#writing another wip

[demonicsuffrage]

It's a pretty sweet headcanon that Bruce has photos of his kids that he keeps with him at all times, in his trusty bat-wallet in the trusty bat-utility belt, but the story of how he got those photos is probably even better

Like, baby robin Dick was swinging around one day, and flipped right into Bruce's arms who was anxiously waiting to catch him(new parents smh). Alfred took the picture sneakily, because it's hard getting the hyperactive child acrobat to ever stay still

Jason's photo is the one that they took at the courthouse when Jason was officially adopted. He has a gap tooth and is smiling widely at the camera, adoption certificate proudly displayed in his hands

Tim's photo is one that Bruce found in tim's old camera while going through it, and one rare Tim selfie popped up, bowl cut and all. He's holding up a victory sign while discreetly trying to pose in front of Batman and Robin

Cass' photo is one that Alfred clicked, she's fast asleep next to Bruce on the sofa, tired after patrol, their expressions and postures identical, biological child both in and out of the costume

Duke's photo is one that he had before being adopted into the Waynes, when his parents had taken a photo of him shaking hands with Bruce Wayne, for a fundraiser photo-op that Bruce was doing. Duke looked so excited and happy in it, that Bruce demanded a copy for himself

Damian's photo is the one which him and Bruce took for a 'Bring your kid to work day' very soon after Talia dropped him off at Gotham. His and Bruce's relationship is still a little rocky, but the way Damian was subtly trying his best to copy Bruce's stance in the photo made it's place in Bruce's wallet permanent

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[theliteraryarchitect]

Writers: You're not going to learn everything at once... and that's okay.

There's an absolute glut of technical writing advice out there. It can be tempting to try to gobble it all up, and overwhelming when no matter how much you've read, you're still spinning your wheels on your WIP.

But remember: Learning to write is a long game. No matter how much stuff you read, no matter how much good advice you get, you can't cram all the knowledge into your brain at once and then wake up the next day a perfect, brilliant writer.

You learn how to write by writing. And thinking about writing. Reading about writing. Reading other writers. Critiquing other writers. Writing again. Getting critiqued again. Writing some more. Reading a little tidbit of advice that clicks. Using that tidbit. Finding another tidbit...

It takes a while. Mechanical knowledge becomes second nature eventually, but it happens over years.

Hang in there. Enjoy the process. Let your banana peels and egg shells become compost (they will, I promise). You've got all the time in the world.

[aylinaliens]

i’m eating up every single fic where mel doesn’t have an emergency contact and frank ends up becoming hers. now i raise you this:

mel at a solo medical conference trip like 3 or 4 hours away? far but not too far

everything is going well she’s learned a ton and made connections and she even did a bit of sightseeing too?

mel & frank has been texting back and forth the whole weekend. abby has the kids so it’s just him & the goldendoodle

on mel’s last day there she ends up going out for dinner by herself, encouraged by frank alongside trinity, samira, victoria, and dennis. it’s nice. she’s not totally alone, she’s facetiming becca and then facetiming frank (so she can see his dog obviously) and it’s so so nice

but on the ride back to her hotel the weather is shit and she ends up in a wreck with her uber driver

she’s okay!!! nothing major beside a head injury and bruises/scrapes and the driver is fine but when she gets to the hospital they end up trying to persuade mel to. All someone because there was no one on her emergency contact list

mel drags her feet and tries to insist she’s okay but they are even more insistent. mel ends up breaking down and calling frank even though it’s the middle of the night and she knows he’s sleeping

he picks up pretty quickly and mel sort of blurts out she was an accident but she’s okay truly (and she is physically but she’s exhausted and overwhelmed and alone in a new place and her brain just keeps on spinning and spinning and spinning)

he promises to come asap and sure enough, by the time mel wakes up a few hours later still in the ER, frank is there. he drove…all the way over…in the middle of the night…and he’s there in pj bottoms and hoodie and beat up sneakers like he really did just wake up, roll out of bed, and leave

when mel sees him—when she sees how his dark strands are sticking up everywhere and his eyes are panicked, she lets him fuss. let’s him look her over and cradle her cheek and sit on the bed and hug her with the exact right pressure

she doesn’t say anything when the nurse assumes he’s her boyfriend and tells mel (very kindly) to add him to her contacts since he proved he would drop everything to be here

she lets frank drive her back to her hotel and settle her in bed

she lets him—no. no, she pulls back the cover and asks him to lay down with her, that he doesn’t have to force himself to sleep on the fold out couch

and then as they lay there next to each other side by side, mel and frank naturally gravitate toward each other, and then mel is curled up against frank’s side and their legs are tangled and he’s bumping his nose against her own and then—and then mel falls asleep to the feeling of hands gentling through her hair and hot lips whispering sweet words in her ear that mel wishes she could understand but she does have a migraine and she’s so sleepy~

[grenadehearts]

for riu <3 @megumismyhusband

Megumi likes to pretend he's indifferent to love—that he'll never understand the desire, nor the need, for skin-on-skin contact. For the measly kiss that, in theory, is just swapping germs. The need to hold another's clammy hand? It merely disgusts him.

Megumi grew up as a jujutsu sorcerer. He knows love isn’t in the cards for him. He’s seen tragic tales of love displayed like pathetic bedtime stories his entire life, and he’s lost everyone and everything he’s ever loved. So, he swore off love.

Well… that was until he met you.

Because now, Megumi thinks that maybe—just maybe—with every sip of his black coffee that burns his throat just the way he likes, and every tug he grasps at towards his messy bed head, that love might be real. That it might be true.

That he feels it in his veins, lighting his soul alight every time he's greeted with your smile, or the soft touches you place on his pale skin while you laugh—so brightly, so stupidly—at something Nobara or Yuji said.

And Megumi knows love is tragic. Doomed to fail in his line of work. But he likes to think you could be the exception to that. That you and him could rewrite the entirety of the jujutsu world.

Be the exception. Not just another example.

Because he swears that when he sees your skin coated in rays of golden light, and the glint in your eyes when you’ve found a new book to read, he’s found the meaning of life. That all his life, he's been living on blank pages, begging someone to write his story—and then you came along.

