommy

Jealous sex - Eddie Munson x f!reader

Pent-up anger - BuckTommy

CNC - EddieJosh

Humiliation - Jim Hopper x f!reader

High sex - Ryan Guzman rpf x f!reader

AU pairing 🎃

Teacher - BobbyBuck

Dad's best friend - Javier Peña

Team mate - SalTommy

Bodyguard - Bucky Barnes

Halloween party (orgy)

[the-family-business-83]

Species Decipit

Part 1 | Masterlist WIP

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: The Winchester brothers were once good friends with Sarah. She was a good hunter, and made pretty good company too. But after running into the Men of Letters, things changed drastically for the trio.

Type: Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, OFC Sarah Rogers (probably more that'll be introduced later on)

Genre: Angst, action, slight fluff, possible smut but not yet

Warnings: If you haven't seen the whole show, this series contains spoilers for seasons 11-12.

There will be mentions of blood and violence, and alcohol use. There will also be a fair amount of cussing, but not more than what's in the show. If those aren't your thing though, read at your own risk. Some parts of this series may contain more of these subjects than others. Also, fair warning, this gets very angsty, like a lot of angst, so be prepared.

Word count: 3,493

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist!

Beta: I don't know their Tumblr tag but @Outofnowhere82 on Discord, a member of the @spnfanficpond, helped me with this one

A/N: I posted this on Wattpad first, it was posted with the title "Everybody Wants to be My Enemy" (Link here) but I decided to change it a little and post it here too. I think I like this one better so I hope you guys enjoy this angst-coaster ride 🥰

The moment she pulled the key from her pocket and slotted it into the keyhole of the heavy iron door, Sarah had to take a moment just to breathe in. The walk up after sliding out of her car was one that felt like she'd been on auto-pilot, as her mind was already wandering through the surreality of being back here again. How many times had she come in, and yet this time would be among one of the only–if not the only–that she did so without the two lumbering flannel-clad brothers Winchester flanking her sides; the only time she'd come here without knowing that they'd probably be waiting beyond that door, for her to come in or to open it for her.

But as she closed her eyes for a brief second, she shook the thoughts away and turned the key over to unlock the mechanism, and pulled it out only when she heard the familiar click to grant her access. Descending down the small winding staircase, she made it to the second and final door to go inside, which she pushed open after another quick unlock with the key, and stepped inside as she tucked said key into one of her pockets a moment later. Her gaze shifted throughout the room, her cerulean hues not being able to see much in the pitch dark. Sarah pulled a flashlight out of the duffle bag on her shoulder, and clicked it on as she carefully made her way down the stairs to find the power box. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling she had at the fact that the place was not only dark but also so quiet she probably could have heard a faucet leaking in the shower room halfway across the bunker. It was stupid wishful thinking but some part of her had hoped that maybe, just maybe they were home… but they weren't, and she told herself to grow up because it was stupid to have hoped for in the first place.

Once she found the power box, the blonde flicked her eyes over the different switches for a moment, before pushing the correct ones up to turn everything on. In the blink of an eye, everything in the war room lit up, followed by the library, and in the hallways that lead out of the war room. For a moment, it was almost soothing, because she was reminded of the first time she'd come here seeing the place all lit up in all its true glory. She still remembered Sam explaining what the place was, where things were, and the house rules. Which of course, Dean had chimed in for that last part, no surprise there. But the memory, fleeting as it came, made the tall huntress smile faintly in reminiscence. It was such a simpler time, compared to now.

When her mind came back to reality a second later, Sarah cleared her throat and clicked off her flashlight, putting it away as she took a right and started heading down the hallway towards where the rooms were. She was headed for her own room, so she could set her things down at least, but curiosity got the better of her when she passed by familiar number 11; Dean's room. She's already gone past it but something made her stop, and backtrack to the door where she turned and clenched her jaw as if it would hold back the wave of guilt that threatened to come forward. She shouldn't have come back here, it was hard enough to be finding her footing right now without those men, and the place may have been home once but now it just reminded her of the things she'd done. Yet somehow she couldn't stop herself as she pushed the door open further from where it was slightly open just a crack.

Fumbling her hand along the wall on the inside of the room, she flipped the light switch on. She didn't know what she was really expecting, but she wasn't sure she was prepared to see it still in the same shape as it had been the last time she'd seen it. Wall decorated with all Dean's weapons as per usual, a crate filled with vinyl records right next to his record player just as he liked it, his desk still a mess that had a system of Dean's own devising…. And most of all the bed of all things was still half-assed in the process of making it. It made her shake her head slightly but whether it was out of familiar amusement or sadness would be up for debate. She made her way over to the record player then, and set her bag on the chair before selecting a Rolling Stones album. The needle was set on its surface a moment later as the blonde set it up, and she turned up the volume a bit while the classic crackling switched to the first notes of "You Can't Always Get What You Want". Admittedly, as she heard it start she almost switched it to a different track, or just a new vinyl entirely, but instead she snorted a sort of scoff at the cruel irony and picked up her bag again as she left the room with the door open so she could hear it continuing to play.

Sarah deposited her bag into her room next, because it happened to be on the way in-between Dean's and Sam's room, always had been. And she didn't even bother with unpacking yet, just leaving her bag on her bed as she ran some cold water to splash on her face with the sink that was in there. It took her a moment to just, settle, because readjusting to what she used to call home was a big step for her, truth be told. But as she hummed along to the song drifting from Dean's bedroom, the tall huntress did actually take it upon herself to trek down the hall further to Sam's room, hands in her pockets as she walked. And what she found was an empty room, bare of decorations, in contrast to his brother's. But the other difference was that it was still neat as ever; neatly made bed, tidy coat rack, not a thing out of place. Unless you counted the few books that were sprawled across that very same neatly made bed, with a small stack living on the desk beside his laptop from whenever the last time he'd used them was. It was a sad sight, as familiar as it was. She was so used to finding the man busying between one book to another in here, whenever he wasn't stationed in the library to do the exact same thing. She didn't spend as much time in that room however; she ended up turning away with a deep breath in and shut the door behind herself, clicking the light off on her way.

Like riding a bike, she found the kitchen with no problem, and bumped the light on with her elbow as she was mid-way through pulling her shoulder-length hair into a messy bun. Once that was done, she went straight for the fridge to find herself a beer….if there even was any still. She didn't trust any of the food in there honestly, not with how long it had been. So she didn't think much of any of it or how it looked as she shut the door a moment later and instead searched out the bottle of Jack she'd always kept in one of the cabinets for safekeeping. Glad it was still in its same hiding spot, Sarah took to finding herself a glass a moment later, poured some liquor into it and took a long sip. But she damn near dropped it when she heard a very deep, very familiar voice as she froze, thankful that the bottle was already on the counter. She hadn't even heard him come in but that voice sure alerted her to his presence, followed by the feeling of metal against her henley covered spine.

