#definitely not in the drafts

[domoriu]

ikay guyys hypothetically. if i made a 3some smut and the boys kinda kiss and touch a little bit would yall fw it or should i keep it for ao3… gotta know how much freak i can get on here….

[yjcorefourenjoyer]

*Robin stopping yj right inside of Gotham’s borders and not letting them into the rest of the city*

Cassie: “wait why can’t we go into gotham anymore!?”

Robin: “i- eh.. the meta rule!”

Bart: “we’ve been in gotham before, and you were the one to sneak us in! That is not a good excuse”

Anita: “yeahhh what’s the real reason?”

Robin: “well um. You guys have seen my face…”

Kon: “so what Rob? It’s not like the second we go into the city we’re just gonna run into a giant billboard with your face and secret identity plastered on it!!!”

Robin glancing behind them:

Robin: “………..”

[tojigasm]

i just need to be idk, babied by logan, even though he knows that twenty something isnt a baby, hes showing you how to smoke properly, your sitting on his lap and taking sips of his drink, he lets you lay your head in his lap and cuddles up to him at night with ur cheek against his stomach and he just like, takes care of you? like he pets and humours and tolerates and when ur fucking hes so caring, stroking hair and kissing ur cheeks and forehead ur honour i want him so bad

And you get it soooo fucking bad because the idea of him being so paternal with you is something that just rots me to my coreee you guys. And there's a semblance of casual dominance about it that just makes me sob.

He's in the middle of fucking you. His chest pressed to your back, his skin flush to your own as he stands curved over you on your hands and knees on his bed. He keeps an arm wrapped around your chest, keeping you upright as he rolls his hips into, pressing a long kiss to the back of your head.

You'll be at the counter in the kitchen late at night, working on whatever when he wanders into the room in a grey hoodie and sweats. He makes his way to lean against the countertop, peering over at your notes. "Y'need anything, baby?" He'll eventually ask, running his knuckles over your forearm as you continue to write. "Mm, maybe water," you say, almost jumping out of your seat before you're being pushed back into the leather cushioning of the chair. "Let me do it fr'ya, sweetheart." And you don't get your glass of water until after he's "secretly" stolen a sip. He stands next to your seat at the counter until you're all done.

He's the first time you experience smoking. The smell of tobacco is heavy in the air while he sits on the front porch of the mansion. You've always been one to try new things and Logans never been one to deny you almost anything and so of course he holds the blunt of the cigar to your soft lips and lights the tobacco while you look all pretty fr'him. Takes you a couple tries and a few lessons in watching Logan easily breathe in the smokey tar, but you catch it eventually, earning a "atta' girl." From Logan.

Has you sit in his lap during movie nights at the mansion while he nurses a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He keeps a hand wrapped around your hip and the other on the neck of the bottle. Ever so often, you'll motion towards the bottle, and Logan'll hold you by the chin and tilt the bottle to your lips only for a second before pulling it away. You try to reach for it back, and he's pushing your hand away with a "C'mon, kid, that's enough." And you better not argue, it'll start an hour long discussion on how he knows best.

Or how the two of you will be lying on the couch after finishing a movie. You're resting against his chest as he runs the tips of his fingers up and down your back softly. And he'll just start giving you quick pecks here and there over your cheeks and on the tip of your nose and your forehead and chin before pulling back to look you over. He'll soothe the palm of his hand over the soft apple of your cheek, whispering softly "Yr'my baby, huh."

[daemaid]

AU type thing where instead of imprisoning him, the Bishops somehow manage to wrestle the red crown off of Narinder and he is reduced to his mortal form.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

“The first thing you need to know,” the stable master announced loudly to the gaggle of school children trailing behind her, “is that these are not unicorns.”

Eleven-year-olds tended to be loud. Their silent scepticism was deafening.

“You cannot keep unicorns in captivity,” she continued. “These are all crossbreeds, mostly with specific breeds of horses.”

There was a small murmur of curiosity and a gangly arm shot up into the air.

“Yes?”

“Only mostly horses?”

It was always fun when some of them paid close attention. “Only mostly horses. I only deal with European breeds, and they tend to cross well with horses. See this here is a cross between a grey Thoroughbred and an English Unicorn. They’re large, and reasonably docile.” They also had that champagne sheen most showy folk preferred. “For people who come here looking for a steed, this is their best bet. Although I've only ever seen it done by people who personally broke them as yearlings.”