With a pencil and a carefree smile that makes him goofy like a child.

Megumi Fushiguro doesn’t believe in love. Doesn’t need it. But he wants to. He craves to—when he sees you, when he hears your voice, like honey rushing through his veins.

When he smells the faint trace of your shampoo in the air as you quickly tie your hair into a ponytail before a flight. When he sees jasmine blooming along the ivory stone walls of the hidden garden in the back of the school—just like his love for you.

Megumi doesn’t love in bold gestures. No. He loves through the small things, the ones tucked away in silence: little letters of good luck hidden in your pocket, a fresh bouquet of jasmine he claims is for helping aid him in a fight—but you know no one else gets a bouquet.

The way he’ll notice what you’re reading and buy the same book just so he can read it too—highlighting every passage you talk about.

To Megumi, you're everything he’s ever liked built into a person. His favorite quote from a book. A fond memory with Tsumiki. Saturdays with Gojo, learning to fight. Black coffee on a chilly morning. The bitter heat of a bite of ginger. His divine dogs and foggy, forested mornings.

You’re all of it. Wrapped up into one.

And Megumi prays for the day the train stops, the day he’s able to get on and bare his aching heart to you—to pour out all the feelings he’s never dared feel for anyone else.

His bones ache for the day they can rest beside you, limbs entwined with yours. Though he’ll still wish to be closer. He’ll wish to be the rib protecting your heart and lungs. He’ll even crave to crawl inside your ribcage and bloom like flowers through the cracks in your bones—anew, from the purity of your soul.

To bloom from the love you hold.

The sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a golden haze across your body. And he lays beside you, shirtless, skin to skin, your fingers idly combing through his messy raven hair that glows faint blue in the light.

His lashes flutter softly. He stares at you, resting his head on your chest, your legs wrapped around his. He rubs slow, soothing circles into your thighs, listening to every word from your lips like it’s sacred—an oath only he is sworn to remember.

And even as hours pass, he’ll stay attentive. He’ll remember those details. He’ll write them down in his mind and never forget.

That’s what love is to Megumi Fushiguro.

Not fancy dates. Not grand gestures for public display.

It’s in the small, quiet things. Locked away in the privacy of your bedroom, tangled in your sheets, far from prying eyes—

The side of him only you get to see.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @luvseraphh @cupkiki @lotusstarr @xoxojisu @candiiee @cvnt4him @soundtrqck @wokasiv @dreamcastgirl99 @chlosology @princessshnazzy @203steph @chitteringcicadaeyes @idk1187 @chosostonguepiercing @chocolatedefendorbaa @t33th--r0t @3lenaatvt @the-faceless-bride @tuneinwlosers @badslittlemuffin @pluto-9456 @gethexxed

[anistarrose]

two whole years after the finale of The Owl House, and I'm still thinking about Raine getting possessed, because, like. here's the thing. canonically, they're extremely fucking good at resisting it. just like they were clever and stubborn enough to avoid mind-control by Terra, they were also stubborn and powerful enough to really give Belos a fight, enough for him to even comment on it. but the other thing we know about Raine resisting possession, besides them just being good at it — we also know they're also incredibly self-destructive about it. in order to trick Terra, they completely sabotage their relationship with Eda, out of a desire to keep her safe but far away — and with Belos, they smash their viola, just to try to keep Belos from reaching the Titan's heart. they're a self-destructive, self-sacrificing person in general, when it comes down to what they perceive as the greater good — before they learned Eda had kids, they were willing to give their life to take out Darius and Eberwolf (whom they didn't even know were on their side).

but. despite all this, the thing is. Raine's only good at resisting possession when they're at full power. not when they're a puppet. and at first, Belos is possessing them because they're a puppet, and an easy target. Raine knows that Belos's goal is the Titan's heart, so they might even be partially conscious when Belos uses them to talk to the Collector — just unable to fight back, and forced to watch Belos use their voice, use their voice to manipulate a child. definitely, unmistakably a child, from the perspective that they have now.

so, if Raine hadn't been a puppet — well, they would've fought back, of course they would have — but, like always, how self-destructive would their resistance have been? what would they have been willing to do to their own body, just to hurt Belos, too? would they have tried to get the Collector to strike both them and Belos down, both at once? was being a puppet a twist of fate that actually saved Raine's life — from their own willingness to sacrifice themself? the tragedy of surviving, but only at the cost to their own autonomy? after Belos is dead, do think Raine thinks about that, ever? are they relieved? are they guilty? do they break down to Eda about it, or do they keep it buried, because they know Eda's dealt with her own suicidal ideation, too? does Raine ever find out how Hunter got possessed, too, and tried to take himself down with Belos, too? does Raine ever find out that Luz died, even if temporarily, because Belos was able to get to the Titan's heart? Luz, one of the very kids that Raine had tried to protect, and convinced Eda to stay alive for — dying to protect the Collector, who'd been manipulated by Raine's own voice and face? absolutely devastating survivor's guilt on Raine's part, I'm sure. that's my diagnosis.

[saltcxrcle]

some blood and a feral grin ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you need to clean up after a hunt, sam can help with that

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, canon level violence, blood, fluff, smut: shower sex, oral fem! receiving, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, aftercare word count: 5.3K a/n: new fic layout!! i was inspired by @rubyvhs for the new layout hehe! also a huge shout out to my irl friend nicole for being the inspiration behind this fic LOL enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3 sam winchester masterlist

MOONLIGHT FILTERED in from the stained windows high on the walls as the sounds of grunts and squelches echoed all around you. Your arms were poised above your head before they came down one last time—letting out a guttural scream deep from within you and then, there was nothing. 

Your ears were ringing from the abrupt silence, and your chest heaved heavily from exertion. The long dagger that was hidden in your boot was caked in blood as the body beneath you was mutilated beyond recognition. You slowly stood and picked up the machete that you had dropped earlier. Your body had come to an upright position from hovering over the headless vampire you killed moments ago. 