"Don't move a muscle, bitch." His voice was hard, gravely with how low his tone was despite being just loud enough to catch her attention. His signature etched silver Colt M1911 with ivory grips was up and aimed square at her as he pressed it against the middle of her back, and if looks alone could kill, Dean's stoney features probably would have. Sarah wasn't normally on the receiving end of such looks, but she'd seen them before, and she didn't need to look at him to feel it on her now, just knowing he was glaring holes into the back of her skull. The weary woman didn't say anything at first, too stunned to really know what to say and not daring to move with how Dean looked. So there was a moment of utter silence between the two, one that was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

"I'm gonna start asking questions and so help me I better get nothing but straight answers from you." He didn't have to tell her why for her to know what would happen if she didn't. Swallowing hard, she simply nodded, and let him go on. "Why the hell are you here? Did your new, fancy boss send you?"

She didn't know how to describe it, but there was a part of her that grimaced when he said it like that, and yet another part of her couldn't help being pissed underneath whatever showed on the surface. "No. As far as they know I'm dead now. I plan to keep it that way."

"Right. So you just decided to come in for a visit, is that it?" He didn't sound any happier than before, in fact if it was possible he almost sounded a little more pissed. The truth was the last he'd seen her, they were on opposing sides and Dean still couldn't get past it. As far as he knew she was still the Brits' lackey, and in his eyes she was lucky he didn't shoot her on sight. "I'm only gonna ask one more time. Why. Are. You. Here?"

Breathing in deeply she turned just a little more to face him better, and in the same motion pulled the gun swiftly from his hands as she clicked out the cartridge before tossing it onto the counter. She didn't get a word in, at least not much beyond an 'I was-', before she had to duck as a heavy right hook was coming her way. She was quick to move with his hits, keeping up decently as they scuffled there in the kitchen but he played dirty by chucking a towel in her face to disorient her and proceeded to sweep her legs from under her. Going down with a grunt as she hit the hard tile floor; before she knew it she was wrapped up by the man as he knelt beside her, his arms expertly around her neck in a headlock as she tried to squirm and free herself.

Unaware for the moment, Sam came into the bunker right about then, dumping his things on the war room table for now because he'd noticed with the lack of a response from his brother with the conversation he'd tried to start, that Dean wasn't in sight, and frowned as he looked around. "Hey, dude- where'd you go? Dean??" He waited another moment or so before he started down one of the halls and calling out louder for him to hopefully hear. "Dean! Hey, where are you man?"

Still there had been no response. Giving a tired sigh, the taller Winchester ran a hand through his hair, about to give up. But that was when he caught, albeit faintly, scuffling from the kitchen, before a few metallic clangs of things clashing, and that put the male into alert mode as he then pulled his pistol out and began jogging for the kitchen as he followed the direction of the sounds. "Dean?! Dean!!"

By the time Sam got there, Sarah was fighting just to stay conscious, because there was nothing within her immediate reach that she could really use, and even if she wasn't short, Dean was still bigger than her and so it was hard to fight him off. "De- Dean- lis'n- pl'se- I'm not he- to hur- I jus-" the huntress tried to choke out against the strong forearm squeezed against her windpipe. She hadn't even noticed Sam arriving, as she was too focused on keeping her vision focused and trying to get oxygen–both of which she was definitely failing at with how the bigger man holding her made it impossible to get enough air in no matter how hard she kicked and fought.

"Dean, what is-" and this time, Sam was the one to cut himself off, because he recognized the blonde right away even in that situation. And he almost, almost shot her right there because of how he'd come into this. But the pacifist buried in him urged him not to, at least for now, so instead he readjusted his aim to be towards her thigh, grazing just enough to not be too fatal but also enough to catch attention and keep her from running very far. "Dean! Hey, let her go!"

At first all Dean gave his brother was a hard look, because the idea was insane. She'd tried to kill them before, or at least fed them to the lions in a way, and he really fucking hoped his brother wasn't trying to forgive her for all of that. But Sam's voice came again, urging him. "Dean, c'mon. She can't get away like that, you can let her go."

Finally, with a split second of debating, Dean let her go with a grumble, and stood up as he went to grab his gun and reload it before aiming it on Sarah once more.

Had she the lung capacity, Sarah would have screamed when her leg was shot like that. But she didn't, and so no sound left her unless you count the squeak that briefly croaked out at it, with her eyes scrunching shut to grit through the pain. Even still, she fought to keep herself conscious, and when she was finally released? She fell to her side, one arm weakly propping herself up while the other massaged her throat as she coughed, trying to regain air to lessen the stars in her blotted vision. After a moment, she finally leaned herself up against the island as she just worked on catching her breath, a hand squeezed against her thigh where the bullet had hit her to help stem the bleeding. It was already staining her jeans a dark red, leaving traces on the tiles where it dripped slightly. It wasn't much but it was enough that with the momentary deprivation of oxygen in tandem with the bloodloss—and her own….less than ideal health state—she was already feeling a bit dizzy and fighting to stay awake. She closed her eyes just for a moment against the pain, as if somehow she could will it all away and maybe when she opened them again, this would all have been her imagination so they could start over.

"Now what happened here?" Sam was the first to break the very brief lull of silence, excluding Sarah's coughing, and he glanced to his brother for a moment, arching a brow.

Sarah paused for a moment to settle herself, breathing in first before answering. "I just wanted to come home. There's no reason, there's no scheme, nothing… I'm just trying to get a handle on myself again, that's all. I didn't think you were here, the lights were off and no one seemed to be around." She obliged him with her answer, albeit weakly, despite how she tried not to sound or look it. But Sarah never had been the best at hiding her emotions on her face, or at least not with people who knew her well. In fact, probably the only time she was perfect at it was when the Brits had her under their thumb. But she doubted Sam would believe a word she said, let alone Dean. The look of distrust never once left the older Winchester's features, and once she'd answered, there was even a small squint. She knew all too well that meant he was debating whether to even give her a sliver of trust to believe her story. "Look, Dean, I-"

"Save it. I don't want the pity story you're cooking up there. I want you out of my kitchen and out the damn door. Because so help me, if I see your face in here again-" his voice, which had raised a little to cut the blonde off, was interrupted by his brother as he shot a look at Dean. Never once did Dean's attention leave her though. "Dean, slow down a sec. How'd she even get in?- how'd you get in?" The taller male's gaze shifted to Sarah with the second question, brows furrowed as he tried to work out the equation in his mind.

In any normal circumstance the woman would have been not just relieved but also glad to see the other brother, but any glimpse of those feelings was squashed by the fact that his reaction damn near mirrored Dean's. "I…I still had a key. Look, like I said neither of you were even home when I got here, I thought-" But she cut herself off there, licking her lips and clearing her throat as she quickly changed her words from 'I thought you were really gone' to: "I thought the place was empty, I just needed a place to…find my own head."

"Plenty of motels, coulda bunked down anywhere. Why here?" Dean's response came without skipping a beat. And Sarah had to try not to wince at the coldness in his voice.

That stung. More than she wanted to admit. She knew she'd done….horrible things, she knew that and so in a way she didn't blame him. But that didn't make it hurt any less to hear that from him. "Because this is home. This is square number one for me, I thought it would help-"

This time it was Sam who cut in, mulling over her words. "Help what, exactly? And why should we believe a word from you?"