By now she definitely had the whole class’s full attention.

“But this French Licorne cross is actually half fallow deer.” She gestured to the pasture beyond the fence. “Look at them. Slight build, slender legs, built for speed and agility. They need a lot of space but they are beautiful to look at, and they’re relatively easy to tame for the pure of heart.” There was still something distinctly deer-like about them and they were all so beautifully cream coloured that they almost took on a silver hue.

“What’s those hairy ones?” a voice piped up.

“That’s a Unicorno/Shetland mix, from central Italy. Traditionally they tend to be crossed with Monterufolino, but they are hard to come by and make their coats even darker.” Unicorni were naturally built more like ponies, some with considerably shorter horns, and their coats were often a much darker gold, or even brown. They were less flighty than the French breeds though, even if they showed blatant favouritism towards certain caretakers. They would even pull a carriage if properly motivated.

“Do you have any bigger ones?”

The stable master turned around. “What was that?”

One of the boys was standing behind her with a determined look on his face. “Do you have any like that but bigger. With the beards and the furry hooves.”

“Feathering,” she corrected automatically and the boy nodded eagerly. She frowned. “What exactly do you mean?”

“There’s really big unicorns,” he pressed. “With wild manes and tails and split hooves like the French ones but hair like those ones!”

“Buddy,” she laughed, “what you’re describing there is a Scottish unicorn and let me tell you, they cannot even be crossbred into domestication.”

The little face fell.

“Any offspring of an Aon-adharcach will be as wild as they are no one can capture them with their horn still intact, not on your life. You go near one of them with a halter and it will skewer you.”

She smiled at the boy, who still looked rather taken aback, despite this proof of his favourites superiority.

“Tell you what. If you want to see something unhinged and imposing, I’ll take you to see the Eenhoorn/Friesian cross we’ve just got in from the Netherlands.”

[kedreeva]

Silly question but how would you rate different gamebird chicks on a scale of "no brain cells, head empty" to "wait! I think I just saw a thought happen?!"?

You've mentioned before that turkey poults have the survival instinct of a chicken nugget, and I've raised coturnix chicks before which are like...death seeking missiles. Are other gamebird chicks as dumb? Are any recognisably better suited to not immediately kamikaze-ing into the nearest water fountain/single square millimetre of loose tape/one cold spot they can find in the brooder?

Peafowl chicks rate the highest. I know I talk a lot of shit about them, but outside of not eating unless shown the food (which IS a valid survival behavior, for avoiding toxic things in their native environment), they're not prone to doing anything actively stupid. They have great eye sight, they tend to look before they leap (and can fly if they do get into trouble). They have a sense of time ("bedtime" is a concept they have! Every hand raised baby I've ever had has had a strict idea of when they think it's time to go to bed and will scream at me until I agree). They will return themselves to the heat when it's time, I've never had one fail to do this or start screaming because they're on the cold side of the brooder and don't know how to move 1 foot to the left to get warm. I've never had one drown in the water dish even though they get a bowl or are raised outside with a pond/big water bowl. They can coexist with just about any other bird, which is great because their only flaw is they need to be shown food for the first few weeks, and adding something like a chicken will cause the chicken to show them where to eat. And because peafowl are large, all the other babies will follow them around for everything else. For creatures who grew up in an environment where very little (predator wise) can kill them, they're surprisingly adapted to not dying in really stupid ways in captivity. They ARE fragile in other ways (pick up parasites easily), but that's not a matter of stupidity.

Coturnix are so far the worst, and I am including Turkeys in this metric. Turkeys are at least hardy in a brooder setup, even if they are very stupid outside with mom. Coturnix on the other hand have to have a tiny lip to their water dish so they don't get into it and drown or chill (and they still do their level best to get into it, even with the tiny lip where they can barely reach the water, I sometimes check on them and find one Mystery Sopping Wet.... how..... and why...... and also HOW). I have watched one grab a drink of water, throw its head back to swallow, choke, and die immediately. There is NOTHING you can do for them if they fail at drinking water, by the way. If you pick them up too soon after they drink, or any other time, there's a non-zero chance that they immediately panic-vomit any water in their system, choke on it, and suffocate/die instantly so you have to be careful about handling them while they're doing their very best to make that as difficult as possible (and this lovely trait persists into adulthood). They cannot have access to anything they can get caught in/under, I have to put barriers in their cage and not give them a cold spot in the brooder until they're a few days old because they will CHARGE to it and sit there until they die screaming about how cold they are while 1 foot away from the heat. They still throw themselves at this barrier because they can see through a 1mm gap to either side that cold death awaits them with open arms and they desire it so badly. It's why they always look like this:

If you have them standing on your hand they WILL just walk off - nay, run full tilt off - without regard for if there is anything below them to fall ONTO, and they are fully capable of beaning themselves so hard upon impact that they die. I had to find a stuffie that was very light and a stuffie that was very heavy, because a medium weight is just light enough for them to shove themselves into the shavings beneath it and suffocate because they can't get out again, and they will also actively seek to do this. They have to have a solid-sided brooder because if they can stick their head through a gap a) they can probably get out of it if it's just a little bigger than their head and b) they will get stuck in it and break their necks if it's just a little too small.

The vast majority, 99% of them, are extremely easy to raise, and doing a minimal amount of guardianship in their brooder will protect them from themselves, but they do have a deep and abiding desire to be dead, I think, and there will be some you cannot save from themselves. No other game birds/fowl I've raised are like this- not peafowl, not turkeys, not pheasants, not chickens, not bobwhite quail, not even guinea keets... the closest would be button quail and even they are not death-seeking missiles until they're a bit older.

[verflares]

would you like to live deliciously?

[owuwi]

cw: porn w/o plot, sub!jinx, top!afab!reader, one slap (jinx receiving), drooling, squirting, TOO SHORT

──────────────────────

jinx is the type of girl who's just too fucking obsessed with you in every single possible way.

no matter what she's doing, you're always on her mind—your soft whispers being the only voice she accepts in her mind, your figure the only shadow she loves to see.

she's not afraid to show who she really is with you, not when she knows you're nothing but supportive; so she's not shy to act like a bitch in heat when you fuck her.

the sight of the blue-haired girl's tongue lolled out as you slide your thick strap in and out of her tight pussy was one that deserved to be in the filthiest porn video possible—maybe one day you'd record her and make her witness the mess you always turn her into.

she uses her own drool that's now dribbling down her chest as moisture to play with her perky, pink nipples; thin and shaky fingers harshly pulling on the hardened buds as you thrust into her with a torturous pace.

with your slow yet deep movements, it doesn't take the girl long before she spaces out—in a good way—. the sinful sounds her needy cunt makes as you fuck her are louder than her moans, which is definitely quite surprising for the both of you, though it only makes her get even more lost on the pleasure you're providing her.

the firm yet gentle smack of your hand against her pale cheek is what pulls her out of her daydreaming, magenta eyes opening to meet your own gaze. "focus on me.." your rough voice only serves to make her wetter —the light sting your palm burned in the side of her face being the reason why she gushes against your strap, soaking the towel beneath her cute ass.

as she rides out her orgasm, she's not shy to buck against the length of your cock; broken whines and whimpers leaving her chapped lips, painted nails desperately scratching over your back.

to say jinx isn't shy is an understanding.

[necroticboop]

GARGOYLES : ↳ Types of Soulmates

[leol]

logan 2017 movie canon divergent au kinda.. kurt deus ex machina, everybody lives, happy family = profit

[scarredlove]

The Sun-bot of my lil Mafioso AU, Aubade~

As an Underboss, Aubade is known as your "Rabid Dog".

Wild, Sadistic, Impatient, Resilient, and Playful. He owns, runs, and even stars in his own Underground Fighting Arena, in which the money won from the bets placed on fighters fund the gang's supplies and gear. On occasion, it even acts as a place to "test" some of these items. As your left-hand man, Aubade is incredibly savvy to hand-to-hand combat, and will do anything and everything for you. A rather open secret amongst fellow gang members. Only the most foolish would dare question his loyalty. He is easily jealous and hates to have any of your attention stolen from him to a point that during meetings, sitting close or being on his knee is the only way to satisfy him. Though, that does not stop him from having a hand on you somewhere... somehow never cutting you with those talons.