Your muscles were burning, and you could already feel a deep ache beginning to settle into your bones, but you ignored it. You took a deep breath and stretched, shaking out your arms as you tried not to wince at the pain in your sides. The coppery scent of blood and the musty air of the dilapidated warehouse filled your nose before exhaling with a small sigh. You trudged towards the front of the warehouse, maneuvering through some headless bodies that you had taken care of earlier. You could feel the sting of the cut on your forehead and the bruises forming on your ribs, but you continued your trek through the warehouse. 

It felt like forever, but once you made it through the front door of the building, a familiar black car pulled up in front of it. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face when the headlights turned off as you slowly approached the Impala. 

“I think you’re a little late to the party boys.” You teased as they looked at you with surprise filling their expressions. 

You saw how they looked you up and down, and you could only imagine what they were thinking as the Winchesters took in your appearance. 

Wayward strands of hair fell from your updo and into your face. Drying blood that soaked your clothes and smeared on your face. Your machete was held limply at your side as you waved at them with your bloodied dagger and shot them a crazed grin—the blood lust and adrenaline that had filled your veins had just barely receded as your body began to relax. 

Sam couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. He’d seen you covered in blood; it comes with the job, but the glint in your eyes was something that he had never seen before. He thought you were always beautiful, but seeing your hair askew and practically drenched in blood with the pale moonlight highlighting your features and making the wide smile that you had plastered on your face even brighter than usual—well, he felt something in him stir, something primal in him had awakened. Sam subtly adjusted himself, relieved that his lower half was covered by the open car door. He cleared his throat before averting his eyes to the warehouse you had just come out of. 

“You took care of the nest all by yourself?” Dean asked you, skepticism coloring his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh and nod as you slowly approached the two brothers. You finally reached the taller brother as Dean rounded the car and stood next to him. 

Sam crossed his arms and looked down at you, an unfamiliar look in his eye. “You, of all people, should know that was reckless.” He lightly scolded you as his gaze strayed from your eyes to the cut that was near your hairline. Sam had to resist the urge to brush over the injury—wanting to take your chin in between his fingers and scan for any more open wounds you may or may not have. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to sit on my ass like some damsel in distress and wait for you guys to come and save me.” You shrugged. “Besides, it was a few vamps. Nothing that I couldn’t handle myself.” You shot Sam a wink and a slight grin. 

Sam pursed his lips, trying not to smirk when you sent him the smug smile his way.  He shook his head and sighed. “Has anyone told you that you’re difficult?” Sam asked with a cocked head. 

“Plenty of times, by you and your brother.” You said cheekily before taking a step back. “But, as much as I want to continue this lovely conversation, I need a shower and some food. I’ll meet you boys back at the motel.” You told them as you slowly walked backward in the direction of your car. 

Dean gave you a thumbs up and walked to the driver's side of the Impala as Sam just shook his head again, letting the smile that he was holding back emerge on his face as he saw you turn around and continue walking to your car (his eyes definitely didn’t follow the way your hips swayed and trailed downward to see good your ass looked in the jeans you were wearing). 

Sam finally ripped his gaze away from you when he heard a comically loud cough come from Dean. Sam’s head snapped towards the driver's side of the car to see Dean raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You going to stand there and stare all night or can we get back to the motel so you can finally spill your heart out to her?” Dean asked with a knowing smirk on his face as he wagged his eyebrows at his little brother. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car,” Sam grumbled before opening his door. He didn't wait for a response from Dean, so he climbed into the Impala. 

Dean got in and started the car, the Impala erupting in a loud roar. Dean looked at Sam before driving. “You didn’t say no.” Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face and began to drive, pulling out of the gravel driveway of the warehouse and toward the direction of the motel where the three of you were staying. 

Sam glared at Dean but offered no retort—he wasn’t willing to dignify Dean’s taunting with a response (but he knew deep down that his brother was right, he didn’t want to hear the ‘I told you so’ comment from him because Dean would be annoying about it).  

Driving back to the motel was slower than you anticipated but you blamed it on the drying blood on your hands and jeans that restricted your movements (and it definitely wasn’t from the pangs of pain you felt coming from your ribcage). So it wasn’t a surprise to find the Winchester’s Impala parked in the lot of the motel. 

You pulled up next to their car, turned it off, and headed towards their room, which was coincidentally (not) next to the brothers. You quickly entered the room, not surprised by the sight of the Winchester brothers, having given them the spare key to your room two days before, sitting at the table near the kitchenette at the back of the room. 

It was comical how both Sam's and Dean’s heads snapped in the direction of the door, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the action. 

Dean got up from the chair, patting Sam’s shoulder in the process. “Great, she’s back! I’ll grab us some food.” Dean grabbed the jacket he shrugged off earlier and put it back on. 

“It'll be a while, I gotta make a beer run as well.” Dean said as he shot Sam a pointed look before shooting you a smile, brushing past you in the doorway and making his way to his beloved car. 

“But I have-” You were cut off by the slamming of a car door and the roar of the car. You looked back from the near-empty parking lot to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow, having noticed the look Dean shot him. 

“Is your brother okay?” You asked Sam as you moved further into the room, closing the door behind you. 

“I think he’s had one too many concussions to answer that objectively.” Sam kept his eyes trained on you as you moved through the room. 

You let out a laugh at Sam’s words. “Right, that was the wrong question to ask.” You peeled off your blood-soaked flannel, leaving you in a blood-stained tank top. You let down your hair before cracking your neck and letting out a small sigh of relief. 

You paid no mind to Sam, who was still sitting at the table, as you made your way to your duffle bag to grab some clean clothes before you went and showered the glaring red remnants of the hunt off of you. But as you rummaged through your bag for your pajamas, Sam had gotten up from his seat and silently made his way over to you. 

With your pajamas in hand, you turned around and jumped slightly when you saw Sam right behind you, blocking the path to the bathroom. 

“Sorry.” Sam looked a bit sheepish as he apologized. “You should probably clean that before you shower.” He gestured to the cut on your forehead. 

You cocked your head at him. “Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of a shower?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to clean it twice.” 

You huffed a small laugh through your nose. “I suppose.” You hummed out before maneuvering around Sam and making your way toward the bathroom. But before you make another step, you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist, stopping you momentarily and making you look back at Sam. 