"You don't wanna believe me, fine. I don't give a rat's ass. But if you're gonna shoot me, shoot me. If you really wanna hear jackshit from me? Stop reaming my ass out and take it or leave it." She sounded frustrated that time, wearily so, and likely because of the pain in her leg for the most part. Fumbling for the towel that had been dropped on the floor, she tugged it over and used it to tie around her thigh because her hand was not only getting tired but also not doing the best job of applying pressure, the blood already beginning to ooze out between her fingers. She grimaced through the sting of pain it shot through her leg, before resting her head back against the island once she'd finished the task and letting her eyes slide closed.

Dean shared a glance with his brother, jaw muscles clenched and gaze asking the silent question of 'your call, what's it gonna be?' because if it was up to him, he was ready to unload a clip in her. Sam was the one giving her any kind of leg to stand on here, so whatever sliver of the emerald eyed man that was giving her even a fraction of a chance, that was the part that was letting Sam make the call.

The taller male took that silent message, and glanced towards Sarah once more, a brief squint flashing through his eyes as he considered the options. "Alright, start talking then. From the beginning, no crap, tell us what happened since you left to work with the Brits."

This was going to be….a long ass night. She knew it would be. Though she supposed it would have been anyway, regardless of whether it went this way or not; the only difference in this version was that they were really still alive, and Sarah wasn't sure if that was more of a relief than it was pain. It was complicated. Whatever the case though, the tired huntress sighed, albeit shallowly due to her current state, but as pained as she was to do so she nodded with eyes closed as if to hide away from the two towering men while she tried to recall. Soon though her mind seemed to fail her, fading into simple darkness as the sounds around her dimmed out. Seconds turned into minutes, without her even realizing, as she stayed like that, unconscious to anything happening around her.

Taglist: @ageekchiclife @babypieandwhiskey @buckys-zomdoll @canadianspnhunter @cas-backwards-tie @castieltrash1 @deanscarlett @deanwanddamons @ellewritesfix05 @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @firefly-in-darkness @idreamofhazel @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @katelyn--renee @kayteonline @kickingitwithkirk @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @manawhaat @melbelle45 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysaintsasinner @mysupernaturalfics @notnaturalanahi @plaidstiel-wormstache @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki @supernatural-jackles @there-must-be-a-lock @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @trend90s @waywardjoy @whispersandwhiskerburn @akshi8278 @fuiabarcelos @ssonia13

[faketrex]

Some Sentences Sunday, sort of

Tags! Several... weeks... of tags inviting me to share WIP words, from tumblr citizens including @caterpills @eusuntgratie @porcelainmortal @cha-melodius @luainthewild @blueeyedgrlwrites and some I've missed in this list, certainly.

Plus, last month -- I think -- @myheartalivewrites tagged me in a WIP fashion game and at some point @sparklepocalypse tagged me in a WIP stock photo game.

So! Let's do... something like some of that. Kind of.

Here's what we're working with:

That's a 1964 Chevrolet El Camino up top and a 1963 Studebaker Avanti below.

If you've tagged me lately, please consider this your tag back to share Sunday sentences... or WIP photos... WIP vibes... whatever. Go reasonably wild! Tag me back!

Also tagging @stratocumulusperlucidus @anincompletelist @writes-in-space and ✨️an open tag oooh ahhh so sparkly✨️

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Making a post to keep all my @whumptober stuff together. All of this is subject to change (okay I guess some of it not all lol). I’ll add links as I post each day. Still working on ideas for the blank slots. The rest are at least WIP stages and some are done ✔️

Feel free to share any prompts or ideas of what you’d want to see! Esp on the blank days.

Jamie gets a concussion falling out of a tree trying to save Dauphine the cat.

Jamie is sick and Dani takes care of him.

Ted helps Rebecca through a migraine.

Jamie is injured during the decoy play (Part 1/2)*

Jamie and the team are caught in an earthquake while spending a night out. (Part 1/2)

Jamie finds out the real reason for his father’s sobriety (Fuck Jamie’s Dad)

Jamie is jumped in an alleyway. Sam takes care of him.

Part 2/2 of Jamie is injured during an earthquake.

Jamie is injured during that first rough practice when he returned to the team, hides it and doesn’t handle it well when it’s discovered.

Jamie breaks his phone hiking.

Jamie has a nightmare at an away match and Declan comforts him.

Mom City introspective.

Roy gets an appendicitis.

Jamie, Isaac and a few others take a boat trip that almost takes a turn for the worse.

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so he doesn’t lose more ground to Zava (Part 1/3)

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so he doesn’t lose more ground to Zava (Part 2/3)

Jamie sprains his neck attempting a trick on a playground to impress Phoebe.

Ted steps in when he sees Jamie with his Dad in the season finale but when Jamie goes back to Manchester that night his father isn’t happy at being interrupted.

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so be doesn't lose more ground to Zava (Part 3/3)

Jamie has a minor slip down the stairs and thinks he’ll miss celebrating his birthday. (Happy Birthday Jamie Tartt 🥳)

Jamie doesn't show up for training in 1x06 after James paid him a visit after he was pulled from the match (as requested by @vigilanteavengerqueen and part 1/3)

Jamie & Roy are in a car accident. (Part 1/3)

Jamie is injured during the decoy play. (Part 2/2)

Roy hadn’t meant to hit him, he really hadn’t.*

Jamie doesn’t show up for training in 1x06 after James paid him a visit after he was pulled from the match (Part 3/3)*

The car had come from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly.*

Jamie has his tonsils out.*

A look at Roy Kent and his sister’s relationship from her marriage through her divorce, the first Uncle’s Day and his retirement.

Roy reflects on the end of his career and Richmond’s relegation.*

Keeley faints from overworking and Roy & Jamie are there to take care of her thanks for the request!

in the morning i’m bulletproof chapter 8/epilogue aka Rupert Mannion takes Jamie out before the final game of the season.

* means I used an alternative prompt so could be moved around

[elocinnicole]

Much Needed Break

Much Needed Break

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Black!Reader

Rating: 18+ SMUT (oral f receiving, unprotected sex, foreplay)

Requested: No

Summary: Starting to feel burnt out and Reader gets a surprise from Daveed.

Note: I’ve been writing like crazy y’all. These past few fics have been WIP’s that have been collecting dust on my laptop. I took a sick day earlier this week and have been finishing up these WIPs I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3K

Whoever said being a Mom is a beautiful experience, fucking lied. Never in your life have you wanted to be more alone than this moment right now. Daniel had a meltdown in the middle of the store because they were sold out his favorite cereal and refused to pick a different one. Ari has been going through diapers like tic-tacs. The last pregnancy you couldn’t produce enough milk, now it seems like you had to pump every hour or you’ll start leaking through your clothes. You were still healing from your C-Section with Ari which made dealing with everything that much more painful. The plan was to have a home birth but Ari was breech which made you have the C-Section and pushed back you filming the newest season of Bridgerton.