Your right-hand man is waiting~ Thank you @crazedauthor for helping me <3

[canonkiller]

looming

[i-think-too-loud]

hey friendly reminder that exy is just a coping mechanism for kevin. the same way neil goes on runs so he doesn’t ACTUALLY run away. the same way jean distracts himself with a million different hobbies so he doesn’t have to think about his past.

i’m sick of seeing people talk about “the only thing kevin loved is exy”…untrue. he plays constantly because it’s the only thing he knows HOW to do. playing well was the reason he survived the nest, and it’s the only thing he had left when he finally ran away. he’s strict with neil’s training because for him, it was be great or don’t play at all. the same thing as helping your partner play well so you both succeed. for him, teaching exy is something intimate, almost.

so does he love it? sure, maybe. his mom created it after all. but you can’t look at his relationship with andrew—someone he trusted to keep him safe even though the people he trusted before only ended up hurting him. with neil—who he taught to play well so they could succeed together, even though he knew neil couldn’t stay. with wymack—who’s team he joined and made great so everyone would start giving wymack the appreciation he deserves instead of saying his team is a publicity stunt. with abby—the first (parental?) figure to treat him kindly since his mother died. you can’t look at his relationship with all of them and try to convince me he doesn’t care. not when he stayed and built all of those bonds.

[sea-webs]

"I don't know who I want to be, anymore."

Oc - Cirque | The Dragon Chosen by the Shadows |

| mary oliver / franz wright / chelsea dingman / mary oliver / sue zhao / can't find :( / can't find :( / i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. - sciencedfiction / little weirds - jenny slate / the unabridged journals of sylvia |

[noxemma]

Parts 1&2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

@colorlessjay thank you so much for the awesome story idea and the inspiration for the title, I really dig the idea of a romance in reverse (I'm not a phenomenal artist but this came to me in a vision, so I had to give it a go 😂). Hopefully you enjoy this next installment (Cas POV this time) as much as the last ones

---

Steering through the Rearview: A Romance in Reverse

First comes love a kid(napping), then comes a marriage ... Yeah, they're definitely doing things in the wrong order, but maybe, if they're lucky, they can figure out how to reverse their way into something real.

---

Castiel takes the hint when Dean turns up the music. Not that he minds; he's not sure what had possessed him to say those words to Dean.

That's not entirely true, Castiel mentally chastises himself. Dean's words may have been gruff and stained with anger, but his eyes. His eyes had been sad and full of ... Caged hope? No, that doesn't sound quite right. It's not caged exactly, more like ... Castiel looks at Dean, searching for the right words to describe the beautiful and complicated man beside him.

Dean must feel him staring because he darts a quick, nervous smile his way. Hobbled, maybe. Unable to run free, but still wild and wanting inside.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?" Dean asks, turning the music down and letting out a chuckle that sounds forced.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, I just got ... lost in thought," Castiel rushes to explain, trying to will the heat back down that he feels rushing to his cheeks. "Sam's written several stories about traveling. Lovely pieces full of nostalgia and wonder. I assume those were trips taken in this car, with you and your father?" "Uh," Dean starts, one hand coming off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. A nervous habit, Castiel is quickly learning. "Yeah. I guess they must be. This was the most stable home we had for a good chunk of our childhood." Dean shoots a glance at Castiel, magnificent green eyes wide, like he's confessed something he shouldn't have, or didn't mean to. "That would make sense, then," Castiel responds with a warm smile that he hopes is reassuring.

He understands not wanting to talk about rocky childhoods. Or fathers, for that matter. So, while Dean's admission only stokes his already blazing curiosity about the man, he forces himself to let it go and let whatever band Dean has playing take over the conversation. To his surprise, Dean doesn't take the out, choosing instead to continue talking.

"Uh, Sam told me he, um, well, whenever I agreed to this, he told me that he wrote a lot about our childhood for your class. He also said you were ridiculously smart, so you'd probably be able to put some stuff together." Dean's not looking at him, but Castiel can see his hands tighten on the wheel and his shoulders tense. "He did," Castiel admits. "Although it is a creative writing class so I can't be sure how much is real and how much is fictional. But, well, we tend to write what we know. I try not to read too much into them, unless of course I'm worried a student might harm themselves or someone else. However, one story of his in particular does stand out."

"Yeah?" Dean's answer is breathless and high, compressed fear dampening the sound.