“Let me help.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I can do it myself Sam, I’m a big girl.” You joked. 

“I know.” Sam smiled. “But you took out the nest of vamps when we asked for your help, so this is the least I can do to repay the favor.” 

I know another way that you can repay that favor. 

You purse your lips, trying to shake that thought from being blurted out as you look at Sam. Earnesty shone in his hazel gaze. 

You sighed. “Fine, you can help even if it's a small cut.” 

Sam smiled at you again, and without letting go of your wrist, you led him into the bathroom. It was small, to begin with, but it barely fit you and Sam. It was clear that this room wasn’t designed with someone of Sam’s stature in mind (but then again most things weren’t made to fit 6’4 giant men). The door shut with a soft click as you placed your clothes on the closed toilet lid, and Sam grabbed the first aid kit you had stashed in the medicine cabinet. 

Sam grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack, dampened it with warm water from the sink, and gestured for you to stand in front of him. The two of you maneuvered around the bathroom so your back was facing the mirror and sink while Sam stood in front of you. 

“Can I…” He trailed off, his free hand hovering awkwardly in front of your face. 

You nodded, and he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You almost flinched at the feeling of the warm cloth brushing against the skin surrounding the wound. You were gripping the edge of the porcelain sink to resist any urge to touch Sam that may rise. 

You were looking at Sam as his eyes were trained on the cut, making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt you as he wiped away the dried blood, the white hand towel slowly being stained red. Sam was gentle with his movements, and it was soothing—your eyes fell shut on your own accord, leaning into Sam’s touch. 

With your eyes shut, Sam took the opportunity to really look at you. He was used to admiring you from afar, so this was his window to take in your beauty. The towel had strayed, no longer cleaning the blood from your forehead but now the rest of your face. There was blood splattered across your cheeks, nose, and lips. Sam wiped away the blood, and the towel lingered on your lips. 

You couldn’t help how your breath hitched slightly at the feeling of Sam’s touch on your lips. The towel fell from your face, and you opened your eyes to find Sam staring at you with an intensity that you’d never seen before. The air was charged around the two of you, and both of you started to lean towards one another. 

Sam’s gaze flicked from your eyes and lips rapidly, and his grip on your chin changed to span the length of your jaw—his thumb resting on your cheek. You let go of the sink to lightly grab his wrist and rest the other on his chest. The two of you were close enough to feel his breath fan over his lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Sam whispered in the shared space between you. He felt like he was at the end of his rope when it came to giving in to his desires. 

Instead of responding, you brushed your lips over his, and before he pressed his lips against yours, you pulled back slightly with a teasing smile on your face.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of yours, but he wasn’t having it with your teasing and dropped the towel he was still holding, gripped your waist, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.  

It felt like liquid-hot desire was injected into your veins when Sam pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was demanding and urgent like the world would end in the next five minutes, and all Sam wanted to do was devour you whole. 

You and Sam have always had this underlying tension since you met, but you have never acted on it because the cards never seemed to align for the two of you—until now. 

The edge of the sink dug into your lower back as Sam leaned into you. Your hands moved to wrap around his neck, pushing up on your toes to match the fervor that Sam was kissing you with. Sam’s hands moved down your body and stopped at your thighs. He lifted you up with ease and placed you on the porcelain surface. You let out a small yelp from the sudden change in position, and you felt Sam chuckle against your lips. 

Sam swiped his tongue at the seam of your lips, and you let him breach your mouth, tongues dancing with one another and letting the taste of him consume you. You felt his hands squeeze your thighs before dragging up your legs to the hem of your tank top, his hands slipping under the fabric and resting on your bare skin. 

You broke the kiss, pulling back as your lungs screamed for air, but Sam didn’t want to stop kissing you, so his lips trailed down your cheek to your jawline and led down toward your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. 

Sam couldn’t help but groan at the sound of your moan and the scent that overtook his senses. You smelt like musk and the coppery scent of blood, but he could smell the perfume that you usually wore. 

You managed to pull him away from your neck by grabbing some of the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

“As much as I want to continue this, I’m covered in blood and dying for a shower.” You said a little out of breath from the kiss/mini makeout session that the two of you shared. 

Sam’s slightly swollen lips formed into a pout, but he nodded in response. He went to move, but you grabbed the loops of his jeans before he could pull away from you completely. 

“But, you’re entirely welcome to join me.” You had a sultry smirk on your face as you looked up at him. 

“Are you sure?” Sam met your gaze, a concerned frown on his lips. 

“One hundred percent.”

Sam leaned in and softly kissed you, a contrast to the initial kiss from earlier. He kept the kiss sweet as his hands pulled up the tank top you were wearing, breaking the kiss as he pulled it over your head and leaving you in a bra and jeans. Sam let his hands trail along your curves as he admired you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Sam breathed out as his hands rested on your hips. 

You could feel yourself getting shy under his intense stare but fought through the impulse to cover up. 

Sam tapped on your clothed hip and backed up to give you room to slide off so you could take off your jeans. You slid off of the sink counter, unbuttoned your jeans, and shimmied out of them as best as you could, but they were stiff from the blood that they soaked in. You had to use Sam’s shoulders as leverage in order to kick them off, leaving you in your bra and underwear. 

You quickly turned away from Sam to turn on the shower and wait for the shower to get warm. You turned back around to see Sam shedding the flannel and shirt he was wearing, leaving his upper half bare for you to stare at. 

It was like Michelangelo himself sculpted him—your eyes flicked to various areas of his torso and arms. You had always imagined what he hid under all of those layers, but it seemed like your imagination paled in comparison to the actual thing. 

Sam’s chuckle made your eyes snap up to meet his amused smile. “I think the water should be warm now.” 

You could feel your cheeks heat up, but instead of responding to his teasing, you reached behind you and unclipped your bra. You let it slide down your arms and fall to the floor before taking the hem of your underwear and stripping those off as well, leaving you naked in front of Sam. 