“Maybe you need a break.” Jasmine suggested

“I mean Daveed’s movie premiere is tomorrow. We got a hotel for the night.”

“No, that is not a break. You need a getaway with your husband.”

“I don’t know, I don’t have the time and I feel like even if we do go on a trip, I’m gonna be too tired to do anything.” You’re finding it harder and harder to get up each morning, since Daveed is in the middle of filming his days were early and long. Meaning he wasn’t there to help you in the morning with the kids. You really didn’t want to hire anybody but maybe you need to, at least until you’ve finished filming.

“My Fenty came in today so I thought I could put it on and see what happens.”

“See what happens? Girl I ain’t know it was this bad. You need to get that back broke like a glow stick.”

“When do we have the time Jazz? Between the Bluey marathon or Gracie’s Corner?”

“That’s a start but I still think the two of you need a break. Mainly you.”

“We’re getting a hotel tomorrow.” You reasoned

“Girl, a break from the kids, LA, your house.”

“Maybe you’re right, I’ll talk to Daveed about it.”

“I am. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright girl, bye.”

You heard a car door shut, and eagerly ran downstairs to get ready. You’ve been missing, Daveed…a lot. Not only were you filming a show, but you’re also only four months postpartum, adjusting to being parents for two under the age of five, and Daveed filming his movie over seas, the time to be intimate was almost nonexistent. You went into the kitchen and poured yourself and Daveed a glass of wine before heading back upstairs to wait for him. The kids were asleep, candles were lit, you had a bath waiting for the two of you upstairs. You had everything planned.

You waited and waited for Daveed to come upstairs, but it’s already been ten minutes. You tried to stay awake but the exhaustion from your busy day took over and you fell asleep.

When you woke up, there was a blanket placed over you and the wine glasses from last night were gone. You got out of bed you glanced at the clock, and it was only 8:00 AM. You checked on Daniel and Ari, and they were already out of bed. Daveed must’ve taken them downstairs.

You walked into the kitchen, and you should’ve been grateful to see your husband making breakfast but the only thing you could think about is the mess he’s making while doing it.

“Morning! I didn’t want to walk you, Ari was fussy, so I gave her a bath. By then, Daniel was already up so I figured we’d get breakfast started.”

“We made you breakfast, Mommy.” Daniel smiled; face covered in syrup. Daveed smiled you tried to return it, but you walked over to the highchairs where your children were nestled safely, kissing their foreheads. You made yourself a cup of coffee and went to sit in the sunroom alone.

You were torn at your feelings; you’ve been waiting for the day when Daveed woke up with you and had breakfast as a family. The one thing you wanted to do right now had some peace and quiet to yourself. You’ve been in Mommy mode for the last three years and you were exhausted.  Not that Daveed wasn’t present, but you were the one who got the phone calls from daycare, took Daniel to the dentist and doctor. Ari was breastfed and since Daveed started filming soon after she was born, she was a “Mommy’s Girl”. Which left you very little time to be alone as Ari would refuse to go to anyone even sometimes Daveed.

“I made you a plate.” You turned to see Daveed standing in the doorway with a breakfast tray for you. You felt a pang of guilt, Daveed probably wanted to spend time with you but then you remembered that Daveed didn’t come to bed last night.

“Thanks.”    

“Babe—”

“What did you do last night when you came home?”

“I-I was uh…playing video games?”

“Why are you saying it like it’s a question, were you or weren’t you?”

“I was, it was a long day and I needed to unwind.”

“Okay, thanks for the breakfast.” You said, unsatisfied with his answer.

“Babe, I’m sorry I didn’t come to bed sooner. By the time I came up you were already sleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I didn’t know you had planned something—”

“It’s okay,” No it wasn’t. “Thanks for breakfast.” You grabbed the plate from Daveed.

“Babe,”

“Thanks for the breakfast.”

Daveed can admit it, his schedule has been busy for the past few weeks, to be honest, months. It’s taken time away from not only you but the kids. Not that you weren’t happy for him, his movie is expected to generate a lot of Oscar buzz and he has to do press. Daveed tried to make up for it by calling and facetiming you and the kids often, but that still doesn’t make you miss him any less or him feel less guilty. 

Today he was home, the official premier of his movie is tonight. The plan would be you and Daveed we get a hotel in the city with the kids. While you two were out, Nicolette and Jasmine were going to watch the kids. Then, back to the hotel for the night and check out the following morning. This would be the first night in a long time that you and Daveed were going out, just the two of you. You wished it wasn’t a LA movie premier but, nonetheless, it would be your fist night without the kids, sorta. You’ve never gotten dressed for an event with both Daniel and Ari though, you’ve done it plenty of times with Daniel but now you have him and Ari.

The easy going morning was short-lived as you stated getting ready to leave for the hotel. Daveed had gone to get something he needed from the store. You urged him to have it delivered but he just had to go. Leaving you with the kids. Alone. Again. You put both of them down for a nap so you could pack in peace. You were currently in Daniel’s room getting his bag together. A series of rapid knocks and the doorbell ringing pulled you out of your thoughts. You instantly groaned,

“Who the hell is that?” You mumbled to yourself. You dragged your feet down the hall and down the steps. You opened the door and weren’t ready to see your friends standing on the other side.

“What the hell?”

“Are you gonna invite us in or?” Nicolette asked.

“Uh, yeah come in. What are you guys doing we’re supposed to meet you at the hotel.”

“We know, Daveed called us last night.” Jasmine explained.

“Last night?”

“Yes, so go upstairs. Daveed’s gonna be here in like five minutes.” Jasmine urged.

“I’m not packed! I was getting the kids stuff together.”

“Daveed packed your bags for you. Put something on he’ll be here soon!”

You went upstairs to your bedroom and sure enough, Daveed had your bags packed you frowned at the luggage he used. Maybe he packed both of your things together. You threw on your favorite lounge set and some sneakers. You went back downstairs, luggage in tow to see Jasmine and Emmy playing with Daniel and Ari.

Not wanting to draw attention you waved silently left to meet Daveed outside. You smiled upon seeing your husband waiting outside the car for you. Forgetting about your luggage, you run up to Daveed and jumped into his arms.

“I’m sorry,”

“For what?”

“Being a bitch this morning.”

“I’m to blame for that, I know I haven’t been around—”

“It’s not your fault,”

“It kinda is, so we’re flying to France for the premier there.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, also I want to show off the woman that’s been holding me down for the last six years.”

“What about the premiere tonight?”

“We’re not going, we’re going to the airport tonight. But we only have five hours so I’m gonna send you off to your nails and hair done and then we’re going to the airport.”

“Daveed—” he cut you off with a kiss

“I’ll see you later. I’ll finish up here.”

Right after your pamper session, you and Daveed were on a first-class plane ride to France.

You still don’t know how Daveed managed to get this all set up in a little bit of time he had. Daveed prepared a full afternoon for you as soon as you landed, a private couple massage in the hotel room he booked, lunch brought to the room and a facial. The premier wasn’t until the next day, but Daveed wanted to pamper you to the fullest. He was out doing some last-minute things so you took this time to call Jasmine and Nicolette.