"It was about a boy and his brother and their father. They lived on the road, chasing down supernatural entities, trying to get revenge for their dead mother," Castiel tells him slowly, verbally approaching with his hands raised to show he means no harm. "It was really wonderful, best in the entire class, though I'm sure it was written with a heavy dose of creative license. Or did you really hunt monsters across the United States?"

Dean lets out a whoosh of air, relaxing back into the seat and letting color come back into his knuckles. "No. And, yes, kind of. Man, Sam has one hell of an imagination," Dean lets out a relieved laugh before continuing. "Mom died just a few months after Sam was born. House fire, or well, arson. The guy they think did it was a criminal who skipped out on his bail, but the police could never track him down. I think that's part of the reason why Sam is going into criminal law. Anyway, Dad took it hard and became a bounty hunter. It gave him a sense of purpose and resources to work on Mom's case in his spare time, for a little while anyway. But, as the years went by, and the leads went cold, he started taking comfort in a bottle. He was drunk when he totaled Baby. Nearly killed Sam and I." "You were in the car with him? How old were you?" Castiel manages to bite his tongue after the second question escapes his lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry." "Nah, it's okay. It's practically ancient history now. I was seventeen, Sam was thirteen. Dad kept insisting he was fine to drive, and I tried to argue. And I know I should have tried harder, or hidden his keys or something but, but there was just no getting through to him when he got that way ..." Dean's eyes go far away and Castiel is pretty sure he's seeing something other than the road. His jaw clenches and he gulps before he blinks, eyes refocusing. "Anyway, can't change the past. Sam was in the backseat, so he was the least hurt, which was a fucking miracle." "And you?" Castiel breathes, riveted and horrified as more pieces of Sam's writing slot into place; the pretty paint facade of fiction washing away from the story, revealing the uglier truth behind it. Dean rubs his neck again, hesitating before admitting, "I was in the hospital for over a week. Bobby and his wife Karen fostered us until I turned eighteen. Gave me a job at his junkyard and taught me how to be a mechanic. Helped me get my GED and paid for me to go to trade school and get my ASE certification. Not to mention he helped me petition the state for custody of Sam once I had full-time employment and an apartment in my name." Before he realizes what he's doing, Castiel's hand is on Dean's knee, squeezing reassuringly as he says, "I'm so sorry, Dean. No child should have to go through that. I'm glad you had someone like Bobby to help you." "Thanks, Cas. Me too. But, like I said, it's all ancient history now." They both know he's lying but Cas doesn't call him on it because he's too busy trying to remain calm when Dean lowers his hand to cover his own.

"Cas?" Castiel asks, cursing how breathy his voice sounds and pulling his hand slowly back into his own space before he does something irrational like skipping the wedding and just driving around for the next few days. "You've called me that a few times now."

"Yeah. Cas. You know, the shortened version of your name or, as it's more commonly known: a nickname," Dean rolls his eyes, laughing like Cas has made some great joke. He stops when Cas just stares at him in confusion. "Hang on, has no one really ever called you that before?" "Um. No?" Dean's mouth drops open, and he stares at Cas in the passenger seat for long enough that Cas is worried they might start to drift off the road if he doesn't snap him out of it. "My parents were, um, very formal and ... strict," Cas explains quickly, pitching his voice high in a poor imitation of Naomi, "'Castiel, if I wanted you to be called something else, I would have put it on your birth certificate.'" Dean let's out a snort and the cold dread, which had begun squeezing its icy fist around Cas' chest at the memory of the woman who gave birth to him, recedes at the sound. "Seriously? Man, I can't imagine if I had to run around calling Sam 'Samuel' for the rest of his life. What kind of name is Castiel anyway? European?"

"Biblical. My parents were also extremely religious. They named all of us after angels. Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer." "Damn, and here I was feeling bad about myself for being named after my grandmother, Deanna. Although at least you aren't Lucifer. Does he really go by that?"

"He went by Nick until he died few years ago. Or at least that's what Gabriel told me," Cas admits.

Dean shoots him another look but doesn't press. Instead, he mimics Cas' action from earlier, right hand coming off the wheel to squeeze his leg. He knows the action is supposed to be comforting, but knowing doesn't stop the heat sizzling up his veins.

Cas closes his eyes to fight against the feeling. It doesn't help; green eyes and freckles emblazon against the back of his eyelids.

How long has it been since someone, besides Charlie or my students or Jack, touched me, intentionally? Months? Years?