You sent him a smirk before pulling back the curtain and getting in the shower, letting the warm water hit your sore and blood-covered body. You let out a sigh of satisfaction, momentarily forgetting that Sam was in the room with you until you heard the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling and rustling of jeans before the curtain was drawn back, and Sam entered the shower. 

If the bathroom could barely fit the two of you, then the shower was way too small for Sam and you to be in. But you paid no mind to it as you stared at Sam, keeping your gaze from straying downward toward his naked legs. 

Sam shot you a soft smile before grabbing the shampoo and pouring some into his hand. He gestured for you to turn around, and he began to wash your hair. You leaned into his touch, letting out a satisfied hum at the feeling of his hands massaging your scalp. You almost let out a moan of protest when you felt his hands withdraw from your head, but he gestured for you to turn around and wash out the soap. 

Then he took the conditioner and combed it through your hair before repeating the same process. By the time he grabbed another washcloth through the curtain, you were almost dead on your feet from the head massages you received. Sam couldn’t help but smile at your almost blissed-out smile. He took some of your body wash, slathered it on the washcloth, and began to gently scrub down your body. 

Sam started with arms and back before moving down your legs, getting down to his knees to wash them. He tapped your hip to signal you to turn around to face him. Sam washed your torso diligently, lingering on your breast for a moment before moving the washcloth down your waist and hips to your thighs. You started to breathe a little heavier in anticipation—seeing Sam on his knees in front of you was making a heat pool in your core, and you could feel yourself getting wet.  

Sam nudged your feet, spreading them apart so he could fit in between them. He dropped the washcloth on the shower floor with a wet thwap, grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over your shoulder. You leaned back onto the cool shower tile as you felt him press gentle kisses on your inner thigh, trailing up toward your heated center. 

“You got such a pretty pussy baby.” Sam murmured into the soft skin of your thigh. “Wonder if it tastes as good as it looks.” 

Your head fell back and a soft moan left your lips as you felt him press a soft kiss to your clit. A hand wove through the damp strands of Sam’s hair as he began to lick and kiss at your cunt. 

Your moans and whines filled the steamed-filled bathroom as Sam ate you out. He sucked and licked at your clit before his tongue made its way inside of you, darting in and out—collecting your sweet essence and spurring Sam on to taste more of you. He let out small grunts and groans as you tugged at his hair, the vibrations providing you more pleasure to your sensitive cunt. 

“Fuck, you taste so good honey.” Sam pulled away for a moment, making you whine slightly, which made Sam nip at your thigh. “Don’t be greedy just yet baby, I’ll make you cum. I just want to admire you.” He said while looking at your cunt hungrily. 

Sam blew cool air on it, making you clench around nothing. He chuckled darkly before diving back into your cunt. 

A keening whine left your lips as he ate you out like a man starved. “F-fuck! Oh Sam!” 

You started to chant his name like a prayer as you felt yourself hurling closer to cumming. 

Being spurred on by your moans, Sam sucked your clit into his mouth and slowly inserted one of his thick fingers into you. Sam quickly added another finger when he felt little resistance when he put the first finger in. 

His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, and you were quickly shoved over the edge of pleasure when he crooked his fingers just right and hit your g-spot. You clenched hard around his fingers, Sam letting out another groan in your cunt, adding to the pleasure that coursed through your body. Sam only slowed his ministrations, helping through your orgasm until you had calmed down. 

Sam left one last kiss on your sensitive clit before trailing up your body, the soap no longer on your skin, before pressing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, resting your hands on his chest before one of them trailed down to brush against his raging erection. 

Sam grunted against your lips when he felt you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He pulled back from the kiss but rested his forehead against yours as you started to stroke him slowly. 

Then Sam pulled away suddenly and turned off the water in the shower. He quickly lifted you up in his arms, pulling another yelp from your lips. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist as he made his way out of the bathroom and into the empty room, toward the nearest bed. 

He practically threw you on it before getting it on the bed himself, slotting himself in between your open legs and pulling you into a fiery kiss. Sam couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue dominating your mouth as his hand found your center again and began to tease your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. 

You moaned into his mouth before he pulled away and began to attack your neck, biting and sucking marks into it. One of his fingers started to trail up and down your slit and chuckled into your neck. 

“You’re still so wet. S’all for me honey?” Sam pulled back from your neck to hear your response. 

“Y-yeah, all for you, fuck!” You could barely string that response together—not when Sam had inserted his fingers back into you. 

Sam let out a dark chuckle before leaning down and sucking a nipple into his mouth, ripping another moan from you. 

“You’re doing so good for me honey. You feel so good around my fingers, sucking me right in.” Sam crooned, freeing your nipple from his mouth as he kept fingering you. He kept it at a slow pace, wanting to drag it out. 

“Please, go faster Sammy.” You all but whined out.

Sam said nothing but quickened the pace of his thrusts and started to thumb at your swollen clit. He leaned up and drew your lips into a kiss, but you could barely kiss him back, moans leaving your mouth with every thrust of his fingers. 

Sam could feel you clench around his fingers. “You gonna cum for me baby?” 

All he got was a loud moan in response, making him smile at how wrecked you were from just his fingers. 

“Good girl, come around my fingers and you’ll get my cock.” 

The praise from Sam made the coil that was wound up in you snap, and you came around Sam’s thick fingers. Sam whispered praises in your ear as you came down, having withdrawn his fingers and tracing the skin on your hips soothingly.

“There she is.” Sam said with a gentle smile once you calmed down and opened your eyes. 

“You ready?” Sam asked as he lined his tip to the entrance of your soaked cunt. 

You nodded. 

Sam clicked his tongue at you before slapping the tip of his cock on your oversensitive clit, making you jump at the feeling. 

“I need words, baby.” The low gravel of his lust-fuelled voice made your cunt pulse, and you could feel how wet you were. 

“Yes, I’m ready.” Your voice was slightly hoarse from all of the moaning and whining that Sam pulled out of you. 

“Thank you, baby.” Sam leaned down and kissed you. While he was kissing you, he slowly penetrated you. The stretch of his thick cock was teetering the line of pain, but it felt so good as he filled you up. 

Both of you let out moans when he filled you up to the hilt, and you clenched around him involuntarily. 