“Girl I wish I had a husband like yours.” Jasmie joked

“I know I might have to let him get some ass tonight. He’s been asking since we got together.”

“Girl you gonna have to do a split on it.” Nicolette teased

“Make a whole movie.”

“What’s your new Porn Star name girl?”

“Shut up, how are my babies?”

“Ari’s been up since 7:30, Daniel’s still sleep. We’re about to wake him up and give them breakfast.”

“Is Ari okay?”

“She was fussy last night but we got her to lie down. Daniel’s been fine, girl he hasn’t even asked about you guys.”

“That sounds about right, well I was just calling to check on you guys. Thank y’all so much.”

“Of course! We got you girl, go get dicked down tonight.”

“Oh my gosh, bye!” As soon as you ended the call Daveed entered the room. A fresh bouquet in hand

“Are those for me? Babe, this is entirely too much.”

“I don’t think it’s enough.” Daveed pulled you into a kiss

“Daveed, really this is just…thank you babe.”

“You deserve it.”

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Dinner at Substance and then you’ll see after.”

You were amazed at the attention to detail that your husband put into making you feel loved and appreciated in this little bit of time. Some how the two of you had a private dinner a in room away from everyone else. You haven’t spent this much time as a couple since before you had Daniel. Not that you weren’t grateful for the little family that you’ve made but you miss just spending time as husband and wife, but with your growing popularity and life it’s been difficult.

“Promise me, that we won’t lose this when we go back home.” You said

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want the only time we have time together…just the two of us is when you plan these elaborate getaways. I want alone time with you back in LA too.”

“I know I’m partially to blame for that…we’ll do better. I’ll do better to make sure we don’t forget about us.”

“It’s not just you, it’s me too. I love being a mom, but I don’t want to forget how to be the person you fell in love with.”

“Me either. I love you so much.”

“I love you too Daveed.” The two met in a loving deep kiss. You wrapped your arms around Daveed’s neck, he pressed his hand against the small of your back pulling you closer, as if that were possible. You pulled away first, breathing heavily.

“Make love to me, Daveed.”

Daveed’s lips never left your skin from time you left the restaurant to now laying against the bed while Daveed took his time undressing you. In the car leaving the restaurant, Daveed teased your clit over you lacy thong while sucking on your neck. You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud in the car. It didn’t help in the elevator that Daveed was kneading your ass while waiting to arrive to your floor. His hands and moth were attached to you in some way, driving you crazy. He always stop just short of making you cum, edging you.

“Daveed,” you moaned impatiently

“Wait…” Daveed tenderly took the straps off your shoulders and shimmed the dress down your body happy to only see you wearing a black thong.

“Damn baby just a thong?”

“All for you.” Daveed attacked your neck before making his way to your breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth gently biting and sucking in it while he tugs on the other. You cried out in ecstasy, arching your back off the bed. Daveed switched to the other breast offering the same treatment. Your lift your hips, hoping to feel something.

Daveed makes his way down your body, avoiding where you want his mouth the most, instead he kisses your inner thighs.

“I love you so fucking much. You deserve the whole world and if I could give it to you I would. So perfect, beautiful, my wife.” You moaned at the praises mind too foggy to say anything. Daveed opens your legs and moans at the sigh before him, your thong soaking wet from the foreplay. He mouths at your clothed pussy, and you let out the most pornographic moan that went straight to Daveed’s dick.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

“Daveed…please. I want you.” You breathed.

“You have me, baby.”

“Please…please.”

“Use your words, what do you want?”

“I want…I want your mouth on my pussy.”

“See, how hard was that?” Daveed moves your panties to the side and sucks on your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, pulling on it, causing him to groan.

“Oh, fuck Daveed.” He opens your folds and starts eating you out like it’s his last meal. Daveed could feel your walks squeezing around his tongue, he pulled his tongue away and plunged three fingers in you finding that spot and went back to sucking your clit.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” You squealed as your juices flowed into Daveed’s awaiting mouth. You pulled him in for a passionate kiss, teeth clashing against each other. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips. Desperate for something, you began grinding your hips up against his to feel anything. You started tugging on his clothes, tired of being teased.

“Too many clothes.” Daveed smirked, he loved when you were fucked out and needy. He quickly took off his clothes and threw them to the floor. He hooked his hands under your legs and pulled you toward him. He grabbed his dick and rubbed his tip on your folds, you were so wet he could’ve just slipped his dick in but he anted to tease you some more.

“Make love to me. No more teasing.”

“Since you asked me so nicely.” Daveed slowly pushed in until he bottomed out. You moaned at the stretch, it’s been a while since you and Daveed were intimate, but you welcomed the slight pain. Daveed had to compose himself before moving, your pussy hugging his dick so nicely that he almost came at that moment. He placed your legs over his shoulders for a deeper angle making you both groan. When he started thrusting it didn’t take long for. The squelching of his dick going in and out of you was music to your ears. Some days, it was rough and hard, sometimes you only have time for a quickie, but now Daveed wanted to take his time with you and live in this moment forever. There was no rush, no Zoom interview, no five-minute commercial break, just the two of you in this moment.

“Daveed, Daveed,” You clawed at his back as you reached your peak, quicker than you wanted to. Daveed kept the same pace not wanting this to end, holding his own release at bay. You closed your eyes overtaken by the immense pleasure your husband was giving.

“Look at me,” Daveed ordered you opened your eyes and was met with Daveed’s intense stare. “keep looking at me, okay.” You nodded your head gasping as he kept fucking you into your next orgasm.

“Daveed, it’s too much.” Daveed’s slow deep stroke were killing you. You chanted his name over and over like a mantra.

“One more, just give me one more baby. I know you can do it.” Daveed’s thrust were getting sloppy as he was reaching his peak. One more thrust and you came together, your walls squeezing him as he came inside you. You both breathed heavily as you were coming down from your high. After a few moments, Daveed pulled out of you and pulled you close to him.

“Hey,” He breathed, you smiled softly.

“Hey. That was amazing.” You could see the compliment go to your husband’s head and rolled your eyes. You drew lazy circle on his chest.

“Thank you everything.”

“I should be thanking you and I’m sorry for not making you feel appreciated. I love you and I wouldn’t want to do life with anyone else but you.”

“I love you too Daveed.” You shared one final kiss before drifting off to sleep in the arms of your husband.

Tagging: @nikole-witha-k @iknowthekoolaidflavor @ramp-it-up @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @blackpinup22 @chrisevanswife0405 @mellie-teh-goblin-queen @azxulaa @luckyfriess @thatdamnlyssa @endless-romantic-stories @daveeds-wife @emilia-i @gothic-slaherfan-weeb @slashersluxsworld @chattykathysquietsister @aliyahsomerhalder @crystalannetem @tuhnayshuh

[miss-celestia13]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

(feel free to ignore it though :))

Ooh, thank you for tagging me, my lovely ❤️

I haven’t got anything from an abandoned story, but I have some things in progress I can share 🤭 They’re all for the same fandom: Game of Thrones/Jonerys🥰 no spoilers.