Cas stifles a groan. Because it doesn't matter. It's clearly been long enough that his body is responding disproportionately, and he has to stop it. Now. So, he starts talking about the one thing he knows for sure will kill any errant desire he's feeling.

"My parents disowned me when I came out to them. Gabriel is the only one who still speaks to me. He would have probably been disowned too if he hadn't kept the family name and become so successful so quickly. This wedding is actually the first time I'll be seeing any of them beside him in well over a decade now." "Shit, sorry, Cas," Dean blurts before chewing his lip and darting more glances his way, clearly debating something. "You can ask whatever it is you're wondering," Cas encourages, welcoming the distraction. "Uh, why are you going to this wedding then? I mean, I get that they're family, but well, to quote Bobby, 'family don't end in blood. And it don't start there either.'"

The voice Dean puts on when quoting his surrogate father wrings a laugh out of Cas and the dangerous heat of attraction is replaced with an equally dangerous, though less embarrassing, warmth centered father up his body.

"I'm getting the idea that Bobby was a very wise man. But, to answer your question: I'm going because Jack is actually my biological nephew. I was friends with Kelly, his mother, and I raised him like my own when she died from complications shortly after giving birth. She never put Lucifer on his birth certificate and her parents never contested her choice to name me his as his godfather and legal guardian. But, somehow, Naomi and Chuck have found out about him, and they are threatening to petition for custody of him if I don't show up."

"Why? On what grounds?" Dean explodes, barely contained fury adding a growl to the words that sends a tingle up his spine and forces him to shift in his seat. "I'm a single father and a man who wouldn't be able to afford the house I'm living in if it wasn't paid for by my more successful brother, and gay on top of that," Cas ticks off, "Plus a few others, I'm sure."

Dean stays silent, but rage radiates off him in heavy waves. Cas is just about to try and call off the whole ridiculous idea, sure Dean will agree now that he knows what he'll be up against, when Dean's face brightens and he pins Cas with a wild stare, stealing the breath he was about to use to speak.

"Hey, Cas. How do you feel about being fiancés?"

Cas, ever a pillar of grace and decorum, chokes on his own spit.

"Shit, sorry. You're Sam's favorite professor and I'm pretty sure he can kill me without leaving a trace, so please don't die!"

"Why-" Cas starts, coughing and gasping a few more times before managing to get the rest of the question out, "Why would you want to be my fiancé?" "Well, you're gorgeous and kind for one, so who wouldn't want to be your fiancé," Dean says with a wink at him and Cas is grateful that his face is already red from nearly choking to death on his own saliva. "But I was thinking, we were already going to pretend to be boyfriends, right? So why not go for gold? We can knock off at least two of those reasons you mentioned. I practically raised Sam so I'm no stranger to the whole parent thing. We become fiancés and suddenly you're a two parent, dual income household. I mean, I'm not rolling in wealth by any means, but I do okay enough, though most of the money I make doing restorations goes to helping Sam out with tuition, but they don't need to know that."

"But we don't know anything about each other, how would we be able to convince my parents that we're planning on getting married?" Cas challenges, not quite daring to hope that they might have a chance at pulling this off. "Well, we've got approximately five hours to figure it out. Plenty of time, plus we already know a lot about each other." Cas tilts his head and opens his mouth, but Dean answers his question before it can escape.

"You know that I have a younger brother who I raised, that I work as a mechanic and a car restoration expert, not to mention you apparently already described me to 'Uncle Gabe,'" Dean takes a breath and hurries on before Cas can interrupt, not that he would, "I know that your parents are mega douchebags who don't appreciate what an amazing son they have. I know that you're an English professor at Stanford and that you're an amazing dad, aside from a slight oversight in the stranger danger department. But most importantly, I know that Jack belongs with you and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help make that happen."

Cas' heart thuds in his chest at Dean's vehement declaration. "I- Thank you, Dean," Cas manages before his throat closes up entirely and he's blinking rapidly to keep the moisture forming in his eyes from falling onto his cheeks. "Great!" Dean chirps, flicking on his turn signal and changing lanes to speed around a slow-moving truck. "So, babe. How did we meet? Because, somehow, I feel like telling your folks that I accidentally kidnapped your son will be counterproductive."

[ghostfrog81]

monkee doodles and unfinished stuff that's been rotting in my drafts for months enjoy!!