“Shit, honey, you can’t do that.” Sam told you in a strained voice. 

You noticed how his jaw was clenched and couldn’t help but tease him like he had been doing to you and clenched around him again. 

Sam stared down at you, a serious look on his face as you looked at him with a playful look in your eye. Then Sam pulled out until the tip was left inside of you before plunging back into you roughly, a sharp moan leaving your mouth at the sensation. 

Sam began his pace slow but hard, slamming into you with enough force to shove you up the bed. You had to wrap your legs around his waist and brace yourself against the headboard. Your moans and Sam’s groans filled the room as he fucked you. He shoved his face into your neck and started to suck at the skin, leaving his marks all over your neck and chest. 

You weren’t far from coming again, and Sam noticed, shoving a hand in between your legs and rubbing on your clit. 

Sweat coated your body as the heat in your core grew and grew. You could feel tears escaping your eyes from the amount of pleasure Sam was giving you. He finally pulled away from your neck and noticed your wet face. 

“Awe baby.” Sam cooed as he used his free hand to cup your cheek and wipe away some of the tears. “You gonna cum soon?” He asked with a slightly strained voice, Sam was so wound up, but he could hold off until you were close. 

You sputtered out a ‘yes,’ but you were overwhelmed with pleasure that you could barely speak outside of his name and ‘fuck’. 

“Come for me and I’ll fill you up, okay baby?” 

You clenched hard around him at the thought of him coming inside of you, and Sam noticed. 

“Fuck, you like that don’t you? You like me filling you up with my cum?” Sam rubbed at your clit even harder. 

“Yes!” You sobbed out; you were so close to coming. 

“Come around my cock honey,” Sam commanded, and his voice sent you over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came around Sam. His thrusts faltered before shoving himself inside of you one last time, and you felt warmth fill your cunt. Sam all but collapsed on you, and you couldn’t be bothered to shove him off; the weight of him bordered on suffocation, but it was comforting to you. 

You wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck and started to card your hands through his hair. He relaxed further into you as the two of you calmed down. Sam eventually pulled out of you and got up from the bed. You threw an arm over your eyes as you tried to gain executive function in your legs, but they felt numb. 

You could hear Sam running the water from the sink. You jumped slightly as you felt a damp cloth on your tender cunt. You pried your arm away from your eyes and saw that Sam was cleaning you up, and your heart warmed at the action. You smiled softly at how focused he was. 

When he was done, Sam placed it on the nightstand, intending to take care of it later, and gestured for you to sit up. You did, albeit confused, because you didn’t know what he wanted. 

Then he lifted you up into his arms bridal style (again, you yelped) and carried you into the bathroom. 

“What is with you and carrying me?” You asked when he sat you down on the toilet so you could go to the bathroom. 

Sam smirked. “Would you have made it to the bathroom if I didn’t?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Shut up.” You grumbled before shooing him out of the room. 

Sam sauntered out of the bathroom, chuckling—though he left it open, it gave you an ample view of his perky butt. You realized that your clothes were still in there, so you got dressed after you were done peeing. Once you were done with the bathroom, you all but waddled out of it. 

Sam started to laugh at the sight of you; he was dressed in some comfy pants and a plain black shirt. You glared at him, but you couldn’t help but laugh with him. Once you guys calmed down, both of you settled into the other bed, and Sam took the time to check his phone and saw that he had some text messages from Dean. 

You had better make a move when I’m gone, or I’ll make it for you.  Sent an hour ago  FINALLY! I’ll be in our room with the food. ...jeez, you guys are loud Sent 15 minutes ago 

Sam rolled his eyes at his phone before turning to you. “Dean texted, he said he has our food in our room.” 

“Ooh, yes! I’m starving.” You got up from the bed excited and put on your shoes half-hazardly. 

Sam let out a small snicker at your eagerness, got out of bed, and put on his boots. As the two of you left the room, Sam swung an arm around your shoulders and made the short walk to the Winchester’s room, where the two of you were greeted by Dean’s shit-eating grin and dealt with his teasing for the rest of the night until Sam was fed up with him and dragged you back to your room to sleep the night away. 

[join my taglist !; read rules before sending in an ask]

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He’s staring at him.

Steve Harrington is staring at Eddie Munson.

The thing is, people don’t just stare at Eddie. Not for any reason that means anything good for Eddie. So when, completely unprompted, the fucking King of Hawkins High walks up to Eddie and says, “I need to talk to you,” Eddie thinks he’s entirely justified in the squeak he lets out.

“You? Talk? To me?” Wow. Great job, brain.

“Please,” Harrington whispers, and Eddie thinks desperately this must be some kind of joke, except he’s good at reading people, and he knows the desperation in Harrington’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says, stammers. “Um. There- there’s, behind the school, a, uh-”

“Table,” Harrington nods. “That works. Just…” he sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Leave the lunchbox at home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Then what the fuck do you want with me, dude?”

“I can’t explain. Not here, not now. Just. Please. After school, okay?”

Eddie looks at him. Really looks, studies his face, understands the lines by his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. His heart thumps as he realizes. He’s scared. “Okay,” he says, and means it.

Eddie’s a man of his word, so after school he makes his way to the table, pausing when it comes into view. Harrington’s already there, sitting with his head in his hands. Eddie calls out from a couple of paces away. “You sure you don’t want anything from the lunchbox?”

Harrington jumps, hands up, eyes round. Relaxes a little when he sees Eddie. “No. I- I’m good. I can’t, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “What, like, a sports thing? No one’s gotta know, dude, I’ve never been busted, I can keep a secret.”

Steve gives him a half-smile. “No. It’s- it’s not a sports thing. Just… sit down? And promise to listen?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he knows how comforting it can be to just have someone there, and he’s not a dick; clearly Harrington’s going through something. Though why he approached Eddie, of all people, he doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Harrington repeats back, taking a breath before starting. “If I were to tell you I’m from the future, a future in which we know each other, how would you ask me to prove it?”

Eddie blinks. He was ready for a lot of things, but not time travel. “Um. I dunno, man, I haven’t really thought about it.”

He takes another deep breath. “Can I try?”