One from the chapter I am yet to edit for I Am Not a Woman, I’m a God:

She took one step toward him before he grabbed and shoved her back inside. Jon’s black eyes were predatory as he crowded her against the closed door and his hand came up to cup her jaw.

“What are you-” She never had time to finish as Jon kissed her.

Hot. Bruising. Almost punishing, he slid his hand down her neck, fingers raising goosebumps down her throat as his hand settled around it and his thumb stroked her flickering pulse.

She traced her fingers up his neck, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to draw him closer, fingers lacing through his hair to deepen his starving kiss. Trying to memorise him, the scent of snow and pine that always stuck to him, his pulse thrumming wildly under her fingertips, his lips branding hers and the ale soaked taste of him.

She wanted to never forget a single detail.

Three from Blood Flows in a Spiral:

“You’re scared,” he murmured, eyes widening in sudden understanding, and she opened her mouth to deny it, but he said, “You don’t want to die, but you’re too afraid to live.”

There was a frigid triumph in her eyes, the blue of them icy and fractured. They spoke of pain, both given and received. He idly wondered if anyone had touched her with gentleness or just because they wanted to. The way she skittered away from him when she realised how close they’d gotten told him no. She wasn’t used to tenderness and calm. Chaos swirled in her soul, and he aimed to harmonise it.

“You’re like a wildflower after a wildfire. You could bloom in a sea of ash, if you just believed.”

And one very silly one I hope to post very soon to add another season to Wool to Brave the Seasons. It’s subject to change as I’m not happy with it all 😅

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Viserys deadpanned, going on in a sly tone, “Every time. You really need to brush up on your banter skills, sweet sister.”

“Perhaps if you were more polite in greeting us, we’d be more likely to react in kind. And for the last time—don’t call me that!”

“I think not. You go the loveliest shade of puce when I call you that. I find it pleasing,” Viserys sniffed as his gaze, paler than his sisters but still striking, landed on Jon at last.

“I dread to think what my sister has told you, but I promise, only half the lies she tells about me are true,” Viserys’ eyes trailed from Jon’s head down to his feet and back again, “You’re—shorter than her last couple of strays,” he observed in a tone full of snark.

“Not where it counts. And don’t worry, you’re just as dramatic as she said you’d be.”

Viserys arched a brow as he pushed off from the sleek black car and approached Jon, staying out of arm’s reach as Jon heard Dany sigh. The silver-haired man was stone faced until the mask cracked and a slight smirk alighted on his thin mouth.

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” Viserys said after a protracted silence.

Dany pushed her way past them and tossed over her shoulder, “If you two are done, I’d like to get to the beach now.”

[landinrris]

I come bearing a bit of a Carlando ficlet repurposed from an abandoned wip I mentioned in a previous fic note. Technically same year/timeline as the recent honeymoon fic. From a timeline where Lando's fighting for the championship with McLaren. This takes place during a sponsorship event early in the season and involves an ignorant brand rep and Carlos subsequently taking Lando's mind off it. Not quite nsfw, though they are them. (Also, definitely wrote this initially before silly season last summer and didn't have the heart to replace anyone upon going back through it.)

May 2024

Just because Lando’s spent the last six years being subject to the same monotonous and circle-jerk-worthy sponsor events doesn’t mean he has grown to like or enjoy them. They’re usually full of the upper echelons of who “matters” and who’s willing to write the largest cheque—meaning Lando’s stuck smiling and nodding for hours on end while he pretends to care.

He’s often stuck entertaining people’s thoughts and comments that sound like they’re trying to project an air of knowing more than he does.

Even though they never do.

While Lando’s not sure these events will ever be good, they’re at least always better when Carlos is able to be there with him. Daniel helps as well, turning them into a three-man front against condescending and underhanded remarks.

With the early races showing that Lando may well be a contender for the championship, the events he’s required to go to seem to escalate. Carlos has only been to one other event with him since the start of the season, busy with his own obligations, but he’s here tonight.

Except for the part where it’s Carlos who’s been tugged away for a conversation by Andreas of all people, leaving Lando standing off to the side with a half-empty champagne flute as perfect bait for some old fuck to corner him.

And the universe must have it out for him tonight because that’s what happens.

Some older guy who’s in charge of something or other to do with Goldman Sachs and its European branch (Lando can’t be assed to remember) pulls Lando into a conversation about the one thing Lando really wishes he wouldn’t. He reeks of cologne that lingers on the edge of too sweet, the cloying scent of red wine practically condensing in front of his mouth.

Lando pulls upon his years of politeness and PR training to stay where he is. After four sponsor events in the last month and a half, he’s rather tired of accepting their comments and strategy calls for the championship like the decision is obvious. As if the team doesn’t have months and months ahead of them with the competition close behind.

This guy starts there, like so many others, asking about how Lando feels about the team’s progress (better than during preseason now that they can see everyone’s pace), his thoughts on development (cautiously optimistic given their recent progress and his comfort level with the car), and the upcoming race (Barcelona is always fun and practically feels like home after the last few years).

It doesn’t stay there though when Mr. Goldman Sachs leans in almost conspiratorially and says, “You know, given the last few champions and standings, I think the real trick is to not be tied down to a woman while trying to be competitive.”

Lando, honest to God, chokes on his champagne, his eyes going wide despite his best efforts. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite get what you mean.”

Unfortunately, this guy has no issue repeating himself. “Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen, during their truly dominant seasons, never had anyone holding them back. True, you’ll find the same for a lot of the multiple champion-winning drivers. And really, maybe it’s something the teams should pay more attention to.”

Beneath the utter audacity of this man trying to start a conversation about drivers’ libidos, there’s something immensely amusing about him being so confident about Max specifically over the past few years (and that’s to say nothing about the others). Lando wants so badly to tell him Max has been in a committed relationship since 2017. He wants to see the man’s eyes grow wide, for him to choke on his words and make a stuttered apology before scampering off to talk to some other CEO. Lando keeps his mouth shut lest he accidentally creates headline-worthy news out of a fucking sponsor event, but God does he want to ruin this man’s worldview.

Mr. Goldman Sachs is rambling something about virile young men (Lando almost throws up at that one) while Lando debates asking again what position this guy holds in the company. What would the odds be of Zak renegotiating their sponsorship future over this if Lando asked?

“But you don’t have a girlfriend, I trust? Nothing to stop you from putting everything you’ve got into this championship. McLaren needs another champion. It’s been too long.” His smile is on the wrong side of leering, and Lando suppresses his shudder. He wonders if this guy even knows McLaren’s last champion, considering it’s obvious he knows little about their current front-runner.

“No sir, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ah, good man,” he interjects before Lando can correct him.

“I do have a fiancé, but I don’t really anticipate it having a negative effect on my championship fight.”

Carlos, God bless him, chooses that moment to finish talking to Andreas. Lando shifts his eyes over Mr. Goldman Sachs’ shoulder and sees him approaching with an easy smile on his face, two flutes of champagne in his hands. Now is not the moment to admire Carlos in his well-tailored suit that Lando has wanted to tear off him all night, all sleek lines and sharp corners.

Especially when Mr. Goldman Sachs regrettably makes his thoughts on Lando’s relationship status known. He schools his moderately surprised expression and says just about what Lando expects from him by this point.

“Oh, well, I hope you’re right. Distance just creates such a hiccup in any relationship, let alone the stress I’m sure you’ll be under as the season unfolds. And given how focused Red Bull is on correcting their mistakes, it won’t be long with Verstappen coming through the field with a single mindset.”

The literal only thing that stops Lando from yelling that Max isn’t single and having to subsequently beg for his and Daniel’s forgiveness until the end of time, is the back of Carlos’ hand brushing against Lando’s upper arm. His smile is warm as his eyes flit back and forth between Lando and Mr. Goldman Sachs. He tilts his head enough for Lando to understand that he’s asking two questions at once.

“More champagne? Andreas needed my opinion on something, so I bring back apology alcohol for abandoning you.”

Lando’s only too glad to take it and exchanges his almost empty glass for Carlos to hand to a passing waiter.

“Am I interrupting?” Carlos asks once Lando smiles in thanks, shifting his gaze to Mr. Goldman Sachs. There’s a carefully veiled concern there, like Lando need only use their rescue word to change locations.

But Lando just musters his most professional smile and holds out a hand to present Mr. Goldman Sachs to Carlos. One of the most unfortunate moments of his career. “Uh, Carlos, this is the head of the European branch for Goldman Sachs. One of our sponsors.” Lando looks more directly at Mr. Goldman Sachs as if challenging him with his next words. “I’m sure you must be familiar with Carlos Sainz—my fiancé, actually. You’ll find distance won’t really play a role in our relationship.”

Both Carlos’ and Mr. Goldman Sachs’ faces do something funny for completely different reasons, but Lando’s too ticked off to find either of them amusing. He’ll have to commiserate with Daniel and Max later.

“Sainz? You’re with Ferrari, are you not?” Mr. Goldman Sachs manages after he practically picks his jaw up off the floor. He’s oozing with faux politeness and acceptance—trying his hardest not to look rocked by the news that Lando has the farthest thing from a girlfriend.

Carlos shifts closer to Lando, picking up easily enough on Lando’s prickly attitude. Hell, Andreas probably can where he is across the room. The slide of Carlos’ hand over the middle of Lando’s back, coming to rest at the base of his spine helps Lando to relax some of his muscles.

Carlos returns just as much sanitized politeness. “I am normally. Tonight though, I am here as Lando’s plus one. It is true like he says, we are never far apart.”

“I just find it mildly surprising that Ferrari would allow you to be here, and in this capacity. They’ve always been notoriously strict, I’ve heard.”

Carlos shrugs and sips from his glass. He looks calm and collected, but Lando can see the subtle shift of his jaw— can feel the way Carlos’ fingers flex at Lando’s back. “There are some things more important than what Ferrari wants me to show sometimes. If you’ll excuse us. I was sent to fetch Lando for Zak.”

The lie is blatant even if it works. Lando wonders if Carlos realizes he’d said he was talking with Andreas before as he gives Mr. Goldman Sachs a barely-there smile. Carlos doesn’t give them much time to linger until he’s pulling Lando away and back in the direction he’d come from earlier before Mr. Goldman Sachs can say anything else.

Carlos pulls Lando down a long hallway off the main ballroom until they’re about three-quarters of the way. Only then does he stop and turn to look at Lando for the first time.

The irritation is plain to see on Carlos’ face and in the set of his shoulders when he sighs. “Some fucking people. What did he say to you? It didn’t sound like it was going well based on how you introduced us.”

Try as Lando might, he’s unable to refrain from unloading. Poor Carlos, who hates these kinds of things more than Lando does and who doesn’t even have to be here out of obligation. He’s only here on one of his precious few free nights out of his love for Lando and not wanting him to suffer alone.

Lando starts at the point where Carlos had first been pulled away, talking fast enough as if the quickness of the words would help Lando get over how uncomfortable they’d made him. As if the speed would make it so Carlos wouldn’t have to bear their abrasiveness as well. They’ve been publicly out for a year, how do people not know?

Carlos stops him in the middle of a tangent about how, even though he’d wanted to spill about Max and Daniel so bad, there’s no way he would deserve their forgiveness, and—

“Lando, Lando stop. Breathe for me, please.”

“Can we, let’s just— I really don’t want to go back out there yet. I will do something I regret.”

It’s a wonder that Carlos doesn’t have to ask him the specifics and just nods, taking Lando’s wrist in his hand and guiding them further down the hallway.

Their shoes echo together against the walls, but it’s infinitely better than the way everyone’s voices in the main hall coalesced together to create a quiet din that built up on his nerves slowly but surely. Like a fine grit that wasn’t noticeable until it was too late and left a bleeding mess of his nerves.

Carlos tries a few doors that are locked before coming to a set of narrow double doors that aren’t. They look like heavy oak, ornately carved like they themselves are an art piece— and maybe they are considering the rest of them looked to be pretty standard. Lando decides in the back of his mind that people rich enough to have an estate and manor this big to host corporate events don’t have to make sense.

The room that Carlos pushes into is a library because of course it is. And it’s not even a small room. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, all packed to the brim with books old and new— tomes of information Lando could never hope to get through in this lifetime. There’s even a mezzanine off to the side with further shelves that reach to the top edge of the ceiling before it vaults up to the outer wall lined with windows. Thick drapes are pulled open along the outer edges, but they get the mood across.

The mood that happens to make Lando feel like he’s stepped back in time at least eighty years.

It’s not until Carlos pulls him a bit further into the room and away from the door that Lando remembers why they’d even found it. Right, the utter chaos of his brain and the people in the main hall aren’t mixing. And he quite likes his job.

Lando’s feet kickstart before Carlos can lead him to one of the wingback chairs off to the side, and instead, he pulls them to one of the far walls, tucked near the staircase that leads up to the mezzanine. If someone comes in looking for them, they might be out of sight back here.

Carlos turns once they stop walking, and it’s the first time Lando actually sees his face after begging to go somewhere other than the open hallway. All hints of the anger from before are gone, replaced instead with genuine concern. His big eyes and worried eyebrows make him look sad in a way Lando can’t deal with.

And maybe they shouldn’t be using the library of some wealthy person’s manor for their own benefit, but Lando desperately needs to get out of his mind—to forget, if just for a moment, what that man had said.

Carlos in all his rational sense likely has his own qualms about pressing Lando up against the shelf behind them with his hands spanning the width of Lando’s hips and their lips pressed against each other. He would ordinarily likely have some trepidation about kissing up Lando’s jaw and burying his head in Lando’s neck. Their breaths are a cacophonous roar in Lando’s ears, his chest fit to burst when Carlos’ teeth snag at Lando’s earlobe.

When their lips meet again after way too long, Lando frantically pulls Carlos’ mouth back to his own. As if this is a short, clandestine meeting where they’re meant to part once finished and pretend they don’t know the other— that they’re forbidden from being together.