“To- to prove you’re from the future?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Man, where the fuck do I get the strain you’re on?”

He blinks. “What?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Come on, man, you have to admit you’re not really making sense here.”

Harrington sighs. Takes another breath. Says, “You live with your uncle Wayne. Your father taught you to hot wire cars when you were nine. You listen to Dio and Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne but your favorite song is I Will Always Love You, by Dolly Parton, because it was your mom’s favorite. The guitar pick you wear around your neck was hers. She taught you guitar. You love The Hobbit. Stop me when I’ve said enough.”

Eddie’s never been more scared in his life. “Listen, man, I dunno where you heard all that-”

“Eddie,” he says, implores, and digs something out of his pocket. Opens his hand to reveal a ring.

A ring Eddie already has on his finger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. Grabs for the ring before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. Examines it, sees the dent from where his finger had gotten smashed in a door.

His hands start shaking.

“I’m from 1987,” Steve Harrington says, sure as anything. “And I’m trying to stop something terrible.”

“And what would that be?” Eddie asks, feeling strangely detached from the whole thing.

“Your death,” Steve Harrington says, still sure as anything.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[geddyqueer]

wip wednesday wednesday

finally remembered how to write! wahoo! thanks @screamlet for the tag; passing this on to @dharmaavocado @setmeatopthepyre @liminalmemories21 @alchemistc @beanarie @rcmclachlan and anyone else who wants to play. here's some more of my 8x11 fix it wip, no crying in baseball:

"Damn, Kinard," Donato says as he rolls into work the next morning. "You lose a fight?"

After a couple tylenol and a cold shower his face doesn't feel that bad, but he was right—black eye, bruise smearing over the bridge of his nose, and a rough night of sleep because he kept rolling over onto the wrong side. "I'm fine," he says. "I got hit in the face by a softball thrown by a thirteen year old."

She winces. "I thought you were doing better after the breakup, you know? Not—not going out and getting in bar fights, or whatever."

"I didn't get in a bar fight. I got hit in the face by a softball thrown by a thirteen year old," he says, as if that's somehow better.

As if on cue Richardson pokes his head in through the door. "Kinard, there's a woman out here who wants to apologize for her daughter hitting you in the face with a—Jesus! You get in a bar fight?"

Tommy pushes past him and heads out into the main hangar. "Hey," he says, offering the woman standing there awkwardly clutching her bag his hand. "Tommy Kinard."

"Oh my gosh," she says as she takes in his face. "I'm so sorry. Emma has terrible aim."

"But she has a ton of power," he says. "She just needs practice. Anyway, no harm, no foul."

"It actually looks like quite a bit of harm," she says. "I'm Tracy. I'm supposed to be their Scout leader but they've all given up on Scouts and decided they want to do softball instead and while I support everything they want to do, I honestly have no idea how softball works."

"It's like baseball, but the ball is bigger," Tommy says. "And they pitch underhand. And there's usually only seven innings."

"Right," Tracy says. Behind her Tommy can see most of the rest of the Harbor crew inching closer, ears first. "I don't know anything about baseball, either. And we were going to have their math teacher do it, but he had to bow out last minute. Scheduling, you know. It's state testing season. And then, well, another parent was going to give it a try, but she was in a horrible accident at Trader Joe's—"

"Sparkling water lady," Tommy says, nodding. "We transported her, actually. Crazy what those pallets can do when they tip."

"Oh, it's awful," Tracy agrees. "So finally we asked another girl's cousin, she's in college locally, but I guess there were some issues with her social life, and now the girls have no one."

"Right. The girls mentioned that."

Tracy nods, pursing her lips. The rest of A-shift has moved in so close there's no way to plausibly deny they're listening. Tommy braces himself. "Did you really volunteer? Or was my kid lying? Because we would be thrilled to have a firefighter as our coach. Especially one who knows how the game works."

"Not just a firefighter but a firefighter pilot," Richardson cuts in.

"Oh!"

"Yeah, he got a medal for valor and innovative thinking last year," Donato adds.

"Oh, wow," Tracy says. Tommy feels his face heating up.

From behind him Melton comes and puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Ma'am, if you were to ask me which of my crew I would trust most to take charge in an emergency, or to fly a helicopter through hurricane conditions, or to lead a group of high school girls—"

"Middle school," Tracy corrects.

"—middle school girls to a softball tournament, well, I would choose this man for all three."

"Sir," Tommy says, but Melton ignores him and guides Tracy over to his office.

"Now, being a dad, I know a little about the machinations of the community sports world myself, and I know how hard it is to get things scheduled…"

The door shuts behind them, and Donato and Richardson and every other fucking joker in this hangar pounce on him like cats on a sickly tired mouse.

"I told you," he says, pointing at his eye. "Softball thrown by a tween."

"Hey, man, whatever it takes to get you out of this funk," Richardson says. "Glad you've got a hobby."

"I have a million hobbies," Tommy protests. "And I'm not in a funk!"

Everyone fidgets a little.

"…am I in a funk?"

Donato nods. "So it's, you know, really good to see you doing something that'll make you happy," she says.

Tommy presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, yelping when he remembers the giant fucking bruise on his face. Someone pats his back reassuringly.

[softmangoes]

how the LIs eat you out

18+

pure!sydney is reverent. his tongue is warm as he draws slow circles around your clit. he's the type who takes his time to worship you. makes your core warm as he takes his communion, his golden eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. "you taste so sweet, beloved," he says, lips glistening with your syrup. you feel his breath against the slickness of your skin. "i don't think i could ever stop."

corrupt!sydney can't get enough of you. he's got one arm wrapped tightly around your thigh and his other hand stroking his cock as he laps at you hungrily. oh beloved, he can't help but touch himself when you're like this. the way you pull at his hair drives him insane, makes him draw even closer to the edge. but he won't fall, oh no. you'll fall together, won't you? as you should. as you are meant to.

kylar can't breathe. he doesn't need to. not when you're squirming for him like this, the sound of his name so sweet as it falls from your lips. he's dreamed of this, you know. he's spent so many nights wanting to know what it would be like to taste you and here you are, shuddering against his mouth. "so beautiful," he murmurs. "so perfect." he slips his fingers into your warmth, makes you arch your back once again. "and all mine."

the desk is hard against your back as whitney slides his tongue along your slit. your thighs hurt - courtesy of his teeth sinking into your skin just moments earlier. outside the classroom, you can hear students start to filter into the hall. "did i say you could be quiet?" whitney growls. "let them fucking hear how much of a slut you are." he plunges his tongue inside you, earning a gasp that pierces the air.

robin smiles the entire time. you taste so good, so sweet. how is it possible for your thighs to be this soft? if he could die at any time, it would be this moment, engulfed in you as you ride his face. he is so sweet, so gentle. you catch sight of his eyes between your legs, glazed in the ecstasy of being yours.