It’s exactly like this, in a way. Lando doesn’t want to think of what would happen if anyone caught them in here, especially while he’s trying not to think.

Rather than Lando’s earlobe this time, Carlos’ teeth catch on his bottom lip, pulling a moan from Lando’s mouth, muffled as it is pressed to Carlos’. Lando feels weak under Carlos’ hands, surrendering to Carlos’ control with an ease that would be embarrassing if anyone else found out. But here, he’s only too happy to open his mouth to Carlos, whimpering at the feeling of Carlos’ tongue against his lip.

Even through his suit jacket, dress shirt, and undershirt, Lando can feel the heat of Carlos’ hands—can feel how they flex. It’s a tactile reminder of Carlos’ self-control, of how he’s barely holding himself together from ripping Lando’s clothing off.

Lando’s close to letting him, to saying to hell with it all, when he hears as much as feels Carlos’ groan ripped from his chest where he has his own hands splayed. He wants desperately to feel the warmth of Carlos’ skin and run his fingers through where Carlos’ chest hair is growing back from its latest wax. He wants to feel Carlos’ weight over him, pressing into him enough to reduce him to a litany of curses and pleas.

This is everything Lando wanted—to have every sense filled with Carlos instead of any of the people out in that grand hall.

All he hears is Carlos’ labored breathing that alternates between huffs and sighs and half-uttered proclamations of Lando’s name.

All he feels is the starch of Carlos’ shirt, the fleeting feel of silk that runs up the lapels of the suit jacket he’s regrettably still wearing.

All he tastes is Carlos, a hint of champagne still on his tongue, much fancier than they’re ever given on the podium. Lando still hates the taste, but it’s always been sweeter kissed from Carlos’ mouth.

Lando’s about five seconds from tearing his mouth from Carlos’ to sink to his knees where he stands, he really is, all the more encouraged when Carlos tears one of his hands from Lando’s waist to cradle his face instead. It’s instinctual to lean into the touch, Carlos’ mouth catching the corner of Lando’s and trailing up on its own accord to the space on his cheekbone just below his eye.

The action makes Lando giggle breathlessly, a noise incongruent with what they’ve been doing, what Lando’s really about to do. But that’s Carlos—always somehow subverting Lando’s expectations. It doesn’t stop Lando from trying to tilt his head back up into Carlos’ space, wordlessly begging for Carlos’ lips again, but it’s not a request that’s granted. A whimper may or may not escape unbidden from Lando’s throat at the action.

Instead, Carlos lets his thumb sweep across Lando’s cheek with a sad smile that just about reaches his eyes. Lando can’t tell for sure, but he wouldn’t be surprised if its presence wasn’t wholly because they can’t do as much as they want to. The most sure-fire way to get Lando out of his head when he wants to stop thinking isn’t something that’s possible right now, they both realistically know, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be sad about it.

“We really should not be doing this here, mi amor. Someone will be coming to look for us. We have been gone for too long, I think.”

Lando sucks in a bit more air before he trusts his voice enough to answer without producing a distinctive wobble. “If we were at the MTC, I’d know where the hiding spots were.”

Carlos huffs out laughter at that. Good, Lando thinks. Anything to wipe away the look on his face.

“And I believe you. Later though, okay? You deserve me to make love to you not against a bookshelf in a gaudy manor, no?”

Lando tries to suppress the shudder that goes through him at the combination of Carlos’ words and the way they’re almost whispered into his ear. He nods unthinking because if Carlos is telling him he deserves to basically be fucked in luxury, then who is Lando to dispute that?

“What time is it?” Lando asks in lieu of physically pulling Carlos back into him. He should honestly be commended for his strength.

Carlos could tell him to look at his own watch if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. Rather, he barely shifts his gaze down to meet his watch at Lando’s hip and sighs. “We still have about an hour before you can make an elegant exit.”

“An elegant exit?”

“Ay, everything you do is elegant. Surely leaving one of these dreadful events must also be.”

Truly, one of the most elegant things would be leaving a sponsor event, so he won’t fight Carlos on that one.

What he wants to do is fight the tug on his wrist that Carlos gives him after a much more chaste kiss to his lips. He wants to fight the intent to lead him back through the overly ornate doors that lead back to too many inane comments and questions. If there’s one thing Lando’s decided for the rest of the night though, it’s that he won’t be left alone without one of his team members.

They reenter the main hall to find Daniel standing near the entrance, glass full while he holds an empty one in his hands. He doesn’t look at either of them as they pause next to each other, and for a moment, it’s a bubble of peace in the middle of chaos.

“I think I've just figured out why I never won a world championship,” Daniel says off-handedly. The PR fight leaves Lando then, bending him at the knees as he’s helpless to fight off the hysterical laughter that bubbles up and over inside him. Carlos’ steadying hand is on his back keeping him semi-upright, but it’s a losing battle.

Fucking sponsor events.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Extra 2.0 OC Favorites!

A new, more detailed of the OC Favorites tag, because I'm inspired and wanna show off my WIPs characters!

Let's go with Dylan and his girlfriend Christine from the cast of What Lurks In The Hollow!

Rules: share photos of your OCs' favorite color, season, shoe choice, weapon, food & drink, clothing style, mode of transportation, animal, pastime, and breakfast and if they're an introvert/ambivert/extrovert then change up any one of the five favorite things categories for the next round. BONUS: Add some music/songs that fit their aesthetic (the songs don't have to be their favorite songs, just fit their vibe)!

Dylan Millihan

Color: Sunset orange

Season: Summer

Shoe Choice: Dark leather boots

Weapon: Brass knuckles

Food: Pizza

Drink: Coffee

Style: Button up cotton shirts, light jeans and a jacket.

Mode of Transportation: His Chevy

Animal: Dogs, especially stray/shepherd mixes

Pastime: Horror movie night with his little sister.

Breakfast: Eggs and bacon with toast

Personality: Introvert, almost antisocially so.

Aesthetic Songs:

Fast Car - Luke Combs

People I Don't Like - UPSAHL

It's My Life - Bon Jovi

Ditmas - Mumford and Sons

Living On A Prayer - Bon Jovi

Christine Nespor

Favorites:

Color: Mint green

Season: Autumn

Shoe Choice: Retro sneakers

Weapon: Pepper Spray

Food: Home cooked Mac & Cheese

Drink: Iced chocolate frappes

Style: Colorful patchwork pullovers, twill pants, and crochet sweaters

Mode of Transportation: Walking

Animal: Cats (has four)

Pastime: Sketching, either at home or by the lake

Breakfast: Corn flakes cereal with whole milk

Personality: EXTROVERT

Aesthetic Songs:

Austin (Boots Stop Working) - Dasha

Best Day of My Life - American Authors

Life Is A Highway - Rascal Flatts

Could've Been Me - Halsey

Just Breathe - Willy Nelson

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @wyked-ao3, @topazadine @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid @thecomfywriter

@thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @amaiguri

@cherrychiplip @thecomfywriter @thelovelymachinery @bookwormclover

@differentnighttale, @leahnardo-da-veggie