"keep reading," eden growls. he takes pleasure in the way your breath hitches with every lick and the way your thighs tremble against his face. you had been gone too long from the cabin. you didn't think he was going to let you off easy, did you? all you have to do is get to the end of this chapter. as long as you keep your eyes on the page, he'll keep his mouth on you.

the wraith leaves you wanting. he's waited years, decades, lifetimes - what are a few more moments in the face of eternity? but you want more, need more. you want to cry out as those eyes like gems behold your pleasure. you want to writhe and shake and let the tide take you. the cold swipe of his tongue between your legs makes you shudder, but it is his fingers that make you plead. droplet, have you missed him just as much as he has missed you? sing for him the song of your return. he has all night to listen.

[ngbri]

Like. Vince Gilligan. Man. I just wanna talk.

Why is "impotent nerdy dad driven to sadistic murderous insanity by the mere THOUGHT of harm coming to his twink" the premise of your show?

And, moreover, why didn't you reuse this idea with Jesse as Walt's captive instead of handing Jesse over to Jack&Todd??

The thought of Walt doing this because he can't actually pull the trigger on Jesse himself... it could have been beautiful, Vince.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Do I make it a fic...

Eddie plans to go back to El Paso about a week after the funeral. Chris is finishing up the school year, and Eddie wants to talk to him about moving back to LA- back home- but he can't have that conversation through a screen. And Buck doesn't want him to go, but he knows he has to. They're standing in the living room as Eddie makes sure his suitcase is packed and Buck has his keys, ready for the miserable drive to the airport, and he thinks the words- not for the first time, but maybe for the first time like this. All consuming, like a tsunami pulling him under. A desperate need to get the words out, like they're beating against his sternum. He didn't say them to Bobby when... He didn't say it, and he remembers what Maddie told him, and Eddie's rambling about how shitty the flight's gonna be but Buck's not paying attention. Eddie says something and flashes an adorable dorky grin that, even with the lingering heartbreak they've neither one processed yet, warms Buck from the inside out. He doesn't stop to ask what Eddie said. He steps into Eddie's space, wrings his hands. This shouldn't be a monumental thing to say to your best friend. "What's wrong?" Eddie asks, clocking his anxiety immediately, like he always does. "Nothing- nothing's wrong," Buck says, and for the most part it's the truth. "I... There's something I need to tell you. Something I should've been telling you for years by now, but..." Eddie watches him carefully, that half concerned and sweetly amused scrunch to his eyebrows. Buck takes a deep breath. Lets his tense shoulders drop with his exhale. "I just need you to know I-" He's cut off by a sudden shaking, jostling them into each other as the ground rumbles and quakes. Furniture moves, knick knacks fall to the floor, the lights flicker and go out. When the ground stops shaking, they're still holding onto each other. So close, but still not close enough. Buck's about to open his mouth, say the words while he has the chance, but his phone rings. Hen. "That was at least a 5, we need all hands on deck," she says, already sounding frazzled. "And that includes Eddie if he wants." And of course he wants. The one thing he's missed more than Buck is firefighting. The airports won't be functional for a while anyway. They head into the station together, finally partners again, gearing up to face what truly brought them together as a unit in the beginning. Buck puts the words to the back of his mind. They've got time. They have to.

[nanenna]

So there are a lot of Demon Sibs fics out there and they're a lot of fun, but I just realized I don't think I've seen one where Danny runs into the LoA first. Lots of fics of Danny running into various Bats and/or Waynes (I've written my fair share), but what if he's just out and about for some reason (field trip, summer vacay, a non-Wayne gala) and a shadow out on a mission recognizes him? Or Talia? or Ra's himself? I think that could be interesting.

So many options: does Danny even remember being an assassin or does he have amnesia? Does he go along to keep the LoA from attacking his new family and friends or does he try to resist? Depending on who finds him first and how at odds Talia and Ra's are, is there a counter kidnapping attempt by whoever doesn't have him? (You've stolen what I've rightfully kidnapped)

Add in Tim having spies within the LoA but maybe they don't have all the details. He just gets informed some random teen got kidnapped, maybe he even has a vague description (black hair, blue eyes, white-boy???) and that doesn't bode well. Time to go on a rescue mission! (Does he inform the other bats or does he gather The Team for this?)

Ah! I'm having so much fun imagining this. How stressed can we make Danny? >:3c

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

And if i told you i have temporarily abandoned drawing to write a Crazy Carl fic what then

[uhhlifeig]

Enemy - June 21 - word count: 140 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“That was a terrible idea,” Sirius groaned, shielding his eyes from the bright fluorescent lighting with one hand, gesturing at the nearly-empty bottle of alcohol with the other.

“The drinking game or the show we picked?” Remus asked, voice muffled by a pillow he’d placed over his head.

“Both.”

He grunted in agreement. “Why?” he asked, curious to Sirius’s own reasoning.

“Because taking a shot every time there’s gay subtext in Voltron was bound to get us way too drunk to function. And also now we’re really, really hungover.”

Remus nodded, fighting back the mild nausea. He’d be fine in ten minutes, thanks to his lycanthropy. “Right. I think the fact that there was so much unresolved sexual tension between Lance and Keith-”

“Exactly. The whole enemies-to-lovers thing…”

“It’s more rivals-to-lovers, though, right?”

Sirius sighed loudly. “Whatever. My head hurts.”